Her Christmas Cowboy

by Jessica Clare

“Once my car’s fixed, you won’t have to be my chauffeur anymore.” Her voice was light and almost playful. “And after the holidays I can work on paying you back.”

  Caleb frowned. Why was she so damn obsessed with paying him back? He considered a variety of answers, some longer than others, and eventually settled on a simple, “Nope.”

  “Don’t tell me that.” She chuckled. “I’m not trying to be a charity case and you’ve done so much for me. I’m just waiting on a few payments to come in and then I’ll have a lot more breathing room with my finances. When that happens, I’m going to look up the costs of repairs for all the things you’ve done for me and pay you for your time. I promise.”

  He didn’t want to be paid for his time. He wanted to spend more time with her. He scowled at the windshield. She still thought this was charity, then. Even after all the gifts he’d showered her with this week. Maybe his message wasn’t getting through.

  Story of his life—Caleb’s messages never got through.

  When they got to her house, she greeted Donner with a happy hug, and he noticed the old dog was curled up on her love seat in an old blanket. He was glad to see she was spoiling the old man, and went over to rub the dog’s ears. Amy spent a moment squeaking Donner’s new toy and talking in baby-speak to the dog, so Caleb took her things into the kitchen.

  The coffee maker he’d bought for her and wrapped up carefully was still sitting in the box. He thought for sure she’d want to use it, since she microwaved everything, even her morning instant coffee. He glanced over his shoulder at her again, frowning to himself. She hadn’t worn her new jacket tonight, or the scarf and hat, or the boots he’d given her. He’d done flowers one day—carnations—but had opted for more practical gifts after she’d come home and promptly dumped the flowers.

  That had confused him, too. Hadn’t she been excited over the other flowers she’d gotten? Or had she figured out that he was now giving her gifts, too, and didn’t like that? Did she know it was him?

  “Sorry,” Amy breathed as she came up to his side and helped him unload one of the bags. “I just wanted Donner to know he wasn’t abandoned. I should take him out for a quick walk after this, too.”

  He nodded, and because he couldn’t resist, gestured at the coffeepot.

  “Oh, that? It’s a gift someone got me.” Her tone turned flat. She dug in her purse and then pulled out a couple of small, blue velvet cases and tossed them atop the coffee maker. “It’s been a real heck of a week.”

  She sounded . . . disgusted? That was odd. He knew someone else had sent her flowers, more than once, but what were these cases? Donner trotted up to Amy’s side and whined, so she got out the leash and took the dog into the backyard. The moment she did, Caleb couldn’t resist his curiosity. He opened one of the cases . . . and saw a bracelet. There was a necklace in another, and a pin of some kind in another. All of them looked glittery and very expensive.

  What the hell? No wonder she didn’t like his coffeepot. How could he compete with gold? He’d sent her fucking boots like an idiot. A coffeepot. Should he have been sending her jewelry all this time?

  Caleb clearly had to step up his game. He needed to talk to Jack.

  * * *

  * * *

  Love notes,” Jack declared with a firm nod. “Girls love that sort of thing.”

  “Love notes?” Caleb echoed, just a hint disgusted. “Are you serious? When I gave her a coffee maker?”

  Jack just nodded and leaned in, his arms crossed as he sat at the table with his brother. “I’m telling you. Women love a romantic note. You need to up the ante. This guy’s sending her jewelry. Unless you wanna clean out your savings account, you gotta go super-romantic. Big gestures. Love notes.” Jack pushed a pen and a piece of paper toward Caleb. “Now, start writing.”

  Love notes.

  Big gestures.

  That part did ring true. He remembered that when he’d first seen Amy, Hank had been asking her for advice about how to woo her friend Becca. Amy had suggested a big gesture of some kind, something to let her know she was appreciated.

  Hell . . . Jack was probably right. Making a noise of protest in his throat, Caleb pushed aside his cup of coffee and took the pen. “I can’t even talk right in her presence and I’m supposed to somehow come up with a love note?”

  “Not just one,” Jack said, grinning ear to ear. He was clearly eating this shit up. “I think you need to send her a bunch of them.”

  “Exactly how many?”

  Jack shrugged. “A big gesture would be to send her one an hour every hour while she’s at work.”

  “What, and I just show up and deliver them by hand? You know that won’t work. I can barely speak around her. She’ll think I’m an idiot.” Caleb stared down at the paper in front of him as if it was offensive. “What if she wants me to read it aloud?”

  Jack considered this, scratching his chin. After a moment, he snapped his fingers. “You send flowers. One rose with each love note, every hour.”

  Flowers? Caleb scowled. “I’m pretty sure she’s flowered out at this point.”

  “Women are never flowered out,” Jack said confidently. “And she’ll love the notes. Who’s the expert here, you or me?”

  “Expert on what?” Hank’s voice boomed into the Swinging C kitchen a moment before the door slammed shut behind him.

  Caleb just put his hand on his forehead, fighting back a groan. Great. The last thing he needed was his older brother showing up to offer advice and make fun of him. Like this wasn’t hard enough as it was.

  “The expert on romance,” Jack said with a grin and gestured at Caleb. “The teacher’s playing hard to get.”

  “I can’t compete with jewelry,” Caleb muttered.

  “You can . . . It just usually involves more jewelry.” Hank flipped a chair around and straddled it, sitting with his brothers. “Someone’s giving her jewelry?”

  “Her other secret admirer,” Caleb admitted, and then gave his brother a curious look. “What are you doing here this late at night? Becca okay?” Now that Hank had married, he and his daughter lived with Becca in town, and Hank was normally gone from the ranch after dark to spend the rest of the day with his family. Uncle Ennis went to bed early, so it was just Jack and Caleb . . . or so Caleb had hoped.

  Hank just grunted, shrugging his shoulders. “Libby’s been checking all the closets constantly to see where ‘Santa’ is hiding her presents, so I hid them up here in my old room. I came by tonight to wrap ’em, but I see we have other entertainment planned.” He nudged Caleb.

  Caleb just scowled.

  “I thought you were there all week helping her out,” Hank said. “Isn’t that why Jack and I have been covering your chores all the damn time? So you could romance her?”

  “Ain’t working,” Jack declared. “He’s still tongue-tied around her.”

  “Have you tried getting drunk?” Hank asked.

  Caleb glared at his older brother. “I’m not getting drunk just to be around her.”

  “Turns out our girl has another admirer,” Jack went on, ignoring the look Caleb shot him. “She’s been getting roses and jewelry all week while our boy gave her a coffee maker.”

  “And boots,” Caleb muttered. “She needed warm boots.”

  “Oh boy,” said Hank. He rubbed his mouth. “And so now you’re gonna write her love notes?”

  “Every hour on the hour on Monday,” Jack declared. “With more flowers.”

  Hank shook his head. “You’re gonna scare her. Does she know she has two admirers?” When Caleb shrugged, Hank rolled his eyes. “She’s gonna think it’s all just one really crazy, obsessed guy. Sending her love notes is just gonna scare the shit out of her.”

  Caleb threw the pen down. He was glad to nix the idea of the love notes—what the hell could he possibly say?—but then that meant he had no ideas. “What do
I do, then? If you’re the expert?”

  “How about you do what you were supposed to do a few days ago?” Hank retorted. “Suck it up and ask her out. Before this other guy gets the balls and beats you to it.”

  He had a point, Caleb had to concede. He did need to ask her out. Even now, after all the things he’d done to help her and the time he’d spent with her, he wasn’t sure that she saw him as more than a buddy. He thought of her smile and the way she doted on the blind dog. He thought of the determined way she shopped, pinching every penny. He thought of her chuckle when she was amused by something.

  He thought of her tits in that damned Mrs. Claus outfit.

  He thought of the way she’d paused and stared at his chest in surprise, as if she was suddenly realizing that Caleb was a red-blooded man standing in front of her.

  It was that look of surprise that made up his mind. For better or for worse, he had to ask her out, because she’d never realize he was doing all these things because he was in love with her.

  And he had to do it before someone else swooped in and took credit for some of the gifts he’d given her.

  Tomorrow, then, at the Christmas Carnival. He’d ask Mrs. Claus out on a date.

  Somehow.

  * * *

  * * *

  Amy’s Mrs. Claus boots hurt her feet five minutes after she put them on. It was like the world was reminding her not to get too comfortable tonight. Which was a real shame, because otherwise, the Christmas Carnival looked as if it was going to be a success.

  It was early yet, of course. Amy and all the teachers had shown up early to help decorate the school. She’d texted Caleb and told him she didn’t need a ride today, that one of the teachers was swinging by to pick her up, but that he would need to be at the school at six sharp. It was still a few minutes before six, but Amy loved how things were shaping up.

  The interior of the school glittered with clouds of fake snow, puffs of cotton sprinkled with fake crystals. Paper “sidewalks” made of cutout gumdrop shapes lined the halls, leading up to the different carnival booths. Directly across from “the North Pole” was a dunking booth that the principal would sit in, dressed as the Grinch. Somewhere in the school there was a Cake Walk, and piles of presents were being watched over by volunteers. Amy’s gifts were all ready and waiting for her students, but some of the wrapped boxes were raffle prizes. The gym smelled like hot cocoa and peppermint, and Amy loved it.

  She wasn’t the only one. Parents were arriving early with excited children, and so were other townspeople. She’d run into Hannah, who owned a small hotel downtown, and her husband. She’d met a few other ranchers with small children, and the mayor, Sage, had come through with her babies and husband, all of them in matching ugly sweaters.

  This was nothing like home, Amy thought with happiness. Back when she lived in the big city, no one cared about community events. Here, everyone turned out to support everyone else, and it was lovely.

  Everyone, that is, except for Santa Claus.

  Amy checked her watch. He still had five minutes, but they had a line forming, waiting to get their chance with Santa. She chewed on her lip, nervous.

  “Where is he?” A hand touched her shoulder.

  Amy whirled around, sighing with relief when she saw her friend Becca. The hairdresser was adorable in a fur-lined coat of red and white, her dark hair pulled into a braided coronet. At her side was her stepdaughter, Libby, dressed in a matching outfit.

  “He’s coming, right? He told Hank he was coming,” Becca said, squeezing Libby’s hand. “I’m going to send Hank to kick him in the pants if he doesn’t get here soon.”

  “I’m sure he’s coming,” Amy reassured her. “He hasn’t said otherwise.”

  “He probably hasn’t said anything,” Becca grumbled. She bent down and smoothed a lock of hair off Libby’s brow. “Why don’t you go see if your daddy will win you a stuffed snowman, baby girl? We can come back for Santa. I know he’ll want to see you.”

  “Okay! Bye, Miss Mckinney!” Libby waved and dashed off, disappearing into the crowd.

  Amy smiled nervously at the people waiting and then leaned in toward Becca. “Do I look okay?”

  “You look great,” Becca reassured her. “Nice and flat up top.”

  Whew. She’d texted Becca a picture after she’d taped down the girls, making sure that nothing could be seen, but it was nice to get reassurance. “Good.”

  “The hair’s a nice touch.” Becca reached up and fingered one of the fake white curls on Amy’s head. “Glasses, too. It’s all really cute and you look adorable. Are you having fun?”

  “I will soon,” she reassured Becca. Just as soon as Caleb got here.

  Becca leaned in. “Any word on your gift giver?” When Amy shook her head, Becca gave her a knowing look. “I found out who it is.”

  That had Amy’s attention. “You did?”

  “Yeah, and he’s going to be here tonight. Are you . . . sure you want to know?”

  Uh-oh. Amy swallowed hard, willing down the knot in her stomach. “I guess I do now. Is it bad?”

  “All I can say is that I’m sworn to secrecy about the fact that Greg sent you those roses.” Becca fluttered her lashes innocently. “So I can’t tell you that.”

  Amy groaned, wanting to stomp her feet like a child, but the pinching boots hurt too much for that. “Greg? Really?”

  “That’s what I heard from the florist.” Becca shrugged. “I mean, it’s really generous of him. When we were together I had to really drag any sort of gift out of him, so the jewelry is a nice touch. The good news is that it’s not a stalker. The bad news is that it’s Greg.”

  Amy bit back a sigh. It wasn’t that she disliked Greg. It was just . . . she was hoping for someone more exciting. But that was unfair of her, wasn’t it? She’d said in the past that if her Santa wasn’t a stalker, she’d go out with him if he asked. After all, wasn’t she lonely and wanting to get to know people in town? And yet . . . she hadn’t felt all that lonely this week with Caleb’s company every day. It had been easy to forget that she’d vowed to try to date more.

  Strangely enough, she thought about shirtless Caleb and felt her cheeks grow hot. “Greg’s perfectly nice,” Amy admitted. “If he asked me out, I probably wouldn’t say no.” She’d have a nice dinner, see if there were any sparks . . . and maybe find out what the deal was with the maintenance guy that never showed up.

  “Well, I can tell you that I dated him for ten years and he is absolutely not worth the effort, but maybe he’s turned over a new leaf.” Becca shrugged. “You deserve to be happy, and he’s not a stalker, so I’m just happy for you.”

  Amy laughed. “You think he’ll ask me out, then?” She tried to be excited about it and not think about Caleb’s shirtless chest again.

  “If he doesn’t, then he’s crazy. Who wouldn’t want to date Mrs. Claus?” She winked at Amy. “And speaking of, I think your Prince Charming has arrived.”

  Amy turned as Becca moved away, but instead of Greg approaching, it was Caleb—or rather, it was Santa Claus. He swept into the school with authority, all swagger despite the bright red-and-white costume. He’d figured out how to wear it, apparently, the belly stuffed to roundness, and his face concealed by a big, fluffy beard. He wore the Santa hat with the same authority he wore his cowboy hat, and when he approached, he gave a big, hearty laugh.

  “Ho, ho, ho, look at all these little ones waiting for me!” He put his hands on his big fake belly and gave the best Santa laugh she’d ever heard.

  Oh my lord.

  She’d been hoping—at best—for Caleb to just get through the night. That he wouldn’t be the best Santa the kids had ever seen, but he’d do the job and she’d be grateful for it.

  The man in that costume was hamming it up. He hugged the little ones as they reached for him and headed for the chair set up in their “No
rth Pole” for him to greet children. Jenny, who was running the camera, gave Amy a look of surprise.

  “Ho, ho, ho,” Caleb said again, and made it up to his seat. “Is it time for me to greet the good boys and girls?”

  “I-I think so,” Amy stammered, flustered. “Shall we get started?” She turned to the front of the line and beamed at them, remembering that this wasn’t about her; it was about the kids. And Caleb was going to be magnificent, so it made her job easier. Her smile was huge as she turned to the first shining face. “All right. Who’s ready to see Santa?”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Caleb watched Amy all night.

  It was a little difficult to do so, given that children with sticky hands and runny noses were plopped into his lap over and over again, and he had to play the role of Santa. Because she was Mrs. Claus, she was in eyesight at almost all times, talking to parents, collecting tickets and distributing photos, and moving the line along. He’d thought Painted Barrel had a small school system, but there was an endless line of kids here to see him, so he kept ho, ho, ho-ing and stroking his big fake beard and hamming it up.

  Strangely enough, this Santa shit was easy.

  He’d been petrified at first, certain that his tongue-tied habits were going to get in the way, but the moment he put the beard on, he realized no one could see his face. Those kids didn’t know it was him under there. And really, kids were easy to talk to. They didn’t have expectations like adults did.

  So it was easy to be Santa. Easy to haul each kid into his lap and listen to them talk about what they wanted for Christmas. One little guy immediately started crying and confessing that he’d been bad, and Caleb had to talk him off a ledge before the poor kid had a breakdown. Most just wanted to sit in his lap, wide-eyed, and ask for Legos or books or dolls. It was easy. It was kind of fun, too.

  And Amy was delighted with him. She was beaming in his direction, her smile so wide that he felt as if he’d hung the moon. Shit, if he’d known this would get that much of a reaction out of her, he wouldn’t have been dreading it so much. His gaze moved over her as the latest kid got out of his lap and Amy ushered him away. Her hips swished in the skirt, and even though she was supposed to be his elderly, pink-cheeked wife, all Caleb could think about was the way her tits had practically jumped out of that costume yesterday, her nipples at attention.