A Very Cowboy Christmas

by Kim Redford

  Sydney tried to shrug, but her body was no longer responding to her brain. She’d taken a dive into the blue depths of his eyes and felt scorched by the steamy heat. With a start, she realized he was no longer talking about her pink Cadillac. He’d finally turned his attention to her. A bit scary—oh yes, she’d admit it—but oh so tempting in that leap-off-a-cliff, gut-wrenching kind of way that spelled nothing but trouble. If she hadn’t actually liked him, despite all her best intentions, it’d be easier to simply take a plunge, get him out of her system, and move on. It’d be much harder to let go if she got in too deep. He wasn’t just a hot body. He’d gradually earned her respect as they’d fought fires together over the last several months. She felt her heart speed up in alarm, and she wondered if she had actually come to care for him, despite all her protestations, during that time?

  And then she had a second revelation. Dune was teasing her about her new clothes, putting a humorous twist on the situation as a clever Texas male on the prowl would do. She sniffed—actually sniffed as if she were a fifties lady. He had his nerve playing with her when she was in dire straits with a dead vehicle and a needy body. Even worse, he’d lured her in way too close, causing her hormones to wake up and salute him just as he’d earlier saluted her.

  “Treasures, right?” He pushed his point as mischievous light danced in his eyes.

  “Put on your shirt, you big goof,” she said with a grin to match his own exposed pearly whites. She was more than the sum of her hormones. Two could play this game. And she intended to win it.

  “Big goof?” He laughed, shaking his shaggy head. “That’s how me shirtless affects you?”

  “You shirtless affects me not at all.”

  “You sure?” He stalked toward her, challenging her with his searing blue gaze.

  She raised her chin, not about to back down, even if he did resemble a big ole determined bull. “My Cadillac is serious business.”

  “You’re too serious by half.”

  “Life is serious.”

  “That’s why we need to play now and again.”

  She held up a hand to stop him coming any closer. She really didn’t trust her body not to betray her once she actually felt the heat he was radiating as if he were his own personal sun. Besides, she needed to get her world back on track. She didn’t have time for play—or temptation. “At the moment, I just need to get Celeste up and running again.”

  “Die on you?”

  She nodded, trying to focus on his face instead of his washboard abs.

  “Bet it’s just a little dirt on your carburetor.”

  “Dirty?”

  “Yeah.” He flashed another white-toothed grin, reminding her of a predator on the prowl. “Dirty can be good, but in this case, I’d better knock off the dirt and get you going.”

  “Get me going?” She hated to admit it, but he’d already gotten her going, and he hadn’t done a single thing except take off his shirt—well, that and ply her with verbal foreplay.

  “I’ll just reach under the hood and toy with her a bit, if that’s okay by you.” He grinned again with eyes alight at his double-meaning tease.

  She took a deep breath and actually sighed with the thought of his strong hands doing all sorts of amazing things. And then she got a grip. “If you can fix Celeste, I’ll be grateful.”

  “How grateful?” He shook out his crumpled shirt, gave it a baleful look, and slipped his arms into the sleeves, leaving the front flapping open.

  “I’ll let you drive her sometime.”

  “That’s the best deal I’ve heard in a blue moon. How about you let me hand wash her, too?”

  “You want to do that?”

  “Sure do.” He glanced at the Caddy, then back at her. “I’ll rub her all over real soft and slow and tender with a leather chamois. She’ll be purring within an inch of her life in no time.”

  Sydney swallowed hard, trying not to envision that little scene in relation to anything except cars. “Fine. I’ll let you fix her up just in time for Christmas.”

  “You got it.”

  She cocked her head as a thought struck her. She knew how to win this game and come out ahead. “Even better, I’d like to see Celeste pristine for a cowboy firefighter photo shoot.”

  “Okay by me.”

  She stalked toward him, feeling energized with purpose. She could just see Dune sitting on top of the black leather back seat with his legs spread wide and his shirt open exactly as it was now. He’d be hot as a firecracker. Maybe she should even go for a few shots of him washing and polishing her car. He’d be wet all over with nothing but low-slung jeans hugging his hard body. She bet that photo alone would drive sales through the roof. “You never volunteered to be in my calendar, did you?”

  He stepped back, shaking his head. “Nope. I’m not the best material for that sort of thing.”

  “Of course you are. You’re a cowboy firefighter, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah. But I’m no model.” He took another step back.

  “I want real rough-and-tumble kind of cowboys.”

  “Ask Kent or Trey or Slade.”

  “Oh, they’re all on my list, but I’ve got twelve months to fill.” She closed the distance between them.

  “Lots of cowboys around here can do it.”

  “But you’re prime Grade A material.” She grabbed the ends of his shirttail with both hands and tugged him toward her. “In fact, you’re the perfect Mr. December.”

  Chapter 2

  Dune Barrett clenched his fists to keep from crushing Sydney against his chest. There was just something about her that had set him to firing on all cylinders from the first moment he’d met her.

  And he sure as hell hadn’t been looking for love or even a roll in the hay. He’d arrived in Wildcat Bluff on a “Sunday morning coming down,” to quote Kris Kristofferson, one of his favorite singer-songwriters. Dune had eased his way onto Cougar Ranch, grateful that his good ole buddy Kent Duval from his rodeo days had given him a place, no questions asked, where a beat-up guy could work as a no-name cowboy and lick his wounds in private. The only downside had turned out to be extra duty as a volunteer firefighter—and lusting after Sydney Steele.

  And now that lust, or to be more accurate, this tall, curvy cowgirl, had him ready to do anything—whenever, wherever, whatever—she might care to put to him. If it’d been an itch he could scratch and get over it, he’d take that easy way out. But the more he was around her, the more he actually liked her. He recognized those fleeting looks of sadness in her eyes, despite her best attempts at putting on a brave face and taking care of others. She was strong, not only physically but mentally and emotionally. A single mom needed those traits, but even so, he understood that core of loneliness because he lived with it every day, too. Still, respecting her, liking her, lusting after her didn’t mean he had any intention of posing for her cowboy firefighter calendar. So far, he’d managed to outmaneuver her photo shoots, and he had no intention of giving in now.

  “Please, be my Mr. December?” she wheedled in a husky voice as she leaned in closer.

  He groaned in response, feeling his blood heat up and head south as he caught her fruity scent. No sweet, cloying aroma for her—just straight up tangy. His kind of cowgirl. She was upping his temperature to the blazing point. Good thing they were out in the open or he’d be setting off automatic sprinklers to put out his fire. If she closed that last inch between them and he felt the hard tips of her breasts against his chest, he’d be a goner.

  “Pretty please with sugar on it?”

  He groaned louder—unable to form words—because any brain cells he had left with her hands tugging on his shirt had stalled in neutral.

  “I’ll let you wear a red stocking cap.”

  That shocked him out of his lethargy. She wanted to photograph him naked as a jaybird? He wouldn’t mind one bit shuc
king down to his birthday suit with her, but not for public consumption. He stared hard into her big hazel eyes that appeared innocent when he damn well knew better. “And nothing else?”

  “Oh, no! It’s not that kind of calendar.”

  He felt a surge of male satisfaction to see her turn a pretty pink color to rival Celeste. She’d never be able to hide her emotions, because she was a strawberry blond with the fair skin that’d always give her away. He’d be happy to put that pretty blush all over her luscious body with her long legs that could twine around a guy and hold him tight while he sent them on a rush up a mountaintop. His fingers itched to do it. And if not that, he’d settle for thrusting his fingers into her thick hair and holding her for a kiss that’d curl her toes and steam up her insides. He stopped his thoughts, because they were nothing but his lust-filled fantasies trying to take over just as they did every time he saw her—and riding him hard even when he didn’t see her.

  “I don’t know why you’d even think something like that.” She gave his shirttail a hard jerk and stepped back to put space between them. “Or of me.”

  Now he’d put his foot in it. He couldn’t tell her the truth, that he’d been thinking about little else except naked bodies since he’d met her. And if he wasn’t careful, he was going to have to admit to himself that he’d come to care for her, and that fact would open up another can of worms in a life that he was trying to keep simple. “You said stocking cap. I didn’t.”

  “But you…oh, never mind. I don’t have time to get into who said what when.”

  “I can apologize if it’ll help.” Not that he’d mean it, but he didn’t want to get on her bad side—if there was one. He tried to cool off by counting the scattering of freckles across her straight nose, but that just made the situation worse, because he took a dive straight down into her bra, wondering if more freckles lurked there just waiting for his discovery. Shape. Size. Color.

  “No need. Confusion, that’s all.” She took a deep breath, full breasts straining against her dress, as if she was preparing to start over.

  But his mind had gone into vapor lock again at that sight. What was she wearing? He’d seen her in nothing but cowgirl clothes before this day. Those were bad enough, but all this exposed leg, tight little dress, and high heels that made him want to see her wearing nothing else had sent him barreling over a high cliff down into the raging rapids of a hungry river. Much more of this sexy vintage stuff and he might as well be put down for the count.

  “So, what do you say?” she asked in an irritated tone.

  He did his best to slew his mind back to the subject at hand, but he’d totally lost the drift of their conversation. “About what?”

  She put her hands on her hips and jutted out her chin as she leaned toward him. “Okay. I’ve had about enough of your tricks.”

  “I’m not—”

  “You’re my Mr. December whether you like it or not.” She gave him a hard stare, then stomped over to Celeste, put her hands on the hood, and leaned forward as if she was carrying such a load that she needed the support.

  A lightbulb went off in his head. She was getting no help. He knew she was coordinating Christmas at the Sure-Shot Drive-In. He knew she was putting the benefit calendar together. He knew she was raising a daughter, as well as working at Steele Trap Ranch and part time at the Chuckwagon Café. But he’d been so far gone into his own lust, problems, and trying to keep life simple that he hadn’t looked beyond his selfish interests. He suddenly felt small—real small.

  Reality hit him like a sledgehammer. Wildcat Bluff’s community had welcomed him with open arms, given him a quiet place to heal, and asked for nothing in return except cowboy work. He’d given little back except as a volunteer firefighter, and he’d grumbled mightily about that. Not like him. Not like him at all.

  He knew the problem. It all went back to that last horrendous refinery fire. Until that day, he’d thought he was about as good as the late Red Adair, who was famous for stopping a thousand international oil well fires. That was then. Now he knew he didn’t even come close to Red’s gutsy track record, particularly as he was played by John Wayne in Hellfighters, the 1968 film about Red’s life.

  Dune had come out of that final fire alive, but Vonda hadn’t been so lucky. He’d never know what had caused her to turn back at the last minute. Had she heard somebody or seen something? He still couldn’t fathom it. They’d done all they could do. They’d contained the fire. They’d saved lives. It was cut and dried. Move on. But she didn’t.

  He hadn’t realized she was running back or he’d have grabbed her and hauled her to safety. Instead, all he’d had time to do was realize the situation, look back, and see her disappear under a fiery structure collapse. He’d started after her, feeling his heart beat hard in fear for her. But he’d only taken a few steps before he’d been stopped by another firefighter. He’d fought his friend to go to her, and he’d broken free, but just for a moment. In the end, it’d taken three firefighters to haul him back from where Vonda had disappeared forever.

  He’d failed her. He’d failed their future together. He’d failed his firefighter vows. Now he carried emotional scars that haunted him. He’d wake in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, so he worked hard on the ranch every day, hoping to wear himself out so he could manage a few hours of sleep at night. Yet nothing so far helped relieve his guilt.

  Maybe Sydney had been put in his path as the perfect torment to punish his charred soul. She’d come along at the wrong time in his life, because he didn’t feel as if he had enough to give a woman like her. She deserved a man who’d fall at her feet and hand her everything—love and lust and cuddles and support. Now she wanted him to pose half naked as a heroic firefighter when he was no hero at all. He was embarrassed even to think about it.

  Still, there she stood with so many burdens on her shoulders that he was surprised she hadn’t crumbled under the weight. And here he stood with not much of anything that gave his life value to anybody, not even himself. He took a step toward her, feeling a slight touch of hope blossom in his chest. Maybe—just maybe—she was more than a constant ache in his belly. Maybe she was the path to his redemption.

  He walked over, putting one reluctant foot in front of the other. He knew there’d be no turning back, not when he committed to her. He wasn’t sure if it was right or wrong, good or bad, different or indifferent. He just knew he had to do what was in his heart at this moment.

  “I’ll help,” he said as he reached her side, knowing better than to touch her or offer consolation. She carried a fragile type of sadness that she covered well, but he recognized it because he dealt with his own every day. Kindness—even understanding—of any type could tip her over the edge. He knew that for a fact, because it’d have the same effect on him.

  She straightened her back as she turned to look at him. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean I’ll help if Kent okays it. I can’t think why he wouldn’t want me to take a little time off to help with Christmas and the calendar. Everybody around here is overworked except me, so I guess I’m feeling guilty or—”

  “Left out?”

  He wanted to say, “Not hardly,” but he didn’t. Instead, he nodded, as if in agreement. What he felt like was a damn fool who was getting in too deep, knowing it and still doing it, because she needed his help, and he realized now that he’d come to care for her.

  “You’ll be my Mr. December?”

  He nodded again, hoping he could pull his cowboy hat down low and conceal his face. Back in the Hill Country where his family ran the ranch they’d had for generations, his brother would laugh himself silly when he saw Dune posing—half naked—in a firefighter calendar. He’d probably guess a cowgirl had put Dune up to it. Fact of the matter, Dune would be on that ranch right now if he’d ever been able to settle down, but he’d always been drawn to find something he couldn’t name and didn’t unde
rstand. He’d been a rolling stone, letting his brother manage the ranch with their parents. For the first time in Dune’s life, he felt glued to a single spot, and he couldn’t figure out why.

  “Will you help persuade the other firefighters to pose for our calendar?”

  He nodded once more, digging his hole deeper with each nod of his head. A little bit more and he’d be too deep to ever dig his way out. For some bronc-busting reason, the idea didn’t sit as heavy on him as he’d have thought. It probably had to do with the unrelieved desire he’d been living with for so long till he’d do about anything to make her smile at him.

  “Thanks.” She gave him a quick grin. “They’ve been avoiding me, as if that’d get me off their backs. If weather permits, I want to schedule our photo shoot as soon as possible. Hopefully we can make it happen in the next few days.”

  “Guess you need to get this show on the road.”

  “Sure do.”

  He took a deep breath, wanting to sigh out loud, but he caught her tantalizing scent and the hopeful look in her bright eyes. He didn’t back out or let himself off easy. “That’s doable. You want some help with the drive-in deal, too?”

  She reached behind her and put a hand on her convertible’s hood as if so surprised by his offer that she needed support. “Are you volunteering to help me?”

  “Like I said, everybody’s taken on some of the Christmas load except me.”

  “That’d be—well, it’d be a real blessing.”

  “I don’t know about that, but I’ll help if I can. Christmas at the Sure-Shot Drive-In is a big undertaking for one person. You ought to have a whole team instead of just me.”

  She cocked her head to one side, hazel eyes looking him over as if seeing him for the first time. “Maybe I misjudged you.”

  “Maybe you didn’t.” He shrugged, not about to let her think he was a hero just because he was volunteering a bit of time for a deserving community.

  She narrowed her eyes, as if still considering him. “Maybe you misjudge yourself.”