Christmas Texas Bride (The Brides 0f Bliss Tx. Book 4)

by Katie Lane

  Carrie finished her phonics homework in record time. She knew most of her sounds and was starting to read simple words. Christie figured Ms. Marble’s tutoring had helped. Although Cord had been working with her too. Her daughter was always spelling some word that Cord had taught her while she helped him in the barn.

  He disappeared during the homework session, but reappeared after it was over with three plates of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and potato chips. They ate at the end of the long dining room table while Carrie Anne regaled them with stories about school. Thankfully, there were no more stories about S-E-X. Christie had taken Cord’s advice and talked to Jonas Murphy’s mom. Mrs. Murphy had blushed profusely and said she intended to have a long talk with her oldest son. She’d also thanked Christie for coming to her rather than going to the principal. The principal happened to be a family friend, and if he’d found out, she would’ve never been able to look the man in the eyes again.

  After they ate, Carrie Anne wanted to play a game. Since Cord didn’t have any board games, Christie suggested charades. When it was Cord’s turn, she worried that he might feel awkward acting things out. But he proved to be a natural at the game. His performance as a simpering Cinderella at the ball had Carrie Anne and Christie laughing until they cried.

  Around nine o’clock, Christie brought an end to the fun. “Time for bed.”

  Carrie Anne started to argue, but Cord rose from the couch and cut her off. “It’s my bedtime too. I have to get up early to feed the horses.”

  “Can I help?” Carrie asked.

  “If you wake up in time.”

  She jumped off the couch. “I’m going to bed right now so I’ll get up extra early.”

  Cord winked at her. “Good idea, Half Pint.”

  He showed them to one of the spare rooms. Savannah had given Christie the full tour of the newly decorated house the day before, but the guestrooms had still needed furniture. The room Cord showed them to now held an oak dresser and a queen-sized bed with a white comforter and a multitude of colorful throw pillows. The bed looked like a huge heavenly cloud compared to the hard, little mattress she shared with her daughter in the trailer. Carrie Anne must’ve thought so too because she made a beeline for the bed as soon as Cord left, and Christie had to intercept her before she reached it.

  “Oh, no you don’t. You are not hopping on a white comforter with your sneakers. Get your pajamas on and brush your teeth, then you can dive in.”

  For once, Carrie Anne listened. Within minutes, her teeth were brushed and her pajamas on and she was snuggled down in the bed with her tattered Raggedy Ann doll that Christie’s mother had made her. Christie usually told her a story before they went to sleep. But the soft bed proved too much for her daughter, and by the time Christie had changed into her flannel pajamas and brushed her teeth, Carrie was sound asleep.

  Christie sat on the edge of the bed and smoothed back the hair of her sleeping daughter. A wave of love washed over her, and right behind it came a wave of guilt. Guilt about taking her from the only home she’d ever known and not being able to give her a big soft bed in a nice warm house. Christie wallowed in guilt for a few moments before she turned off the light and climbed into bed. But sleep eluded her. Her mind was too filled with the kind of Christmas Carrie Anne would have if she could only win the gingerbread house contest.

  She finally got up and decided to sketch out some ideas of how to decorate the huge boot. She had a pen in her purse, but no paper, so she headed to Cord’s office to get some. On the way, she had to walk through the living room. The lights were all off, but the fire was still blazing. There was something hypnotic about the flickering flames. They drew her like a moth, and she walked over to stand in front of the warm fire.

  “Trouble sleeping?”

  She jumped and whirled to see Cord stretched out on the couch. His boots were off and his stocking feet were crossed. He had his hands behind his head, and the snaps of his western shirt were unsnapped to reveal the center of his hard chest. She had seen him without a shirt when she’d taken a picture of him cleaning out the stalls. But there was a difference in seeing a bare back in a shadowy barn and seeing a bare chest in the glow of a fire. The flickering firelight reflected off the hard swells of his pectoral muscles and the sprinkling of dark hair between.

  Danny Ray’s chest had been as smooth and hairless as a baby’s butt. When she’d first met him, she’d thought it was sexy. But she didn’t know what sexy was until now. The sprinkling of hair on Cord’s chest sent a deep, sensual longing through her . . . a longing that grew as she followed the trail of manly hair down his flat stomach to where it disappeared in the waistband of his Wranglers.

  “Christie?”

  Her gaze lifted to Cord’s bemused expression. It was obvious that he’d asked her something, but she didn’t have a clue what it was. “Umm . . . excuse me?”

  He sat up, and his shirt closed enough to get her mind out of the gutter. Or out of Cord’s jeans. “I asked if you had trouble sleeping? Is the bed okay?”

  “It’s fine. I just don’t sleep much these days. I have a lot to think about. What happened to you going to bed early?”

  He smiled. “Just a ploy to get Carrie there. Like you, I have trouble sleeping.” He picked up a mug that was sitting on the end table. “You want a cup of coffee? It’s decaf.”

  “No, thank you. I should probably go to bed. I don’t want Carrie Anne waking up and getting scared.”

  “I don’t think that kid of yours is scared of much.” He paused. “Please stay. I don’t often have company at night. It would be nice to talk to someone . . . other than myself.”

  She shouldn’t give in. She had no business chatting with Cord in her pajamas. Especially when she couldn’t wait for his shirt to open back up. But how could she ignore his plea when he’d done so much for them—including offering them his home. And it wasn’t his fault that she had a major weakness for hot rodeo cowboys.

  A weakness she needed to get over.

  She took a seat on the opposite couch, as far from him as she could get without being obvious. “Just for a few minutes.” He settled back with his cup of coffee and his shirt fell open again. She looked away and searched for a conversation starter. “If you don’t like rattling around in this house, why did you make it so big?” She planned to keep her eyes on the fire instead of Cord, but when it took so long for him to answer, she glanced over.

  He was staring at the flickering flames, his eyes gold and red reflections. “Because I’m not planning on living here by myself.”

  She didn’t know why his answer surprised her. She should’ve known that a man as good looking as Cord would have a girlfriend somewhere. Or maybe even a fiancé.

  “Oh,” she said. “That’s . . . nice. When does she get here?”

  “What?” He glanced over at her, then laughed. “No. I wasn’t talking about a woman.” She didn’t know why she felt relieved, but that was the only way to explain the tension that left her body.

  “Then who did you build this big house for?”

  He hesitated before he answered. “For my son and his family.”

  She was confused. “But I thought they have a house in town. You’re going to give them this one?”

  “I wasn’t planning on giving it to them—although eventually everything I own will go to Ryker. But for now, I’m hoping they’ll just come live with me. The house they’re living in now is a money pit. This house is brand new and much bigger with a barn and horses and plenty of room to raise a son.”

  “They’re having a son?”

  Cord seemed taken back by the question. “Did I say son? I meant their child. What girl or boy wouldn’t love growing up on a big ranch? They could ride horses with their dad. Or go fishing. Or just sit around a big fire and shoot the breeze like we are.”

  Since it would be a long time before Ryker and Summer’s child could ride, or fish, or shoot the breeze, she was even more baffled . . . until she finally figured
out what Cord was saying. He didn’t want Ryker to move here to raise his son. He wanted Ryker to move here so Cord could get another chance at raising his. The realization was tragic. She knew from experience that there were no do-overs with parenting. You were either there when your children were growing up or you weren’t. But she couldn’t tell Cord that. She couldn’t break his heart.

  “I’m sure they’ll be . . . overwhelmed by your offer. When are you planning on asking them to move in?”

  “I was waiting until the house was decorated and the baby’s room finished.” He leaned up, cradling the coffee mug in his hand. “Did you see it?”

  Christie had seen it. She’d thought it was so sweet that Cord had thought to decorate a room for his grandchild to visit. Now that she realized it was for a more permanent arrangement, it wasn’t sweet as much as bittersweet. “It’s adorable,” she said.

  “Savannah did a great job. I figure it’s my ace in the hole for getting Ryker to move in.”

  She wished there was a chance that Ryker and Summer would move in with Cord, but she knew there wasn’t. Everyday at the bakery, Summer talked about how much she loved her little Victorian. She also talked about how much she liked walking to work and her plans to turn the attic into the perfect playroom. She wouldn’t want to move. And there was no way Ryker was going to move without his family.

  “Maybe you should wait to ask them,” Christie said. When Cord flashed her a curious look, she scrambled for a reason. “I mean the holidays are coming up. And no one wants to move around the holidays. Besides, the bakery is really busy this time of year and you wouldn’t want Summer driving back and forth during a storm like we’re having right now. In fact, maybe you should wait until spring.”

  She thought that she’d come up with some pretty sound reasoning, but it didn’t work. Cord seemed dead set on his son living with him.

  “Nope. I can’t wait that long. If I have to drive Summer to and from the bakery, so be it. It might be silly, but I have a vision of the perfect Christmas morning. And it includes having my family around a big tree with plenty of presents and love.” He paused and looked at her. “Very similar to the picture Carrie Anne drew in class today.”

  “What picture?”

  “A picture of her ideal Christmas. I think it’s in her backpack.”

  Christie got up and walked to the hall tree where Carrie Anne’s backpack hung. She found the picture in the side pocket and brought it back to the couch to look at it.

  “I should’ve known cowboy boots and a bicycle would be in it,” she said. “And there’s me . . . and Carrie . . . and by the size of the belt buckle, I’d say that was you.” She studied the last stick figure. “Who’s that?”

  “Her daddy.”

  All the energy drained right out of Christie at just the mention of Danny Ray. She set the picture on the nearby end table and grabbed the throw blanket that hung over the corner of the couch. She snuggled under it and stared at the fire. She expected Cord to have questions about her ex. She just didn’t expect the question he asked.

  “Do you still love him?”

  She didn’t have to think too hard to answer. “Yes. I think a part of me will always love Danny Ray Corbett. He’s a hard man not to love. He’s handsome, charming, and funny. He was my first real boyfriend. The only man I ever had sex with. The father of my child. How could I not love him? It’s too bad he wasn’t ready to be a father. Or a husband.” She sighed. “Damned rodeo.”

  Cord set his coffee mug on the end table and rested his head back on the couch. “It’s not the rodeo. I’ve known lots of rodeo cowboys who were great husbands and daddies. Unlike Danny Ray and me, they didn’t get sucked into their own egos. They didn’t let a few good rides and a few star-struck buckle bunnies make them think that they were more than they were. We were just stupid. Like Redford in the Electric Horseman, we lost the better part of ourselves.”

  She leaned her head back on the cushions and watched the firelight flicker across the high ceiling with its huge oak beams. “My mama loved that movie. Every damn time it comes on, I can’t help watching it—or crying like a baby when Redford says goodbye to Fonda and starts hitchhiking on that lonely highway as Willie sings ‘My Heroes have Always Been Cowboys.”’

  “’Hands on the Wheel.’”

  She glanced over at him. “What?”

  “Willie doesn’t sing ‘My Heroes Have Always been Cowboys’ at the end. He sings ‘Hands on the Wheel.’”

  He started singing in a low, raspy voice that was sexy and soothing at the same time. Christie hadn’t paid that much attention to the lyrics when she’d watched the movie. She did so now, and the poignant story of a man who was lost until he found himself in a woman’s eyes made her own eyes sting with tears. One fell down her cheek when that cowboy finally found his way home.

  Cord finished singing, and they both just sat there—all the emotions the song had evoked left no room for words. Once the flames finally flickered down to glowing embers, he got to his feet.

  “Well, I guess I’ll call it a night.”

  Christie rose. “Me too.”

  But once they were standing, neither one of them made a move to leave. They just stood there facing each other. Christie’s gaze locked with Cord’s. In his eyes, she saw the same hungry need that was inside her. A need she could no longer ignore. She knew it was crazy. She knew she would regret it come sun up, but that didn’t stop her from lifting a hand and cradling his scruff-roughened jaw.

  His eyes slid closed and her name came out in rush of warm breath. “Christie.” When he opened his eyes there was nothing but glowing heat that sent any reservations she might still have had up in smoke.

  His callused fingers closed around her wrist, holding her hand in place as he turned his head and pressed his lips to her palm. It was the most romantic kiss she’d ever gotten in her life, and she struggled to catch her breath as his hot lips scorched her skin. He kept them there for a long moment, as if savoring the taste of her, before he lifted his head. He hesitated as if waiting for her denial, but, at that moment, she couldn’t deny him anything. She held her breath as his mouth lowered to hers.

  There were no soft kisses or playful nips. He kissed her like a man kisses a woman—with everything he’s got and then some. He didn’t just taste her. He consumed her with skillful lips and a wet heat that made her knees weak. She might’ve slipped down to his feet if he hadn’t released her wrist and placed his large hand on her back, pressing her to the hard length of his body.

  And he was hard. Hard chest. Hard stomach. Hard bulge beneath faded denim. He flexed his hips, and desire ricocheted through her. She wanted. She wanted like she had never wanted before. She slid one hand in the back pocket of his Wranglers and squeezed his firm butt cheek as she rubbed against his ridged fly, trying desperately to feed that aching need.

  He moaned into her mouth, the sound vibrating through her body like a plucked string. With their lips still locked, he two-stepped her back until her legs hit the couch and they tumbled down. As she shifted to accommodate Cord’s big body, Christie bumped her head on the end table. It wasn’t a hard bump, but it was enough to have Cord pulling away from the kiss.

  He opened his eyes, and it was like he’d just woken up from a dream. He stared at her in confusion for a moment before he quickly got to his feet. He stood over her looking like a man who had just committed the worst crime imaginable. His face held a heap of regret, followed by firm determination.

  “I’m sorry, Christie, but I can’t. I can’t make any more mistakes. I’ve made enough.”

  He turned and walked away.

  Chapter Eight

  Cord was a chicken shit. There were no two ways about it. He snuck out of the house before the sun was even up, fed the horses, and then hightailed it to town. He got to Lucy’s Place Diner just as it was opening and sat at the counter by himself, staring into his coffee and trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with him. Christie was much younger th
an he was. She was his assistant. And Carrie Anne’s mama. For all of these reasons, he had no business messing with her. No business whatsoever.

  The last thing Christie needed was another screwed-up cowboy. And there was little doubt that Cord was still screwed up. He had thought he had control over his body’s needs and desires, but last night proved otherwise. All it had taken was a Willie song and one caress from her soft hand for him to lose it. If he hadn’t pulled away to see if she was okay after bumping her head, he would’ve had his way with her right there on the couch. It was the way she’d kissed him—like he was a bowl of fresh cream and she was a starving barn cat. She hadn’t just wanted him. She’d needed him. And it had been so damned long since he’d been needed that it went straight to his head.

  Both heads.

  “You’re up awfully early.”

  He turned to see Ms. Marble standing by the door in a knit red hat and matching coat that made her look like Mrs. Claus. And if anyone would make a good Mrs. Claus it was Ms. Marble. She had a way with children, because she’d been a first grade teacher for almost forty years, and she could bake like nobody’s business. Everyone in town loved and respected her. Dirk Hadley might be the mayor of Bliss, but Ms. Marble was the Queen Bee. The one who made sure that everyone in her hive was thriving and happy. And in her book, part of being happy was being married.

  Which was why Cord avoided her like the plague.

  “Good mornin’, Ms. Marble,” he said. “I was just having a quick cup of coffee before I head back to the ranch.” Or over to Summer and Ryker’s. There was no way he was going back to the ranch until he had given Christie plenty of time to leave. He was a chicken shit.

  He started to reach for his hat that was sitting on the counter when Ms. Marble stopped him. “You’re not on my list.”