Her Mistletoe Cowboy

by Alissa Callen

  “My mom told me before she died it’s not our mistakes that define us but what we learn from them. It’s how we pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off and get on with being who we were meant to be that counts.”

  “Your mom was a wise woman.”

  He swallowed past the wedge in his throat. “Yes. She was.”

  Ivy reached out and touched his cheek. Her caress was as light as the brush of an angel’s wings. “Rhett, go and see your dad. Your mom made you give her that promise for a reason. Just have faith even now she is looking out for you.”

  Rhett managed to nod. But it was unease and not grief holding him silent. Ivy was so close if he angled his head his mouth would meet hers. Finally he’d be able to taste the sweetness that was Ivy Bishop. But knowing for sure that she was here because her heart had been broken changed everything.

  Ivy had suffered enough and he couldn’t abuse the trust she seemed to have in him by pushing their relationship out of friendship territory. The last thing she needed was a whirlwind rebound romance. And the last thing he needed was to be the rebound guy. He wasn’t in the market for a relationship but that didn’t stop feelings for Ivy from forming. It was more important than ever that things remain casual and low-key between them because if they didn’t when the festive season ended he could be the one with the broken heart.

  He leaned forward, pressed a brief kiss to her forehead and stood. “I’ll give Kendall a call and see if we can go around tomorrow for dinner.”

  She stood too and bent to collect the coffee mugs. “Sounds good. And in the meantime, I’ll dust off my boxing gloves.”

  Chapter Seven

  ‡

  “Yes. I know, Milly. It’s official. I’ve lost the plot.”

  The pup watched from her kitchen bed as Ivy took the milk carton out of the cupboard where she’d placed it instead of in the refrigerator. She was about to make fudge and had spent the past five minutes working out where the milk carton had gone. But the reason for the milk being in the wrong place wasn’t the reason she’d expected.

  She was still waiting for her cathartic meltdown to happen which meant that the reason why the milk ended up in the cupboard had nothing to do with her emotional flood-gates opening.

  But it did have everything to do with yesterday’s barn visit. Not only had she found her grandfather’s initials and the discovery had further anchored her to her Christmas home, but she now felt strangely free. It was as though by talking to Rhett about James, she’d exorcised her ex-fiancé from her soul.

  Rhett was right. She’d made a poor choice. She’d allowed convenience and familiarity to seduce her into thinking what she felt for James was real. She now knew it wasn’t. There had been no spark, no passion, no deep connection, just a mutual goal of conquering the corporate world. His affair had been a blessing, not the tragedy she’d once believed. She shuddered to think what type of empty life they would have had together. Sure, she still wasn’t whole, she grieved for her beloved grandparents, but whatever parts of her heart James had dislodged, the pieces had now rejoined.

  She assembled the other ingredients she needed to make fudge on the bench. But instead of beginning to bake, her gaze strayed toward the kitchen window. Through the falling snow a thin tendril of smoke curled. Rhett’s fire was burning low which meant he was already outside in the barn.

  There was a third thing that had happened in the barn and added to her absent-mindedness. Rhett had …. kissed her. Even though his kiss had been one of friendship, his too-brief touch had heated far more than her skin. Ever since he’d helped her with the truck seat belt her hormones had fixated on how his calloused hands would feel sliding beneath her winter layers. She shivered despite the warmth of the kitchen. If the press of his lips on her forehead could weaken her knees she could only imagine what the effect of his mouth would be on hers. And for a split second, she’d been sure she’d been about to find out. He’d stared at her mouth and need had turned his eyes to almost black. But then his jaw had firmed.

  She lifted her heavy hair from off her nape as an unfamiliar restlessness gripped her. As tepid as her attraction had been to James, she could no longer deny that her attraction to Rhett burned red hot. And it wasn’t only her feeling the pull between them. The question now was, was she brave enough to take a risk and go off-list to do something about it? Her grandparents had shared a loving and affectionate relationship, and in her blinkered view, she’d thought she’d found a similar connection with James. But never once had she craved his touch like she did Rhett’s.

  Milly suddenly barked and dashed to the foyer.

  Ivy left the kitchen and dodged the hyperactive puppy to open the front door. Rhett and Rusty stood in the doorway, a swirling white world as their backdrop.

  Rhett grinned and held up a sheet of paper. “Morning. I come with a recipe.” He dipped his head toward Rusty. “And back-up.”

  She nodded and forced her attention away from his mouth. She searched his gaze. The wariness she’d seen on her first day again dimmed the light in his eyes. It seemed that what had happened in the barn had affected both of them. But in different ways. “You’d both better come on in.”

  She shut the door behind them. Milly and Rusty disappeared into the kitchen while Rhett removed his boots and shrugged off his snow-covered coat. Instead of his usual plaid shirt he wore a black ribbed Henley that fitted like a glove and highlighted every well-honed contour beneath the soft cotton.

  “Here, I’ll take that.” She held out her hand for the sheepskin jacket. He handed it to her with a smile and she lost her battle not to look at his mouth. “Why don’t you head into the kitchen. I’ll hang this in the mudroom.”

  “So what’s the recipe?” she asked as she joined him in the kitchen.

  Rhett turned away from watching the dogs wrestle. He rubbed the clean-shaven edge of his jaw. “I’ve been thinking about what you said yesterday. Perhaps Dad is missing Mom but shows his grief in a different way? Perhaps he finds it too painful to talk about her?”

  “That does make sense.”

  “So, just like you baking to remind you of your grandmother and me eating nearly all your cinnamon rolls because they linked me to Mom, perhaps Dad might like some of the cookies she used to bake for him.”

  “Great idea. What type are they?”

  “I had Peta email over the recipe.” Rhett held out the paper. “They’re double chocolate chip.”

  Ivy moved closer to accept the folded white square and inhaled the woody scent of Rhett’s aftershave. Her fingers weren’t quite steady as she took hold of the paper. Rhett smelled as good as he looked.

  She opened the recipe and scanned the ingredients. “Too easy. I have everything listed and they won’t take long to bake.”

  “Thanks. Rusty and I’ll come back later.”

  “Not so fast, cowboy.” Her hand curled round the toned bulk of his biceps as he moved away. “You can help.”

  She didn’t know if surprise flared in his eyes because she expected him to bake or because she’d touched him.

  “Help?”

  “Yes.” She slowly let go of his arm. “You can add baking to your list of hidden talents. Then you can make cookies for your father, and also for your sisters, anytime you want.”

  His brow kinked. “Seriously? Me bake cookies.”

  She bit back a grin. “Seriously. Yes. Real cowboys can bake.”

  His shoulders moved in a sigh but his eyes smiled. “Okay. But I draw the line at wearing an apron.”

  “It’s just as well then; I don’t have one big enough to fit you.”

  She opened a tall cupboard and took out the mistletoe apron that had been her grandmother’s and was a match to the oven mitt sitting on the bench. She draped the apron over her white shirt and black sweatpants, looped the neck tie over her head and lifted her long curls free. Rhett’s gaze rested on her hair. She hadn’t run a brush through it this morning and no doubt it would be both tousled and tangled.


  She reached behind to gather the apron waist straps. As she tied the apron strings, Milly abandoned her tussle with Rusty and latched onto an apron strap. Ivy swiveled around to free the fabric but the more she pulled the more Milly growled and tugged.

  Rhett’s deep laughter sounded beside her. He bent to roll a tennis ball along the floorboards. The pup released the strap and scampered after the ball.

  “Luckily Milly has a one second attention span.” He chuckled. “Which does mean though she’ll be back for these straps unless we get them tied.”

  He lightly touched Ivy’s shoulder to turn her away from him, smoothed her hair over her shoulder and took hold of the straps. The brush of his hands against the small of her back as he tied a bow caused her toes to curl.

  “Thanks.” Pulses racing, she stepped away. The next half an hour standing beside Rhett would prove excruciating if she didn’t get herself under control. She might be desperate to kiss him but Rhett needed a cookie lesson to fulfill his promise to his mother. He didn’t need a teacher whose hormones had a greater attention span than one second.

  She wiped her hands over the apron skirt. “Okay, let’s get started. I’m sure you’ve a ton of things to do.”

  *

  For the next thirty minutes, Ivy’s self-control held. She explained what they were going to do before helping Rhett carry out the tasks. Even when he’d run a thumb over her jaw to remove a smudge of cocoa, she’d kept her teacher hat on. But when the dough was chocolate and creamy and thick with chocolate chips she made the mistake of scooping out a small spoonful.

  “Cookie dough is the best. Here, have a taste.”

  His appreciative groan made her smile.

  “See, cowboys can bake. It wasn’t so bad making cookies after all.”

  Rhett’s dimples flashed as he grinned and opened the drawer to take out a large spoon. “I don’t know. I think I need another taste to make sure I got the dough right.”

  She laughed and picked up the mixing bowl to hug close to her chest. “Not with a spoon that size, you don’t. Your father will end up with no cookies.”

  Eyes gleaming with laughter, Rhett took a step closer to her.

  She tightened her grip on the plastic bowl. “Okay cowboy, your cookie lesson is over. Haven’t you got some firewood to split, a fence to mend or a barn to rebuild?”

  Rhett took another step toward her.

  She held the dough behind her back. “Need I remind you I took my self-defense classes very seriously?”

  “I hate to break it to you that smelling of vanilla, wearing a mistletoe apron and with hair any Christmas angel would turn human for, even Miss Milly wouldn’t find you a threat.”

  She blinked. Their light-hearted banter had suddenly turned hot, heavy and dangerous. But before she could check Rhett’s face to see if he shared her feeling, he turned to place the spoon on the bench.

  “But you’re right I do have work to do. So the cookie dough is safe.” He met her eyes, his features now unreadable. “I’ll pick you up for dinner at six?”

  “Thanks.” She placed the mixing bowl beside the spoon on the bench and watched Rhett disappear into the laundry for his coat.

  “Rusty can stay,” she called after him. “I’ll bring him over later.” Already the kitchen seemed far too empty without Rhett in it.

  “Okay. As hyper as she is, he does enjoy her company.” He slid his arms into his jacket. “Thanks for the cookie help.”

  “You’re very welcome.”

  She followed him into the foyer.

  He stopped and faced her. The need and hunger she’d seen in the barn tensed his features.

  Without thought, she grabbed the thick fleece of his jacket lapels, stood on tiptoes and covered his mouth with hers.

  He tasted of chocolate, cinnamon and all the contraband that had been missing in her city life. Even without his arms around her, he felt warm, real and right.

  Then he groaned.

  His hands snagged her waist. He pulled her against him and it was no longer her kissing him. Urgent and demanding, his mouth gave her all the answers she’d ever need as to who she really was and what she really wanted. She pressed closer against him and fought the collar of his jacket to touch the hot, bare skin of his neck. She’d believed she didn’t need physical touch or passion. She’d been so living a lie.

  When they drew apart to breathe, shock darkened Rhett’s eyes. His unsteady fingers brushed her cheek, before his mouth sought hers but this time in a kiss so gentle and tender it touched not just her body but her soul.

  She trembled.

  His mouth left hers to trail kisses to her temple. His arms tightened and for a moment he held her. She rested her head against his chest. The ragged sound of their breathing was the only sound in the quiet foyer.

  Then he carefully pulled away and she lost sight of his expression as he looked up at the mistletoe.

  “You and your Christmas decorations are going to be the death of me,” he said, voice hoarse. Not meeting her eyes, he dropped a kiss on her tousled head. “See you tonight.”

  *

  “Rhett, is everything okay?”

  Ivy’s low question broke the silence that filled his pickup cabin. He glanced at the woman beside him. Light from the Bramble Lane streetlamps chased away the evening gloom and he had no trouble seeing the questions and concern in her wide eyes.

  “All’s good,” he said knowing the strain in his voice contradicted his words.

  “You’ve been awfully quiet.”

  “I’ve been thinking.”

  “About our … mistletoe kiss … this morning?”

  He faked a grin. He’d take his cue from her and label their explosive foyer kiss as a byproduct of a festive season tradition. He glanced at her and kinked a brow. “If old Henry visits perhaps don’t kiss him with as much … Christmas cheer. He does have a poor heart.”

  She smiled. “Point taken. But don’t worry, it’s only a blue-eyed cowboy with a very strong heart who I reserve my … Christmas cheer … for.”

  This time he didn’t have to fake a grin.

  He shot her another glance. “You look … different.”

  “Do I?” She touched her hair that in the kitchen that morning had been bedroom sexy and was now sleek and pulled back into a ponytail. While the style emphasized her high cheekbones his fingers itched to free her curls. “This is what I usually wear.”

  “It’s very … black.”

  “Trinity calls it city-black.”

  He closed his mouth to contain the other names he’d call her clothes. Restrictive. Lifeless. The severe color and the formal style didn’t match with the apron-wearing Ivy Bishop he’d come to know and who had kissed him with such heat and abandonment his blood still simmered. She again wore the designer puffer jacket but she’d removed the fir from the hood and a belt now hugged her slender waist. The pencil-slim skirt and knee-high black boots reminded him she came from another world. A chill encased his heart. A world after Christmas there was no guarantee she wouldn’t return to.

  “First impressions count,” Ivy said into the silence that had again fallen between them. “And I want to be taken seriously.”

  “I always take you seriously, even when dressed in candy cane socks and a mistletoe apron.”

  “Thanks. I know.”

  The sweetness of her smile short-circuited his self-control. Mistletoe or no mistletoe, he thought about pulling over and kissing her again. One kiss wasn’t ever going to be enough. His grip tightened on the steering wheel. When he’d gone off the rails after his mother’s first heart attack he’d vowed to only make good choices. And messing up Ivy’s hair and ruffling her city-neat clothes wasn’t on any good choices list. She was still grieving for her grandparents and vulnerable over James’ betrayal. Also not on any good choices list was setting himself up to be her rebound guy. From here on in, he had to remain vigilant and keep his hands off her.

  He pulled into the driveway of the imposing red-brick
mansion that would one day be Kendall’s. Despite his father’s disgust, Rhett had put measures in place so the historic home that had been in his mother’s family for generations would pass to his twin and not to him because he was the only son. He killed the engine and rolled his tense shoulders. He’d never understand his father. If he was ever lucky enough to have daughters, he’d treat them no differently to any sons he also might be lucky enough to have.

  Ivy’s small hand covered his and he eased his clamped hold on the steering wheel.

  “Everything will be okay, Rhett. Just wait and see.”

  “I hope so.”

  But as Kendall appeared on the porch and he glimpsed her harried face, any hope tonight would be a success evaporated. His abrasive father was being difficult and Rhett hadn’t even walked in the door. He sighed, reached for the container of double chocolate chip cookies on the passenger side floor and left the peace of his truck.

  “Hey, Kendall.” He gave his sister a tight hug as she met them on the porch step.

  “Hey.” Stress cracked in her normally serene tone. “I hope you brought your battle armor.”

  “That bad?”

  “He’s refused to get dressed and to leave the living room.” She moved to hug Ivy. “I’m sorry tonight’s already not going as smoothly as I hoped.”

  Ivy returned her hug. “It’s fine, Kendall. Honestly. Your father won’t do or say anything I haven’t heard before.”

  “You haven’t met our father,” Kendall said, her mouth a thin, pained line.

  Rhett looked at the cookies he held. What had he been thinking? As if baking could make any difference to the chasm that existed between him and his father.

  He held open the door for Kendall and Ivy. “Showtime,” he said, voice grim before he followed them inside and along the hallway.

  He set the cookies on the kitchen table Kendall had set for four people. She’d used their mother’s favorite rose placemats in an attempt to make their meal special. Heart heavy, he joined Kendall and Ivy in the living room. His open-hearted twin didn’t deserve to have all her hopes dashed her family would one day be together again.