Читать книгу A Texas Cowboy's Christmas - Cathy Gillen Thacker - Страница 9
Оглавление“Avoiding me?” a husky voice taunted.
Molly thought work had wrapped up for the day. Which was, as it turned out, the only reason she was at the Circle H ranch house this late.
Turning in the direction of the familiar baritone, Molly took in the sight of the indomitable cowboy. Clad in a knit thermal tee, plaid flannel shirt and jeans, a tool belt circling his waist, Chance Lockhart strode toward her purposefully.
Working to still her racing heart, Molly held her clipboard and pen close to her chest. She lifted her chin. “Why would you think that?”
Chance stopped just short of her and gave her a slow, thorough once-over. “We’ve both had crews working here ten days straight, and you and I haven’t run into each other once.”
Thank God.
Aware the last thing she wanted was to give Chance another opportunity to tell her what he thought of her plan to improve her and her son’s lives, Molly shrugged. “I guess we have different schedules.”
His, she had deduced, kept him at his ranch, taking care of his bucking bulls early mornings and evenings. Hence, it was usually safe to arrive at the remodeling site during those hours.
Except today, he’d varied his routine. Why? To try to catch her in person, rather than communicate through endless emails and texts?
What she knew for certain was that it would be dark in another fifteen minutes, and all she had for light was a 220-volt camping lantern.
As seemingly unaffected by their quiet, intimate surroundings as the cell phone that kept going off with a sound that usually signaled an incoming text message—checked, then unanswered—in the holster at his waist, he glanced around. “What do you think thus far?”
That even with rumpled hair and a couple of days’ growth of beard on your face, you are without a doubt the sexiest man I’ve ever seen. Which was too bad. Molly sighed inwardly, since Chance wasn’t at all her type. But if he were...she could definitely lose herself in those gorgeous hazel eyes, big hunky body and wickedly sensual lips. Luckily he didn’t know that.
With effort, she switched on her camping lantern, set it on the floor and got out her tape measure. She measured the front windows and door for window treatments and wreaths. The fireplace and staircase for garlands. Jotting down the numbers in her leather notebook, she said, “I think our combined crews have made amazing progress.”
Under Chance’s direction, new rooms had been framed out and a first-floor powder room for guests added last minute. Plumbing and electrical wiring had been installed, new drywall put up and taped, crown molding and trim work done.
Chance moved to the fireplace. He ran his big, calloused hand along the new wooden mantel. It was cut out of the same rustic oak as the support beams overhead. “The floors will be repaired where needed and sanded tomorrow.”
Which took them all the way up to Thanksgiving, she knew. The one day every one of them would have a break from the demanding schedule.
“You got the tile for the kitchen and the bathrooms, and the paint colors picked out?”
Trying not to think what he would be doing for the holidays, Molly replied, “Still waiting on final approval from your mom. She wants to see samples in the light here before she decides. But we’ve narrowed it down to a couple of shades for each space.”
Chance ambled over and switched on several of the portable construction lamps. “The new appliances and light fixtures?”
Instantly the downstairs became much brighter. “On order.”
He walked around, inspecting some of the work that had been done. Finding a tiny flaw, he stuck a piece of blue painter’s tape on it. “Kitchen and bath cabinets and countertops?”
“Will all be delivered in time to meet our schedule.”
He nodded, as aware as she that one major glitch could throw everything off. Fortunately, thus far anyway, luck had been completely on their side.
He came toward her.
Her heartbeat picked up for no reason she could figure. Molly cleared her throat. “Speaking of the holiday... I wanted to talk to you about Thanksgiving.” She moved around restlessly. “I’ve given my crew the day off.”
Joining her at the hearth, Chance took a foil-wrapped candy from his shirt pocket. “Same here.”
There was no way, she thought, he could know that was her very favorite. Trying not to salivate over the treat, Molly continued, “But they’ve all agreed to work on Friday.”
He nodded, ripping open one end. Immediately the smell of dark chocolate and peppermint filled the small space between them.
“Mine, too.”
Chance’s cell phone buzzed again, this time with the ringtone “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus.”
Telling herself that particular choice in no way involved her, either, Molly watched as, once again, he checked the screen and ignored it.
He held out the partially unwrapped confection. “Want one?” he asked.
Now she knew he was flirting.
“I’ve got another...” he teased.
Hell, yes, she wanted some of his dark chocolate peppermint. But if she started taking candy from him on a whim, who knew what might be next?
She returned his assessing look and said as innocently as possible, “Thanks, but no.”
His eyes gleamed.
“I don’t really like those.”
His sexy grin widened all the more.
Then his phone buzzed yet again. With the maddeningly suggestive holiday song...
Thinking maybe he really should answer that, and would if she weren’t standing right there, Molly picked up her lantern before she ended up doing something really stupid—like kissing the smug look off his face—and headed for the staircase.
Able to feel the heat of his masculine gaze drifting over her, she tossed the words over her shoulder. “I’ve got to measure the upstairs windows before I go.”
“Want help?”
“No!”
He chuckled, as she had known he would.
Molly fought back a flush. This was exactly why she had been avoiding him. Luckily she had work to keep her busy. Chance might even be gone before she left.
She had just finished measuring the first window when she heard a door open, then close. Lucille Lockhart’s lyrical voice echoed through the first floor. “Chance? Why aren’t you picking up? I just got another call from Babs Holcombe. She said she’s been trying to reach you for days!”
Who the heck is Babs? Not that she should be listening...
“Been a little busy, Mom,” Chance growled.
Lucille’s high heels tapped across the wood floors. “You owe her the courtesy of a return call. Or at the very least an email!”
“After the way things ended with Delia?” Chance scoffed.
Delia? Molly perked up, edging a little closer despite herself.
“I admit that wasn’t one of their finer moments,” Lucille conceded reluctantly, “but they’ve both done a lot to support the Lockhart Foundation in the three years since.”
“Okay,” Chance countered gruffly.
“Okay you’ll call her,” Lucille pressed, sounding beside herself with irritation, “or okay you won’t?”
Silence reigned once again.
Molly could imagine the bullheaded look on Chance’s face. The disapproving moue of his mother. There was a brief murmur of disgruntled talk she couldn’t decipher, then the sound of Lucille leaving. The front door shut. Chance’s heavy footsteps crossed to the center of the house. “You can come down now!” he called cheerfully up the stairs.
Aghast that he knew she had been eavesdropping, heat flooded her cheeks. Measurements taken, she walked back down, pocketing her pen. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to intrude.”
He gave her a look that said, “I’ll bet.”
Falling into step beside her, he accompanied her out onto the front porch. The air had the distinct damp chill of late November. Dark clouds gathered along the horizon, where the sun was setting in streaks of purple and gray.
“How is Braden doing? Were you able to steer him toward the Leo and Lizzie World Adventure train set?”
Surprised that Chance recalled the name of the toy, Molly grimaced. “Ah, no. Not yet.”
Concern etched his ruggedly handsome face. “Meaning you haven’t really tried yet?”
Molly only wished that were the case. Taking her first real break of the day, she perched on the railing edging the front porch. “Meaning, like with most men, subtlety doesn’t work on Braden. Nor does direct conversation.”
Chance took a seat opposite her, mesmerizing her with the blatant interest in his eyes. “So he still wants a live baby bull and a momma.”
“As well as a daddy bull.”
“Wow.”
She sighed, relieved to be able to talk about what had been bothering her all day. “Wow is right.”
His expression grew thoughtful. “What are you going to do?”
With effort, she forced herself to meet his probing gaze. “Honestly? I don’t have a clue.”
“I had a few ideas.”
Molly pushed to her feet. Feeling her pulse skitter, she turned her head to the side. “I think you’ve done enough,” she quipped, using sarcasm to hide her worry.
He accompanied her down the steps to her SUV. “Seriously. I think I might be able to dissuade him, given another opportunity. And since you have Thanksgiving Day off and so do I, and my mother is hosting her annual dinner at the bunkhouse, I was thinking you and Braden might want to come as my plus two.”
Aware the mood between them was quickly becoming highly charged and way too intimate, Molly unlocked her vehicle. “You’re asking me for a date?”
To her consternation, he didn’t exactly deny it.
“There will be a lot of people there. Three of my siblings and their significant others and or friends. And a few other family friends.”
Molly tossed her bag into the front passenger seat. “First of all, your mother and I get along so well because I know my place.”
His brow lifted.
“Furthermore, Braden and I have our own holiday tradition.”
He rested a muscular forearm on the open driver-side door. “You cook?”
Molly lifted her chin. “I take him to the buffet at the cafeteria in San Angelo.”
Sympathy lit his gaze. “Sounds...lonely.”
Lonely, Molly thought, was being a fifth wheel at the big family gatherings of friends. Knowing, you’d never enjoy the same.
She shrugged. “Crowded is more like it. But it’s not too bad if we get there at eleven, when it opens, and then Braden and I have the rest of the day to do whatever we want.” Which usually involved a family activity of their own.
Chance stepped back. “Well, if you change your mind, the invitation stands.”
Molly slid behind the wheel. “Thanks, but I won’t.” She looked up at him.
Whether Chance admitted it or not, she was out of his league socially, too. “And don’t worry about Braden. I’ll figure out a way to handle his misconceptions about what is possible for Christmas. And what is not.”
* * *
EXCEPT SHE WASN’T handling it, Molly thought the following day when they entered the popular San Angelo cafeteria. At least not as well as she or her son would like.
“I’m hungry, Mommy,” Braden complained as the line of customers inched forward.
Although she had been hoping to make this Thanksgiving really special for him, he’d been grumpy since waking that morning. “I know.” Molly inched up slightly, clear of the entrance. “It will be our turn soon. See?” She pointed to the lighted display cases up ahead.
Braden stamped his cowboy boot. “Don’t want to wait,” he fumed.
“I know.” Thinking he might be overheated, Molly knelt down in front of him and unzipped his fleece hoodie. She figured he would be fine once they sat down. Avoiding a meltdown before that concerned her.
“Can we go home now?” Braden persisted.
“Oh, you don’t want to do that,” a familiar low voice said from behind them. “I hear the holiday buffet here is not to be missed.”
Braden lit up like a Christmas tree. “Cowboy Chance!”
“Hi, buddy!” Chance held out his palm. Braden high-fived him.
Slowly, Molly straightened to her full height. To her dismay, she was ridiculously glad to see him. Especially looking so fine.
Like her, he had upped his game a notch. Slacks, a starched shirt, tie and tweed Western-cut blazer, instead of his usual flannel shirt and jeans. “Aren’t you supposed to be at your mom’s today?”
“Already made my appearance.”
Which accounted for his neatly combed chestnut hair and freshly shaven jaw.
“I’m tired,” Braden complained.
Molly inhaled the sandalwood and leather fragrance of Chance’s cologne, mixing with the usual soap and fresh air scent of his skin.
“Probably a little bored, too.” Chance winked. He reached into his jacket pockets. “Which is why I brought you these.” He pulled out a toy reindeer with a big red nose and a coordinating winter sleigh.
Braden beamed. “Rudolph!”
Molly gave Chance a look her delighted son could not see. “What are you doing?” she demanded sweetly.
Grooves deepened on either side of his mouth. “Working on that solution.”
Aware how easy it would be to fall for this sexy cowboy’s charms, Molly stiffened. “I fail to see how—”
He clapped a hand on her shoulder. “All in good time, my darlin’. All in good time. And—” he nodded at the space behind her “—you’re going to want to move on up.”
The line was indeed pushing forward.
Molly inched ahead. “I don’t remember inviting you,” she murmured so only he could hear, while her son energetically played with the reindeer and sleigh.
Chance leaned down to whisper in her ear. “That’s the good thing about having Thanksgiving here. You don’t need an invite.” He looked around, impressed. “Although given how crowded the establishment is quickly getting, it would probably be considerate of the three of us to share a table, rather than unnecessarily take up more chairs than we need.”
“You’re impossible.” Despite herself, she was glad to see him.
Braden tugged on Chance’s blazer. He tilted his head back so he could see his idol’s face. “Thank you for toys.”
Chance ruffled her son’s hair. “You’re welcome, buddy. It was my pleasure.”
To Molly’s surprise, it was hers, too.
* * *
“SO WHAT NEXT?” Chance asked as the three of them finished their turkey dinners.
Molly looked out the cafeteria windows. The rain that had been threatening since the previous evening had started midmeal. It was now coming down in sheets. She sighed. “No playground, unfortunately...”
Braden stopped playing with the toys Chance had brought him long enough to scowl. “Promised!”
Molly used a napkin to wipe some cranberry sauce off her son’s chin. “I know, honey, but everything will be all wet, so we’ll have to do something indoors.”
“Bouncy house?”
“Afraid not. It’s closed because today is a holiday.”
“Cowboy Chance play. My house.”
She did have activities planned there, two they had already started, in fact, in addition to Braden’s usual time set aside to do whatever he wanted. “I’m sure Mr. Chance has other things to do, honey.”
He met her eyes. “Not really.” Chance turned back to Braden, his cordial tone as reassuring as his presence. “What kind of toys do you have?”
“Trucks and cars.”
“Trains?”
Braden shook his head.
Abruptly Molly saw where Chance was going with this.
If he did have an idea how to convince her son to yearn for the holiday gift she had chosen for Braden...could she afford to turn Chance down? Especially if the end result was Braden’s happiness?
Braden tugged on her sleeve. “Go now, Mommy!” He stood on his chair and held out his arms to their lunch companion. “Cowboy Chance, too!”
Chance caught Braden in his big arms.
Trying not to think how natural the two looked together, Molly said, “We won’t expect you to stay long.”
Chance stood, Braden still in his arms. “I won’t wear out my welcome. On the other hand...” He winked and shrugged in a way that opened up a ton of possibilities. A shiver of awareness swept through her. He probably would be a good time, Molly thought despite herself. Too good a time.
She shook off the awareness. Stacking their dishes and trays, she asked, “You know where I live?”
He nodded, looking as unexpectedly content in that moment as she felt. “Spring Street in Laramie.”
* * *
MOLLY LED THE WAY. The drive back to Laramie took thirty-five minutes. It was still raining when Chance parked behind Molly’s SUV and got out of his pickup truck.
Her home, a former carriage house, sported a three-foot-high white picket fence and was sandwiched between two large Victorians. The one-story abode, while much smaller and set back a ways from the sidewalk, was just as attractive—if not more so—than every other home on the prestigious street. A front porch with white wicker furniture spanned the width of the thousand-square-foot house, which featured gray clapboard sides, white trim and black shutters.
The scent of fresh-cut pine hit Chance the moment he walked in the door.
A Christmas tree stood in the corner of the comfortably outfitted living area, boxes of lights and decorations beside it.
The state-of-the-art kitchen, situated at the back of the main living area, was banked by a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows that flooded the small, cozy space with light. Plentiful cabinets, painted a dark slate, and an island that also served as a dining area were a nice counterpoint to the white quartz countertops, bleached wood floors and stainless steel appliances.
Standing there, noting how beautiful her home was, he couldn’t imagine why she would ever want to leave it.
Her son, however, had other things on his mind.
Barely standing still long enough for his mother to wrestle him out of his damp rain jacket, he set his Rudolph and sleigh on the coffee table, next to a soft blue blanket, then headed importantly for the kitchen, where a delicious fresh dough and orange smell emanated. “Come on, Mr. Chance. We cook!”
Braden grabbed a tyke-size navy chef’s apron off the hook, and then handed Chance one, as well—frilly and floral. “Put on!” he demanded.
Molly’s amused expression dared Chance to do so.
Clearly, he noted, she did not think he would. Which just showed how much she knew. “Sure thing, buddy,” Chance agreed drily, pulling the garment over his head. The cloth barely covered his broad chest, and the waist hit him at mid-sternum. Tying it seemed impossible, given the fact he couldn’t find the strings.
Grinning, Molly stepped behind him. “Allow me.”
Her hands brushed his spine as she secured it in place. His body reacted as if they’d kissed. Fortunately, she was too on task to notice. She opened a drawer and pulled out a plain white chef’s apron, that was, as it happened, much more his size.
She tilted her head, her gaze moving over him humorously. “Want to trade?”
Aware this was the first time he’d seen her eyes sparkle so mischievously, he motioned for her to turn so he could tie her apron strings, too. She needed to goof around like this more often. Not be so serious all the time. “Nah, I’m good.”
The three of them took turns washing their hands; then Braden climbed onto the step stool next to the island. “Ready, Mommy?” the tyke asked eagerly.
“Let’s see.” Molly pulled a linen towel away from the top of a large bowl. Inside was a billowy cloud of dough. “I think so.”
She positioned the bowl in front of her son. “Ready to punch it down?”
With a gleeful shout, Braden went to town, pummeling the buttery dough until all the air was released. “What are we making?” Chance asked. It sure smelled good, even at this early stage.
Molly moved close enough he could catch a whiff of her perfume. It was every bit as feminine and enticing and delectable as she was.
“Christmas stollen.” She tilted her head curiously. “Ever had it?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Well, you’re in for a treat.” She turned the dough onto a floured wooden board and divided it into three sections—which she quickly rolled out into long loaves. Wordlessly, she retrieved a bowl of dried cherries, cranberries and almonds, soaking in what appeared to be orange juice, and drained the excess. “Time to sprinkle on the extras.”
Braden—no novice at baking—positioned his fruit and nuts very seriously, dropping them one by one onto the dough. “You, too, Cowboy Chance.”
“Yes, sir,” Chance said, soberly following Braden’s lead. Molly joined in.
When they’d finished, Braden clapped his hands. “I done now, Mommy?”
“Yes. You did a very good job.” She wiped his hands with a clean cloth. “You can go play while I get this ready for the second rise.”
He hurried off to retrieve his Rudolph and sleigh. Then he brought out his toy dump truck to give them a ride.
With Braden playing happily, Chance settled on a stool at the island. “Where did you learn to do this?”
“My mother taught me.” Molly showed him how to knead the dough until it was soft and elastic, and then shape it into loaves. Carefully, he followed her lead. “Her grandparents emigrated here from Germany. Baking was an important part of their holiday tradition, and she passed it on to me, as her mother had to her.”
Remembering his earlier faux pas, he trod carefully. “Where is your mom now?”
Sorrow pinched Molly’s face. “She died of meningitis when I was fourteen. My dad never really got over the loss, and he died in a car accident just before I graduated from high school.”
He wished he had been around to comfort her, but that had been years before he’d moved to Laramie. “That must have been rough.”
“It was.” Molly carefully transferred the loaves onto baking sheets and covered them with linen cloths, the actions of her hands delicate and sure. “But I had a lot of help from the people in the community. The local bank gave me a second mortgage on this house, so I’d have somewhere to live, and enough funds to get by on while I studied construction and interior design at the local community college and did what was necessary to obtain my general contractor’s license.”
His gaze drifted over her. She wore a long-sleeved emerald dress that made the most of her stunning curves, black tights and flats. Her auburn hair was curlier than usual—he supposed it was the rain. “What made you want to pursue that?”
Molly lounged against the counter, her hands braced on either side of her. “Tradition, I guess. My mom taught classes in nutrition and cooking at Laramie High, and she did interior design work on the side, and my dad was a general contractor who did mostly handyman work.”
She paused to rub a spot of flour from her hip. “Following in their footsteps made me feel closer to them. Plus, both my parents had substantial client lists that I initially utilized to get work. So I was able to get on my feet financially a lot faster than I would have otherwise.”
Braden walked into the kitchen. He stepped between them merrily. “Puddles, Mommy?”
Grinning, Molly looked out the window. The rain that had been landing in torrents was now coming down gently. “You want to go outside?”
Braden nodded.
“Then let’s get you suited up.” Molly walked into the mudroom off the garage, then returned with a pair of yellow rain boots, matching slicker and wide-brimmed hat. Braden brimmed with anticipation. “You come, too, Cowboy Chance?”
“We’ll both watch you from the front porch,” Molly promised. “Unless...” She paused to look at Chance. “You have somewhere else you need to be?”
