The Cowboy's Christmas Surprise

by Marie Ferrarella

  “Oh, really?” She laughed and then, rather than tease him, since she could most definitely still feel the imprint of his lips on hers, Holly relented and said, “Yeah, maybe you’re right, I do get that from hanging around with you.”

  Ray shook his head slightly, his thick black hair moving just enough to make her fingers itch to touch it. “I’m always right,” he told her.

  “Tell me,” she teased. “Do you ever have any trouble getting through doorways with that swelled head of yours?”

  “Nope.”

  Brett came up to him just then. “What’ll it be?”

  “One screwdriver for the lady—heavy on the juice,” he added, remembering how she took the drink.

  “Coming right up,” Brett promised.

  Ray continued facing the bar, keeping his back to Holly. They were going to have to talk about this someday, about what had just happened between them on the dance floor. But “someday” was not now, and he hung on to that, telling himself that exploring what had just happened—why he’d kissed her, why he’d felt lightning zigzagging through his veins when he had and why his stomach still felt as if it had turned into one giant knot—wasn’t going to lead to anything good until he knew what to do with any of the answers he might come up with.

  “Here,” he said, handing her the fresh screwdriver Brett had just put on the bar. “An uncontaminated vodka and orange juice.”

  There hadn’t really been anything wrong with the screwdriver she’d initially ordered. “I hate being wasteful,” she confessed, nodding toward the table where she’d left her drink.

  “Oh, it’s not going to waste,” he assured her with a suppressed laughed.

  When she turned around to see what he was talking about, he was in time to see Larry Jones, one of the three town drunks, glance around furtively, then swiftly claim the full glass, wrap his tanned fingers around it possessively and make good his escape by moving toward the end of the bar just off the men’s room.

  “Looks like the sheriff’s going to have a boarder at the jailhouse tonight,” Ray commented.

  “Not on just one drink,” Holly protested. She’d never known Rick Santiago to be a stickler about law enforcement to that degree. In general, as a sheriff, he was rather easygoing.

  “No,” Ray easily agreed. “Not just on one drink.” He looked off in the direction that the heavyset man had taken. “But Larry’s fast and he’s resourceful. The people here are mostly interested in hearing Liam play and deciding how good he is or isn’t. They’re not going to have a death grip on their glasses of wine or beer or whatever else they’re drinking. And despite his weather-beaten look, Larry’s pretty fast when he wants to be. And he always wants to be when it comes to something with alcohol in it.”

  “You’ve studied him?” she asked in surprise. Why would he do that?

  But Ray just shook his head. “I didn’t ‘study’ him, but I do get out more than you do—and I notice things.”

  She certainly couldn’t dispute the last part of his statement, given that she hardly ever went anywhere that wasn’t either job related or a necessary extension of her home life—such as to the grocery store for food.

  “That you do,” she agreed. “That you do. So this is what I’ve been missing?” she asked, gesturing toward the man they were discussing. Even from here he appeared to have a death grip on the glass he’d lifted. “Watching Larry tie one on?”

  Ray laughed softly, the sound winding itself directly under her skin. “That and a few other things,” he pointed out.

  Such as you, she couldn’t help thinking. But out loud, she asked, “Such as?” knowing that he expected her to.

  “Such as the way the full moon shimmers along the surface of the lake on some very special nights. And the seductive scent of honeysuckle gliding softly on a June breeze.”

  The images vividly materialized in her mind’s eye. Both, she couldn’t help thinking, sounded incredibly romantic.

  But she was too much of a realist to believe that her best friend was attempting to verbally seduce her. He was just talking, saying the first things that came to his mind.

  Still she couldn’t help teasing him. “Practicing?” she asked.

  “What do you mean, practicing?” he asked, looking at her quizzically.

  “You know exactly what I mean,” Holly told him. When he made no further comment or response, she decided that a little elaboration was in order. “You’re using the lines you were going to say to Emma if you hadn’t suddenly come to my rescue.”

  “I don’t have ‘lines,’” Ray informed her with a degree of umbrage.

  Holly pressed her lips together in an effort to keep her smile back. She only partially succeeded. “My mistake. Although,” she couldn’t resist adding, “I know a few people who might just disagree with you on that little point.”

  “Like who?” Ray challenged. It was getting increasingly noisy where they were standing at the bar, so he took hold of her arm and guided her over to a slightly quieter corner.

  When they stopped moving, Holly obliged him by doing a rundown of the ten women who comprised his latest circle of wistful admirers and would-be girlfriends.

  Finished, she asked, “Have I left anyone out? Anyone current, I mean,” she specified. “Otherwise, we could probably just pull up an updated census for the town, listing the single women from, let’s say, about eighteen to thirty-five—inclusive. That should cover it, don’t you think?”

  Ray shook his head in wonder. “You have a hell of an imagination, you know that?”

  “And you have a hell of a charming manner about you. It makes it all but impossible for a girl to say no to you.” Actually, she sincerely doubted that very many had, although it wasn’t something she really wanted to find out for herself. This was definitely a case where ignorance was bliss. “You know, you’ll make it hard for yourself to ever really settle down if you keep going through the women around here like they were just disposable tissues.”

  “I don’t go through them like they were disposable tissues,” he protested vigorously. “And who says I plan to settle down?”

  Granted, she’d never heard him say anything close to that. But men didn’t always talk about such things—that would involve talking about emotions, a subject most men avoided like the plague and few knew anything about anyway.

  “Most men do,” she responded.

  “I’m not most men,” he pointed out.

  No, he wasn’t, she thought, and Holly knew it was probably wrong to feel this happy that her best friend had just reiterated his intentions to not form any attachments that lasted for more than a week or three.

  But if he planned to drift from woman to woman, that definitely meant he wasn’t making plans to marry any one of them, and as long as he wasn’t married, he was eligible—she thought. And who knew, anything could happen, right? After all, despite all those dreams, waking or sleeping, she would never have thought that Ray would actually kiss her—and boy, had he ever.

  Granted, the kiss had begun as an accident, but what really counted was that he didn’t instantly pull away. Instead, he’d deepened the almost erotic contact that they’d shared and that, by most definitions, had been an actual, very real kiss that they had enjoyed.

  Or, at the very least, that she had enjoyed.

  Chapter Seven

  Holly stifled a yawn as she turned the diner’s front doorknob. It was six-thirty the next morning and she hadn’t gotten all that much sleep. She’d been far too wired after what had happened to get more than a few small snatches of sleep in between large chunks of just staring at the ceiling—smiling.

  She fervently hoped that the diner wouldn’t get too busy until her mind had time to kick in. Part of her felt as though she was sleepwalking. With very little encouragement, she could easily curl up on one
of the tables and drop off to sleep in an instant.

  But that wasn’t going to happen. She had a full day ahead of her.

  Taking a deep breath, she eased herself into the diner.

  Miss Joan was at the far end, wiping down the already clean counter. It was, Holly knew, an idiosyncrasy of hers. She was hoping the woman wouldn’t notice her, but she should have known better. Miss Joan seemed to have wraparound vision and could see three hundred and sixty degrees all around her at any given moment.

  At the sound of the door opening, the older woman raised her head and spotted Holly the moment she walked in. With an inward sigh, Holly closed the door behind her.

  “So how did it go?” Miss Joan asked.

  Holly shrugged out of her jacket, leaving it on the back of a chair for the time being. She got her apron from behind the counter.

  “How did what go?” she asked innocently as she tied it around her waist.

  The slight frown on Miss Joan’s face said she hadn’t expected extracting information to be easy.

  “Don’t get sassy with me, girl. You know what I’m talking about. How did last night go?” Miss Joan asked as she watched Holly intently.

  Keeping her mind a blank wasn’t working. Miss Joan’s question immediately conjured up images of dancing with Ray, of having him hold her in his arms. Most of all, it conjured up that spectacularly magical kiss she’d shared with him.

  Just thinking about it now got her pulse moving in double time.

  Only extreme focus kept her voice even remotely neutral sounding. “It was okay.”

  Miss Joan cackled as her eyes narrowed knowingly. “That’s not what I heard.”

  Of course not, Holly couldn’t help thinking. This was Miss Joan, the woman who somehow managed to find out everything about everything even before the people who were involved knew about it.

  Still, Holly played the innocent a little while longer. “Oh? What have you heard?”

  Miss Joan went back to massaging the counter, which was already so clean, it was shining. “That you and that Rodriguez boy were caught up in one hell of a lip-lock on the dance floor right after he got that wrangler to drop his paws off you.”

  Holly began weaving her way from table to table, filling the sugar dispensers. “Is there anything that you don’t know?”

  Miss Joan never even hesitated in her response. “Well, I don’t know why, with that kind of a lead-in, you two didn’t just go off and enjoy each other’s company for the rest of the evening. Instead, you went home with Laurie and your other friends.” The last part sounded almost like an accusation.

  Not that Holly had consciously made a choice in the matter, but she was abiding by the rules of proper behavior. “I had agreed to a night out with Laurie and the other girls, so it only stands to reason that I went home with them.”

  “But you went to Murphy’s with Ray,” Miss Joan contradicted.

  Of course she’d know that, Holly thought. Had it been anyone else except for Miss Joan, she would have been surprised at the extent of the woman’s knowledge about her evening. But this was Miss Joan, and the woman had eyes everywhere.

  “Did you arrange that?” she asked point-blank. When Miss Joan just looked at her, Holly elaborated. “Having Ray pick me up instead of Laurie?”

  Miss Joan’s expression was inscrutable. “Now, why would I do something like that?”

  Holly noticed that the woman didn’t deny it, but asked another question, instead, to deflect her attention—or so Miss Joan apparently hoped.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Holly said loftily. “Maybe for the same reason you sent over that shimmering blue dress for me to wear.”

  Miss Joan merely nodded, neither denying nor agreeing with her assumption. Instead, she replied, “You’re welcome.”

  Holly knew in her heart that Miss Joan meant well and that the woman undoubtedly knew that she liked Ray, but she didn’t like the idea of someone pulling her strings, even if it was Miss Joan. “I don’t recall saying thank-you.”

  Miss Joan looked up from the counter, her expression just as unreadable now as it was a moment ago. “But you will, girl,” she predicted. “If you’ve got a brain in your head, you will.”

  She was being too sensitive, Holly thought. There was no point in pretending around Miss Joan. The woman had a way of being able to see through lies, even small ones.

  “The dress really was beautiful,” Holly finally had to admit.

  “No, you were beautiful,” Miss Joan corrected. “The dress was just sparkly material. You brought it into the spotlight, gave it life,” the woman insisted. “That Rodriguez boy is just like a horse. You’ve got to lead him to the watering hole and stick his face in the water before he catches on and does what he’s supposed to do.”

  She was afraid to ask what Miss Joan thought he was supposed to do. The older woman was just outspoken enough to tell her, and Holly really wasn’t sure that she was up to hearing Miss Joan lay out her future for her—a future that hadn’t a chance in hell of actually happening.

  So instead, Holly asked her, “What’s the lunch special for today so I’ll know what to put down when I do the menu board?”

  “Anything that Angel wants it to be,” Miss Joan said matter-of-factly.

  The cook had carte blanche as far as Miss Joan was concerned. Angel had been with her a little more than a year now, and Gabe’s wife was a veritable miracle worker when it came to creative cooking and working with the ingredients that were available.

  “She’ll let you know what she’s making when she gets here,” Miss Joan assured her. “But you’re going to have to set up the menu board a lot earlier today because you won’t be here for lunch.”

  Holly looked up sharply. Now what? “Why won’t I be here?”

  “Because I’m recruiting you,” Miss Joan said simply. Then she glanced at her to see if Holly understood. “Don’t you remember what today is?”

  Holly thought for a moment. “It’s December first,” she said, watching Miss Joan’s face to see if there was something more, something she’d apparently neglected to remember.

  Miss Joan sighed and rolled her eyes. “You did forget,” she concluded, then proceeded to jar her memory. “It’s also the first Saturday of the month. I can remember when you were a little girl and you used to count the days until the first Saturday in December,” she said with a touch of sadness.

  Holly racked her brain for a moment, trying to connect the dots—and then it dawned on her. “Are you talking about getting the town’s Christmas tree?”

  “Well, what do you know?” Miss Joan laughed, looking at her pointedly. “You remembered. Maybe there’s hope for you yet, girl.”

  This was the first time that the woman had invited her to come along on the tree-hunting expedition. Holly still wasn’t completely sure that she had guessed correctly. “You want me to go with you?”

  Miss Joan made a vague half shrug, raising one very thin shoulder and then letting it drop carelessly.

  “I thought that maybe it was time for you to make the trek, put that young back into it,” she told Holly crisply. “I told the rest of this year’s crew to be here by eleven so that we could all set out together. I figure that it’s going to be tricky,” she added.

  Holly knew that each year, Miss Joan would ask a few men she thought to be best qualified for the job to come along. The useful ones she asked year after year. The ones who hadn’t measured up to her standards, she left behind the following year.

  Just what did she mean by tricky? Holly wondered. “Why?”

  Miss Joan looked at her incredulously. “Do you ever look out this window, girl?” the other woman asked. As if to illustrate her point, Miss Joan walked to the front of the diner and gestured toward the view that was outside and in the distance. “See anything that gets
your attention?” she asked in a tone that was devoid of any emotion other than put-upon patience.

  Holly crossed over to where the older woman was standing and glanced out the window as she was told. She didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. It was the same barren expanse of land it always was.

  “Take in the big picture,” Miss Joan urged when Holly made no response.

  “That’s where you’re going to get the tree, right?” Holly asked, referring to the mountain in the distance.

  “That’s where we’re going, yes,” Miss Joan confirmed. Her tone indicated that she was impatiently waiting for the proverbial lightbulb to go off in Holly’s head.

  “I—” Holly was about to say she didn’t know what she was looking for and then she realized what Miss Joan was referring to. “There’s snow on the mountain.”

  “Finally. I was beginning to think we needed to have you fitted for glasses.”

  It didn’t snow very often in this part of Texas, certainly never in Forever. But the mountains were up high enough to have received a dusting of it if there was any to fall, which there obviously was.

  “Mick’s going to have to put chains on the truck tires—if he’s got any chains to put on,” Miss Joan qualified. “That man doesn’t believe in being prepared for any contingencies. He just figures if he needs something, he can get it when the time comes.” Miss Joan shook her head. “If he doesn’t have any chains, we’re going to have to drive up really carefully.”

  Now that she thought about it, Holly started getting excited about the event. “You really want me to come with you?”

  “Thought maybe you’d like a turn. You’re pretty levelheaded—most of the time,” Miss Joan qualified. “And the town’s going to need someone to pick out the tree if I’m not around.”

  Holly looked at the woman sharply. “Why wouldn’t you be around?” she asked, suddenly growing concerned. “Miss Joan, are you feeling all right? There’s nothing wrong, is there? Something you’re not telling me?” she added, prodding the woman.