Smokin' Hot Cowboy Christmas

by Kim Redford

  Also by Kim Redford

  Smokin’ Hot Cowboys

  A Cowboy Firefighter for Christmas

  Blazing Hot Cowboy

  A Very Cowboy Christmas

  Hot for a Cowboy

  Cowboy Firefighter Christmas Kiss

  Cowboy Firefighter Heat

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  Books. Change. Lives.

  Copyright © 2020 by Kim Redford

  Cover and internal design © 2020 by Sourcebooks

  Cover art by Kris Keller/Lott Reps

  Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. Sourcebooks is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.

  Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks

  P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410

  (630) 961-3900

  sourcebooks.com

  Contents

  Front Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Back Cover

  Chapter 1

  “101 Uses for a Bandana—Red, Blue, Yellow, Green, Purple, or White—to Add That Classic Accessory to Your Lulabelle & You Wardrobe.” Belle Tarleton cocked her head to one side as she considered the words she’d just typed on her laptop.

  Was one hundred and one too many? She’d only come up with nineteen so far. She particularly liked “Fancy Gift Wrap,” “Emergency Diaper,” and “Trail Marker.” Surely she could figure out more uses. She liked the high number, particularly for promotional copy, because it sounded sassy and fun. She was determined to rev up her line of women’s Western wear, so she’d come to Wildcat Bluff County to get back to her cowgirl roots.

  She balanced her laptop on her knees as she perched on the red-and-white-checked cushion of the swing hanging from the front porch roof of the Lazy Q ranch house, hoping for inspiration. It wasn’t that she didn’t know ranches. She loved them. It wasn’t that she didn’t know Texas. She loved the Lone Star State. It was just that she’d been spending most of her time in big cities doing business and she’d grown more comfortable there than in the country. Besides, she was East Texas, born and bred, and that was Southern country compared to the Wild West heritage of North Texas. Piney Woods versus Cross Timbers. They were equally beautiful but equally different.

  She looked out over the neatly fenced ranch with Angus cattle, a black herd in one pasture and a red herd in another. By sharp comparison, her front lawn was a disorganized mess. Strewn about were stacks of roof shingles, lumber of all shapes and sizes, lengths of gutter, packages of nails, screws, whatnot, and cans of paint. At least, that’s what she recognized by sight. She was clueless about the other stuff piled here and there. All she knew was that the building material was supposed to be on the house and not on the ground. She needed the work completed in time for her make-or-break Christmas party in six weeks to introduce media and buyers to her new Lulabelle & You Ranch.

  Unfortunately, there was a big glitch in her plans. Ranch renovations were at a standstill. Was there not a single man or woman in the entire county willing to get the work done? So far the answer appeared to be a resounding negative. She’d had one person after another appear, order stuff she’d paid for, and then, after one excuse or another, disappear never to return. She was actually losing ground instead of gaining it.

  She could’ve called in a team from Dallas to finish her projects, but that wouldn’t go over well in the community. She wanted to build a solid, positive foundation with locals to create a good relationship that stretched into the future of the ranch and her business. She particularly wanted to nurture friendships because she had the uneasy feeling, although no one had said anything directly to her, that folks hereabouts didn’t much care for the idea of a dude ranch in their midst. They probably thought there’d be extra traffic, which there would be, and a lot of strangers, which there would be, but she planned an upside for the area as well.

  She could thank her family for the idea of her taking over the ranch. They’d bought the place to help out friends who’d wanted to retire, but her folks hadn’t had time to do much with the land. She’d been at loose ends in a lot of ways…from the breakup of a long-term relationship to the downturn in clothing sales to simply wanting a change in life.

  Yes, the ranch was a promotional tool, but she intended it to be so much more. Maybe nobody thought she read emails and messages sent to her at Lulabelle & You, but she read as many as she could snag time for, and her media assistant read all of them. She was particularly attuned to youngsters who wore her clothing line and looked to her as a big sister with answers to their problems. She addressed many of their concerns in her weekly “Belle & You” newsletter, but she wanted to do more for them.

  She’d come up with an idea that the ranch could also be used to support the creative arts that were so vital to future generations of clothing designers as well as those aspiring in the other arts. Imagination that translated into creative power was high on her list of important life skills. She also wanted to make available a place that nurtured youngsters living in cityscapes without access to the country, where they could positively interact on tours with farm and ranch animals such as horses, cows, and chickens to experience an agrarian way of life. She wasn’t sure yet how she could make it all work, but that was her ultimate goal.

  Yet…one step at a time. First, she had to get work completed on the house in time for her Christmas p
arty. Second, she had to create marketing for Lulabelle & You. Third, she had to get local folks to accept and support her goals. A tall order? Yes. But she was a cowgirl, even if she was now on the citified side, and she knew how to get a job done.

  She amended that thought as she looked out over the construction-in-progress mess. Normally she knew how to get stuff done. In Wildcat Bluff County, so far she’d met an immobile rock of resistance or ineptitude or something unknown. She just hoped the next cowboy, due to arrive at any moment, would be the silver lining in her stormy sky.

  She had high hopes for this guy because he’d been recommended by Hedy Murray, head honcho of Wildcat Bluff Fire-Rescue and owner of Adelia’s Delights. When she’d called and talked with him on the phone, he’d said his name was Rowdy, no need for a surname. Why not? It didn’t really matter. All that mattered was that he had the ability to arrive on time, carry heavy loads, and drive a nail in straight…maybe he even had a few cowboy firefighter friends who’d help him do the job.

  To meet this paragon of construction virtue, or so she hoped, she’d dressed conservatively in a sample of her upcoming line of Western business attire for ladies that was a feminized version of the traditional male Western suit. She was considering a line of bolo ties to accent the shirts and suits, but she needed the right designer to create the look while staying true to its heritage. But that was on down the road. Right now she waited for Rowdy to show up and prove he was just what she wanted and needed to set her life straight.

  In her mind, she pictured him as bowlegged from spending life on horseback when he wasn’t crabbing his way across rooftops for repair. He’d sport plenty of muscle from wrangling thousand-pound-plus animals even if he might have gone to seed a bit. Looks didn’t matter. She’d spent so much time with sleek male and female models on photo shoots for her clothing line that she was immune to physical attributes. All she needed was a man with clever hands and an agile body.

  And so she waited. A blue jay took wing from an upper branch of an ancient post oak with spreading branches that had dropped all its leaves. She liked that shade of bird blue and wondered if she could get fabric in the exact same color to be made into a jacket or suit. Maybe it was too bright and brassy for a semi-professional look, although cowgirls did like flashy. She’d keep it in mind for later seasons.

  For now, late afternoon in the middle of November was a lovely time of year with the temperature in the mid-seventies. It’d drop into the fifties at night, but that was comfortable weather with a sweater or jacket. She enjoyed being outside now that she was on the ranch. She’d missed the great outdoors with its scent of dry grass riding the air, the sound of wind in the live oaks and cedars, and the natural beauty of the land.

  She focused back on Wildcat Road, though it was some distance from the house. Rowdy would come that way, from one direction or the other, turn under the Lazy Q Ranch sign, and follow the gravel road upward. She smiled at a sudden thought. Maybe he wouldn’t be in a truck at all. Maybe he’d be riding horseback, jumping fences as he crossed pastures to reach her. She liked the image. Maybe she’d use it in a promotion.

  As if she’d conjured him with her thoughts, she saw a battered, faded blue pickup chug up the road with black smoke from its tailpipe proving it was burning oil, turn under the sign, and head her way. She hoped Rowdy was in better shape than his truck because it looked like it was on its last legs. Hedy had said Rowdy was a volunteer cowboy firefighter, so he had to at least be strong enough to lift ladders, tote fire extinguishers, drive fire engines, and handle emergency medical situations.

  When the pickup pulled to a stop in front of her on the circular drive, backfiring a few times as the engine died down, she waited with bated breath, hoping against hope that this cowboy was just what she needed to set her Christmas right.

  She set her laptop down on a cushion, stood up, and watched as the rusted, dented truck door squeaked open. First one and then another dirt-crusted, scuffed work boot found purchase on the ground. Long, tanned fingers grasped the side of the door, wrestled with it a bit, and then managed to get it shut after several tries.

  She caught her breath at the first sight of Rowdy. She was a clotheshorse and appreciated a well-dressed man, so it wasn’t his clothes that snagged her attention. He looked like he’d stepped straight out of Hollywood central casting or a modeling agency’s book for the hot cowboy who appeared as if he’d been ridden hard and put up wet—yet was still ready, willing, and able to handle any job…or any woman.

  He wore stained, ripped, faded Wranglers that showcased long, muscular legs. A washed-to-softness denim shirt with white snaps barely concealed his muscular shoulders, chest, and arms. From underneath a stained, beige-felt cowboy hat, he looked her over with hooded eyes the color of bluebonnets set in a face of high cheekbones, wide jaws, and full lips. He was flat-out beautiful.

  He took off his hat and revealed thick, dark blond hair. He placed his hat over his chest…as if sending a message from his heart to her heart. And he smiled, revealing a single, tantalizing dimple in his left cheek accented by a close-cropped beard.

  Oh my. She felt a chill race through her body followed by a surge of heat. She wasn’t known for strong reactions to good-looking men because she’d seen so many, but this cowboy was under her skin with a single look.

  “I’m Rowdy.”

  “Belle Tarleton.” She walked over to him with outstretched hand in business-friendly mode.

  When he clasped her fingers in a traditional shake, it was anything but ordinary. She caught his scent of sage and sandalwood. She saw his eyes darken with interest. And she felt the heat and strength of his work-rough palm.

  “Hear you need a bit of help with the place.”

  “Yes.” She freed her hand, although he seemed reluctant to let her go, and gestured at the piles of construction material.

  He glanced around and then turned back to her with an amused glint in his blue eyes. “I take it you want me to put this stuff where it belongs.”

  “That’d be good.”

  “Got a completion date on your mind?”

  “I need everything done before Christmas.”

  He put his hat back on his head. “That’s a tall order.”

  “I’m planning a big party.”

  “Party.” He glanced around again. “Lots of parties going on about that time of year, so folks are busy.”

  “This particular party is important to my business. Didn’t Hedy Murray explain?”

  “A bit.” He hesitated, as if considering her words.

  “I’m the CEO of Lulabelle & You…women’s Western wear.” She focused on his eyes so he’d understand the importance of what she planned to do. “I’m turning this working ranch into a dude ranch…well, really, it’ll continue to be a working ranch, too.”

  “Is there a lot of interest in that sort of thing?”

  “It’s mainly to promote my clothing lines.” He didn’t need to know the extent of her plans to complete the work, so she held back that information.

  “You’re going to use the ranch to sell clothes?”

  “Partly. I want to make the most of this beautiful ranch and share it with others.”

  He shrugged, appearing skeptical. “It’s a lot of work to get done in six weeks or so.”

  “Do you have friends who might be willing to help?”

  “Maybe. But like I said, folks are busy.”

  “If possible, I want to hire local.” She hoped suggesting that she could bring in outside help might motivate him to take on the job.

  “Local is good.” He pushed the brim of his hat up with one thumb while he gave her a hooded look along with another flash of dimple.

  “I think so, too.”

  “I’ve got my own ranch to run.” He glanced around again. “But I guess I’m willing to take time to help you out here.”

  �
��Thank you so much.” She felt a surge of relief wash over her. “You won’t regret it.”

  Chapter 2

  Bert Two Holloway, alias Rowdy, already regretted it. Still, he was caught between a rock and a hard place, so he had to get out of the chute as fast as possible and hang in there.

  He would’ve recognized Belle Tarleton anywhere because she was the face—and hot body—of Lulabelle & You. He hadn’t expected her to pack such a wallop in real life. He’d figured she was all camera angles and retouch in her photos. Not so.

  He knew her three brothers, but he’d never met her before, and he wished like hell he could make up for lost time. He couldn’t, no matter how much he suddenly lusted after her. Even worse, she’d never forgive him if she ever found out what he was about to do to her…because he’d always be Bad Santa in her personal Wildcat Bluff Christmas.

  He wasn’t known as the unluckiest cowboy in the county for nothing. He was in a pickle. It was probably the worst of his life, and that was saying something because he’d drawn the short straw. As usual. Now everybody depended on him to stop this crazy dude ranch idea in its tracks. No doubt about it now, his bad luck was holding course like a compass pointing due north…and that particular arrow targeted Belle Tarleton.

  She had it all. Hair the exact tint of ripe wheat. Eyes the color of spring green with an outer ring of golden brown. Skin the shade of rich cream. She wore a Western shirt of emerald green with white piping and black jeans that set off her curves and long legs. She also wore cowgirl boots, but not just any boots. They were a snazzy red-and-gray, tooled, inlay boot with a snip toe.

  She looked real fine in that I’ve-got-it-all-together way a woman who knew her worth could pull off without a second glance. For him, she was worth several glances…and his palm still burned from the single touch of her soft hand. He hadn’t counted on wanting her, and it complicated matters, but he was a man on a mission, and his goal had to come first.

  If he was luckier, particularly with the fair sex, he wouldn’t be here to save Wildcat Bluff County from Belle Tarleton’s wild ideas. He’d be comfortably sitting on the veranda of Holloway Farm & Ranch and sipping sweet tea while making Christmas plans with Bert One, his dad, and Hedy Murray, his dad’s ladylove. They’d probably be talking about putting the finishing touches on the new Wildcat Bluff Fire-Rescue fund-raiser calendar since the department was all-volunteer and self-funded with Hedy in charge of the station.