by Diana Palmer
“When you say it that way . . .” She cringed. “I’m guilty of behaving exactly the way other people behave toward me. I have no good excuse. I’m not used to people being straightforward with me. People usually make their minds up before I even show up, if that makes sense. It’s like living in a book about me, where everyone knows the ending but me.”
“That would make it hard to build trust with others,” he said, getting a better understanding of how she ticked, and why she ticked the way she did.
Even though he hated talking about himself, had over a decade’s worth of training that went against sharing personal details, Faith was opening up—and he could tell it was a big deal for her to do so. If he wanted to keep this back-and-forth going, he needed to be forthcoming himself.
“A lot of my work is on a ‘need to know’ basis, where I’m the one who ‘needs to know.’ It can be rough to make connections when I can’t talk openly about my day or what’s going on at the place I devote eighty-plus hours a week to. But with everything else, you can trust that I’m a straightforward guy. What you see is what you get. And if you’re not getting what you need, all you have to do is ask.”
“That’s refreshing.”
“Better than annoying,” he teased. “That’s how I found out that Pax is your brother. The old-fashioned way. Asking my brother what he knows about this pretty girl in town who won’t give me the time of day.”
She splayed her hands out. “You’re in my kitchen, aren’t you?”
Huh, it appeared that his “I don’t date” angel was flirting with him. He’d have to be annoying more often.
“See where old-fashioned courting can get you?” he said, and she laughed.
Finished with her first batch, she walked the trays over to the oven. She had three trays, which meant he got to watch while she bent over, three times, causing her sweatshirt to slide up, giving him a mighty fine view of her backside and making his Christmas wish come true.
Again, he wondered if she was commando under those pajama bottoms.
He thought on that for a moment, perhaps a moment too long, because when he lifted his gaze, she was giving him a disapproving look.
Great, he’d been caught peeking under the Christmas tree of a woman who’d been disrespected her entire life.
Wanting to clarify his intentions, Noah tipped her chin up so she could see the honesty in his eyes. “And to make it clear, angel. I am courting you. And part of courting is getting to know each other. And while I can’t wait to get to know you, I want to make sure we get to what matters first.”
She held his gaze, her lips a breath away. Then she squeezed her eyes shut and said, “How much do you already know about me?”
Chapter Eight
Faith blamed Noah for her momentary insanity.
How was a woman to think straight when surrounded by 200 pounds of muscle and alpha-man pheromones? Insanity was the only reason someone with her background would ask an officer of the law—a very hot, very male, very serious officer of the law—what he knew about her law-breaking family.
It was as if she were inviting him to look through the pile of dirty underwear in the corner of her room before leaving for their first date. No one would swipe right on that.
To be fair, he’d said he wanted to get to know her, wanted to court her—as if that wasn’t the most romantic thing in the world. And to know her, he’d have to know where she came from.
Who she came from.
And wasn’t that enough to make her stomach churn? But if she was really going to try this, the key word being try—because the last time she’d tried with a man, he’d asked her if there was another relative Pax could live with—then she wanted complete transparency. None of this bait and switch men did once they thought they had both feet in the door.
Besides, Noah wasn’t like the other guys she’d dated. From what she’d read about him online, he was a rising star in the department. He couldn’t have people whispering about who he was dating if he wanted to stay on the fast track.
Faith turned to face him, and since he didn’t move they were pressed together with barely a breath between them.
She tilted her head up, way up so she could see his face. And what a handsome and kiss-worthy face it was. Those bright blue eyes, always calm and aware, locked on hers. Tingles sizzled all the way through her, melting away every chill left over from their time in the rain.
Stupid tingles, she thought, knowing they were the ones behind this mess. A mess she would eventually have to clean up.
“Before you say things like you want to court me—” did she just giggle?—“you might want to do that background check. Not just on me, but on my entire family.”
His big hands went to her hips, his fingers splayed across her lower back, and—hello?—tingles turned to tension, sexual and intense. She knew the honorable Texas Ranger felt it, too, because he had to clear his throat before speaking.
Good to know she wasn’t alone in this. Right?
“I don’t need a file. A file isn’t going to tell me that you’re smart and beautiful and have such a big heart that when your mama left town, you gave up a scholarship in L.A. to move back home and raise your kid brother. Which you’re doing a damn fine job of,” he whispered. “A file is nothing but details of the worst moments of someone’s life. And angel, you’re worth a hell of a lot more than a quick glance at a screen.”
“Oh,” was all she said, unable to pull her focus from his lips. She couldn’t help it. Noah had the most mesmerizing lips. And the words he’d spoken stole her breath.
“Now, from what I gather, you’re a private person. Whether by nature or necessity, I don’t know, but I’d like to find out,” he said, and dread filled her chest.
Was there time to change her mind? Tell him, “Now that I’ve had time to think, maybe you should read my file, in the privacy of your own office, hundreds of miles away. That would be way less embarrassing than me recounting every awful, tragic, and mortifying detail while you look at me with horror.”
But that was a Hope move. Draw them in, then disappear when things fell apart.
“I’m not sure where to start. All of it’s pretty bad.” She’d never admitted that to anyone. Most people knew bits and pieces, but no one knew the whole story. And Faith took comfort in that. “What do you want to know?” she asked, wondering why she was going down this path.
Because you can’t carry it all alone anymore.
He peeked over her shoulder at the mess on her counter. “How about we start with something you enjoy? Walk me through what you’re baking.”
“Baking?” She blinked. “You can ask me any question and you want to know what I’m baking?”
He shrugged. “Courting usually starts with the fun stuff. The hard stuff comes later. Why shouldn’t you have the same experience? Plus, I like cookies.” He leaned close. “And I like seeing you smile.”
With that he backed away, to stand by her side. She didn’t know what to say. Or how to feel. Because for the first time since her daddy went to prison, someone who knew enough about Faith’s past to get that it was scandalous, was more interested in the small things that made her . . . her.
He bumped her shoulder with his. “So bears with hats, huh?”
She couldn’t hide her smile, or her gratitude. “They’re my ginger bears. It’s the first thing I taught myself to bake. Over the years I’ve made some changes, but whenever I bake them, I feel like I’m that twelve-year-old kid who still thought Christmas was magical.”
“And now?”
She shrugged. “I bake them for the Treats for Tots bake sale so other kids can feel a little Christmas magic.”
He stuck his finger in the bowl. “Is this something you do every year? Deliver Christmas magic?”
“Yes, on the magic, but this is my first time participating in the bake sale. They were short on bakers, so I told Ester Rayborn I’d fill in for her.”
He leaned past her and went for a sec
ond dip of batter. “Ah, so a Secret Samaritan project then.”
“I am not Sweet’s Secret Samaritan. And stop that.” She batted his hand away. “I’m already low on batter because of the blackout. Plus, eating raw dough is dangerous.”
“I like a little danger.”
“Danger’s not my thing.” She’d spent an entire lifetime trying to avoid it.
“Maybe you’re trying it with the wrong people,” he teased.
This time she bumped his shoulder. “Are you flirting with me, Ranger Tucker?”
“No, ma’am,” he said seriously, that accent of his rolling down her spine and making her shiver. “Not that I don’t want to, but you don’t seem to like it.”
Her smile collapsed. Was she that out of practice? Or was he so intuitive he knew she hadn’t had a whole lot of experience with men? Oh, she’d dated guys here and there, but she’d never let any of them fully into her life. That wasn’t a risk she was willing to take.
But with him, it felt fun and easy. Safe even.
She looked at him with a new awareness. “Usually flirting makes me nervous, so most men think I’m cold. But with you, it’s different.”
“Different good or different bad?” He playfully crossed his fingers. “If you can’t tell, I’m rooting for different good?”
“I’m not sure yet,” she teased. “But I can tell you that I like it.” She put her thumb and finger together, peeking through the tiny crack at him. “A little bit.”
“Do you like me, Faith?”
She rolled her lips in. “Maybe a little?”
“I can work with that,” he said softly, stepping closer, wrapping his arms around her, his embrace tender and warm. “What else do you like?”
“I like going slow.”
“I can work with that, too,” he said, his breath a warm caress.
Blood rushed through her heart, and anticipation of what was to come pulsed through her as he, very slowly, leaned in to her, pausing to gauge her reaction. “Slower?”
“Maybe a little too slow,” she whispered against his lips.
Faith held his gaze, soaking in his touch, his strength and all that was Noah. She placed her hands on his chest, rising on her toes and, after what felt like an eternity, Noah closed the distance and their lips finally, finally brushed.
Once, then again, so incredibly tender and wonderful that Faith held her breath to take in every moment. It was as if she’d been starved for human contact. For someone to hold her in a way that made her feel special. Cherished.
Noah wasn’t playing this hard and fast. He was making every move between them matter. His hands ran up her back and around to cup her face, sending flutters and tingles and every other kind of feeling racing through her body. She pressed closer right as he gave a final caress of her lower lip, then pulled back.
Faith didn’t open her eyes quite yet, wanting to take it all in, save it for a rainy day. But when he whispered her name, she opened her eyes, surprised to find that they were still in her kitchen and she was still in her brother’s pajamas. Everything looked the same, but something significant had changed.
“I meant to take it slow, but then I saw the mistletoe,” he said, pointing to a strand of leaves and berries draped directly overhead.
“That’s not mistletoe,” she said, laughing. “That’s holly. And strung together it’s called a garland.”
“My mistake,” he said, with a boyish twinkle to his grin.
Chapter Nine
Santa’s Workshop had nothing on the town of Sweet Plains when it came to present production.
Overnight, Shelby and Team Elf had transformed the Tuckers’ barn into an efficient assembly line that was more suited for Ford’s new manufacturing plant than a small-town wrapping party.
At one end of the barn sat a pile of toys generous enough to grace every Christmas tree from here to the county line. On the other end was an even larger stack, all beautifully wrapped and topped with shimmering, color-coded bows that made the task of pairing children with age-appropriate gifts a little easier. In the middle were several staffed stations, each with a different purpose. There was the sorting station, the boxing station, the wrapping station, the bow station, and so on. Ending with the delivery station.
And that was only the still-unclaimed gifts.
On the way in, Faith had parked next to a line of pickups being loaded with presents that were headed to the community center, where they’d be handed out. They were already wrapped and marked with personalized tags for those kids who, as Faith once had done, had sent in their Dear Sweet letters. If a child took the time to send in a letter, then the team would go to great lengths to mark off at least one item from their wish list. It wasn’t always possible, and it wasn’t always the top item, but Team Elf took their job seriously.
“You headed to the North Pole?” Cody joked, moseying over in a pair of cowboy boots and Santa hat with MR. DECEMBER on the brim. Unlike Faith, he was dressed in weather-appropriate jeans and a T-shirt.
“Pax already used that joke,” she said. “I guess this is what I get for listening to the local weather guy.” She took off her scarf to fan herself.
It was two days before Sweet’s Holiday Shindig and, heeding the forecast’s warning of high winds and icy roads, Faith had left the house prepared for a snowy afternoon. Her getup included a heavy sweater, a heavier coat, and enough bourbon balls for those brave enough to come to a wrapping party under the frostiest of conditions.
Only Mother Nature had decided to take a little holiday joy in keeping the townsfolk of Sweet Plains guessing, gifting them with a sunny and well-into-the-sixties afternoon.
“You know the local weatherman makes his forecast based on how his goats are acting?” Cody pulled her in for a side hug and snatched her container of bourbon balls—which she’d thankfully made the weekend before last.
“Now you tell me,” she said.
“Sugar, all you had to do was hang your head out the window and you’d have thought you were back in Los Angeles.”
“I haven’t looked out the window for the past couple of days,” she explained. She’d been up frosting cookies until 6:00 A.M. After a three-hour nap, she woke to start the painful wrapping process. She still had about twenty dozen cookies left, but she’d promised Pax he could work off some hours helping the guys around the ranch. Plus, Faith wanted to see her friends, even if it was only for an hour.
Oh, who was she kidding? It was the thought of seeing Noah that had drawn her here. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him since their kiss, three long nights ago. When she remembered back to the way he’d held her, and the sweet words he’d whispered as he’d hugged her good night on the porch, her lips tingled.
Even the possibility of a chance encounter was enough to make her giddy. The possibility of a repeat of the other night? That had her mind working double time to process all the neurons simultaneously firing.
The Noah Tucker of her youth had been a regular in her dreams. Noah Tucker the man? He was the dream. The whole package. Forever material. Happily ever after in a Stetson.
He was all of those and more, wrapped into one deliciously toned package set on courting her.
She hadn’t spoken to him since the kiss but when she’d awoken this morning, she’d found a single bunch of mistletoe tied with a red ribbon sitting on her porch. No note. No knock at the door. Just a sweet gift for her to claim at her own pace with no pressure to respond.
Most women might think it odd for a guy to drop off flowers without a note taking credit for the gesture. But to Faith, it was almost more romantic, because a man like Noah didn’t want credit. He wanted to bring a smile to her face on a day that he knew would be taxing.
Faith looked down to find her hands in her purse, her fingers brushing back and forth over the beribboned bundle she’d placed there. A bright warmth flickered to life, lighting her up from the inside.
She was in a bad way when it came to Noah Tucker. “Did he
come with you?” Cody asked, and Faith jerked her hand from her purse.
“Ah, no. I haven’t seen him since he brought over the generator.”
Cody rocked back on his heels. “I was talking about Pax. JTs been asking about him all night. But if you were referring to my brother, he made a run to the store. Should be back soon.”
“This is some setup,” Faith said, ignoring his comment about Noah, while silently hoping he’d make it back before she had to leave.
“You know my wife.” Cody popped a bourbon ball into his mouth. “She’s some woman. And she’s been asking for you.”
Cody pointed Faith in the direction of the house before disappearing back into the barn with her container of cookies.
Faith rolled the sleeves of her sweater as she walked across the circular drive toward the yellow and white farmhouse. The air was crisp and bright, and a gentle breeze danced along the tall stacks of wheat in the fields.
It appeared Faith had to exchange greetings with half the town before she even made it to the front porch. She waved back at Logan’s sweet little girl, Sidney, who was practicing her princess wave from her daddy’s shoulders. Mable of Mable’s Corner Market, who was in charge of booth placement, gave her a stern reminder that all baked goods needed to arrive by 9 AM sharp.
“Nine sharp,” Faith assured her. Even gave a salute, which Mable didn’t find funny.
“There’s always one every year who comes meandering in around nine-thirty, looking like they don’t have a care in the world.”
“What happens if someone’s late?” Faith asked, and Mable’s eyes turned into two menacing slits.
“Ask Jessie McClean.”
The name didn’t ring a single bell, and after waiting tables for five years, Faith knew most everyone in town—at least by name. And she couldn’t think of a single family in town with that surname. “Who’s Jessie McClean?”
Mable leaned in, her forehead wrinkling. “Exactly.”
