Wyoming Winter--A Small-Town Christmas Romance

by Diana Palmer

  “You’d manage,” she said simply.

  “We’d starve,” Rod said, glancing at his father. “I can’t boil water, and I remember painfully the one time you tried to make breakfast,” he added.

  The reverend grimaced. “Well, I trained at seminary, not cooking school,” he said mildly. “I can at least make toast.”

  “If you scrape off the burned parts,” Rod said behind a feigned cough.

  Reverend Thompson chuckled. “I guess so.”

  “And there it is,” Colie said, putting platters of food on the table, which was already set. “I have to get ready. J.C.’s picking me up at six. We’re going to eat something I don’t have to cook,” she teased.

  “Cook’s night out,” the reverend said, nodding as he picked up a fork. “You’ve certainly earned it. This is delicious, Colie.”

  “Thanks, Daddy.” She dropped a kiss on his head and winked at Rod as she went to feed Big Tom before she went to her room to dress.

  * * *

  J.C. WAS PROMPT. Colie met him outside, sliding into her coat just before she climbed up into the SUV with his help.

  “Running from trouble, are we?” he teased as he got in behind the wheel.

  “Avoiding it,” she replied. She laughed. “Rod and I had a little tiff before Daddy came home. Honestly, I don’t know what’s gotten into my brother lately. He’s...weird.”

  He didn’t reply. He pulled out into the main road and drove out toward the general direction of Ren’s ranch.

  “You’ve noticed it, too, but you don’t want to say anything bad about your best friend,” she said with sudden insight.

  He glanced at her with raised eyebrows.

  She shrugged. “I know, I’m weird. My grandmother had visions.”

  “So did mine,” he replied.

  “Did they come true?”

  “Most have. One hasn’t, at least, not yet.” He glanced at her with a smile. “I told you about it, at the casino.”

  She nodded. “I told you about mine, too.” She laughed and made a mock shiver. “We come from strange people, I guess.”

  He reached for her hand and held it. “We come from gifted people,” he corrected with a smile. “And I don’t think you’re strange.”

  “Thanks.” She stared at him. “I just love to hear you talk,” she confessed. “You have a voice like deep velvet, J.C. It’s...well, sexy.”

  He chuckled. “That’s a first.”

  “Oh, I see, women are too busy telling you how gorgeous you are, so they don’t notice your voice.”

  “There’s not that much talking.”

  She went quiet.

  His hand contracted. “And that could have been better put. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  “I knew you had women.”

  “Not anymore,” he said suddenly. “Not since you came along. I told you that, and I meant it. I never lie.”

  She drew in a slow breath. The feel of his fingers curling into hers made her tingle all over. “I try not to lie. Well, I didn’t tell Mrs. Joiner that the dress she was wearing was too tight and too short for a woman in her forties, or that you could see everything she had when she stood in the light. I guess that was lying by omission...”

  He chuckled. “She goes to your church, I guess.”

  “She’s the pianist,” she replied, shaking her head. “She’s not the sort of person to be brassy, but her cousin bought her a dress and she didn’t want to hurt her feelings, so she wore it to church.” She grimaced. “It was really sad. I didn’t say anything, but the choir director did. Mrs. Joiner went home in tears. Daddy had to go smooth things over. He’s good at that.”

  “He has a kind heart,” J.C. said. “I respect him.”

  Colie wished her father felt like that about J.C. But she knew he didn’t. He’d never approved of the relationship.

  “Your father doesn’t like me,” he said, as if he’d read the thoughts so plain on her face.

  “It isn’t you. He knows you aren’t a person of faith, and I am. He thinks, well, he thinks you’re corrupting me.”

  “God knows, I’m trying to,” J.C. shot back, and grinned at her.

  She laughed. “At least you’re honest.” She looked around at the snowy, deserted countryside. “Can I ask where we’re having dinner? In Denver, maybe?”

  “I’m taking you home for venison stew.”

  Her heart jumped. “Home? Your home?”

  He nodded. “It’s a nice cabin. Two bedrooms, lots of space. I bought the land from Ren. I run a few head of purebred cattle. It’s isolated and cozy. I’ve never had a home of my own until now. I’m rather proud of it.”

  “And venison stew?”

  He nodded again. “I went hunting and got a seven-point buck. I keep the meat in a freezer locker in town at the deer processing place.” He smiled. “My grandmother used to make venison stew, when I was small. She stayed with us in Whitehorse during the last winter my family was together. She taught me how to cook.”

  “I imagine she thought it would be a useful skill. Was she the one who had visions?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are any of your grandparents still alive?”

  “No. Most of them died relatively young.”

  “Mine, too. I’m sorry. I wish I’d had time to get to know them. My grandmother, the one who had feelings about things, was an herbalist. She could name every medicinal plant known to man and she knew how to process the plants. She kept us healthy. I was in grammar school when she died.”

  “My grandfather was an herbalist, too. Most of those old home remedies made their ways into pharmacies under different names.”

  “Yes, they did. Oh, J.C., this is beautiful!” she exclaimed when he pulled into a long driveway between lodgepole pines. The house sat in a backdrop of distant mountains, nestled in a thick forest. Lights burned in the windows and smoke came out of the chimney. With snow lying on the ground all around, it reminded her of a Christmas card she’d received one year. She kept the card for the cover.

  “I think so, too,” J.C. said, smiling. “I reinforced the walls and added insulation, so it’s warm even when the temperature drops far below freezing.”

  It looked like an oversize log cabin. It had a long, wide front porch and there were two rocking chairs on it. There were empty planters. She wondered if he put flowers in them, in the spring.

  Inside, the furniture was overstuffed and cozy, in earth colors. The curtains were a deep tan. Scattered around were blankets with patterns in them. There was a dream catcher against one wall, a bow and arrows in a buckskin quiver on another wall. Over the open fireplace, over the mantel, was a painting of a tall man standing surrounded by wolves in the snow. When she got closer, she saw that it was J.C. The portrait was masterful. It looked just like him, except that it radiated loneliness and sorrow, especially in the pale silver eyes.

  “Wow.” It was the only thing she could manage. The portrait literally turned the inner man outside.

  “Revealing, isn’t it?” he mused, hands in his pockets. “Merrie, Ren’s wife, paints. She has a rare talent for capturing the real person. I had to be talked into it, too.” He chuckled. “I wasn’t sure I was ready to have my life spread out in public.”

  “It’s not public,” she pointed out. She studied him. “I imagine not many people ever get invited in here.”

  “Ren and Merrie came for venison stew, before their son was born,” he remarked. “Willis and I play poker occasionally. He brings the wolf, who sits in the corner and growls every time I move,” he added on a laugh.

  “Willis? The foreman?” she asked, and he nodded. “He has a wolf?!”

  “He has a wolf,” he replied. “It has three legs. He’s a licensed rehabilitator. The wolf couldn’t be released back in the
wild with a handicap like that, so Willis got to keep it. The damned thing sleeps with him,” he added. “No wonder he’s alone.”

  She grinned. “I like wolves. I’ve never seen one up close, but I’ve seen them in the distance. They’re so big!”

  “Very big. Dangerous in packs, when they’re hunting.”

  “The wolf doesn’t like you?”

  “It’s jealous of Willis. Man, woman, anybody. Well, anybody except Merrie,” he amended, leading the way into the kitchen.

  “Ren’s wife,” she recalled. “The one who paints.”

  “Yes. The wolf went right to her when she and Ren were visiting Willis’s cabin, before they married. The wolf came up to her and laid its head in her lap. She has a way with animals.”

  “I wish I could have more pets,” she said with a sigh. “Mama, when she was alive, fostered animals for the local shelter. I loved the variety. But Daddy says one big cat is enough.”

  He smiled slowly. “One the size of Big Tom really is enough.”

  She smiled back. “I was so shocked when you showed up at our house with Big Tom,” she confessed. “It was unexpected.”

  “I know.” He grinned. “I hadn’t planned it. The cat just hung around all the time. I don’t mind cats, but... Anyway, Rod said you had a birthday and you loved cats. It seemed the solution to two problems.”

  “He’s a wonderful pet.” She pursed her lips. “Daddy likes him even more since he caught a mouse in the kitchen,” she added, laughing.

  He laughed, too. “Does your father get along with the cat?”

  “More or less. He’s not really keen on animals, although he’s never cruel to them. He loves people. I guess it’s a trade-off.”

  “Rod isn’t an animal lover, either,” he said.

  “No, he isn’t. How do you know?”

  “Something that happened when we were overseas when your brother was finishing up his tour of duty.” He clammed up.

  She wondered if it was something bad. Rod had a mean temper all of a sudden, and he was often out of control. He’d never been that way when he was younger. She felt cold inside suddenly.

  He glanced at her as he brought the stew out of the refrigerator. “I spoke out of turn. I shouldn’t have said that. Now you’ll worry yourself to death.”

  “No, I won’t. I know Rod has an awful temper,” she added. “Mama got really angry at him once for doing something mean to one of the dogs she was keeping for the animal shelter. I never knew what, because neither of them would tell me what happened. But she died not too long afterward, and we had no more animals at home. Until you gave me Big Tom, at least.”

  “Some people are better kept away from animals,” he said noncommittally. “I can make corn bread, if you’d like some to go with the stew.”

  “Oh, not for me,” she said. “Stew’s fine. I don’t like to fill up at supper. It keeps me awake.”

  He laughed. “Everything keeps me awake. I’m good if I can manage five hours a night. Usually, it’s a lot less. Hand me that saucepan, would you?” He nodded toward it with his head.

  She handed it to him. It was a nonstick one, red in color. Very clean. “You keep an immaculate house,” she noted.

  “I try to. First thing you learn in the military is to keep your bunk clean,” he chuckled. “Nobody wants to fail inspection.”

  “I’ll bet terrible things happen if they do.”

  “Yes. Kitchen patrol,” he added. “Peeling potatoes.” He made a mock shiver.

  “I love potatoes.”

  “I can do without them most of the time. I’ll eat French fries, but I’m not keen on any other method of preparation.”

  She watched him heat up the stew. It smelled like heaven. When he put it on the table, she couldn’t wait to dig in.

  * * *

  THEY ATE IN a comfortable silence.

  “This is really good,” she said in between bites. “I can make beef stew, but I’m afraid of venison.”

  “Why?” he asked curiously.

  “Because it’s hard to cook it right. It’s a dry meat.”

  “It can be. My grandmother taught me how to get around that. But I also have a cookbook that belonged to my mother’s mother,” he added. “It has recipes from the turn of the twentieth century. God knows how far back in the family it went before it landed with my mother. It has recipes for all sorts of wild game.”

  “I’d love to see it.”

  “I’ll show it to you. Not tonight,” he added with a grin. “It’s wrestling night.”

  Her eyebrows arched. “Wrestling?”

  He nodded as he finished his stew. “WWE.”

  She just stared at him.

  “Don’t have a clue, do you?” he mused. “Ever heard of Dwayne Johnson?”

  “Oh! He was the voice of Maui in that cartoon movie, Moana! I love him!”

  “He started out as The Rock on WWE.”

  “He was a wrestler?” she exclaimed.

  “Yes. So was his father. I miss seeing him in the ring, but I enjoy the movies just as much. He did one called Race to Witch Mountain that I watch over and over.”

  “I liked him in Central Intelligence.” She beamed. “But I never knew he’d been a wrestler. I’ll have to turn it on occasionally.”

  “It’s a rough sport. People say it’s all put on. But men get seriously damaged in the ring from time to time. So do women wrestlers.”

  “Now I’m really fascinated.”

  “Bring your coffee to the living room. It’s almost time.”

  She watched him put the dishes in the sink and pick up his own coffee before she followed him to the sprawling, comfortable sofa with its soft upholstery and equally soft throw cushions.

  “You said you didn’t own a television,” she reminded him as she sat down and put her coffee on the big wooden coffee table.

  He chuckled. “I always tell people I don’t. That way, I don’t have to listen to people rave about talent competitions and reality shows.”

  “I know what you mean. We watch movies and this one television show on BBC. It’s got the actor who played in The Hobbit. Well, the other actor was in The Hobbit, too, he was the voice of the dragon.”

  He glanced at her after he turned on the television and put it on the wrestling channel. “You don’t mean Sherlock, do you?”

  “Yes!”

  He burst out laughing as he sat down beside her. “It’s my favorite show. One of the very few I watch.”

  “Small world,” she commented.

  “Very small. Here. Curl up against me.” He drew her across his lap and held her close, kissing her hair.

  She sighed. It was like coming home, after being separated from him for almost a week. She laid her cheek on his broad chest and listened to his heart beat. He smelled of some spicy cologne that suited him.

  He smoothed over her dark hair. “This is nice,” he commented.

  “Very nice,” she sighed. “Much better than sitting at a restaurant listening to people argue.”

  “What?” he asked.

  “I went out to eat with Rod and Daddy two weeks ago at the fish place. There was a couple having a vicious argument. It was so bad that the manager actually went to their table and told them to leave or he was calling the police. They argued all the way out the door, too.”

  “Pitiful lack of manners,” he mused. “To say nothing of pride. Most people don’t air their dirty linen in public.”

  “Tell that to the people on social media,” she said, tongue in cheek. “Honestly, they talk about things I wouldn’t even discuss with my mother, God rest her soul, if she was still alive.”

  “I don’t do social media.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” she asked, looking up at him with a wi
de grin.

  He searched her eyes slowly. She felt soft and warm against him. She smelled of roses. He traced around her mouth with his fingertip and listened to her breathing change.

  “You’re winding yourself around me like ivy,” he whispered. “You’re always with me, even when you aren’t.”

  “I know,” she said on a shaky breath. “It’s like that with me, too.” She reached up and traced his hard mouth. “I feel so cold and empty when you’re not somewhere close by.”

  He bent and drew his nose against hers, nuzzling it. “I won’t make promises, Colie,” he said huskily. “No matter what happens.”

  “I know.”

  He bent his head and drew his mouth slowly over her parting lips, loving their softness, the instant response that she gave him. She went in headfirst. He didn’t, usually. But he had less control with her than he’d had with a woman since the call girl turned his life and his pride inside out. He wanted her the second he touched her.

  He turned her so that her hips were pressed intimately against his. Even through two layers of denim, his arousal was stark and noticeable. She should have protested. But all she could think about was how wonderful it felt to be close to him, to be wanted by him. She’d never known what desire was, before. Now it tormented her night and day. She stayed awake at night imagining all sorts of erotic things that she wanted to do with him.

  She arched when she felt his hand sliding under the hem of her pullover blouse. Her lips parted on a shock of breath that he felt going into his mouth. But she wasn’t protesting. If anything, the jerky twisting of her body told him that she wanted much more than just his hands on her back.

  He deepened the kiss as his fingers unfastened the simple cotton bra she wore. He felt her hesitate. But seconds later, when he traced around her bare breast and teased the nipple until it went hard, she shivered and just lay against him, letting him do whatever he wanted.

  His hands went to the snaps that held his shirt in place. He unfastened it to his belt and pulled it out of his jeans, inviting her hands into the thick wedge of hair that covered warm, hard muscle.

  She’d never touched a man so intimately. It was intoxicating, like the feel of his big hands on her breasts. She’d never imagined that she could be this uninhibited with anyone.