Читать книгу Lone Star Christmas - Cathy Gillen Thacker - Страница 8

Chapter Two

Nash Echols was a man who was full of surprises, Callie acknowledged. The least of which was his current chivalry. Which seemed, at the moment anyway, to be as deeply ingrained as her own usual good manners.

Had she confronted him about the ruckus in any other way, she might have had a very different result. But she hadn’t, and now she had to deal with the consequences of her earlier outburst. And what was, at best, a very awkward situation.

Nash’s sexy smile widened as he continued in a silky smooth voice that ratcheted up the tension inside her even more, “I’m more than willing to share this delicious spread. I assume you brought enough?”

Glad she had one of the most effective chaperones ever put on this earth with her, as well as a reason to depart quickly once her mission was accomplished, Callie nodded. “Except...Brian doesn’t eat chili. It’s too spicy.”

His gray eyes twinkled. “Will he eat cornbread and fruit, and—” Nash paused, clearly thinking how to phrase it “ —the last course?”

Callie nodded, aware her son was listening intently now—and clearly a little enamored of Nash. Maybe this was a good time to work out a solution to their mutual problem. “Oh, yes. He loves c-a-k-e.”

“Cake, Mommy!” Brian yelled.

“Some things, he can spell,” Callie said dryly.

Nash chuckled. “Well, then, we’re all set.”

Callie studied him cautiously, trying—and failing—not to be turned on by the sleek, suntanned skin over his wide, inviting shoulders and nicely sculpted chest and abs. “You’re sure it’s not an imposition?”

A slow grin tugged at the corners of his sensual lips. “I wouldn’t have asked if it was. Dishes are in the cabinets. Help yourself. I’m going to finish getting dressed then I’ll be right back.”

Yes, dressed was a good idea.

Standing there talking with him, when he was only half-clothed, had conjured up a wellspring of longing that was destined to go unmet.

“Right back, Mommy,” Brian echoed, snapping her out of her reverie.

Callie knelt to help her son off with his coat.

Nash headed upstairs. By the time he came back down, Callie had set out the food, situated Brian on a stack of phone books and pulled his chair up to the table.

Nash extended his hand. “Let’s start over,” he said, every bit the Texas gentleman now. “I’m Nash Echols.”

Warmth spiraled through her. “Callie McCabe-Grimes,” she added with a smile. “And my son, Brian.”

Nash helped her with her chair. For the next few minutes, they talked about where they both grew up. Dallas for him, Laramie, Texas, for her. The conversation then segued into where they’d gone to college, and the fact that, after graduation, she’d had her first business experience in Dallas, whereas he had spent ten years working in the Pacific Northwest, before coming back to his home state.

Nash helped himself to more chili. He topped it with pico de gallo, cheddar and sour cream. “How did you end up in this part of the state?”

Callie cut her son’s cornbread into bite-size pieces. “My twin sister, Maggie, and I planned joint nuptials at the Double Knot Wedding Ranch on Sanders Mountain. She had second thoughts and bolted during the ceremony, so I was the only one to actually get married that day.”

Nash grinned at Callie over the rim of his iced tea. “That sounds like quite a story.”

Nodding, Callie returned his smile. “Maggie stayed on at the ranch after her failed wedding to work off her debt. Fell in love with their son, Hart Sanders, and his little boy, Henry. And then they eventually tied the knot.” She paused. “Do you know Hart?”

Nash smiled fondly. “We go way back. I used to play with him when I was kid whenever I visited my uncle. Although, I haven’t had a chance to see either Hart or his folks in the two weeks since I’ve been back.”

Callie continued, “Hart’s parents, Frank and Fiona Sanders, hired me to craft a new marketing campaign that involved utilizing social media for their wedding train business. I moved here to do that. Once I finished that, I decided to go into business for myself. Which is why I bought the one hundred acre ranch in the valley between Sanders Mountain and Echols Mountain last summer, and spent the past few months—” and almost all her savings “—turning it into a corporate retreat.”

He regarded her with respect, one business person to another. His glance fell briefly to the rings on her left hand, before returning to her eyes. “How’s that going?” he asked, seeming genuinely interested.

“My first event is a week from today.”

A corner of his mouth twitched. “You’re worried about the noise from the tree-cutting.”

Callie forged ahead. “I advertise a peaceful setting for important meetings. If I don’t deliver that right out of the gate...” She’d be out of business before she even got started.

Nash rubbed a hand across his jaw. He clearly hadn’t shaved since morning, and the evening shadow gave him a sexy, rough-hewn allure. “How many bookings do you have?”

Seeing him push his empty plate and bowl away, Callie got up to cut them all a piece of cake. “I have four events planned from December first to December eleventh.”

He thought a moment. “Are they day-only events?”

“Yes.” Callie resumed her seat. “From eight in the morning till around ten in the evening, although if my clients’ meetings are slow to wrap up, it could run slightly later than that.”

Nash smiled, watching Brian dig into his cake. “I see where you are coming from.” He leaned closer. “But here’s my problem. I have been contracted to deliver four thousand fresh-cut Christmas trees by December seventh. I have a temporary crew of eighteen, coming in to help with the cutting and bundling and delivery, for the next two weeks.” There was a long pause. “However, today, for a lot of reasons, we only managed to get two hundred trees ready to go. And that doesn’t even include possible inclement weather because we can’t cut down trees if it gets too wet. So for me to suspend operations for four whole days—”

“Would likely mean you wouldn’t meet your business goals.”

A quirk of his dark brow. “Unless...”

Trying not to think what his steady appraisal and deep voice did to her, Callie cleared her throat. “What?”

“I’m not sure it would work.” His sensual lips thinned. “But...if I can get the guys to work through the weekends, including Thanksgiving Day, with the promise of equivalent days off during your events...” He paused to look her in the eye. “Would you be willing to bring in Thanksgiving dinner for everyone—if I order it and foot the bill?”

Callie was willing to do whatever necessary to facilitate peace. “I’ll do better than that,” she offered, beyond thrilled that they had found a solution at long last. “I’ll cook. You-all can come to my ranch and have dinner there.”

* * *

“I HAVEN’T SEEN you this excited since the first time you cooked dinner for Seth.”

Callie turned to her twin sister. The six-months pregnant Maggie had come over with her husband, Hart, and their three-year-old son, Henry, to aid in the preparations. Currently, Hart had both Henry and her son, Brian, out riding tricycles on the sidewalk that led from the converted bunkhouse, where the meal was being prepared, to the ranch house, where she and Brian lived.

Callie carved the first of two big roasted turkeys. “The first time I cooked for Seth, it was for just him and me. Tonight, we’re having twenty-four people.” Hardly an intimate setting, even if her meal with Nash three evenings before sort of had been. “So if I seem a little overwrought or whatever, it’s because I’m using this evening as a trial run for my first hosted corporate retreat next week.”

It had nothing to do with the ruggedly handsome man heading up the team of cowboys turned temporary lumberjacks. Or the cozy dinner they’d shared. Or that this somehow carried all the emotional impact of a date. Because she wasn’t dating again for a good long time. If ever.

Maggie stirred the big kettle of gravy on the stove, clearly not buying it. “Hmm.”

“Plus, you know how I like to stay busy during the holidays. It just helps, not having time to think.” Because it was when she let herself ruminate on the events of the past that she felt her mood fall, and she couldn’t let that happen now—not when she had a child depending on her to provide the best holiday ever.

“Furthermore, just because you’re happily married and expecting another baby in the spring, doesn’t mean I need to be doing the same.” Callie finished slicing up the first turkey and started on the second.

Maggie brought out the cranberry relish and dinner rolls, and then carried them to the long plank tables. The scent of sage dressing and freshly mashed potatoes added to the delicious aromas in the air.

“I still think you’re selling yourself short,” Maggie told her. “You’re still young enough to marry again and have another baby or two.”

And Nash Echols was definitely sexy enough, Callie thought. If she were looking for a mate to father more children. Which she wasn’t. “The only things that concern me right now are my son and my business—”

Callie stopped at the sight of the gorgeous man in the kitchen door.

He was dressed pretty much as she’d expected. In dark jeans and a slate-gray shirt that molded his sinewy shoulders and chest and brought out the mesmerizing dark silver of his eyes. His black hair was freshly shampooed and combed, and as he strolled nearer, she caught the tantalizing scent of his aftershave lotion.

“Sorry to interrupt.” Nash Echols nodded at Maggie then turned back to Callie with a genial smile. “Hart said I should just come on in.”

Callie set down the carving knife and fork. Trying not to feel too excited, she wiped her hands on her apron. He was a guest...that was all. “Are the rest of the men here, too?”

His glance moved over her lazily. “They will be momentarily—if you’re ready for us.”

Callie fought back a reaction to all that testosterone. She jerked in a bolstering breath and returned his smile. “We are.”

The question was, was she ready to spend so much time with Nash Echols—even in a group? All he’d done was walk into the spacious bunkhouse and already her heart was going ballistic.

Fortunately, the crew was right behind him.

Clearly not one to simply stand around, Nash took over the rest of the carving, while Callie pulled out big stainless-steel trays of buttermilk mashed potatoes, sweet potato casserole and green beans from the warming ovens. Maggie helped spoon hot food into serving dishes while her husband situated both little boys in booster seats. Their guests all pitched in to carry the food into the dining room.

One by one everyone found a seat. Callie took the head of the table. Nash, who had been busy filling water glasses, paused when it appeared there was only one chair left—at the other end of the long plank table. He lifted a quizzical brow her way. “Will your husband be joining us?” he asked.

* * *

IT WAS A simple question, Nash thought.

One that should have been easy to answer.

Instead, Callie froze as if that were the last thing she had expected to hear. Her twin sister and her husband exchanged long, baffled looks. Then Maggie turned back to Callie, who wasn’t really meeting anyone’s gaze directly, and silently telegraphed something that her twin obviously decided to ignore.

Regaining her composure, Callie flashed an overly bright smile his way. “It’s just us.” She gestured graciously to the chair opposite her. “So if you’ll have a seat, too...”

Which begged the question, Nash thought, where was the elusive Mr. Grimes? Not that anyone else but him seemed intrigued by the matter, as grace was said, the platters of abundant food were passed around and everyone dug in. During the meal—which was, by far, the most delicious Thanksgiving dinner he’d ever had—conversation revolved primarily around the sports teams playing and the results of the games thus far.

Maggie McCabe-Sanders and her husband worked to make sure everyone felt at home. While Callie seemed happy to concentrate on making sure her son got enough to eat, and the serving platters on the table were replenished as often as need be.

Not surprisingly, by the time dessert and coffee were served, the little ones were drooping with fatigue.

Callie looked at her sister. “Would you and Hart mind...?”

Maggie smiled. “Not at all. We’ll take them over to the house and get them into their pajamas.”

The lumberjacks lined up to help clear the table and thank Callie for the amazing dinner, and then they headed over to Nash’s ranch house next door to play cards and watch football.

Finally, it was just Nash and Callie, alone in the bunkhouse kitchen. He surveyed the tall stacks of dirty dishes while Callie picked up her buzzing cell phone. She seemed to want to sink through the floor when she caught a glimpse of the caller ID screen.

Pivoting so her back was to Nash, she said hello. Listened. With a smile in her voice said, “Of course you can. Yes, absolutely. Right now is fine. I’m in the bunkhouse.”

She hung up and immediately punched in another number. “Maggie? You heard...? Oh, good. Can you keep Brian awake? Thanks.” She ended the call and swung back to Nash. Bright color highlighted her elegant cheekbones.

“Company coming?” Like maybe an estranged husband?

She nodded.

“Not to worry,” he said. “I’ll stay here and clean all this up.”

To his surprise, she looked even more panicked. “Not a good idea.”

The evening was getting stranger and stranger. “Why not?”

She bit her lip. “Because—”

The door opened and a couple in their early sixties walked in. Both were eclectically dressed. The woman in a violet cashmere wrap, multicolored flowing skirt and matching blouse. An abundance of costume jewelry, a hammered silver belt and elaborately crafted Western boots completed her free-spirited look. The man wore a tapestry vest shot through with silver and gold threads, band-collared shirt, jeans and boots. A Stetson covered his free-flowing shoulder-length silver hair.

“Darling!” The woman opened her arms. Callie went into them, returning a fiercely affectionate hug, then accepted an equally warm embrace from the man.

“The place looks wonderful!” the older gentleman said.

“This retreat will be the best in Texas within the year,” the woman enthused. “In fact, I’m betting it will be featured in every magazine and newspaper in the state!”

The over-the-top prediction elicited a brief, pained look from Callie. “I’d settle for just a modest success,” she murmured.

“You’re going to do much, much better than that,” the woman insisted. “And in the process, prove all the naysayers who thought you should stay in Laramie, wrapped in widow’s weeds, wrong.”

Widow. Had she said widow?

Nash’s gaze fell to the diamond and engagement rings still sparkling on Callie’s left hand.

Now, this was interesting.

The older woman turned to Nash. “I’m Doris Grimes, by the way. And this is my husband, Rock. We’re Seth’s parents.”

Nash returned the smile and stepped forward to shake hands. “I’m Nash Echols, Callie’s neighbor. My men and I joined Callie and her sister’s family for Thanksgiving dinner.”

Callie waited until the handshaking was concluded, then intervened, “Well, I know you’re anxious to see your grandson,” she told her in-laws, “so you-all go on ahead. I’ll be up at the ranch house as soon as I get things squared away here.”

After she ushered them toward the door, they left.

Nash didn’t utter a single word until Callie turned back around and met his questioning glance. “Widow, hmm?”

Pursing her lips, she angled a thumb at her sternum. “Hey, it’s not my duty to correct any wrong assumptions on your part. Or anyone else’s for that matter.”

“So this is a common ploy? Pretending you’re still married?” To do what? Drag on the grief? Keep from doing what everyone had to do eventually, which was move on...?

Callie’s jaw set stubbornly as she lifted her gaze to his. “I am still married. In my heart. And always will be.”

The way she had inadvertently checked him out when he walked in, and apparently liked what she saw, said otherwise. She was still a woman, and still very much alive in every respect, whether she wanted to admit it or not.

Not about to let her get away with deliberately misleading him, he lifted a brow. “Bull.”

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

He stepped closer, purposefully invading her personal space. “You wear those rings, and let people assume you’re married, to keep guys from hitting on you.”

Callie drew a deep breath and stepped back. Her blue eyes took on a cynical light. “So what if I do? In my situation you probably would, too.”

“I don’t go around misrepresenting myself.”

“Oh, really?” she scoffed. “Because I’m pretty sure you wanted my in-laws to think you were an upstanding Texas gentleman just now.”

“I am an upstanding Texas gentleman.” Even if he had spent the past ten years in the Pacific Northwest.

“Really?” She pushed the words through gritted teeth. “Because I’m pretty sure a real Texas gentleman would not have brought up the fact that I’m a widow when it is clearly a subject I do not wish to discuss.”

He answered her insult with a shrug, but did not disengage their locked gazes. “Fine with me,” he said, just as carelessly. “I can do a search on Google on anything I want to know, anyway.”

Briefly, Callie’s shoulders slumped, but then she pulled herself together. Planted her hands on her slender hips. Stared at him long and hard. “Why are you so darn difficult, anyway?”

Did she really expect him to answer that? Well, turnabout was fair play, and he had a question of his own.

Why was she so damned pretty?

He’d thought she looked good the other day, when she confronted him in the woods, and again when she had showed up at his place, bearing dinner and a sweet demeanor meant to turn him pliable.

Which it had.

But it was nothing compared to the way she looked this evening, in a trim black wool skirt, tights and pleated ivory blouse. The fact she was wearing comfortable leather flats, instead of her usual heeled boots, made the seven-inch height difference between them all the more apparent.

Aware she was still waiting for some explanation as to why he took her deliberate deception so personally, he replied, “I don’t like being lied to.”

And he didn’t like people who hung on to their grief in ways that hurt everyone else around them, either.

Callie stepped closer and leveled a withering glare on his face. “I wasn’t lying.” He challenged her with a raised brow.

Averting her pretty blue gaze, she mumbled, “I just didn’t tell you everything you wanted to know.”

Which, in turn, made him wonder. “And that is...?” he prodded casually.

She whirled away from him in a drift of perfume. “Probably that my husband died a little over three years ago in a car accident. I’d just been married a few months. I was pregnant at the time.”

Nash felt for her. Losing a loved one was always hard. Especially so unexpectedly.

“And then what?” The edge was still in his voice, for a different reason now.

She walked back into the kitchen and, rolling up her sleeves, began loading dishes into the large stainless-steel dishwasher. “My family—my parents mostly—convinced me that I needed to leave Dallas and move back to Laramie, Texas, where I grew up, and be near them.”

He took a stack, as well, and began loading dishes, too.

“And that’s where I was,” Callie continued, with a matter-of-factness that did nothing to disguise the aching loneliness in her eyes. “Until a year and a half ago when I moved here. First as marketing director with the Double Knot Ranch, and then as owner of my own ranch and business. See? Nothing all that exciting about that. ”

Finished with the plates, she began working on glasses, while he began loading the silverware.

Frustrated by her sudden silence, Nash drawled, “Which brings us to yet another problem.”

Callie looked up, the pulse working in her slender throat. She rinsed her hands beneath the faucet. “Really. And what might that be?”

Nash stepped in beside her to do the same. “You’re young. You’re single. You’re gorgeous.” He leaned close enough to draw in a whiff of her hair, which was as enticing as the rest of her. “There damn sure should be something exciting going on in your life.”

Callie straightened slowly.

“Let me guess.” She reached for a paper towel to dry her hands. “You’re just the man to give it to me.”

Nash shut off the water, and once again did the same.

“Well,” he said lazily, wadding up the towel and tossing it into the trash. “Since you asked so nicely.” He smiled broadly. “I just might be.”