All I Want for Christmas Is a Cowboy

by Jennifer Ryan

  Unfortunately, Alana didn’t make it to the house. In fact, she barely made it twenty steps before the knee-deep snow seeped through the thin leather of her boots and the icy wind froze her eyebrows. She turned back to the car, but unfortunately, she couldn’t seem to find it. Everything looked the same. White on white. And cold. So cold she had lost all the feeling in her fingers and toes.

  With head bowed, she headed back in the direction of the car, hoping she’d somehow bump into it. What she bumped into was something else entirely.

  “Mawwww!”

  Alana stumbled back, staring at the mound of snow that had made the scary sound. A pair of big brown eyes peeked out of the icy white. Animal eyes that looked as terrified as she felt.

  “Mawww,” the little cow bawled.

  Being a cat owner, Alana wasn’t exactly fond of animals that wouldn’t fit in a litter box, but there was something about the calf that broke her heart and pulled forth her maternal instincts.

  “Oh, you sweet little thing.” She reached out and brushed the snow off its brown-and-white-spotted head, which made it bawl even louder. “Shhh.” She stroked its ear in her wet sock-mitten. “It’s okay. I’m not going to let you freeze to death, little Bambi.” With renewed determination, she tugged and pulled until she got the little cow to its feet. “Come on, we’re going to find help.”

  This time, Alana didn’t hesitate to make a decision. She turned around and headed in the opposite direction. She thought she’d have to herd the calf, but for some reason, Bambi followed behind her, bawling at the top of her lungs. Hoping to calm the cow and herself, she started singing Christmas carols, which was difficult to do with the wind and stinging snow hitting her in the face. She got through “Jingle Bells” and “Winter Wonderland” and then moved to her father’s favorite carol, Mele Kalikimaka.

  Except it wasn’t a bright Hawaiian Christmas day. It was a freezing cold New Mexico night, and Alana found that she couldn’t keep up her positive attitude for very long.

  She was never going to find help. Or the ranch house. Or her dream man. She and Bambi were going to end up like Popsicles. Popsicles that wouldn’t be found until spring when some cowpoke wandered upon their decaying bodies. Or possibly it would be Clint who found them. Sweet Clint who loved Shakespeare and poetry and would no doubt write a poignant poem for her eulogy and mourn the love they never knew.

  Suddenly, she wished she had asked for a better picture than the blurred one that had been posted on the dating Web site. Instead, she hadn’t wanted physical traits to taint her opinion of Clint. She wanted their relationship to be built on something more than a pretty face or a sexy voice. Which was why she had refused to Google him and kept their conversations strictly to e-mails and texts. But now, with the wind beating her in the face and the last of her willpower dwindling, she wished she had a clear image to hold on to.

  It was strange, but she had no more than thought it when a man materialized in the icy night. Not a blurred businessman with glasses and a kind smile, but a rugged cowboy slouched low in his saddle with his hat pulled low and his sheepskin coat tugged up around his ears. One gloved hand was draped over the saddle horn, and the other held the reins, expertly guiding the horse through the snow.

  Alana blinked and tried to dork her hallucination down by putting on a pair of glasses and a button-down shirt, but they didn’t want to stay put. The bulky jacket remained, as did the snow-dusted cowboy hat and leather chaps. In fact, as the image grew more vivid, the man grew more virile, his handling of the thick-muscled horse twice as alpha as any surfer balancing on a waxed board. He came straight toward her like some ancient Nordic warrior stalking his prey. Although the deep voice that sliced through the whistling wind sounded like all-American cowboy.

  “What the hell?”

  Alana froze in mid-Kalikimaka. Did hallucinations talk? The winter warrior stopped only inches away. So close that she could feel the heat of the horse’s breath as he swung down from the saddle in one fluid motion. And even though his hat shadowed his features, she knew that he stared at her like she stared at him—as if he couldn’t quite believe his eyes.

  Alana might’ve spoken if the next blast of frigid wind hadn’t sapped the last of her energy. Her knees buckled, and she melted down into the snow like the Wicked Witch doused in water. The wet cold barely had a chance to soak through her sweatpants when she was lifted into strong arms and hugged against damp sheepskin.

  He sat her in the saddle, then hooked his boot in the stirrup and swung up behind her. Before she could mention Bambi, he took the rope from the saddle horn and effortlessly lassoed the small calf. After securing the rope, his thighs tightened, and the horse lurched forward.

  The jostling motion finally brought Alana to her senses.

  This was no hallucination.

  Chapter Two

  INSTEAD OF TAKING her to a big ranch house, the cowboy took her to a small rustic cabin. Still, it was a welcome sight. Soft light glowed from the windows like a beacon of warmth through the flying snow, and smoke curled from the chimney. Someone had strung a string of Christmas lights along the eaves, the multicolored bulbs reflecting in the snow that drifted up the split logs of the walls.

  Urging the horse right up to the door, the cowboy lowered Alana down.

  “Get inside,” he ordered.

  Her feet had no more than sunk into the snow than he disappeared into the night, Bambi bawling and hopping along in the horse’s footprints. Alana wasted no time opening the door and going inside. The cabin was blissfully warm and cozy. A roaring fire blazed in the stone fireplace. Above it, the solid wood mantel was lined with lit candles. The glow from the candles and the fire added to the cozy feeling of the room, and Alana suddenly felt very tired. She desperately wanted to fall into one of the two overstuffed chairs, but she was covered from head to toe in snow and was concerned about ruining the expensive-looking fabric. So she just stood there, shivering and dripping water onto the knotty pine floor. By the time the door opened, she was a teeth-clacking pile of soaked clothes.

  The cowboy stepped inside amid a flurry of snowflakes. “I thought you’d be out of those wet clothes by now.” He shut the door and took off his hat, hanging it on a hook before turning back around.

  Even close to hyperthermia, Alana found herself all googly-eyed and weak-kneed. There were hot men, and then there were hot men. This man was molten on the hot-o-meter. He had eyes the color of the Pacific during a tropical storm—light blue on the verge of steel gray—and long dark lashes that still held a few snowflakes. The hat had given him hat hair, but it was easy to tell that the ebony locks were thick with just enough wave to invite a woman’s fingers. A strand swooped over a black slash of eyebrow that quirked as she continued to shiver and stare.

  “Well, damn,” he said as he stripped off his jacket and hung it on a hook. And then without hesitation, he proceeded to strip Alana.

  She didn’t find her voice until he had made it through the first layer.

  “Wh-what are you d-doing?” She tried to smack his hand away, but her hand was shaking so badly that the smack only succeeded in making him more intent on finishing the job.

  “I’m doing what you should’ve done before I got back.” He picked her up and strode across the room to the huge bed, tossing her onto the puffy down comforter. She had barely stopped bouncing before her boots and socks were pulled off, followed by her wet sweatpants.

  “I c-can d-do it,” she chattered.

  “Then do it.” He stood back and crossed his arms over his broad chest.

  Unfortunately, damp skinny jeans weren’t exactly easy to get off, especially when her hands were shaking worse than a hula dancer at a luau. She only got them halfway down her thighs before she flopped back on the bed in exhaustion. The cowboy took over, grabbing the waistband of her jeans and peeling them down her legs. Then he pulled her into a sitting position and reached for her sweater. He stopped, and his gaze shifted back up to her face. A smile tugged at
the corners of his mouth.

  “I guess we better get this off first.” He reached under her chin, and with one flick of his fingers, the bra she’d fashioned into earmuffs fell to her lap, along with the two pairs of panties she’d stuffed in each cup. If she hadn’t been blue with cold, she might’ve turned red with embarrassment. Not that the man gave her time to be embarrassed about the bra on her head when he quickly exposed the bra on her body. She started to protest as he pulled her sweater over her head, but it was hard when her face was cocooned in damp cotton.

  Instead of stripping it off, he paused.

  And paused.

  And paused.

  It took her kicking and squirming to finally gain her release. When the sweater was off, she grabbed the edge of the comforter and covered herself.

  “I-I’m g-good,” she chattered as she held the comforter to her breasts.

  The cowboy stared at the spot just above her hands for several seconds before he lifted his gaze. His eyes looked as hot as the fire that blazed behind him.

  “I think that’s an understatement,” he said. Then he turned and walked over to the small kitchenette. He searched through the cupboards before he returned to the nightstand next to the bed and the silver ice bucket Alana hadn’t noticed before. “I guess this will have to do.” He pulled the bottle of champagne from the bucket and peeled off the foil before opening it with a pop and fizz. He shook his head as he reached for one of the fluted glasses next to the bucket. “What a waste.”

  Alana might’ve questioned him about the comment if another chill hadn’t racked her body. He quickly set the glass down and picked her up. He whipped the covers back before depositing her in the center of the huge bed and covering her with the heavenly flannel sheets and comforter. Then he lifted the glass to her mouth. “Drink up. We need to bring your body temperature up.”

  This would probably be the time to mention the other alcohol she’d consumed. Alcohol that was still humming through her veins and making the events of the last hour seem more than a little dreamlike. Instead, she followed his orders, draining the entire glass, then huddled under the blankets as he walked over and stoked the fire and added more wood. He returned with a throw blanket and added it to the mound of covers over her.

  And when she still shivered, he added himself.

  He removed his boots and shirt before he climbed under the blankets and pulled her into his arms. The heat from his body was enough to stop the shivers. Now that she could talk without her teeth chattering, she should’ve protested being held so intimately by a perfect stranger. But she didn’t. His strong arms caused a warm glow of contentment to settle deep down inside her. She figured that some of it had to do with the alcohol buzz. But most of it had to do with the fact that, for the first time in her life, she felt safe and secure. It didn’t matter that he was a complete stranger. There was something about the way he held her that made her feel like nothing could harm her.

  It was a new feeling for her. Her father loved her, but he had never believed in coddling her. He refused to let her turn into her mother—a woman who couldn’t open a jar of pickles without a man’s help. And his high expectations had made Alana strong and independent and a magnet for irresponsible men who didn’t think she wanted to be taken care of. But even strong and independent women needed to feel cared for and protected—if only for one night.

  Without saying a word, she snuggled closer to the man’s heat and slept.

  ALANA WAS HOT. Really hot. Still half asleep, she kicked at the covers until they were off, then rolled to her preferred side and came flush against a hard chest. A hard, naked chest. Her eyes flashed open, and she found herself face-to-nipple with the cowboy. She lifted her gaze to find him watching her, his blue-gray eyes reflecting the red, low-burning embers of the fire. Those eyes quickly ignited their own fire that spread to every part of her body. It blazed even higher when he tipped his head and brushed his lips over hers in a feathery sweep. He pulled back too soon, and his eyes locked with hers. For a woman who sometimes had trouble making decisions, she didn’t hesitate with this one. Her fingers curled around his neck, and she drew his lips back for another taste.

  This time, the kiss was hot and demanding. Although Alana was the one who appeared to be demanding the most. With an aggression that surprised her, she pushed him back against the pillows and climbed right on top. Once she was straddling him, he tugged down the satin cups of her bra and cradled her breasts in his hands, his thumbs strumming her nipples as his tongue continued to do wicked things to her mouth. His hips undulated beneath her, his rough jeans abrading the soft skin of her thighs and intensifying the heat building beneath her panties.

  Out of nowhere, a question popped into Alana’s head: What are you doing?

  The answer came when the cowboy pulled back from the kiss and captured her nipple in the warmth of his mouth as his hands gripped her hips and pressed her closer to the hard ridge beneath his fly.

  Being spontaneous.

  Wonderfully.

  Marvelously.

  Orgasmic-ly spontaneous.

  Chapter Three

  ALANA WOKE WITH a slight headache, and the blinding light flooding in the window didn’t help. With a groan, she rolled onto her back and squinted at the wooden beams of the ceiling. Beams she didn’t recognize. She turned her head, and her gaze swept over the room. The overstuffed chairs, the stone fireplace, the small kitchenette, the nightstand with the empty glass of champagne—

  She sat straight up just as the door swung open. She expected to see a snow-covered cowboy. Instead, a gorgeous woman in an equally gorgeous white fur coat spilled in on a beam of sunlight.

  “I was dreamin’ of a white Christmas,” the woman said in a thick country accent that could’ve sold cases of pork and beans, “but this is ridiculous.” She kicked the door closed with one designer cowboy boot as she pulled off her knit hat to display a wealth of red, wavy hair. “I would’ve been here last night, but, at the sight of the first snowflake, Daddy refused to let me out of the house.” She snorted as she tugged off her leather gloves. “I swear, he still thinks I’m fourteen. But I ask you, honey, does this look like a fourteen-year-old’s body.” She turned to Alana, and the fur coat slipped off her shoulders to pool at her boots. Beneath it, she wore absolutely nothing. And no, her voluptuous curves weren’t even close to a fourteen-year-old’s.

  Or Alana’s, for that matter.

  Alana jerked the sheet over her small breasts and tried not to let her jaw drop. The woman, on the other hand, didn’t even attempt to hide her shock.

  Or her body.

  “Just who the hell are you?” her voice echoed through the small room. Before Alana could answer, she drew her own conclusions. “Why that no-good bastard!” She stomped closer. “And here I thought Rand had changed—that after spending the last few years on the rodeo circuit, he was ready to settle down. I should’ve known better. Once an irresponsible bastard, always an irresponsible bastard.” With a whirl of red hair, she turned and headed for the door. She scooped up her coat on the way and slipped it on before glancing back at Alana. “Take some advice, honey, from a woman who knows: Run. Run fast and run far. Because the only thing you’ll find in Rand McCormick’s bed is heartbreak.”

  The door slammed closed behind her.

  Heartbreak? No, Alana hadn’t found heartbreak, but she had found embarrassment and self-deprecation. What had she been thinking? What had possessed her to go to bed with a complete stranger? And not just any stranger, but Clint’s brother?

  Clint had talked about his brother a lot during their Internet conversations, and Alana had pegged Rand as a womanizing rodeo star that any smart woman would avoid at all costs. Except Alana hadn’t avoided him. She’d had sex with him—at least, she thought she’d had sex with him. She couldn’t remember much past her mind-blowing orgasm. But since no man she’d ever known had been unselfish enough to give her an orgasm and forgo his own, there had to be more to the story. Although rid
ing his brother like a Thoroughbred racehorse was plenty enough to ruin any chance she might’ve had with Clint.

  Clint.

  Just the thought of the sweet man she’d been corresponding with consumed her with guilt. He would be devastated when he learned about what had happened. And she had to tell him. She couldn’t live with herself if she didn’t. But that didn’t mean that she had to tell him face-to-face. Since Clint didn’t know she was coming, maybe she could escape with no one being the wiser. The sun shining in the windows was proof that the storm was over. Now all she had to do was locate her rental car, call for roadside assistance, and get the heck out of there before Clint’s brother got back from wherever he’d gone.

  Unfortunately, before she could jump out of bed and locate her clothes, the cabin door opened. She ducked behind the bed, praying it was the fur-coat woman coming back to rant some more. It wasn’t. Peeking from beneath the high mattress, she watched as a pair of snow-covered men’s cowboy boots moved closer.

  “Alana?”

  Alana? How did he know her name?

  He tossed something onto the bed. “I brought your suitcases and purse from the car.”

  Her purse. Of course. He must’ve looked at her driver’s license. Which meant that there was no escape from the humiliating situation she found herself in. Reaching up, she snagged the flannel shirt that hung on the bedpost and slipped it on. She had just started to snap it when Rand appeared.

  He was even more devastatingly handsome in full light than he’d been in firelight. And despite Clint’s blurred online picture, it was easy to see the similarities between the two brothers. Although Rand’s dark hair was longer and fell in waves to the collar of his flannel shirt, and his smile was fuller, rivaling the sun that flooded in the window.