How the Devlin Stole Christmas: A Billionaire Cowboy Prequel ~ Those Devilish Devlins

by Kilraine, Lee

Sometimes people—people who love you dearly—think they know what’s best for you. So they steer you in that direction. But what if they’re wrong? Because they choose safety over happiness. What’s the point of being safe if you’re miserable? Life is about taking risks. Love makes the risk worth taking.

  Max had shared pieces of herself that were like bright stars guiding me back to her. After too long away. There was a subtle knowing that maybe I wasn’t the one who was wrong about Max. And suddenly it felt like I was looking through glass that had just been wiped clean.

  I’d lived through the pain of losing Max once. It almost broke me. I’d been dead inside for three years. I’d be damned if I’d let it happen again. The last fourteen hours with Max had felt like … a Christmas miracle and I wasn’t going to throw it away.

  “Actually, I can’t.” I couldn’t picture Max anywhere but out here with a vast horizon, wind in her face, and endless acres to ride. “Jed, I respect the hell out of you. You and Dodo have been like parents to me. But I’m not going to do this again.”

  “Do what?”

  “Let Max go.”

  “After all I’ve done for you, this is how you’re going to pay me back?” Jed slapped his hat against his leg and scowled at me. “If you do, you’ll never work on my ranch again. One word from me and no one around here will hire you either. You won’t be welcome in Devil’s Lap.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. But it doesn’t change anything. Three years ago I did exactly what you wanted. But this time, if you’re asking me to choose between making you happy or making Max happy…. Max wins hands down.”

  “No, she doesn’t. Not when you’re ignoring the inherent dangers of ranch life.” The lines in Jed’s face etched deep and his voice edged sharp with panic. “Being thrown from a horse like my Tillie, or kicked by a bull. Hell, she can get crushed under an ATV.”

  “She could also get hit by a car walking across a damn city street.” I was three years older and wiser. I heard Jed’s pain and felt his fear, but Max was right. Life is about taking risks. Love makes the risk worth taking. “I’m sorry, Jed, but I’m not pushing Max away again out of fear over what might happen.”

  Max O’Conner was the first and only girl I’d ever loved. It was time I did something about it.

  I left the porch and headed to the barn, deciding to get the necessary chores done while I figured out how to get Max back. Max was pissed when she left. Rightfully so. Hell, I’d rejected her a second time. What did I expect? I’d dug myself a hole I might not climb out of.

  I’m finally ready to move on.

  “You do this and you’re fired!” Jed yelled at my back, his voice cracking with emotion. “You hear me?”

  I heard. I was sorry things with Jed were ending like this. Not to mention it would be tough to give up the security of my job on the O’Conner ranch, but I’d lived through lean times before. I could begin trying to make something of my own ranch. It would be a risk. But, like a very smart cowgirl told me recently, love makes the risk worth taking.

  14

  Max

  To say I wasn’t feeling any Christmas spirit when I arrived for the celebration that afternoon would be an understatement. Being the stubborn woman I was, I refused to let Locke Devlin ruin one more Christmas. I was going to enjoy the pageant and parade even if I hated every minute of it. Which made no sense, but it was hard to be miserable and logical at the same time. I intended to have a merry darn Christmas.

  The winter storm had given way to bright blue skies and milder temperatures. Still chilly, but not the freezing cold of yesterday. I walked around the different booths, saying hello to all the friendly faces. Just like always, everyone knew most of the details about my life. Congratulations on graduating. You always were a smart one. Look at you, big city girl. Don’t forget your roots, now.

  Forget my roots? I’d always believed I was firmly planted here, never needing or wanting to go anywhere else. But now…? Could I live here, watching Locke from a distance? Or would a little piece of my heart break off each time I saw him, until my chest was empty?

  When I saw the tall, wide-shouldered Santa waiting behind the twelve-foot, decorated-to-the-hilt, Douglas fir my heart stuttered and tripped. The Santa stood, eyes closed as if psyching himself up for the role. What were the odds of Locke making a completely romantic public gesture?

  Like when Bing Crosby appeared in the Santa costume at the end of White Christmas, totally surprising Rosemary Clooney who thought she’d lost the man she loved. Sure Locke had said he’d never be caught dead in the Santa suit and sure I’d walked away after telling him goodbye. But still…

  I walked over, my breath stuck in my throat, and pulled the beard down with a shaking hand.

  “Whoa.” Santa came to alert attention. “Don’t touch the beard.”

  Hazel eyes. Not stormy gray.

  “Hey, Liam. I see you drew the short straw this year?”

  “Heck no. What’s not to love about cute kids and pretty women sitting on my lap?” He wiggled his fake bushy white eyebrows up and down. “Come on. Sit on Santa’s lap and tell me what you want.”

  Liam sat on a square hay bale, pulling me sideways onto his lap. I anchored myself with an arm around his wide shoulders and looked into his warm, friendly eyes. The brothers were nearly identical except for their eye color and personality.

  “I can’t have what I want.”

  “Sure you can,” he said, making his voice deep like a jolly Santa. “Tell me and I’ll see what I can do.”

  “I want to punch a cowboy,” I said, releasing a frustrated sigh.

  “Ho, ho, ho.” Liam’s eyes twinkled like he thought I was kidding.

  “Totally serious, Santa.” I shook my head. “Why couldn’t I have fallen for you or Logan, instead of your clod-headed brother?”

  “Because you have horrible taste in men. I would have made a play for you, but you only had eyes for”—I frowned and poked a finger at his diaphragm, making him grunt—“for he-who-shall-not-be-named.”

  “I’ll be an unmarried spinster soon.”

  “You’re twenty-two.”

  “See? My mama was eighteen when she married my daddy.”

  “Things were different back then. Haven’t you heard about women’s rights? You know, female empowerment?”

  “Yes, smart ass. But women’s rights mean I have the right to choose what I want, not what others tell me I should want. And what I want is to live and work out in wide open spaces with a blue sky above me, marry a certain stubborn cowboy, and have his babies.”

  “Don’t say that word.” Liam warded me off with a hand close to my face. “I’m allergic.”

  “What word?” I pulled his hand away and grinned. “Marry or babies?”

  “Whoa, both.” Liam shuddered. “But mostly the first one.”

  “Some woman is going to come along and clean your clock, Liam Devlin. I hope I’m around to watch.”

  He pointed at me. “You just got yourself on the naughty list, young lady.”

  “Ha!” I snorted. “Nothing new about that.”

  “He loves you, you know.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.” I rested my head on Liam’s shoulder. I just needed a moment before plastering a smile on my face and heading back into the crowd. “If that’s true, he sure has a funny way of showing it.”

  “How much do you know about our childhood? About our family?”

  “Not much.” I shrugged. “Dad and Dodo refused to discuss it. They said your past was a reflection on your family, not you, and there was no sense dragging it out.”

  “I’ve got five minutes of my break left, so listen carefully. Santa’s going to tell you a story.”

  “Pretty sure I need to finally embrace reality.”

  “Hush. Once upon a time…a girl from the wrong side of the tracks, Honey Devlin, fell for the town’s golden boy, Chandler King. When she turned up pregnant, she was ostracized by everyone. The golden boy and his family, the
town, and even her own family. Things only got worse when she gave birth to triplets; the gossip around town exploded into a four-alarm blaze.

  “It was pretty hard to ignore a set of triplets, but the King family did it anyway. When the Devlin’s realized the triplets weren’t going to gain them a penny, we were worthless to them. We were treated like trash. Like an unwanted litter of puppies. We lived on scraps of everything. Clothes from the Goodwill sale table and food from St. Mary’s pantry. No love or parenting. As we got older, we ran through town unkempt and wild. Mama had escaped into drink. No one gave one damn about whether we were fed, went to school, or even home each night.

  “It was a scary way to grow up. Locke ended up saving us. One day—when we were about nine, maybe ten—he marched our scrawny behinds to your daddy’s ranch. Jed didn’t even ask. Just put us up in an empty bunk house, handed us decent clothes and fed us three squares a day. We stayed a week that first time. Left feeling a lot less like we’d need to wrestle a pig for scraps.”

  “That was right after we lost Mama. Daddy sent me off to Aunt Peggy’s.”

  “That explains why it was so quiet that summer.” He pinched my cheek.

  “Hahaha. Now finish the story.”

  “Right. Over the next couple years—when things got real bad—we’d show up at the ranch. Then—the summer we turned fifteen—Locke decided we could work for our keep. Showed up and began mucking out the stalls. The next day we fixed a line of fence. Every day, sun up to sun down, we’d work.

  “Working on the ranch was hard, but having full bellies and a safe place to sleep at night made it worth it.” Liam shrugged. “Figured we’d stay until our family came looking for us.”

  “Only nobody ever did,” I said. “I’m so sorry, Liam. No one deserves a family like that.”

  “Agreed. But thanks to your father and Dodo, we ended up okay.”

  “Is that the end?” I narrowed my eyes at him. “Does this story have a point?”

  “Always so impatient.” He tugged on his fake beard and grinned.

  “Hey, Santa, you’re on!” someone called from behind us.

  “Gotta go.” Liam scooted me off his lap and stood. “Time to go lie to cute, adorable kids with the Santa gig.”

  “You are the worst Santa ever.” I poked him in his fake fat belly.

  “Not true. Remember Mr. Farley?” Liam picked up his big red sack of toys. “And his love of baked beans?”

  “Smelly Santa.” My nose wrinkled at the memory. “I stand corrected.”

  He threw me a wink before heading off.

  “Hey, wait! You can’t leave me hanging. Why did you tell me that story?”

  “So you’ll understand why we Devlin brothers have a thing with trust. Especially Locke.” He gave me a hard look before disappearing around to the front of the tree.

  My heart broke for the little boys they were. An unwilling father refusing to acknowledge your existence and a cold-hearted mother refusing to love and care for you. How does a person learn to trust when their own family failed them so desperately?

  The answer was simple: they don’t.

  It did help me understand. Locke Devlin would never trust. He didn’t trust me or he never would have let my dad talk him out of marrying me. Twice. No, wait. Locke talked himself out of marrying me the second time all by himself.

  Either way, it reinforced the fact that my stubborn brain had finally made the right decision. It was time to walk away.

  15

  Locke

  I hadn’t attended the Christmas pageant and parade in downtown Devil’s Lap in years. Probably not since before I’d graduated high school. The townsfolk gave the Whos in Whoville a run for their money and—other than for a few sweet hours three Christmases ago—I’d never quite felt that nebulous thing called Christmas cheer.

  Not until yesterday. Spending Christmas Eve with Max had felt pretty damn magical. Something I’d like to repeat again and again for the rest of my days. All I had to do was find Max, convince her to listen to me, and hope her generous heart was willing to give this stubborn, idiotic cowboy one more chance. Which would only work if I hadn’t already stomped out all her feelings for me with my latest rejection.

  After searching through the crowd with no success, I did manage to find Logan.

  “Well, if it isn’t the Grinch.” Logan clapped his hand on my back. “You’re too late for a picture with Santa.”

  “Have you seen Max?”

  “Maybe.” Logan shrugged and arched an eyebrow at me. “Although, why do you care? According to a reliable source, she’s come to her senses and is finally over you.”

  “Who the heck is your reliable source?” There was no way the gossip worked that quickly. Not even in Devil’s Lap where the grapevine worked at light speed.

  “Max.”

  “Well, hell.” My heart dropped in a free-fall. Uh uh, Buddy. This is not the time to give up. Wrap the rope tight around your wrist and hold on. “I need to talk to her. Seriously, where is she?”

  “I love you like a brother, Locke—”

  “I am your brother.”

  He grinned. “Right. But you’re the last person Max wants to see right now.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know,” I bit out.

  “Banging your head against a wall burns 150 calories an hour.”

  “Funny.” I definitely wanted to bang someone’s head against a wall. “Want to hear something else funny? Turns out, Jed thinks Liam was the one having the tobacco spitting contest with Max a few years back.”

  “Ha ha ha. Now that is funny.” My brother’s grin went wide.

  “Yeah. But it’ll be even funnier when I set him straight.” I scanned the crowd, looking for Max’s sunshine streaked hair before moving my gaze to Logan.

  “Dude, that’s cold.” Logan frowned, but it got him talking. “She’s riding on Santa’s float with Liam. The oldest Barstow girl got food poisoning and Dodo rooked Max into taking her place as one of Santa’s elves. Which—hello—but when did Max become a hottie? She fills out that elf costume like—”

  “Shut it, Logan.” I couldn’t wait for the parade to finish before I talked to her. “Are you riding in the parade? Do you have Elvis and Cash here?”

  “Maybe.” Logan gave me the side-eye. “Why do you want my horses?”

  “I told you. I need to talk to Max.”

  “She’s gonna be pissed at me.”

  I slammed Logan with my pissed look.

  “Yeah, angry Locke is worse than angry Max. Max can be softened with chocolate cake. You…not so much. Let’s go.” Logan led us over to where Butch Lemmons stood waiting with the horses. “You’ll have to ride with me and Butch.”

  “That’s fine.” I nodded a greeting to Butch, taking in his clothing. “What’s with the get up?”

  “Historic cowboy dress. It’s part of the parade tradition. We’re representing the roots of Devil’s Lap.” Logan gestured to Butch. “He’s Bass Reeves. I’m Texas Jack. Which means you get to be King Fisher.”

  “None of them are from Devil’s Lap,” I said. “And why do I have to be the outlaw?”

  “It’s rumored they each drank at the Devil’s Lair,” Butch said.

  “And if the black hat fits…” Logan was having way too much fun at my expense. “But we can ask Max. See who she thinks is the bad guy between us.”

  “Don’t bother.” I knew she’d agree and I wouldn’t blame her either. “Let’s do this.”

  That’s how I ended up riding Elvis in the Christmas parade, dressed as a womanizing, horse thieving, gambling, murderous outlaw. A murderous outlaw dressed in a black cowboy hat, black silk shirt and vest, black chaps, and silver spurs with silver bells. What kind of badass outlaw wears silver bells?

  “This is our spot,” Logan said, steering our horses to the end of the parade. “Santa’s sleigh is three floats ahead of us, so make your move. If Max asks, I had nothing to do with this.”

  “That’s assuming I ca
n get Max to talk to me.” I clenched my jaw, and guided Elvis up past the “Rodeo Queens Forever” float and the “Young Ranch Hands” hay tractor until I was next to Santa’s sleigh. And Max.

  “Max.” I tilted my hat up to get a better look at her face. She sat on the edge of a hay wagon decorated to look like Santa’s sleigh. Absolutely the sexiest elf I’d ever seen. “I’d like to talk with you, please.”

  Liam glanced my way from Santa’s throne in the center of the float and did a double take on me. Right. Outlaw with silver bells. I sent him a warning glance and focused back on Max.

  “Liam.” Max kept smiling and waving at the cheering children along the parade route. “Please tell your brother I’m not speaking to him.”

  “Ho ho ho.” Liam turned his grin my way. “Locke, Max says to tell you she’s not speaking to you.”

  “I heard what she said.” I’d hurt her; I knew that. Which hit like a punch to my gut because I’d only ever wanted to see her happy. But I couldn’t fix it if she wouldn’t talk to me. “Max—”

  “Santa, remember when I told you I wanted to punch a cowboy?” Max said. “I’ve got one within arm’s reach who is tempting me sorely, but I’m pretty sure we’d have all the kids crying if Santa’s elf went Chuck Norris on his butt.”

  “Good point.” Santa/Liam caught my eyes and jerked his head at me. “Scram. Before you make this a Christmas parade for the history books.”

  I clenched my jaw and let Elvis drop back until I was riding next to Logan and Butch again.

  “Crash and burn, huh?” Butch grinned. “Maybe try sending her some flowers. Most women like that.”

  Logan snorted. “Max isn’t most women. I’m thinking she’ll feel more amenable if you let her punch you first.”

  “If I thought it would help, I would.” I more than deserved it.

  “The problem is Max can be stubborn. As stubborn as you,” Logan said. “You can’t outwait her. You’re going to have to grab the bull by the horns, so to speak.”

  “Yep, I think you’re right.” Bull by the horns.