Hitched by Christmas

by Jule McBride

  With a long-suffering sigh, she rolled over between two bales of foul-smelling hay. She stared down, toward the floor of the barn. “There’s one thing I forgot to tell you,” she whispered as Luke nestled beside her, and lifted off his hat so it couldn’t be seen over the loft’s edge.

  Instead of responding Luke silently set aside the hat and riveted his gaze on the red truck that was now entering the barn. Rapidly blinking her eyes, which were starting to tear, Claire did her best to ignore the pungent, moldy smell of the hay only inches from her nose. She followed Luke’s gaze. Two men were in the cab, but they weren’t close enough that she could make out their features. The truck circled, pulling around so that it faced the doors. Squinting, Claire could make out a bucking bronc on the license plate, so they were from Wyoming. Closing her eyes, she committed the numbers to memory.

  When she opened her eyes, she glanced anxiously over her shoulder, taking in the unbroken square of white sky framed by the open, floor-to-ceiling hay chute. The chute wasn’t but twenty feet behind her and Luke, and just imagining the treacherous drop-off beyond it made her dizzy. She’d gotten colder, too, she realized, since she’d quit moving. Clamping her teeth together stopped their chattering, but it didn’t ward off the chill. Beneath her belly, frigid air seeped through her parka from the hard wood floor.

  It was too bad Elmer Green hadn’t closed the chute, but he must have been moving bales before the barn fire. Claire sighed, wishing enough air would gust inside to relieve her hay fever, then she shivered again, so violently that her shoulders shook. “I’m getting frostbite because of you,” she whispered, her eyes returning to the truck.

  “You came to me for help,” Luke whispered back in a husky reminder, his low voice sounding close to her ear, warming her. “Remember?”

  As if this was all her fault. “You know you wanted to help me,” she returned, her gaze settling on his lips.

  He raised an eyebrow. “Why would I want to do that?”

  “Because you think I have a way with men.” She suddenly narrowed her eyes, still not entirely forgiving the abrupt and very warm feel of his broad hand between her legs, nor the storm of desire the touch had sent through her body. “Not that my charms will matter, once I freeze to death,” she added.

  “Here.”

  Just then the two men got out, circled around the back of the truck and began to confer near the empty bed. Luke scooted closer. Claire fought back a shudder of another kind as the heat of his side warmed hers. Soundlessly reaching under himself, Luke unbuttoned his jacket, opened the side, then stretched the warm shearling across her back, leaving his arm around her. Claire snuggled closer, liking the heavy feel of his arm across her back.

  “Better?” he whispered.

  “Better,” she agreed.

  She realized Luke was gazing down at her, with what she could swear was the light of tenderness in his blue eyes. “Now, shut up,” he mouthed, the strong curl of his fingers around her shoulder taking any sting out of the words.

  Nodding, Claire stared down at the men again. One was about thirty years old. A hand was thrust into the pocket of his navy parka, and he was fiddling with the bill of a black baseball cap that was printed with a company logo. The man doing most of the talking was closer to fifty, overweight, with a full beard and a cowboy hat. Despite the cold, only a jean jacket hung over his army fatigue pants. Peering down, Claire couldn’t see their faces, just the tops of their hats. She watched as the heavy man with the cowboy hat lifted a hand and pointed toward the doors, seemingly giving the younger man directions. Straining toward the murmuring voices, Claire tried but couldn’t make out the words. Luke leaned so close that she could smell mint from a flavored toothpick.

  Plucking it from between his lips, he whispered, “Now, what did you forget to tell me?”

  Suddenly, she inhaled. Another swift intake of breath followed. She grabbed Luke’s shoulder with one hand and used the other to pinch her nose, not caring how ridiculous she looked.

  Luke was squinting at her. “What are you doing?” he demanded in a hushed whisper.

  Drawing an involuntary breath, she suddenly sneezed. And then she hissed, “Sneezing. I’m allergic to hay.”

  “Now she tells me,” Luke muttered.

  Below, both men’s heads jerked up. Claire watched in horror as the younger man slowly unzipped his parka and slipped a hand inside. “He’s going for a gun,” she whispered in panic, her heart thudding wildly. The older man in the cowboy hat turned, headed for the truck cab and returned with a rifle. “Not very promising,” Claire added shakily.

  “Sure isn’t,” Luke whispered.

  The man in the cowboy hat aimed the rifle at the hayloft. “Who’s there?” he called, turning to the younger man. “Jack,” he continued, his voice still raised. “You’d better take a look.”

  “Will do, Ham.”

  Jack and Ham. Claire would have felt safer if they’d had other names. Together, the two sounded like jackhammer. Her watering eyes widened as she watched Jack reach deeper inside the unzipped parka, this time pulling out a handgun. Claire knew guns. Tex collected them. And she knew that Jack’s personal choice of weapon rated more than average on the scorecard for lethal. As her eyes locked with Luke’s again, Claire found herself fighting against another tickle of her nose. Then she swallowed against the dryness of her throat. The blood running through her veins was turning to ice water.

  Downstairs, Jack was rattling the rickety wooden ladder to the loft. Sensing movement, Claire glanced over and realized Luke was quietly lifting his jeans leg and sliding a hand into his boot. “When I say ‘jackrabbit,’” he whispered, “you’d better start running, darlin’.”

  Her eyes darted around the hayloft. “Run where?”

  Luke jerked his head toward the hay chute.

  Her eyes widened just as the Colt Pony Pocketlite appeared, the tiny handgun nothing more than a quick flash of silver in Luke’s dark hand. Claire sucked in another involuntary breath and sneezed again. Uttering a low curse under his breath, Luke spoke around the toothpick in his mouth. When she didn’t move, he urged, “Claire, run!”

  “You were supposed to say ‘jackrabbit,’” she couldn’t help but whisper, despite the circumstances. “Not curse at me.”

  “Jackrabbit,” Luke whispered back pointedly. And then, glancing away, he raised his arm, took aim and started firing.

  Claire flew toward the hay chute, barely aware that the rush of air she heard was from a deflating tire. Ducking her head, she cringed as one of the men gave a yell. A second later, return bullets pinged, spraying into the wood above her head. Crouching near the chute, Claire edged closer, glanced down and winced at the hay bales far below.

  No way! It was a country mile to the bales. Wild horses couldn’t drag her over the perilous edge of the chute. Forget worrying over her wedding; she’d be dead if she jumped. Soulfully, she eyed Luke’s Jeep, which was a mere ten feet from the bales. Then she turned from the icy air buffeting her face and stared at Luke again. He was still on his belly, carefully taking aim, his expression so unconcerned that he could have been target-practicing with soda cans. As he scooted back, he lightly lifted his Stetson from the floor with his gun-free hand and snuggled it onto his head.

  Suddenly, he rose, turned and bolted toward her. “Jump now, Claire!” he commanded, shoving the Colt into his waistband.

  She didn’t even have a chance to respond.

  “Hang on to me, darlin’,” he said, wrapping an arm around her waist. One hand on his hat, he jumped, pulling her with him. She was swept right off her feet and jerked through the chute. In midair, Luke’s arms were wrenched away. Her heart pounded, her braid flew upward, and she began flailing her arms. The air was frigid, and she felt as if she were tunneling down through a chute of liquid ice. Scarcely aware of the cold wind stinging her tearing eyes, sh
e saw a dark falling shape in the periphery of her vision that must have been Luke. Cool Hand Luke, she thought illogically

  Whoomph!

  “What are you trying to do?” she snarled with her first breath. “Kill me?”

  “That sounds like projection to me,” Luke said. “Right about now, you’re probably the one who wants to kill me.”

  “I’m the one with the psychology degree.”

  “Just get in the Jeep.”

  “What did you think I was doing?” On a rush of adrenaline, Claire scrambled to her knees and shimmied down the stacked bales, knowing Luke could take care of himself. She hit the ground already moving. Her boots slipped on ice, then got traction. As she ran, her throat burned, feeling raw, and her heart hammered so hard she thought it would explode. Reaching the Jeep, she wrenched open the first door she came to, on the passenger side. Luke was right behind her, ripping the toothpick from his mouth and tossing it into the snow.

  For the second time that day, his hand settled on her backside, this time pushing her into the driver’s seat. “Drive!”

  “Quit bossing me around!” Her shaking hands fumbled at the ignition; her insides felt like jelly. “Where are the—”

  “Here.” Just as Luke shoved a key into the ignition, her hand closed over his, and she registered a shock of heat and electricity as she helped him turn the key. It was hardly the best time to feel physical attraction.

  The engine didn’t start.

  “I got the license number,” she gasped.

  “I shot out one of their tires, too,” Luke returned, looking over his shoulder. “But they’ll probably follow us, anyhow. Won’t it start?”

  “I’m trying,” Claire muttered, her heart racing as she turned the key in the ignition again. She just hoped it wasn’t vapor lock. Low atmospheric pressure combined with high engine temperatures could make gas evaporate in the fuel lines.

  One of the men suddenly shouted, “There they are!”

  A bullet pinged off metal.

  They were shooting the Jeep! “Please,” Claire whispered, hunkering down and waiting for a bullet to shatter the back windshield. Panic overwhelmed her as she tried the key once more. Suddenly, the radio blasted and Dolly Parton’s voice belted out “Joy to the World.” Hearing Christmas music under the circumstances was jarring, but the Jeep roared to life, so Claire threw it into gear and floored the gas pedal. Lunging forward, they bounced on rough, slippery terrain. Instinctively, Luke grabbed his hat.

  Suddenly, Claire realized she couldn’t see anything. “Snow!” she gasped, her eyes riveted on the whitened windshield. “Luke! Where are the windshield wipers!”

  Already, Luke had leaned over, his hand gripping her knee for support as he flicked a button. A second later the windshield wipers pushed aside the snow—giving Claire enough visibility that she was filled with renewed terror. They were about to plow into a stand of cottonwoods and pines.

  “Look out!” Luke warned.

  “We’re okay.” Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Luke bouncing up and down. “We’ll just go over this hill.”

  He gasped. “Through those trees? Are you crazy, Claire?”

  “Right over this hill’s the road we took to get here,” she shot back breathlessly. “Right?”

  “Right! But this isn’t a plane, Claire, it’s a land vehicle.”

  She’d about had it. “Luke, if you want to be a back-seat driver,” she said, “then get in back.” She lifted her eyes from the fast-approaching trees just long enough to glare at him. “This is an off-road vehicle, right?”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “I know, I know,” she muttered as the Jeep suddenly dived between two cottonwoods and into scrub brush and brambles, “it’s not a plane.”

  Luke didn’t respond. He was probably too busy calculating their chances of survival. She winced as branches raked down the vehicle’s sides, destroying the paint job. But there was nothing she could do. Especially not when the Jeep nose-dived, heading southward, down a steep hill. Hanging on to the steering wheel with all her might, Claire white-knuckled it, dodging pines and aspens, her fingers curling ever tighter with each bend in the road. Her concentration was so intense that even Luke seemed to vanish. Everything seemed silent. And then the Jeep burst through the trees toward a roadway, its tires leaving the ground completely, spinning in midair.

  “And now,” she heard the radio D.J. say as the Jeep’s front wheels connected with the slushy, snow-covered pavement, “this next one’s from Clint Black. Hope you enjoy his Christmas ditty called ’til Santa’s Gone.’”

  “Santa’s gone?” muttered Luke. “We’re goners.”

  The back wheels had hit solid ice.

  “Turn into the spin,” Luke said.

  “I’m trying!” But the car was on its own, sliding in a wide, slow-motion arc. “Is anything coming?” she gasped. All they needed right now was a truck bearing down on them.

  “Nope.”

  Suddenly, the Jeep simply stopped. It had spun almost full circle in the road, and Claire managed to maneuver it into its lane. The sudden feeling of safety was so unexpected that Claire uttered a breathless, stupefied laugh, feeling downright triumphant. Shaking her head in disbelief as she stared through the windshield, she shook her head. “Can you believe that?” she remarked, her heart still pounding rapidly with both fear and excitement as she caught Luke’s eyes. “Am I good or what?”

  Luke stared back, taking his hand off his hat and the roof. “Good?” he echoed, pulling the Colt from his waistband and sliding it back into his boot. “Good at what, exactly, Claire?”

  Her eyes widened. “I know we’re still in the middle of an icy road,” she returned defensively, “but I got us out of there alive, now, didn’t I?”

  “That remains to be seen,” Luke replied dryly. Lifting his feet from the floor, he pretended to be checking for broken bones. Then he shot her one of his slow killer smiles, just a flash of white teeth in his dark skin. “Guess I’m still in one piece.”

  One very good-looking piece. “I knew it.” He felt exactly as she did. Lucky to be alive. His blue eyes were shining brightly with the exhilaration of having survived the close call. “Admit it,” she challenged. “I am good.”

  He tilted his head as if considering.

  “I can’t believe your lack of gratitude, Luke!” she exclaimed. Still feeling strangely high at having escaped, she leaned swiftly and playfully punched his shoulder. Just as her fist connected with hard muscle, Luke caught her hand. With a quick tug, he brought her right to his mouth, so close that strands of his flyaway blue-black hair teased her jaw. “You’re good,” he assured. “Very, very good, Claire.” And then, without warning, his lips covered hers, feeling cold and soft, then warmer and harder, then hotter and more demanding. She melted against his mouth, parting her lips for him, and as his tongue dueled with hers, she felt tingles spread across the surface of her skin and prickle inside her. Pressing her upper body against his hard chest, she felt her breasts ache for his touch. All pressure and dampness, the impulsive, wet-tongued kiss suddenly felt like a prelude to sex, and it left Claire staring at him, wanting more when he was gone.

  He winked from the passenger seat as if it hadn’t even happened. “Mind if we go somewhere safer?” he said. “Some place where I can think?”

  Fighting to recover from the welcome assault of his mouth, Claire managed to dig a hand coolly into the back pocket of her jeans. Withdrawing a toothpick, she handed it to him. “Think away,” she said. “Might I suggest the Roadkill Grill?”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “COME AGAIN, YA HEAR?” As the proprietress left Claire and Luke’s change on the table, she beamed into the cozy, intimate booth. “Hope you don’t mind me saying so, but you two look so good together.” Releasing a soft laugh, she wip
ed her hands on a red-and-green apron printed with holly leaves. “I’m divorced myself,” she said. “My man flew the coop, so to speak.”

  Luke smiled. The Roadkill Grill had been packed, and Main Street was crowded with shoppers, so Luke had suggested this hole-in-the-wall diner that had just opened near Little Creek Road and Pine Street. It was called Nora’s Nest. “You don’t sound too broken up about the divorce, Nora,” Luke said now, sending Claire a quick wink.

  Nora chuckled. “I got enough money from the settlement to move out west and open this place. Besides, when one love affair doesn’t work out, it always means a better one’s in the making. You can trust the good Lord on that. I’ll never quit believing in love, no more than I’ll quit believing in Christmas. How could I, when folks like you are the living proof?”

  Luke caught Claire’s helpless expression. “Glad you think we make a good couple, Nora,” he said.

  As Nora headed to the kitchen, Luke decided Claire did look as if she was in love. Her eyes were bright and her skin was flushed, but he doubted the kiss they’d shared in the Jeep had much to do with it. More than likely, Claire was still exhilarated from escaping Jack and Ham. Luke still couldn’t believe the side of Claire he’d just seen—fearless and wild. Somehow, watching her drive through those cottonwoods had made him want her more than he ever had. “Sorry.” Luke smiled. “But I didn’t want to destroy Nora’s delusions.”

  “About us?”

  Luke nodded. “Wouldn’t want the woman to quit believing in miracles.”

  Claire’s eyes on his seemed too direct, too intense. “Love’s not a miracle,” she said with a sudden soft catch in her voice. “It happens every day, it really does.”

  Luke had no answer for that. “Well, Nora was right about one thing. You do look a little...” Luke searched hard for something other than “in love,” and settled on “kind of wild, Claire.”

  Claire laughed. “What’s that got to do with love?”

  His eyes drifted over the stray, haywire tendrils of hair that had come loose from her braid. “Everything,” he said simply, reaching across the table to pluck a bit of hay from her tangled tawny strands.