The Trouble with Christmas

by Amy Andrews

  He grunted his usual cursory greeting before heading directly to Zoom’s tank, his long legs easily eating up the distance. “I fed him already,” she said.

  He faltered. “Oh, thank you.”

  He detoured to the drinks cabinet instead, grabbing a tumbler and the bottle of bourbon, which reminded her of the blizzard and made her cranky. And horny. Which made her crankier.

  “You want one?”

  Suzanne shook her head. The way she was feeling right now, she’d probably dump it over his stupid fat head. “Please tell me you get a day off tomorrow?”

  He downed the first slug of bourbon. “There’s no such thing as a day off for a rancher,” he said, talking to the bottle as he poured himself another.

  Suzanne blinked at the belligerence in his tone. Was he trying to prove some kind of point? Apart from how much of an asshole he could be? “Your men also work Christmas Day? Don’t they have families?”

  “They get Christmas off.”

  “We’re expected at Winona’s at eleven.” God, she sounded like a…wife. “The snowman competition kicks off just after that.”

  “Of course it does,” he muttered as he lifted the tumbler. “Don’t worry. There’s only a couple of hours’ work in the morning.” He looked over his shoulder and raised his drink in her direction, his lips twisted in derision. “Fake rancher boyfriend will be present for duty.”

  Then he downed it, savoring it in his mouth for long moments before swallowing like it might be his last. Like he was going to his death tomorrow instead of a freaking feast.

  Cooked by someone else.

  “I’m going to hit the shower,” he said, moving away from the cabinet and not glancing in her direction.

  Suzanne watched him go, striding through the archway and disappearing from sight. She shook her head. He was damn lucky she wasn’t one of those bunny boilers, or Zoom would be in a pot on the stove right about now.

  …

  Grady felt lower than a snake’s belly in a wagon rut the next morning when he strode toward the cabin at just past eleven. He had been avoiding Suzanne the past three days, staying late in the barn tinkering with shit and doing unnecessary maintenance, but he hadn’t meant to be late this morning. He’d told her he’d be home in time for them to be at Winona’s by eleven and he’d meant it.

  He’d agreed to play a role and today was center stage. And he knew how much Christmas—this hokey, ridiculous Christmas—meant to Suzanne. Plus, Cora and Burl were going to be there.

  But there’d been a situation with one of the bulls, and he’d had to get the vet. Goddamn it. This was just the reality of being a rancher. Rain, hail, shine. Blizzard.

  And yes, fucking Christmas.

  He noticed her parents’ car was gone and breathed a sigh of relief. At least they’d gone on ahead without him and he could put off having to face Suzanne for a little while longer.

  Yeah…no such luck.

  He opened the cabin door to find her waiting for him. “And a Merry Christmas to you, too, Joshua,” she said, folding her arms, obviously angry.

  But it was the disappointment lurking in her eyes that was hardest to take.

  He held up his hands in a placatory manner as he drew closer. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

  She sliced a hand though the air. “I don’t care for your lame-ass excuses,” she said, her voice low and tight, her jaw clenched. “Just go and get ready. They’re expecting us.”

  Grady contemplated explaining but screw it. This was what he wanted, right? To push Suzanne away? He’d already let her far too close.

  “Here.” She picked up a folded long-sleeve T-shirt that was sitting on the back of the couch. “Put this on. I gave it to you for Christmas. You’re welcome.”

  Crossing to where she stood, he took the shirt, holding it up to inspect it. It was red with the word Ho emblazoned in white across the front and the number 1 just above it and to the left like it was a chemical symbol. He shook his head. “Ho one? Seriously?”

  She unfolded her arms to reveal she was Ho two. “It matches mine,” she said, her voice steely. “We thought they were cute. Because we’re that couple.”

  Yep. She was pissed. Grady’s hands tightened on the shirt. None of this was his doing, damn it. He wasn’t the one behind this ridiculous plan.

  “My parents are wearing Ho three and Ho four. My parents, Grady.”

  Grady shook his head at the shirt. It was a fucking travesty. “This should be against the law.”

  “Your objection is duly noted. Now, can you please just put it on? I’m sorry I’m all out of paintings. Unless—” Her breath suddenly hitched and her expression morphed from spitfire angry to heart-wrenchingly anxious, her hand sliding to her throat as her teeth worried her bottom lip.

  “No.” Grady shook his head quickly, shoving the shirt under his arm as he took a step closer to assure her.

  Christ…he knew he’d been a mean son of a bitch these last few days. It had been deliberate. Because the fact that he hadn’t wanted to leave Suzanne the other morning had terrified him. He’d never not wanted to leave. But she was leaving. And it was just as well. She wasn’t cut out for this kind of existence. The fact she was standing here pissed at him about having her Christmas morning ruined was a classic reason why.

  She didn’t understand the ranching way of life because she belonged in the city with its buildings and its galleries and its art. He was just helping to cement that in case thirty-six hours of mind-blowing sex was giving her any ideas to the contrary.

  Giving him any ideas to the contrary.

  “I know how much that portrait means to you. I would never take that from you.”

  Their gazes met, and her eyes searched his for a beat or two as if she was desperate for assurance. “Thank you.”

  Grady nodded. “I’ll get changed. Give me ten.”

  …

  Half an hour later, after a long, silent drive, they were pulling up in the parking lot behind the boardinghouse. Suzanne was used to Grady’s silences and frankly, right now, it suited her just fine. She was way too busy grappling with the mixed signals to talk to him anyway.

  Damn the man to hell. He’d been so surly and noncommunicative these last few days, and then he went and did a 360 turn, showing remarkable sensitivity and…kindness in his assurance he had no intention of using his portrait as a bargaining chip. She’d wanted to smack him upside the head all morning as the clock had ticked by without him and she’d had to act her ass off playing the deliriously happy Christmas girlfriend in front of her parents. Pretending not only was it all fine, just fine, that he wasn’t there because ranchers didn’t get days off but insisting how heartbroken Grady would be if they didn’t all wear to Winona’s the T-shirts he’d picked out for them.

  Yes, she’d promised him she’d do all the heavy lifting in this fake relationship scenario she’d foisted upon him, but she hadn’t expected it to be this damn hard.

  But by the time he’d walked through the cabin door, she’d worked herself up into the kind of muted rage that husbands and boyfriend all around the world knew meant trouble. And then he’d taken the wind right out of her sails by rushing to put her mind at ease about the portrait.

  Just when she’d thought he was irredeemable, he’d been compassionate.

  But why was the question. She wasn’t obtuse—she knew he’d been deliberately trying to put her at arm’s length these past few days. But if that was the case, insisting on her handing over that last painting would have well and truly accomplished his goal.

  Hell, it’d have set it in cement.

  Because there was no way she’d have given it up. That painting was hers, and Grady was going to have to drag it out of her cold, dead hands if he wanted it. But he hadn’t taken that step. So maybe that meant something? Hence the mixed signals…

  Did he
want her or not want her? Did he want to push her away or draw her closer? And what in the hell did she want?

  The streets of Credence were deserted, the thud of the pickup door closing echoing around the quiet streets. “We have to go around front,” he said as he placed his hat on his head and pulled down the brim. “There’s no back entrance.”

  Suzanne nodded, pulling on her green knit hat as she mentally prepared for more fake relationship acting. To her surprise, Grady waited for her to join him around his side of the vehicle. She was even more surprised when he fell into step beside her as they headed for the front.

  More mixed signals or just Grady also getting into his fake relationship space?

  The sounds of their boots were dull on the pavement as they walked down the lane between the boardinghouse and the next block of shops. Suzanne’s arm occasionally brushed the brick wall beside her as she hunched into her puffy red coat, trying to give him some space on the narrow sidewalk. Neither of them was walking very fast, and Grady’s gait seemed to get stiffer and stiffer the closer they drew to the main street.

  It was ironic, and probably some kind of divine punishment for her lies, that Suzanne was getting the Christmas she’d always wanted and now didn’t want at all. Not with Grady so freaking tense.

  God… Was it really that hard to spend time in her company?

  “Do you think it might be possible to pretend that you actually like me for the next few hours?” she asked huskily, her footsteps slowing even further. “I know public displays of affection are out, but we’re supposed to be a couple. Seriously, is it that hard, Grady?”

  It wasn’t like he’d had any problems with private displays of affection.

  He stopped abruptly, and she did, too, risking a look at his tight face, their gazes locking as he stared at her, his mouth a grim slash. “Possible?” His voice went high and actually cracked. He swore under his breath, taking a step closer, forcing Suzanne to take one back, her ass bumping against the brick. “My problem is that I like you too damn much.” Then he slid a hand onto her cheek, leaned in, and kissed her.

  His lips were cold, and his nose was cold, but the kiss was hot and thorough. And it didn’t seem to matter that he spent the last three days ignoring her and acting like he hated her but apparently actually liked her—Suzanne welcomed the press of his body. She clung to his shoulders, savoring the taste of his toothpaste and the deep rumble of his groan and the delicious invasion of his tongue.

  Her pulse trembled; the air in her lungs went thick as soup and her blood surged hot and viscous as arousal flushed through her pelvis.

  On a ragged groan, he ended the kiss, but he didn’t pull away, just stayed close, pressing his forehead to hers as they both caught their breath. “It’s not hard,” he muttered. “I’m sorry. I know I’ve been…”

  Horrible? Awful? Dreadful? Completely freaking confusing? Giving her whiplash…?

  “Difficult. These past days. I don’t want to hurt—”

  Suzanne placed her fingers against his lips. As much as she wanted to hear whatever Grady had to say, they couldn’t have this conversation here, in an alleyway on their way to a Christmas lunch where everyone but his aunt and uncle and the hostess thought they were playing hide-the-salami every night. “Let’s do this later, okay?”

  He looked like he wanted to argue but stopped himself with a brisk nod and a smile that was more pained than happy. But when he slowly eased away, his gloved hand reached for her gloved hand hanging loose by her side and gave it a squeeze, which was still confusing but somehow helped.

  She expected Grady to release her hand, but he didn’t, and they walked to the end of the alley, side by side, hand in hand, their arms brushing. A little glow of hope found oxygen inside Suzanne’s chest. She didn’t know if it meant anything at all, but who’d have thought something as simple and innocuous as a handhold could evoke such optimism?

  They rounded the corner to find the park across the road from the boardinghouse a hive of activity. The day was clear and sunny, with two inches of snow having fallen overnight, leaving a good covering of powder. Several snowmen in varying stages of construction stood sentinel at the front of the park, obviously abandoned in preference to the full-scale snowball fight going on behind them.

  There was laughter and running and people darting among trees and behind playground equipment and the dull thud of snow as it found its target. It looked like everyone who’d been invited to lunch was in on the action. She didn’t know them all, but she spotted a non-uniformed Arlo and Della, who was apparently his sister, and Tucker from Jack’s. There was also Drew who she’d met last week. Molly and Marley were proving very accurate, as was Wyatt Carter, despite the handicap of balancing five-year-old Henry on his shoulders.

  A pregnant Jenny was sitting it out, smiling at the antics of her husband and son as she chatted to Cora on a bench near the swings. Even her parents were enjoying the action from another bench. Suddenly Burl spotted them from across the street.

  “Grady!” he bellowed, and everyone in the park stopped what they were doing to greet the newcomers. Grady dropped her hand like it’d just bitten him.

  And the little flame of hope sputtered and died.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Suzanne’s heart felt like a boulder in her chest as she crossed the wide road to the park. Grady stayed close, but his hands were shoved in his coat pockets, and there might as well have been an interstate between them after his obvious attempt to distance himself.

  “Watch out, Grady,” Burl called from behind a tree as their feet crunched onto the snowy ground and Grady laughed and easily ducked the snowball before scooping snow up and heading in his uncle’s direction, which signaled a general resumption of the battle.

  Suzanne headed for the bench where her parents were sitting, although not without Winona’s snowball hitting her square in the back. “Bull’s-eye,” Winona shouted.

  Suzanne laughed but wasn’t in the mood to retaliate. She slid onto the seat next to her mother, pleased for the thermal layer beneath her jeans to stop her from literally freezing her ass off. “Okay, Dad. You’re relieved. You go play—I’ll sit with Mom.”

  Her father shot her a rueful smile. “It’s fine,” he dismissed.

  “Dad. I know you’re dying to join in the fun.” One thing Albie St. Michelle liked was a good snowball fight. Suzanne had spent hours in snowy battle with him in Central Park over the years.

  “Go on, darling,” her mom said, giving her father’s knee a squeeze. “I’m fine.”

  “If you insist,” he said with a grin and a kiss to his wife’s cheek that seemed more brotherly than husbandly, which would have bothered Suzanne more had she not had her own relationship—such as it was—to dwell on.

  They sat for five minutes watching the shenanigans and laughing as the snowballs flew left, right, and center, some finding their marks but most missing by a mile. Suzanne was amazed a stray snowball hadn’t hit them. “Behind you, Albie,” her mom called out, and her father ducked, avoiding the missile.

  “Thank you, darling,” he called before slinking behind a tree with a handful of snow.

  “How are things going with Dad?”

  Simone nodded thoughtfully. “Good, I think. I’ve not been sketching the last few nights, and last night we decided we should make an effort to get away from New York whenever I finish a commission, to just be us.”

  “That’s great, Mom.”

  It wasn’t a red-hot makeup story—the chaste cheek kiss had underscored that—but at least her parents were talking about a future and how to work on their relationship, which was something. And at least it was some small justification for the lies and inconvenience of the elaborate scheme Suzanne had cooked up.

  “Yes, I think we—” Her mother’s sentence was interrupted by the splat of a snowball into her back. She gasped. “Omigod.” Leaping up, s
he shook off the offending item, her face a picture of disapproval. “Albie,” she yelled, swiveling around to find her father a few feet away, trying very hard not to laugh. “Albie.” She glared. “That is not funny.”

  Her father didn’t look remotely repentant, and Suzanne bit her lip, also trying very hard not to laugh. “What are you going to do about it?” he taunted.

  Her mom’s eyebrows shot up her forehead, higher than Suzanne would have thought anatomically possible. “You think I won’t throw a snowball at you?”

  He shrugged, playing it so perfectly cool that Suzanne almost applauded. “Talk’s cheap.”

  Her mother turned her attention to Suzanne. “Excuse me, darling. I’ve got a little business with your father.”

  Suzanne jumped up. “I’ll help. Let’s get him.”

  In the next ten minutes, Albie landed another eight snowballs, but he’d also worn five. They were all laughing as her mother called a truce in the middle of the park. “That was fun,” Simone admitted, the surprise in her voice genuine.

  “You want to know what’s more fun?” Albie asked.

  “What?”

  He slid a grin sideways at Suzanne before planting a hand firmly in the center of his wife’s chest. “Snow angels,” he said and pushed.

  Simone grabbed for him as she went down, but he stepped out of reach and she landed on her back, her arms and legs flailing, her puffy coat a dark-green slash against the fresh powdery snow.

  “Albie.”

  He chuckled and said, “Yes, darling?”

  “Help me up! This instant. It’s freezing and my beanie is going to be soaked.”

  Albie just shook his head. “Not until after you make a snow angel.” Then he fell backward into the snow beside her, scissoring his arms and legs.