Snowed In & Set Up

by Whitley Cox

  “It’s okay,” Amber called back. “Finish what you were doing.”

  “You heard them,” Rowan said with a throaty chuckle.

  “Oh, be quiet.” Juney laughed.

  But Hunter didn’t hear anything else. Amber and Will retreated to Amber’s room, Austin to his, and with one last look of longing at Austin’s closed bedroom door, Hunter ducked inside her own room and shut the door.

  Chapter Eleven

  Amber smoothed down the front of her lacy red dress and checked herself out in the full-length mirror on the back of her bedroom door. She’d decided to abandon her customary ponytail and instead leave her hair down, falling around her shoulders in gentle red waves. Not one for makeup, she didn’t really have much to work with. A bit of lip gloss and some bronzer for those days she was feeling extra ghostly. She’d snorted, scoffed and rolled her eyes when her sisters-in-law, Jill and Penny, had taken her shopping and tossed bronzer into the basket. “By January you’re practically translucent,” Jill had said. “Just brush some on in the morning. No one will even know. But at least you won’t look dead.” She’d been right, of course. And even though Amber didn’t bother with bronzer most days, it was never not in the center console of her truck, just in case.

  Those girly-girls had also helped her buy the dress. It had been for her other brother Tyler’s Valentine’s Day wedding. She hadn’t had a clue what to wear. The other women had taken pity on her, and the three of them had gone shopping for the day and then hit up the spa. Not exactly Amber’s idea of fun, but in the end she’d managed to enjoy herself. Despite how much estrogen and Nina Ricci perfume wafted off her sisters-in-law, she did love them.

  She studied herself in the mirror again, then against her better judgment, pinched her cheeks.

  Damn, this is the second time I’ve pinched my cheeks. What is the hot doctor doing to me?

  Then, digging in her bag, she pulled out something, walked to her door and turned off the light. A quick peek out proved no one was around, and noises from the kitchen revealed the majority of the houseguests to be drinking and laughing and getting ready for dinner. Perfect!

  Wandering over to the hall closet, she pulled out the stepstool, then carried it over in front of Hunter’s bedroom door. She put her ear to the solid wood. Good. She wasn’t inside. It was only one step up, but that wasn’t even enough, and Amber found herself teetering on her tippy toes trying to stick the pushpin into the doorjamb. You’d think by this time she would try to find another, higher stool.

  “What are you doing?” came a deep masculine rumble from the head of the hallway.

  Amber spun around and lost her footing. Suddenly, there was nothing beneath her feet, and the ground was looking awfully close and hard.

  “Whoa, whoa!” Will said, lurching forward and grabbing Amber at the last second. His strong arms braced her awkwardly as she toppled against him. “You okay?”

  She nodded. His big chest had knocked the wind right out of her. “Yeah, you just spooked me.”

  Will set her on her feet, then took the object she was trying to hang above the door from her hand. “Mistletoe?”

  Amber looked down at her feet, and she curled her chocolate-plum-painted toes. It’d been Amber’s birthday two weeks ago, and Jill and Penny had insisted the three of them go get pedicures. She would never admit it, but the foot massage had been decadent, and she kind of loved how nice her feet looked once the esthetician had buffed, scrubbed, and painted them up.

  “Are you the one who has been hanging up all the mistletoe everywhere?” he asked, shock taking over the tone of his voice. There wasn’t really any accusation there, more bafflement than anything else.

  Amber nodded solemnly as heat filled her chest and cheeks. It reminded her of the time she’d been caught trying to shave her face, like her dad and brothers did. She’d made a godawful mess in the bathroom and nicked herself something fierce. Her dad hadn’t been upset, more just surprised at how big of a tomboy Amber really was. It was then he and her mother stopped buying her tea sets and dolls and let her play with her brothers’ toys and bought her things like Legos and Kinex.

  “Why?”

  She lifted one shoulder. “Just to be funny. Nobody has any idea. I dunno. Add a bit of whimsy and mystery to the week.”

  She couldn’t bear to look at him. But she had no choice when his knuckle came up under her chin. “Look at me, Little Red. Do you like Christmas?”

  No! I fucking LOVE it!

  She rolled her eyes and gave him an irritated scoff. “I don’t hate it. It’s just a prank, though. Let it go. If this were Halloween, I’d be hanging bats or spiders. Relax.” She shook herself from his grasp and looked away. “Besides, Hunter and Austin need all the help they can get.”

  “You’re not wrong there,” he muttered, taking the pushpin from her hand. Without a grunt of strained effort or needing to stand on tiptoe, Will reached up and pushed the pin into the doorjamb, then hung up the mistletoe bundle.

  Amber picked up the stool and put it back in the closet. “You’re not going to tell everyone, are you?”

  That smile. A smile that big, that white, that sexy, shouldn’t be legal. He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her body against his. “You look gorgeous tonight.”

  “Thank you.” Amber’s breasts ached from how hard they were pushing against the tight fabric of her dress with each ragged gasp. Her nipples tightened to stiff peaks, and her panties were growing wetter by the second. The man knew how to seduce without even trying. “You promise not to tell anyone?”

  Will’s eyes darted up to the mistletoe. They were standing directly below it. “Your secret’s safe with me, Little Red, so long as we get to test it out first.” He dipped her low and brushed his lips against hers, the heat from his big body flooding her. She melted into his arms. Christmas was freaking awesome.

  Rowan pulled the twin turkey breasts from the oven. His mouth flooded with water from the decadent smell and the sight of the bacon, sizzling bright red, which he’d draped overtop to keep in the moisture. He placed the pan with the breasts on the counter, covered it in foil, then reached back inside the oven and pulled out the pan of stuffing, followed by a pan of his mother’s sweet potato casserole. It didn’t matter how many years in professional kitchens he’d worked, who his mentors had been, or the red seal from Le Cordon Bleu, Mrs. Johanna Briggs’ sweet potato casserole recipe was the best in all the land.

  “Mmm,” Hunter hummed, pulling up the barstool in front of the counter. She’d been on the phone in the library, something about checking in with her birth mother. Apparently the two still spoke. “That smells incredible.” Her eyes darted down to a skillet on the stove. “What the heck are you doing to the Brussels sprouts?”

  Rowan’s eyebrows bobbed up and down, and he gave her a wicked grin. The only thing that made these foul little green bouncy balls edible. “I’m sautéing them in butter, a little bit of truffle oil, copious amounts of fresh garlic, a bit of bacon, salt and pepper, with a dash of chili flakes.”

  She shook her head. “I’ve only ever had them steamed, and they tasted like feet.”

  “Trust me.” He smiled. “You’ll love these. I also do them in a killer mustard sauce, but today I’m going with garlic and bacon.”

  “I haven’t had a bad dish from you yet,” Juney interjected, joining him at the counter and spooning the fresh cranberry sauce she’d made into a delicate crystal dish. “And using cornbread instead of regular bread in your stuffing—genius!”

  Heat rushed to his cheeks as he flashed her a sexy smile. “What can I say? I’m a genius in many places, the kitchen . . . the bedroom.” He hip-checked her, and her laugh made his chest tighten.

  “Gross,” Hunter said dryly. “Way to rub it in.”

  “That’s what she said.” Rowan chuckled.

  Juney rolled her eyes, which only made Rowan laugh even louder.

  “Where’s Austin?” he asked.

  Hunter shook her head, the
n blew her bangs from her eyes, one shoulder casually bobbing toward the front door. “Out shoveling the driveway, where else?” The woman’s frustration was coming off of her in heated waves.

  Jesus Christ, what the hell was Austin’s deal?

  Rowan turned up the heat on the stove. “What happened to you guys out in the snow?”

  She shook her head again. “Definitely nothing as exciting as what was happening in here. At least not to me.”

  Rowan growled low in his throat, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw the tips of Juney’s ears turn bright red and her pale cheeks burn. That impromptu kitchen sex had been incredible. He hadn’t even known what had come over him, but suddenly he had to have her. Maybe it was the dusting of flour she’d accidentally wiped across her forehead, or the cute tendrils that had escaped her ponytail and were peeking out around her temples, but whatever it was, he’d needed her then and he’d needed her badly.

  Hunter cleared her throat, and that snapped him out of his daydream, but it wasn’t enough to temper the surge of need between his legs. The color in Juney’s cheeks made him lust for her again something fierce. The woman was fucking stunning. He tried to adjust his pants, but it was no use. He was rock hard again and painfully pressing against his dress slacks. Thank God for aprons.

  “The sexy doctor and Amber took off to go screw against a tree,” Hunter continued, “while Austin and I sat in the snow and froze our butts off and then I nearly got run over by a snowmobile. He saved me, and I thought we had a moment. But—” Her throat wobbled, and she let out a weighted sigh. Were those tears in her eyes? “Apparently, that moment was all in my head. He clammed right up again. Then it started snowing, and we all headed back.”

  “Maybe tonight,” Juney said softly, giving Hunter one of those motherly looks she was becoming known for.

  Rowan’s heart did a little thump-thump. He loved how genuine and sweet she was. Such mother material. And although the idea of children wasn’t out of the question, he never really thought of himself as a dad, at least not until Juney said her clock was ticking and she wanted kids. Now Rowan couldn’t stop thinking about kids. Kids with Juney’s eyes and brains and coloring.

  “Mistletoe seems to be popping up everywhere,” Juney went on. “And it is Christmas. You might get lucky. I know both of my sisters got engaged over Christmas. It’s definitely a magical holiday.”

  “What? Christmas?” Amber asked, joining Hunter at the bar. Will was in her wake, and they both had that look on their faces as if they’d just been making out. Bright eyes, swollen lips. His hand brushed the small of her back. When she went to sit down, he sat next to her and draped his arm around her shoulder. He had to be touching her. Rowan felt the same way about Juney.

  Juney nodded. “Yeah, don’t you think it’s a magical holiday?”

  Amber lifted one shoulder and then tipped the decanter of wine up and filled her glass. “I’m not saying it doesn’t have its whimsical merits, but I wouldn’t go so far as to say it’s magical.”

  Will snorted next to her. Did he know Amber’s nickname at work?

  Not much of a betting man, but Rowan would bet dollars to donuts Amber wasn’t being honest. She was tossing on her “tin woman” armor and not showing anyone her true colors. She had been like a barge of fireworks when they’d all exchanged gifts that morning, teeming with excitement. She’d practically had an aneurysm of joy as she pulled that snow globe out of the bag. And as much as she tried to hide it, a smile that real was tough to cover up completely. The woman liked Christmas. Hell, she probably loved it, but for some reason she didn’t think it was okay to show.

  “Well, I think it’s magical,” Juney said with a smile. She pulled the roasted potatoes out of the oven and, with big tongs, began plating them. “I’ve always only done mashed for Christmas dinner, but roasted potatoes are a great idea. So crispy.”

  Rowan winked at her as he pushed the browning Brussels sprouts and bacon around in the pan with the garlic. The smell made his stomach rumble. Everything was better with bacon. “I like mashed well enough too, and I did a small bowl of it as well for the diehard traditionalists who need to make their volcanoes, but there is something so satisfying about hearing the subtle crack of the crispy outer layer of the potato as you cut into it and then watch the steam rise up into the air. A pad of butter or some gravy . . . ” He kissed his fingers and then quickly pulled them away. “C’est magnifique!”

  “Well, Chef Briggs, everything you’ve made so far this week has been c’est magnifique. I’d let you cook for me anytime.”

  That was the second compliment she’d paid him about his food in a matter of minutes. As much as his big chef ego was enjoying the praise, Rowan couldn’t help but wonder if there was more to it. He knew his food was good, damn good, but was she simply being herself, sweet, complimentary Juney, or was there more to her admiration?

  The door from the garage slammed, and everyone turned to see Austin, a scowl on his face and pink in his cheeks, stalking in. He glanced at Hunter and the vacant seat next to her but instead chose to stand next to Will. Both Will and Rowan rolled their eyes and made rude, but very obvious noises in their throats.

  “Shit or get off the pot, man. You’ve got two days left with her. Make a move.”

  Juney’s mouth dropped open, followed by Hunter’s, then Amber’s, and finally Austin’s. Will burst out laughing.

  Oh, for fuck’s sake! That wasn’t in my head? I said that out loud? That was not supposed to be out loud. FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!

  If it were possible, Austin’s cheeks turned an even darker shade, and his chest started to rise and fall as if he’d just come in from a gruesome hike.

  “Filter!” Juney whispered, batting him on the hand with the tongs. “In your head. Say those things in your head!”

  “I thought I had,” he said under his breath.

  “Oh, man.” Will chuckled, getting up from his seat, but not before running his hands along the back of Amber’s neck. “I need a drink. Austin, man, drink?”

  Austin nodded. “Ah. Maybe a double?”

  Will’s dark chuckle rolled through the kitchen. “Is there any other kind?”

  Chapter Twelve

  Juney let out a contented sigh as she finally allowed herself to sit down at the head of the table. Rowan was at the other end, and the two of them shared a look of camaraderie and joy over the expanse of decadent food they had lovingly prepared. It was impressive. He had been impressive. Authoritative in the kitchen, confident and capable, but also calm, cool, and collected.

  He knew what he was doing, but at the same time, he still valued her help. Every time he sought her out for consult, allowed her to taste his dishes as he prepared them and offer critiques, her heart soared. He made her feel needed and that her opinion and presence at his side were appreciated. And even though he could have easily prepared the entire meal himself, he never once made her feel as though she wasn’t an integral part of the Christmas dinner preparation. When she said he needed more sage or salt or another dash of pepper, he heeded her feedback with a smile and nod. Unlike many of the other chefs she’d worked with and interviewed, Rowan didn’t come off nearly as cocky or conceited. He was confident, but that confidence was tempered in a way that appealed to her. Content and at ease in his surroundings; sure in his abilities but also humble enough to accept help and the opinion of others.

  “Wow!” Hunter said on an exhale, draping her linen napkin over the lap of her beautiful dark-green sheath dress. She’d confessed earlier, when Juney had asked, that it was indeed one of her own creations, a simple but flattering bamboo frock with a boat-neck and a subtle stitching embellishment along the cap sleeve and hem. It enhanced Hunter’s amber eyes and, when she pinned her hair up on top of her head in a casual twist, accentuated her long, slender neck. “This all looks fantastic. I don’t know what to try first.”

  “The Brussels sprouts first, for sure,” Rowan said with a wink, passing her the bowl where they steamed
crispy and caramelized among the crunchy bacon and fragrant garlic. “And then the turkey, the stuffing, and the roasted potatoes.” He reached forward and speared a big slab of sliced turkey breast, and even from her place at the other end of the table, Juney could see how juicy the meat was. Not an easy task. The breast almost always ended up being too dry, no matter at whose house she spent Christmas.

  “Mmm,” Hunter hummed, scooping out a big heaping spoonful of sprouts. “I’ll take your word for it, Chef Briggs. But if I don’t like them, I’m blaming you.”

  “Don’t wait,” he said. “Pop one of those bad boys in your mouth now and try it.”

  He watched patiently as she speared one of the little half-spheres with her fork and popped it into her mouth. Juney could practically feel Rowan’s apprehension. Had he blinked?

  Hunter chewed methodically, her face a mask. She swallowed before looking at Rowan.

  “I fucking love them,” she said with a big smile, puncturing another one with her fork and then stabbing a bit or two of bacon as well. “You’ve converted me, Chef Briggs.”

  Rowan let out a sigh. It didn’t matter how confident he was in his dishes, he was still human, still humble, and he wanted Hunter to enjoy his food. Juney’s heart melted from how relieved he appeared. He really was the whole package.

  Once everyone had filled their plates and topped off their drinks, they all sat around the table, gripping the Christmas crackers that Juney had found earlier that day in a box beneath the tree. It had been addressed to “Everyone” and had said “Love, Daisy!”

  “Is this Christmas cracker thing a Canadian tradition?” Rowan asked, looking at Juney with a curious smile.

  She nodded. “It must be, if this is the first time you Yanks have ever done them. We do them every year in my family. And Daisy is Canadian.”