All I Want for Christmas Is a Cowboy

by Jennifer Ryan

  Alana looked back at the cowboy dusting off his hat. “Rand?”

  He flashed her a grin. “Yes, ma’am. And I’m sure sorry I didn’t get to enjoy our night together.”

  Chapter Seven

  ALANA DIDN’T SAY another word as she brushed past Mrs. McCormick and raced after Clint.

  Clint.

  Just the name had her gritting her teeth and wanting to hit something. Preferably the long-legged cowboy who rounded the side of the barn. All the lies he’d told in the last few days piled up like the stacked firewood she tromped past, and even when she slipped and fell in the snow, her temper didn’t cool off. In fact, it came to a raging boil when she saw the horse in the corral. A virile-looking Thoroughbred that trotted toward the railing when Clint greeted him.

  “Hey there, Apple Jacks.”

  “Apple Jacks?” Alana skidded to a halt. “The same Apple Jacks that was too old to make it back to my car—or the half mile to the ranch house?”

  Clint turned around, his eyes squinting in the bright morning sun. “I was going to tell you the truth this morning, but you ran off with Rand before I could.”

  “I didn’t run off with anyone. Your sister practically shanghaied me on her snowmobile.” She stepped closer. “Besides, how could I run off with Rand when I thought I was with him?”

  Clint stared at her. “Hanna came and got you?” He looked back at the barn. “So what were you doing with Rand?”

  “I was trying to explain to him that I had to break off our Internet relationship because I had gone to bed with his brother. But it turns out that I didn’t go to bed with his brother, I went to bed with a lying, manipulative cowboy.”

  She really wanted to sock him, but she had never been a hitter. So instead she picked up a clod of snow and threw it at him. It missed by a mile, but that didn’t stop her from grabbing up another clump and packing it more firmly in her borrowed gloves.

  “Calm down, Alana,” he said. “We didn’t have sex.” Her eyes narrowed and her hands squeezed the snowball tighter as he continued. “Even if you hadn’t passed out, I wouldn’t have let it go that far. I don’t take advantage of women.”

  She pointed a finger at him. “You took advantage enough—especially of a woman you didn’t even know!”

  “I could argue the point of who took advantage of whom. And I knew who you were from the moment I found you in the blizzard.” His gaze swept over her. “But I must admit that the pictures I got off the Internet didn’t do you justice.”

  “Nor did your profile on the dating service,” she snapped, completely ignoring the compliment. “It didn’t mention one word about you being a liar.”

  “I didn’t lie. I merely omitted the truth. Something I did when you admitted to having sex with a ranch hand.”

  “It was you! And I was drunk!”

  He sent her a superior look that really ticked her off. “Just one more reason to hide my identity until I found out what type of woman I’d gotten hooked up with. I mean, what kind of a woman arrives drunk to a—”

  Alana threw the snowball with all her might. This time it struck home. In fact, it hit him right in the center of the forehead with so much force it knocked off his hat. Clint blinked those sky blue eyes at her for a second, then dropped like a felled tree.

  At first, Alana thought he was kidding around. But when seconds ticked by and he didn’t move, she panicked and hurried to his side. Sure enough, he was out cold, a huge, ugly bump already forming on his forehead.

  “Oh, my God!” She pulled her cell phone from her coat pocket, but there was no reception. She was about to go for help when his mother and brother came around the corner of the barn.

  “What the hell—?” Rand said while his mother hurried to Clint’s other side.

  “I’m so sorry,” Alana said. “I didn’t think a snowball could knock someone out.”

  Rand hooted with laughter. “You clocked Clint with a snowball and knocked him out?” He held his sides. “Now that’s damn funny. Almost as funny as you mistaking the two of us.” He sobered and studied her with an appreciative gleam in his eyes. “Although I wish I hadn’t let a little snowstorm keep me from spending the night at the cabin. Then maybe I would’ve met you first.”

  “That’s enough, Randall,” Mrs. McCormick said. “And don’t try to act like you were only planning on sleeping at the cabin. I overheard Frannie chewing your butt out on the phone. And if that’s the kind of shenanigans you’ve been using your great-great-granddaddy’s cabin for, I’m going to padlock the door.”

  About then, Clint came to and tried to sit up. Mrs. McCormick helped him and scooped up some snow, handing it to him. “Hold that on your head, son. It will help with the swelling.” When he only stared at the snow melting in his hand, she shook her head. “Well, you sure did knock him for a loop, Alana. Although I can’t say as I blame you. It sounds like Clint needs to do some apologizing. But it will have to wait until he’s not in la-la land.” She knelt down and hooked his arm over her shoulder. “Rand, help me get your brother inside.”

  Rand hurried over, and with nothing else to do, Alana followed behind them. “But will he be okay? I mean, shouldn’t we call an ambulance and have him taken to the hospital?”

  “Uncle Orville is a doc. He’ll have a look-see and tell us what to do.”

  The inside of the house was as charming as the outside. Candles, Christmas trees, and holiday decorations filled every room, along with a lot more McCormicks—all of whom wanted to know what happened. And Rand had no problem informing them.

  “Alana knocked him out cold with a snowball.”

  The news spread quicker than an oil slick through the crowd. Alana started to explain when a huge man with a barrel of a belly thumped her on the back.

  “That’s exactly what my oldest son needs,” he said with a grin. “A woman with spunk.”

  She smiled weakly and started to follow Mrs. McCormick up the stairs, but Mr. McCormick wasn’t having it. He hooked a massive arm around her shoulders and herded her into the room closest to the stairs.

  “Leave Clint to Sadie Sue and Orville. The family wants to meet you.”

  “The family” consisted of more aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents than lived on the entire island of Maui. And Alana was introduced to one and all as Clint’s “new gal.” Which surprised her. Had Clint thought of her as his gal? The thought left her feeling like she had been struck in the forehead with a snowball. It also had her reevaluating his lies. Maybe he had provocation. Here he had been thinking she was this sweet introvert who enjoyed reading, long walks on the beach, and beautiful sunsets, and instead he’d discovered a drunk who didn’t mind having sex with complete strangers.

  But that didn’t give him the right to lie. Or to act so possessive in the barn. Her heart skipped a beat. As much as she didn’t advocate fighting, she couldn’t help but feel a tad bit giddy over such a display of . . . jealousy? The giddy feeling grew and mixed with relief when Mrs. McCormick finally came down and informed everyone that Clint was fine. Unfortunately, when Alana asked to see him, she shook her head.

  “He needs a little time, honey. But you’ll get to see him soon enough.”

  “Soon enough” in New Mexico meant hours later. After the huge country breakfast where Alana was seated next to Uncle Tru, who regaled her with stories about his goats and his gout—one having nothing to do with the other. After the McCormick Winter Olympics that consisted of snowman making, sledding on shovels, and throwing snowballs at a target on the side of the barn—something Alana declined. And after the family sing-along where Alana was given the “five golden rings” part of the “Twelve Days of Christmas.”

  By the time the gift exchange started, she was growing more and more concerned about Clint. She knew he needed rest, but not once had she seen the doctor or his parents go up the stairs to check on him, which seemed odd for such a caring group of people who had gone out of their way to make her feel welcome.

  She had
just decided to slip away and check on him herself when a jangle of bells had everyone glancing at the window. Mr. McCormick got up and looked out. A big smile split his face.

  “I’d say that your ride is here, Alana.”

  “My ride?” She got to her feet and looked out, expecting to see the roadside service with her car. Instead, she saw Apple Jacks harnessed to a pretty red sleigh. It had started to snow again, and soft crystals fluttered down from the dark sky, landing on the black felt hat and sheepskin jacket of the cowboy who sat in the sleigh with the reins loosely held in his gloved hand.

  Mrs. McCormick opened the door and held out her coat. “What are you waiting for, honey?”

  It was quite obvious by the smiling looks on everyone’s faces that they had been in on this. Alana glanced out the door. Even with the cowboy hat tugged low, she could feel the heat and pull of Clint’s smoky blue eyes. Without saying a word, he lifted the edge of the fur blanket that covered his legs and waited.

  Not hesitating for a second, Alana walked out the door and down the porch steps. The sharp cold and icy snow made her realize that she had forgotten her coat. But all thoughts of the weather disappeared when Clint took her hand and helped her into the sleigh. He had barely finished tucking the blanket around her before he gave a whistle and the horse took off at a trot, the runners of the sleigh gliding over the hard-packed snow on the road like a jet plane taking off from the runway. The bells on Apple Jacks’s harness jangled, and behind them, Alana could hear a chorus of “Jingle Bells” being sung by the brood of McCormicks, who had moved out to the porch.

  There were a million questions Alana should’ve asked. Instead, she cuddled close and enjoyed the moment. A moment that might not come again. As if feeling the same way, Clint took his time, guiding the sleigh off on a smaller side road that wound through snow-laden trees and up and down gently rolling hills. When the cold finally penetrated their warm cocoon, he took her back to the cabin and dropped her off at the front door.

  “I’ll be back,” he said. And she stood on the front stoop and watched as the sleigh disappeared in the night.

  Stepping into the cabin, she discovered that someone had been busy. The tree was completely decorated and twinkled in the corner, and the candles and fire had been lit. Music played from some unseen source; Michael Bublé singing “Silent Night.” Alana smiled. It had been one of their lengthy e-mail discussions—was Michael the next Bing Crosby? Clint had argued that no one could replace the Bing for Christmas songs, while Alana had backed Michael.

  She moved closer to the warmth of the fire and noticed the tray that sat on the ottoman. A tray that held a mug and a pot of tea. She lifted the tag that hung from the top.

  Herbal mint tea. Her favorite.

  Next to the tea was a copy of Midsummer Night’s Dream—the first of Shakespeare’s works she and Clint had discussed. She had just lifted the beautifully bound book when the door opened.

  Clint stood there, snow covering his shoulders and hat. He took off the hat and held it in his hands, his gaze resting on the book in her hands.

  “ ‘The course of true love never did run smooth.’ ”

  While her heart thumped at the quote, he took a step closer. “I know you, Alana. I know your likes and dislikes. I know you like to be in bed reading by ten with your cat cuddled close and up by six for your run. I know you like tea instead of coffee, and seafood instead of steak.” He took another step. “I know you find Shakespeare exhilarating and Jane Austen boring.” He tossed the hat to the coffee table and unbuttoned his jacket. “But what I didn’t know was”—he slipped off his coat and laid it on the back of the chair—“how just a look from your brown eyes would melt me like spring snow. Or how a simple touch would drive me as wild as a Wyoming mustang. Or how a kiss would show me everything my life has been missing.” He stopped no more than a whisper away. “I screwed things up. I know that. Instead of telling you all these things when you woke up that first morning, I let my jealousy get the better of me. I guess I couldn’t stand the thought of you being attracted to another man even if that other man was me.”

  He reached out and brushed a strand of hair off her cheek. His fingertip sent warmth spiraling through her. “What about if we start over?” A smile crinkled the corners of his eyes as he held out his hand. “Clint McCormick.”

  She looked down at his hand. A hand that looked like it had done more than just carried a surfboard to his car or lifted a beer bottle. It was a hand a woman could trust to take care of her. To work for her. Fight for her. And pull her close when she needed holding. She slipped her hand in his, and his fingers curled around hers.

  “Alana Hale,” she said.

  He moved closer, his head tipping to one side. “I can’t tell you how nice it is to meet you, Alana Hale.” He brushed his mouth over hers. “So very”—he nipped at her bottom lip—“very”—another nip—“nice.” He settled his lips on hers and pulled her into the heat of his mouth. The kiss was sweet and perfect and everything a kiss should be.

  And Alana was lost.

  Lost because this was Clint. Her Clint. And she knew him. She knew that he loved animals and kids. Mozart and country. Steak and potatoes. And now she knew that he was a hot cowboy who had traveled on the rodeo circuit, made one helluva a good breakfast, and kissed better than any man she’d ever kissed.

  Clothes melted away like the snowflakes on the window, and suddenly they were completely naked and stretched out on the fur rug in front of the fire. Clint continued to be gentle and loving. His hands stroking over her body with soft caresses. His mouth sipping and kissing her neck, her shoulders, her breasts before heading down to the juncture of her legs and the tiny bud that throbbed with desire.

  But as delicious as his mouth felt, Alana refused to give in to the tight, spiraling feeling that pushed against her. She had reached orgasm once without him. She wasn’t about to do it twice. Sliding her fingers through his hair, she tugged until he stopped his sweet torture, then she rolled him over to his back so she could kiss her way down his body. He tasted as good as he looked. Unfortunately, he seemed to be as unwilling to reach climax alone as she was. She wasn’t even close to getting her fill of his deliciously warm skin and hard muscles when he rolled her back over. With only a slight adjustment, he slipped deep inside her.

  The fit was as perfect as she thought it would be.

  “Alana,” he moaned as he thrust.

  “Clint,” she whispered as she met each one.

  And it wasn’t long before they were both catching the wave.

  CHRISTMAS MORNING ARRIVED too soon. Alana would’ve liked Christmas Eve to last forever. Although the thought of making love to Clint in broad daylight did hold a certain appeal. Unfortunately, when she finally blinked the sleep from her eyes, she was alone in the cabin . . . again.

  Although he had left her another tray of food.

  Along with another note.

  Sitting up, she reached for the envelope. She pulled out the card, and a ring landed on her lap. A simple, silver band exactly like the one his great-great grandmother had worn on her wedding day.

  With her heart in her throat, Alana read the note.

  Let’s make this a “Marry” Christmas. Say yes.

  Alana didn’t even stop to get a coat. Slipping on the ring, she sailed out the door in nothing but her birthday suit and a smile. Clint was shoveling snow. He turned when the door opened, but was too slow to prepare himself for Alana launching herself at his chest. They both tumbled back to the snow, Clint on the bottom and Alana on top covering his face with kisses.

  His laughter rang out through the cold, clear Christmas morn. “Is this how you say yes in Hawaiian?”

  Alana pulled back and smiled. “Nope. It’s how I say forever.”

  About the Author

  KATIE LANE started writing in fifth grade when she wrote a fictional story about being a skirt. (Yes, you read that correctly. The story was told in first-skirt rather than first-person.) Since th
en, she’s stuck to telling stories about people. Going Cowboy Crazy is her first novel in the Deep in the Heart of Texas series. Katie lives in Albuquerque, New Mexico, with her high school sweetheart and can be contacted through her Web site, www.katielanebooks.com.

  Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins authors.

  Also by Katie Lane

  Flirting with Texas

  Trouble in Texas

  Catch Me a Cowboy

  Make Mine a Bad Boy

  Going Cowboy Crazy

  Copyright

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Excerpt from Once Upon a Highland Summer copyright © 2013 by Lecia Cotton Cornwall.

  Excerpt from Hard Target copyright © 2013 by Kay Thomas.

  Excerpt from The Wedding Date copyright © 2013 by Lisa Connelly.

  Excerpt from Torn copyright © 2013 by Karen Erickson.

  Excerpt from The Cupcake Diaries: Spoonful of Christmas copyright © 2013 by Darlene Panzera.

  Excerpt from Rodeo Queen copyright © 2013 by Tina Klinesmith

  “The Christmas Cabin.” Copyright © 2013 by Gayle Kloecker Callen.

  “Can’t Wait.” Copyright © 2013 by Jennifer Ryan.

  “Baby It’s Cold Outside.” Copyright © 2013 by Cathleen Smith.

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