Sweet Cowboy Christmas: A Sweet, Texas Novella

by Candis Terry

  When they’d gone into the kitchen for hot roast beef sandwiches, things hadn’t calmed down any. As they sat at the table across from each other, he’d wanted to move his chair closer. Every smile she threw his way he caught like Johnny Bench with the biggest catcher’s mitt on earth. He’d gotten to know her a little. Maybe not in the way he’d have liked, but he found her as interesting as she was sexy. He knew that putting on the flirt wasn’t her style, yet somehow she managed to do it so effortlessly, he couldn’t help be drawn in.

  This morning, when Chase enthusiastically headed to the lodge house to grab a cup of coffee, he discovered an elderly man, with what looked like at least a hundred years of character lines on his face, in one of the rockers on the veranda. The thin man’s snap-front Western shirt looked like it had been through a hundred washings, and the heels of his boots bore signs of a hundred miles of wear and tear.

  “Good morning.” Chase stepped up onto the veranda and stretched out his hand. “I’m Chase Morgan.”

  The old man looked up at him with a squint to his eye. “Yup.” He shook Chase’s hand without breaking eye contact. “First name’s Bull. Last name don’t matter because it ain’t shit.”

  Chase laughed and gave a nod to the I’M AN OLD FART. WHAT’S YOUR EXCUSE? coffee mug in the man’s hand. “Got any more of that coffee?”

  “Faith keeps a big pot brewin’ all day in the kitchen. Tastes best when it gets to the bottom.” He lifted the mug. “But this’ll do. Go on in and help yourself.”

  With a thanks, Chase headed inside, stopping to look at the now-fully-decorated tree and great room. Looked like Faith had stayed up all night to get the job done.

  Regardless of his personal beliefs on the holiday, the room looked spectacular. Decked out in colors of rust red and gold, the decorations on the tree blended with the strings of gilded beads and white lights like the perfect notes of a symphony. Even the swag of evergreen across the front of the fireplace was lit up and adorned with gigantic red and gold jingle bells.

  The sight took him back to the days when he, Boone, and Cassidy had stood side by side decorating a tree their daddy had brought home from a tree lot. They’d all go pick it out together and take a vote on which one made it to their living room. Chase had always felt bad when New Year’s Day came and out went the tree without a single shimmery bauble or equal fanfare as to the way it had come in the house.

  The memory squeezed his stomach. Before the misery could make its way into his throat, he went into the kitchen. There he found a woman as wide as she was tall in a long calico skirt and a Magic Box Ranch T-shirt stirring something in the pot on the stove that smelled like a slice of heaven with a dash of bacon. Her coppery hair fell into a long plait down the center of her back. When he entered the room, she turned toward him and flashed a grin across her broad face.

  “You must be Mr. Morgan. I’m Shelby, the head cook.” She wiped her palm on the plaid apron tied at her plump waist, then extended it to shake his hand. “We’re so pleased you could join us. Would you like me to fix you up some breakfast? Maybe a nice omelet or a country scramble?”

  “Call me Chase. And I don’t want to be any trouble. I was actually just looking for a cup of coffee.”

  “Nonsense.” She made her way over to a rolling cart that held a large Air Pot and all the fixings you could imagine for a cup of coffee. She grabbed a mug and pumped it full of a strong, steaming brew. “Faith would have my skin if I didn’t see you got something to eat. Do you take cream or sugar?”

  “Black’s just fine.” He took the cup and debated going back out onto the veranda to sit with Bull or staying right there with Shelby to see what she had cooking on the stove. “So, is Faith your boss?”

  “I guess you could say that. Basically, we all work together as a group, but when it comes down to facts and figures, Faith is our girl.”

  Interesting.

  “She said you helped her set up the tree last night,” Shelby said. “We appreciate that. She tries to wrangle us in every year. But between decorating the lodge house, the barn, and our own homes, one tends to get a little burned-out on all the holly jolly, if you know what I mean.”

  “I do.”

  “Now, Faith?” Shelby smiled even as she shook her head. “She never gets tired of it. It’s like she was born with mistletoe in her blood or something.”

  “She does seem to enjoy the process.”

  “Oh, it’s not just the process or even just Christmas. She puts every drop of her blood, sweat, and tears into this place. Sometimes we all just expect her to drop from pure exhaustion. Oddly, it seems to be the exhaustion she thrives on. Well, that and about a pot and a half of rich, dark brew.”

  Chase sipped his own coffee and nodded his approval. “It’s very good.”

  “Sounds like you’re not much of a breakfast person. Let me just whip you up something quick and light, and I’ll bring it out to you in the dining room.”

  He didn’t have the heart to tell her he wasn’t hungry, so he just smiled, and said, “That sounds great. But I’d prefer to eat in here if you don’t mind.”

  Shelby’s copper eyebrows shot up. “In the kitchen?”

  He nodded. “I’m not much of a fancy-dining-room kind of guy. I ate dinner in here last night with Faith.”

  “Well, don’t that beat all.” Shelby’s fists went to a pair of wide hips. “It’s not like her to allow guests to eat in the kitchen.”

  “Why not?”

  “Oh, she’s got this idea in that pretty head that the kitchen is sacred ground. You know, it’s like the dividing line between the rich and the . . . well, you get my meaning.”

  “Sounds like Faith might be a bit of a snob.”

  “Oh! Not at all. It’s just . . . there’s a bit of history there that I’m not at liberty to share. If you stay around long enough, you can ask her yourself.” She gave him a long once-over. “And if she let you in her kitchen, I’m guessing you’ll be staying.”

  Faith was becoming more of a mystery than he’d ever imagined. He already knew she had a generous heart with her charity work. So what else dwelled beneath those nice, firm breasts and adorable dimples? What secrets was she harboring? And why did everyone make it sound like she ran the Magic Box Guest Ranch all on her own?

  “How did you come to work at the ranch, Shelby?”

  “Oh, guess you could say I’m a stray like all the rest. Husband left me a few years back with three little boys and no income. I got a job washing dishes at Bud’s Diner in the mornings after I sent the kids to school. Paige—Faith’s sister—gave Faith a call and told her all about me. Next thing I knew, Faith had come into Bud’s for a burger and asked if I knew how to cook. The rest, as they say, is history.”

  “Sounds like Faith has a big heart.”

  “Now there’s an understatement. When she found out me and my boys didn’t have a place to hang our hats, she moved us into one of the bigger cabins until I could save up enough to find us a place of our own.”

  “So she’s generous too.”

  Shelby nodded. “And smart as a whip.”

  Curiosity rolled into a big pile of “what if” inside his head. For a man who was always at the top of his game, the notion that he currently had more questions than answers didn’t sit well.

  “If it’s all right with you,” he said to Shelby, “I’ll take that breakfast out on the veranda. There’s a man named Bull out there who looks like he’s full of good stories.”

  “That he is.” She laughed. “He’s full of something else too. You go on and have yourself a sit. I’ll be out in a jiffy with your meal.”

  WHEN FAITH PULLED the big ranch truck into the shade beside the barn, she spotted Chase sitting in the big red rocking chair on the veranda with a mug of coffee in his hand, smiling at some line Bull was feeding him. She didn’t know why just the sight of Chase made her stomach quiver. Well, other than the fact that he was gorgeous.

  Yeah, that would about do it.

&
nbsp; Especially for a woman who’d gone so long without intimacy with a man she’d almost forgotten what it was all about.

  Almost.

  Last night, after falling into his arms, decorating the tree, then sharing a meal and laughter, her dreams had been filled with vivid, steamy reminders.

  He looked different today. Less like he should be on a polo field—sipping mint juleps, not playing the game. Less like he should be rocking a three-piece suit and heading up a boardroom executive meeting.

  Less . . . stuffy.

  Maybe that had to do with the way his hair looked like he’d simply run his fingers through it after his morning shower rather than the careful way it had been combed when he’d arrived yesterday. Or maybe it had to do with the tight black T-shirt hugging his lean, sculpted muscles. Or maybe it was the pair of jeans he wore stacked over a dusty, worn pair of shitkickers.

  Her eyes slammed back down to his big feet.

  Where the heck had he gotten cowboy boots? And highly broken-in ones at that?

  Arms loaded down with supplies to restock the refrigerator and to replace the icicle lights that had blown out this past year, she headed toward the men, who appeared to be having the time of their lives.

  Odd, because Bull rarely smiled. He was a broken-down old cowboy who’d have been pulling himself from the gutter every day if she hadn’t taken him in, changed his way of thinking, and given him a job. The loss of his wife four years ago had sent him to his knees, and he’d had a hard time getting back up. Lola Crothers had been the love of his life since they married at only sixteen years of age. Never having been gifted with children, they’d spent nearly seventy years side by side as lovers and best friends.

  Until that fateful morning when Lola just didn’t wake up.

  Old Bull had wanted to crawl into that grave beside her. Instead, he’d crawled into a bottle. The only time he’d looked up was when Faith had offered him a friendly smile and a soft shoulder. From that moment, Bull had become family. But at the moment, she had to wonder exactly what he was up to.

  “Hey there.” Chase’s cheery smile widened when he saw her although he didn’t offer to get up out of that comfortable rocker and lend a hand with the packages.

  “I was just sitting here talking with Bull,” Chase said. “And guess what he just told me?”

  “That a Southern gentleman offers to help a lady with her burden?”

  “Not even close.” Chase clapped Bull’s bony shoulder in a “Hey, Buddy” gesture. “Bull here? He just told me that you don’t just work here at the Magic Box Ranch. You actually own the place.”

  Faith flashed a glare at Bull, who didn’t even bother to appear apologetic. Had she thought Bull was family? At the moment, he seemed to fit well in the wicked-stepsister department.

  “Is that so?” She tilted her head to take the shine off Chase’s toothy grin. “And why would you even be interested in such a matter, Mr. Morgan?”

  “Sweet thing.” Chase stood and pressed a knee against the chair to keep it from rocking. Apparently, he too believed the old wives’ tale that it was bad luck to let an empty rocker rock. “When it comes to you . . . I’ve got interest a mile long.”

  He came toward her with a confident swagger and, unsure of his intent, she took a step back.

  “Give me the bags, Faith.” He held out his hands. “Then how about you and I have a little . . . chat?”

  Faith gave up the grocery bags. Tossed Bull a “We will discuss this later” scowl. And spit fire as she followed Chase into the house.

  “BULL HAD NO business giving you that information.”

  Chase kept the smile from his face as Faith followed him into the kitchen. As he set the bags on the counter, he could feel the heat of her ire singeing his backside.

  Catching the drift that something was amiss, Shelby put down the big wooden spoon she’d been using to stir whatever was in the huge, cast-iron Dutch oven that smelled so delicious and made a quick exit.

  When Chase and Faith were alone, he turned and noted a flush highlighting her cheeks that he’d guess had nothing to do with the room temperature. He leaned back against the counter, folded his arms, and cocked one ankle over the other. “Soooo . . . why the big secret?”

  Pretty hands slammed down on shapely hips. “Aren’t you supposed to be relaxing and getting the stink of the city off you by doing ridiculous things like demanding expensive bottles of champagne or a hot-stone massage from a Barbie-doll blonde?”

  “You do hot-stone massages here?”

  “Don’t try to be sneaky and change the subject. And why are you dressed like . . .” Her hand fluttered. “That?”

  “I didn’t think helping out around here would work very well if I was wearing Armani.”

  “And why would you want to help out around here? You’re on a sabbatical. You’re a paying customer. Remember?”

  “Why the big secret, Faith?” He pushed away from the counter and moved toward her. When she didn’t back away from his advance, he smiled. He liked a woman who wasn’t afraid of a challenge. And he liked knowing that Faith didn’t see him as any kind of threat. Although if she could read his mind, she’d be looking for something to cover up that lusciously female body.

  He came to a halt right in front of her. Close enough to reach out, cup her lovely face, and lower his head to kiss her plump, soft lips. Somehow, he refrained from doing just that. “Why don’t you want anyone to know you’re the owner of the Magic Box Ranch?”

  She snagged her bottom lip between her teeth and gave his inquiry a good amount of consideration before she responded. Her response could be anything from a lie, to the truth, to telling him it was none of his damn business. He kept his fingers crossed for honesty. And because she was a woman who always seemed to tell the truth no matter how uncomfortable it might be, he had no doubt her response would be as from the heart as anything else she did.

  “When Paige and I were teenagers, our uncle Charles would hire us to come help him on the ranch. While our girlfriends were hanging around Pop’s Soda Shop, hungry for a date, we’d be working our tails off pushing steers and shoveling manure. Back then, it was just a cattle ranch. But my uncle paid us well, and I saved up the money to go to college. After I graduated, I worked as a rehabilitation therapist at Memorial Hermann in Houston. When my uncle Charles became ill, I quit my job and came home so I could help him out. When he passed away, I found out he’d left me the ranch.”

  Her shoulders came up in a shrug. “Guess I saw more in this old place than he ever did, so I started working toward making it what it is today.”

  “Admirable.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I do. But that doesn’t answer my question.”

  She gave him a direct look with those smoky eyes. “The reason I don’t tell guests I’m the owner is because men of a certain status—at least the ones who pay a healthy fee to come here—don’t seem to have much respect for a girl trying to build a dream.”

  “What do you mean not much respect?” A hundred images flew into Chase’s head—each one worse than the rest—that made him hope he wouldn’t have to go hunt someone down for hurting her.

  “I’m not talking about anything physical, so just get that ready to kick some ass look out of your eye. I just mean that they have a tendency to laugh. They find it hard to believe a simple backwoods girl like me—who wears jeans and boots—could achieve something this big. It’s just disrespectful. I graduated summa cum laude from the University of Houston, for Pete’s sake.”

  There seemed to be no end to the surprises hidden in the very lovely package that was Faith Walker.

  “So how do you deal with it,” he asked. “Other than hide the information?”

  A smirk kissed her lips. “Oh, you know . . . silly, immature things like putting them on the orneriest horse in the corral. Or telling them that the Perrier-Jouët they ordered wouldn’t arrive in time for their massage appointment. Just little things that would tick them off in
big ways.”

  He laughed. “You have a lot of spunk.”

  “I’m not sure I’d call it that. Low tolerance for wealthy jerks who like to throw their status around would probably be a better description.”

  Ouch.

  “Who wounded you, Faith?”

  “Wounded me?” Her head tilted, just slightly. But Chase had been in enough heated boardroom discussions to recognize that no matter the expression on a person’s face, the movement was a sign of affirmation.

  “Yes. What wealthy man tried to steal your fire? Wounded your soul? Left you so broken inside that you’ve become the snob?”

  Those dark gray eyes flashed just before they narrowed. “Excuse me?”

  “I’ve been here less than twenty-four hours, and not once, not twice, but more than a handful of times you’ve expressed your displeasure with the upper echelon of financially comfortable society. You even lumped me in with the bunch though you really know nothing about me, what I do for a living, or even how hard I work.”

  He paused. Waited for her to deny his accusations. She surprised him by remaining silent.

  “So tell me. Why did you quit your job and leave Houston? Was it just because your uncle was ill? Or were you fleeing something—or someone—unpleasant?”

  Her breasts lifted on one deep breath. Then two.

  “A woman doesn’t usually walk away from a job she loves or has worked hard to obtain,” she said. “It was about a man. As pathetic as that sounds.”

  “And in this case the man was . . . ?”

  “My fiancé. I won’t repeat his name for fear the earth will split wide open and swallow me up because I swore I’d never utter his name again.”

  So honest. Chase admired the hell out of that. He offered a grim nod even though he’d rather have smiled. “And . . .”

  “And, he was the head of orthopedic surgery and a bit older than me. I admired the way he treated his patients and how he worked so hard to find life-changing solutions for those who might otherwise have been forced to use wheelchairs. Like our soldiers who’d returned from war busted up by shrapnel from an IED and figured they’d live the rest of their lives in painful agony.”