by Soard, Lori
*
The off key notes of another Christmas carol drifted up the stairs. Gage tugged the pillow over his head and tried to muffle the sound. For the last two days, all he’d heard were poorly sung songs. Why was Cat in such a good mood anyway? Gage was irritated at the tiny thrill that ran through him. Why would he be looking forward to Christmas? He’d had one goal to reach by the end of the year, to regain possession of this ranch. And it didn’t appear that Santa would be wrapping that up for him.
Tossing the pillow at the door, Gage sat up and swung his legs to the side of the bed. He scruffed his fingers through his hair and yawned, glancing at the digital clock on the night stand. Five in the morning. There were some drawbacks to running a dude ranch, one of them was getting up early to feed the animals, although Cat only kept a small number here in the winter, sending the rest back to owners they’d been on loan from.
That was another thing that would need to change, he frowned. It was important that the resort have horses here year round in case guests wanted to ride. He would need to purchase at least seven or eight more horses and some staff to care for them. If he could go ahead with his plans at all, he shot a glare at the closed bedroom door.
“Oh, holy night…” The phrase ended in a high key which immediately cracked and dropped to an off-octave lower one.
Gage winced. One thing was certain, Cat wouldn’t be leaving the ranch to make her singing debut. Despite that, her songs were beginning to work a strange magic on him. Christmas. It had always been his favorite time of year. Why should he be deprived of enjoying it just because his family was in Boston and he was here in Durango? Cat would just have to put up with his Christmas traditions whether she liked it or not.
First, he would finish decorating that ridiculous tree that had sat bare and lonely in the corner of the room where he’d left it. That decided, he quickly showered and pulled on jeans and a sweatshirt before heading downstairs.
Following the wail of Cat’s voice, he found her in the kitchen stirring a long wooden spoon in a heavy black pot.
Gage sniffed appreciatively at the sugary butter smell filling the room. Cat was oblivious to it, stirring and singing and swaying her hips.
His gaze focused on the erotic sway of her backside, Gage edged closer. Cat had pulled her heavy blonde hair up on her head and a few stray tendrils trailed onto her neck, curling in the heated, moisture of the room. Unable to stop his advance, even had he wanted to, Gage stopped just behind her. He swallowed the urge to wrap his arms around her and nuzzle her exposed neck. She was the enemy. He must never forget that. She was a Claiborne.
“What are you cooking?” He was standing so close, he could see the tendrils of hair stir slightly from his breath.
Cat jumped and dropped the spoon. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!”
“Sorry.” He reached around her and rescued the handle of the spoon before it could slip under the gooey mixture in the pot. His arm brushed against her side and Cat gasped. Every muscle in Gage’s body hardened in response and he was grateful he was behind her, hidden from probing eyes that would spot his reaction in an instant.
“What are you making?” He spooned the gooey mixture up onto the end of the spoon and let it drop back into the pan with a plop.
Cat shifted from foot to foot nervously, a slight shudder passing through her body. Good. He was making her nervous.
She brought her left hand up and secured one of the loose tendrils behind her ear. “Fudge. And I need to keep stirring it or it will scald.”
Gage didn’t move. Cat’s own unique scent mixed with the heady freedom of wildflowers seeped into his conscious. He didn’t want to be attracted to her. Hadn’t asked for it, but he was. Now, he’d have to deal with it. He saw two ways to handle the situation. One, stay as far away from her as possible, not really a possibility unless he left Aspen Trails. He refused to be ran away from his home a second time because of a Claiborne. That solution was out. The other was to take her to bed until he was over this insane obsession. He grinned. Now there was an intriguing thought.
“Gage! It needs stirred,” Cat wailed.
“I’ll stir it, he started to move the spoon through the gooey mixture, his arm brushing against her with each movement.
“No!” Cat grabbed the spoon away from him. “Just go sit down.”
A warm flush spread up the back of her neck. Gage grinned. So Miss Catherine Claiborne could be ruffled, at least she wasn’t immune to him. The holiday might have pleasurable possibilities after all.
chapter ten
Finally, Gage moved away. Catherine ignored the gooseflesh raising on her arms. When his arm had brushed against her, heat had pooled in her and she’d almost collapsed. How could one man be so aggravating and so attractive at the same time?
“What kind of fudge?”
Catherine glanced over her shoulder. Gage had one hip propped up on the kitchen table, his free leg resting on the floor. His arms were crossed over his chest, outlining his muscles. Catherine turned back to the stove and stirred furiously.
“Chocolate.”
“Why am I not surprised?” he drawled.
Catherine laughed. “It’s my favorite thing.”
“Any kind of chocolate?”
Catherine turned sideways, still stirring, but able to see his face. “Yes, why?”
“Chocolate icing?” His smile lit his eyes with a sensuous flame.
“Yes,” Catherine answered a little more hesitantly. What was he up to?
Gage shifted away from the table and took a step toward her. “Chocolate syrup?”
Catherine cleared her throat. Gage kept walking toward her, stopping within touching distance.
“Why do you want to know that?” His gaze was so heated she had to look away. Catherine turned back to the stove, using the fudge as an excuse.
“I just can see the possibilities.” His voice was husky as dry snow.
Catherine dripped some of the fudge base into the cool waiting water and almost did a dance when the test proved the candy was ready. Maybe she could escape this uncomfortable conversation. Uncomfortable and way too stimulating.
“Fudge is ready,” she sang, yanking the pot off the burner and dumping a bag of semi-sweet chocolate chips and a jar of marshmallow cream into the pot.
“Now what?” Gage moved closer, glancing over her shoulder.
His body pressed against her back and Catherine closed her eyes. “I stir some more.”
“You certainly stir me,” he whispered.
Catherine dropped the spoon and turned to face him, planting her hands on her hips.
“Okay, what’s up?”
Gage grinned and Catherine blushed. He hadn’t moved back when she’d spun around and they stood so close their breaths mingled in an age-old dance.
“Are you trying to seduce me?” Catherine decided that a good offense was the best armor against his rugged charm.
“Could I?”
Catherine felt her jaw slacken. “No. So stop it.” She turned back to the fudge and stirred vigorously to make up for the few seconds she’d allowed it to sit.
“Liar.” Gage’s breath brushed over her ear and Catherine began to tremble. “But then you are a Claiborne.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Catherine poured the fudge into buttered pans and ran some water in the cooking pot.
“Not a thing, darlin’.” Gage’s voice took on the soft southern drawl that it did when he didn’t want to discuss something further.
“Do you have something against Claibornes in general or is it just me?”
Gage’s green eyes snapped hostilely for a minute and then a shutter fell over his emotions. Perhaps she’d imagined it. Or did he really want this ranch that badly?
“Truce, Cat. For Christmas.” He lifted his hand and held the palm against her cheek.
Catherine resisted the urge to rub herself against him like the domestic creature he was so fond of calling her.
; A truce for Christmas. Was it just possible that they could be at peace for that short period of time? A real Christmas. Wistful longing swept through her, robbing her of her ability to answer him.
“We’ll cook dinner together.”
Catherine raised her gaze to his, but the emotions were still hidden and she couldn’t read his intentions. Was this all a trick to get her to sell the ranch? Or was he sincere? Did it even matter? A real Christmas. This was what she’d always wanted.
“Truce,” she agreed.
Gage moved his hands to her shoulders and tugged her closer. “Truces should always be sealed.”
Catherine raised her brows. “Oh, really?”
“Yes.” Gage lowered his head and captured her lips with his.
Catherine didn’t resist, she returned his kiss with more enthusiasm than she’d intended, but he didn’t linger. He pulled back after that first brief kiss. The faint taste of disappointment lingered in the back of her throat, which was ridiculous. She hadn’t really wanted him to kiss her. Of course not. It was just the human contact at Christmas. That’s all it was.
“And tonight, Santa visits.” The shutters flung open and Gage’s eyes filled with excitement.
Catherine giggled. “Were you like this as a child?”
“Worse.” He grinned. “Didn’t you get excited about Christmas?”
Her thoughts were jagged and painful, like shards of glass covering her memories. Excited? How could you get excited when you knew there was no such person as Santa, or that Santa was the drunken shell of a man upstairs passed out?
*
Gage watched as the animation left Cat’s face to be replaced with sorrow. Apparently he’d said the wrong thing. Was it because this was her first Christmas without her father? As much as he hated Mustang Claiborne, he supposed he could understand her grief.
“Excited?” Catherine laughed bitterly.
Gage frowned. She was still talking about Christmas and childhood. What had upset her then?
“I guess you could say I was usually anxious about Christmas as a child.” Her even teeth came out and bit into her bottom lip.
Gage wanted to take her in his arms and soothe the hurt he saw written on her face, but Cat paced away from him, crossing her arms as if to ward off a chill.
“That bad?” The thought of Cat as a small child, the light of joy stamped from her face, touched a part of him that had been buried for too many years.
Cat shrugged, but Gage could sense that she was holding her emotions tightly in check. Well, he would go ahead with his plans to celebrate the holiday and if she wanted to talk he’d offer a willing ear.
“Let’s go decorate that tree.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her behind him into the living room.
The scraggly, pathetic tree still stood in the corner where he’d left it. A reservoir of water filled the base of the stand and Gage slid a glance at Cat. She must have filled it sometime after he’d stormed out the other day. But she hadn’t bothered to decorate it; he wondered why.
She’d seemed so excited when they’d first brought the tree home. Home. The word hung in his mind and tormented him. This was his home and yet it wasn’t. Technically, it was just a house. A place where his family had lived. In his heart, it was home. It was his parents’ home, and his childhood, and his memories. This ranch was every precious memory. What bothered him about using the word associated with Cat was that somewhere along the way he’d come to think of it as her home too. And it wasn’t. Her father had stolen it, but it wasn’t hers. It wasn’t home for her. Or was it?
“Where are the decorations?” He’d focus on getting the tree decorated, and all the other traditions his family had passed down to him. If he kept his mind off his traitorous ex-partner, maybe he could enjoy Christmas Eve with that partner’s daughter.
“I pulled them out of the attic the other day and put them in the coat closet.”
Gage whistled and went to get the heavy cardboard box of ornaments. Cat ripped the tape off with a noisy yank and dug into the box. She pulled out two little glass globes with angels in them. They looked too fragile to exist. Gage took a step back, scared that if he looked too long, they’d disappear into the wispy dreams they appeared to be.
“These were my mother’s.” Cat’s voice was so soft, Gage almost didn’t hear her.
She rose to her feet and hooked each globe over a high branch, stepping back to admire them.
“How old were you when she died, Cat?” Gage understood the heart wrenching loss of a parent. When his father had died, it had been like someone had reached inside of him and ripped out a vital part of himself. He couldn’t imagine the pain of losing both parents.
“I was a baby. I don’t remember her.” Cat’s eyes were wistful and she seemed about to say something else but then turned back to the box. “Let’s get the rest of these up.”
“Are there stories behind any of the others?” Gage reached into the box and pulled loose a little blue house covered with painted on snow.
“No. No more stories.” Cat spat the words out.
Gage stared at her in shock. No stories? Didn’t all families have stories at Christmas? Something wasn’t quite right here. Either the traditions were a little off-kilter or Cat was embarrassed by them.
“We usually built a cozy fire on Christmas Eve.” Gage nodded his head toward the fireplace and then realized what he’d done. He didn’t want Cat to realize he’d grown up in this house. Not just yet. “We would drink hot cider and my father would read ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas.”
Contentment passed over her face, softening her blue eyes to a cloudy gray. “That sounds nice.”
“What did your family do for Christmas, Cat? I want to know some of your traditions.”
Cat quickly dug back into the box and shrugged her shoulders, not really answering his question.
Gage eyed her suspiciously. Either she was closing him out intentionally or she was hiding something. Either way he intended to find out.
“We would open one present on Christmas Eve.”
Cat’s eyes started to glow again. “Really? How many brothers and sisters did you have?”
“Just a sister. She’s two years older than me. What about you?”
“No brothers or sisters. It was just me and Pop.”
“What?” He threw a hand over his heart. “No one to fight with?”
“There was no one.” She stopped mid-way to hanging an ornament and stood motionless.
“Well you had your father at least.”
“Did I?” Tears glistened on her lashes and one rolled slowly down her cheek.
“Cat?” The sight of her tears caused an unfamiliar reaction in him - the fierce need to protect her from any pain. Gage pulled her into his arms and held her gently.
“My father never made a big deal out of Christmas is all.” She sniffed and then palmed her tears away. “This is silly, I quit expecting miracles a long time ago.”
“Didn’t you have any traditions?”
“Yeah, we had one. My father would go out and get as drunk as he could on Christmas Eve, someone would bring him home and then he’d sleep until four or five on Christmas day. When he got up, there was never any acknowledgment that it was Christmas.”
The drunkard! Gage had known that Mustang was a selfish cheat but he’d never dreamed the man had cheated his daughter more than anyone.
No child should have to miss out on the joy of Christmas. His family had always followed a set pattern on Christmas. Traditions that he had come to count on as a child and continued to practice as an adult. The fire and stories on Christmas Eve, Christmas dinner and the opening of presents, and the big fight between his mom and dad.
Gage frowned, wondering why he’d recalled that twice after all this time. His father had been dead for nearly fifteen years, shouldn’t he only be remembering the good times and not the bad?
“My childhood wasn’t perfect either, Cat,” he admitted. There had been the fig
hts over selling the ranch and moving and his mother threatening to take the kids and leave. It had usually spoiled the high spirits they were in.
“It sure sounds perfect to me.” Cat’s heart was in her eyes and Gage ached for the little girl she’d been. “He never bought me a Christmas present, Gage.”
“He was a drunk, Cat.”
She didn’t seem to notice that Gage had spoken from personal knowledge. “He didn’t love me enough to take the trouble to ever buy me one little thing. I wouldn’t have cared what it was. Anything would have worked. But he didn’t bother.”
He reached over and stroked his thumb over her slightly trembling lower lip. “I’m sorry, Cat.”
“Once, he came home with Peanut. He’d won her in a card game. He said, ‘Here, you take care of it.’ That’s why she’s so special to me, it was the closest I ever came to receiving a present from Pop. He never got over losing my mother. I think it almost destroyed him.”
Gage swallowed his response. He wasn’t willing to feel sympathetic toward Mustang, the man didn’t have a compassionate or fair bone in his body. He hadn’t even been capable of loving his own daughter.
What Cat needed was a traditional Christmas, one with all the caring and warmth he could give. It sounded to him like she was long overdue one.
chapter eleven
Catherine couldn’t help but wonder had her mother lived if things would be different. Gage was describing the type of family she’d wished she was in as a child. But dreams and reality were often two very separate things.
The way that a normal family functioned was as alien to Catherine as a foreign language she’d never heard before. Gage’s stories warmed her in places she hadn’t realized were frozen. “Tell me more. What other things did you do?”
“We baked cookies for Santa and he always took one big bite and drank all the milk.”