Sweet Cowboy Christmas: A Sweet, Texas Novella

by Candis Terry

  Chase’s heart gave a hard thump against his ribs as Faith began to lose her balance, and the ladder wobbled beneath her scuffed brown boots. No thought, all action, he made it to the bottom of the ladder in less than the blink of an eye. He reached to steady the ladder but was too late. Butt first, she tumbled into his arms with a surprised “Oof.”

  Utter shock brightened her gray eyes. For a moment, as he held her safe and secure in his arms, they just looked at each other. Reality finally sank in, and embarrassment highlighted her cheeks.

  “You play football?” she snapped in lieu of a thank you for saving my bacon.

  “Running back. High school and college.”

  “Thought for sure you’d have been a wide receiver.” A soft sigh lifted her luscious breasts as she gave his chest a quick little pat. “Nice catch.”

  Before he set her on her feet, he noticed how good she felt in his arms. Warm. Soft. Curvy. Nice. She smelled good too. Like sweet gingerbread and creamy hot chocolate. Which only led to him wondering how she’d taste.

  Jesus.

  He didn’t even know the woman. He certainly had no business thinking things like that or even the follow-up thoughts that made him wonder exactly what a man could do with a warm, soft, curvy, delicious-smelling, tasty woman and a bottle of chocolate.

  “Damn good thing too,” he said. “Or someone would be calling 9-1-1. What the hell were you thinking?”

  Then, and only then, did he notice she still held the tin star in her hand.

  “I was thinking I needed to get this star on the top of the tree.”

  “Or what, your boss would get mad? Doesn’t he have someone else who’s taller and—”

  Her hands went to her shapely hips, and he feared she’d stab her nice soft skin with that ridiculous ornament. “Why would you immediately assume my boss is a man?”

  Yeah. Why would he? Especially when the boss for whom he’d just busted his can had been a woman.

  “Guess it’s my turn to be presumptuous.” He folded his arms. “Which doesn’t answer my question of what you were doing standing on tiptoe on the top step of a ladder. Didn’t you read the sticker that says not to go any higher than the second step from the top?”

  “The tree is taller than I remember. Last year, Danny Joe was still here, and—”

  “Who’s Danny Joe?” And why did he feel the slightest bit jealous?

  “Probably the most important staff member we have. Or I should say had. He just signed with the Mavs.” She sighed. “All six feet six inches of him. Our loss is professional basketball’s gain. Guess I’m going to have to get a taller ladder.”

  “Or maybe you could just get a shorter tree.”

  “Now why would we want to do that? Haven’t you heard?” Her dimples flashed. “Everything’s bigger in Texas.”

  Her expression was so smug, he hated to spoil her fun and break the news that he had ten generations of Texas blood running thick through his veins. Let her presume he was a city boy with no knowledge of the Lone Star State, ranching, or even dogs for that matter. Maybe for the past ten years, he’d played that part. But a few weeks ago all that had changed in a heartbeat.

  Literally.

  “I have heard that. Always wondered exactly what it referred to other than the distance that seems to take forever to get anywhere.”

  “Oh. You know.” She looked down at the tin star still in her hand, then she brought those smoky eyes back up to his face. “Big state. Big ranches. Big steaks. Big hair. Big Bullshitters.”

  He laughed.

  “By the way, thank you for catching me. I’d hated to have seen the bruise that fall would have left.”

  “More than likely you could have added some broken bones to your list as well.”

  “Whew.” Those delicious dimples of hers flashed again. “Lucky you were here then.”

  He was starting to think the same thing.

  “How about I put that up on top of the tree for you?” He offered not because he cared about any part of the ridiculous holiday rituals people stuck to but because he knew if he didn’t, she’d climb right back up on that ladder again.

  “That would be real hospitable of you.”

  In all the years he’d stomped his boots across the dry, often cracked, soil of his daddy’s farm, he’d never once thought about the accent that belonged uniquely to the Lone Star State. But when Faith let out that slow, sexy, Texas drawl, he noticed.

  When she handed him the star, their fingers touched. Unless he was losing his mind, which, as certain events of the past weeks would suggest was entirely possible, he would swear there had been a snap of electricity between them.

  Without further delving into the possibilities of physical attraction or the loss of mental capacity, he climbed the ladder and easily set the star on top of the tree. On the way down, he noticed that, with the exception of little white lights, the rest of the tree was bare of ornamentation. When his feet hit the hardwood floor, he noticed the mountain of boxes piled up all around the room. Hell, he finally noticed the room.

  Guess there was nothing like a beautiful woman falling into one’s arms to diminish the impact of a grand room accented by pine and stone with a spectacular view of the tree-covered hills through an enormous picture window. The stone fireplace hearth was massive. Above his head was an impressive antler chandelier. And the furnishings were casual leather with nail-head trim. All in all, it was the type of room, regardless how massive, that invited someone to come in, kick their feet up, and sit a spell.

  “What’s with all the boxes?” he asked, dreading the answer.

  “Christmas decorations.”

  Figured.

  “Takes about a week to get everything put in place. Then it seems like it’s time to take them all down again. Sometimes I wonder why we don’t just leave them up.”

  “So why put them up at all?”

  Her head whipped around. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those anti-Christmas people.” Her nose wrinkled as if she smelled something rotten. “Of course you are. You, who are able to experience the wonder of the holiday with all those beautiful city lights, and magic, and snow . . . do you realize I’ve never had a white Christmas? Of course you don’t know. How could you? You’re too anti-Christmas.”

  “How could I know you’ve never had a white Christmas when I really don’t know you?”

  “Well, there is that.” She bent down and opened the flaps of a cardboard box. “Exactly what is it that you do in the big city anyway?”

  Somehow, she managed to keep derision out of the inquiry. Which, he was sure, must have been quite the chore. And since she genuinely seemed at least fairly interested, he kept it simple by saying, “I worked for a Madison Avenue advertising agency.”

  “Worked? As in past tense?”

  Okay, he hadn’t actually meant to give her that much information. “I’m taking a sabbatical.”

  “Don’t most of your people take their sabbaticals to the Hamptons or something?”

  “In the summer. Although I’m not really one of those people.”

  “Hmmm.”

  When most people gave something considerable thought, their faces showed little or no emotion. He’d been the king of never showing his hand. Faith’s expressions were not only readable; they were a breath of fresh air. If she even tried to lie, she’d be caught in a second.

  “My people usually go to Florida or the Caribbean,” he said.

  “And yet you chose Texas?”

  “Maybe it’s easier to say Texas chose me.”

  “How so?”

  He studied the curiosity on her face.

  Nope.

  Not going to go there.

  “I can help you unpack all these boxes if you want,” he said, expertly diverting her interest. “I’d never forgive myself if you climbed up on that ladder again and fell.”

  “I usually don’t climb ladders to unpack boxes.” A smile tickled her lips. “So I guess what you’re saying is you�
��d be thrilled to help me unpack the boxes and decorate the tree?”

  Had he said that? Or had she been tippling the eggnog?

  “Or maybe you’re too tired from that long flight from New York.”

  Hell no. He might be tired, but it wasn’t from a damned flight. He had a life hangover. And while it would be easy to use that as an excuse, the idea of hanging around her and her sassy tongue for a while sounded a whole lot more interesting than hitting the sheets alone.

  “I’d be happy to help.” He’d also become quite skilled at a brazen lie.

  Her head tilted, and that ponytail swayed just slightly. “Dinner first?”

  Whatever possessed him to reach out and pull the ball cap off her head, he didn’t know. But that’s exactly what he did.

  “Hey.” She smoothed her hand over the top of her head. “I’m having a bad hair day.”

  “Looks great to me.” He tossed the cap on the coffee table. “I like being able to look into a person’s eyes when I’m talking to them.”

  “That have anything to do with not trusting folks?”

  Nope. It had everything to do with his just wanting to see her better.

  “I don’t have trust issues,” he said. “And dinner can wait.”

  TWO HOURS INTO tree decorating, Faith looked across the room where Chase stood holding a pinecone Santa in one hand and a marshmallow snowman ornament in the other. The grim expression on his face made her laugh.

  He looked up. “What’s so funny?”

  “You look confused.”

  “I never knew there were so many different forms a Santa and a snowman could take on.”

  “Oh, wait until you get to the button angels. They’re adorable.”

  “Buttons?”

  She nodded. “My kids made them. We even have pipe-cleaner snowflakes packed in here somewhere.”

  “Your kids?” His expression went dark. “You’re married?”

  “Not that kind of my kids. They’re the kids that the Magic Box Ranch sponsors for a few weeks during summer and at Christmastime,” she explained, and was surprised when his expression brightened, and he appeared oddly relieved.

  “I just get a little attached and end up calling them my kids. When they’re here for summer camp, one of the projects we do is to have a Christmas in July craft. Usually, the challenge is for them to make an ornament to hang on the tree.” She lifted several marshmallow snowmen from the box and hung them on the lower branches.

  “We’ve been doing this for several years now, which is why there are so many to unpack. Sometimes they get carried away because it’s fun. And sometimes they just get competitive.”

  “Charity work is important,” he said. “How do you find the funds?”

  “Why do you think the ranch caters exclusively to the elite?”

  His sensuous mouth turned up into a smile. “Very clever.”

  She shrugged and hung a gold spray-painted cardboard star next to a pipe-cleaner candy cane. “Hardworking families usually can’t afford what we charge. So for a few weeks out of the year, we open the doors to them and also to underprivileged or disabled children so that they can enjoy a slice of the Western way of life.”

  Chase had come up to stand beside her and hand her more ornaments. While most of the influential men who visited the ranch usually reeked of overpowering aftershave, Chase wore the scent of warm man and clean cotton. Tonight, when he’d shown up in a pair of black slacks and a black T- shirt, she’d had to find a composure that had nothing to do with his rescuing her.

  She’d taken a fall all right.

  For him.

  Broken her own damn rules is what she’d done. Hadn’t she learned her lesson? Men with pockets full of change they threw around like penny candy at a parade weren’t the kind she could ever be interested in.

  At least never again.

  Trouble was, Chase Morgan was an extremely sexy man with bedroom eyes and a smile that said he could deliver on anything he’d promise in that direction. Broad shoulders that confirmed he could carry the weight of the world if need be. And big, capable hands that had already proven they could catch her if she fell.

  He was trouble.

  And she had no doubt she was in trouble.

  Best to keep to the subject of the charity work and leave the drooling for some yummy, untouchable movie star like Chris Hemsworth or Mark Wahlberg.

  Discreetly, she moved to the other side of the tree and hung a pinecone Santa on a higher branch. “We also hold a winter fund-raiser, which is what I’m preparing for now.”

  “What kind of fund-raiser?” he asked from right beside her again, with that delicious male scent tickling her nostrils.

  “We hold it the week before Christmas. It’s a barn dance, bake sale, auction, and craft fair all rolled into one.” She escaped to the other side of the tree, but he showed up again, hands full of dangling ornaments. “Last year we raised $25,000. I’d like to top that this year if possible.”

  “You must have a large committee to handle all that planning.”

  She laughed.

  Dark brows came together over those green eyes that had flashes of gold and copper near their centers. “So I gather you’re not just the receptionist-slash–tree decorator.”

  “I have a few other talents I put to good use around here.”

  “Now you’ve really caught my interest.”

  To get away from the intensity in his gaze, she climbed up the stepstool and placed a beaded-heart ornament on the tree. She could only imagine how he probably used that intensity to cut through the boardroom bullshit.

  As a rule, she never liked the clientele to know she was the sole owner of the ranch. Even though society should be living in this more open-minded century, there were those who believed it was still a man’s world.

  “Oh, it’s really nothing that special,” she said. “Just some odds and ends here and there.”

  When she came down the stepstool, his hands went to her waist to provide stability. At least that’s what she told herself, even after those big warm palms lingered when she’d turned around to face him.

  “Fibber,” he said while they were practically nose to nose.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You know what I do for a living, Faith? How I’ve been so successful? I read people. I come up with an idea, then I read people for how they’re going to respond. Going into a pitch, I know whether they’re likely to jump on board or whether I need to go straight to plan B.”

  His grip around her waist tightened, and the fervor with which he studied her face sent a shiver racing down her spine. There was nothing threatening in his eyes or the way his thumbs gently caressed the area just above the waistband of her Wranglers.

  Quite the opposite.

  “You have the most expressive face I’ve ever seen,” he declared. “And when you’re stretching the truth, you can’t look someone in the eye. Dead giveaway.”

  “And you’ve known me for what? All of five minutes?” she protested.

  One corner of his masculine lips slowly curved into a smile. “Guess that’s just me being presumptuous again.”

  Everything female in Faith’s body awakened from the death sleep she’d put it in after she’d discovered the man she’d been just weeks away from marrying, hadn’t been the man she’d thought him to be at all.

  “Looks like we’re both a little too trigger-happy in the jumping-the-gun department,” she said, while deftly extricating herself from his grasp even as her body begged her to stay put.

  “Maybe.”

  Backing away, she figured she’d tempted herself enough for one night. Best they get dinner over with before she made some grievous error in judgment she’d never allow herself to forget.

  She clapped her hands together. “So . . . how about we get to that dinner?”

  “Sounds great.” His gaze wandered all over her face and body. “I’m getting hungrier by the second.”

  Whoo boy.

&nbs
p; Chapter Three

  WAKING TO THE sound of absolute silence wasn’t something Chase was used to anymore. Well, he’d take that back. There had been birds chirping and the occasional moo of a disgruntled heifer, so he guessed that counted as something. But it was far different from the usual taxi horns honking or emergency-vehicle sirens he heard from his Manhattan apartment. For over an hour, he’d lain in bed like a big, lazy slug with his hands tucked behind his head, looking up at the pressed-tin ceiling. He had no clients to be thinking about. No difficulties with his boss or coworkers.

  He had nothing.

  Yet as he lay there craving a hot cup of coffee, he had plenty occupying his thoughts. Namely the woman he’d spent hours with last night accomplishing the mundane task of trimming a Christmas tree while listening to a selection of holiday tunes sung by popular country artists. He’d tried not to Grinch out on her even though, after a while, it all became a bit too much. He’d handled it fine until “White Christmas” played.

  The song had been his father’s favorite.

  Until that moment, as he stood inside the grand living room alongside Faith, sticking ornaments on the tree, he’d refused to listen to the song. For a moment, he’d felt trapped. Claustrophobic. A terrific weight had settled in his chest until he could barely breathe. The spell had been shattered when Faith had rested her hand on top of his and smiled. It was as if she could sense his panic. But that was ridiculous. How could she possibly know?

  That small salvation had been the last skin-to-skin contact they’d had. From that moment, she’d kept her distance. He didn’t blame her. During the decorating—whether it was helping her down from the ladder or leaning in to help her position an ornament—he’d stolen every opportunity to touch her. Being a well-raised Southern girl, she most likely thought his actions inappropriate. But he hadn’t been able to help himself. The first time she’d ended up in his arms unexpectedly. The rest of the time had all been conscious intent on his part.

  He hadn’t just wanted to touch her, he’d had to touch her. It was the craziest damn thing he’d ever experienced. One second he was being a typical guy and appreciating the view she gave him when she climbed up on that stepstool, the next second his hands were tingling with a desire he hadn’t been able to control.