The Cowboy's Christmas Miracle

by RaeAnne Thayne

Her tart tone made him smile. “I can. Just watch me.”

  She gave him a long, considering look and he wondered what was going on behind those lovely green eyes.

  “So does that mean you’ll do it?”

  She sighed. “How can I refuse for three times my regular rate and your promise that you won’t nag me to sell the Wagon Wheel to you anymore?”

  He winced. “You’re going to hold me to that, I suppose.”

  “That’s the only reason I would even consider it.”

  “And people call me a merciless negotiator.”

  “I’ll need your assistant to fax me copies of all the menus tonight and a complete inventory list of the food items Michael Sawyer has already purchased. I may need to make some changes if he was planning dishes I can’t fix.”

  Was that enthusiasm or nerves he could see sparking in her eyes? Whatever it was, she looked bright and vibrant and extraordinarily lovely.

  “You can fix anything you’d like,” he finally said. “I completely trust your judgment.”

  Her mouth tightened and the spark went out as if someone had dumped a foot of snow on her. “No, you don’t. You think I’m a terrible mother who can’t control her own children.”

  He stared, genuinely astonished. “When did I ever say that?”

  “You didn’t have to say the words, Carson. Every time the boys have gotten into trouble on your property and we’ve had to discuss it, I’ve seen the reaction in your eyes. You try to hide it but I know you find them frustrating.”

  Only a few days ago, he would have wholeheartedly agreed with her. But something had changed in the last day or so. He couldn’t put his finger on it but he didn’t find Jenna Wheeler and her family nearly the abhorrent neighbors he once had.

  “They’re growing on me,” he admitted.

  She tilted her head and studied him for a long moment then she smiled. “Good. Because I’m not sure I’ll be able to find child care tomorrow morning. If you insist on me cooking for your guests, you just may have to deal with my children coming along to Raven’s Nest with me, as well.”

  For just an instant, panic spurted through him at the idea of three active boys and a toddler racing through his mountaintop haven, knocking over priceless antiques, pressing sticky handprints all over the walls, asking him endless questions he didn’t know how to answer.

  He squashed it quickly. She was doing him a huge favor and he couldn’t quibble about her terms.

  Chapter Seven

  With a vague sense that she was stuck in some weird dream, Jenna entered the kitchen at Raven’s Nest just after 7:00 a.m., four hours before the guests were due to arrive.

  She was already cursing whatever ridiculous impulse had convinced her to help Carson.

  This was crazy. She had no business being here when she still had presents to wrap, a few last-minute stocking stuffers to find and the guest room to dig out for Pat’s annual Christmas Eve visit.

  And where was she? Standing in a room that looked as if it were straight out of the pages of some kitchen design magazine.

  If she needed yet another reminder of all the differences between the two of them, she only had to look at his kitchen. It was a dream of a room, exactly how she would have laid out her own fantasy kitchen—wide marble countertops, an efficient work space in the middle, double refrigerators, six-burner professional-grade cooktop, even a wok station. He had everything she could have fantasized about.

  Ironic that a man who claimed he didn’t cook would have the most gorgeous kitchen she had ever seen. But she supposed she shouldn’t be surprised. Carson McRaven struck her as a man of impeccable taste. He wouldn’t build a house like Raven’s Nest, with its soaring views and careful attention to style and elegance, and stick a subpar kitchen in the middle of it.

  Jenna moved to the window, where the only building she could see was her own house, its white paint blending into the snow. The house she loved so much looked humble and rather shabby from this vantage point. Was that what Carson thought when he saw it?

  She gripped the sink’s edge as sudden panic assailed her. She had no business being here. This was a huge mistake. Someone’s idea of a cosmic joke.

  What did she know about cooking for people who flew on private jets and had kitchen appliances that probably cost more than her van, even when it had been new?

  Breathe, she ordered herself. You can do this.

  She was on her third round of circle breathing, focusing on her house and the love and laughter she found in it, when she sensed she was no longer alone. She turned and found Carson standing in the doorway watching her. He wore jeans and scuffed boots and a Western shirt and looked as if he would have been more at home herding strays in the high country or slinging longnecks down at The Bandito than standing in this beautiful kitchen with the morning sunlight slanting across his features.

  “Morning,” he said. “Melina just told me she let you in. Are you ready for this?”

  “Wrong question.” She did her best to keep the alarm that bubbled through her from filtering into her voice. “I was just thinking I’m not sure I can pull this off.”

  One corner of his mouth lifted in a devastating smile. “Of course you can. I’ve tasted your food, remember? Everything you served at the stock growers’ party was delicious and I think I finished off what your boys brought over the other day in about half an hour. You’re brilliant in the kitchen.”

  “Brilliant? I wouldn’t go that far.”

  “I wouldn’t have asked you to do this if I didn’t think you could handle it, Jenna. You should know that.”

  His words steadied her and she took one more deep breath and pushed the panic away.

  “Is everything on schedule, then?”

  He nodded. “I’m meeting the Hertzogs’ plane in Jackson at ten. I was just about to head out but I wanted to check in with you first. Do you have everything you need?”

  She glanced around the gleaming kitchen and almost laughed, though she was afraid if she started, she would end up in hysterics and he would have to cart her away.

  What could she possibly need that wasn’t contained in this chef’s paradise? “I should be fine. According to the inventory Carrianne faxed me last night, I should have enough food to feed several dozen people for a couple of weeks.”

  “In a couple of weeks, I’ll be back in San Francisco and my company will, knock wood, be the proud owners of Hertzog Communications.”

  “Unless I screw up and poison everyone today.”

  He laughed. “Try not to do that, okay? Call me if you can’t find something you need and I’ll try to pick it up while I’m in town.”

  “Don’t you pay people to fetch and carry for you?” she asked. “I would think Carson McRaven of McRaven Enterprises would be too busy for airport runs and hitting the grocery store.”

  He hesitated for a moment then nodded. “Yeah, I could send someone to pick them up. But Frederick Hertzog is the sort of man who appreciates the personal touch. A few hours out of my schedule is a small price to pay if it helps convince him McRaven Enterprises will take good care of the company his family built over three generations, first as a telegraph company, then telephones, and now cells.”

  No wonder the man had created a huge dynasty in such a short time, if he used that sort of sound business sense in all of his dealings.

  “I really owe you for this, Jenna.”

  She gave him a dark look. “Yes. You do. I’m blaming you if my children’s Christmas is ruined because their mother had a nervous breakdown.”

  His laugh was warm and amused and sent chills rippling down her spine. “And where are your children this morning? I thought they would be belly flopping into the swimming pool by now.”

  “You caught a very lucky break. My sister-in-law called last night after you left and asked if they could come over today and help her make gingerbread houses. When I told her what I was doing for you, she insisted on taking them to church and then having them spend the afternoo
n with her. My niece will watch them this evening and then again tomorrow. And you’re paying them an outrageous amount for it, by the way.”

  “Am I? Good for me.”

  She couldn’t contain the laugh that escaped her. It helped ease the tension gripping her shoulders like an eagle’s talons—until he smiled back at her and her insides felt as if she had just taken a free fall from the Grand Teton.

  She quickly looked away and her gaze rested on one of the small appliances she hadn’t noticed before. “Oh, my word. You’ve got a steam oven! I’ve been dying to try one of these.”

  “Well, here’s your chance.”

  He studied her for a long moment and there was a strange light in his eyes at her excitement, something glittery and bright. A thin, tensile current tugged between them and she couldn’t seem to look away.

  He was the first one to break eye contact. He cleared his throat and eased away from the counter. “I’d better get moving. Give me a call if you find you’re in need of anything else.”

  “I’ll do that.” To her dismay, her voice sounded raspy and hollow.

  After he left, she stood for a moment, wondering what on earth that was all about. This attraction was completely absurd, she reminded herself. She had no business even thinking about Carson McRaven that way.

  His kitchen. That was another story entirely. Any normal, breathing foodie would salivate buckets over this kitchen.

  She had the tools, she had the ingredients. Now she just had to do them all justice.

  Despite the pep talk she gave herself and the vague comfort she found in knowing Carson had faith in her, nervous tension still seethed and simmered in her stomach all morning as she worked alone in the Raven’s Nest kitchen.

  As the huge black-rimmed clock over the fireplace ticked inexorably away, that tension grew to full-blown panic. She had pulled out the last batch of cinnamon apple muffins and was stirring the light mushroom sauce for the chicken crepes when she heard a commotion outside the kitchen.

  “Sounds like our guests are here,” Melina Parker said from the other side of the kitchen, where Jenna had, with desperate gratitude, taken up her offer of help by enlisting her to finish cutting pineapple for the fruit plate.

  Nerves jumped inside her but she forced herself to focus on the work at hand. “Thanks again for helping me. I’m afraid I wouldn’t even be close if not for you.”

  “No problem. I can handle slicing and dicing, as long as I don’t have to come up with menus or use any creativity,” Melina answered. “What else can I do?”

  Jenna looked around the kitchen, which was a great deal more disorganized than it had been when she first walked into it three hours ago. “I think the smoked salmon eggs Benedict is ready. And these crepes are just about done. You could take them out to the buffet table, if you don’t mind.”

  “That’s why I’m here, darlin’.”

  Melina headed out of the kitchen with her arms full. When Jenna heard someone come back inside a few moments later, she assumed it was Carson’s housekeeper and didn’t turn around. She was too busy taking the pineapple-glazed ham out of the oven. “Can you put a few more of the banana-walnut muffins in the basket and take out a couple of the blueberry to even the numbers a little more?”

  “Um, sure.”

  At the unexpected deep voice, she swiveled her head and found Carson standing in the doorway.

  “Oh. Sorry. I thought you were Melina.”

  “I’m not. But I don’t mind rearranging your muffins for you.”

  “You don’t have to,” she protested. But he had already crossed to the prep sink on the island to wash his hands.

  “How’s everything going in here?”

  Even though he was stepping in to help, she couldn’t control her glare. “That reminds me. Go away. I’m not talking to you right now.”

  He laughed and she found it terribly unfair that even in the midst of the kitchen chaos and her own personal crisis, he could still make her pulse jump.

  “The entire house smells fantastic. If everything tastes even a tenth as good as it smells, you have absolutely nothing to worry about.”

  “Easy for you to say. They’re European!”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “European jet-setters. They probably have their own personal chef trained at Le Cordon Bleu. Do you know where I was trained? Do you?”

  “No idea. Where?”

  “The greasy-spoon diner in town. Yes, I received a degree in food sciences but all my practical experiences came from Lou Archeleta, the cook at the diner. I worked there all through high school and he sometimes let me try out new dishes. Oh, this is going to be a disaster.”

  “Jenna, relax.”

  He stepped closer and rested a hand on her shoulder. For one crazy moment, she wanted to close her eyes and just soak up the comfort he offered. The strength of the impulse astounded her. It had been so very long since she had anyone to lean on.

  At least since Joe’s accident. Longer, she supposed. He had been so busy working fourteen-and sixteen-hour days trying to hang on to the ranch that she had learned early in their marriage to be self-sufficient.

  Right now the idea of sharing her burdens with someone else for a moment seemed a seductive temptation.

  “Everything will be fine.” Carson squeezed her shoulder. “I think you’ll like the Hertzogs. They’re warm and friendly and not at all pretentious. Your food is going to wow them. Trust me.”

  She wanted to. Oh, she wanted to. Right now it was difficult to remember their relationship was strictly that of neighbors and now client and chef.

  Difficult but not impossible, she reminded herself and made a concerted effort to step away from his enticing heat and strength, using the excuse that the cottage potatoes had to be stirred one last time before she transferred them to a serving bowl.

  “I guess we’re about to find out, aren’t we?” she murmured, then arranged a garnish on the potatoes, picked up the serving bowl like a shield and headed into the dining room.

  “What a spectacular view you have here. If I had a home here, I would never want to leave it.” Antonia Hertzog smiled at him and Carson wondered why she reminded him so forcefully of his grandmother.

  The two women were nothing alike. His grandmother, God bless her, had been short and stout, with broad, sun-baked features and wavy gray hair she kept in a ruthless hairnet. Antonia was slender with ageless features and that innate élan that seemed so effortless in European women.

  Still, something about the warmth in her eyes brought his grandmother firmly to mind.

  “I fell for the view the first time I saw it,” he admitted. He didn’t add that very few other places in his life had given him such an instant connection. His grandparents’ ranch had felt the same but he supposed his chaotic, nomadic upbringing made it more difficult for him to feel so at home in any particular place.

  “I can see why,” she answered. “Do you spend much time here?”

  “Not as much as I’d like. The house has only been done for a short time. I expect to get away from San Francisco more often in the future.”

  “A man cannot work all the time,” Frederick said, with a meaningful look at his son, Dierk, who was too busy sending a message on one of the company’s cutting-edge phones to even notice.

  “When may we ride the horses?” Dierk’s son, Gregor, asked. Gregor was twelve, two years older than his sister, Amalia, who hadn’t said more than a word or two throughout the entire delectable meal.

  “That’s up to your parents. After brunch would be fine with me.”

  “May we, Mother?” Amalia asked, her tone as formal as if she were petitioning the queen for a stay of execution.

  “You both must have a rest first.” Elle Hertzog was as whip-thin as a greyhound and though Jenna’s food was divine, she had eaten only a little fruit and half a muffin. “We have already had a rather long morning.”

  Carson expected protests but both childre
n only nodded solemnly. In his limited experience of children, he couldn’t help contrasting the behavior of Amalia and Gregor to the Wheelers. The Hertzog children had impeccable table manners and didn’t so much as fidget on their chairs.

  He imagined Jenna’s boys would have been swinging from the chandelier right about now. They were noisy and busy and troublesome. He wasn’t sure why he found their spirited antics so much more appealing.

  After their meal, he stayed out of the kitchen as long as he could manage.

  The Hertzogs opted to go in their rooms for a short time to unpack and relax before their scheduled afternoon ride, leaving him feeling rather disjointed and at loose ends.

  He had a great deal of work he could be doing. Contracts to study, phone calls to make, reports to read.

  All of that paled in comparison with the insistent tug he felt toward Jenna Wheeler.

  For the life of him, he couldn’t understand his powerful attraction to her and he wasn’t sure he liked it. Certainly she was a lovely woman, with those stunning green eyes and her soft blond hair and delicate features. He was surrounded by beautiful women all the time, but none of them fascinated him as she did.

  He rationalized his trip back to the kitchen by reminding himself that before brunch she had been as nervous as a long-tailed cat at a hoedown, to use one of his grandfather’s favorite phrases.

  Didn’t he owe it to her to set her mind at ease? To reassure her that the food had been devoured by the Hertzogs, who commented several times on how delicious it was?

  Only for a moment, he told himself. He could compliment her food, thank her again for helping him, then return to his office in only a few minutes and tackle his workload.

  He heard her before he saw her. Her low contralto voice sang a quiet Christmas carol that somehow sounded more lovely in this setting than the opera diva he had been privileged to hear a few weeks earlier in San Francisco.

  He stood in the hallway outside the kitchen and let the sweetness of the song wash over him, of babies and mangers and a hope for the future.

  When her song ended, he took a couple of breaths then walked into the kitchen, acting as if he had just come from another part of the house. He didn’t think she would appreciate knowing he had spied on her for the last five minutes, at least aurally.