by Jill Shalvis
“Here,” he said as he handed her one of the blankets.
She took it slowly, her eyes wide and confused. He couldn’t blame her. After Marcy had left the bar, he’d felt pretty dazed and confused himself. But surprisingly, it hadn’t taken that long for things to fall into place. It seemed his hesitant heart just needed a little nudge.
Whistling, Ethan headed to the back of the barn to look for Lowell’s space heater. He was on his second round of “Jingle Bells” when he finally located the heater behind an old bike and some farming tools. He quickly found an outlet and plugged it in, and then stretched out the extension cord as he walked back toward the front stalls.
Sam had wrapped a blanket around her and was hanging his wet shirt on the railing, right next to her sweatshirt, jeans, the white bra, and a teeny-tiny pair of flowered panties.
Ethan’s whistling stopped mid “dashing through the snow” as his gaze flickered over her body. The blanket was tucked up under her arms and covered her from breastbone to calves. Still, all it would take was one yank to have her as nekked as the day she was born.
“Are you going to turn that on?”
The question brought his eyes back up to her pretty blue ones, and he thanked God for the cold, wet denim that kept embarrassment at bay. As it was, his voice still broke like a fourteen-year-old boy’s when he spoke. “Y-yes, ma’am.”
To hide his blush, he stepped into the only empty stall. It turned out to be not as empty as he thought. Sherman was stretched out in a pile of fresh hay. His gaze followed Ethan as he set the heater in one corner and clicked it on.
Sam peeked into the stall. “Why are you putting it in there?”
“It will conserve heat if we stay in a more confined space,” he said as he walked back out and grabbed the rest of the blankets.
She clutched the blanket and looked around. “You don’t think we’ll have to spend the night here, do you? I mean, surely someone will come looking for us once the storm dies down.”
“Probably.” He tried not to look at her as he shooed Sherman over and spread the blanket out on the hay. “But just in case, we should be prepared.”
Sherman snorted, and Ethan glanced over at the pig to find those beady eyes pinned on him with something that could only be described as condemnation. Ethan tried to ignore the look and continue making the bed, but it wasn’t easy. Especially when Ethan was lying through his teeth. Not lying exactly, more like failing to mention the fact that in the corner behind that tall stack of baled hay was a door. A door that Sam would have no problem walking through if she knew it was there. And Ethan wasn’t ready to let her go. At least, not yet. Not until he got some answers.
And a few more kisses.
Unfortunately, when Sam stepped into the stall, she didn’t look like she was in that big of a hurry to get back to the kissing portion of things.
“I’m not sleeping with you, Ethan Miller.” Her arms were folded tightly over her chest.
Just the thought of sleeping with Sam had Ethan’s face flaming. He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. “I was thinking that we would do more talking than… uhh… sleeping. But first I need to get out of these wet jeans. They’re starting to itch worse than a bad case of fleas.”
Her big blue eyes wandered down to the fly of his jeans. And figuring even wet denim wasn’t going to keep him from embarrassing himself, he hurried out of the stall. It didn’t take him long to get his jeans off and spread them out on the rail with the rest of their clothing. He left his boxers on and tucked a blanket around his waist, then went about shutting off all the lights. By the time he returned, Sam was sitting on the blanket he’d spread on the hay with Sherman’s head in her lap, the orange coils of the space heater reflecting off her dark hair.
“It’s almost like he can talk to you with his eyes,” she said as she scratched between the pig’s ears.
“He likes you,” Ethan said as he took a seat across from her. He hesitated only a moment before adding, “You’ll make a good vet, Dr. Samantha Henderson.”
Her gaze lifted to his. “Not better than you.”
“I’m not a vet.”
“Tell that to half the people in Haskins County.” Her serious look filled his heart with pride. She glanced down at Sherman. “He is a pet, right?”
Ethan smiled. “You think I’m fattening him up for slaughter? You should know that I’ve never much cared for pork.”
“Or beef, mutton, or venison.”
“Shhh.” He held a finger to his mouth. “Don’t tell anyone. Josephine will have my hide if she ever found out I didn’t like her chicken fried steak.” He squinted at her. “How did you get out of eating it this morning?”
“I hid most of it in my napkin.”
He laughed. “I bet we’re the only two vegetarians in the entire state of Texas.”
“No doubt.” She smiled. It was a smile he hadn’t seen enough of since she’d been back, and he basked in the glow like a cat in the sun.
“We know each other pretty well, don’t we?” he said.
She looked down and ran her hand over Sherman’s back. “I thought I knew you, but the Ethan I remember never hung out at Bootlegger’s—or tried to kiss me.”
“My mistake.”
Her gaze snapped back over to him, but he continued before he lost his nerve. “Do you have a crush on me, Samantha Louise?”
Her mouth dropped open, right before her eyes scrunched up. “Marcy.”
He felt like jumping up and punching the air like a ten-year old. Instead he kept it together. “So you do have a crush on me.”
“Did.”
The word deflated him like an overfilled balloon. “So you don’t now?”
“Kids have crushes, Ethan. In case you haven’t figured it out by now, I’m a woman.”
His gaze drifted down to the blanket that had inched low enough to reveal two soft swells of perfection. “Believe me, I’ve figured that one out.” He lifted his eyes. “So how does the woman feel about me?”
Even in the dim light, he could tell that her face turned as red as an August tomato. “I-I… well, I think I…”
He smiled. “I’m the one who stammers, Sam. Don’t you start.” He scooted closer until their knees touched, and took her hand. It was much smaller and softer than his with smooth close-clipped nails. And he couldn’t help lifting it and brushing his lips over the tiny blue veins that pulsed in her wrist. “How about if we take it slower, sort of like we did when you were learning to ride? Do you like me?”
“Of course I like you, Ethan.”
The quick reply had him grinning like a fool. “What do you like about me?”
She stared down at their clasped hands for what seemed like forever before answering. “I like that you don’t take anything for granted. Not the sun, or the rain, or a friendship. I like the way you treat animals and people, with love and understanding. And I like that you rarely lose your temper. Even when I couldn’t do something, you never got mad and started screaming. You just showed me again until I got it right.” Her gaze lifted. Her deep blue eyes uncertain. “Do you like me?”
Like wasn’t really the word, but he also didn’t want to scare her off.
“Yes,” he said as he caressed her palm with his thumb. “I like you, Sam Henderson. I like that you never made me feel stupid because I do things slower than most folks. And I liked that no matter what I was doing—mucking out a stall or weeding a garden—you joined right in and helped me. And I like the way you treat animals. And the way you don’t like to hurt people’s feelings. But mostly, I liked the way you looked in your drill team uniform.”
She sat up, dislodging Sherman’s head. “My what?”
He waved his hand at her body. “That tiny little skirt and white top that you wore when you were on the drill team.”
“When I was seventeen, Ethan Miller?” A smile eased over her face. “Why, you pervert.”
“I was, you know. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t ge
t the thought of those can-can kicks out of my mind.”
She shook her head. “Now you tell me. Do you realize how hard I worked to get you to notice me? How many excuses I came up with to try to get you to touch me—to kiss me?”
“You’re five years younger than I am,” he said. “I guess I was waiting until you grew up.”
“I was eighteen for six months before I left. Why didn’t you do anything then?”
The hurt in her eyes was like a swift kick to his stomach, and it brought with it all the pain he’d felt when she left. A pain he’d tried to ignore by pretending that what he felt for Sam had been nothing more than friendship.
“I guess I was scared. Since I had never had a girlfriend before, I didn’t understand my emotions. All I knew was that I didn’t want you to go. But once I was standing on your front porch, staring at your doorbell, it seemed like a pretty selfish reason to keep you in Bramble.”
“I would’ve stayed, Ethan,” she whispered. “For you, I would do just about anything.”
He released her hand and rose to his knees, pulling her up with him. “Then don’t go, Sam.” He pulled her into his arms and spoke against her damp hair. “Stay here in Bramble.”
“Why?” The word came out muffled against his throat, and she pulled back and repeated it. “Why do you want me to stay, Ethan?”
For a man who had trouble talking to women, the words slipped out without a hitch. “Because I love you, Sam Louise. And if you leave, I’ll be forced to follow you to New York, where I’ll be a fish out of water if ever there was one.”
She smiled up at him. “I don’t want to go back to New York. I want to live on a farm in my hometown with the man I love.”
He kissed her then, and her mouth opened up for him like a flower to a bee. Her hands slipped around his neck, and she pulled him closer, close enough to realize that scratchy wool blankets no longer stood between them. The shock of skin against skin had them both pulling back. Sam’s eyes were wide and innocent, while Ethan’s couldn’t help dropping down to sweet raspberry-topped peaches that trembled from her quickened breath.
“I’ve never been with a man,” she said.
Her words had his heartbeat tripling, and his gaze sliding back up to her eyes. A smile broke out on his face, a smile he felt all the way down to his toes.
“And I’ve never been with a woman,” he said. Her eyes widened even more, but before the questions could start, he kissed her. Not a hungry kiss that would lead to hours of unbridled passion, just a sweet kiss that tasted of springtime and promises yet to keep. Pulling back from that kiss was one of the hardest things Ethan had ever done. He reached down and lifted the blanket around her and, after a brief, heated slide of knuckles against soft breast, tucked it neatly into place.
“You’re not going to make love to me, Ethan?” She looked so disappointed and hurt that he almost gave in. But if he’d learned anything on the farm, it was that time and patience always produced the best harvests.
“Oh, I’m going to make love to you, Sam. I’m going to love you like no man has ever loved a woman. But since this is our first go-around, I figure we shouldn’t put the cart before the horse.”
Her brow knotted. “And just what does that mean, Ethan Michael?”
“I want to court you. I want to bring you flowers, and sit on your porch swing, and see how many kisses I can swipe before your daddy comes out and tells me to leave. I want to take you to the movies, and football games, and maybe just into town to show off my girl.”
If it wasn’t for her big smile, Ethan might’ve been worried about the tears that trickled down Sam’s cheeks. But since his own eyes brimmed, he figured he understood and merely cradled her chin and kissed them away.
“And after I’ve made up for all the missed opportunities of my youth—including taking a few college courses, I’m going to make you my wife. In name. Soul. And body.”
“Oh, Ethan.” She threw herself into his arms, knocking him back to the hay as she covered his face with kisses.
“Enough.” He laughed. “If you keep this up, I won’t be responsible for what happens.”
She gave him one last kiss on the very tip of his nose before settling down in the hay next to him. Ethan probably should tell her about the door so they could get dressed and get back to the church. And in a few minutes, he would. But for now he just wanted to savor the moment. To lie there in the sweet-smelling hay with the girl he’d always loved, and the woman he’d never expected.
Sherman trotted over and nosed his way between them. When he had snuffled around until he was comfortable, he looked up at Ethan.
And damned if that baby pig didn’t wink.
“Shhh.” Pastor Robbins held a finger to his mouth. “I’ve found them.”
Most of the town crowded in through the big barn doors, taking turns peeking at the two sleeping forms curled together in the stall.
“Poor things are out cold,” Rachel Dean said. “ ’Course, I can’t say as I blame them. Live nativity scenes are more exhaustin’ than a person thinks.”
“Too bad all the hard work was for nothin’.” Cindy Lynn glared at Rye Pickett. “Pastor Robbins didn’t even get to see our performance.”
“Well, it ain’t my fault,” Rye defended himself. “He did pull up in the back. I can’t help it if Rachel Dean had to go inside to the bathroom and chose that moment to come out the front door of the church.”
“When a girl’s gotta go, a girl’s gotta go,” Rachel said.
Kenny Gene pushed his way through the group, smacking everyone with his large wings as he went. “Except now that the stable’s all busted to smithereens, the pastor ain’t gonna get his live nativity scene.”
The entire town looked forlorn until the young pastor spoke.
“I don’t know about that, Kenny.” He glanced down in the stall at Ethan and Sam. “I think I’m looking at one right now.”
“What do you mean, pastor?” Rachel Dean craned her neck to get a better look in the stall. “You mean Ethan and Sam? But then that would mean that Sherman is…”
Harley Sutter took off his wiseman crown and scratched his head. “Well, that pig does have a pure heart.”
“As pure as they come.” Moses Tate rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “And he sure ain’t as loud as that Rufus Miles.”
“Well, I’m not buyin’ it,” Cindy Lynn said. “Joseph and Mary weren’t cuddled together like a couple of spoons in a drawer. They were kneelin’ over the baby Jesus, givin’ him his due respect.”
“You’re right, Cindy Lynn,” Pastor Robbins said. “But doesn’t it also make sense that Joseph and Mary were tired? They had traveled a long way, and Mary had just given birth. So it seems reasonable that they would lie down in the hay to sleep that first Christmas night so long ago. And that Joseph, being filled with love for his new family, would’ve placed a protective arm around them and pulled them close—just like Ethan has done with Sam and Sherman. Because isn’t that what Christmas is all about—love and family?”
Kenny Gene looked at Pastor Robbins. “And the folks of Bramble are family, ain’t we, Pastor?”
“We sure are, Kenny. Everyone on the face of the earth is part of God’s family.”
Kenny smiled, and his shoulders lifted, causing his wings to expand. The storm had passed, and the clear night sky filled the opened barn doors, casting Kenny in soft starlight.
“ ‘And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praisin’ God, and sayin’, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, and goodwill toward men.’ ”
About the Authors
New York Times bestselling author Jill Shalvis lives in a small town in the Sierras full of quirky characters. Any resemblance to the quirky characters in her books is, um, mostly coincidental. Look for Jill’s bestselling, award-winning books wherever romances are sold and visit her at www.jillshalvis.com for a complete book list and daily blog detailing her city-girl-living-in-the-mountains adventu
res. You can also like her on Facebook at www.facebook.com/jillshalvis and follow her on Twitter @jillshalvis.
Bestselling author Hope Ramsay was born in New York and grew up on the North Shore of Long Island, but every summer Momma would pack her off under the care of Aunt Annie to go visiting with relatives in the midlands of South Carolina. She’s a two-time finalist for the Golden Heart and is married to a good ol’ Georgia boy who resembles every single one of her heroes. She lives in Fairfax, Virginia, where you can often find her on the back deck, picking on her thirty-five-year-old Martin guitar. You can keep in touch with her at www.HopeRamsay.com, on Facebook at www.facebook.com/hope.ramsay, and on Twitter @HopeRamsay.
Katie Lane’s interest in romance was sparked in high school in the backseat of a ’65 Mustang—okay, so maybe it wasn’t romance as much as raging teenage hormones. Still, coupled with a wild imagination, those make-out sessions inspired many a steamy story line along with a strong belief that true love does prevail. Katie lives in Albuquerque, New Mexico, with the owner of that Mustang and would love to hear from her readers. Please contact her through her website www.katielanebooks.com, on Facebook at www.facebook.com/KatieLaneAuthor, and on Twitter @ktlane3.
Also by Jill Shalvis
Simply Irresistible
The Sweetest Thing
Heating Up the Kitchen
Christmas in Lucky Harbor
Also by Hope Ramsay
Welcome to Last Chance
Home at Last Chance
Also by Katie Lane
Going Cowboy Crazy
Make Mine a Bad Boy
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