How the Devlin Stole Christmas
A Billionaire Cowboy Prequel ~ Those Devilish Devlins
Lee Kilraine
How the Devlin Stole Christmas
Copyright © 2019 by Lee Kilraine
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, businesses, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Editing by K&T Editing
Cover Design by NPTB Creatives
Made in the United States of America
Created with Vellum
Contents
1. Max
2. Max
3. Locke
4. Max
5. Locke
6. Max
7. Locke
8. Max
9. Locke
10. Max
11. Locke
12. Max
13. Locke
14. Max
15. Locke
16. Max
17. Max
Max’s Epilogue
Locke’s Epilogue
A Note From the Author
A Sneak Peek: The Devlin Looks After His Own
Special Thanks…
About the Author
1
Max
I was about to find out if I was either the world’s most idiotic optimist or a glutton for punishment. No more waiting. I sucked in a breath of cold air, using the pain of it sliding down my throat and into my lungs to remind me this was actually happening.
Releasing a slow, shaky exhale, I gathered my nerve and lifted my hand to knock on the weathered front door when it jerked open.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Locke Devlin stood like an imposing shield—a hot, sexy, grumpy imposing shield. He couldn’t have been more unwelcoming, even if he held a rifle in one hand and the leash of a snarling guard dog in the other.
Okay, so possibly the most idiotic glutton for punishment then. But seeing as how I’d just settled into the saddle, I might as well see this ride through to the end.
“Delivering Dodo’s Christmas cake, you ingrate.” I would not let the man intimidate me. I had a plan and I was going to execute it.
“I mean back in town. You’re supposed to be off at college.” His light gray gaze roamed over my face. “Not here bugging me again.”
Hitting him in the jaw wouldn’t be productive. Sure, it would feel great, but it wouldn’t advance my goal. I thought I was prepared to see him again. I wasn’t. Just like always, my lungs seized up and a kaleidoscope of manic butterflies took flight, throwing themselves every which way in my chest. Buck up, buttercup.
“It’s great to see you too.” I fluttered my eyelashes and gave him a sweet smile. Although, not my sweetest smile.
“Well?” he growled, crossing his arms over his wide chest.
“Well, what?” I notched up my chin, dragging my gaze from his muscled arms and chest up to meet his eyes.
“Why are you back in town?” He stood in the doorway, making it clear I wasn’t welcome. Of course the frown on his face helped with that too.
“I graduated a semester early,” I said. “Out of curiosity, who died and made you gatekeeper of Devil’s Lap?”
He ran a hand over his face. Just like he used to every time I’d frustrated him over the years. Oh, what fond memories.
“I’m surprised to see you, is all. I figured you’d be living in the city putting that fancy accounting degree to use.”
“Then you don’t know me very well.” I knew what he was doing. Like a burr under a saddle, he was trying to piss me off until I blew up and stomped away. Not today, Locke Devlin. I gave an exaggerated shiver. “It’s pretty cold out here. Can I come in? Christmas cake, remember?”
“Consider it delivered,” he said, reaching out his big, calloused hands to take it from me.
“Oh, no.” I pulled the cake container against my chest. “This is Dodo’s special Christmas cake. She gave me explicit instructions for delivery. You can’t simply toss it on the counter. There are steps.”
“Steps?” Locke’s face pretty much said “bullshit” but he stepped back, opening the door wider to let me in, looking about as happy as if I carried a box of scorpions inside. “Fine. When you get home, please tell your grandmother thank you.”
I stepped in quickly before he could change his mind. Thank you, Dodo. The fact that his trust and respect for my grandmother overruled his wariness of me was my foot in the door.
“I can’t believe you bought this place,” I said, following behind his large body into the brightly lit kitchen. The black long-sleeved thermal shirt and well-worn faded jeans he wore highlighted his wide shoulders and muscled back. Was he as tall and solid as an oak tree the last time I’d seen him? I dragged my gaze away before he caught me staring and glanced around the kitchen. “It’s been empty as long as I can remember. Are the stories true?”
“If you’re talking about it being haunted, no.”
“So, no ghost of Rose Foster roaming through the house waiting for her husband to come back to her? I always thought it was kind of romantic.”
“Romantic? The guy went off searching the old mining caves on the ranch for treasure and never came back. What’s romantic about that?”
“Not that part. The part about her waiting for him. People around town say they’ve seen her pacing through the house and along the front porch. All these years.”
“Yeah, well, people in town also say some of the land on this ranch has valuable minerals. Gold even. At the price I bought it at, I can guarantee there’s not a molecule of valuable minerals on the whole two-hundred and fifty acres. There are all kinds of ludicrous rumors flying around the gossip mill.”
“Is that why you bought this place?” It looked like he’d knocked down a few walls. Or maybe they fell down as dilapidated as the house was. Either way, it opened the kitchen up to an expansive family room with an absolutely huge fireplace.
“Hell, no. It was the only ranch I could afford. The bank foreclosed on it ten years ago and it’s been falling apart ever since. They were happy to have some sucker come along and take it off their hands.” He shrugged, moving his gaze around the space. “Seems like the idea of living with ghosts scared people off.”
“Except for you.” I set the cake box on the kitchen island and quickly shrugged out of my coat.
“I told you, no ghost. Not once in the two years I’ve—” Locke did a double-take over to me. “What are you wearing?”
“Wearing?” I smoothed my hands over my skintight V-neck sweater and down to my practically painted on dark blue jeans. The last time Locke had seen me I’d been lean as a string bean. Most girls in college complained about the “freshman fifteen.” I’d celebrated every new curve. I was hoping my curves would entice one stubborn cowboy. “Uh, clothes. I’m wearing clothes.”
Locke ran his gaze over me, up and down and up again. “Whose?”
“Ha ha, very funny.”
“I wasn’t joking.”
“People change, Locke.” Was it really so hard for him to believe? That Maxine O’Conner, the former diehard—wouldn’t-be-caught-dead-in-a-dress—
tomboy could look feminine? “I’ve changed.”
Thunder rumbled overhead as if my little white lie had angered the heavens.
“Uh huh. The Max I knew could outshoot and outride most every ranch hand in Texas. That Max would throw a punch if a cowboy dared to treat her like a girl.”
“Well, I’ve grown up.” I clenched my jaw, tilting my chin at him, pushing back the urge to lasso and hogtie him to one of his kitchen stools. Not that I was ruling that option out. I wasn’t a three-time rodeo queen for nothing. I’d just tuck it away if all my other plans failed. “I mean, why fight being a girl when it comes with these curves?”
Locke made some noise in his throat, sounding suspiciously like a stifled growl. His face flushed and his eyes narrowed. “Can you just get on with delivering the cake?”
“Cake? Oh, sure.” I turned back to the cake box on the butcher-block counter and opened the lid. “There you go.”
“That’s it? That’s the special step? Open the box?” He rolled his eyes and strode forward, his face stiff and serious, looking like he was ready to usher me out of his kitchen, his house, and his life. “I knew you were up to something.”
“Up to something?” I backed up and around, putting the kitchen island between us. “Since when is catching up with an old friend being ‘up to something’?”
“An old friend? We haven’t spoken since—” He stopped abruptly, pressed his lips together as a frown etched lines across his forehead.
“Since the night you took my virginity?”
2
Max
Locke’s handsome face looked strained. Tortured even. And while I’d always gone for the jugular in a contest, I also believed in a fair fight. Making Locke feel guilty wasn’t my goal. Not at all. Well, at least, not about that.
“Okay, that’s a bald-faced lie. You didn’t take my virginity. I gave it to you.” Threw it at him might be more accurate, but my pride liked to remember it differently. Silly me. I thought it was romantic. Sort of like a gift (for both of us) on Christmas Eve.
“I shouldn’t have touched you.” He’d recovered and now his face was an inscrutable mask. The man had always had a great poker face.
“Well, you did,” I said, peering up at him, trying to find the smallest crack in his armor. “And I enjoyed it very much. In fact, I’d like to repeat it. Tonight even. I’m free.”
“Not going to happen, Max.” His fists clenched and his lips pressed together. “I regret it ever did.”
“Regret it?” Okay, that hurt. I actually felt the sharp sting of tears in the back of my eye sockets, and I was not a crier. I’d be darned if I’d cry in front of him. Jerking my gaze away, I blinked wildly in an attempt to gain control. “You regret making love with me?”
“I do.”
His admission was a sharp slice of pain. I gripped the counter with both hands while I counted slowly to ten. Needing a distraction, I pulled open drawers in the kitchen island until I found the knives, grabbed one out, and commenced to cut a slab of Christmas cake with shaking fingers.
Without even looking, I knew he’d moved around the island to stand next to me. The heat from his rock hard body engulfed me, stirring up memories.
“I’m sorry, Max, but we both know it was a mistake.”
“You can shut up now.” Don’t punch him. Don’t punch him. Don’t punch him.
“If I could go back in time and change one thing, I’d change that.”
“You know what?” I focused on the slice of cake in my hand while I tried to decide if giving in to tears or a knee to his crotch was the appropriate response.
“What?”
“You’re a jerk.” Quick as a rattlesnake and much to Locke’s surprise, I shoved the piece of cake in his face.
Locke wrapped one hand around my wrist, holding it captive while he scraped the cake off with his other hand. When he let go he calmly picked up a dishtowel from next to the sink and ran it over his face before hitting me with a cool gaze.
“Feel better now?” he asked.
“Not really,” I said. Especially because I had a strong urge to go up on my tiptoes and lick away the small dab of frosting left on his jaw. I resisted for the greater cause. Instead, I pointed to the spot. “You missed some.”
He smoothed his palm over his jawline, totally missing it.
I reached out and swiped my finger over the dab of icing. The feel of his hard jaw with its late-day stubble had my hand shaking. Our gazes locked together and my lungs felt so tight I thought they’d burst. I jerked back and away, because being close to him sucked the oxygen right out of me. Breathe, Maxie, breathe.
“For what it’s worth, I didn’t mean it as an insult. I only meant I should have left you alone because you were naïve and innocent.”
“Is that why you rejected me?”
“I don’t see the point in rehashing the past. It was years ago.”
“I will never forgive you.”
“You were eighteen and hardly been kissed.”
“Ha! Shows you how little you know,” I grumbled. “I kissed all the boys. I was the kissing queen of Devil’s Lap, Texas.”
“Really?” He arched an eyebrow. “Who?”
“Who?”
“Uh huh, who? Name one. I’ll wait…” He leaned his hip against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest, looking hot (darn it) and cocky.
“Pfft. Why would I tell you? Besides, there are too many to name.”
“There are exactly zero.”
“How the heck would you know?”
“Because you had a crush on me since the eighth grade. You followed me around like a shadow all through high school.”
“Wrong.” I’d actually been in love with Locke Devlin since the first time I laid eyes on him when I was eight. “There was one… You.”
“I don’t count.”
“I guess you’re right. I should really only count the good kisses.”
“Excuse me?” He grinned and it felt like a condescending pat on the top of my head. “So now you’re an expert judge of kissing?”
“Maybe not an expert, but not the ‘naïve and innocent’ girl you kissed.” I shrugged and bit my bottom lip. “Three and a half years of kissing college boys was very educational.”
“Glad to hear it.” His grin disappeared and his jaw muscles contracted, not looking glad at all.
A white lie was okay if it was for a good reason, right? Technically, I hadn’t lied. More like misled. Because kissing other guys in college had taught me something. It taught me there was only one man I wanted kissing me. So far, my plan to lasso him was failing, but I was no quitter. I’d gentled and trained wild horses before.
“Don’t you want to know how I’ve been?”
“I know how you’ve been. Your dad talks about you all the time. Max made Dean’s List again. Max kicked butt in her exams. Max scored a prime internship.”
“Oh, yeah. He’s pretty proud of me.”
“What’s not to be proud of? You kicked the ranch dust off your boots, went head-to-head with the big city girls and thrived. Everyone’s proud.”
“Even you?” I asked.
“Yeah, Max. Even me. Not that I’m surprised. You always could do anything you set your mind to.”
“Well, I always figure if the goal is important enough—it’s worth putting everything I have into it.” I bit my lip, searching his eyes for the fierce flame that used to flare up when he looked at me. But his gaze stayed cool—not even a flicker. “In fact, I’ve got a big goal I’m working on right now. I’m throwing everything I’ve got at it.”
“Good luck. I hope you get what you want. You deserve it.”
Of course, Locke was too dense (or too stubborn) to know that what I wanted was him.
“Appreciate you bringing the cake, but you need to leave. Now. Weather reports say this lightning storm’s got a cold front behind it and roads are going to get slick.”
“Oh, my gosh! I totally forgot.” I blinked my
eyes a few times, going for a completely innocent look. But Phase One had just crashed and burned on me. Time for Phase Two. “My truck died right when I pulled up.”
“Sure it did.” Locke threw me a narrow-eyed frown as he turned, heading for the front door. “Coat.”
“Pants.” I waited a beat. Sure enough he stopped and turned in his tracks, looking at me like I was crazier than a pig on ice. “We are playing a word association game, right?”
“Grab your coat, Max. It’s time to go.”
“Oooh. Okay then.” Grabbing my coat from the chair I’d hung it on, I slid it on and gave him a salute. Which earned me a growl and a view of his well-muscled back as he strode out the door and off the long porch. I made a quick detour in case I needed to go to Phase Three before following him outside to my truck.
“What about your coat? It’s freezing out.”
“I doubt this will take very long.” His glance over his shoulder was chock full of accusation as he popped the latch and lifted the hood of my truck. “I have a feeling this will be an easy fix.”
Mr. Smarty Pants acting like he knew me. Ha!
“Yep, your battery is disconnected.”
So, he knew me. I should have changed the gap on the spark plugs but the gosh-dang optimist in me had hoped that between me and Dodo’s cake he’d have welcomed me with open arms.
“Oh, wow. That’s so weird.” I leaned in next to him to look. “I wonder how that happened.”
“It’s a real mystery.” He reconnected the battery while he mumbled under his breath. (It sounded a lot like: Sure to go down in history as one of the great damn mysteries of the world.)
Watching Locke’s hands sent a familiar delicious tug low in my belly. His hands always got me. Big and strong with calloused palms from long days of hard physical work. Many a time I got distracted watching him lasso a calf or dragging up a fallen barbed wire fence or dealing out the next hand of poker in the bunk house.
How the Devlin Stole Christmas: A Billionaire Cowboy Prequel ~ Those Devilish Devlins Page 1