A Very Cowboy Christmas

by Kim Redford

  She reached up, placed her palms on his broad chest, and curled her fingertips into his shirt. “Please, take my breath away.”

  Chapter 19

  Sydney waited for Dune’s response, but instead of the kiss she expected, he gave her a slow, thoughtful smile that lit up his blue eyes like the golden glimmer of sunshine on a deep blue lake. She vibrated with expectancy as she waited for him to follow his words with action.

  “I’d be remiss as an EMT,” he said, glancing downward, “if I didn’t see to your feet.”

  “My feet?” She clutched his shirt harder, wanting to complain that her feet were the last thing she wanted him to see to, and yet there was such tender concern written across his face that she bit her tongue to keep her silence.

  “You’ve been on them all day.” He covered her hands with his own big, strong ones. “I’m going to be responsible here.”

  “Why? I mean, it couldn’t be helped, so—”

  “Will you humor me and go get antiseptic wipes, antibiotic cream, bandages, and fresh socks?”

  “Now?” She was having a little trouble—actually, a lot of trouble—getting her mind to twist from the direction she wanted to go to the direction he wanted to go. “I’m not an emergency.”

  “And that’s the way we want to keep it. With everything going on at Christmastime, the last thing you need is an infection.”

  And that was that. She could see he wasn’t going to back off, no matter their potentially intimate time together right this minute. For some reason she couldn’t fathom, he’d gone into cowboy firefighter protective mode. She sighed, giving in to him for the moment, but not for the entire evening.

  He squeezed her hands before he let them go, and then he backed up a step to give her space.

  She felt the air between them cascade over her like a cold winter draft, demanding to be warmed by a fleece throw or better yet, Dune’s hot body. She resisted another sigh as she resolutely turned and trudged on bare feet from the living room, across her bedroom, and into the large bathroom that had been converted from a small bedroom. She glanced into the gilt-framed mirror festooned with purple tinsel around the edges. She stopped and looked closer. She hardly recognized herself. She appeared pale with a splotch of rose color standing out on each high cheekbone. Her eyes were so dark that their normal hazel color was almost a deep, velvety brown.

  Now she understood Dune’s concern. She appeared on the edge of shock, and she still felt way too cold for normal. Maybe she’d pushed herself too long and hard the past few days. Suddenly, she wasn’t in the least adverse to a little tender loving care.

  She glanced around the luxurious room that she’d designed just for her own pleasure. Purple and lavender towels. Claw-footed tub with gold trim. Shower curtain in a flowery design to match the towels. Golden oak cabinets with lavender porcelain knobs. Original oak wood floors with thick cotton throw rugs in deep purple.

  She shivered, feeling colder than ever. She picked up a soft lavender throw, wrapped it around her shoulders, and sat down on the purple cushion of a hand-painted vanity stool. She took several deep breaths, inhaling the fragrant scent of lavender soap, bath salts, and candle. Everything in her bathroom was familiar and comfortable, just as she’d designed it to be. When she glanced up at the mirror again, she was pleased to see that the color in her face looked a little more normal. She relaxed a bit, letting the peace and harmony of her home seep deeply into her.

  When she heard Willie begin singing “Silent Night,” she knew Dune had restarted the music. She let that familiar song flow over her, and she relaxed even more. Dune was right. She needed a little time alone to catch her breath and stabilize from all the stress.

  When she felt warmer, she stood up, still keeping the throw around her, and selected the medical items that she always kept available. With both hands full, she walked into her bedroom to the corner where her reading chair—plump, overstuffed, in a velvety floral pattern—nestled beside her antique torchiere floor lamp. She used her toes to push the brass button on the sculpted metal base with its faux marble Bakelite cover over purple bulbs to turn on her soft night light.

  She set the supplies on top of her distressed oak dresser beside the ivory celluloid hairbrush, hand mirror, and powder box set. She opened a drawer and picked out her most comfortable pair of padded white socks and tossed the pair beside the supplies.

  Everything in her room comforted her, because she’d selected it over time with an eye to beauty and function. She slid her palm along the cast-iron footboard of the Victorian bed she’d found rusted and neglected in a junk store. It’d only needed a little TLC to be perfect, so she’d cleaned the rusty headboard and footboard before she’d painted all the flowery curlicues a lustrous ivory color. Finally, she’d completed the bed with a silk ivory bedspread accented with a multicolor quilt across the bottom and purple and lavender throw pillows across the top, all of which sat on a large, hand-hooked rug with a faded floral pattern.

  Few people ever saw her most intimate living area, so they’d probably be surprised at her choices because of the contrast to her normal get-it-done cowgirl firefighter lifestyle. Yet here she could enjoy the beautiful setting in complete privacy.

  Of course, Emery wouldn’t have cared for her decorations. After losing him, she’d eventually had to completely change their bedroom, because everything had reminded her of their lost love and renewed her heartbreak daily. And so she’d gone from farmhouse utilitarian to resplendent Victorian.

  She glanced from her bedroom to the living room, realizing there was a final piece to the puzzle of her life. She hadn’t moved on, despite all the change in trappings. She’d simply been in limbo—waiting, watching, wanting—from the sidelines of life. She felt a chill invade her from top to bottom, and she quickly pulled the soft throw tighter around her shoulders. She had a choice. Dune had given her that choice. She could continue to hide in the luxury of her bedroom…or she could choose to share it.

  Was she strong enough to get back in the saddle and risk her heart to a cowboy who could so easily break it? Was she willing to take the chance? Was she even brave enough anymore?

  “Sydney?” Dune called from the living room. “Are you okay?”

  She took a deep breath as she heard his footsteps head in her direction. Now was the time to make a decision. She could easily head him off at the pass in the living room so that he never reached her bedroom, or she could wait for him to find her here, where he could see what lay in the depths of her heart.

  She shivered again, but she didn’t reply. Instead, she walked over to her torchiere and twisted the brass knob underneath the alabaster glass shade on top of the long, slender, white lamp pole. Light flooded upward to illuminate the room.

  She’d wait for him here, knowing what it meant to let him find her in her bedroom. Now that she’d made her decision, she felt a little like a sheltered Victorian lady must have felt waiting for her gentleman to leave his calling card with the hope of being invited to see her.

  Dune appeared in the open doorway, a large, dark silhouette with broad shoulders, narrow hips, and long legs.

  She stepped forward and put a hand on the cool metal of her bed’s footboard for support, because the sight of him—and all he represented in life—still left her breathless.

  “Are you all right? I’m concerned, since you took so long to come back.” He glanced around the room, hesitated, and then looked again. A slow smile spread across his lips. “So this is you at home?”

  She nodded in reply, feeling a small frisson of anxiety as she wondered if he liked what he saw and if she had exposed too much of herself.

  “It’s beautiful. Cozy and comfortable. I wouldn’t have expected this of you, but I like it.”

  “Thanks. I’m glad.” She pointed at the supplies on top of her dresser. “Will those do?”

  “Looks good.” He picked them up
. “If you’ll sit in that chair, I’ll get to work.”

  “I don’t think there’s much to do. My feet are a little sore, but nothing too bad.”

  “Let me check.”

  “Don’t you trust me to know my own feet?”

  “My concern is that you gloss over the wounds and keep going, no matter what. Didn’t you do that all day?”

  She shrugged, knowing he was right but not wanting to admit it. She quickly got in the chair and did her best to look innocent.

  “I’m not trying to give you trouble.”

  “I know, but—”

  “I just want to make sure you’re okay.” He sat down in front of her, selected an antiseptic wipe, and tore open the package.

  She crossed her right ankle over her left knee and angled her foot so he could get a closer look.

  He gently rubbed her ankle, as if to distract her, while he carefully removed the old bandages, and then he used long strokes to clean the bottom of her foot.

  She felt his tender touch reassure her, but he also caused a slow burn to spread from her deepest core outward that had nothing to do with rest or relaxation or the healing arts. Suddenly, she was way too hot. She jerked the throw from her shoulders and tossed it on the floor.

  “Did I hurt you?”

  “No. I just—”

  “You’re returning to a normal temperature. That’s good.”

  “How does my foot look?” She didn’t want to discuss how hot he was making her, since he was focused on helping her heal, but she couldn’t help but think about how his hard body would look sprawled across her soft bed.

  “Looks better than I expected. How does it feel?”

  “The antiseptic stung a little, but not bad.”

  “Good. What I see is mostly bruising with a few shallow cuts.”

  “No cactus thorns that we missed earlier?” She’d been concerned about that possibility for days.

  “No. You’ll heal fine, although you may be tender for a week or so.”

  “I can live with it.”

  “How about your other foot?”

  She placed her left foot on her right knee. She was feeling better about carrying on through the holidays, although she’d have gone on no matter the condition of her feet.

  As he examined her foot, he gently massaged her ankle while he stroked with a fresh antiseptic wipe. “No cuts on this foot. I see only a few bruises that will cause slight discomfort.”

  “That makes me really happy. By Christmas, I might be able to wear my vintage shoes again.”

  He shook his head, glancing up at her. “I could ask you not to rush it, but I know it won’t make any difference.”

  “Christmas calls and fashion answers.” She laughed at her own words, feeling a little giddy because she was on the precipice of changing her world.

  “Let’s finish this up before you decide to get out the spike heels and prove you can wear them.”

  “Not for a little longer—I promise.”

  He just shook his head again. “Let me see your right foot again.”

  She put her foot in position on her knee and waited for him to doctor her, feeling self-indulgent since she could have done it herself. And yet she wouldn’t have passed up his tender touch for the world.

  He selected a sheer bandage strip, opened the package, applied antibiotic cream, and gently covered a cut on her foot. He followed the same procedure three more times and then looked over the result. He nodded in satisfaction before he slipped a sock over each of her feet. He leaned back and glanced up at her face.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re good to go.” He gave her a warm smile.

  “Great. Where do you want to go?” She felt all warm and cozy in the glow of his smile.

  “Maybe it’s time for me to go home.”

  She felt dismayed at his words. “Cougar Ranch?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you mean to say you prefer your cowboy cabin to this luxurious room?” She gestured around to encompass all of her favorite things.

  “I prefer to be where you are, but you’ve had a long day, and I don’t want to impose on you.”

  “Perhaps I’d like a little imposition about now.” She leaned down, pressed her palms to each side of his face, and placed a gentle yet firm kiss on his full lips.

  He gave her another smile in response, white-hot heat dancing in his dark-blue eyes. “I wouldn’t want to do anything to impede your healing progress.”

  “I do believe you’re just what the EMT ordered.” She couldn’t resist a little chuckle, feeling much more naughty than nice.

  He glanced over at the bed, then back at her. “Are we talking early Christmas presents?”

  She stood up and held out her hands to him. “I’ll unwrap you if you’ll unwrap me.”

  Chapter 20

  Dune could hardly believe his luck, or maybe it was sheer persistence, or maybe it was Christmas when dreams sometimes did come true with a little help from this magical time of the year. And yet beyond all the warmth of Sydney and the specialness of the holiday, he felt a persistent cold deep inside because he wondered if he truly deserved happiness.

  He took a breath, grasped her outstretched hands, and rose to his feet. He looked down at her expectant face. He suspected it’d been a long time since she’d taken a man to her bed. She honored him with her trust and desire, so he didn’t want to disappoint her. He’d been a rolling stone, meaning he’d been no saint with women, and he’d failed Vonda when she’d needed him most. Above all else, he wanted to get it right this time.

  Yet he wasn’t sure he knew how to please anybody anymore, particularly himself. But right now, he didn’t matter. Sydney mattered. Christmas mattered. Happiness mattered. If he could make even one person—Sydney Steele—happy this season, then maybe he’d have set foot on his personal path to redemption.

  He leaned down and kissed the tip of her nose, noting the splatter of small freckles across her sun-kissed cheeks. She looked vulnerable and adorable and so ready to be loved by him. He hesitated, wondering if he was up to fulfilling all her desires, or even a few of them. He’d never had a problem in a bedroom before, but now he was feeling an intense pressure to perform well. Still, if he let his mind keep up the worry, he’d disappoint them both.

  Truth of the matter, all he really needed to do was let the passion that’d driven him for so long take over. She wanted him. He wanted her. All they had to do was unwrap each other to make Christmas perfect.

  “Dune,” she said, squeezing his hands. “I’m feeling a little anxious. It’s so not me, but you—you’re almost overwhelming here in my bedroom.”

  “If we think too much, this isn’t going to work, is it?”

  “I don’t know, but—”

  “It’s been a long time for me, too.”

  “That’s a relief. I’m glad I’m not the only one.”

  He turned to look at the bed, squatting like a big, black bull in front of the only gate that led out of the pasture. He might as well go ahead and admit they were never escaping out the gate into the wildflower meadow if they had to get past the bull, or in this case, the former marriage bed.

  He raised Sydney’s hands, placed a soft kiss on each palm, and let them go. He quickly turned, grabbed the colorful quilt off the bed, put a hand around her waist, and ushered her into the shadowy living room where the only light came from the glowing embers in the fireplace.

  “What’s going on?” she asked as she walked ahead of him.

  He tossed the quilt on top of the carpet in front of the fireplace, and then turned to smile at her. “It’s cozy here.”

  “Yes, I love this room.”

  “Join me?” He sat down on the quilt and patted the open area before him as he listened to the soothing sound of music and the crackle of burning wood. H
e realized that he felt more at peace here than he had in a long, long time.

  She cocked her head to the side and gave him a thoughtful look. “You’re a good cowboy firefighter, but you may be better at understanding people.”

  “I just like the fireplace.” He wasn’t about to admit anything else, although he’d been so alert to her for so long that he recognized her subtle feelings and body language.

  “So do I.” She sat down and gave him a mischievous look before she reached out, grabbed the front of his pearl-snap shirt, and jerked it open.

  Surprised, he grinned at her, liking that she was taking the bull by the horns now that they were out of the pasture and into the meadow.

  “I want to see firelight dance across your skin.”

  “Like what you see?”

  “Oh yes.”

  He quickly unsnapped his cuffs and pulled his shirt out from his jean’s waistband, letting it hang loose. “Seems to me this is the way we started off at the drive-in.”

  She chuckled, rolling her eyes. “You’re right. I’d almost forgotten.”

  “How could you forget?”

  She simply shook her head as she placed her palms against the bare flesh in the center of his chest, then softly stroked from side to side before she pushed his shirt off his shoulders so it fell down to the quilt.

  He growled low in his throat, a sound torn from him as his entire body came alive with her touch. He tugged his shirt off his wrists and tossed it aside. Now he felt amused by his earlier performance concern, because he was getting harder by the second, and they’d only begun to unwrap their living, breathing gift to each other.

  She leaned forward and pressed a hot kiss to his lips, then trailed kisses down his throat, across his chest, then teased each nipple with her tongue before she ran long fingers through the golden blond hair that angled downward until it disappeared behind his big gold rodeo buckle.

  “You keep it up and—”