A Cowboy Firefighter For Christmas (Smokin' Hot Cowboys 1)

by Kim Redford

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she curled into a small ball on the couch, hoping against hope that she could have her cry out before Trey came back downstairs. She desperately didn’t want him to see her true self instead of the person she’d presented to him.

  Above all, she wanted to flee.

  Chapter 28

  Trey bounded down the stairs. He’d showered off the stink and dirt of the fire. Fortunately, he hadn’t sustained any injuries. He’d pulled on a Frosty the Snowman T-shirt, comfortable jeans, and leather loafers. He felt good. And he was all set to enjoy Misty’s company.

  “You ready for some good home cooking?” he called as he came down the stairs.

  When she didn’t respond, he chuckled. “Not afraid of my ability as a chef, are you?”

  Still no response. His mood abruptly shifted. Had she left? She could’ve hiked down to Wildcat Road and walked or hitchhiked back to town. But why? Everything was good between them, as far as he knew. Maybe a few kinks to iron out, but he wanted to tackle Texas Timber on a full stomach. Maybe she was outside looking around the property or petting a horse down at the stables.

  But he felt uneasy. Something wasn’t right.

  When he heard glass break near the Christmas tree, he glanced over there. Misty was by the tree, looking small and alone. Why wasn’t she sitting on the comfortable couch or rooting around in his refrigerator looking for food and drink?

  “Misty?” He quickly strode over to her.

  “I’m sorry.” She sat with her head bowed and legs crossed under her.

  “Why are you sorry?” He knelt beside her.

  “I smashed your tree ornament.” She held out her hand, palm up where broken glass mixed with blood. Most of the ornament lay in pieces on the floor.

  “Misty!” He reached for her hand, but she snatched it back.

  “Not fair. It’d hung there, hadn’t it? Christmas after Christmas after Christmas.”

  “Yes. It was a bit of our family heritage left. Our oldest ornaments were with Kent’s parents when the fire broke out.”

  “I just couldn’t stand the memories.” She looked up, revealing tear-filled green eyes and moist cheeks.

  He felt his breath catch at the pain etched on her face. He hurt for her, not only for her abused hand but for her obvious deep torment. This time he didn’t take no for an answer. He raised her hand, turned it palm up, and flicked pieces of glass onto the floor beside the broken ornament. Fortunately, the cuts on her palm looked minor, but the glass was sharp and her injuries could’ve been worse.

  “I’m so sorry to have caused you to lose more of your past.”

  “I don’t care about the Christmas ornament. That’s an old memory.” He reached down and gently lifted her to her feet. “I care about you. We can make new memories.”

  “You’d better take me to Twin Oaks. I’m not fit company.”

  “I’ll do no such thing.”

  “And I’ll pay to replace what I broke.”

  “Forget it.”

  He led her over to the couch and set her gently down in the corner near the fireplace. When she trembled, he pulled a Frosty the Snowman throw off one edge of the sofa and spread the soft cotton over her lap and legs.

  “Stay right there.”

  He walked over to the kitchen and grabbed the small medical kit he kept handy near a fire extinguisher. He went back, set his kit on the large cedar coffee table, and sat down beside her.

  “I’d like to clean your wounds now.” He kept his voice soft and low so as to comfort her. “Is that okay with you?”

  “If you’ll take me to Twin Oaks, I’ll be fine.”

  “Remember, I’m your personal paramedic. If you get an infection on my watch, you know I’ll never hear the last of it from my cousins.”

  She sighed. “Okay, get it over with.” She placed her hand, palm up, on his thigh.

  He knew he had to go as gently with her psyche as with her hand. He couldn’t help but think her reaction to the ornament was somehow related to her reaction to the first fire. “I’ll use hydrogen peroxide to clean the wounds. If you feel any discomfort let me know.”

  She made an irritated sound in the back of her throat. “Pain. That’s what you mean. I don’t need to be mollycoddled with you substituting ‘discomfort’ for ‘pain.’”

  That was a good sign. He needed her strong to heal. But he still had to proceed with caution. “Misty, why don’t you share what’s troubling you while I see to your wounds?” He opened the medical kit, hoping his physical actions would distract her mind and free up the memories underneath.

  “I’m not troubled.”

  He silently kicked himself. He knew better than to be so direct. He’d used the wrong word and lost her. He pretended like he hadn’t heard her while he set out cotton swabs and the small bottle of peroxide.

  “Anyway, you don’t want to hear about me.”

  Good. She was reaching out to him. He’d learned that was the way it worked with folks. If you reached out, they pulled back. If you pulled back, they reached out. Automatic human reactions. “You were a good listener when I talked about my parents being gone for the holidays. Helped me see why they’d do it.”

  “They must love you a great deal.”

  “Yep.” He gently cleaned her palm but remained quiet to draw her out.

  “I’m already embarrassed enough. Everybody in Wildcat Bluff is so strong. And now—”

  “You fit right in with us.”

  She wiped away moisture beneath her eyes with one hand, not agreeing or disagreeing.

  He gave her time like he would any wounded one. He used tweezers to gently pull out several small glass shards in her skin, and then quickly finished with hydrogen peroxide to disinfect.

  She hissed on a breath and winced at his touch.

  “I’m being as gentle as I can.” Fortunately, her cuts weren’t deep, but they could be painful.

  “It’s okay.”

  “I hope you know you can trust me. Anything you say won’t go beyond my ears.”

  “I’m usually fine.” She clenched her injured hand, moaned, and quickly released her fist.

  “Hurt?”

  “Not bad.”

  “Good.” He gently applied antibiotic cream over the cuts before he covered her palm with a bandage. “All done.”

  She withdrew her hand as she glanced out the windows. “Everything that’s been going on in Wildcat Bluff since I got here has pushed all my buttons.”

  “It can happen.”

  “But not to me. I’m cautious.”

  “Sometimes cautious can set us up for a fall.”

  She looked back at him, a puzzled expression in her vivid green eyes. “Really?”

  “Early on I learned that if I focused on something like ‘I won’t fall off the back of a horse’ that’d be the first thing I did. ’Course I never thought that till I fell the first time. Hurt my pride more than my backside.”

  She smiled at him, a little twitch of one corner of her mouth.

  “I know. Hard to believe a horse got the best of me.” He returned her smile, feeling relieved she was listening to him. Now if he could find a way to put together the right words to help her.

  “I’d like to meet that horse.”

  “My lips are sealed. So are the horse’s.” He was rewarded with a bigger smile. “Anyway, seems like the more I try to avoid something the more it comes after me.”

  “Maybe like attracts like?”

  “Yeah. And maybe if you take your eye off the current ball to watch a past ball, you lose your focus.”

  “I see.” She nodded as she stared at the Christmas tree. “When I was twelve, my family’s house caught on fire.” She wrapped both arms around her chest as she sat stiffly upright.

  “Oh, Misty, no.”

  He could
n’t stand to see her look so alone. She must have sealed off a part of herself a long time ago. He wouldn’t let her stay that way, not when he could do something about it. He put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her against his chest, drawing the throw up over them both. He rubbed his palm up and down her back for comfort.

  She remained stiff for a long moment, and then she snuggled against him and laid her head on his chest.

  “It happened early one Christmas morning,” she said in a soft, almost childlike voice. “Still dark out. I was sound asleep. I’d been awake late because I’d been too excited to sleep.” She glanced up at Trey, as if making sure he was still with her.

  “I’m here. You’re safe.” He spoke softly and gently as he watched tears spill from her too-bright eyes and roll down her too-pink cheeks. She seemed unaware, so he caught her tears with his fingertips as his heart went out to her.

  “Safe and sound.” She glanced around the room before she refocused on him. “Daddy woke me. I smelled smoke. It burned my eyes. He carried me out through the living room. Our Christmas tree was full of lights. I wondered why the pretty lights were on so early. That’s when I realized the tree was on fire.”

  Trey held Misty tighter as she clung to him. He felt her tears hot and damp against his skin. All he could do was provide a safe place for her to share her grief, but he wanted to do so much more. He wanted to go back in time and stop the fire before it had caused so much damage.

  “Daddy pushed me out the front door. I didn’t want to leave him. I wanted Mommy. He told me to run next door. He’d get Mommy.”

  Misty suddenly shoved away from Trey, tossed aside the blanket, and stood up. She paced over to the Christmas tree, as if hardly able to contain her energy, and pointed at it. “You must be careful of the cords, the electrical outlets. You can’t overload or anything that might cause a fire.” She glanced back at him. “Did you check?”

  “I’m careful.”

  “Good.” She wrapped her arms around her chest once more and stood a little straighter. “I never saw my parents alive again. Firefighters tried hard to save them, but it was too late.”

  “Misty, I’m so sorry.”

  “Thank you.” She dropped her hands to her sides and whirled to look out the window.

  He couldn’t have been more proud of her. She had the courage of a lioness to relive and overcome a terrible personal loss. He felt honored that she’d allowed him to be part of this moment in her life. He’d known she was smart and strong and beautiful from the first moment their lives had come together on Wildcat Road. Now he knew she’d captured his heart.

  He got up and joined her at the window. He gently wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “What happened to you afterward?”

  “Aunt Camilla took me in. She was single with no children, but she couldn’t have been better. We did everything together. She was a history teacher. I know you two would’ve liked each other.”

  “She’s gone?”

  “Way too soon. Cancer.”

  “I’m sorry.” He hesitated to push Misty’s memories any more, but he figured there might be a little more for her to recognize and release. “How did you two handle Christmas?”

  “You guessed, didn’t you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We avoided it. She’d lost her brother. I’d lost my parents. Instead, we celebrated Winter Solstice.”

  “A good compromise. But—”

  “Maybe not so healthy in the long run.”

  “I wouldn’t say that. You both did what you needed to do. Never doubt it.”

  “You’re right.” Misty stepped away from him and put a hand against the window as she gazed out at the Red River. “So wonderful here.” She turned back and looked him up and down. “Just like you.”

  He didn’t know if he felt so wonderful. He felt like he’d roped a buffalo and been hanging on for dear life. One slip and he could’ve lost Misty.

  She slowly lifted her macramé necklace, kissed the angel pendant, and took the few steps back to him.

  He stood very still, not knowing what to expect.

  She lifted the necklace, dropped it over his head, and let the angel nestle against his chest. She tapped it with the tip of one finger, and then glanced up at his face. “You’re my Christmas angel.”

  He smiled, feeling a warm glow deep inside. She’d come out on the side of the angels, strong and whole and beautiful.

  “And I want you. Now.”

  Chapter 29

  When Trey gave Misty a tender kiss, she felt like Sleeping Beauty being awakened from a long sleep by Prince Charming. Perhaps she was romanticizing Trey, but when he swept her into his arms, she thought perhaps she was right.

  He quickly carried her upstairs to his big, airy bedroom. A king-size bed with crimson bedspread and forest-green throw pillows dominated the room. Across from the bed, a huge flat-screen television hung from the brick wall between floor-to-ceiling windows with sheer white drapes that muted the afternoon sunlight. A contemporary steel ceiling fan lazily circulated cinnamon-scented air. Two partially open doors led to a bathroom and walk-in closet.

  He gently set her down on the bench at the foot of his bed. He stepped back, cocked his head to one side, and looked at her.

  She felt exposed to his scrutiny. After everything she’d revealed to him, she suddenly felt vulnerable. She crossed her legs.

  “You’ve been through a lot.” He put his hands on his narrow hips. “Tell you what.” He walked over and pulled open the door to his bathroom. “A soothing bubble bath ought to be about right.”

  “But Trey—”

  “That’s only item number one on my list for you.” He grinned at her, a mischievous light in his eyes. “I’ll run downstairs and open a bottle of Slade’s muscadine wine.”

  “He makes wine, too?” Now that she thought about it, she could easily imagine the big cowboy making wine along with his chili.

  “He’s got a fine little vineyard on his ranch.”

  “I’d like to try his wine.”

  “It’s good.” He stepped into the bathroom and soon the sound of water gushing into a tub filled the bedroom.

  Now that the euphoria of releasing so much so quickly was passing, Misty felt tiredness creeping up on her despite her desire for Trey. She wasn’t used to being pampered, but for now everything about it felt exactly right.

  He walked back into the bedroom. “You’ve got lavender bubble bath. Mom swears by it.”

  “I like it, too. But why does she keep it here?”

  “Guess she anticipated you.” He chuckled as he left the room.

  Misty heard him head down the stairs. She felt as if her life had been turned upside down. Maybe she’d inadvertently stepped from contemporary Texas into the Comancheria. She rubbed her forehead at the fanciful thought. Maybe she’d better simply get a bath and go with the flow. Plenty of time to figure out the ins and outs of her situation later.

  She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and checked for messages. “Yay!” from Cindi Lou. “Good news,” from Audrey. And that was that, at least for the moment.

  Misty set her phone, keys, and lip gloss on Trey’s dresser. She quickly stripped, folded her clothes, and set them on the bench.

  She looked at Trey’s bathroom. It was just as luxurious as she would’ve imagined after seeing the rest of his home. Wood, marble, glass, mirror, and chrome in warm russet and cream colors. Two sinks, one shower, toilet, and a jetted tub. The sweet scent of lavender filled the air. She was truly in heaven—as only befitted a Christmas angel. She laughed at her own thought.

  She stepped into the bathtub, parting thick, white bubbles as she sank into the water and sat down on the smooth surface. Fragrant bubbles soon covered her from chin to toes. She smiled as she leaned her head back against the tub. She didn’t know when she’d felt s
o happy with anticipation. Yes, she did know. She hadn’t felt this way since that early Christmas morning before the fire. She examined her feelings. She felt lighter—definitely lighter—as if she’d released a heavy burden that she hadn’t known she’d carried with her all this time.

  Trey’s gift to her. Not just for Christmas, but forever. She felt her body fill with such raw emotion that it swept her breath away. Could Trey have so quickly and easily captured her heart? She blinked at the momentousness of the thought. If the answer turned out to be “yes,” would he give his own heart in return?

  She closed her eyes, letting thoughts of Trey wash over her. Cowboy and firefighter. Tough and tender. Naughty and nice. She couldn’t imagine wanting anything more as she let images of Trey overtake her.

  She didn’t realize she’d drifted off to sleep till she heard a knock on the closed bathroom door. She blinked and glanced around in surprise. Everything came tumbling back. And she felt amazingly good. Good enough, in fact, to feel excited by Trey’s presence while she wore nothing but her birthday suit.

  “You decent?” Trey called.

  “I’m wearing bubbles, if that’s what you mean,” she teased in a come-hither tone of voice.

  “Something I’ve got to see.” He opened the door and stepped inside, carrying a mug in each hand.

  “Yum.” And she didn’t mean the drinks. He looked and smelled good enough to taste, what with all his rugged masculinity on display.

  “Wait till you taste test.”

  “Can’t wait.” She stroked him with her gaze, from his still damp hair to his T-shirt to his tight jeans. Somewhere along the way, he’d kicked off his shoes. He had nice feet, long-toed and high-arched, although she’d probably never say that to his face unless she wanted to tease him.

  He handed her a red mug imprinted with “Merry Christmas” in fancy gold lettering. He had another matching mug in green. He sat down and held his mug out to her. “Here’s to my Christmas angel.”

  She clinked her mug against his own. “And here’s to my Christmas angel.”

  They laughed together, and then each took a sip, watching the other over the rim of their mugs.