Save Me, Santa: 5 Holiday Stories of Romance & Suspense

by Nina Bruhns

  He stepped back long enough to peel my T-shirt off and toss it on the floor. In between kisses, his flannel shirt followed, then his thermal undershirt.

  “Joel,” I said when he fell back onto my silver couch and pulled me down so I straddled him. “You have to stop.”

  “Why?” he asked, his hands spanning my hips.

  His lips trailed down between my breasts, his touch electrifying, lighting chills along the way.

  “Because… “ I started, and then moaned when his teeth nipped me through my bra cup.

  My hands held him against me, as my body arched toward him and his tongue teased me through the cotton.

  I closed my eyes, trying to focus on what I was trying to spit out. “Because… “

  He shifted me on his lap, adjusting so that his rough edges dug into my soft spots. “Damn, I missed you, Shooter.”

  I moaned under the gully wash of sensations I’d only dreamed about for months, my body coming to life like the desert after a spring gusher. The heat of his mouth left my breast then coolness followed when he blew on the damp cotton.

  I shivered, closing my eyes, and finally found the end of my sentence. “Because you left me.”

  He stilled under my body. “Montana, open those big blue eyes for a moment.”

  I did, frowning down at him. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his face taut, his need shining bright in his green gaze.

  “I came back here tonight to tell you that your ex-husband escaped from prison a week ago.”

  I blinked. “That explains the strange calls I’ve been getting all week.”

  “We’ve had an APB out for him since he disappeared.” He popped open the button of my jeans. “Yesterday, a convenience store owner down in Beatty recognized him and called the cops, but he slipped by them.”

  “You sure it was him?”

  “He bought unfiltered cigarettes, black licorice, and orange soda pop.”

  That was him all right. “So you’re here on my couch on official police business?”

  “Yes,” he said. His hand slipped inside of my jeans, his fingers dipping below the elastic waist of my panties.

  “Well, I hope you have a warrant to get into my underwear.”

  His grin lit his face with a wicked glow. “I sure do. It’s in my pants. Why don’t you reach down in my front left pocket and grab it.”

  “Oh, no, Mr. Lawman. I’ve fallen for that trick with you before. It ended with me up against the side of your car with my bare ass to the wind.”

  “What can I say? It’s my job to search for hidden weapons. On a night as dark as that one, I had to check out every single one of your nooks and crannies.”

  I rocked my hips, rubbing against him. “You should be careful what you search for. If I remember correctly, you’re the one who ended up cuffed to your door handle that night with your pants around your ankles.”

  He chuckled. “Good thing Rick was on duty. He still cries like a girl when he laughs his way through that story.”

  I leaned down and ravished his mouth, slow and sultry, basking in the pre-glow of what his hips were promising to deliver.

  He unhooked my bra single-handedly while I was distracted, his other palm still gripping my hips, keeping me tight against him. “Montana, sweetheart?”

  “Mmmm?” I managed to get out while his hand got reacquainted with my bared breast.

  “When I walked in that door tonight and saw you behind the bar all full of spitfire and sparks, I changed my mind about something.”

  “About what?”

  He pressed harder against me, the friction seeming to light his firecracker as much as it did mine. “Walking away.”

  “From Goldwash?”

  “From you.” His mouth took the place of his hand on my breast, his tongue flicking, while both hands lifted me enough to wrestle my jeans and underwear down over my hips. His pants hit the floor next.

  “Just like that?” I halted the show, glaring down at him as he shifted free of his briefs. “You come back here and tell me you’ve changed your mind and I’m supposed to drop everything and let you back into my heart.”

  “No. Just like this.” He pulled me down onto him, watching my face as he slid all of the way in, then out and in again ever so slowly, this time staying put and drawing my hips toward him.

  “Oh,” I whispered, grasping his shoulders, arching my back to help him hit the spot, all of the spots. “Just like that.”

  He let his head lean back against the couch cushion, watching me from beneath lowered lashes. “You have no idea how damned sexy you look right now riding me with your hair tangled and your skin glowing.”

  “We always were good at sex,” I said between heavy breaths. “It’s the talking where we get stuck in the mud.”

  “We’re doing fine right now.”

  “That’s because you get all chatty when you’re inside of me. You’re the only guy I’ve ever been with who has conversations during sex.”

  “How many guys are we talking about again?”

  “Barely enough to shake a stick at.”

  “Good.” He groaned and sat forward, closing the gap between us. “Damn, you’re always so wet.” He shifted me so that we fit even closer, helping me move faster. “Walking out on you was the hardest thing I ever did.”

  The dust devil of need inside of me swirled faster, higher. “Then why did you?”

  Joel picked up the momentum, seeming to sense that I wasn’t going to last much longer. “Because you wouldn’t marry me.”

  I growled at the ceiling. “It’s just a piece of paper. We didn’t need it to tell us what we already knew.”

  “You’re right. We didn’t need it, but I wanted it. I wanted you.”

  “You had me, Joel.” I reached down behind me and scraped my fingernails up his thighs. “Like you do right now.”

  He let go of my hips, his fingers occupied themselves in other creative ways.

  “Tell me what you need.” His thumbs circled and rubbed, making me writhe with want.

  “I need you to shut up and take me the rest of the way.”

  “I love it when you boss me around, Shooter,” he said in a gravelly voice.

  Without another word, he massaged and strummed all of the right buttons and knobs until I pulsed around him, squeezing him tight, making him cuss and shudder shortly after me.

  I let my forehead rest on his shoulder, catching my breath, peeking at him out of the corner of my eye.

  Joel stared at the ceiling, his Adam’s apple bobbing every few seconds as he caught his breath. “Call me old fashioned, sweetheart,” he said without looking at me, “but I wanted the vows. The cake, the rings, a ‘wife’ to sleep next to every night.”

  Damn it, why did he have to ruin my afterglow with more talk of marriage. I rolled off him, grabbing my underwear off the floor. “You know I have a bad track record, Joel.”

  “Stop living in the past. Look at what you have right here in front of you.”

  I did. Warmth bubbled in my chest. Damn he was one big gorgeous chunk of flesh and bones. “I left a bite mark on your shoulder again.”

  He touched the red spot, staring up at me. “I don’t want to live without you anymore. Come back to me, Montana.”

  I pulled up my jeans and buttoned them, considering his words.

  Let’s see, I could spend the rest of my life lonely and miserable and pining for the sexy stud sprawled on my couch, or I could have him in my bed every night, talking about how much he adores me while loving me up and down and all around.

  There was no way in hell I was going to stumble back into the wasteland I’d lived in the last few months.

  I grabbed my shirt from the floor, skipping the bra. “Okay,” I told him and unlocked the door, hauling it open. “Stay here while I make sure I’m all shut up for the night.”

  “Okay?” he asked, adjusting himself and reaching for his jeans. “What do you mean okay? Okay you’ll come back or okay you’ll marry me this
time?”

  Something thudded out front.

  I froze, straining to catch more. “Did you hear that?”

  “Hear what?” Joel said, buttoning his fly.

  Another thud resounded, followed by a grunt and a crash. Buffalo!

  “That.” I grabbed my shotgun, running out the door and cocking my gun on the race down the hall.

  “Montana,” Joel hollered still inside my office. “Come back to me.”

  Why did he keep saying that?

  I hesitated outside the swinging doors, then leaned down and scrambled over behind the bar.

  The room was dark, all lights off, even the beer lights I usually left on in the windows. The dim hall light seeped through the swinging doors, offering a feeble glow. I pressed my back against the bar, waiting for my eyes to adjust, listening for any sounds that would clue me into the situation.

  Then I heard it, the labored breathing in the darkness.

  I needed to know if Buff was okay, but didn’t want to give my position away. I heard a scuff, then a low groan.

  “Buffalo?” I whispered. “Are you okay?”

  Nobody answered. Shit!

  Where in the hell was Joel? I could use a cop right about now.

  Then again, maybe I was all hopped up on adrenaline and making more out of this than it was. Maybe Buffalo was just closing up shop and tripped over that damned dog of his, making the thud and crash sounds I’d heard, knocking himself out on the way down.

  But why were my beer lights off? Buffalo knew I liked to leave them on all night.

  A shout came from the other side of the swinging doors—Joel’s voice, sounding like he’d told someone to freeze.

  A gunshot echoed down the hallway.

  I gasped in surprise then covered my mouth.

  Joel?

  My heart pounded. I wanted to go back there, make sure he was okay, but I couldn’t just go swinging in like Rooster Cogburn.

  Another groan came from somewhere in the darkness.

  Damn it, I wasn’t going to sit here forever and wait for the sun to come up.

  Clutching the shotgun in one hand, I inched across the floor on my butt toward the stool where I’d last seen Buffalo, keeping my boots from thudding on the wood and giving away my location.

  The dim light trickling in from the hall went dark, pitching me into complete blackness.

  My breath came fast. I gasped for oxygen as panic hogtied my lungs. I scooted under the bar, my palms covered with dirt and pieces of peanut shells. The smells of old varnish and dust offered no comfort in the darkness.

  I heard a scuff of a boot come from the side of the room I’d just left, the creak of a floorboard followed.

  Someone else had joined the party. Was it Joel, or whoever he’d faced off with down the hall?

  A snore rattled out right next to me and I almost peed my pants. A snuffle followed, then a grunt as Brunhilda made herself comfortable in the darkness. I reached out and felt for her, my fingers connecting with her soft, pudgy tummy. She let out what sounded like a squeaking yawn and wiggled closer to my hand.

  The relief of knowing she was in here with me was pushed aside by the knowledge that it meant Buffalo was here, too. Somewhere in the darkness. Probably hurt.

  I counted to ten, then twenty, listening to the creaking of the roof overhead, the muffled wail of the wind howling outside.

  Someone was going to have to get things rolling or we could be stuck in a Mexican standoff all night.

  I got into a squatting position so I could make a dash, if needed, and then called out loud and clear, “Buffalo? Are you in here?”

  “Hey, baby,” a scratchy voice from my checkered past said in the darkness. “I’ve been waiting in here for you to welcome me home with open arms.”

  Shit! My ex was here, and I doubted he’d brought presents or fruitcake.

  “What did you do to Buffalo?” I asked.

  “Let’s just say that good ol’ Buff had a little accident.”

  It sounded like he was in the back east corner of the room, near the pool table and old juke box. “If you hurt Buffalo, I’m going to rip off your balls and stuff them down your throat right after I fill you full of hot lead.”

  “I always loved it when you talked dirty to me, baby.”

  I crawled over Brunhilda, slinking toward the other end of the bar, and ran my hand up the wall to where one of the two lights switches was located for my over-the-bar lights. If I were going to shoot, I needed to see where so I didn’t hit Buffalo by accident. Again.

  One of my knees popped as I stood up. Damn it!

  “I can hear you moving, baby, and I saw that shotgun when you snuck in here. Why don’t you just put the gun down and you and I can have us a nice little walk down memory lane.”

  I took a deep breath, aimed the barrel in his direction, and flicked the light switch on.

  There he was behind the pool table, next to the juke box, right where I’d pictured the rotten bastard. I pulled the trigger.

  A boom echoed through the room. Followed by a volley of shots as he ducked behind the pool table, popping up to fire back with what looked like a Glock.

  I squatted on the floor, covering my head when the huge mirror behind me exploded, coating me with glass shards.

  I had to get back behind the bar, take cover. Flicking off the lights again, I scrambled blindly through the darkness in a squat run toward the swinging doors.

  Shots rang out so loud that I couldn’t tell from where they’d come. I heard something whiz by my ear and winced. Wood splintered close by.

  My boot connected with something that felt like a rolled up carpet.

  Brunhilda yipped and barked when I tripped over her.

  Another shot fired, and pain flared through my head just above my ear as I stumbled. My shotgun went off as I fell flat on my back onto the floor, jerking free of my hands in recoil.

  I lay there, staring into the darkness, my ears ringing as I struggled to hear. My head throbbed on the left side like a son of a bitch.

  Something warm pooled in my ear, trickling down my neck. I touched it—too thick and slippery to be alcohol. Blood. It was blood. My blood? That would explain the burning pain on the side of my head. Was I shot?

  I coughed on the gunpowder burning the back of my throat.

  “Montana,” Joel called. His voice sounded miles away, like we stood on opposite ridges. “Montana!”

  Relief made my limbs feel like Jell-O. Thank the heavens, he was still alive.

  “Montana, where are you?”

  I heard footfalls on the wood floor.

  Several more shots were fired.

  “No, Joel!” I screamed. He was going to get himself killed trying to get to me.

  I struggled to my feet, but my head felt like a helium balloon, floating away. I swayed to the left.

  A shot rang out, winging my shoulder, stinging like hell.

  My boots slipped on the blood or peanut shells or both. I teetered to the right, the blackness swirling around me, and fell, that throbbing left side of my skull connecting with something hard on the way down.

  I lay there for several heartbeats, my cheek on the gritty wood floor, pain making me nauseated.

  The front door crashed open.

  Lights flickered on overhead.

  There were several shouts and then the sound of scuffling, wood breaking, grunts and groans.

  A pair of scuffed up cowboy boots filled my vision.

  Then I closed my eyes and let the black Nevada night blow me away.

  * * *

  Cottontop Flats, Nevada

  December 26th

  Should auld acquaintance be forgot

  And never brought to mind…

  I opened my eyes, blinking in the flickering glow of the light from the television secured to the wall at the end of my hospital bed. Someone needed to change the channel and get that damned depressing song off the boob-tube. It was making the side of my head throb.

 
; I tried to swallow. Criminy, my mouth was dry. My throat felt like it’d been bored out with a diamond-studded…

  Wait a second! Hospital bed?

  My gaze darted around the shadow-filled room, taking in the half-eaten Jell-O on the tray next to me, the needle jammed into my arm, the little winged pigs covering my cotton gown, the bandage on my left shoulder, and the toilet with handles through the half-open bathroom door.

  The sound of a half-snore followed by a grunt brought my focus back to the dark-haired man who slept leaning partway across the right side of my bed, using my hip as a makeshift cushion. Joel’s wavy black hair shielded one of his eyes, his jaw was covered with at least two days’ worth of stubble.

  I reached down with my right arm and sank my fingers into his hair, lifting his head up a couple of inches.

  One emerald green eye opened, then the other.

  I let go of his hair. “Wake up and tell me I killed the bastard,” I said, my voice hoarse from lack of use.

  “Sorry, Shooter. You missed.” He stood and stretched. His gaze traveled over my face, assessing.

  “Water?” I asked.

  He grabbed a pitcher from the tray and poured some in a cup, holding me up while I drank and drank.

  With his help, I sank back into the pillow, wincing from a bolt of pain in my shoulder. “Did I even come close?”

  “No. I did, though.” He sat on the bed, leaning over me. His fingers traced my face, like he was memorizing every bump and hollow. “He won’t be bothering you ever again.”

  “Damn it, Joel. That was supposed to give me closure after the years of hell he put me through.”

  “Well, if it makes you feel any better, you did blow a hole in the jukebox.”

  “What about Buffalo?”

  He scooted closer. “He has a broken arm from tackling your ex.”

  “Before you shot him?”

  “After.”

  “Brunhilda?”

  “Fat and happy, as usual.”

  “You?”

  “Fit as a fiddle.” He squeezed my hand. “You, on the other hand, had a bullet leave a groove in the left side of your skull and another rip a hole through the meat on the outside of your left shoulder. Do you remember anything from that night?”