A Knight Before Christmas

by Alicia Dean

  moved up to her head to give her an affectionate pat. She

  rode free, not tied to anything, in the event sudden labor set

  in. Not familiar with her foaling habits, he didn't dare take the

  risk she might try to lie down, despite the unlikelihood.

  "Eat your hay while I run inside. We'll get you settled in

  soon." He scratched her behind the ears, ran his hand down

  her mane, and patted her shoulder. "No foals, Angel. You

  gotta cook that one until January."

  She answered his order with a lazy blink.

  Satisfied they were in agreement, Clint climbed out of the

  trailer and secured the door. He crossed behind his bumper,

  stepped over the hitch. His gaze fell on the house. Bright

  lights flooded the snow-covered porch with a warm yellow

  glow. The Christmas tree twinkled behind the front window.

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  Through the frosty panes, he glimpsed Alex seated on the

  couch. Alex laughed at something, and though the sound

  didn't filter outside, Clint could hear the rumble of his voice.

  Maybe coming home wouldn't turn out so bad after all. He

  hadn't seen his brothers in years.

  He made his way to the porch, stopped in front of the door

  to stomp the snow off his boots. Bells jangled as he opened

  the door.

  A chorus of laughter greeted his ears. Alex looked up with

  a broad grin. But what caught Clint's immediate attention was

  the flash of movement near the hearth. He glanced over in

  time to see a woman punch Heath in the arm. She tumbled

  back into her chair, giggling, then turned bright blue eyes on

  him.

  Jesse.

  "Clint!" Her excited greeting blended with his brothers'

  hellos.

  Her smile, however, made his breath catch. Something

  deep in his gut tripped as he took another step inside and

  Jesse eased to her feet. Long black hair tumbled to her waist,

  just as she'd always worn it. He'd seen those raven locks a

  thousand times, but they'd never shone quite like they did as

  she crossed the room.

  To his shame, his gaze skipped down to her toes, taking in

  curves he'd never noticed, and a waist so tiny he could span

  his hands around it. She wore jeans that hugged thighs he

  knew were muscular. Only, five years ago, they'd just been

  Jesse's legs. Now, they belonged to a...

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  He caught the sweet scent of lilacs as she slipped her arms

  around his neck and hugged him tight. Soft curves melted

  against his chest.

  A woman.

  When in the hell had Jesse grown up? She'd been thirty

  when they'd last spent any time together. Even as an adult,

  he'd still seen the tomboy she'd always been. His little sister.

  But damn... She felt good. All feminine.

  He collected himself enough to return her hug. "I'll be

  damned, Jesse. I didn't expect to see you here."

  "Is that Clint?" his mother called from the kitchen.

  "Yeah, Mom. I'm here."

  Jesse pulled out of his embrace, leaving his skin tingling

  where they'd touched. Good grief, what was the matter with

  him? He'd wrestled with her, for God's sake, and hadn't ever

  been affected by touching her. For that matter, they'd all

  skinny dipped in Longview Lake one summer. And those

  breasts hadn't been anywhere near as compelling as they

  were beneath her light blue sweater right now.

  Shoot, he hadn't even known she'd had breasts back then.

  Well, he'd known, but there was a distinct difference.

  "Clinton, come give your mother a kiss." His mother's call

  jarred him back to sense.

  Thankfully, it also offered a means of escape. He glanced

  about the room, offered a short nod and said, "Be right back."

  Avoiding eye contact with those disturbingly unsettling blue

  eyes, he followed the aroma of apples and cinnamon into the

  kitchen.

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  Stunned, Jesse curled into her chair with her feet tucked

  beneath her and trained a smile to her face. Though she

  pretended interest in Heath and Alex's conversation, her gaze

  followed Clint's retreat. Loose blue jeans pulled around firm

  buttocks, tapered down thick thighs to bunch at the neck of

  his tan hiking boots. He ducked his head as he stepped under

  the doorframe, and thick dark waves touched the neck of his

  beige sweater. Wide shoulders hunched to shorten his long

  frame.

  She could not be staring at the same Clint who she'd

  grown up with. That Clint's one-dimple grin made her want to

  poke her finger in his cheek. This Clint's lazy grin had

  temporarily stopped her heart.

  Where had this one come from?

  "Dontcha think, Jesse?" Alex gestured her way, his look

  expectant.

  She blinked. Not knowing what to say, she stammered,

  "Oh. Ah, yeah."

  "See, little brother?" Alex tossed a rolled up paper at

  Heath. "No way can Arizona beat K-State. Don't you know

  Jesse's never wrong about football?"

  Once upon a time, maybe. But until right now, she hadn't

  even known her Alma Mater had made it to the bowl. Or

  which one for that matter. However, now wasn't the time to

  clue the King brothers in on the fact she'd given up her

  tomboy ways years ago. That would require conversation.

  Until her heart stopped this ridiculous hammering, she didn't

  dare brave her voice.

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  Clint's deep laughter rumbled from the kitchen. Her gaze

  pulled back to the open doorway. A strange tingling sensation

  tripped down her spine. Somehow, he'd changed his laugh

  too. It no longer made her want to join in. Instead, the urge

  to giggle set in. Giggle, for heaven's sake.

  How come that hadn't happened when he came back

  earlier this year for his father's funeral?

  Because he wasn't laughing, dummy.

  Well that logically explained the prickling of her skin. Yet,

  it didn't reason why she hadn't noticed the man in July. He'd

  worn a suit and tie, but even all dressed up, she hadn't really

  seen him. What did jeans and a cable-knit sweater have over

  formal wear?

  Why in the world did she care? This was Clint. Clint, who

  lived in Kentucky. Clint, who liked horses, and she didn't

  know the first thing about them. Clint who knew the

  embarrassing secret that at sixteen, she'd let Mark

  Hammond, the school nerd, put his hands up her shirt in

  exchange for the right to copy off his Algebra quizzes.

  Of course, she hadn't told Clint. He'd found out when Mark

  asked if Clint could barter up a better payment for answers.

  Still. Clint knew things about her no man should.

  His heavy heel squeaked the board just inside the kitchen

  doorway. He stepped through carrying four small plates of

  homemade apple pie. His gaze flicked to her, a
nd to Jesse's

  shame, her stomach clamped into an anxious ball.

  Lord, he was handsome.

  Amelia King hobbled to her chair beside the twinkling

  Christmas tree, her recently broken ankle slowing her usually

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  quick pace. She bent over to set her plate and a coffee cup

  down on the end table and paused. With a tip of her head,

  she peeked out the front window. "Sweetheart, is that a horse

  trailer in my front yard?"

  His arm half-extended to offer Jesse her plate, Clint froze.

  His amber eyes locked with hers. A touch of color flushed his

  cheeks as he answered, "Ah, yeah."

  Amelia sat down and frowned at her oldest son. "Why?"

  "Well..." Clint handed Jesse the plate. Their fingers

  brushed, sending a jolt of pleasant energy rippling up Jesse's

  arm. Clint's gaze flashed with something she couldn't define.

  He pulled his hand away so fast he nearly dropped the pie in

  her lap. She caught it at the last moment, then dropped her

  gaze to stare at the sugar-dusted crust.

  He eased himself into the couch cushion closest to her and

  fixed his stare on his mother. "I was going to ask you if old

  man Jameson still ran that boarding stable on the north end

  of town. I had to bring my mare along. She's due to foal any

  day."

  Jesse let her gaze stray sideways to his knee. It rested

  close enough that if she unwound her legs they'd touch. Solid,

  sturdy—she could almost feel the way his leg would lean into

  hers in a silent expression of affection.

  She gave herself a mental shake. What was she thinking?

  Clint would never do something like that. At least not with

  her. She had no business even letting the thought register.

  He might be handsome, but he was still Clint, and she was

  still his little sister. The way he'd jerked his hand away said

  more about his thoughts on touching her than anything.

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  Blinking, she pushed aside the thoughts that clouded her

  mind and focused on the conversation. All three raptly

  discussed who might have a boarding stable, who might be

  willing to take on a pregnant mare on short notice, and how

  far Clint would have to drive to tend to his horse.

  "Clint," she began with a slight frown. His gaze pulled to

  hers so quickly she stumbled over her immediate thoughts.

  Swallowing, she willed her voice not to shake. "Why don't you

  use Mom and Dad's old barn? I put a new roof on it last year,

  so it should be watertight. I use half for storage but there's a

  stall we could fix up. You'd be close to your mother and your

  horse."

  "Hey good idea. I can help you fix it up tomorrow, Clint,"

  Alex offered.

  Clint's gaze held Jesse's, spreading unfamiliar warmth

  through her veins. The urge to move, to somehow extract

  herself from that rich, amber intensity, gripped fierce. A

  woman could get lost in those expressive eyes. Dangerously

  lost.

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