Daddy Christmas

by Cathy Gillen Thacker

  Chapter Two

  Snow piled outside Gretchen’s window in two- and three-feet drifts, and it was still coming down, further closing them in at the Rocking S Ranch. The smell of frying steak teased Gretchen’s senses. Her stomach growled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten in hours. So, she could either wait it out here, or do the sensible thing and go down to the kitchen, where Matt was obviously cooking dinner, and get something to eat. Forsaking her pride for the good of her stomach, she headed downstairs.

  Matt was standing at the sink, mashing potatoes with a mixer. He was wearing a navy corduroy shirt that, although comfortably loose, emphasized the broadness of his shoulders and the firm musculature of his chest and arms. Levi jeans gloved his trim waist and long legs. Unlike her, he hadn’t given much thought to his appearance since they’d come in from the storm. His jet black hair hadn’t been touched with a brush or comb; it curled down around his neck and over his ears in rumpled waves. His suntanned face, though closely shaved earlier in the day, showed a hint of evening beard. He was humming along with the Christmas carols playing on the stereo.

  Becoming aware of her presence, he flashed her a blinding grin. “Decided to forgive me?”

  Gretchen folded her arms in front of her and looked stubbornly up into Matt’s silver gray eyes. She wasn’t about to let him off the hook that easily, even if he had made dinner for two. “Not telling me who you were right off was a lousy thing to do.” She’d been made a fool of by a man before; she wasn’t about to let it happen again.

  “So was ditching me before we even met,” he drawled, sliding the pan of mashed potatoes into the oven to stay warm. “I’d say we were about even. Right?”

  As he neared her, she caught a whiff of his after-shave. It was brisk and outdoorsy, just like Matt. Aware her heart was pounding, she held her ground determinedly, despite the dwindling distance between them. “Blunt, aren’t you?” she remarked.

  “To a fault, or so I’m told. So...” He looked her over, noting with approval that she’d changed clothes, brushed her hair and applied fresh makeup before coming downstairs.

  Without warning, his look softened, she saw, and his eyes glowed with a disarming light as he extended a hand in friendship.

  “Truce?”

  What choice did they have? They were stranded there in the Rocking S Ranch; to continue to declare war on each other would serve neither. Besides, it was the Christmas season, and it was hard to stay angry with someone when “Silent Night” was playing on the stereo, reminding her that there should be peace on earth and goodwill toward men.

  “Truce.” Gretchen took his hand, reveling in the warmth and strength of his fingers as they closed over hers. She couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to kiss him. Would he exhibit the same capable tenderness with which he’d rescued her? Or would he be all fire and passion? Did she really want to know, now, when her life was finally becoming settled again?

  Swallowing hard around the rising tightness in her throat, she disengaged their hands. She was fantasizing about Matt, just as Marissa and Cal wanted. And though she would have liked to think it was just the holiday and their isolation drawing her in, she knew it was Matt and the essence that was him. He gave her a good-natured look, then returned to his cooking.

  Telling herself to concentrate on supper instead of him, she peered over his shoulder as he removed squares of the browned round steak from the skillet and added flour to the drippings like a pro. “Looks good.”

  “Thanks. Should be.” Matt slid the steak in the oven to keep warm, too. “Chicken fried steak is one thing I know how to cook.”

  A traditional Texas dish, it was one of Gretchen’s favorites. It had also been a while since she’d enjoyed the homecooked and not the restaurant version. Her mouth watering, she watched as Matt added milk to the browned drippings, stirring the mixture into cream gravy with long, easy strokes. He added salt and pepper and stirred some more.

  “I was thinking we should get a tree tomorrow, since Marissa was worried about it on the phone.”

  His concern for their hosts’ happiness melted the ice around her heart a little more. Telling herself to watch it—she didn’t want another broken heart for Christmas—Gretchen eased onto a stool at the counter. “You mean drive into town?”

  “Cut one down,” he said.

  Gretchen blinked and nearly fell off her stool. “Ourselves?”

  He shrugged unconcernedly. “Unless you know any Christmas elves willing to do it for us.”

  Very funny. “But—I’ve never done that before,” she protested as warm color filled her cheeks.

  “Nothing to it. I’ll do the heavy work,” Matt promised. “I just need you to help me pick one out and then decorate it once we get it back to the house. Marissa said the ornaments and lights are in the attic.”

  Visions of the two of them tromping merrily through the snow-covered property already filled her head. She figured the busier they were, the better. Because when she was this close to Matt, this comfortable with him, all she could think about was the snug, warm way his arms had felt around her when he’d rescued her from her wrecked car, how he had held her against him until she’d regained her bearings and how safe she felt when she was with him. And she hadn’t felt that way with a man in a very long time, if ever. “I’d be glad to help,” she said finally, telling herself it was not desire she saw in his eyes whenever he looked at her.

  “Say, first thing tomorrow morning?” Matt asked casually as he set her plate in front of her.

  Gretchen nodded, already anticipating the activity. She could not believe her instant and overwhelming attraction to Matt. “First thing.”

  * * *

  “THIS ONE! No, maybe this one. No, that one over there.” Gretchen bypassed a bristlecone pine and directed him toward a towering blue spruce.

  Matt threw up his arms in exasperation. “You know, I never would’ve asked you to help me if I’d known you couldn’t make up your mind,” he drawled.

  Gretchen planted her hands on her hips, aware she and Matt were both standing nearly knee-deep in snow and had been at the selection process for nearly thirty minutes. “You could be of some help here, you know.”

  Shading his eyes against the brilliance of the morning sunlight reflecting off the snow, he squinted at her and said, “I plan to be. I’m the one who’s going to cut down the tree and drag it back to the house, remember?”

  True, Gretchen thought, as she stopped in front of a particularly lovely Scotch pine with well-proportioned branches and abundant greenery. She knew at a glance it was just perfect for the Stewarts’ living room. “This one here.”

  “You’re sure now,” he commented drolly.

  “Positive.”

  Gretchen watched contentedly as Matt chopped down their Christmas tree with powerful strokes of the ax. Long minutes later, they were dragging it back toward the house. The morning was beautiful, cold and still. Alone with Matt out in the glistening, snow-covered field, she could easily believe they were the only two people in the world. Gretchen found herself wishing that were so, for just a little while. She had been pushing herself like a maniac the past four months, going to school all week, working all weekend and studying every spare second in between. It was a relief to do nothing for a while, but just be. And Matt was a delightful companion when he chose.

  The tree thumped as Matt tugged it up the porch steps. He stood it upright. Snow coated its limbs. He was about to open the door, when she laid a hand on his arm.

  “If we take it inside like that it’s going to drip water all over the place.”

  He grinned at her and leaned toward her just a little. “No joke, Sherlock.”

  Aware of how solid his biceps was beneath her fingers, and how much she liked it, Gretchen wet her suddenly dry lips and stepped away from him. “So now what?”

  Matt lounged against the side of the house and studied the tree. The outdoor thermometer beside him registered twenty-eight degrees Fahrenheit.
“It won’t thaw off out here on the porch.”

  “Maybe we should get a whisk broom and try to brush most of the snow off the branches,” Gretchen suggested.

  “I’m game if you are.”

  “Wait here. I’ll be right back.” Gretchen knocked the snow off her boots, wiped the soles of her boots on the mat and hurried inside.

  When she got back, Matt was hanging the tree over the side of the porch, shaking off as much snow as he could. A fair amount still remained. Gretchen went to work with the whisk broom. Fifteen minutes later the tree was about as snow-free as it was liable to get. Matt sawed off the end so the tree would stand straight, and Gretchen knelt to help guide it into the stand. He held the tree in place while she tightened the screws around the base. As she worked, snow fell onto her collar and began to melt against her neck. Finished, she struggled to her feet and tried in vain to get the snow out of her collar, but all she succeeded in doing was pushing it farther down her back.

  “Here, let me help you,” Matt said. Hands on her shoulders, he turned her around so her back was to him. Working his hand beneath the collar of her parka, he scooped out the snow, then promptly smeared it across her face.

  Gretchen screamed at the feel of the cold, wet snow on her lips and cheek. “Very funny.”

  His eyes gleamed with mischief. “I thought so.”

  She reached behind her and surreptitiously scooped up a handful of snow from the porch railing. “But enough fooling around,” she continued with as much seriousness as she could muster. “Let’s get this tree inside.”

  He studied her candidly. “Sure you don’t want revenge?”

  She shook her head matter-of-factly. “I’m not into childish games.”

  He paused, then nodded. “Hmm. Well, you want to hold the door for me?”

  “Sure. Just let me get by.”

  As she sidestepped past, she smeared the snow in her hand across his mouth and chin. He let out a yelp of surprise. The next thing Gretchen knew, he had scooped up two handfuls and was chasing her down the steps.

  “Now, Matt,” Gretchen panted, as she raced across the front yard, “don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

  He transferred the snowball from hand to hand and grinned mercilessly. “Who says I’m going to regret this?”

  “Then don’t do anything I’ll regret,” she advised, scooping up another handful of snow herself as she ducked behind a pine tree laden with snow.

  “Too late,” Matt sassed back. He darted sideways and hurled a snowball at her shoulder. It connected with a painless splat that had her aching for revenge.

  “Matt!” Gretchen reprimanded as she put one snowball in her pocket and, stealthily scooping snow off the branches of the pine, made another and another.

  Again a snowball came whizzing at her leg, this one catching her just above the knee. Grabbing up two more handfuls of snow, he approached from the side, all big, taunting male.

  “Give up?” he demanded, making it clear he would accept nothing less than her unconditional surrender.

  “Never!” Gretchen darted around the tree and aimed a snowball at his head. She missed completely and he laughed uproariously, the mellow sound of his voice echoing in the snow-filled silence around them. He stopped laughing when she quickly pulled out her backup ammunition. Her second snowball caught him in the chest, her third in midcalf.

  Matt took three great strides and caught up with her. “Now, that one,” he drawled, scooping up a huge amount of gleaming white snow with both hands as they both broke into a run, “is going to cost you!”

  Delighting in their cat-and-mouse play, Gretchen darted past the porch and around the side of the house. Unable to resist, she taunted breathlessly, “You have to catch me first!”

  He clamped his arms around her waist, pulled her against him and backed her up against the wall. Feet planted on either side of her, he aligned his body with hers and stared down at her. “All right,” he said softly, possessively. “I caught you.”

  “Now what?” she demanded, afraid she already knew.

  Dropping his hold on her waist, he yanked off his gloves and took her face in his hands. “Now this.”

  His lips captured hers in a millisecond. Gretchen didn’t think Matt thought about what he was doing any more than she did; she knew only that his lips were cold and his tongue was warm and the mixture of the two sent the most delicious heat spiraling through her. Her lips parted, not in surrender, but with an answering urgency that rocked them both and left them both shaking and gasping for air.

  He drew back and looked down into her face. Gretchen saw herself mirrored in his eyes and inhaled sharply. And then she was in his arms once more, kissing him again, sweetly this time, unapologetically, experimentally. Driven by feelings she was loath to name, she let herself go, let herself feel and be, let herself drift mindlessly into pleasure—into passion.

  When they drew apart, she was completely at a loss as to what to do or say or how to behave. Once again, Matt came to the rescue. He looked at her a long, telling moment, letting her know that he hadn’t expected what had just happened between them, but that he didn’t regret their reckless kiss any more than she did. Then he smiled and gently touched her face with the side of his hand. “I guess we better get that tree inside and up before the Stewarts arrive,” he said.

  * * *

  “WHAT DO YOU THINK?” Matt asked a scant two hours later.

  They stood back to admire their handiwork. The tree was beautiful, Gretchen thought. With garlands of red wooden beads, red velvet and red taffeta ribbons, assorted ornaments and sparkling white lights, it was as pretty as any department-store display she had ever seen.

  The phone rang. Tearing her eyes from the tree, Gretchen went to answer it.

  “Bad news,” Marissa began without preamble as soon as Gretchen answered. “The interstate is still closed. It looks like it’ll be tomorrow by the time we get out there. How are you and Matt doing?”

  My lips still tingle from his kiss, Gretchen thought. Worse, I’m wishing he would kiss me again and again and again. She didn’t know what had gotten into her. Maybe it was the season. Maybe it was just a fleeting, reckless whim or the long-buried playfulness that he brought out in her, but she wanted to enjoy their flirtation while it lasted, and so apparently did he, judging by the ardent looks he gave her whenever he thought she wasn’t aware.

  Gretchen glanced back at Matt and smiled. “Matt and I are fine,” she told Marissa.

  There was a short, disbelieving silence on the other end. “You sure, now?”

  Gretchen laughed. She knew she and Matt had gotten off to a rocky start, exacerbated by her blatant attempts to avoid spending time alone with him. But that was all past them now. “Don’t worry about a thing.”

  Matt was watching as she hung up the phone. “They’re not coming,” he guessed.

  And looked not the least bit disappointed by the news, Gretchen thought. She glided back to his side, feeling giddy and alive with anticipation. She hadn’t planned this, but she was more and more loath to turn away from it. “Tomorrow afternoon at the earliest, they think,” she said solemnly. Which gave them nearly twenty-four more hours completely alone. A lot could happen in twenty-four hours, and Matt knew it, too.

  He tried hard but couldn’t completely suppress a smile. “I see.” His eyes roved her upturned face.

  At the raw, sexual energy in his gaze, her heart skipped a beat. Maybe she wasn’t as ready for this as she thought she was. She turned away nervously, stepped past the glittering tree and headed for the kitchen determinedly. “It’s my turn to cook tonight,” she announced carelessly over her shoulder. “I’ll go in and start dinner.”

  He nodded agreeably, already reaching for his coat. “I’ll bring in more wood.”

  “Tex-Mex okay with you?” Gretchen asked, her hands a flurry of activity as he rejoined her short minutes later.

  “Sounds great.”

  He was wearing a sophisticated pewter-
and-navy flannel shirt that brought out the silver in his eyes. He looked masculine and inherently at ease with himself, Gretchen noted admiringly. Aware she was digressing again, she turned her attention back to her task.

  He leaned against the counter, arms folded in front of him, then watched as she spread zesty refried beans onto tostado shells and liberally sprinkled on grated cheddar and Monterey Jack cheese before sliding the tray into the oven and setting the timer for fifteen minutes. “Those nachos look great.”

  “I thought they’d be a good appetizer. We can eat them while I fix the fajitas,” Gretchen added, as the phone rang.

  Matt reached for the receiver on the wall. “It’s probably my kids. I gave them this number.” He picked up the phone on the next ring. “Hi, Angela. Yes, I was hoping you’d call,” he murmured affectionately. “I miss you, too, sweetheart.” His face split into a concerned frown. “You want to what?” he said incredulously. “No,” he continued gently but firmly, “I don’t agree that’s the thing to do. Not at this late date, but we’ll talk about it when I see you next week. Yes. Put Luke on. Hi. Merry Christmas to you, too. What do you mean, where am I? You know where I am, Luke, at the Stewarts’ ranch. No, I’m not going to do anything rash just because I have to spend the holiday alone. Oh. You heard the Stewarts got stranded in Denver. Yes, well, I made it here before the storm. Yes, there is another guest here—a very nice young woman—and that is all you need to know on the subject, Luke.” Matt rolled his eyes, and struggled for patience. “I forgive you this time, but you’ve got to stop asking so many questions. Everything in life is not a mystery just waiting to be solved. Okay, bye. Hi, Sassy. How’s the skiing? Good. I’m glad you all are enjoying yourselves. The day after Christmas. Yes, I’m driving down to Aspen that very morning. I’ll leave as soon as I can. What time? I’m not sure. Yes, I understand your need for me to be precise, Sassy. How about I meet you at the ski lift at noon? Right. If anything at all happens to change things, I’ll call you and leave a message with the hotel concierge. Yes, absolutely. You have a Merry Christmas, too, sweetheart. I’ll see you in a couple of days.” He hung up the phone.