Christmas Cowboy (A Standalone Holiday Romance Novel)

by Claire Adams

  "Aha. You aren't a robot, after all," I said. When he didn't even feign a smile, I poked him in the ribs with my elbow. "Come on, Vinny. I just want to know what size to tell my personal shopper. She could have the clothes by mid-morning tomorrow."

  "She may not like that," he intoned as he sidled into the grand foyer.

  I shook my head. "Nah, she'll be fine. I just have to make sure she doesn't get the wrong idea."

  "The wrong idea about what?" Kiara asked from the stairs.

  Vincent Jeffry jumped right alongside me, but as I stepped forward, he melted into the servants’ hallway and disappeared. I faced a frowning Kiara on my own.

  "I was just saying how if I knew what size you wore, I could have my personal shopper drop off a few outfits by midmorning."

  She scowled. "I'm not a doll for you to dress up, Teddy. I have clothes at my apartment in Brooklyn. I just need to go get them."

  "So that's what he meant by 'the wrong idea,'" I muttered. "Fine. Forget what I said. What are you looking for? Is there something you need?"

  She stalked down the rest of the stairs and made a wide circle around me. "I don't need anything. I was just hoping to borrow a book."

  I led the way to the library, hoping I could redeem myself. "They might be a little dusty, but take your pick."

  Kiara softened. "Don't let Vincent Jeffry hear you say that or he'll be insulted."

  I turned on a few lights, and the room filled with a warm glow. The multi-colored bands of leather-bound books made for a cheerful atmosphere. Titles winked in gold leaf as we walked along the first shelves. Farther back, the library boasted four parallel shelves with a tight aisle between and books lining both sides. Kiara was drawn into them, and I couldn't help but follow.

  She frowned as she found herself cornered. "Don't get any ideas, Brickman."

  "Why does everyone always think my ideas are wrong?" I asked, wounded.

  She smiled. "As if you aren't used to getting everything that you want."

  I puffed up my chest. "My father was a firm believer in making me earn everything I wanted. He also docked my earnings any time I bent one of his many, many rules. So you can quit thinking of me as spoiled."

  Kiara selected an illuminated book of poetry and slipped past me. She stopped at the door and tossed me a mischievous smile. "Who says I'm thinking about you at all?"

  I caught up to her and stepped in close. Kiara, in typical Davies fashion, did not back down, and we ended up toe to toe. I leaned down so my lips were only an inch away from hers and heard her soft intake of breath.

  "Maybe you will now," I whispered. Then, I swung past her and into the grand foyer.

  The sound of her laughter as she headed back upstairs stopped me in my tracks. Her laugh chimed throughout the old, empty house and banished all the dreariness. As I paced around the palatial first floor one last time, I felt a difference.

  It suddenly felt like home.

  #

  I caught Kiara the next morning at an insanely early hour. I just didn't tell her that I had to set four alarms to make sure I beat her to the kitchen. Instead, I handed her a steaming mug of coffee and pointed her towards the front door.

  "You made coffee?" she asked, sniffing the mug.

  "I had a good teacher," I told her. "Plus, I thought you could use a little pick-me-up before your drive."

  She stopped sipping her coffee and planted her feet in the grand foyer. "What drive?"

  "To your apartment to get your clothes," I said, pulling open the front door.

  "Teddy, wait. I didn't tell you, but my truck was completely totaled in that accident. You might not remember-"

  "Of course I do," I said.

  Her eyes rounded in surprise, but she kept going. "And I can't afford the cab fare. I'm just waiting for my last paycheck to clear before… Whose truck is that?"

  I finally led the way out of the front door. "Yours. Old Jim told me about your pickup, so I bought this one for you."

  "You bought a truck for me to use?"

  I tried again. "I knew you'd be too stubborn to use any of my sports cars, so I bought a truck for you. To keep. It's your truck."

  Kiara spun around on the front steps with a dark frown. "Just like that, you bought me a truck?" she asked. "I can't accept that, Teddy. What is wrong with you?"

  I chased her back into the grand foyer and caught her arm. "What's wrong with me? What's wrong with you? Trust me, that truck barely cost a thing. Why can't I give you a gift? If anyone else helps you, its kindness, but if I do, it’s the 'wrong idea.'"

  Her dark eyes flashed. "You don't understand."

  "Where are you going?"

  "To get my things and leave. I'll find my own way back to Brooklyn, thank you very much. If you wanted me out of here so badly, you could have just said something. You didn't need to go that far." She stomped up the stairs and left me speechless.

  The echo of her words reminded me of an argument I’d had in that very same spot with my father. He'd bought me a fancy cell phone and laptop, but I was mad because that meant he was leaving. My father had insisted I keep the gifts because then we could keep in closer contact, but I had refused. What I was really upset about was being left alone again. My father knew that, but was trying to buy my affection.

  No wonder Kiara is getting the wrong idea, I thought. I was trying to be affectionate, but all I knew how to do was buy her things her pride wouldn't allow her to keep.

  I wandered into the music salon and sat down at the grand piano. The song was complex, both melancholy and lilting. When the music crescendoed and filled the room, I finally felt like I could think straight. Somehow, playing the piano had always been a comfort and an oasis for me. When I was playing, the mansion felt full, and I was not lonely.

  The melody cut off as my fingers stilled. Kiara stood in the doorway with her arms crossed tight.

  "I didn't know you played piano," she said.

  "It's like your cooking," I admitted. "It makes me feel better."

  "I didn't mean to make you feel bad," she said, joining me at the grand piano.

  I stood up. "No, I'm the one who’s supposed to be saying that."

  "How about if you play another song, I'll cook up the best salmon you've ever had," she suggested.

  "Speaking of cooking," I said, sniffing the air. "Does it smell like something is burning?"

  We rushed towards the kitchen, but Vincent Jeffry appeared to block our way. "Everything's fine, sir. Sorry if I disturbed you."

  "Something is definitely burning," Kiara said.

  Vincent Jeffry blocked us both and shook his head. "The fire is out now. Everything is fine."

  "What's going on, Vinny?" I asked.

  My housekeeper’s inscrutable face slipped and a look of despair washed over him. "I've burned dinner. Not just some of it, but all of it."

  Vincent Jeffry let us in the smoky kitchen as he continued. "The potatoes boiled over and singed the stovetop. The roast is completely blackened, as are the carrots. Pot roast and mashed potatoes. It was going to be a simple, but decent meal for you and Ms. Davies."

  "Oh, Vinny," Kiara said, giving him a hug. "I would have cooked. We were just talking about how I love to cook. I find it comforting."

  "Couldn't you find a new chef, old man?" I asked.

  Vincent Jeffry composed himself. "I was unable to find a decent replacement, though I have hope that someone will respond by tomorrow night. I will not let this hang up any of your weekend plans, sir."

  "Don't worry about any weekend plans, Vinny. Just air the place out and let Kiara have a little fun."

  Kiara was already throwing out the charred roast and cleaning up. While she went to the back pantry to get cleaning supplies, Vincent Jeffry grabbed my sleeve and dragged me out into the hallway.

  "Have you forgotten about the party, sir?" he asked.

  My stomach dropped. "Whitney's whole garden party thing?" I groaned. "Oh my God. That's this weekend? Kiara will never stay with al
l that happening."

  Vincent Jeffry flapped his hands to get my attention. "We are hosting fifty people with no chef, sir."

  I clapped an arm around Vincent Jeffry and drew him back into the kitchen. "You, sir, have just given me a great idea."

  Kiara came out of the back pantry and stopped when she saw my wide grin. "What now?"

  "Sir, please-"

  I cut off Vincent Jeffry. "You like cooking, right?" I asked Kiara.

  "Yes."

  "And, you are currently deciding on a new career path because your heart wasn't in law, right?"

  She put the spray bottle and handful of cleaning cloths down. "You think I should consider being a cook?"

  "I was thinking more along the lines of personal chef. The Brickman Estate is in desperate need of one. Can you stay the weekend so we don't starve?" I asked.

  "Of course." Kiara laughed. Then she gave me a sly look. "I might even consider a few new outfits as payment."

  "Done!"

  #

  I was still congratulating myself on the clever turn of events when Vincent Jeffry burst into my room the next morning.

  "Whoa, what happened to your manners?" I asked.

  He took one look at what I was wearing and rushed to my wardrobe. "It is a formal weekend, sir; you must have a suit coat on to greet the guests."

  "The guests? It's not even ten o'clock yet," I objected.

  His hands flapped as he tossed me a navy blazer, a light-blue shirt, and a pair of dun-colored pants. He then dove back into my wardrobe and came out with what looked like a silk scarf.

  "What is that thing?" I asked, amused by the panic in his movements.

  "A cravat, sir."

  "Oh, no. I think I can draw the line there. Vinny, you gotta calm down," I said.

  "The first guests will be arriving in ten minutes. Their driver just sent me a message," Vincent Jeffry said.

  I took on some of his panic and tugged on the light blue shirt. "Really? This early?"

  "A formal weekend, sir, starts with refreshments in the parlor followed by a luncheon. Is Ms. Davies out shopping?" Vincent Jeffry asked.

  We both froze.

  "I didn't tell her about the party." I unbuttoned the top button of my dress shirt, but still could not breathe. "She's going to hate me. She's going to head right out the back door."

  "No," Vincent Jeffry howled. "I need her help. Put on that cravat and get to the front parlor."

  I finished getting dressed with numb fingers. After two hopeless attempts making the cravat look like anything else but a bloated snake around my neck, I tossed it on the bed and headed downstairs. The full staff of Brickman Estate was present, including maids in uniform and footmen waiting to help the guests with luggage. People I only vaguely recognized waved as they crossed the foyer and followed the footmen to their guest suites.

  I jogged down the grand staircase and made a beeline for the kitchen. Vincent Jeffry appeared as if by magic and spun me in the direction of the front parlor. "You already have guests waiting. Pour champagne, greet everyone, and don't say anything about food."

  "Is Kiara all right?" I asked, trying to dodge around my determined housekeeper. "How mad is she? Please tell me she didn't leave."

  He frowned. "She didn't leave, but she's not really speaking right now."

  "I have to go see her. I have to tell her it completely slipped my mind." I sparred with Vincent Jeffry, but he was fast and surprisingly strong for such a lanky man.

  "Ms. Barnes is waiting for you. She is quite anxious for you to join her in the front parlor."

  My muscles went weak. "Whitney? Oh, God, I forgot she planned this whole thing to make me pantomime perfect couple with her. I can't do it, Vinny."

  "You have to," he hissed and shoved me down the hall.

  Whitney's face was bright with elegant cheer as I joined her in the front parlor. I ran on autopilot, which was probably why she didn't scold me under her breath. I poured champagne when she told me to, greeted everyone whose names she supplied for me, and moved around the room at her elbow—until we reached the back wall.

  "And Teddy has a grand amusement planned for tonight, don't you, dear? Teddy?" Whitney called for me as I hurried along the servant's hallway.

  She hadn't seen me slip into the hidden doorway and was quite flustered, but I heard her recover with a practiced laugh. "We must be out of champagne," she covered.

  I had to see Kiara. That thought kept me from getting lost in the rabbit warren of servants’ hallways that ran behind the walls of every room. When I finally stumbled into the kitchen, I was surprised to see Kiara smile.

  "Oh, thank God. I thought you might try to hit me with a meat cleaver or something," I said.

  Kiara snorted. "I might. You could have given me a little more warning."

  "I completely-"

  She held up both hands and stopped me. "Vincent Jeffry already explained that you forgot about the party, and I believe him. It sounds exactly like something you would do."

  "So, you're not mad?"

  She shook her head and unloaded the groceries Vincent Jeffry had ordered from her list. "Actually, I think this could be really good for me. The more I think about it, the more I know that cooking is what I want to do. I don't have any fancy schooling or experience, but if I use this weekend to showcase what I can do, then I might be able to find my first job."

  I took a deep breath and was surprised that I could do so. A weight was off my chest. I had to admit that most of it had to do with the smile on Kiara's face. I had been worried she might never smile at me again.

  The rest of it was the sudden ease I felt. Standing with Kiara in the kitchen was the first moment in hours that I truly felt myself. The rest had been swallowed up in the social graces of Whitney's perfect weekend.

  I started sweating. The one thing I thought best to keep to myself was Whitney's involvement. I was determined to keep Whitney away from the kitchen all weekend. I couldn't even imagine the choice words Whitney would have for me if she found out I had hired Kiara and she'd all but moved in.

  Suddenly, I didn't have to imagine it. Whitney was there in the kitchen door with her normally pert mouth in a tight frown. "You brought her home like a stray dog?"

  "Whitney, please. Kiara is helping us out of a jam. Chef Nolan was a disaster," I said. I wanted to cross my arms and shield Kiara from Whitney's cutting looks, but it was too late.

  "Oh, Teddy, please. She thinks she can cook? I'm telling everyone that your one job this weekend was to plan the menu. I won't take any credit for this farce." Whitney spun and stalked out of the kitchen.

  Kiara was pale, but a blaze burned in her eyes. "Like I said. This weekend will be a good test for me."

  I knew that look. Kiara was ready to prove herself, and I knew she'd do great. The only thing I worried about was what Whitney would do to retaliate.

  So much for a relaxing weekend, I thought.

  Chapter Nine

  Kiara

  I drove slowly along the road to town, worried it was all going to dissolve into a dream. I'd end up in that old tent again with the storm gathering above me and nothing but the burned-out remains of my family home. All alone. Last night had gone so well, it was no surprise I didn't believe it was real.

  The staff had swung in and out of the kitchen, gathering trays and serving platters, and each time, they had brought back the opinions and compliments of the guests.

  "The broth is being called a complete delight," one of the servers said. His tone had lightly mocked the rich guests, but the praise was sincere.

  "I've had three people ask for the recipe for your salad dressing," another staff member had told me. She smiled. "I told them you're gathering recipes for your new blog and that was sure to be on it."

  "New blog?" I had asked with a laugh. I had held up hands sticky from dinner roll dough. "I'm not sure I'm going to be doing much typing."

  I almost missed the turn, my head was so high up in the clouds. The storm h
ad blown away the pain and rejection of getting fired from my law internship and set me on a new course. Now that I had actually been in the kitchen preparing meals for nearly fifty guests, I was sure it was what I was meant to do.

  I swung the shiny pickup truck into the farmer’s market parking lot and waved at Young Jim. He smiled as I hopped out the pickup and pulled a large basket from the truck bed.

  "Looks like things are starting to sort themselves out?" he asked.

  I nodded, feeling lighter than I had in years. "I really think so." Then, my smile faded. "I haven't gotten much done at my family's place, though."

  Young Jim shook his head. "You can't feel guilty about that. The rain would have kept anyone away. It was probably best that you got a rest. You've been over at the bed and breakfast?"

  I started down the first crowded aisle of stalls and wished I could avoid the question. I wasn't ready to talk about accepting Teddy Brickman's help. Even though it had all felt natural, and even right at the time, I knew how it would look.

  Young Jim noted how I avoided his look and he glanced back at the new truck. "Isn't that the pickup Brickman just ordered?"

  "Ah, yes," I admitted. "I'm actually staying there and doing him a favor. There's a big party at his estate, and he's out a chef. It just so happens I'm thinking about cooking as my next career."

  "A lucky coincidence. Hope everything works out," Young Jim said. He tugged at the brim of his hat and slipped away through the crowd.

  I knew what he was thinking: Teddy Brickman, the jet-setting playboy, was making another conquest. Except this time, he was doing it to avoid any responsibility for the fire.

  That's not it. They don't know him, I thought.

  Why was I so sure I knew him?

  As I picked out big bunches of herbs that weren’t already growing at the estate, I thought about the elegant glimpses I had gotten of Teddy Brickman the night before.

  He had been resplendent in his new tuxedo. I knew I shouldn't have been surprised at how easy and comfortable he was in the formal attire, but it was an entirely different world—his world.

  What I most remembered about the previous night was Teddy slipping into the kitchen. He'd lean against the kitchen island, out of the way, and give me an almost desperate smile. It was as if he was more comfortable there with me than in his own, splendid rooms with his sparkling, rich guests.