Bidding on a Texan

by Barbara Dunlop

  I love you.

  Dammit. Damn damn damn.

  She fisted her fingers to keep from pounding the steering wheel.

  So yes, guilt had pushed her into taking a previously unheard-of short-term leave from the hospital. It’d goaded her into going up to Ivy’s school and letting them know the girl would be missing the last two weeks before Christmas break to take an extended vacation.

  She swallowed a sigh, and as the light changed, pressed on the gas pedal. A tense, edgy silence filled the car. Nothing new there either. Nessa snuck another look at the girl, noting the sullen expression turning down Ivy’s mouth and creasing her eyebrows into a petulant frown.

  Maybe their time in Rose Bend would give Ivy her smile back. Or at least rid Ivy’s lovely dark brown eyes of the sadness lurking there.

  And maybe Santa really did fly around the world.

  Yeah, Nessa had stopped believing in miracles and fairy tales years ago. Better Ivy learn now that life dealt shitty hands, and you either folded or played to recoup your losses.

  Soon, they left the downtown area and approached a fork in the road. As she turned her Durango left onto a paved road bordered by trees…

  “Oh wow,” Ivy breathed.

  “Good God,” Nessa murmured at the same time, bringing her vehicle to a halt in the driveway that circled in front of the huge white inn.

  Oh, Mom. You would’ve so loved this.

  A short set of stairs led up to a spacious porch that, according to the brochure, encircled the building. The wide lower level angled out to the side, with the equally long second floor following suit. The third, slightly smaller story graced the building with its dormer window, and a slanted roof topped it like a red cap. A broad red front door with glass panes along the top and dark green shutters at every window—and, damn, there were a lot of windows—and large bushes bordering the front and sides completed the image of a beautiful country inn. But it was the wreaths and bows hung on the door and walls, and the lights that twinkled along every surface, that transformed the building into a fairyland. A Christmas fairyland.

  Shaking her head, Nessa thrust the gear into Park. There she went. Being silly and whimsical. It was a place that masterfully catered to the tourists who visited just to be wowed by the holiday splendor. That’s it. Nothing magical waited for them on the other side of that door other than a hot meal and maybe cookies for Ivy and coffee for Nessa in front of a fireplace.

  “Let’s go sign in,” she said, exiting the truck. “We can come back for our bags once we’re done.”

  “Okay.”

  They hurried through the cold to the steps and onto the front porch. Nessa pushed the door open, stepping into warmth and peppermint-scented air. Absently closing the door behind Ivy, Nessa scanned the lobby and the wide, spacious living room that opened off the entry. Flames leaped and crackled in the huge fireplace, and she ordered herself not to stride over there and sink down into one of the chairs bracketing it. More bows, garland and pine cones decorated the mantel and walls. A gigantic Christmas tree stood in one corner before the windows, its lights reflecting off the glass.

  “This place is amazing. Like Santa’s workshop,” Ivy whispered beside her.

  Nessa blinked, emerging from her Christmas-induced stupor, and glanced down at Ivy. Her brown eyes glowed, and for the first time since they’d come back into each other’s lives, wonder and pleasure momentarily replaced the sadness in her gaze.

  Nessa’s chest tightened, a combination of relief and sorrow swirling behind her sternum. Relief because in this moment, she glimpsed the girl Ivy had been before her father’s death. Sadness for the same reason. No twelve-year-old should be touched by so much tragedy and loss. Losing both parents and being stuck with a sister she barely knew.

  Shoving aside the thoughts and emotions, Nessa cleared her throat and walked toward the small desk tucked next to a curving wooden staircase. A sign-in book and pen sat on the top, but no one manned it. She tapped the bell perched on the corner and waited, but still, no sign of anyone.

  “Does this mean we have to go back home?” Ivy asked, disappointment darkening her voice.

  “No, of course not.” Nessa shook her head. “Maybe they just had to sneak out for a moment. We are late for the twelve-o’clock sign-in.” She summoned up a smile, although from the arch of Ivy’s eyebrow, maybe Nessa fell short of the reassurance she’d aimed for. “I’ll go back out and get our bags. Then we’ll just sit by the fire and wait for whoever to return. It probably won’t be that long.”

  Ivy nodded. “Yeah, fine,” she said, the moody half sister returning. Shrugging a shoulder, she turned and headed into the common area, plopping down on the couch and removing her headphones from her coat pocket.

  Nessa stared after her. For a second there, she’d almost believed… Well, it didn’t matter. They were here for Ivy to get away from the house and city that were haunted with memories of her father. And also, to fulfill Isaac’s dying wish. That his daughters be together for the holiday. In this moment, that seemed the most daunting of the hurdles to leap. If she and Ivy got through this holiday without stabbing holly through each other’s hearts, well, Merry Christmas.

  Note to proprietor: “Please remove all holly from room.”

  Pivoting on her boot heel, Nessa retraced her steps to the front entrance and grabbed the knob, pulling the door open. The sooner they got settled—

  “Oof.”

  Blindsided by what felt like a truck, she stumbled backward several steps, arms pinwheeling before her ass smacked the floor. The impact sent jarring waves up her tailbone and spine, propelling the breath from her lungs.

  Ouch. And… “What the…?” She gingerly touched the prickly object that had landed on top of her head.

  A wreath?

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there.”

  She tipped her head back, the wreath staying firmly in place like a crown, to meet a…stack of more wreaths? The stack shifted, lowering to the floor in front of her feet.

  God, that face.

  A masterpiece full of sharp angles, a pair of almond-shaped emerald eyes, a blade of nose, a mouth that was a puzzling dichotomy of firm and pillow soft, golden, sands-kissed-by-the-sun skin…and a beard. A neat full one that had her hands itching with the need to stroke…and tug. She curled her fingers into her palms, trying to contain the prickling sensation as heat surged up her chest, throat and poured into her cheeks. Thick, wavy, dark brown hair tumbled around his face, the ends falling a couple of inches below his chin.

  Her rapt gaze dropped, skimming over the wide, wide shoulders draped in a chocolate cable-knit sweater, down to powerful denim-covered thighs and even lower to large feet encased in well-worn work boots. Slowly, she followed the same path back up his body, meeting his green gaze.

  Wow.

  “Here.” He stretched his hand out to her, palm up. “Let me help you.”

  For a long moment, she stared at his hand. An instinctual sense of self-preservation screamed at her not to do it. That whatever she did, she should. Not. Touch. To do so would set in motion something she wouldn’t be able to stop. As if her body heeded that warning, she scooted back a little, pulling her arms in closer to her thighs. His eyes narrowed, sharpening.

  Mistake on her part. Revealing weakness to a complete stranger.

  “Thanks.” Setting her jaw, she disregarded her body’s blaring objection and laid her palm over his much bigger one. Strong fingers wrapped around hers, and he stood, drawing her to her feet in a show of negligent strength that had her breath lodging in her throat—that strength and his height. Tall didn’t cover it. Big didn’t cover it.

  She’d always had a weakness for big men. Jeremy Havers, the surgeon she’d been in love with before he’d decided he loved Miami and his career more, had been tall with shoulders that would’ve made a linebacker pout in jealousy.
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  Even more reason to avoid this guy and touching his hands.

  “Can I get that back?” He dipped his head toward the wreath still perched on her hair, a smile playing with his full lips.

  Showing weakness be damned, she shuffled a step backward, planting space between them. And noticed he still held her hand.

  Dammit. So much for her resolution of just seconds ago.

  Uttering a sound that was somewhere between a mortified groan and a cough, she released him, taking yet another step back. She jerked the Christmas decoration off her head, wincing when the stiff leaves tugged on her hair.

  “Wait. Let me help.” He shifted closer, and his scent enveloped her. Cold air, wintergreen, mint and…and beneath, a trace of an unidentifiable fragrance.

  Him.

  His huge chest blocked out the rest of the room—hell, the world—as he lifted his arms and carefully, gently, untangled strands of her hair from the wreath. Mortification burned inside her, debunking the myth that Black people didn’t blush. When he finally freed her, she ran her fingers over her hair, the gesture jumpy and unprecedented. She hadn’t even had this attack of…of…nerves with Jeremy on their first date at L’Espalier, where she’d been terrified of sending escargot sailing across the room à la Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman.

  Who was this guy?

  Trouble. That’s all she needed to know. And with so much on her plate already, she didn’t have any room for trouble. Bearded and big or otherwise.

  “Well, that was awkward.” Ivy appeared at Nessa’s elbow. She pinched the bridge of her nose while Ivy crossed her arms over her chest. “Who’re you?” her sister demanded.

  “Sorry,” he said, the hint of a smile blooming into a full one. And whoa. That thing was the very definition of unfair practices. Or if it wasn’t, it should be. He extended his hand to Ivy. “Wolf Dennison. My parents own Kinsale Inn.”

  “Wolf?” Ivy tilted her head to the side. “Like what? The animal?”

  “No, like Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, the composer.”

  “You’re kidding,” Nessa blurted out. His gaze swung to her, and she winced. “Sorry.” Pause. “But you’re not kidding.”

  “’Fraid not. My parents named all their kids after musicians and composers,” he said, shaking his head. Then that killer grin returned with an arch of a dark eyebrow. God, so much trouble. “You think my name is bad, you should hear my brothers’ and sisters’ names. I got off easy.”

  “I don’t think your name is bad,” Ivy chimed in. “We learned about Mozart in school. He was awesome and a genius. He wrote over six hundred pieces of music before he died at thirty-five.”

  “Thanks, kid. ’Bout time someone recognized the coolness of it.” He held his fist out, and Ivy bumped it, both doing the exploding hand and sound effect afterward.

  Still smiling, the corners of his eyes crinkling, he returned his focus to Nessa. And she almost asked him to switch it back to Ivy. Those eyes and the smile? Shouldn’t there be a squadron of sighing women following him everywhere he went?

  “You’re checking in?” he asked. Nessa nodded. “Great. Follow me. Sorry I wasn’t here when you arrived. Since we were a little slow, I ran out back to grab more wreaths for the house.”

  “More?” Ivy asked, drawing the word out until it stretched to about three syllables. “To put where?”

  Wolf chuckled, and the low, rumbling sound reminded her of the purring engine of a muscle car. Masculine. Sexy. Ready for anything.

  “You’d be surprised,” he teased, slipping past them and heading toward the desk.

  Don’t look down. Don’t look down.

  Dammit. Now the image of stressed denim hanging off his lean hips and cupping his firm ass was permanently emblazoned on her brain.

  “I saw that,” Ivy half whispered, half snapped. “You so checked out his ass.”

  “Language,” Nessa half whispered, half snapped back. “And I did not.”

  Ivy snorted, clearly not believing her. Smart girl. Too nosy for her own good, but smart.

  “All right.” Wolf flipped open a book and scanned it. “You’re either Mr. and Mrs. Calder or Nessa and Ivy Hunt. I’m going with Nessa and Ivy.”

  “I’m Ivy,” her half sister volunteered. “She’s Nessa. We’re half sisters.”

  Wolf nodded, studying them. His gaze drifted over her face like fingertips skimming her forehead, cheekbones, nose…lips. There went that fanciful notion again, because she could’ve sworn, she could feel his visual touch. It stirred a simmering heat deep inside her.

  A heat she hadn’t experienced in five months.

  She hated that heat. She’d once allowed it to convince her that men stayed. That her man, the one she’d permitted herself to imagine a future with, would be the one to stick. But while she’d been falling in love, he hadn’t. Heart versus heat. Both had sucked in the end.

  So, yeah, she despised heat.

  “So you’re spending the holidays together. That’s good. Family’s important.” Wolf dragged her from her admittedly bitter thoughts and turned the book around, pushing it toward Nessa. “If sometimes a pain in the ass.”

  “Language,” Ivy singsonged.

  For the love of… “Thanks,” Nessa said to Wolf from between clenched teeth and signed the book.

  Wolf withdrew a key from a drawer and handed it over to her. “Room 2. It’s the first room right at the top of the stairs. And before I forget. Breakfast is from seven to nine every morning, you’re on your own for lunch and a buffet-style dinner is served at six. The kitchen closes at nine, but there’s always some snacks left out in case you wake up with a sweet tooth.” He rounded the desk and gestured for them to follow him up the steps. Don’t freaking look. This time she forced herself to obey. “As you might have noticed on the way into town, Rose Bend really loves Christmas.”

  “You don’t say,” Ivy muttered.

  “Really, Mozart? And here I thought we’d bonded over the fist bump.”

  He glanced over his shoulder at the preteen. And Ivy—broody, sullen, cantankerous Ivy—grinned at Wolf’s nickname. Warmth unexpectedly blossomed in Nessa’s belly, creeping its way into her chest. Had she ever seen her half sister look like that? Not even the few times they’d seen each other before her father’s death. In this instant, Ivy was a normal, carefree girl.

  “There’s a pamphlet listing all the town’s holiday activities. There’s at least one thing every night, even if it’s just a chocolate tasting at the candy store or caroling in the town square.”

  “I saw the Yulefest sign on the way in,” Nessa said. “Not that we could miss it. Is that some kind of festival?”

  “More than a festival,” Wolf replied, glancing at her with that penetrating stare. “It’s a Rose Bend tradition. Thirty days of holiday events to celebrate Christmas. The whole town participates.”

  Sounded…wholesome. “There are thirty-one days in December,” she pointed out.

  A small smile curved the corner of his soft-looking mouth, making it appear even fuller. “Christmas Day is for spending time with family.”

  “Oh. Right,” she murmured.

  For years, she’d had a small but loving family with her mother. But now, she’d never see her mother’s smile or hear her laughter at their traditional gag gifts. She’d never have those Christmases again.

  She blinked, dispelling the memory.

  Nothing could bring back those times. Bring back her mother.

  “We saw the square,” Ivy said, passing Nessa on the stairs so she climbed them beside Wolf. “And the Christmas tree. It was huge. As big as the one in Boston Common.”

  “Every year, the committee finds the perfect tree at one of the farms outside of town. It’s tradition. Speaking of tradition, the lighting is tonight. It officially kicks off the Christmas season. There will be food at Town Hall afterwa
rd. You should both go.”

  “I haven’t been to a tree lighting in forever! The last one was about three years ago with my da—” Ivy’s voice broke off as she froze on the top step, her fingers curling into fists by her sides.

  Oh God. Nessa’s heart flew to the base of her throat. Nessa almost went to her, almost wrapped an arm around those thin shoulders. But the fear of rejection quelled the impulse. Ivy didn’t want her comfort…or Nessa.

  “I’m cool. We’re probably going to be too busy unpacking and everything,” Ivy said quietly with a shrug.

  Wolf peered over his shoulder at Nessa again as they cleared the second floor. And that look, as dark and mysterious as a forest and yet as sharp and incisive as a scalpel, had her nearly cringing from the intensity. She had to be careful around him. This man didn’t miss much. And seemed to sense too much, saw too deep. He had her battling the urge to splay her palms over her chest and prevent him from peering beneath skin and bone to her secrets.

  She turned from him, caving to a need for self-­preservation. Emotional survival. That was her number one priority.

  “We don’t have to decide now,” she said to Ivy. “It kind of sounds like fun.”

  Lie. It sounded like the very opposite of fun. Standing in the cold and freezing her ass off, surrounded by a bunch of strangers to watch the lighting of a tree. Give her a night of Frontier on Netflix, a glass of wine and Lisa Gardner’s latest thriller. That was fun.

  But to erase that flat, hopeless tone from Ivy’s voice…to see the little girl who’d grinned up at Wolf again…

  Wolf’s chin dipped in a small nod. “Are your bags in your car?”

  “Yes,” Nessa said, removing the keys from her coat pocket. “I was just about to get—”

  “I got it covered.” He held out his hand, palm up. “If you’ll give me your keys, I’ll bring them up.”

  “That’s not necessary. I can—”

  “Nessa,” he interrupted again, tone soft but firm. Too stunned by the way his deep, warm voice wrapped around her name and slid through her veins like sun-warmed molasses, she handed the keys over without a fuss. “I’ll be right back,” he murmured.