Oklahoma Christmas Blues

by Maggie Shayne

  * * * * *

  Sophia wrestled with her decision all the way back to the Long Branch. She was so wound up, she had barely slept all night long, and when she had, the dreams had been….

  She closed her eyes and a shiver ran up her spine.

  She was a single, adult woman. A doctor. She wanted to have sex with a willing, gorgeous, funny, smart hunk who danced like a god, and smelled even better.

  So she was going to.

  She had a key to the Long Branch. Her cousins wanted her to have access to the place at all times. Hell, they’d wanted her to use one of the rooms upstairs, but she’d refused. Working for the boys was enough. She didn’t want to live with them too.

  But having that key sure did make for easy access.

  She parked her car around back, disappointed that Darryl’s wasn’t there. Didn’t matter. He couldn’t have gone far. She could text him, tell him to come back to his room, ASAP.

  She smiled, imagining how he’d react to that. And how fast he could get there. It had better be fast, or she might chicken out.

  She let herself in through the kitchen. “Hello? Anyone here?”

  But her own voice just echoed back at her.

  She headed through the kitchen and into the bar, her shoes clicking on the hardwood. It smelled like that orange scented oil they used on every inch of hardwood in the place until she got deeper into the place and the smell of the Christmas tree took over.

  She peeked into the dining room, but it was empty. Joey and Robert had rooms upstairs, but their SUVs weren’t there. Jason was probably at that place he’d rented. Vidalia said it was an old blacksmith’s shop that had been closed down for a hundred years. No one knew what the heck Jason McIntyre wanted with the broken-down old place, and when asked, he usually muttered something about it being historic and changed the subject.

  The cousins were seldom at the saloon during the mornings, because their new stepmother Vidalia and the family that came with her, tended to keep them pretty busy.

  Vidalia’s five daughters, their husbands and their kids were a big noisy welcoming brood and they would wrap Sophia right up in their cocoon if they could. She’d been in town long enough to share one Sunday dinner with the bunch so far. It had felt a little bit uncomfortable to be surrounded by so many people who wanted to be family, but weren’t really.

  And yet the more time she spent with them, the more it felt as if maybe they could be.

  She went into Jason’s unlocked office, took the keyring right off the rack, and then she headed upstairs and rapped on Joey’s door, just to be sure. No answer. Then she tried Robert’s. Nothing. Okay, good. The place was empty.

  She headed to the remaining guest room, the one the boys had wanted her to use, and tried a key. Then another. The third one fit.

  Biting her lip and telling herself she wasn’t committing too terrible a sin, she unlocked Darryl Champlain’s door and tiptoed inside.

  The room was simple and clean. Beige carpet, nice and thick. King size bed, sort of made up, and there were clothes on the floor. The bathroom door was closed. There were two nightstands, one on either side of the bed, and one of them had a photograph of her on it. Not in a frame or anything, just lying there on top of a file folder.

  Everything in Sophia went cold. What the hell did this mean?

  She turned a slow circle, scanning the room, looking for something, anything to tell her what was going on here. Why would he have a picture of her?

  Unless he was working for Skyler.

  Her spinal fluid iced over. Keys and a wallet lay on top of a nightstand, along with that badge holder she’d already seen. The one with his Secret Service badge and ID. She picked up the wallet, not the badge one, but the regular one, thinking that would be the best place to find out what he was really up to.

  And then she froze, holding it in her hands, open, as her brain finally asked her how his wallet could be here if he wasn’t.

  And suddenly the closed bathroom door opened, and he stepped out wearing nothing but a towel. He looked at her, and his brows bunched. “What are you doing in my room, Sophie?”

  She couldn’t look at him. It hurt to look at him, so she lowered her eyes and they fell on the open wallet in her hand, and on the ID card inside it. Darryl Champlain, Licensed Private Investigator, Private Security Services.

  She lifted her head again. “What are you doing in my life, Darryl?” She tossed the wallet onto the bed. “I’ll tell you what, Mr. Private Eye, I’ll give you ’til the end of the day to get out of town. You stick around here any longer and your ass is going to be very, very sorry.”

  She lurched toward the door, but he stepped right into her path and said, “It’s not what you think.”

  “No? You’re not spying on me for pay?”

  He tipped his head to one side just a little. “Well, yeah, but–”

  “Get out of my way.”

  “Sophie, just wait, just gimme three seconds.” He closed his hands around her shoulders as he said it. They were warm and they felt good. And she was so damn disappointed she was on the edge of tears. All this letter to Santa baloney had made her hope—more than hope, it had made her believe… She’d been cleared legally. Her medical license was safe. She’d been vindicated. And now there was a glimmer of potential about her life’s work, too. A way she might be able to keep doing what she loved right here in the town she had somehow also started to love.

  She’d started to think maybe Darryl was…the one. Yeah, she’d let herself get a little bit carried away with the whole believing in Santa Claus thing, hadn’t she?

  Darryl’s big hands as they slid down her arms and closed around hers. Her eyes followed—big mistake because that meant looking at his all but naked body. His chest was so smooth and hard that her hands were aching to run across it. And the way that towel was hitched over one hip and slung low across the other made her want to reach up and yank it away.

  He let go of her hands, and damning herself for being an idiot, she pressed them to his chest. She couldn’t help herself.

  He stood stock still for just a second, waiting. She was waiting too, mainly to see if she had the strength to walk away. But she didn’t. Hell, she didn’t want to turn away. She moved her palms over his skin, and his arms curled around her, pulled her body to his. She felt the bulge behind the towel and closed her eyes in delicious longing. It had been a long time.

  He closed his hands on her shoulders. “Please let me explain?” he asked softly, his voice as raspy as his still-unshaven face.

  She lifted her head, stared into his eyes, saw the desire burning there, and felt a rush of feminine power. “Not right now,” she said. “Just kiss me.”

  So he did. Only, not the way she’d expected him to. He slid one hand around to her nape, and slowly threaded his fingers up into her hair, sending chills and shivers all the way down her spine. Then he slid the other hand around her waist, inching his way to the small of her back to urge her a little bit closer. He lowered his head slowly, so slowly she ached for him to hurry. His eyes held hers until she closed them. And then, finally, he touched his soft, soft lips to hers, and her bones melted. He moved them, gently, softly, capturing, suckling, releasing, over and over. And then he lifted his head away, took two steps backward, and stood there. “Not until you let me explain.”

  Sophia felt ridiculously cold now that his arms were no longer around her. She shivered, and that seemed to snap her out of the spell.

  She opened her mouth, but couldn’t speak, didn’t know what to say. She didn't want to hear that he was working for Skyler. And she didn’t want to hear him lie to her. She just wanted him.

  She picked up the pieces of her dignity, turned and walked out of the room, pulling the door closed behind her.

  And then she ran the rest of the way down the stairs, out through the kitchen to her car, jumped in and sped away. The cookies were still on the passenger seat. And inventory was going to have to wait.

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