Champagne and Cowboys

by Donna Michaels

  “I found Yogi the hard way.” Storm smiled.

  Charlie looked back, smirking. “Yogi ran out in front of him, causing him to hit the ditch. Cowboy here is staying the night with us and tomorrow we’ll get him taken care of and on his way. Pops, do you mind making us a cup of tea while I take care of that cut on his head?”

  “That I can do,” Brent said.

  “Let me give Yogi some water first,” Charlie said.

  When she was out of ear shot, Storm bent close to Brent. “Care to make mine stronger than tea?”

  “I might be able to rummage up some Irish spirits.” Brent’s eyes sparkled.

  “I’d forever be in your debt.” Storm nodded and when Charlie came back, he followed her down the dimly lit hall, all the way to the end and into the bathroom. She was standing by the sink, taking a white box out from under the cabinet.

  “Okay. Have a seat.” The room was barely big enough for one, let alone the two of them. It housed a tub, a shower curtain covered in flowers with matching curtain on the window, a pink towel on the hook, and a selection of female products on the shelf. He inhaled sharply, catching a faint scent of perfume—not the kind that gives a person a headache, but a nice citrusy scent. He was in her bathroom. Why did that thought make his chest tighten?

  Charlie bit her bottom lip as Storm stepped into the small space of the bathroom. She was determined not to drop her gaze over his body or let it affect her when his arm brushed hers, but it was impossible. The crisp, short hairs on his skin erupted tingles on her flesh. Warmth bled through her shoulders like a warm blanket. She definitely didn’t allow herself to think about why her nipples bunched and prickled. It’d been a long time since she’d experienced that feeling. So long that she could barely breathe. Turning to face the sink, pretending interest in looking through the first aid kit, she sucked in air, demanding her lungs to function normally. Lifting her chin, she saw his reflection and couldn’t deny herself a peek at his profile as he picked up a magazine from the rack and flipped through the pages. He must have found an article of interest because he stopped scrolling, which gave her more time to gather her senses. He’d removed his hat and his longish, black hair laid in waves over his head. His eyes were deep and his prominent jaw was covered in dark stubble. She roved her eyes lower—to wide shoulders that stretched the black cotton, massive biceps, slender waist and large silver belt buckle down to…

  Stop right there!

  She wouldn’t allow herself to inspect his crotch. Nope. No way. Not going to happen.

  Breathing in slowly, feeling somewhat in control, she turned and their knees touched. Why had she suggested mending him here and not in the spacious kitchen? She was socially awkward and had no clue how a woman acts around a man.

  Heat came alive in the pit of her stomach and lowered, settling in her secret spot—a place she’d called off limits for years now. Here in the town of Palms, Tennessee, they didn’t see very many strangers, especially this good looking. In the town of four hundred people, everyone knew everyone and once in a while they got a stray vehicle lost off the interstate. Usually, they’d stop at the diner and get directions—the one she and her father owned and worked together, more her these days since his heart attack. He opened the place along with Charlie’s mom back when they first married. When her mother had died, her father had taken on all of the responsibility of running the restaurant and the rental properties they owned. It wasn’t always easy.

  And then when Sunny died, nothing had returned to normal and she doubted it would.

  A familiar constriction crawled up her throat, but she forced it away. This wasn’t the time to lose her emotions.

  She took out a bottle of ointment from the box. “Hold this.” She pushed it into his chest and he did as directed. He dropped the magazine back in the holder. His eyes were on her, but she concentrated on the bandages.

  Her hand trembled and she pressed her lips together, focusing. He’d think she was some silly goose if she didn’t gather her senses and stop acting like a teenager.

  She looked up. Big mistake. Their gazes met, head on. His whiskey colored eyes danced in the light, and at the same time her heart did a jig. What the hell? She wasn’t only behaving like a teenager, she was one again. Warmth spread over her skin and she blamed it on being in the cold for too long. It had nothing to do with the cowboy sitting three inches in front of her. Not possible. Very possible. Her friends would have been all over him like melting snow. A nun would have to ask for a lot of forgiveness if she was in the same situation.

  He pushed his hand through his hair causing more hair to fall to his forehead. Without thinking, she reached up and swept the strands away, the tips of her fingers brushing his skin, sending electricity racing up her arm. One corner of his mouth lifted—a teasing smile that tugged at the invisible chords in her heart.

  She needed to gain her equilibrium before she did something really stupid and spontaneous and kiss that mischievous half-smile right off his luscious lips.

  With shaking hands, she took the bottle from him and poured a good amount of the antiseptic ointment on a sanitized cloth. Wishing her nerves would calm, she concentrated on her breathing—in and out, in and out—but a naughty image trickled through her brain cells. Sweat beaded between her breasts and her spine tingled. She was losing it fast.

  Standing in front of a stranger touching him, or rather his wound, wasn’t nearly as awkward as needing to keep a straight face as the prickles exploded like fireworks in her groin. Her core muscles tensed and she had a strong urge to squeeze her inner thighs together.

  What had come over her? She wasn’t desperate, nor was she looking for a man.

  Pressing the cloth to his head, a mantra rolled through her mind. Dab, wipe, and repeat. Dab, wipe, and repeat. Dab, lick, and repeat. Kiss, lick, and repeat.

  Oh holy heck!

  “How does it look?”

  “Fantastic…I mean…it’s not bad. No stitches needed.” Her words came out as a squeak. She dropped the cloth in the trash can.

  “Are you a nurse?” His husky voice made her nerve endings tremble. Did he feel the draw between them too?

  “I worked as a veterinary’s assistant for a few years. You learn a lot watching a doctor help animals.”

  He chuckled. “I guess I’m pretty damn lucky then.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far. Good thing you didn’t need stitches. I can’t even sew a button on straight.” Needing to concentrate on something besides the intensity of his eyes, she cleared her throat and asked, “So you turned off the interstate because of screwed up GPS directions, huh?”

  “How’d you know?”

  “Why else would you have taken a wrong turn?”

  “I have a feeling it happens a lot.”

  She shrugged as she poured more antiseptic onto a clean cloth. “That’s the only time we get strangers out here in these mountains. We’re set quite a way off the highway.”

  “I couldn’t see ten feet ahead of me because of the snow. I tend to believe most things don’t happen by chance though. I could have gotten stuck and frozen to death. Now that would have been a lousy Christmas present.”

  She blinked. “Were you on your way to see family?”

  “No.”

  Getting the feeling he wasn’t going to expand his answer, she didn’t push. “Just last year we had a man drive right off the mountain. He wasn’t found until three days later. He didn’t make it.”

  Some of his tan faded. “Nice to know.”

  “You should feel even luckier now. Could have been so much worse. You had no business being out on the roads and should have pulled over into one of the gas stations off the highway. You have a city boy’s mentality.”

  “I have a feeling you say what’s on your mind.”

  She moistened her lips. “To a fault.”

  “No fault in letting people know where they stand with you. You said you ‘used’ to be a veterinary’s assistant. So why’d you quit?”
>
  “Pops had a heart attack and I was needed at the restaurant.” She found a bandage from the box.

  “That’s very self-sacrificing. A humanitarian as well as unselfish.”

  “I never thought of it that way, self-sacrificing. He’s been there for me through everything.” She unpeeled the plastic from the bandage, then the sticky back. “What’s your story? I saw the guitar. Seemed like a prized possession.”

  “Music is my life.”

  “That’s either a good thing or a bad thing.” She placed the bandage onto his wound, her knuckles grazing his skin again. She jerked and he looked up at her, his eyes dark and mysterious. She found herself leaning closer…

  “Tea is ready,” Her father’s voice made her jump and she bumped the box with her elbow, sending it crashing to the floor. The items scattered across the ceramic tiles. She bent and quickly picked up the bottles and packets, dropping them back into the box, not daring to look at her father in the doorway or Storm.

  Her father’s footsteps were heard fading back down the hallway and she tilted her chin. Her jaw dropped. She was eye-to-zipper with the cowboy and the bulge was unmistakable. Heat scorched her veins. She stood so fast that dizziness washed over her. “We’re done here.”

  Chapter Three

  Storm splashed his face with cold water. His forehead was on fire from Charlie’s touch. They’d almost kissed. At least he thought they’d almost kissed. Maybe he’d just imagined it since he’d wanted to bad enough. He’d never been this caught up in an impulse before. He’d only met her an hour ago, definitely not long enough to take things to a new level.

  He grabbed the frilly pink towel from the hook and dried his face. Inhaling, his nostrils flared. A trace of her nice scent remained on the towel. Yeah, he’d gotten a good whiff while she was standing in front of him mending his forehead, creating something dangerous behind his zipper.

  Good thing he hadn’t kissed her. If what she said was true, Storm would have found himself at the end of a shotgun. Charlie had certainly flown out of the bathroom like a bat out of hell. Had she seen the evidence of his attraction for her? Would she think he was a pervert? After all, what man got turned on by a woman putting a bandage on his head?

  Hell, who could blame him? The thin shirt she had on didn’t hide the darker shading of hard nipples. They were three inches from his face, mocking him, luring him into touching—better yet, tasting.

  “Get ahold of yourself!” he said to his reflection.

  He was only here for one night. Tomorrow he would grab another rental and be on his way. He’d forget all about tonight and go on with life.

  Fixing the towel back on the hook, fluffing and folding the material, it didn’t look as neat and pretty as when he’d found it. So, he dropped it to the sink.

  He certainly hoped Brent did as promised and found that Irish whiskey.

  In the kitchen, Brent was at the stove and Charlie was sitting at the long, rustic table, sipping from a mug.

  “Here you are, son.” Brent held out a cup. “Tea.” He winked.

  Storm took the offering and looked down into the amber liquid. He was glad to see the man had done Storm right. He knocked back most of it in one gulp, squinting as it burned its way through his esophagus and pooling like molten lava in his stomach. “That’s some of the best ‘tea’ I’ve ever had.”

  Brent smiled and nodded. “I’m off to bed now.”

  “So soon?” Charlie’s eyes widened over the rim of her steaming cup.

  “What do you mean so soon, dear?” Brent lifted a wiry brow.

  “I thought you might like to get to know our guest better.” Her voice quivered. She set the cup down, spilling a drop onto the table.

  Storm resisted the urge to smile. He wasn’t the only one as tense as a mouse in a room full of traps.

  “You won’t be too troubled if I head to bed, will you?” Brent asked.

  “Not at all.” Storm shrugged. “Got anymore tea?” He needed something to calm his insides, preventing him from making a fool of himself.

  “Please stop referring to the whiskey as ‘tea’! I’m not a child.” She stood up so fast the chair legs scraped the floor. She stomped to the sink, bent and grabbed a half-full bottle from inside. She shoved it out in front of her. “Here. At least it’ll be that much less for Pops to indulge in later.” She gave her dad a grin.

  Storm wasn’t sure which one would set his gut on fire more—her or the whiskey. He took her offering and went to sit down at the table.

  “Remember, son, that stuff is lethal,” Brent warned.

  Pouring another small amount into his cup, Storm nodded his understanding. Although, right now, a good buzz would be a relief compared to the ache behind his zipper. Charlie sat as soon as her dad left the room, looking at Storm through the veil of her lashes. “No sense in drinking alone? Care for some?”

  Only a second’s hesitation passed before she stuck out her cup. “Only a drop or two.”

  He obliged her, then held up his cup. “Cheers.” They tapped rims and drank.

  “He thinks I don’t know about his secret stash or the fact that he sneaks and eats a half-dozen slices of bacon every morning,” she huffed, bringing the cup to her lips. He noticed how pretty her mouth curved, the bottom a little fuller than the top, both pale pink, matching the color in her cheeks.

  He poured another small amount into his cup. Yeah, he needed it. “Whiskey and bacon…mm, some of the finer things in life.” She chuckled and he lifted a brow. “What?”

  “I’m not shocked that you agree. Men have a surprising list of ‘finer’ things.”

  “Really?” He sat back into the chair, the wood creaked under his weight.

  “Yes, really.” She took another sip and wiped her mouth.

  “I’d love to hear your thoughts on what things you think are on my list.”

  “Well, I don’t know you.” She lifted her shoulder and dropped it. “You seem like the typical man though. Women are definitely on that list, I’m sure.” She looked everywhere but at him.

  He laughed. “I like women. Nothing wrong with that.”

  “More specifically, in bed.” She played with the label on the bottle.

  He rubbed his jaw, realizing she must have seen his bulging zipper in the bathroom. “You’re lumping all men into one category. Why do women always assume that men can’t think with anything but what’s below their belt?”

  “Oh I don’t know. Maybe because it’s true.” She looked at him over the rim of her cup. “Pour me a tad more.” She held out her cup.

  He poured. “Science has proven that women think of sex just as often as men do, and in many cases more.”

  “You’re making that up.”

  “Am I? Why is that so hard to believe? Men and women were made to reproduce.” His cock twitched. This was a dangerous discussion. “Both sexes are led by attraction.”

  She blinked. “How on earth did we get onto this subject?”

  “You led me right down the path.”

  She sighed. “What did you get for Christmas?”

  He blinked, the question catching him off guard. “A head injury.” He pointed at his forehead.

  “Come on. Seriously,” she urged.

  A new twinkle appeared in her eye, but only a glimpse before it disappeared. “Nothing,” he admitted reluctantly. Sadness crawled across her features, one corner of her pretty mouth turned down. No, he couldn’t have her pity. “It’s not a biggie, Charlie. Christmas hasn’t been anything more than another day for me for a lot of years.”

  “That’s not right. It’s a day for celebration, spending it with those who are close.” She lowered her eyes. Had her eyes misted?

  “That’s an endearing thought for those who have family.” Once the words were out he wanted to fish them back in. It was bad enough that she looked at him like he was a puppy she found on the side of the road. He didn’t need to encourage her sympathy. He had everything he wanted—a flourishing career, mon
ey, and his guitar. A lot of people would kill to take his place.

  She lifted her cup, downed the contents then set it back down with a thud. “I have something.” She jumped up. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

  “I don’t plan on it, at least not tonight.” He sipped his whiskey. His gut was numb, but the ache below his waist remained. He closed his eyes and squeezed the bridge of his nose in irritation. He walked a thin line here and tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough.

  “Here you are.” Hearing her soft voice, he opened his eyes and looked up at her. She held out her hands with a colorfully wrapped present sitting on her palms.

  He blinked. What the hell? “What’s that?”

  “Take it.” She placed it on the table in front of him.

  He looked past her shoulder. “Did you just happen to wish for a present and it appeared?”

  “Dad and I always buy presents for the town folks. This year we had one left over, sadly because Mr. Winterbourne passed away a few weeks ago. Funny how fate works.” Her eyes twinkled as she returned to her chair.

  “Yeah, funny, ain’t it.” He smiled. Couldn’t help himself. Somehow seeing the excitement on her face was enough of a present. But she expected him to open it. Taking off the large red bow first, he then carefully removed the paper. Inside was a small white box and he lifted the lid. He found an iron cross leather bracelet. He stared, not sure what to say or to think.

  “I know it’s not much, but I’ve come to realize that faith is all we have.”

  Taking the bracelet from the box, he put it on his left wrist, grateful that it fit. Clearing his throat, he hoped his voice worked. “Best gift I’ve ever received.” He spoke the truth.

  She laughed. He loved the angelic sound. “You don’t have to go that far.”

  “I’m being honest.” This was all too much. How did he get so lucky to find this town—to find Charlie and her father—on Christmas day? Her kindness and giving nature made him realize how much he’d taken for granted over the years. He touched the cross on the bracelet and made a promise to himself that he’d make more of an effort to do what’s right.