Darn Good Cowboy Christmas

by Carolyn Brown

  ***

  Raylen felt really stupid by the time he got home. He was glad that Gemma wasn’t there so he could wallow in his self-proclaimed pity pool as long as he wanted. Liz missed her carnie life. She missed her friend, Blaze, who she probably belonged with more than she did with an old cowboy like Raylen. And she’d proven every bit of it by stomping on his hat. God Almighty! That was the ultimate insult.

  He hung his poor, abused hat on the rack beside the door along with his black felt dress hat and his good straw hat, shucked out of his jeans in the living room, threw his dirty shirt over a rocking chair, and kicked his boots off in the hallway. When he reached the bathroom, he was wearing nothing but his socks. He wadded those up in a ball and slung them at the far wall.

  “Damn women anyway,” he muttered as he turned on the shower and waited for the water to warm.

  “Nobody falls in love with their soul mate when they are kids. I don’t give a damn if she could have walked a barbed wire fence instead of a rail one in her damned bare feet. I’ve been a fool to think that she was the one for me. Shit, any other woman wouldn’t leave me standing cold while they talked to their best friend. How would she feel if I left her sitting there while I talked to Ace about coon huntin’? Hell, I wouldn’t do that to her. I like her too damn much to talk coon huntin’ when I could be spending time with her. And I would never, ever throw her favorite hat in the dirt and then step on it.” He fumed as he got into the shower and soaped up his body.

  She didn’t even knock on his door but plowed right inside without an invitation, then took a look at the string of clothes leading down the hallway and the hats on the rack beside the door. She grabbed the one she’d stomped on and crammed it down on her head. It was too big, so she adjusted it to fit on the back of her head and then followed the noise of the shower. She might as well take the damn thing with her to the next fight since she’d offended it in the first one.

  One minute Raylen was mumbling about women. The next the shower curtain flew open and there was Liz, her hands on her hips, anger flashing from her dark eyes, and his hat on her head. That shut up the tirade instantly.

  “What the hell was that all about?” she asked.

  “What the hell are you doing in my house and why are you wearing my hat?”

  “Having a fight with you, you mule-headed jackass! The door was open and I followed the trail of clothes. And evidently this damn hat means more to you than I do, and since it started the fight, I figured it should be here for the next one. Now answer me.” She raised her voice two notches.

  “Don’t you treat me like shit and then yell at me. I didn’t cause this problem, lady. You did when you’d rather talk to your carnie boyfriend as me! And you can damn well go put my hat back on the rack. This steam will get it all out of shape.”

  “You are a jealous horse’s ass. I wasn’t talking to a boyfriend. That was Blaze. I told you that he is my friend, and Tressa’s been sick. And this hat is so damned ugly it would take more than a stomping or steam to get it out of shape. It already looks like shit,” she said.

  “Oh, sure. Make an excuse. I heard you talking about him almost going out with a teenager. What kind of friends do you have that would be attracted to a little girl? And don’t talk about my hat like that.”

  Liz narrowed her eyes. “The girl was seventeen, not a little girl. And she didn’t look like a child, either. And don’t be hateful! This is your fault, Raylen O’Donnell. Your Irish temper put you in this pot of boiling water.”

  “You put me in this pot, not my temper. You’d rather talk to your carnie friend than me? Well, go on and talk to him. And put my hat back and don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out.”

  She glared at him and tried to stay angry but it didn’t work. How could she be mad when he was standing there all wet and naked.

  He glared back at her and tried his best not to grin but his eyes sparkled. She was just so damned cute when she was mad.

  He reached out with both hands, slipped them under her armpits, and picked her up as easily as he would a feather pillow. He quickly removed his hat and pitched it out onto the vanity, set her down, clothes, shoes and all, under the shower spray, and kissed her hard.

  One kiss and he was instantly aroused. Two and he throbbed.

  One kiss and she forgot all about fighting or his damned hat and wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. Damn, but that warm water felt good on her sweaty neck. Two kisses and she unfastened her jeans.

  “Ever done it in a shower?” he whispered as he slipped his hands down inside her panties.

  She gasped and shook her head. “There’s a first time for everything.”

  He braced against the back of the shower and she leaned back far enough he could remove her top and bra. He licked the water from each breast and removed her jeans and underpants. There was no way to pull them off her hips without putting her feet on the floor, but they didn’t waste a moment of time. In seconds he cupped her bare, wet butt and she hopped back into his arms.

  Being wet made it easier than it had been in the tack room. She reached down and guided him inside and the water kept everything lubricated. She discovered that wet kisses were exciting as hell and wondered what sex would be like in a big old hot tub or Jacuzzi with all the bubbles.

  He braced her against the wall and in a few hard thrusts brought both of them to a climax. She tightened her legs around his waist and he eased down to a sitting position in the shower with her still wrapped around him.

  “Damn! My legs feel like rubber,” he said.

  “Oh, it’s a rainbow,” she said.

  He opened one eye but didn’t see a rainbow.

  “Water and afterglow. Beautiful rainbow in your blue eyes,” she said breathlessly on her way for another long, wet kiss.

  After several minutes, he reached up for the soap and made a lather in his palms. Then he slowly bathed her using nothing but his hands. When he finished, he grabbed a towel from the rack right outside the shower, wrapped her in it, and carried her down the hallway to his bedroom.

  He laid her on the bed and stretched out beside her. She cuddled up to his side and threw a leg over him. “We’ll get your sheets all wet.”

  “There’s more in the linen closet. Are we okay?”

  “Was that what they call makeup sex?”

  He chuckled. “It could be.”

  “Then let’s fight every day because that was mind-boggling,” she said.

  He kissed her wet hair and pulled the edge of the bedspread over them. “Are you sure you aren’t Irish?”

  “I’ll convert. Is there classes I have to take?” she teased.

  “Not that I know of. Want to go finish those lights?”

  “Hell, no! And just so you know, I left my cell phone in the truck.”

  He ran a hand down her back and she shivered.

  “I’m still a little bit mad,” she said.

  “And my hat still has its feelings hurt,” he whispered.

  “Reckon we’d better have some more makin’ up?” Her eyes glittered.

  “I’d rather you danced for me first,” he said.

  “I will dance for you on Thursday,” she said.

  “Is that a promise?”

  “It is. The carnival will be here and I’ll be dancing on the stage and you can watch,” she said.

  “You promised you wouldn’t dance for another man,” he said.

  “I won’t be. I’ll just be doing a plain old belly dance.”

  “Then I won’t be there,” he told her.

  “Why?”

  “Even a plain old belly dance would turn me on so hot that I wouldn’t be able to walk.”

  She smiled up at him. “Then I will dance on Thursday, after the carnival, in my living room for you. Is your hat feelin’ better?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he drawled.

  “I’m glad. It bothers me when your hat is mad at me,” she teased.

  The house
phone beside his bed rang.

  He kissed her on the end of the nose. “Sorry, darlin’, but I couldn’t leave it in the truck.”

  He answered it, jumped out of bed, and grabbed a pair of pants from his closet, motioning to her the whole time. When he hung up, he said, “Here’s a T-shirt. I’ll bring your wet things over to your house later. That was Dewar. Glorious Danny Boy has gotten out of the barn again. That horny horse takes off anytime he gets a chance. We’ve got to get him chased down, or Momma will have a heart attack.”

  “Call me later?” she said.

  “Yes, I will, and you promised to dance for me on the Thursday of the carnival. You won’t forget?”

  “I’ll be thinking about it every minute. Don’t you forget,” she teased.

  “Honey, I won’t be able to keep my mind off it, and believe me, when I think about it, I will be very uncomfortable.”

  Chapter 12

  It wasn’t Liz’s first date.

  But it was her first date after sex three times as a prelude and she was as nervous as a momma cat in heat. Going to the Halloween party had been easy; she’d dressed up in one of her costumes. But going to dinner with Raylen and then shopping… with Raylen… for a Christmas tree and then coming home to after-date kisses and maybe hot, steamy sex… with Raylen… that was a whole different matter.

  She looked at all the clothes in her closet and threw herself back on the bed. She should have made time for a trip to Bowie. She needed something new and exciting to wear that night on her first date with Raylen. Something that would make his eyes go all dreamy, like they did in the shower right after sex, when she’d seen the rainbow in them.

  “I need something in red. No, that’s not the exact lyrics. She said that she was looking for something in red that was cut down to here.” She remembered the old Lorrie Morgan song from a few years back. The singer had talked about looking for a red dress that would knock her feller’s eyes out in the first verse. Then she wanted something in white in the second, something in blue for a new baby boy in the third, and back to something in red in the fourth. Liz hummed the song as she pulled the filmy turquoise dancing outfit off the rack and held it up to her body. She imagined what it would look like without the top of her black lacy panties showing above the encrusted belt and without her black lace bra peeking out above the fancy sequined top.

  “I’m looking for something in turquoise. If I met him at the door in this and did three minutes of dance, I bet we’d forget about leaving the house and I wouldn’t be worrying about our first date,” she told the reflection in the mirror.

  She hung it back up and picked up her robe. Maybe if she walked away from the closet and stopped fretting, everything would fall into place. She shoved her arms down into the black satin robe and headed toward the living room. Liz, Hooter, and Blister had walked down to the end of the lane and back four times on Friday evening, and she’d sent pictures from her phone to Blaze, her mother, and Haskell.

  She put a Christmas CD into the machine and leaned back in the recliner, picturing the way everything was going to look when her carnie family arrived. The phone rang and she picked it up to see Haskell’s name on the ID.

  “Hello, we’ve got those gorgeous ornaments out on the lawn and it’s going to be beautiful and why did you ever put me in an old cactus?”

  “Because it’s your first year in the house, living in Ringgold, and making a lot of prickly decisions,” he said.

  “Well, I’m going to need one a year, so you better keep working out there in Claude. What are you making me next year?” she asked.

  “Next year you get a manger scene with baby Jesus in it and a new puppy and a whole litter of multicolored kittens around the cradle,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “By then you will know,” he said.

  “Come on, Uncle Haskell, why would you do that?”

  “Maybe because I want you to have a new baby by then, and old Hooter could use a new puppy if you are going to stay there, and there’s always kittens in the spring.”

  She giggled. “That would take a miracle.”

  “Who said the days of miracles were over?” Haskell asked.

  She shut her eyes tightly and pictured one star in the sky and made a wish that Haskell was right.

  “I called to tell you to send me a picture when you get it all done. Now I’ve talked enough. Poppa is coming over for supper,” he said.

  “I love you, Uncle Haskell,” she said.

  “I’ve always loved you, Liz.”

  She hung up and stood at the door looking out at the show. An adage that she’d heard for years came to mind. It said that when a person looks back on their life, it wouldn’t be what they did that they would regret but what they didn’t do. If she didn’t get her butt into jeans and her feet into boots or shoes, she wouldn’t be going on a real date with Raylen, and in twenty years she’d regret that decision.

  She went back to the closet, pulled out a pair of designer hip hugging jeans, a black shirt with rhinestone buttons and long, fitted lace sleeves ending in a wide ruffle at the wrist, and a pair of black spike heels. When Raylen knocked on the door, she’d just finished running a brush through her hair one final time.

  ***

  It had been a long day for Raylen. He awoke after erotic dreams of Liz dancing in a field of clover. He was sprawled out on a quilt and she danced for him in that orange costume. The bells on her ankle bracelets jingled in his ears, and her body moved to music that they shared in their minds.

  He was fully aroused, and it took a long time under a cold shower to cool him down. He plowed that morning, but flashes of her dancing, sending out waves of that exotic perfume, caused a big problem behind his zipper several times.

  He picked up the first CD in a stack he kept in the tractor and put it in the player, only to get an earful of Carrie Underwood singing Christmas songs. That brought a flashback of her in the tack room with cobwebs in her hair.

  “Hell’s bells,” he swore. “This is miserable.”

  He got through dinner at his grandmother’s without thinking about her more than a dozen times and left there headed for the barn to exercise horses until time for their date.

  Sitting in a saddle with a throbbing arousal was painful, so he handed off the exercising to Dewar and offered to muck out stalls. By the time the day ended and he got to her front door, he was ready to jump right into bed. But that’s not the way a real date started, so he knocked on the door and waited… impatiently.

  Raylen didn’t even look at what she was wearing until after he’d cupped her cheeks in his big hands and planted a sexy kiss right on her lips. Then he laced his fingers in her hands and stepped back to scan her from toes to eyes.

  “Beautiful doesn’t begin to describe you, Liz. Your perfume makes me think of an exotic woman in a sexy orange outfit doing a belly dance. And you taste like something the angels brewed up,” he said.

  “You are a romantic, sir, and you are purely sex on a stick,” she said.

  “On a stick?” He grinned.

  “On a stick like ice cream. Lick on it until it melts.”

  He swallowed hard. “Darlin’, we’d better get out of here after that remark or else we’re going to wind up in bed and there’ll be no Christmas tree when your momma arrives, but thank you, my Madam Dammybammy, for saying that I look like that,” he said.

  His jeans were starched, creased, and bunched up just right over his boots that were shined to a high gloss. He smelled like Stetson aftershave and tasted like something the devil brewed up. He was just too damn sexy for anything to do with an angel.

  “Drabami.” She laughed.

  He’d said, “my madam,” and that was as warm as cuddling up to him after a long bout of sex.

  “So are we ready to go? I’m starving. Haven’t had anything since lunch and I’ve been looking forward to this date all day.”

  “I’m ready. Do I need a jacket?”

  “Not now, but you will
by the time we get home. Weather says there’s a cold front on the way. Won’t drop us down to freezing, but the wind is fixin’ to be out of the north,” he said.

  She picked up her black leather jacket and purse. He kept her hand tucked into his the whole way out to his truck.

  “Do you like Italian food?” he asked.

  “Love it.”

  “Good. It was a toss-up between the Texas Roadhouse for steaks or the Olive Garden for Italian,” he said as he helped her into the passenger’s seat.

  “I’ve never eaten at the Olive Garden but I love Italian. Blaze makes amazing lasagna,” she said when he was buckled in and driving down the lane.

  The mention of Blaze’s name shot a jealous streak through Raylen’s veins. His jaws worked in anger and his hands gripped the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles turned white.

  “I can’t wait for you to meet Blaze. You are going to like him. He’s a lot like Ace.”

  She didn’t miss his jaws clenching and unclenching or his grip on the steering wheel, or even the way his back went suddenly ramrod straight. It might not be the best time to bring up Blaze’s name, but she hadn’t done it intentionally. His name had just popped out when she thought about his cooking. And anyway, she wasn’t going to walk on eggshells… not even for Raylen.

  “Ace?” Raylen’s tone was coated in a layer of ice.

  Liz unhooked the seat belt and scooted across the bench seat to sit close to him. “Oh, yeah! He has blond hair like Ace and he’s about that size and always flirting. He’s got a woman in every place we stop, and if he doesn’t have one, there’s a dozen waiting in line for a chance at him. Like Ace! I could never fall for a man like that. Every woman I ran into in Walmart or the Dairy Queen might be one of his conquests. I think men like Blaze ought to have a permanent tattoo marker that they stamp their women with. That way when other women see how many there are they steer clear of him.”

  Raylen chuckled at first, then it turned into a full-fledged laugh that erased all the angry tension. “Ace would have to go back to the store for more tattoo ink if he had to stamp his women.”

  “Blaze would probably have to buy out the factory. One time we both had one too many beers and wound up kissing. I don’t know what the women see in him. I felt like I’d just kissed my brother and he actually wiped my kiss from his lips with the back of his hand. Said he felt like he’d kissed a sister.”