Cowboys Under The Mistletoe: Five Christmas Christian Romance Novellas

by Kristen Ethridge

  “What else?” she asked, more to herself than him.

  He shrugged and picked up another slice of pizza, folding it in half lengthwise and shoving it into his mouth, biting a good half of it off and chewing vigorously.

  Maybe it was just as well that he kept his mouth crammed with food. It wasn’t as if he was contributing much that was truly worthwhile, and at least this way he wasn’t tossing accusations at her.

  “Ugh!” she exclaimed as a new thought entered her mind. “I nearly forgot we are going to need a photographer. I’m sure we can get someone to take a video of the ceremony with their cell phone, but Chelsea wanted a top-notch photographer to capture all of the unchoreographed moments, kind of like that picture of you and me at Auntie Heather’s wedding.”

  The moment the words left her lips she regretted saying them aloud. She’d just put up in lights the very subject that had gotten Matthew all hot under the collar in the first place. She didn’t want to go back there, for more reasons than one.

  His brow furrowed and it looked as if he was having trouble swallowing his food. Not surprisingly, really, with the amount of pizza in his mouth. It would be his own fault if he choked on it.

  He held up his index finger, signaling that she should wait, and then chewed with renewed vigor. His Adam’s apple, hidden by a layer of dark whiskers, bobbed repeatedly as he swallowed.

  Did he actually have something useful to contribute, or was he just going to go haywire on her again? If he did, that was on her this time, since she’d resurrected the subject.

  He reached for a napkin and wiped his mouth, then took a long pull from his glass of soda.

  “Declan,” he rasped.

  He coughed, and his face turned an alarming shade of red.

  Riley pounded his back with the flat of her hand, hoping to help dislodge the pizza stuck in his throat.

  Matthew coughed again and reached for his soda again, attempting to take another drink and wash the food down.

  Simultaneously, Riley gave him one last enthusiastic thump.

  He yelped as his soda sloshed over the rim of his cup, soaking his shirt. He jumped to his feet so fast that his metal fold-up chair tipped over, clattering to the ground against the tile. The room came to a hushed silence as everyone looked over to see what was going on.

  “Sorry. So sorry.” Riley grabbed her napkin and dabbed ineffectively at his chest.

  He twisted and danced away from her.

  “No, don’t,” he protested, his jaw tightening as he surveyed the damage. The front of his light blue polo shirt was now covered with a large, dark stain that reminded Riley of the shape of an amoeba.

  His gaze rose to meet hers and he heaved a longsuffering sigh.

  Great. He was already ticked at her. Now she’d really given him a reason to dislike her.

  “I’m sorry,” she said again, but those were just words, and they weren’t going to fix the problem.

  “Let me have your shirt.”

  He bent his head down toward hers.

  “What?” he asked, his voice an octave deeper than usual.

  She held out her hands and gestured. “Your shirt. Take it off.”

  His eyes widened. “Are you serious right now?”

  “Absolutely. The way I see it, you can either continue to wear a stained, sticky shirt, or else you can give it to me. I’ll rinse it out with some dish soap before the stain sets in permanently.

  He stared at her for a moment without speaking, but it didn’t take a genius to read his thoughts in his expression. He thought she was plum crazy.

  And maybe she was.

  She’d just come to the conclusion that he wasn’t keen on the idea of handing his shirt over to her when he grunted and grabbed the collar at the back of his polo shirt, yanking it over his head.

  Riley blinked. She hadn’t even been thinking about what might Matthew might be hiding under that shirt, but the physique he exposed was . . . mighty impressive.

  Her throat grew dry and she swallowed hard.

  Broad shoulders tapered to a trim waist with a dusting of dark, curly hair on his chest. His shoulders and biceps were well-developed from years of ranch work and rippled whenever he moved.

  He lifted a brow and one corner of his lips, and it was only then that she realized he’d caught her staring at him.

  Gaping, really.

  With a groan, her face flaming, she snatched the shirt away from him and fled to the safety of the kitchen.

  He probably thought she had thrown soda on him on purpose. As if she would do that when they had so much to do to save Brady and Chelsea’s wedding.

  And she couldn’t afford to get distracted by Matthew or the muscular frame he’d hidden underneath this blue shirt.

  It took a good scrubbing with lots of elbow grease, but she eventually managed to remove the stain.

  She slipped out of the kitchen as furtively as possible, hoping no one would notice her as she headed for the ladies’ bathroom. She dried Matthew’s shirt under the electric hand dryer. It wasn’t the easiest way to dry a shirt, but at the moment, it was the only option she had.

  At length, even though there were still some spots that were damp-dry, she decided good enough was good enough and returned to the fellowship hall.

  She was fairly certain Matthew would be relieved to have a clean, damp shirt over a sticky, stained one, and especially over his current situation--sitting shirtless in a room full of people.

  Awkward.

  Chapter Three

  Would this day ever be over?

  Matthew considered approaching Brady and bow out, say he was feeling sick or something.

  But even though he did feel a bit queasy when he thought of everything they had to do to pull this wedding off and how disappointed Brady and Chelsea would be if it didn’t happen, he nixed the idea of leaving.

  He was going to have to cowboy up and deal, even if it meant working with an over-zealous woman—a Weaver, no less--who’d managed, among other things, to make him spill soda all over himself.

  He wanted to dislike her.

  He should dislike her.

  But the more time he spent with her, the less sure he was that she had anything to do with his past. If she did, she was very good at hiding it.

  Matthew watched as Riley finished off the one piece of pizza she’d taken, nibbling at the corners like a bird, as if that made her appear more refined.

  There was nothing about this evening that could be classified as being even remotely refined. Nobody could consume pizza as if they were eating at a five-star restaurant. Not even Riley.

  She’d been suspiciously quiet since she’d returned his shirt to him, although she tossed him a gaze from time to time. He was relieved to be able to put his shirt back on, even if there were damp spots in the fabric. It was a little bit itchy, but at least it was clean.

  While he was waiting for Riley to finish her meal, he texted his cousin Declan, asking him if he was free tomorrow to photograph the wedding.

  Declan wasn’t a professional photographer. He was a carpenter. But he spent weekends and holidays behind the lens of a camera and had even had some of his work displayed at an art gallery in Denver once.

  Most of his photos were of landscapes he’d taken while hiking in the Rocky Mountains, but that didn’t matter, did it?

  A picture was a picture was a picture.

  “Declan?” Riley asked, nodding toward his cell phone when a bell notified him that he had received a text message.

  “Yes. Declan is my cousin. I’m hoping he’ll be able to help us with the photography.”

  “Awesome. That would be one less thing to worry about.”

  Matthew pulled up the text message and frowned.

  “He can’t make it?” Riley asked.

  “No. It’s not that. He’s free. But he doesn’t think he can do it.”

  Matthew punched the call button for Declan’s number and turned on the speakerphone so Riley could hear the conve
rsation.

  “Hey, dude, what’s up?” Declan’s rich tenor reverberated in the air. “It’s been awhile, yeah?”

  “Yeah,” Matthew agreed. It was his own fault. Even with his family, he felt like a loner, so he avoided most holiday get-togethers and reunions. “Just to let you know, I’ve got you on speakerphone. My--” he stumbled over the word, “friend Riley is here with me.”

  “Hi Declan,” Riley said cheerfully.

  “Um, hi,” Declan replied.

  Little shy, Matthew mouthed, and Riley smiled and nodded.

  “Hey, listen,” Matthew continued, deciding to drive straight to the point. They didn’t have much time to solidify all of their plans, and if Declan wasn’t going to work out, they needed to know as soon as possible, so they could search for another solution. “Like I said in my text message, my best friend Brady is getting married tomorrow and the photographer bailed out at the last minute.”

  Matthew had decided to keep things simple for now, rather than get into all of the complicated details.

  “Wow. That’s tough,” Declan replied.

  “We’re in desperate need of a replacement photographer, and I immediately thought of you. You’ve got a decent camera and shoot photos most weekends, right?”

  “Well, yes, but--”

  Matthew heard the hesitation in his cousin’s voice and his gut clenched. He wasn’t kidding about being desperate. They needed this to work.

  Please, Lord. Just let something go right this time.

  “You’d be saving our lives here,” he pressed. “You said you’re free tomorrow, right?”

  “Well, yes, but--” Declan said again.

  This time Matthew didn’t interrupt him. Instead, he pulled a harsh breath of air into his lungs and waited for Declan to continue.

  “Here’s the thing. My photographs? They’re all still life. Landscapes. I’ve never done people before.”

  “No wildlife?” Riley asked, cutting into the conversation. “Birds?”

  “Lately I’ve been working on capturing wildlife, but I’m definitely no expert.”

  “If you can photograph a bird, I don’t think a wedding will present much of a challenge,” Matthew suggested. “Everyone moves painstakingly slow during the ceremony.”

  He groaned internally as he remembered just how true that was.

  “And afterwards it’s all posed pictures of the wedding party,” Riley said. “Still life, only with people. Should be a breeze.”

  “I don’t know . . .”

  The hesitation remained, but now there was a hint of something else.

  Matthew lifted his gaze and met Riley’s. She smiled and nodded encouragingly. Then she made a thrust and turn gesture and mouthed, “Go in for the kill.”

  Despite all the stress of the moment, Matthew nearly broke into laughter.

  Riley was nothing if not unpredictable.

  “You’d be saving my life, cuz,” he coaxed.

  Declan blew out an audible breath.

  “Okay. I’ll do it. But I’m warning you—my photographs may not look quite as professional as the bride and groom had hoped for.”

  “Believe me, they will be overjoyed to have a photographer,” Matthew assured him. “And besides, I don’t think you give yourself enough credit.”

  “Thanks for that.”

  “Listen. I’ve got to go, buddy. Lots of last minute details still on our agenda. But I really, really appreciate you stepping up for us. We’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

  Riley held up her hand for a high-five as Matthew ended the call.

  He lifted a brow.

  A high-five? Really?

  But so much excitement gleamed from her eyes that he reluctantly lifted his hand and clapped it against hers, and then pounded it when she pulled her hand into a fist.

  He did not—would not—wiggle his fingers and make a whooshing sound like she did.

  What were they? Twelve?

  *

  Now that she and Matthew were working together and were no longer at odds with each other—at least for the present moment--Riley was beginning to enjoy the process.

  She loved organizing, and things were starting to come together. All of the bridesmaids and groomsmen had Christmas decorations they could borrow, and one of the groomsmen had a sound system he was willing to loan out to them.

  They’d even started a playlist for the wedding and reception, downloading a string quartet’s album for the wedding, along with the best organ version of the bridal march they could find. They were also working on a variety of genres of dance music for the reception, everything from country line dances to the latest pop hits.

  The bride and groom had already made their song choices for their first dance and the dad and daughter dance. After that, it was just a matter of going around the room and asking everyone to contribute their favorite songs.

  Piece of cake.

  “Cake,” Riley squealed, causing Matthew to jerk upright. He’d been programming songs into her cell phone and her sudden exclamation had come out of nowhere.

  “What?” His gaze widened on her.

  “Cake. We forgot about the wedding cake.”

  “I didn’t forget,” said the now smirking man who’d sworn he would be worthless helping to plan a wedding. “I just thought we were taking things in order, working on the wedding first and then the reception.”

  She gestured toward her cell phone, which Matthew still held in his hand. “We’re segueing.”

  “It’s too late in the day to call the local bakery or even those in surrounding towns. All the shops will be closed by now.”

  “I know,” Riley agreed, stress once again hovering over her like a storm cloud. It was amazing how quickly the mood turned from night to day and back again. “And honestly, the chance of finding someone with a wedding cake on standby is slim to none.”

  “Maybe we can get someone to bake something homemade. It doesn’t have to be a wedding cake, exactly. Maybe a dry mix someone already has in their pantry.”

  “What, like cupcakes?”

  “It’s not a bad idea.”

  Riley sighed. Yes, it was.

  “Does anyone bake in here?” Matthew called, loud enough for everyone in the room to hear him.

  “I do.”

  The surprise declaration came from Chelsea. She lifted her chin and looked Riley right in the eye, daring her to say otherwise.

  Riley knew Chelsea enjoyed baking, but—

  “This is your wedding. And your wedding cake,” Riley protested.

  “All the more reason why I should be the one to make it. Brady can help me. We’ve already got the cute little Bride and Groom cake topper. The rest will be—cake,” she added with a giggle.

  Matthew snorted. “Brady is going to help you bake a cake. I’m not seeing it. You do know what he does for a living, right?”

  “Hey, now,” Brady protested. “Just because I wrangle cattle doesn’t mean I can’t frost a cake.”

  Good on him, Riley thought. Brady was really stepping up for Chelsea, and they both looked determined to make this wedding work, no matter what.

  Riley turned back to Matthew. “We don’t have any catering lined up. What do you think we should do about food for the reception?”

  Matthew stroked his stubbled jaw, something Riley now associated with him being deep in thought.

  “I guess that depends on where we hold the reception. Did we all decide this was going to be a low-key thing?”

  “I don’t see where we have any other choice, since all of Chelsea and Brady’s money is tied up in what sounds to me may be an eventual bankruptcy.”

  “Yeah. Probably.” Matthew handed the phone back to her. “The playlist is finished. It’s not surprising, really, given that we’re in eastern Colorado, but almost the entire list is made up of country songs.”

  If Riley had been a cartoon, a light bulb would have suddenly appeared over her head.

  “Why don’t we go with that?”
>
  “What? The playlist?”

  “Well, yes, there’s that. But I meant a country theme. I had been thinking of trying to visit sub shops from here to Denver to get enough food for the guests, but that’s kind of tacky for a wedding, and I think you may be on to something better.”

  One side of his mouth kicked up. “Enlighten me.”

  “What about hometown country cooking? I’m sure if we hit up every deli in the area we can get enough fried chicken, baked beans, potato salad and macaroni salad to feed the troops. We can serve it buffet style on pretty paper plates.”

  “Sounds more like a church picnic.”

  She cocked her head at him. “You have a better idea?”

  He obviously didn’t, since he clamped his mouth shut. But a moment later he held up a finger as an idea flashed across his gaze.

  “Why don’t I see if I can wrangle Cookie from the K-Bar-W ranch where I work to help us cook and serve. Fried chicken is his specialty.”

  “Perfect. Tell him to dress the part.”

  “He’ll love that.”

  “Are you being sarcastic?”

  He snorted. “Actually, no. Cookie is a ham. He likes to play up his role to the hilt. Even though he has a full, modern kitchen in our barracks, he acts as if he’s cooking out of the back of a chuck wagon.”

  “Sounds like a fun guy.”

  “And maybe exactly what we need, don’t you think?”

  “Okay, then,” Riley said, knowing they needed to move along quickly. “Hometown catering with a Country Christmas themed reception. Cookie is the caterer. Now we are really getting somewhere. As far as location, I thought about having it here at the church in the fellowship hall, but that doesn’t feel quite right, and it would be kind of cramped, especially for dancing. So—here’s another bit question. Where would a country-themed reception take place?”

  “In a barn,” they said simultaneously. His deep, rumbling laugh met her high twitter.

  They were both joking, of course, but then an idea popped into her head. It was a longshot, but it was almost crazy enough to work.

  And hadn’t she just been praying about a way to approach her brother and reconcile with him?