A Texas Cowboy's Christmas

by Cathy Gillen Thacker

  “I have to go check on Bullhaven,” Chance called to her. “Make sure their flyover inspection didn’t cause any ruckus there.”

  Molly hurried to catch up with him. “What about going over the financials on the project as we planned?”

  He made an offhand gesture. “I’m not doing it here with Babs and crew still in the vicinity.”

  She could hardly blame him for that. She resisted the urge to compassionately squeeze his arm. Stepping away, she asked, “Where then?”

  His gaze skimmed her face. “My place. Unless you want to wait until later today or tomorrow?”

  “No. It really needs to be done ASAP.” She headed for her vehicle. “I’ll follow you over.”

  * * *

  BY THE TIME Molly got out of her SUV, Chance was already talking to his hired hands.

  “Everything okay?” she asked when he joined her in the parking area adjacent to the garage.

  “Yeah. Luckily, none of the bulls had been put out to pasture yet. So they were all in the barns when the helicopter flew over.”

  “That’s good.”

  “No kidding.” Chance compressed his lips and ran a hand through his thick chestnut hair. “If any of them had been spooked...”

  Molly wouldn’t want to be around to see the fallout from that. “So where did you want to go over the project statistics to date?” she asked. She’d seen a small office in the barn.

  “Ranch house.”

  Molly nodded. That was her choice, too. It’d be more comfortable, and they were less likely to have interruptions from his hired hands.

  Although she had viewed his home the day she’d driven over to talk to him about Braden, she had never been inside the sprawling log-cabin ranch house.

  It was just as she would have expected. Big, open living area with a cathedral ceiling and massive fieldstone fireplace. Finished interior walls that were light enough to soak in the sun pouring in from the plentiful windows. Dark trim and wide-plank floors that matched the arching beams overhead. Leather furniture.

  Chance strode to the kitchen, which bore a remarkable resemblance to the one he’d wanted to install for his mother in the Circle H.

  He shrugged off his denim jacket and went to the sink. Rolled up his sleeves and lathered up to his elbows with gusto. “Can I get you something?” He rinsed his powerful forearms one at a time. “Coffee? Stollen?”

  How about you? she thought, then pushed the forbidden notion away. Just because they’d spent a pleasurable afternoon together and kissed did not mean they needed to pursue the attraction.

  A little flirtatious banter, however, wouldn’t harm anything. “Really?” she teased, splaying a hand playfully across her chest. “You’d share with me?” ’Cause he sure hadn’t been willing to share with his rancher brother.

  He gave her an audacious wink. “You’re cuter than Wyatt. Have better manners, too.”

  Her heartbeat picking up, Molly circled around to the other side of the island. Maybe banter wasn’t such a good idea.

  “Good to know.”

  He opened the well-stocked fridge, peered inside. “Juice?”

  Since he was already pouring some for himself, she said, “Sure.” Her throat was feeling a little dry. Their fingers brushed as he handed her the drink. Molly ignored the tingling sensation. “So...” She cleared her throat. “About you and Delia.”

  He cocked a brow. Turned, let his glance drift over her lazily. “I was wondering how long it would take you to get around to that.”

  Promising herself that her interest was purely that of a friend, and in no way meant to protect her heart, Molly savored the sweet-tart apple juice. She tilted her head, and their glances clashed once again. He hadn’t shaved that morning, and the stubble lining his jaw gave him a ruggedly handsome look. “How long ago were the two of you an item?”

  More to the point, is there any chance the two of you will ever reunite? Because if there was one thing Molly did not want, it was to be involved in a love triangle again. He quaffed his juice in a single gulp, then poured some more.

  “We ended our relationship three and a half years ago.”

  Molly took her laptop computer out of her bag and set in on the counter. “Delia’s mother seems bitter about it.”

  Chance sent her a bemused look, retrieved his laptop and set it on the counter. Then he sat down next to her. “Babs is all about accruing more money.”

  “So?”

  “She didn’t like the fact that my parents decided too much money would be the ruin of their children, and instead bequeathed us each property in Laramie County, where my parents had both grown up.”

  Trying not to think how cozy it felt, being with him like this, Molly forced herself to recollect the facts she knew about the Lockharts. “Sage got a bakery and an apartment in town. Garrett was gifted a Victorian and an office building in Laramie that now houses the Lockhart Foundation headquarters and West Texas Warrior Assistance. You and your other two brothers received ranches. And your parents bought the Circle H, your mom’s childhood home, for the two of them.”

  “Right. The rest of the wealth my parents had amassed over the years—and there was a lot of it since my dad started and ran a very successful hedge fund—went into the Lockhart Foundation.”

  “Which originally operated out of Dallas.”

  Proudly, Chance said, “The charity helped over one hundred nonprofits until roughly half of the funds were embezzled.”

  Molly let out a slow breath. “I remember that,” she said sympathetically. “It was all over the news last summer.”

  The family had been trashed for weeks before eventually being vindicated by the embezzler’s daughter, Adelaide Smythe.

  Chance shifted in his seat, the hardness of his knee briefly brushing hers in the process. “Since then, it’s become a much smaller organization, with my brother Garrett as CEO. Although my mother is building it up again with constant fund-raising, the upcoming Open House being her largest effort yet.”

  Molly nodded. The two of them got up simultaneously to move their stools a little farther apart, so crowding wouldn’t be an issue. She climbed back on her stool. “That’s all very meaningful and noble. Why didn’t Babs understand that?” Weren’t the truly wealthy supposed to be into philanthropy, too?

  For a moment, she thought Chance wouldn’t answer. Then something shifted in his expression. As if there was a chink in his armor. Exhaling roughly, he finally explained, “Delia and I grew up together. We dated on and off for over ten years.”

  That was a very long time, Molly thought with a pang.

  “And were about ready to get engaged when my parents made their decision and it became clear that I was not going to be the multimillionaire son-in-law Babs had expected.”

  “Still, it was Frank and Lucille’s decision to make.”

  “Not in Babs Holcombe’s view. She wanted me to convince my parents they were making a mistake. And if I couldn’t do that, then fight the terms of my father’s will in court.”

  “You refused.”

  His jaw tautened. “Damn straight.”

  “Why?”

  His broad shoulders flexing beneath the soft cotton chamois of his shirt, Chance sighed. “Because my dad was right. Too much money is more of a burden than a blessing.”

  Not in my book, Molly thought uncomfortably. There could never be enough in the bank to make me feel safe.

  “And I wanted to be my own man and make my own fortune,” Chance continued. “However much it turned out to be.”

  Their eyes met and held.

  Noting the charcoal color of his shirt made his hazel eyes look more gray than green, Molly nodded. She valued her independence, too. Unable to help herself, she touched his arm gently. “I can understand and respect that.”


  Chance caught her hand before she could draw it away and turned it over. Tracing the lines on her palm with his fingertip, he exhaled, admitting, “Initially, Delia did, too. Until her mother convinced her that she would never be able to be happy with a struggling cowboy on what was then a broken-down ranch.” He dropped her hand and sat back. “So Delia ended it, and that was that.”

  Molly felt bereft from the absence of his touch. She kept her eyes on Chance. “Except now Delia and Babs are back.”

  He got to his feet and walked over to the coffeemaker. “Only because Delia is part of the business sales and acquisitions company her mom owns. And Mr. X is a pretty big fish.”

  And recently single, if the gossip mags were correct about him getting dumped by a famous Hollywood actress who wanted a “less nerdy” beau.

  Molly watched Chance put a paper liner in the filter. “Do you think Babs is trying to matchmake Mr. X and Delia?” Otherwise, what reason could there have been to have the recalcitrant Delia along? She certainly hadn’t been actively trying to sell anything.

  “A billionaire and her only child?” Chance opened a bag of dark roast coffee. “Oh yeah.”

  Restless, Molly got up and walked over to the windows overlooking his backyard. Neatly fenced pastures as far as the eye could see. “Then why bring Mr. X here, if that was Babs’s goal? Surely there are other ranches they could have shown Mr. X.” Without running into you, Molly thought a little jealously.

  “True. But...” Chance added cold water to the machine. “Bullhaven is the best bucking-bull outfit in Texas.”

  Molly folded her arms in front of her, recalling the way Chance and Delia had looked at each other at the end of the meeting. There’d been a lot of residual emotion between them. Not attraction, but something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. “It seems like there’s more to it than that,” she insisted stubbornly. Wishing, once again, that he would be more forthcoming.

  Chance squinted. “Like what?”

  Molly shrugged as the tantalizing fragrance of fresh-brewed coffee filled the room. “Maybe Babs wants to use your studly presence.”

  The rich sound of Chance’s laughter filled the room. “Studly?”

  Molly flushed. “You know what I mean.”

  “Yeah.” He waggled his brows suggestively, ambling closer. Cupping her shoulders lightly, he gazed down at her. “And I’d like to know more.”

  The last thing Molly wanted was to find herself in the midst of a resurrected love affair. She’d made enough of a mess of things falling for Braden’s daddy without first making damn certain Aaron wasn’t romantically entangled with anyone else. No way was she doing that again.

  She drew a breath. “Is it possible that Babs is trying to use your past relationship with Delia to make Mr. X jealous and realize if he doesn’t act—and soon—in pursuing her gorgeous single daughter that someone else, like you, will?” And if that were the case, was it possible something could be reignited between Chance and Delia? Even if only for a short time?

  Chance cut off her speculating with a resolute shake of his head. “Not going to happen.”

  Molly propped her hands on her hips, trying not to notice how masculine and undeniably sexy Chance looked in the sunlight pouring in through the abundant windows.

  Unexpected emotion simmering inside her, she pressed the issue. “You’re saying there is no reason for Mr. X to be worried about you and Delia? You don’t feel anything for her?”

  Chance’s gaze sifted leisurely over her face, lingering on her lips, before returning slowly to her eyes. “I feel pity.”

  Now they were getting somewhere, Molly thought, still feeling as if she were pulling oil out of shale. Tingling all over, for no reason she could figure, she demanded, “Why?”

  “She’s never been able to stand up to her overbearing mother.”

  And there it was, the trademark chivalry of the Lockhart men. The same chivalry that had brought Chance to her and Braden’s rescue at the cafeteria on Thanksgiving Day.

  “You wanted to help Delia do that when you were together?” she guessed.

  “Initially, yes.” Looking as if he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else, he lounged against the kitchen island, watching as Molly went back to their “temporary work area” and powered up her computer. “But eventually I realized Delia had to do that on her own.”

  Too restless to sit down again just yet, Molly curved her hands around the back of the counter stool, and asked, “What does Delia feel for you?”

  Lifting one broad shoulder in an indolent shrug, he came toward her. “No clue.”

  “You don’t want to know?”

  She caught her breath as he neared. He shook his head, serious now; whatever initial irritation he’d had at seeing his ex again had faded completely. Now he was focused solely on Molly. And that focus was causing all sorts of chaos deep inside her. “What Delia and I had is over,” he informed her, his voice a sexy rumble.

  Molly wanted to believe that, just like she wanted to be rich. In money and family and love. “But if...”

  “Molly.” His impatience mounting, Chance gave her a look of pure masculine need. “There’s only one woman I’m interested in,” he told her, taking her in his arms and pulling her flush against him. “And that woman is you.”

  Chapter Five

  Chance could see Molly didn’t believe him. So he did the only thing he could to convince her. He lowered his head and, ignoring her soft gasp, covered her lips with his.

  She resisted at first, splaying her hands across his chest, but his instinct was to deepen the kiss.

  Claim her as his. The need to protect her triumphed. He lifted his head enough to look into her eyes. The mixture of desire and need told him all he wanted to know.

  The two of them had been destined for this moment, from the first time they’d laid eyes on each other two years before. All the quarrelling and mistrust had been nothing but a prelude to what was turning out to be a magical Christmas season.

  “Let me love you,” he whispered, kissing her cheek, her temple, the sensitive spot just beneath her ear. His body hardened as he felt her quiver.

  She lifted her face to his, then looked at him with all the yearning he had imagined she felt and knew he experienced. Then kissed him back with a sensuality that further rocked his world. Her hands slid around his waist, and she pressed intimately against him. Her moan of compliance was as blissful as her touch. “Only if you promise it’ll be a no-strings-attached kind of thing.”

  Was she that kind of woman? He didn’t think so, even as her soft, pliant body surrendered against his. But if she needed to believe so... “Whatever you want, darlin’,” he promised, heartbeat quickening. “Starting now.”

  He swept her up into his arms and carried her down the hall to his bedroom. He laid her gently on the rumpled sheets, then followed her down. The kissing resumed, deep and evocative, every fantasy he’d had fulfilled. Molly moaned low in her throat. His body hardened all the more.

  He pushed the edges of her sweater up, drew it over her head and reached behind her to unfasten her bra. Her nipples peaked into rosy buds of arousal. Cupping the silky globes with both hands, he drew first one, then the other into his mouth. She put her hands in his hair, holding him close, and arched against him as if she never wanted to let him go.

  Loving her response, he lifted his head. Unbuttoned the clasp of her belt. Feeling intoxicated by her nearness, by the fact she was finally...finally...about to be his, he asked, “More?”

  Cheeks and eyes flushed with excitement, she smiled. “Even better, cowboy. Free rein.”

  “Exactly what I wanted to hear.” Pure male satisfaction pouring through him, he paused to tug off her boots, then drew the zipper down and eased her jeans down her long, lissome legs.

  Her bikini pantie
s were made of silk. “Nice...” He slid his fingers beneath, finding the soft, damp nest. “But not as nice as this,” he said, kissing her through the cloth until her back arched off the bed.

  “Nice doesn’t begin to cover this.” Molly whimpered, uttering a strangled sigh that drove him wild.

  The truth was, she thought, tangling her hands in his hair and hauling him close, she had never felt so cherished and adored. So completely overpowered by what was happening between them. And they had barely gotten started.

  “But we’re getting ahead of ourselves here,” she warned, wiggling free. If they were doing this, it was as equals. “I haven’t done my part yet.” Sitting up, clad only in her panties, she swung one leg over him. Once fully astride him, she shimmied down the hard, masculine length of him, kissing everywhere she passed, admiring his broad shoulders and muscular chest.

  He was so strong and virile. And willing to let her take them wherever she wanted, however she wanted. Grinning, she paused to kiss the burgeoning arousal beneath his jeans, through the cloth, then moved lower still. Taking off his boots. Moving back up to unbutton his shirt. He lay quietly, a complicit smile on his handsome face. Catching her hand, he kissed the back of it. “I could get used to this.”

  So could she.

  Not sure she should tell him that—at least not yet anyway—she opened the buttons on his shirt, drew it, and the T-shirt beneath, off. His chest was as sleek and powerfully muscled as she had imagined, with a sexy mat of chestnut hair that spread across his nipples before arrowing down past his navel to the waistband of his jeans. Her fingers followed the path, eliciting a few groans from him and a bigger thrill for her. Wow, did she ever desire him. Every inch of her was throbbing, pounding with the need to be touched, loved, held. But first...

  “I’ve got to see where this leads.” Sating her curiosity, she unbuttoned his belt. Undid his fly.

  “Trouble,” he muttered.

  “Then it’s my kind of trouble,” she purred, slipping her hands inside his pants and finding the hot, hard length of him.