The Christmas Challenge

by Sinclair Jayne

  She blew out a breath. He could imagine the rest she was sure.

  Tucker glanced at him as they skated. Wondered about the scar. Normally she would have blurted out a question or told him he looked like a pirate and she had some treasure to plunder. God, was she really so cheesy and obvious?

  “Feel better?” he asked, slowing them to a gentle stop.

  She nodded. “I’m just scared.” She finally voiced the thought that had kept her up so many nights since the rodeo. “What if Luke was my one? My true north? My true love? And I blew my chance before I knew I wanted one?”

  She laughed bitterly. “I never thought I wanted all that. One man. Marriage. My husband getting bored with me. A ranch that would suck all my energy. Kids. Yuck, right?” She tried to laugh it off.

  He ran his long sexy fingers through the brown and gold streaked hair that begged her fingers to explore.

  “You think marriage is that bad?” he asked, looking over her shoulder into the dark. “Finding one person who was special to you? Who would share your joys, help you carry the burden of your sorrows?”

  Her instinct was to push him away and make a rude vomiting noise. Who wanted to take on someone else’s burdens? Hers were heavy enough! But his question was serious. And maybe if she’d been in a bar, she could have tossed her celebrated mane of hair, made a joke, and moved on to another half-drunk conquest, but in the glow of the candles, the chill of the night, the intimacy was unfamiliar and made her cautious.

  “I’ve always relied on myself,” she said.

  “We have that in common.”

  Yeah, she could see that. He radiated strength and independence. Was a bit aloof, watchful. He reminded her a little of Luke actually. His stillness. His athleticism. His build. And his fucking gorgeous bones—cheekbones and jaw, long straight nose, a bit arrogantly regal.

  She had it bad for her sister’s cowboy. Her brother-in-law in less than a month.

  “I always thought I would be alone,” Laird said. “But then—” he broke off.

  The silence lapped around them. Tucker thought of Luke, and how she had to let the idea of him go. And obviously Laird had someone or something he had to move away from. Bitterness would hold both of them down.

  Tucker took his hand and brought it to her cheek. His eyes closed as if in pain. “But then?” she said as a way of encouragement.

  She turned and kissed his knuckles. “My chance is gone,” she said sadly.

  “No,” he said. “Another is beginning.”

  She looked up at him. He didn’t sound flippant. Or flirty. He wasn’t trying to comfort her. Instead his words sounded like an affirmation, but her impulse to joke or run when anything even hinted at being deeper than her skin, didn’t kick in. His words sunk in. Soothed her.

  “You almost make me believe,” she said. That she could let go of her lingering feelings and attraction to Luke, let go of her fear that he was her one, that she wouldn’t create a bigger rift with her sister. “But Laird,” she covered his hand that she held in hers. “You, too, must believe. This is Miracle Lake. And I think I’m not the only broken heart looking for a miracle.”

  *

  Tucker gently closed the truck door, leaving her suitcases in the tack room of the smallest horse arena and barn. She wasn’t quite sure if Honey had moved out of the apartment she was hoping to use in the horse arena yet. No need to barge in, especially as Honey was hot and heavy with the ER doc, Sean Gallagher, who’d patched her up after her fall at the rodeo. Tucker wanted to roll her eyes at the idea of little Honey getting serious, getting married and finding Mr. Right. They were all Mr. Wrong eventually.

  Right?

  Only her affirmation didn’t carry the weight it usually did. She still felt a little under Laird’s spell. Had she really called herself a “broken heart”? Her former self would have kicked her ass, tossed back a whiskey and laughed. She was just tired. Beaten down by those stupid sponsors dropping her for other racers without as many wins. Lame. “Cold product.” Jeb, her former manager, had actually said that like she was starring in an Eminem song. That song was practically as old as she was, the big fat idiot.

  Tanner’s dog came running around the corner, barking, and he skidded to a stop in front of Tucker and sat, one paw out as if to shake. Tucker shook and then patted Ryder’s silky head.

  “Look who the cat dragged in,” Jorge, the ranch foreman, came around the corner of the bunk house and spotted her. She must have jumped guiltily like she was sixteen again and trying to sneak in past curfew, which didn’t work for obvious reasons. The ranch was on a gravel road and the drive was more than a mile long, plenty of time to hear a car, even if she drove slowly and without headlights.

  “Hey Jorge,” she whispered.

  He laughed. “Still doing the walk of shame, I see.”

  She’d never been ashamed when she’d been out late with a boy. It had been fun and consensual and why could boys do it and be studs and girls were sluts? The double standard had rankled so she’d flaunted it every opportunity. Only last night she hadn’t done anything more promiscuous than ice skate holding a man’s gloved hand. It was quite Victorian, only without a chaperone.

  “Good to see you Tucker,” Jorge hugged her. “Glad you’re home. Lots of changes at the Triple T.”

  She stiffened. His tone was disturbing, but Tucker didn’t pry. Tanner would catch her up to speed. She checked her watch. 5:00 am. Her sister would have been up long ago. She’d probably already have coffee on, they could talk about her wedding and Tanner would see that Tucker was happy for her and wouldn’t flirt with Luke or do anything except be the perfect sister. And then she’d help her with the chores and tell Tanner that she might be home more to help with horse training and boarding.

  She swallowed the dread and dredged up a smile for Jorge. Asked him about his son Josh. Pushed away the finger of fear stroking her spine. The Triple T was her home for goodness’ sake. Tanner wouldn’t turn her away. She couldn’t really. But Tucker wanted her sister to want her here. She promised to see them both in a bit and help with chores before entering the house.

  To her surprise the kitchen was dark. The coffee pot wasn’t on. She lightly ran up the stairs.

  “Hey lazy ass, get out of bed already,” she sang out as she opened the door. “Oops!” It wasn’t like she’d caught them totally in the middle of anything, but Luke was naked and just out of the shower.

  His back had been towards her as he’d been kissing her half-dressed sister. He’d been spectacularly honed four years ago, but now, even more so. His shoulders were Defined with a capital D. And she could see the flex of muscles in his back. Luke swore and grabbed a pillow.

  “What’s the big deal?” Tucker lounged against the doorjamb. Tanner had caught her out more times than she could count on her hands. In the truck, the barn, their room. Nice for a little payback and the view was spectacular. “Not like I haven’t seen it all before.” She laughed.

  Oops.

  Tanner was mad. Really mad. Her face was stark white behind her millions of freckles and her eyes blazed at her.

  Okay. She should have kept her mouth shut, but it was kinda her thing, like a brand. Foot in mouth.

  “Get out, Tucker.”

  And then to make her point Tanner slammed the door in her face. Tucker’s impulse was to push the door back open because it wasn’t like there was a lock, and the bedroom had once been hers as well; but since she hadn’t lived at home in ten years, and when she did visit she used the studio apartment in the horse arena, she could hardly lay claim to the bedroom anymore.

  Then she remembered her promise at Miracle Lake. Well, more like a challenge to herself since she hadn’t exactly gotten around to asking for squat because she’d met the mysterious and brooding Laird. It sounded so gothic and promising when she put it that way.

  Staring at the closed door, Tucker decided she would ignore Tanner’s rudeness, go downstairs, and brew coffee and make breakfast. She felt inspired by
her own organization and thoughtfulness.

  She ground the coffee beans and pulled a few espresso shots. Then she laid out some toast in the toaster oven because she knew Tanner loved toast in the morning. Luke had liked sex. A lot of sex but she probably shouldn’t be thinking about that. So instead she cut up a couple of oranges and a banana. He had liked fruit and oatmeal, but maybe that would look over the top domestic, like she was trying to prove something.

  “Why are you home?” Tanner marched in tying her hair back in an elastic band, jeans and Western shirt on and already a polar fleece vest zipped.

  “Why wouldn’t I be?” Tucker was totally aggravated by her sister’s tone. She was here to help with the wedding.

  “Why would you? You haven’t lived here in ten years and usually I have to beg you to visit and you ignore that, but sometimes you come for Dad—which would have maybe been helpful the last two years, now not so much.”

  She winced a little guiltily. It was true she’d shut Tanner out over the years. Tanner was just so hard to deal with. It was so hard to see her, how the racing accident had ruined her life. Tucker would always carry the guilt.

  “It’s obvious.”

  “Obvious how?”

  Why was Tanner being such a bitch? Because she’d just seen Luke naked? Whoopdidoo! It wasn’t like she’d jumped him or drooled or stared too long. Well she’d kinda stared and remembered, but who wouldn’t? She hadn’t suggested a twosome or anything. Like that night at the rodeo. She was never drinking whiskey again when she was upset.

  “Duh,” she handed Tanner the espresso she’d turned into a cappuccino.

  Luke walked in and she handed him the latte. She remembered how much he liked his coffee. She’d even added a splash of vanilla for his sweet tooth. She smiled, encouraging them both to take her interruption as a joke. Luke didn’t touch the coffee and Tanner stared at her cup for a moment and Tucker seriously thought she was going to shove it back at her. Instead Tanner said, “Thanks.”

  Luke didn’t look at her. Instead he watched Tanner, his beautiful golden gaze assessing, and Tucker could practically hear the unspoken thoughts that couples had, the silent communication that she’d once had with her twin but never with anyone else.

  He tangled his fingers with her sister’s and gently tugged her out of the room. What was their problem? They were totally acting like prudish teenagers. And Tanner was supposedly the mature one. She could hear Luke talking to her sister, his voice low, impossible to hear everything he said. Tanner was easier.

  “Wednesday afternoon then,” she said. “It seems so far away.”

  He said something, and she heard Tanner laugh. Then a kiss. Tucker rolled her eyes. Please. It was Sunday. Four days. How needy was that?

  Then Luke was out the door. Without drinking the latte. Or eating any of the fruit she’d cut.

  Chapter Three

  Laird Hunter walked into… He glanced up at the sign, The Java Café. Coffee was definitely on order. The second best start to the day, and since the first was out for a while until he could quiet the questions clamoring in his head and sort through the emotions churning in his gut, he’d take a coffee and he’d take it as big as he could get it.

  Black was probably best, but when he got to the counter and saw the special—peppermint mocha—he went with that, made with almond milk. What the hell? It was December. Ho. Ho. Ho. It was 6:00 a.m. He hadn’t slept. He’d gone for a long run to clear his head although his brain was still foggy as hell; but the crisp, cold air had chilled his lungs and the sparkling blue sky had cut his eyes so that he felt alive in a way he hadn’t since April when his life as he’d known it had blown apart.

  He felt too keyed up to sit, but he forced himself to. This early there were not many customers in the café. Ranchers. Cowboys. The girl he’d met last night, Tucker, she probably knew all of them, or maybe not. She’d said she’d been gone for a while, but he thought people in small towns had a tendency to stay put.

  He drummed his fingers on the table.

  Forced them still. Forced himself to sit back in the chair, breathe. In. Out. Sip. Let the heat and the sweetness swirl in his mouth before sliding down his throat. He was in Marietta for one reason. To find the truth. And to find his brother. Or sister. If they’d survived. That jabbed. That his mother, his adoptive mother, hadn’t bothered to ask. Boy or girl? Alive or dead?

  And to maybe mention it once in nearly thirty years of pretending to be his mother. That was harsh. He knew. But it was still so raw, and Laird, who lived his life on the road guiding thrill-seeking athletes to the next level of climbing or rafting or survival tours, did not often get slammed by emotions. He lived to challenge himself physically and to help others reach their potential. Not to dwell on his feelings. His heart never kicked up a fuss.

  Laird stared at the coffee cup. He had meditated after his run. But he still needed to calm his mind. His body. The constant restless energy that pulsed in him like a life force, a lightsaber just waiting to be turned on, released, freed to explode in a dazzling display of color and energy.

  “Hey Laird. You’re a welcome sight on a frigid day at the butt crack of dawn,” Tucker, from last night, surged up to his table, dropped her tight ass on a chair, and tossed her blue leather purse at her feet. She shrugged out of her down jacket and fussed with her hair, twisting the long, deep red tresses up in a messy bun that she managed to secure without anything that he could see and then agitatedly releasing it again, running her fingers through her hair and then tucking her slim, pale hands under her skinny black jean–clad thighs.

  All of this fussing but the sunglasses remained in place.

  “I may be Montana born, but I have lost the cold gene.” She crackled with energy, none of it good, and fidgeted in her seat so much like she’d like to crawl out of her skin.

  “What are you drinking?”

  “The special,” he told her.

  She was obviously waiting for more. She rocked forward in her chair to the edge like she was going to confide a big secret and then caught herself and pushed back, trying and failing to look relaxed.

  “Peppermint mocha,” he added although coffee was the last thing she needed. Maybe a tranq gun. She was even more beautiful in the light, and the tiny green jewel on the side of her nose suited her and was a turn on.

  “Ahhh. Yes. First day of December. Santa Claus is coming to town. He’s making a list and checking it twice. Gonna find out who’s naughty or nice.” She hummed nervously under her breath.

  “That great of a morning, Tucker?”

  She pressed her lips together, tried to smile but failed. “For someone who thought they wanted to be an actress, I suck at it, huh?”

  “What can I get you?” He slid out of his chair.

  “I usually get an almond milk, no water, chai, but I don’t know if…”

  “Done.”

  *

  Tucker tried not to stare at Laird’s ass, which was an impossible task because he wore cargo style–looking pants only they were definitely not baggy, more butt and thigh hugging with a variety of pockets she’d love to tuck her hands or fingers into. No. She was not going to think like that for the next few weeks. She would not look at Laird’s ass or other parts, and she would knock before entering any bedroom but her own because nothing would be going on there for a while.

  She watched Laird order something, and the barista openly stared at him, eyes wide and devouring. She chatted him up, playing a lot with her hair. Tucker would have rolled her eyes as the young girl’s ploys were so obvious, but she’d used a few of those tricks herself when she was younger. He seemed polite, but not drawn in. Killer smile though.

  She loved his cheekbones and the hollows under his cheeks. She would love to lick him there. Total model material. The few-days-out scruff looked masculine, but she bet without it he would be so classically handsome to be almost beautiful. And his hair. So thick and wavy falling far past his shoulders and growing back from his wide, square
forehead. She was even drooling over his hairline, a faint widow’s peak. Luke had one too, and it always made her think of those European models in cologne ads, although Luke had been one hundred percent true American male. Laird had a more international vibe. No cowboy to him at all. She sighed. It wasn’t the biggest failing in a man, and he was so hot she could probably forgive him his non-cowboyness.

  Don’t look.

  But when he strode across the Java Café, palming her chai in one hand, his gait a totally rolling I-am-a-fuckable-man predatory prowl, he was pretty hard to ignore.

  “One almond milk, no water, chai. And I ordered you an everything bagel, toasted, with cream cheese.”

  “The fatted calf.”

  He laughed. Flipped his chair around, straddled it, and sat down, making her dropped gaze to his crotch automatic.

  Eyes up.

  “No sacrifices today,” he said easily. “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”

  “It’s gonna take a lot more than a bagel to pull this day out of the garbage.”

  He glanced at his watch. “It’s not yet seven.”

  She sipped at her chai. “It’s my sister, Tanner, my twin, the one who’s getting married to a cowboy she barely knows, but whatever.”

  “The cowboy you think you let get away.”

  Tucker shifted in her seat. “Obviously he’s off limits now,” Tucker said defensively. “And that’s my point. She got pissy this morning for no reason at all.”

  “None?”

  “I walked in on her and Luke,” Tucker waved her hand dismissively. “They weren’t totally in the act, but he was naked, and he’s, you know, hot, and I was just remembering, and noticing that he’s filled out a bit in the muscle department because he’s total rodeo.”

  “And?”

  She felt her cheeks color pink, and what the hell was up with that? She didn’t blush. And how could one word imply she should take off a piece of clothing? Maybe that was wishful thinking. Tucker crossed her legs under her in tailor style and felt a little thrill when his hand froze, holding his cup halfway to his mouth. Laird was noticing her as a woman. She hadn’t completely lost her touch. She shrugged a shoulder and her teal cashmere sweater slipped off her shoulder revealing the spaghetti strap lace of a camisole and another lacy strap of her bra.