Her arms were aching and she was breathing hard, but she was cutting her own Christmas tree. “I want to finish it.”
“Then when you get halfway, you need to go around and work from the opposite side.”
“Okay.” She stopped at the point he’d recommended and stood back. “It’ll look gorgeous in my living room.”
“Yes, it will.”
Something in his tone made her glance at him. In the soft twilight, his expression appeared tender, even slightly besotted. But she could be wrong. Darkness was closing in. “I’d better finish up while I can still see what I’m doing.” She walked around the tree and started on the other side. Maybe she was getting the hang of it, because the sawing went faster.
“Slow down a little, you’re almost there…move away. It should fall in my direction, but—there it goes!”
With a sharp crack, the top three-quarters of the tree toppled to the ground with a loud thump.
“I did it!” She hurried around to the other side. “I cut my own Christmas tree!”
“Congratulations.”
This time there was no doubt about the warmth of his gaze. She was standing right next to him. Couldn’t miss it even in the dim light. Made her tingle all over.
She swallowed. “We should head back.”
“Yep.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll take the tree.”
She glanced at it. Ginormous. Pete was a strong guy, but still… “Maybe you could just drag it along the—”
“Don’t want to risk breaking off branches.” Crouching down, he got his shoulder under the main part of the trunk and stood. “Let’s go.”
She stared at him for a moment, transfixed by the manly image of him balancing that huge tree on his shoulder. “I’ll lead the way.” She pulled her phone out of her pocket and activated the flashlight app. “This will help. Holler if I’m going too fast.”
“I will.”
She kept her light trained on the ground as she navigated the path, calling out warnings about roots and depressions that might trip him. As she neared the end, her breath caught. “Pete, the lights are gorgeous.”
“I can see them. Not the whole thing from here, but—”
“So pretty!” The closer she came to the house, the better her view. “Can you put down the tree and come look?” She hurried toward the driveway.
“Sure. Be right there.” Changing direction, he walked over to the side of the house and leaned the tree against it.
“Oh, man, it’s so great! Amazing!” She stood in the driveway, backing up to get the full effect. “The arch and the wagon wheels work so well. I think I like that better than the sleigh idea.”
Pete came over to stand beside her. “Yeah. It turned out really nice.”
“Thank you for going along with my spur-of-the-moment plan to do all this decorating.” Just thanking him seemed inadequate. Seemed like she should do something more, like hug him. Ah, no. Bad idea. She let out a breath. “We make a great team.”
“Uh, huh.”
Amazing how much depth of emotion he conveyed in two measly syllables. It warmed her all the way to her toes.
Chapter Nine
Pete’s resistance to Taryn was wearing dangerously thin, but he figured he had enough willpower left to fix the French toast he’d promised and help her trim the tree. Then he’d hightail it outta there before he blew the whole program by kissing her.
While she went in search of her tree stand, he hauled the pine up on the porch and waited for her signal that the stand was in place. Getting chilly out here. Would she make a fire? Eating French toast in front of the fire would be nice. Maybe too nice…
She opened the door. “It’s set up. You can bring it in.”
He backed the tree in so the branches would fold toward the trunk and make it through the door.
“It smells wonderful.”
“Sure does. To me, Christmas doesn’t start until you bring in the sweet-smelling tree.”
“I absolutely agree with you.”
“Where’s it going?”
“Over in that corner.” She pointed to it. “Should be far enough away from the fireplace so it won’t be a hazard, but Caitlin will be able to get a shot of both the fireplace and the tree.”
“Good choice. Could you get down on the floor and guide me as I put it in the stand? It’s so bushy I can’t see what I’m doing.”
“Gotcha.” She dropped to her hands and knees, peered under the tree and called out directions. “That’s great, right there. You’re centered.”
He shoved the tree onto the metal spike. “I’ll steady it while you tighten the screws.”
“I’m on it.” She crawled around him, brushing against his legs as she secured the tree in the stand.
All this proximity was torture, but he was the doofus who’d suggested getting the tree and decorating it tonight. Setting up a Christmas tree required working closely together. He hadn’t factored that in.
“It should be solid. You can let go.”
He slowly released his hold on the trunk and the tree stayed put. Then he backed away. “It has a great shape. No bad side.”
Getting to her feet, she brushed off her hands. “I didn’t see any when I was cutting it. I’ll get the lights and ornaments.”
“Need help?”
“Nope.” She hurried down the hall. “Got everything packed in one box and it’s light.”
He unbuttoned his jacket and hung it on a row of hooks she had by the door. Put his hat on another one.
“Here we go.” She set the box on the floor next to the tree and opened the flaps. “I think we need something to drink and a few munchies to get us through until it’s French toast time. Want a beer?”
“Love one. Thanks.” It wasn’t the first time he’d shared a beer with her, but they hadn’t done it often. They’d usually opened a couple of bottles to toast a new horse in the barn. And they’d celebrated with a beer after each of the cabins had been finished.
She came out of the kitchen with two long necks dangling from one hand and an open package of potato chips in the other. “We have so many fun things to toast that I don’t know which to choose. There’s Noel Lorraine, and the decision to offer a Christmas vacation package, and the beautiful lights, and—”
“I know what to toast.” He took the bottle she handed him. “To your first Christmas in Eagles Nest.”
“That’s a good toast.” She touched her bottle to his. “To my first Christmas in Eagles Nest. And yours.” She took a long swallow and sighed. “Just think. If my folks hadn’t made reservations for a Dickens Christmas in London, I’d be in San Francisco right now.”
“Do you miss them?”
“A little. It seems weird since we’ve never been apart for Christmas. But that was a foregone conclusion even before the divorce. They wanted us to go with them, but my ex wasn’t interested.” She held out the chips. “Want some?”
“Sure.” He took a few out of the bag.
She set it on the coffee table and pulled out a handful for herself. “After we filed for divorce my parents were all set to spend a ton of money to add me to their travel plans, but I’d already negotiated with my ex to get this place as part of our settlement and I was eager to plunge into my guest ranch idea. So here I am.” She popped a chip into her mouth.
“I don’t think you ever told me why you and your ex bought the property.”
“It was mostly my idea. I’ve always liked the idea of investing in real estate. It was supposed to be an investment and a getaway for us, but a guest ranch was in the back of my mind from the beginning.”
“Why?”
“The romance of it.” She ate another chip.
“Excuse me?”
“In my hospitality classes we studied all kinds of scenarios—hotels, inns, cruise ships, B&Bs, and guest ranches. A ranch was completely out of my experience and it sounded exotic, romantic, exciting.”
“What’s your take on it now that you’ve dealt w
ith the nitty-gritty?”
“Kind of the same.”
“Hm.” He gazed at her. “Well, if you haven’t been scared off by the work you’ve done so far, I expect you’ll end up sticking around.”
“I expect I will.” She set her beer on the coffee table and crouched next to the box. “Oh, wow, we get to string more lights! I’ll bet you’re excited.”
“Matter of fact, I am.” He left his beer next to hers. “These are colored.”
“That they are.” She reached in the box and brought out two neat bundles of lights. “When it comes to the tree inside, I’m all about the colored lights.” After plugging in each set to test it, she handed him one. “And look at that. I don’t need to haul out a stepstool. You can reach the top of this sucker.”
“Just barely. I don’t know if two strands will be enough.”
“That’s okay. I have a third one in there if it’s not. Here, I’ll get behind the tree and we can pass the strand back and forth.”
“Just about to suggest that.” The job went quickly, as it usually did when he worked with Taryn. Except ever since yesterday he experienced a little jolt of pleasure every time his hand touched hers. “By the way, the lights on those big pines won’t be going around the tree.”
She laughed. “They won’t?”
“Not unless one of us sprouts wings during the night.”
“I’ve always wished I could fly.”
“Want to come up in the bucket with me tomorrow when I do those trees? It’s not exactly flying, but you’d get a bird’s-eye view.”
“I would love to go up in the bucket. I didn’t think of that option. What fun.”
He should have known she’d want to. “Be sure and bundle up. It’ll be colder up there, especially if there’s a breeze.”
“I can take it. All right, I’m plugging in the lights. Eyeball it and see how it looks.” She came out from behind the tree.
“Hold still. You have a piece of a pine branch in your hair.” Walking over, he gently disentangled it. He’d never touched her hair before and it took great self-control not to run his fingers through those silky waves.
“Thanks.” She sounded breathless and she moved away quickly. “Lights look perfect to me! It’s ornament time!”
He glanced at the segmented boxes she laid out on the coffee table. No two ornaments were alike. “Looks like these were collected one at a time.”
“Yep. They were all on the big family tree until I got married.” She hung a fabric star with her name embroidered on it. “Then my folks insisted I take them.” She glanced at him. “You can hang some if you want.”
“I’m worried I’ll drop an heirloom.”
“Nah, I trust you.”
“Alrighty, then.” He joined her in the familiar ritual and as a bonus, he learned more about her past because each ornament had a story.
Gradually, sipping beer and eating chips along the way, they emptied the boxes. When they’d finished, he glanced at her. “If your folks gave you all these, wasn’t their tree a little bare?”
“It would have been, but they went with a smaller tree. We used to get a humongous one. They plan to collect more ornaments and I’m sure they’ll buy a bunch in London. They’ll have a humongous tree again in no time.”
“I hope I get to meet your folks one day. They sound like happy people.”
“They are, and I’m sure you will meet them. They would have been over to visit before now, except I asked them to hold off until I’d pulled the place together.”
“Then they should be showing up soon.”
“It’s close.” Taking a deep red ribbon out of the box, she created a zigzag pattern across the front half of the tree. “And we’re done! I can almost taste that French toast. I’ll get you started in the kitchen and then I’ll build a fire.”
“Can we eat in front of it?”
“That was my plan. The coffee table can be raised to dining table height.”
“I didn’t know that.” But why would he? He’d never spent an evening in her house. Or sat on her sofa, if it came to that.
For months he’d worked side-by-side with her, often sharing a cup of coffee and an occasional beer. He’d eaten lunch with her many times, either at the ranch or in town. But through all that he’d still been the hired hand who’d gone home every day after the horses had been fed.
She headed into the kitchen. “I have an electric griddle if that’s—”
“Exactly what I like to work with. A much faster way to accomplish it than a frying pan.”
“Then here’s that.” She took it out of a cupboard. “And a bowl, and a whisk—eggs, cream and butter in the fridge…” She turned to him. “What else?”
“Vanilla and cinnamon.”
She got a bottle of vanilla from another cupboard and cinnamon from her spice rack. “Done and done.”
“Then I’m all set. I’m thinking we’ll want coffee with this.”
“Yeah. Beer and French toast. Blech.” She made a face. “I’ll start the coffee.”
“Okay.” While she measured out the beans and dumped them in the grinder, he took what he needed from the fridge. They moved around the kitchen easily, as if they were used to operating together in a kitchen even though they’d never done it before. Made sense. They’d been sharing barn duties for months.
Once Taryn had understood the barn routine and had become comfortable with the tasks, she’d performed them with an admirable efficiency of movement. That was also his strong suit, and their morning and evening chores had become almost like a dance. He’d never mentioned that to her. Hadn’t seemed appropriate.
Besides, he wasn’t given to saying stuff like that. He wasn’t a flowery speech sort of guy. Telling a woman that working with her in the barn was as effortless as dancing…well, he could guarantee it wouldn’t come out right. Better to keep that concept to himself.
She left the kitchen to go build a fire and he threw himself into making the best damn French toast of his life. He didn’t have a large repertoire, only two or three things, really, but what he could make was food for the gods.
His secret was dipping the bread in the bowl, arranging all the pieces on the skillet and spooning the rest of the mixture on each individual piece. Then they puffed up like nobody’s business.
If he were at home, he wouldn’t bother getting fancy, but because he wanted to impress Taryn, he cut the slices in half diagonally before dipping them. They looked better on the plate that way.
“Smells delicious.” She came back into the kitchen to get silverware, placemats and napkins.
“So does the fire. Nothing like cedar.”
“My favorite. How soon before we eat?”
“Less than five minutes.”
“Good. I’m starving.” She left with their utensils.
She had more than one set of plates so he chose the ones with a turquoise center and a beige rim decorated with Native American symbols. Then he found a small pan and poured the syrup into it. Might as well do this right. He set the pan on the burner and turned it on low. Then he went back to the cupboard where he’d found the plates and took out a ceramic pitcher that matched.
“I see you found my favorite plates.”
He glanced up. “I can see why they would be. If you were going to serve someone breakfast in that bed we put together, these would be the ones to use.” The words had popped right out. He hadn’t meant them to be suggestive.
But her cheeks turned pink. “I guess they would. Are you ready for me to pour the coffee?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll be in with the food in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”
She took out mugs that matched the plates, filled them and carried them into the living room.
The French toast was the exact shade he’d been going for and the slices looked festive laid across the plates in a neat row. Some strawberries tucked along the edges would look good, but that was a summertime garnish.
He poured the syrup into t
he pitcher, made sure everything was turned off, and balanced both plates on one arm so he could carry the syrup in his other hand.
Taryn had taken a seat on the sofa, and she turned and smiled when he came in. “Hey, now. Somebody’s had experience as a waiter.”
“Earned some extra cash that way when I was in high school.” He put down the pitcher before setting her plate in front of her. “Isn’t the table a little too far away?”
“Yep. There are wheels cleverly disguised in the legs. Once you sit down we’ll pull it forward.”
“That’s quite a versatile piece of furniture.”
“When you work in hotel management, you learn about all kinds of furniture options. Have a seat.”
He settled down next to her.
She pulled the table forward, caging them in. “Now reach down. At the bottom of the leg there’s a little locking mechanism so our food won’t roll away from us.”
“Got it.”
“Then let’s eat.” She spread her napkin in her lap. “Fabulous presentation.”
“Thanks.”
She picked up the pitcher and poured a generous amount of syrup over the crispy slices. As he waited for his turn with the syrup, he soaked up the ambiance. Firelight gleamed in her auburn curls and glowed in her dark eyes. He breathed in the combined aroma of wood smoke, cinnamon and Taryn’s spicy scent. He wouldn’t trade places with anyone in the world right now.
He quickly poured his syrup because evidently she was waiting for him before she began eating. He put down the pitcher. “Dig in.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice.” Cutting off a thick piece with the side of her fork, she swirled it in a puddle of syrup, lifted the fork to her mouth and took her first bite.
It was rude to stare so he didn’t, but her soft moan of pleasure was the sweetest sound he’d heard in ages. It also went straight to his groin. “Like it?”
“Mm-hm.” She finished chewing and swallowed. “You can make this for me any old time you feel like it.”
“Glad it hits the spot.” He had permission to make French toast for her on a regular basis. Although it wasn’t the activity he had in mind at this very moment, it was a start.
A Cowboy's Holiday (The McGavin Brothers Book 12) Page 6