Soldier Under the Mistletoe: Snowbound in Sawyer Creek

by Williams, Lacy

  Sam looked over their heads to see Mallory standing on the second-to-the-bottom bleacher, waving him over.

  One of the cheerleaders followed his gaze and then looked back to Sam with a smirk on her lips. "Somebody's got a crush, huh?"

  He doubted it. Mallory was too smart to have a crush on a dunce like him.

  But he'd seen the cheerleader target and ostracize one of their classmates on a whim. There was no way he wanted Mallory's high school career ruined before she even got to high school. Eighth grade girls were impressionable. At least that's what he'd overheard Mrs. Trudeau saying to her husband once.

  "Doubt it," he said casually. He shrugged as if Mallory were a nuisance and nothing more. "She's just Cash's kid sister. She follows him around like a puppy." Hopefully the reminder that Mallory was related to Cash, who'd been a part of the in-crowd much longer than Sam had, would be enough to keep the cheerleader from focusing on her.

  The cheerleader narrowed her eyes. Crap. His distraction hadn't worked.

  He shouldn't care. He was leaving for basic training right after graduation. He'd leave Sawyer Creek behind. Mallory Trudeau's high school worries wouldn’t be his concern.

  Plus, Mallory was too perceptive for her own good. Last time good old Dad had gotten in a lucky hit, she'd seen the bruise on his jaw and figured it out.

  He could fool his "friends" and the hangers-on, but Mallory was different.

  Which meant he couldn't be around her tonight.

  He made himself smile down at the cheerleader. "You want to grab a hamburger with me?"

  She lit up. "Of course!" She turned to her friend. "Maverick and I are getting some food. Wanna come?"

  Maverick. Not Sam.

  Maverick would leave Mallory behind. For her own good.

  Escaping Mallory was more difficult than evading a sniper's sharp eye in a war zone.

  Every time Maverick turned around, she was there. Dancing and laughing with a guy he knew from high school. Addressing one of the waiters, looking as if she were giving instructions. Smiling at him, even during a conversation with a middle-aged woman.

  Kiss me hello.

  What on earth had made her say something like that? He'd never given any hint that he might be attracted to her.

  Even though he'd always found her irresistibly beautiful. He'd noticed it first on his eighteenth birthday, when she'd been only fourteen. He and Cash had been in the kitchen, snitching cookies like little kids. Mallory had come in fresh off a horse's back, her hair windswept and curling around her face, her cheeks flushed, and laughter sparkling in her blue eyes. At that moment, he'd experienced a visceral pull toward her.

  A pull like he’d never known.

  Even then, he'd understood that wanting Mallory was wrong. She was Cash's baby sister. Not for him.

  She'd end up with someone like Howie. Someone with roots here. Someone who would stick around, not somebody who was gonna get shipped around the globe because of his job. She’d end up with someone who would be there for big events, like birthdays and anniversaries. The birth of a child.

  He couldn't guarantee he’d be around for any of that.

  But neither could he turn off his awareness of her. Right now, she was talking with a man about his pop's age, if his dad had lived. Arguing, really. The festive atmosphere had changed somewhat as the party had worn on and folks had imbibed on the flowing alcohol.

  His protective instincts fired as he watched the guy lean into her personal space. Mav's feet started moving, his knee twinging, before he'd realized he was going to intervene.

  Some of the other partygoers were starting to turn and watch as the guy's voice raised above the polite chatter.

  "—been making promises for years, and it's not solved—"

  Mallory's back was to Maverick, and he couldn't hear her answer, but her stance remained loose, unconcerned. As if this guy wasn't a threat, even though he was two times her size and getting in her face. Was she nuts?

  Maverick elbowed his way between two older women who seemed content to stare at what was going down, now close enough to hear Mallory's soft-spoken response.

  She was totally unruffled, no sense whatsoever of the danger she was in.

  "...we've brought in the assayer, and—"

  She didn't see it coming, but Maverick did. And he was close enough to do something about it.

  "That's what you said six months ago!" The jerk lost his temper and threw one of his arms in what might've been a punch.

  Except Maverick stepped between them, and the blow bounced ineffectually off his shoulder. It felt like a errant fly.

  "You should back up," he said. His voice was pretty even considering he was a millisecond from decking the guy.

  Mr. Fancy Suit was in Maverick's face now, his own face flushing red.

  "Mav." Mallory put a hand on his forearm. "Everything's fine."

  "It will be, once this guy steps back a little." He didn't blink.

  Dude finally got the message that Maverick wasn't joking and moved back a half-step. His Adam's apple bobbed.

  "Maverick, this is our neighbor, Jim Keller. He owns the ranch to the west."

  He didn't care who the heck this guy was. He didn't want anyone threatening Mallory.

  But she moved around him as smoothly as if he were a rock in the river and she the flowing water.

  "Jim, Cash or I will get back with you later this week. We will get this issue resolved."

  She extended her hand and the other guy shook it. He sent Maverick a hooded glance over her shoulder as he walked away.

  Mallory whirled on him. But instead of the grateful smile Maverick expected, she got right up in his grill.

  "You are an overprotective ox!" Her words were delivered with the biggest, fakest smile he'd ever seen. She patted his chest, over his lapel, then gave him a little shove. He backed into one of the hallways that branched off the ballroom. It was dim, and the voices from the party were muted.

  "I had everything under control," she said.

  "That's not what it looked like." He didn't recognize the protective urge that had risen up in him when that yahoo had gotten in her face. He'd wanted to punch first and ask questions later.

  She shook her head. "I'm not sure what Cash told you, but I'm a grown woman. I help run this ranch."

  She was too oblivious. He stepped closer so he could keep his voice down. He wanted to scoop her up and carry her off somewhere safe until his heart rate came down.

  "That guy had a hundred pounds on you. He could've knocked you down, knocked you out with one blow."

  Maverick's big body closed in, and Mallory took an instinctive step back, which put her shoulder blades against the wall. Her irritation fled in a rush of warmth as she recognized the emotion in his eyes.

  He was worried for her.

  Which meant that he cared.

  She could work with that.

  She let one hand rest against his chest. And he didn't move out of her space.

  "I've had to grow up a lot this past year," she said softly. "Cash, too."

  She watched his eyes darken. He'd loved her parents, too. Cash had told her Maverick wouldn't be able to get leave for the funeral, and he'd been right. She'd been lost in her own grief, but she'd wondered who would comfort him when he was so far away. Had anyone?

  Now was not the time to ask.

  "If I can inoculate a herd of five hundred bovines, I can handle one neighbor irate over a fencing dispute."

  Maverick's eyes narrowed. His wide hands came to span her waist, heating her up from the inside out. "If he’d hit you—"

  She laughed a little. "There's no way he was going to do something like that in the middle of a big crowd, most of whom are his friends and neighbors."

  He squeezed her slightly. "What about the next time you're out checking the fence line. What if he's armed when he wants to talk to you?"

  "What if he's not?" She let her hand slide up to his shoulder. His rapid-fire breaths had fina
lly evened out. "This dispute has been going on for over a year, ever since he bought the place next door. There are attorneys involved, and frankly, he's in the wrong. It'll get resolved, and he'll start acting neighborly."

  It wasn't as big of a deal as Maverick thought it was. She and Cash had been dealing with it since they'd been appointed joint executors of their parents' estate. Jim might bluster, but he wasn't going to hurt her.

  Maverick shook his head, the expression on his face one she remembered from their growing up years. He usually wore it when he couldn't believe something stupid she or Cash was doing. But this time, she was right.

  Then, Maverick shifted, a slight wince crinkling the corners of his eyes.

  She looked down, eyeing his left leg. He seemed to be favoring it, though it was very slight.

  "Are you hurt?" she asked. Cash hadn't mentioned an injury, but that didn't mean anything. Sometimes her brother and Maverick had a code of silence that not even she could break.

  "Nothing big."

  Nothing big. His knee, maybe? The same one he'd hurt in a high school football game senior year?

  She stared up into his face, waiting for him to explain.

  But judging by the stubborn set of his jaw, he wasn't going to tell her.

  She stifled her disappointment. The night was young.

  She suddenly realized exactly where they were. A semi-private hall. With mistletoe hung strategically from the ceiling, a couple of yards away. It wasn't directly overhead, but she shouldn't waste this opportunity.

  "We managed to find a bit of privacy," she whispered. "And that." She tipped her head toward the mistletoe ball hanging from the ceiling by a red ribbon.

  Maverick followed her gaze, and she saw recognition register on his face. He glanced back down at her, at her lips, her eyes, and she saw it for a split second that he wanted to kiss her.

  She let her eyes fall closed, tipped her mouth up—

  But instead of pulling her closer, his hands flexed on her hips and then released her completely.

  Her eyes flew open. She wobbled on the ridiculous heels as he pulled away, letting a rush of cooler air fill the space between their bodies.

  All the warmth in his expression had disappeared. "Mallory..." He exhaled roughly, shoving a hand through his hair. "I can't. We can't."

  She stepped toward him. "Can't what? Can't express our affection for each other?"

  A quick burst of what might be panic flared in his eyes as she advanced on him. He took a step toward the ballroom.

  "We've been friends a long time," he said. "Friends."

  She shrugged. "Friends can kiss, can't they?"

  But she meant more than a simple brush of the lips, and he knew it. At least she thought he did.

  "No."

  She laughed. "Of course they can."

  She reached out with both hands, and he captured them in his. He just held her there, almost two arms-length away. Not threading their fingers together. Just keeping her in place.

  "Mallory." The seriousness in his voice stopped her advance. His face held traces of some emotion she couldn't define. "Mal, there's no mistletoe magic for us tonight. Or ever."

  Oh. He didn't want to kiss her. She’d read him all wrong.

  Someone called out to him, and he let her hands go, looking over his shoulder.

  She hadn't realized just how far she'd chased him across the hallway. She'd chased him.

  Maybe she'd imagined the quick glance to her lips.

  Maybe she'd been letting her imagination run away with her for years.

  Heat flared in her face, probably streaking red through her cheeks. She was not an attractive blusher.

  Maverick looked back at her. His face was filled with concern. Worry that he'd hurt her feelings. Nothing more.

  She shored up her smile. "I think that was Aaron Nichols." One of his friends from high school. "You'd better go say hi."

  He was only in town for the night, after all.

  His gaze held until she felt so brittle she feared her smile might crack. I'm fine, she telegraphed to him.

  She'd come back from the depths of her grief after last Christmas.

  She'd bounce back from this rejection.

  Eventually.

  Chapter 3

  Maverick hated that he'd stolen Mallory's Christmas magic, broken her smile.

  It was shocking to him that no one else had noticed. The ballroom seemed to have swelled with even more ranchers, cowboys, wives, and girlfriends, even though the snow was coming down harder, swirling in the dark outside the windows, visible thanks to the twinkle lights that wound around the arbor leading to the kitchen vegetable garden.

  He'd taken up a stationary position near the hors d'oeurves table, ready to retreat if she came on the advance again.

  He'd barely been able to refuse her once. He'd nearly had her in his arms. As it was he couldn’t get the feel of her out of his head, her waist soft and slender between his hands, her lashes fluttering closed as she waited for his kiss.

  He was an idiot.

  He'd had to refuse her.

  But the look in her eyes, the one she'd quickly banked... It had hit him like a mortar blast to his most vulnerable parts.

  He hated hurting her feelings, but there was no future for them. It was better this way.

  He'd gotten caught up in a conversation with a high school buddy who wanted to reminisce about their glory days as senior football players. Most of Maverick's memories from those days weren't the same as the those of the kids he'd graduated with.

  If he rubbed the golden finish on them too hard, it was sure to tarnish. Good old Dad had made sure of that.

  But he smiled and made small talk anyway, pretending things had been fine, the same way he'd pretended back then.

  Cash was the only one who knew.

  "Have you seen Mallory?" Speaking of his best friend.

  Maverick turned to see Cash, who looked rumpled and annoyed. His hair was out of place, as if he—or someone else—had run his hands through it. And his tie was askew.

  "Problem?" Maybe one of the party guests had had too much champagne and gotten rough?

  Cash rubbed the back of his neck, looking both sheepish and annoyed at the same time. "Just... a staffing thing. Sort of. For the party."

  A staffing thing. A thing.

  A woman thing?

  Maverick glanced across the room to see Mallory slip into the hallway that would lead back to the kitchen, formal dining room, and mud room. Please don't let her be heading back there to cry. If she’d told Cash that Maverick had had his hands on her, would he flatten him?

  "She probably wants to enjoy the party like everyone else," Maverick suggested. "Can't a staffing problem wait until tomorrow?”

  Cash's eyes flashed with annoyance. "No." He sighed. "You're right, though. Mallory has worked late nights for weeks to get this party to go off without a hitch. I'll deal with it."

  He clapped a hand on Maverick’s shoulder and walked off, apparently looking for his staffing problem.

  Mallory didn't re-appear. Maverick let one minute tick by, then two. She still hadn't returned.

  He shouldn't go after her. Definitely not.

  But his feet carried him around the perimeter of the ballroom anyway until he was ducking down that same hall.

  The formal dining room was dark and empty of partygoers, and he quickly passed by the long, elegant table—perfect for a big, bustling family—and into the kitchen, where bright overhead lights shone. This room was filled with workers rushing around.

  Crossing the threshold caused a pang of grief he hadn't expected. The kitchen was where Mrs. Trudeau had lived. If he squinted, he could imagine her there, standing at the sink, chiding him to wash his hands and come help with the supper preparations.

  He breathed through the unexpected pain.

  Mallory wasn't there either. A woman in a chef's coat and hat was directing servers who carried plates of tiny, fancy food. She stopped mid-
sentence when she caught sight of him.

  "Catering staff only," chef-lady said.

  "Did Mallory Trudeau come in here?"

  She looked him up and down, must've seen how serious he was. She jerked her thumb toward the mudroom.

  So. Mallory had been so upset that she was hiding out. This was all his fault. He had to fix it. Somehow.

  Without kissing her.

  He ducked through the doorway and found her at the back door, shrugging into a coat, one long enough that it swallowed her up from shoulders to calves. Right over her fancy party dress. She looked like a little kid playing dress up. He blinked, and it was a woman who looked back at him with soft eyes.

  His stomach lurched.

  Cash was gonna kill him if he didn't un-screw this up.

  "Mal," he started. He didn't see any tears running down her face, but so what? He hadn't exactly been gentle with her earlier.

  "Everything okay?" she asked. And then she bent over, slipping one stockinged foot into a barn work boot. Her glittery, strappy heels were on the floor beside her.

  "That's what I followed you in here to ask. Did I… I didn't mean to hurt your feelings earlier. Come back to the party."

  She glanced his way as she pulled on the second boot. Her scrunched brows showed her puzzlement, but her expression cleared as she straightened. Her lips twitched slightly.

  "My feeling that we should take advantage of that mistletoe right above your head hasn't changed."

  He looked up. Nothing there.

  "Gotcha." When he looked back at her, she was grinning.

  He mock-scowled. "Mal. I'm trying to get out a serious apology here."

  She shrugged. "No apology needed."

  "Then why are you running away? That sure seems like you're taking the hurt feelings thing to a pretty high level."

  Now she laughed. He'd always loved the sound of her laugh, but he hated being the object of it.

  He didn't think anything about this was funny. And he wanted to get back to the party before Cash started looking for his sister again.

  "You've sure got a high opinion about yourself," she said.

  Now his scowl turned real. But she wasn't done.

  "Here." She grabbed an iPad off the counter that ran along the back wall and tossed it his way.