Christmas Cowboy (A Standalone Holiday Romance Novel)

by Claire Adams

  "Champagne?" The maître d' did not wait before he popped the cork and poured me a crystal flute of their best.

  Minutes later, the chef himself appeared with a specially prepared cheese plate. He wanted to discuss my tastes and moods so he could prepare something just for me, but I wasn't hungry. Instead, I asked him if he knew anyone fitting Kiara's description.

  He shook his head before declaring that steak tartare would be the best thing for me.

  I sipped the champagne and tried not to grit my teeth. The whole restaurant was holding its breath, wondering if I was about to mark them the trendiest place for the jet-set. All I could think about was how Kiara would wrinkle her nose at me. I could pay for the champagne thousands of times over, but it was free to me. All the special treatment was just to gain my arbitrary approval and the right to say my name.

  I watched the people flowing by outside and wished I was like them. They, like all New Yorkers, knew exactly where they were going and weren't letting anyone get in their way. Inside the restaurant was another world, and as the minutes ticked on, I knew for certain that it was not Kiara's world. I wasn't going to catch her there, and I had no idea where else to look for her.

  When the sun set, I noticed the maître d’ sweating again. They had rearranged for the dinner service all around me, but now he was anxious because I was still staring out the window. They needed the table for the jammed-packed reservations. I heard the phone start to ring off the hook as word spread that I enjoyed the restaurant.

  I thanked the chef personally, shook the maître d's hand a half dozen times, and did my best to leave without causing a scene.

  It was a relief to get out onto the darkened sidewalk and shouldered roughly by the moving crowd. I went with it and wandered around, hoping somehow the universe would send me towards Kiara.

  After an hour, the thought of going back to Long Island alone was dismal, but there was nowhere else I wanted to be.

  The longer I walked, the more I noticed that even the crowd treated me differently. It must have been the shine of my shoes, the cut of my custom suit, or the flash of my astronomically expensive watch. I'd been wandering around for hours, and all I found out was that I didn't fit in.

  Kiara was more likely to find me, standing out like I was. I shifted to the mouth of a dark alley and pulled out my phone. My finger was on Roger's number, ready to drill him for more information—beg if I had to—when I felt the gun barrel press hard against my ribs.

  "Don't say anything or move too quickly. Just give me your watch, your wallet. Everything." The man's musty breath was hot in my ear.

  I slipped the watch off my wrist, handed over the diamond-studded money clip, and then tossed him my phone. "Don't spend it all in one place," I said.

  "Car keys," the man snarled.

  "Do I look like I drive?"

  The gun rammed against my ribs. "House keys. You look like you've got a nice place."

  I sighed. "Do I look like I carry keys? Christ, some days I don't even get to open doors for myself."

  "Fucking rich people," the man muttered and pawed his way through my pockets himself.

  He found nothing more and gave a disgusted sigh. Then, the bruising pressure of the gun barrel, the man, and all my belongings disappeared before I could turn around.

  I crossed the street to get away from the dim alley and did my best to shake off the mugging. It wasn't my first time, but it still took a while for my heart to stop kicking so hard. When it finally did, I found a corner bodega. All I had to do was go in, promise a reward for the use of the phone, and a car would be there in minutes. Vincent Jeffry never left the Brickman Estate, but he had friends all over.

  Including Kiara.

  The thought of her made me straighten my shoulders and keep walking past the corner shop. She had watched her family home burn to the ground and then slept outside in a tent. The least I could do was find my way back to any number of my luxurious properties without asking for help.

  It even started to rain, just to give me the authentic feeling of what Kiara went through. I flipped my collar up and kept walking, having no idea where I was going, but it wasn't working. Paying random penance was not making her appear.

  I stepped inside a cozy little bar and shook the rain off my suit. The jean-wearing, hip, late-night happy hour crowd scowled at my tailored ensemble. I knew they overpaid for their carefully low-key looks, but I was the asshole. I literally wore my class on my sleeve.

  "This bar's for paying customers only," the bartender said.

  I reached for my money-clip but it was gone. "I'm just waiting out the rain for a minute," I said.

  "Buy a drink or get out, rich boy," one of the regular customers called.

  "How's that fight against exclusivity going?" I asked.

  The bartender groaned. "You gonna buy a drink or what?"

  "What would you say if I told you I just got mugged?"

  The regular snorted. "And they didn't take your fancy suit? Lazy."

  I eyed him. "You're right. He should have at least taken my tie. It worth's more than most people make in a week. Except for you. Let me guess, by the cleanliness of your plaid shirt, you must be in computer coding or gaming. Right?"

  "At least I work for a living," the man countered. "You look like you live off daddy's money."

  "We can't all be cool," I said.

  "Look, if you got mugged, we can still make a deal," the bartender said. "You got some skills you can barter?"

  "Like what?"

  "The sound system's acting up. You could fix that. Or wash dishes."

  The regular grinned. "Or maybe you could read palms. That's how the homeless lady down the block gets to use the phone."

  "Who says I want to use your phone?"

  "You said you just got mugged. Aren't you calling daddy to bail you out?"

  "I don't need to look at palms to know you're the one with daddy issues, not me," I said.

  The punch to the jaw was expected, but it hurt more than I was prepared for. Boxing was the top of the list for acceptable pastimes in my set, but I refused to hit the guy back. It was more than I deserved for shooting my mouth off. I took my aching jaw and went back out into the rain.

  I had no money, no diplomatic skills, and no idea what I was going to do.

  The funny thing was that if Kiara was in my situation, she would have been just fine. I had charged over to Brooklyn with the idea that I was going to save her, when it turned out I was the one that needed saving.

  "Enough is enough," I muttered to myself.

  Just down the block was a pizza place with steamed up windows. A teenage boy was drawing goblin faces on the inside of the streaked panes. It was busy, warm, and sure to have a phone I could use.

  I paused at the door and promised myself that all I would do was ask. This time, I wouldn't make a scene—intentional or not.

  The line of late-night patrons was almost to the door, but standing on the soaked front mat was better than wandering around in the pouring rain. I waited patiently in line and was glad for the chance to warm up. The pizza place was tight enough that everyone in line stood shoulder to shoulder, and no one noticed that my suit didn't fit the neighborhood.

  "Hey, K, you mind filling up the ice machine?" a loud voice boomed from the busy kitchen.

  "No problem," a familiar voice called.

  Kiara appeared from the corner of the counter and hauled a bucket to the ice machine. I elbowed my way through the tight crowd and helped her lift it high enough to pour. Our eyes met under the rattling of the ice cubes, but she had to wait until it was done to say anything.

  "Man, am I glad to see you," I said.

  "Teddy? What are you doing here?" Kiara blinked and handed the bucket back over the counter.

  "Would you believe I was looking for you?"

  She looked at my rain-soaked suit and scuffed shoes. "I didn't think you came to Brooklyn."

  I chuckled. "And I might not come again. I just got mug
ged."

  Her eyes flew to mine. "Then why are you smiling?"

  "Because I really was looking for you. Got a minute?" I was joking, but she tugged at her sleeves and looked around.

  "Um, yeah, in a bit. Let me just help out a bit more. The owner's a friend of mine," she said.

  I shuffled to the side and leaned against the thin counter in front of the steamed-up windows. Of course, Kiara was there helping out a friend. I watched, getting warmer, as she folded up pizza boxes, took orders, and even carried soda refills over to thankful customers.

  Her eyes kept drifting over to me, and I couldn't tell if her glance was embarrassed or just annoyed. I had just shown up in her cozy world looking like a mess, and I was the last one she wanted to help.

  Finally, at the end of what could have been a very long shift, Kiara came over and offered me a slice of pepperoni pizza. It was far past midnight, and I happily took a bite as she leaned against the counter next to me.

  "Wow, this is really good. I mean, really good." I savored another bite of the surprising pizza.

  "What's your plan, Teddy? Is someone coming to pick you up?" Kiara asked.

  I shook my head. "I'm not waking up anyone in the middle of the night to bail me out."

  "So you're just going to wander around Brooklyn all night in the rain?"

  I shrugged. "Not much else I can do."

  She let out an impatient sigh. "Then, come on."

  "Where are we going?" I asked, wiping my mouth on a thin napkin.

  "My place," she said.

  She shoved open the pizza place door, and a bell clattered above us. I followed her, my mind shouting louder than the reverberating bell.

  A second chance! Don't screw it up this time.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Kiara

  My toe caught on another crack in the sidewalk, and I knew I wanted to turn around. What had I been thinking, inviting Teddy back to my place? Even the street looked shabby, with big potholes collecting water. The front steps of my building were chipped, and the potted plants dried out to dead husks. I cringed when Teddy reached out to grab the handle of the smudged front door.

  It didn't matter that he'd been mugged and wandering the streets for a few hours in the drizzling rain. Teddy Brickman was dashing—and so sexy with his damp shirt unbuttoned. The clinging fabric showed contours of his chest that I wanted to test with my fingers.

  I shook myself and almost dropped my keys. Is that why I invited Teddy back to my apartment? He wasn't someone who needed saving, and I could have left him at the pizzeria to make his own way home to his mansion. Teddy had smiled when he said he'd wander around Brooklyn all night, as if he was content. After my long, busy shift, his eyes were twinkling, and I half expected him to head out the door dancing.

  And I didn't want to miss the glowing warmth I felt pulsating through me whenever Teddy was near.

  I tripped on the shabby, carpeted stairs and swore at myself. A hundred fools fell in love with Teddy Brickman every day. Why did I think I had a chance? Especially after he saw my cramped apartment.

  "Is your key stuck?" Teddy asked, seemingly fascinated with the act of unlocking a door.

  I was frozen thinking of my small table cluttered with recipes and plans. My apartment was littered with earmarked books and scraps I had clipped from magazines. They all added up to a foolish girl with big dreams.

  "It's just… Are you sure you wouldn't rather stay in a hotel?" I asked, flattened against my front door.

  He cocked an eyebrow. "Would you rather I stayed in a hotel?"

  "It's just my place is so small, and it’s really messy."

  "Kiara. Open the door," he said.

  He took my arm, opened the door, and pulled me inside. I bumped against him in the dark, and it took two, giddy heartbeats before I remembered to turn on the light. I had cheap, white twinkle lights plugged into the switch, and they glittered to life all around my apartment.

  The apartment was the opposite of the old cottage's rugged interior. My entire childhood had been dominated by my father's and brother's masculine aesthetic: useful, sparse, neutral tones. Without my mother, there had not been much of a feminine touch, so when I chose my own place, I found one that spoke to that absence.

  The little lights glowed off the pale-pink walls and bright crown molding. The floors were a light, golden pine, covered with mismatched gray and pearl Oriental rugs. The kitchen table was a distressed white with a vase of delicate pink blooms stranded in a flood of cookbooks and notes. We stood in the kitchen, and Teddy leaned on a glittering, marble counter as he considered the snug apartment.

  From the kitchen to the back wall, the apartment was not more than eight hundred feet. The kitchen table bisected a small living space that included a white, wood-burning fireplace. A gray, wooden screen separated the minute living room from my four-post bed piled high with white lace pillows. A star quilt of pastel gardens and pink florals stuck out past the screen and was capped off with an old-fashioned cedar chest.

  Teddy grinned and slipped his hand from my arm to around my waist. "It suits you. Tough attitude, soft heart. Thanks for taking me in, by the way."

  I wanted to press against his side and slip my arms around his neck, but I felt a chill. "You're still damp from the rain. Are you cold? Do you want to light a fire?"

  "I do," he sighed, "but I'm no good at it."

  His hand was at the small of my back, and I could feel his fingers tracing a small circle that made me shiver with delight. I panicked. "Then, how about you pour us some wine?"

  "That I can do very well," he said.

  I slipped past him and sat before the small, stove-pipe fireplace. It was the one perk of having the attic alcove, and as the rain pattered harder against my skylights and dormer window, it added a cozy glow.

  I glanced over my shoulder and gulped at the sight of Teddy stretching up to retrieve two dusty wineglasses. He'd shrugged off his suit coat, and his damp, white shirt clung to his tight body. The muscles in his arm flexed as he caught the glasses and brought them down.

  "A screw cap on wine. That's so convenient. There have been plenty of times I've had a great bottle of wine, but no opener, though I have a few techniques," Teddy said.

  "Oh, I'm sorry. I don't have any other wine," I squeaked.

  He checked the nose of the wine and my stomach lurched. "Not bad," he said and poured two full glasses.

  "I know this is not how you expected to be spending your night," I started to babble. "I bet you'd be at some great restaurant with white, linen tablecloths and a special waiter just to pour your wine."

  "They've got some fancy name," he shrugged and handed me the wine.

  "Sommelier," I said.

  His eyes traveled around my small apartment again and flipped on the shabby chandelier that hung in the kitchen. "I like it here better. And, who needs hovering waiters when there's a cozy fire and all of these, what are these? Recipe books? Are you still considering becoming a cook?"

  I stood up, but fought the urge to run and cover all my notes. "Yes, actually."

  "Is that why you were helping out at the pizza place? That sauce was amazing," Teddy said. "Did he hire you like a consultant?"

  I filed away that genius idea and shook my head. "Not really. Thanks for helping out tonight. Oh, by the way, Pappy sent this for you."

  Teddy caught the pizzeria t-shirt I tossed him and laughed. He balanced his wine glass on the one free corner of my table and peeled off his damp dress shirt. I stifled an audible gasp, but couldn't catch my breath back.

  Under the chandelier, his skin had a burnished glow. The muscles had not been imagined, and I couldn't tear myself away from the sight of his taut, strong arms. His undershirt strained over his wide shoulders, and I felt myself sway when he plucked it off, as well.

  Matted curls covered the center of his chest and trailed down his hard stomach. Those tantalizing contours rippled as he tugged the pizzeria shirt over his head and then sighed. "I feel l
ike I earned this."

  I waved him to sit on my small, but overstuffed loveseat. "I know it's a little tight in here," I said.

  Teddy pushed over to the corner and stretched his legs out in front of him. "There's plenty of room for everything that's important. That's why I like it: no extra, empty space."

  "No room for dinner parties. All the walls are too small for more than photographs. The bedroom doesn't have a door," I said.

  "Who needs a door?" he said, glancing at my bed. "And, I think seeing the fireplace from the bed is a bonus."

  "The bed is the only other place for guests to sit," I pointed out.

  He shrugged again and tugged me down onto the tight loveseat next to him. "But it's just right for two."

  I sipped my wine and tried to concentrate on anything besides where my body pressed against his. Our thighs were tight together, and my shoulder kept sliding to fit in just under his arm. If I just shifted a little, I could slide right into place and lay my cheek against his shoulder. I resisted and hefted my wineglass as a barrier between us.

  Teddy clinked his glass against mine. "Here's to a very fortunate night."

  "You got mugged," I reminded him.

  "Things have gotten a lot better since then." He sipped his wine and sat up, bringing his arm farther around behind me.

  I leaned back, nervous, and bumped into a stack of bills I had laid out to pay. When they slipped and crashed to the floor, Teddy jumped up to help retrieve them. "No, don't worry. That's nothing."

  He gathered them up and passed them to me without a second glance, but I felt a stone of shame in my stomach. The bills were all dangerously late, and there was no way he didn't see the red boxes and heavy-printed warnings. I was supposed to be making my own way in the world, and I didn't want Teddy Brickman, of all people, to think I was struggling.

  "Don't worry," Teddy said, sitting back down. "My father is always very strategic about when he pays a bill or doesn't."