Mistletoe Rodeo (Welcome to Ramblewood)

by Amanda Renee

  “What?”

  “The whole defensive routine. It doesn’t become you.”

  “S-sorry. That’s who I am.”

  “Bull.”

  “E-excuse me?” He released her, and the spoon now trembled in her still tingling wrist.

  “I knew you as playful. Fun. Now, you seem like you’re in attack mode.”

  “And why shouldn’t I be?” she asked. “Aside from Wesley, name one thing that’s gone right for me in the past year?”

  “That’s easy,” he said, cracking a slow and easy grin that, Lord help her, had Rachel’s pulse racing yet again. Had the man always been this attractive?

  Judging by the massive crush she’d had on him all those years ago...yes.

  Making things worse—or better, depending how you looked at it—he winked. “One thing that’s gone very right is how you’re finally back with me.”

  * * *

  SENSING RACHEL NEEDED two gifts above all else that Christmas season—time and space—Chance returned to work Tuesday, and every day for the rest of the week. Come Saturday, though, despite her protests that they should stay at the house, he bustled her and the baby into his Jeep and started off for the traditional holiday ride he’d loved as a kid, but had given up as an adult.

  “Well?” he asked a silent Rachel an hour later, pulling into a snow-covered winter wonderland. “See anything that’d fit in the living room bay window?”

  She glanced at him, then at the sprawling Christmas tree farm that might as well have been Santa’s North Pole as everywhere you looked, Christmas was in full swing. Kids laughing and sledding and playing tag while darting in and out amongst fragrant trees. Families hugging the fires built in river rock pits, sipping steaming mugs of cocoa. Upbeat carols played from a tiny speaker.

  “It’s—” she cautiously glanced at the idyllic scene before them, as if they didn’t belong, then back to him “—amazing. But if you want a tree, wouldn’t it be cheaper to—”

  “Look—” he sighed “—I wasn’t going to bring this up until it’s a done deal, but I told my boss about your situation—with Wes’s flaky life insurance—and fury didn’t begin to describe his reaction. Wheels are turning, and I’d say you’ll have a check by the end of next week.”

  “Really?”

  Just then, she was seriously gorgeous, eyes brimming with hope and a shimmering lake of tears. “Yeah,” Chance said. “I’m serious. So what’s with the waterworks? I thought you’d be thrilled to be rich?”

  “I would be—I mean, I am. It’s just that after all these months of barely scraping by, not sleeping because I’ve literally been afraid to close my eyes, it seems a bit surreal to have such a happy ending at all, let alone in such a happy place.”

  He laughed, unfastening his seat belt to grab the baby from his seat. “Don’t you think after what you’ve been through you two deserve a little happiness?”

  She turned away from him while she sniffled and dried her cheeks, and he couldn’t tell if she was nodding or shaking her head. “Well?” he asked. “Was that a yes or no?”

  “I don’t know,” she said with a laugh. “Maybe both. I’m just so confused. And grateful. Very, very grateful.”

  “Yeah, well, what you need to be,” he said, Wesley snug in his arms, “is energized.”

  “Oh, yeah?” she asked, again blasting him with a tremulous smile. “How come?”

  “Because me and this kid of yours are about to whomp you in a snowball fight.”

  * * *

  “IT’S BEAUTIFUL,” RACHEL SAID, stepping back to admire the nine-foot fir they’d finished decorating. Heirloom glass ornaments and twinkling white lights hung from each branch. “Perfect.”

  With Chance beside her, carols softly playing and a fire crackling in the hearth, Rachel couldn’t have ordered a more enchanting holiday scene.

  “I don’t know,” Chance said, finger to his lips as he stood beside her, surveying their afternoon’s work. “Something’s missing.”

  “You’re right,” Rachel said. “We forgot the angel.”

  “I didn’t see it, did you?”

  “Not in the boxes we’ve been through. Maybe—” She looked down to see Wesley sucking the top corner of the angel’s box. “Aha! Found it.”

  “Thanks, bud.” Chance took the box from the baby, replacing it with the teething ring he had been contentedly gumming. “How about you do the honors?” he suggested, handing the golden angel to her.

  “I’d like that,” Rachel said, embarrassed to admit just how much the small gesture meant.

  At the orphanage, placing the angel on top of the tree was generally a task reserved for the child who was newest to the home. Since Rachel had gone to live there the summer just before her fourth birthday when her parents had been killed in a car accident, she’d never had the chance. By the time Christmas rolled around, she had only been the third-newest kid.

  Knowing this, Wes had made their first Christmas together as a married couple extra special by taking her to pick out an especially extravagant angel that they really couldn’t afford. In Denver, at a desperation yard sale she’d held in a futile attempt to stay financially afloat, it had devastated her to have to sell that precious angel to a cranky old guy for the princely sum of three dollars.

  Rachel swallowed hard at the bittersweet memory of how dearly she’d loved sharing Christmas with Wes. There was a part of her struggling with the guilt that she was once again immersed in holiday cheer...but Wes was gone. It somehow felt disloyal for her to be so happy.

  Trying to focus on the task at hand, Rachel climbed onto the small stepladder she’d used to hang the ornaments from the highest branches, but she still wasn’t tall enough to reach the tree’s top.

  “Let me help,” Chance said, inching up behind her, settling his hands around her waist, then lifting her the extra inches needed to get the job done.

  His nearness was overwhelming, flooding her senses to the point she nearly failed her mission. Had his hands lingered on her waist longer than necessary after he’d set her back to her feet? Was that the reason for her erratically beating heart? What kind of woman was she to one minute reminisce about her deceased husband, and the next wonder at the feel of another man’s strong hands?

  “Thank you,” she said, licking her lips, going by habit to push back her long hair that was no longer there.

  “You’re welcome.” As if he’d sensed the awareness between them, too, they both fell into awkward step, bustling to clean the wreckage of tissue paper and boxes.

  Once they’d finished hauling the mess to a spare bedroom Chance used for storage, they were in the dark upstairs hall when Chance asked, “Why’d you cut your hair?”

  The question caught her off guard, made her feel even more uncomfortable than she already did. “It was too much trouble,” she said.

  “It was beautiful. Not that it’s any of my business, but you should grow it back.”

  She looked down to hands she’d clenched at her waist.

  “Not that you aren’t still attractive,” he said. “It’s just that Wes always had a thing for your hair. I think he’d be sad to see it gone.”

  What about you, Chance? Did you like my hair?

  Rachel was thankful for the hall’s lack of light—the question, even if asked only in her head, made her uncomfortable. Why would she even care what Chance thought of the way she used to style her hair? Worse yet, why did his question leave her feeling lacking?

  Suddenly, she was wishing she at least had a little more length to work into an attractive style instead of the boyish cut that’d been easy to keep clean and neat at the homeless shelter. This cut hardly made her feel feminine or desirable. But then until her reunion with Chance, she’d had no use for vanity.

  “Chance?” she asked, her voice a croaked whisper.

  “Yes?”

  “When we first met, you know, back when you, me and Wes used to just be friends, hanging out at Ziggy’s, did you find me pretty?�
��

  He cleared his throat. “What kind of question is that?”

  “I don’t know.” She shook her head. “Sorry I asked.”

  Because she truly didn’t know, Rachel returned to the living room, where holiday cheer and the sight of her contented child banished doubts and fears. The question had been silly. As was her growing awareness of her late husband’s best friend. For a moment she felt better, but then Chance returned, his essence filling the room.

  “For the record,” he said, perching alongside her on the toasty fireplace hearth, “yes. I thought you were pretty back then, but you’re even prettier now.”

  * * *

  CHANCE HAD A tough time finding sleep. Why had Rachel asked him such a loaded question? Why did he feel his final, almost flirty answer had been a betrayal of his friend’s trust? Yeah, Chance thought she was pretty—gorgeous, in fact. But for Wes’s sake, couldn’t he have just skirted the issue?

  Sunday morning, he woke to a breakfast spread fit for a five-star hotel. “Wow,” he said. “What’s all this for?”

  Looking more gorgeous than any woman had a right to first thing in the morning, she shrugged. “Guess I just wanted to say thanks for the great day we had yesterday. Never having had a family growing up, I always wished for that kind of traditional family fun.”

  “Is that what we are?” he asked, forking a bite of pancake. “A family?”

  “You know what I mean,” she said, avoiding his glance by drinking orange juice.

  He broke off a piece of bacon and handed it to Wesley.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I know what you mean. But is that what we are, Rache?”

  Sitting with her and Wesley, from out of nowhere Chance was struck with the realization that no matter how she answered his question, he very much wanted them to be a family. They’d already fallen into husband and wife roles. The only things missing were emotional and physical closeness.

  And as reluctant as he was to admit it, from the day he’d set eyes on her all those years ago, kissing Rachel was something he’d always longed to do. And therein lay the rub. Somehow, he had to find it within himself to squelch that want.

  “We’re sort of a family,” she said. “But I suppose, once I get Wes’s life insurance you’ll probably be glad to get the house back to yourself.”

  Boldly reaching across the table for her hand, stroking her palm, lying to himself by labeling it a casual, friendly touch, he said, “Actually, it’s nice having you two here. Waking up to you in the morning, coming home to you at night.”

  She laughed off his admission. “You’re just being polite. No bachelor actually enjoys being strapped with another man’s wife and child.”

  “That’s just it,” he said. “Crazy as it may seem, I like you being here—a lot.”

  * * *

  ANOTHER WEEK PASSED, during which Rachel had too much time to ponder Chance’s curious statement. He liked having her and Wesley sharing his house? If only he truly felt that way because, truth be told, she liked being there, and judging by Wesley’s easy grins, he did, too.

  Being with Chance made her feel safe—an emotion that’d been sorely lacking from the past eighteen months of her life. Being with him now told her what a fool she’d been for ever denying his offer of help and companionship. He was a wonderful man.

  The only reason she was now standing at the front window on a sunny Friday afternoon, watching for his Jeep to head up the winding lane leading to his home was because she was thankful to him...right? No way could it be something more.

  Trouble was, try as she might to pass off the growing feelings she had for him as simply affection between friends, she did feel something more. Twinges of attraction. Flickering flames.

  Whatever the label, it had wrongfully been there Sunday morning when he’d held her hand across the breakfast table. And Monday night when their hands brushed while Chance helped with Wesley’s bath. Again still Tuesday and Wednesday when they’d shared the usually dull duty of cleaning up after dinner.

  Instead of being ho-hum, washing dishes with Chance towering beside her, making her feel small and cherished and protected, had been—in a word—intoxicating.

  But why? Why couldn’t she keep at the forefront of her mind the fact that Chance had been Wes’s best friend? To follow through on any attraction for him would be wrong.

  Finally, she saw him pulling into the drive. Though she wanted to run to the back door to greet him like a giddy school girl, she somehow managed to rein in her emotions. Instead, with Wesley in her arms, she checked on the latest fragrant batch of sugar cookies still in the oven.

  “Smells wonderful in here,” Chance said with a gorgeous grin on his way through the back door. “You must be psychic.”

  “Why’s that?” she asked, telling herself the heat from the oven had her cheeks flushed—not the pleasure of being the recipient of his smile.

  “My parents invited us for dinner. Sugar cookies are Dad’s favorite—not that he’ll need a reason to fall for you or my buddy Wesley.” After slipping off his coat, then setting his keys and wallet on the blue tile counter, he took the baby from her, swooping him high into the air, then snug against his chest for a cuddle and kiss. “Mmm... I missed you,” he said, nuzzling the infant’s head.

  Rachel fought irrational jealousy strumming through her as she realized she wanted Chance to have missed her, too. Almost as much as she wanted a welcome home kiss...

  * * *

  RELAXING OVER ALMOND Bundt cake and coffee with Chance’s mother, Helen, while the men washed up after dinner, Rachel would’ve had a hard time remembering a time she’d ever felt more content.

  Helen had decorated her home from top to bottom in holiday decor ranging from elegant to goofy fun. The crackling fire and Elvis CD of holiday love songs playing softly in the background only made the night that much more special.

  “Please don’t think me forward for bringing this up,” Helen said after they’d had a few moments to finish their cake, “but my son’s a different person around you and Wesley. Better, in every conceivable way.”

  Rachel was so caught off guard by the woman’s random statement that she darned near choked on her last bite of dessert. “Oh?”

  “He loves you, you know. Has loved you ever since you first met all those years ago. Bless his heart...” She paused for a sip of coffee. “He was always the strong, silent type. His father and I urged him to tell you how he felt before you and Wes grew close, but he missed his window of opportunity and seeing how he and Wes were always such good friends, he did the gentlemanly thing and bowed out.”

  Not knowing what to say, her head and heart reeling, Rachel was hard-pressed to say much else but another “Oh.”

  “He’d kill me if he knew I was telling you all of this, it’s just that—” she peeked over her shoulder to make sure they were alone “—I’m not getting any younger and the thought of having an instant grandson, as well as a daughter-in-law whose company I’m very much enjoying, fills me with indescribable joy.”

  * * *

  CHANCE LOVES ME.

  Lying in bed that night, listening to Wesley softly snore from the beautiful crib Chance had bought for him on a wondrously hectic shopping trip Tuesday afternoon, Rachel wasn’t sure what to do with this knowledge.

  Part of her wished Chance’s mother had kept her nose out of her son’s affairs. Another part, the part of Rachel increasingly craving Chance’s touch, was secretly thrilled. But if she was falling for Chance, what did that say about her love for her poor husband? What kind of wife was she to so soon be falling head over heels for Wes’s best friend?

  Finding sleep impossible, she tossed back the covers and padded barefoot downstairs. Cookies and milk. That’s all she needed to get this ridiculous notion from her head.

  She wasn’t falling for Chance. He was like her brother.

  She was grateful to him.

  “Hey, gorgeous,” he said from in front of the open fridge, the dim light washin
g over the muscles of his bare chest. “Fancy meeting you here.” He winked.

  Her mouth went dry. That gratitude she was supposedly feeling for him? One sight of his rock-hard pecs and abs and there was no denying it. She wanted the guy—bad. Not in a friendly way, but in a way she had no business even thinking about, let alone aching to act upon.

  “Um, hi,” she mumbled, biting her lower lip.

  “Want milk?” he asked, wagging the gallon jug.

  “Yes, please.”

  While he poured, she grabbed the foil-wrapped plate of cookies from the kitchen’s center island.

  They reunited at the kitchen table.

  “Why can’t you sleep?” he asked.

  For a long time, she stayed silent, toying with her cookie. “Truth? You.”

  Gracing her with a slow, sexy grin that turned her resolve to think of him as a brother to mush, he said, “I’m flattered. At least, I hope I have reason to be.”

  Swallowing hard, she nodded. Everything about him was good. So why, then, did the realization that she was falling for him hurt so bad?

  “Rachel?” Setting his milk glass on the table, he asked, “You okay?”

  In a last ditch effort to prove to herself—to both of them—that the two of them as a couple would never work, she blurted, “Kiss me.”

  Per Rachel’s request, Chance did kiss her. At first, softly, reverently. But then, the closer she melded to him, the more he increased his pressure, dizzying her with fervent strokes of his tongue.

  And then, just as abruptly as their kiss had begun, it ended with Chance pulling away.

  Fingers sliding into the hair at his temples, breathing ragged, he said, “Sorry.”

  “For what?” she asked, eyes welling with emotion. “That was beautiful. It’s been so long since I’ve felt anything but pain. Your kiss...it was as if somewhere deep inside me, the wall of grief I’ve been hiding behind has been shattered.”

  “That’s all well and good,” he said with a sharp laugh. “But what about Wes? Don’t you feel guilty? As if our being attracted to each other is a betrayal of his trust?”