Hot Holiday Rancher

by Catherine Mann

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “Your shock is a little insulting.”

  “But you’re a man.” Her eyes were drawn to his arms before she could stop herself. His muscular arms. Arms that had carried her so effortlessly.

  “And that comment is decidedly sexist.” His green eyes flashed with heat.

  She grabbed her mug quickly. She should probably hush before she alienated him altogether. “I apologize. I only meant it’s a leap from first date to the altar.”

  “Apology accepted.” He reached for the refrigerator door, his flannel shirt pulling taut along his muscular chest. “Whipped cream?”

  “What?” she asked, startled, her gaze shooting back up to his face.

  “For your hot chocolate.” He held out a can, pointing in her direction.

  Her mind traveled sexy pathways, imagining things they could do with that sweet treat.

  “Uh, sure.” She reached for the can, spraying a swirl inside her mug, when she really wanted to fill her mouth with the stuff and quench at least one hunger. “Of course, there’s no reason in the world why you shouldn’t find love.”

  “I didn’t say anything about love,” he said in the most logical of voices. “Just marriage.”

  Again, he’d surprised her. This man wasn’t at all what she’d expected from reading about him online before her trip to Royal. “Marriage but no love?”

  The thought of that chilled her with memories of her parents’ loveless marriage. Too many nights, her mother had cried herself to sleep over her husband’s staying late at the office yet again. Esme wanted more for herself than that and felt sorry for anyone willing to settle for less.

  “Why not? I have my life in order—this house, the ranch.” He ticked off points one finger at a time. “The timing is right for the next step. A wife. Then kids.”

  He’d laid out the events as matter-of-factly as he’d laid out the ingredients to make her hot chocolate. He’d described the process of creating a family as if he was listing the week’s upcoming groceries.

  She raised an eyebrow. “Do these three mystery women know they’re expected to pop out children right away?”

  Esme imagined what his dream woman was like. What she wanted. What would make her forsake the idea of love.

  Not that Esme had had a lot of luck in that department. Still, she wasn’t giving up on finding love—when the time was right, with the man who was right.

  She gulped down more hot cocoa and struggled not to wince as it burned her tongue.

  “We all filled out extensive questionnaires. Our wishes for the future are in line.”

  Well, now, that wasn’t subtle at all. “And I’m in the way.”

  Esme blinked a sting of jealousy. She’d only just met Jesse. And while he was sure one sexy cowboy with his slightly tousled blond hair, she knew better than to assume they were anything more than two very opposite people stuck together riding out a rainstorm.

  With precise, athletic footfalls, he made his way over to the window and looked outside into the tempest.

  “In this storm, I seriously doubt any of them will be showing up.” He turned to her and his gaze held on her upper lip, and she realized she had a hint of whipped cream clinging there.

  Jesse returned to her, offering her a napkin. She took it, dabbing her mouth slowly. His eyes flamed hotter and she wondered what it would have been like to let him kiss her upper lip, to taste him in return.

  She swallowed hard to will away the sensation. “How do they feel about being a part of this edition of Catch a Bachelor: Rancher Style?”

  He shot her an amused glance, easing back a step. “This isn’t a reality show.”

  “Of course not.” She rolled her eyes, struggling for levity. “No cameras.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “And they’re coming at different times so they don’t cross paths.”

  “How very...civil.” And cold. “How do your brides-to-be feel about this emotionless transaction?”

  “To be fair, they know about the process. No one’s being deceived.”

  He leaned against the island, an arm’s length away. Esme’s eyes drifted to his shiny engraved belt buckle. Snapping her attention back to their conversation, she considered the less robotic aspects of such an arrangement. All likes and dislikes already sorted. Everyone knowing the rules of the game. Everyone understanding expectations, too. No mystery. Nothing as quirky as fate intervening.

  That was something, at least. “Glad to hear it.”

  A slow, disarming grin spread across his face. “Are you interested in joining the process?”

  “Whoa, nuh-uh.” She held up her hands in protest. “I’m in no hurry to fill a nursery, and I’ve had enough of ranch living.”

  He tipped his head to the side, studying her, amusement in his eyes replaced by curiosity. “Yet you grew up on a ranch.”

  Her childhood home on the outskirts of Houston was a sprawling mansion, almost castle-like, surrounded by pastures, elegant barns. The spread was a huge, billion-dollar cattle-and-horse operation started by her maternal grandfather, then passed on to her parents. And even with all of that, Esme had still moved into the city the first chance she had.

  “Exactly. No more ranching for me.” And that was all the reminder she needed for why she should keep her distance from this man and stay focused on her reason for being here. “Thank you for the hot cocoa and the clothes and the rescue. I should turn in for the night.”

  She rinsed her mug and made fast tracks for the guest suite before she was tempted to stay in the kitchen. To listen to the warm timbre of his voice.

  To imagine the taste of whiskey from his coffee on his tongue if he kissed her.

  * * *

  Sleep had been a difficult commodity for Jesse, with images of his surprise houseguest filling his dreams. Visions of her soaking wet, yet equally enticing in sweats. What would it be like to peel those clothes from her body?

  Restless, he’d finally given up sleep just before dawn and gone to the barn to burn off energy.

  His cowboy boots reverberated on the cement floor as he approached Juniper’s stall. Grabbing the supple brown leather halter and lead, he made his way into the stall of his newest horse.

  Juniper, a young dapple gray mare, stretched her neck, giving her tangled mane a shake. She sniffed his hand, her whiskers softly touching his palm. The horse exhaled warm breath against his fingertips, a welcome sensation in the cool, damp morning air. Stepping closer, Jesse slipped the cognac halter on her head and led the mare to the crossties, where his brushes were waiting for him.

  He never grew tired of this, the connection with his horses and the land. Ranching was more than a job to him. It was a way of life.

  Picking up a currycomb, he moved his hand in circular patterns. Excess hair and dirt gathered in the brush.

  Other horses poked their heads from stalls. The barn held two rows of twelve stalls. Buddy, his first gelding, lazily chewed on hay, dropping bits of straw onto the ground. Flash, a muscular chestnut quarter horse, loosed a whinny. Beneath his hands, Juniper sucked in a breath before belting out an answering noise.

  Satisfied, Flash moved back into his well-kept stall.

  The routine grounded Jesse, reminding him of his reasons for using the matchmaker for a practical choice.

  Practical.

  That was the mantra he said to himself as he picked up the hard brush. His hand moved in time to the rain pelting the tin roof.

  Images of his sexy houseguest kept interrupting his thoughts. Practical. Practical. Practical.

  How many times would he need to say that until it sank into his brain? He surveyed the barn, wondering if he would need to groom every horse today to refocus himself.

  Of course, that was the opposite of practical.

  After finishing up with Juniper, he led the mare bac
k to her stall and gave her the carrot he’d shoved in his pocket earlier. The mare crunched her treat, flicking her ears forward in something that seemed like thanks.

  Latching her stall, he started to leave the barn. He pushed his Stetson down on his head to keep the cold rain from pelting his ears as he made his way back to the ranch house. The cold nipped at his hands as he moved past the pool, his boots trekking through the muddy earth as he closed the distance to the green door of the back entrance. The matchmaking prospects certainly wouldn’t be arriving today, or the next, if the weather didn’t ease up soon.

  After wicking the rain off his Stetson, he hung his hat on a hook and discarded his leather jacket and mud-drenched boots. The hall led to the kitchen, where he found Esme sitting in front of the fireplace in the lotus position. A plated pastry and coffee mug rested on the mahogany end table to her left.

  Damn.

  His heart hammered.

  Hair drawn up into a sleek ponytail and skin dewy in the firelight, she looked enticing, even in a long slouchy sweater and floral leggings his sister had left behind. Somehow, the pink sweater hinted at her curves, and the floral leggings made her look oddly polished.

  His athletic socks still warmed her feet, and he realized he’d have to find her suitable footwear.

  Something practical. The word echoed again as he reached for another mug from the open shelf.

  “I’ve had your car towed to my mechanic.” He poured himself black coffee, allowing himself to taste the bitter cocoa and fruit undertones. “Carl—who towed your vehicle—said it wouldn’t start.”

  “Oh no, I was afraid of that.” She scrunched her nose in dismay. “Because of the flash flood?”

  “Most likely.” He was drawn to her, this bewitching and beautiful woman. He dropped into the brocade chair on the other side of the fireplace. “If Carl can make it here on his four-wheeler, he’ll bring your luggage. Otherwise, you’ll have to make do with my sister’s clothes for a while longer.” He’d offered them to her last night. “I’ll see if I can find some rain boots that fit you.”

  Esme’s delicate fingers moved like sultry smoke as she removed her thin phone from where it was tucked under her thigh. “I’ll put in a request for a rental car for when the rain lets up. Hopefully they’ll have something available.”

  He stretched his legs out in front of him, powerful legs encased in denim. “You might as well save yourself the time.”

  “Why?” She hesitated. “Is there a problem?”

  “This time of year, with the holidays and all, rentals are all booked for weeks.” He flashed her his best bad-boy grin, even though he’d officially hung up his bad-boy ways. “I could lend you a vehicle.”

  “That would be so helpful.” She placed her phone beside her on the armchair. “Thank you.”

  He watched her through narrowed eyes, unable to resist. “I have an extra truck. It’s twenty-two years old, but runs great. Carl’s a super mechanic.”

  She fidgeted with the end of her blond ponytail, rubbing the strands between her fingers, clearly caught off guard by his offer. “Oh, uh, yes, thank you.”

  He narrowed his gaze, assessing the impossibly posh woman in front of him. “You’ve never driven one, have you?”

  She arched an eyebrow. “Actually, I learned on an ancient stick-shift truck at Daddy’s ranch. A Ford so ancient I figured no one would notice if I added an extra dent or two.”

  “Touché.” He lifted his mug, toasting in her direction.

  She eyed him intuitively as the flames licked upward in the fireplace. “You were teasing me.”

  “Perhaps.”

  She raised a finger to her lips. “Shhhh. Don’t tell your three potential brides that.”

  A begrudging laugh barked free and before he could second guess himself, he said, “Maybe if the rain lets up this afternoon, we’ll get enough of a break to chop down a Christmas tree. That is, if you want to come along?”

  “Sure,” she said, already launching to her feet. “As long as you don’t expect me to load it into the truck.”

  She flashed him a sassy wink.

  “You can just stand there and look pretty.” And the thing was, he meant it.

  So much for keeping his distance. But something about this woman tempted him more than he wanted to admit.

  * * *

  Jesse’s flirtatious words still echoed in Esme’s ears two hours later. Steering the conversation toward her father and the club was tougher than she’d expected.

  But she was determined to keep her cool. Slow and steady was her best option. And thanks to their current project sorting Christmas ornaments while waiting for a break in the rain to get a tree, she would have the time she needed.

  Despite the rain, light beamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows on two of the four walls of the great room. That, coupled with the cathedral ceilings, made the petal-white room feel impossibly airy.

  Which was good considering all the boxes of Christmas ornaments that flanked the white love seat and leather couch. She’d moved the glass-and-wood table in order to create room for the bins Jesse had brought down from the attic, noting as he did so that these were only the tip of the iceberg.

  To set the mood and to gain control, Esme queued up her favorite Christmas playlist from her phone, connecting it to the Bluetooth surround-sound system. A hazy, warbly ’50s-era carolers version of “Here We Come A-Wassailing” filled the room.

  There.

  The start of Christmas. And the real start of her mission.

  They opened the first box of ornaments. Reaching into the box, she pulled out two silver bells, one with Jesse’s name engraved on it, the other with the name Janet etched on it. “Your sister, right?”

  “Yes, we split the decorations between us. Somehow I must have missed giving her that one.” His brow furrowed and he tilted his head to the side, inspecting the silver bells. For a moment, she wondered if he’d pull out his phone and snap a picture to send to his sister. But his hands made no move for the phone in his pocket.

  “How long until you get to see her over Christmas?” A little prying, but curiosity filled her as she laid the ornaments down with care onto the sofa.

  “Like I said, my family wasn’t tight-knit,” he said, not that it answered her question. “My parents didn’t get along. They’re gone now.” His face hardened, tight lines pulling at the corners of his mouth.

  “I’m sorry for your loss. My mother died ten years ago and I still miss her dreadfully.” She fidgeted with the thin bracelet her mother had given her so long ago.

  Her mom—Tamara—had been a kind and loving mother. Esme knew her parents hadn’t married out of romance, and seeing their unhappiness only made her all the more determined not to settle for less than a fully committed heart.

  The loss of her mom made Esme cling all the harder to the rest of her family. She couldn’t imagine what she would do without them. Her dad and her siblings meant the world to her. Christmases were big, boisterous events for them. Sometimes it had been a challenge to get Roarke to join in, but she and her sisters had worked to wear him down. She had high hopes for him this year, now that he’d found happiness with his new love, Annabel. “That’s got to be tough for you and your sister, having lost both parents. I can see how maybe it would have brought you two closer to each other.”

  She pulled out an ornament tucked in protective paper. Glitter twinkled as she removed the wrapping to reveal a reindeer towing a sleigh.

  “Janet’s great, and I do love her, of course. It about killed me to think I might lose her when her appendix burst. But she’s well now, thank God.” A sigh racked him and he scrubbed a hand over his face.

  “That had to be so scary.” She stopped unpacking ornaments, searching his face, cradling the sleigh in her hand. “You’ll have a lot to celebrate together over Christmas, with her recover
y.”

  He ran his fingers through his blond hair, then rubbed along the back of his neck. “It’s unlikely we’ll see each other. We don’t have much in common. She’s a lot younger than I am, and, well, we just have our own lives now.”

  Jesse looked away and pulled out a snow globe, full of glitter around a tree, a nutcracker and a ballerina. A wistful shadow played across his face.

  His thumb stroking the smooth glass, he flipped over the trinket and wound it up. “The Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy” played as a snowstorm enveloped the little scene.

  Biting her lip, she couldn’t help but be moved by such a glimpse of nostalgia in this rough-and-tumble man. She stood, reaching a hand to touch his shoulder, then stopping short. “But perhaps the ornaments remind you of happy memories?”

  “Yeah, they do.” He set the globe on the mantel. “And I look forward to making memories with my own kids one day.”

  Well, that was sure a splash of cold water, reminding her of his plans. She pulled a smile and tugged at the hem of the pink sweater. “Your sister has nice taste in clothes.”

  He angled his head. “Are you being sarcastic, Ms. Prada?”

  “It’s not office wear, but it’s fun for ranch work, soft and cheerful.”

  “That’s nice you can appreciate a less flashy style.”

  “I’m not a snob.” She handed him a longhorn ornament.

  “Really?” He took the decoration, their fingers brushing.

  Her skin tingled even after he’d pulled away. “You don’t have to sound so surprised.”

  The snow globe stopped playing just as the song drifting through the speakers subsided. For a moment, silence filled the great room.

  Desire danced in the air, an electricity between them as he moved closer to her. “Would it soften the sting to your ego if I told you how hot you look no matter what you’re wearing?”

  Music started on her phone again, orchestral carols stroking the air.

  She closed her hand into a fist, trying to will away the lingering sensation of that simple touch. “And what about those three bridal prospects of yours, one of whom will give you babies to make Christmas memories with?”