Читать книгу A Cowboy Christmas - Janette Kenny - Страница 9

With her first day behind her, and a wedding scheduled to take place a mere week from now, Ellie certainly had her work cut out for her. Thankfully Reid had been content with a breakfast of eggs, bacon and fried potatoes the next morning. The simple fare allowed her to become better acquainted with the banquet range and feed him a meal that wasn’t scorched or undercooked.

The second he left the house, she set her kitchen to rights and then fetched the popcorn popper from the pantry. She dumped a cup of shelled corn in the hopper, slid the wire lid closed, and set it over the hottest part of the stovetop.

As she slid the pan back and forth, Ellie tried to decide on how best to decorate the house. But all she could think about was the way Reid’s mouth had fused to hers. Kissing him in the pantry had been positively stupid. And what had possessed her to eat from his fingers?

Ellie groaned and shook the corn popper a bit faster. She had enough experience to know where a kiss would lead. Yet she’d curled against him and moaned at each heated stroke and bone-melting kiss. Good heavens, she’d acted as wanton as the ancient Roman courtesans she’d read about. She’d been the loose woman she’d instructed young ladies not to be.

He was her employer and she the employee. Never the twain shall join in a compromising situation. Yet she’d done just that.

Well, no more! She was here to spend the holiday with her pa, though that prospect was looking rather dismal at the moment. And she’d given her word that she’d take over Mrs. Leach’s duties in her absence.

She took a critical look at the kitchen. This house wasn’t new by any stretch. The pine floor was weathered in the hall, and there were old scrapes and dings on the wallpaper.

Whoever had built it took care, for it was grander than any house she’d seen in the West. But it clearly lacked a woman’s touch. And not just recently.

She couldn’t see any indication of a woman’s presence anywhere but in the kitchen. And then it was only evident in the floral linens hanging just so, and the single potted plant sitting on the far windowsill.

No, there hadn’t been a woman living here in years—if ever, she thought as the shelled corn began popping in the hopper.

Ellie shifted her thoughts to decorating the house for the holiday wedding. She’d have to ask Reid to cut a tree for her. She’d also need a goodly amount of evergreen boughs. Some pine cones would be nice as well.

When no more corn exploded in the hopper, she carefully slid open the lid and dumped the fluffy, white popped corn into a large bowl. She’d string it and the cranberries later.

For now she needed to find out what all Mrs. Leach had ordered for the occasion. She was pleased by the array of artificial flowers and chenille pom-poms she’d found stored in the pantry.

The scuff of a shoe in the hall snared her attention. She looked up into Hubert’s benign face.

“Is that popping corn I smell?” he asked.

“It is. I just popped some to make string garlands.”

“Ah, pity.” He turned to leave.

“If you want some,” she said on her way into the pantry to fetch the box of decorations, “please, help yourself.”

Surely one older man wouldn’t eat it all. And even if he did, she had a goodly bag left to use for decorations.

Besides, if she was honest with herself, she welcomed the company. She returned with the box just as Hubert took a dish from the cupboard and eased onto the bench nearest the popcorn bowl.

She dug into the items Mrs. Leach had ordered. If she was lucky, there was enough so Ellie could fashion several nice sprays and festoons for the holiday wedding.

“Do you know how long Mr. Barclay has lived here?” she asked Hubert as she plucked another white chenille dove from the box and placed it with the others on the table.

“For nearly fourteen years,” he said. “Mr. Morris had the house built then to his specifications shortly after he purchased the land. He and the lads moved in before winter.”

She continued sorting the decorations in the box as if she wasn’t dying to know how Reid Barclay came to live with a man named Morris. Was he a relative? A friend?

One thing was clear. Hubert had been here too.

“Am I correct to guess you worked for Mr. Morris for quite some time?” she asked.

“Indeed so. I was in his employ for nearly thirty years.” Hubert lifted his chin as if proud he’d worked for one man for so long.

Reid Barclay was either that age or close to it, she suspected. No doubt Hubert could pinpoint Reid’s age.

Ellie bit her lip as curiosity goaded her to ask the older gent to tell her more about his time under Morris’s employ. But she was treading a fine line between congenial conversation between employees and out-and-out snooping on her part.

Annoyance skipped up her limbs. She’d instructed her students many times to exercise patience in all things, but she was having a deuced time applying what she’d preached. In fact, she couldn’t remember when she’d been so bitten by curiosity to the point of shunning good behavior.

So she opted to voice the truth. “I’m afraid I’m totally confused, for I’ve no idea who Mr. Morris or the lads are, or how any of them are related to Mr. Barclay.”

Hubert lifted his droll gaze to her. “It is a bit of a jumble to grasp.” Instead of explaining, he crossed to the range and put on the teakettle. “Would you care for a spot of tea?”

“That would be nice,” she replied, when she really wanted him to tell her more about her enigmatic employer.

“I will admit there were times during my employ when our roles blurred and Mr. Morris was more friend than employer.”

“That’s to be expected when you live with a person for that long,” she said, and wondered what excuse she could drum up that would explain why she was in the pantry with Reid yesterday eating molasses pie off his fingers.

Hubert actually smiled. “Indeed so. I was not at all pleased when he told me he was coming to America for an adventure, but I tagged along just the same.”

“Do you regret it?”

“There have been moments when I questioned my decision, as well as those living on this ranch,” he said, his brow creasing as he carefully poured a cup of tea.

She wanted to press him to explain, but the impatient stride of footfalls in the hall warned her to hold her silence. She reached into the box of decorations just as Reid stepped into the kitchen.

He glanced from the table strewn with an array of faux flower sprays and fruit clusters to her face. “I smelled popcorn.”

So much for using it to start a garland. “Help yourself.”

Reid wasted no time dropping onto the bench beside Hubert and scooping up a handful of popped corn. He ate with relish, and for a moment she almost caught a glimpse of a hungry little boy ravenously devouring a treat.

She shook her head and went back to sorting the decorations. “I am glad you popped in because I need to ask you about the larger decorations.”

One dark eyebrow veed over a piercing blue eye. “Go on.”

“It’s about the tree,” she said.

“What tree?” he asked.

She rolled her eyes. “The Christmas tree. I think it should be a tall one, say six foot at least. I’ll also need a selection of boughs for swags and decorations.”

He shrugged and fished out another handful of popped corn. “I thought folks put the tree up on Christmas Eve?”

“Well, yes, traditionally,” she said. “But since you are getting married on Christmas Eve, it should be done before then.”

“Fine. We’ll set it up the day before.”

She flattened her palms on the table and leaned a bit toward him to draw his attention away from the popcorn. “That’s still waiting too long.”

“Just when did you want to put it up?” he asked, rocking back and locking his arms over his chest as if displeased by her input.

“Today,” she said, earning her a dismissive snort from Reid and a cough from Hubert.

The old butler recovered his manners first. “That would be seven days before the holiday, Miss Cade.”

“I can count,” she said. “Setting it up now would put us all in the holiday spirit that much sooner.”

Reid’s dark gaze skewered her with such icy dismissal that she shivered. “It’s going to take a helluva lot more than a tree dressed up in ribbons, fruit and tin ornaments to put me in the holiday spirit.”

She pursed her lips and counted to ten, then added another ten before she felt marginally in control. “It’s your wedding, Mr. Barclay. I’m sure your bride would appreciate it if you showed a bit of enthusiasm for the celebration.”

He shoved to his feet, jaw anvil-hard and shoulders racked tight. “I didn’t pick the woman or the day, so don’t expect me to get heated up over it all.”

With that, he stormed out of the kitchen and down the hall, his bootheels striking the hardwood floor like gunshots. He marched into his office and slammed the door so hard the windowpanes rattled.

She blew out an exasperated breath. “Is he always this intractable?”

“He’s often far worse,” Hubert said and without another word of explanation, took himself off as well.

Ellie dropped onto the bench and cradled her aching head. She couldn’t imagine anyone forcing Reid Barclay to do anything he didn’t want to do. Certainly not marriage.

Memories of their interlude in the pantry taunted her. Of course. He must have taken liberties with a lady and her family was forcing him to do the honorable thing.

If that was the case, how very sad for both of them.

However, that was even more reason to make the house as festive and cheery as possible. Despite the fact that Reid was playing the part of a curmudgeon, she felt it her duty as housekeeper to create a pleasant atmosphere for the bride.

With renewed purpose, Ellie set about making a list of what she’d need to turn this drab house into a sparkling jewel for the holiday wedding. Christmas was the most wondrous time of the year.

She loved this season. She loved her pa and was not going to let his cold reception darken her spirits or deter her. And she certainly wasn’t going to allow herself to get moon-eyed over the groom ever again.

Reid sat at his desk drumming impatient fingers on the smooth surface. He should be drafting a letter to the potential buyer for his yearling thoroughbreds to confirm if the man was still interested. Instead, he was stewing over that confrontation with Miss Ellie Jo Cade.

She was a pushy one.

What the hell made her think that cluttering his house up with decorations would brighten his mood? Nothing was going to do that. Not whiskey. Not a willing woman. Not even the probability of him gaining his freedom by chucking it all here and now.

He was damned. Simple as that. When he looked in the mirror, he saw the man who’d betrayed the only friends he had by trusting Burl Erston to save his hide from hanging, and the ranch from bankruptcy. He saw a young woman lying in the street, dead. He saw the trust in his benefactor’s eyes long after Reid had broken his promise to him by landing them all in this fix.

Burl Erston believed he had Reid over a barrel, that he was forcing his hand now. But the man couldn’t be more wrong.

Reid’s conscience was driving him to marry Cheryl. It had goaded him into letting it be known that he was back on the Crown Seven and was ready to face Dade and Trey, and anyone else he’d wronged.

He’d be a married man in seven days. God help him.

He scrubbed a hand over his nape and swore. Cheryl would be here any day now. Though it pained him to admit it, Miss Cade was right about one thing.

The house ought to look festive and welcoming for Cheryl. He owed that much to her, and to her father.

He pushed to his feet and headed across the room. Hell, with his luck, Miss Cade was one of them that went caroling.

He found her in the parlor, staring at the room and tapping a finger on her tooth. In fact she was so deep in thought he was sure she hadn’t heard him come in.

He should’ve known better.

“If you’ve come to apologize for that tyrannical act earlier,” she said, still not looking at him, “then I accept.”

His fingers fisted, but he slammed a lid on his irritation and proceeded with why he’d sought her out. “You want to go with me when I cut down your pine tree?”

That brought her gaze to his. “You’re willing to take me along to pick it out?”

That wasn’t what he’d said or meant, but what the hell. A tree was a tree to him.

“Might as well get what you want,” he said. “I figured if we left now we’d be back in time for dinner.”

Her narrow shoulders drooped. “If I go, who will prepare your dinner?”

“I can grab a bite with the men,” he said, nearly losing his train of thought as he caught the excitement in her eyes. “Hubert can fend for himself once.”

“Excellent!” She hurried into the hall. “I’ll just be a moment grabbing my cloak.”

He smiled at her enthusiasm and headed toward the back door. “I’ll hitch up the sleigh and meet you around back.”

Reid shrugged into his sheepskin coat and pushed outside. He wasn’t going to question the wisdom in going off alone with Miss Cade. Nope, he knew why he wanted to get her alone, and it didn’t have a thing to do with collecting greenery or a tree.

By the time he readied the sleigh and headed toward the house, Miss Cade was waiting for him on the terrace. He started to get out to help her in, but she waved away his help.

“I can manage,” she said, and matched action to words.

He settled the heavy buffalo robe over her lap, then gave the lines a snap. Bells jingled as the sleigh took off with a slight jerk.

“Will we have to go far to find a good tree?” she asked.

He motioned to the mountains in the near distance. “A good fifteen-minute drive there and back. Should be able to find a decent tree in no time.”

Forty minutes later Reid was chewing on those words and not liking the taste one damned bit. Miss Cade wasn’t just wanting a nice six-foot tree. She was determined to find the perfect pine tree among the hundreds here.

He stamped his cold feet and glared at her. “What’s wrong with this one?”

She gave it a critical eye. “It’s a bit sparse.”

So was his patience. “Won’t that give you more space for decorations and such?”

“I suppose it could.” She turned away from him and walked off. “This one has possibilities.”

Reid swallowed a curse and stomped over to her, hoping to hell she’d finally found the right tree. “You want this one?”

“I’m thinking.”

“That’s what I get for hauling you along,” he muttered under his breath.

She shot him a damning glare, then turned her attention back to the tree. “Look! It’s got pinecones on it.”

“That good or bad?” he asked, because if she wanted them off there, he’d be more than happy to oblige her.

Anything to get her to pick a damned tree so he could cut it down and get back to the ranch before they both froze to death.

“I like them,” she said at last, and then favored him with such a bright smile that he damned near forgot to breathe. “This is the one.”

Reid tore his gaze from her and stared at the tree that looked no different than the other pines dotting this slope. Hell, there was just no figuring how a woman’s mind worked.

He dropped on his knees and scraped the snow away from the tree so he could get to the trunk. Even then he had to lie on his gut so he could cut it down close to the ground like she wanted.

He gritted his teeth against the cold and wet seeping into his bones, but the work kept his mind off the enticing woman standing far too close to him. But not for long.

In no time, he’d chopped down the tree and had it loaded on the sleigh. It was just him and her and wild thoughts about getting warm under a buffalo robe.

“Let’s get back to the ranch.”

“Wait! I need evergreen boughs for my festoons,” she said.

Damn! Thoughts of her haggling over which boughs to cut made his head pound.

“How many?” he heard himself ask and wondered if the cold had frozen his brain.

She frowned, and he knew before she spoke that he wasn’t going to like her answer one little bit. “At least two dozen.”

“Let’s make this easy and chop down another tree.”

“I suppose that’s the wisest thing,” she said, but he was already in the process of cutting another pine half as big as the first one.

That ought to give her enough evergreen to cover every shelf in his house.

His fingers were stiff and numb by the time he hefted the second tree onto the back of the sleigh. “Now can we go home?”

“We certainly can,” she said, and her wistful smile wasn’t lost on him.

Once she was settled in the sleigh, he climbed in beside her and clapped his hands in an attempt to thaw them some. Bits of ice flew everywhere.

“Good heavens, why didn’t you tell me your hands were near freezing?” she asked.

He frowned. “They aren’t that bad.”

She gave an unladylike snort and grabbed his hands, sending pinpricks dancing over his palms. “They’re like ice, but at least they aren’t wet through.”

“More reason to head home now.” Because sitting in a sleigh with her holding his hands was heating him up below the belt.

“We will once we take the chill off your hands,” she said, and before he could voice an objection, she tugged his gloved hands between her thighs and clamped them tight like a vise to heaven.

At least a heaven he longed to see and feel and taste.

His heart stuttered to a stop while his mind raced with what she’d boldly done. She couldn’t be that naïve, but the concern in her expressive eyes and the firming of her kissable mouth proved she was dead serious about warming his hands.

They still felt like chunks of ice, but the rest of him was heating up damned fast. Didn’t matter that even if he had feeling in his fingers besides pins and needles, there was yards of petticoats and stiff skirt that barred him from stroking her skin.

That’s what he longed to do. It’d been a long time since he’d felt this pull toward a woman. It was so strong he didn’t think about anything but satisfying his baser needs. It was so powerful he damn near forgot his vow to marry Cheryl.

He should have pulled his hands from her then and there, for fat flakes of snow had begun falling again. Instead, he curled his fingers around her thighs.

She stiffened, and that jolt of awareness shot from her into him. Her eyes were huge and turning smoky and clearly surprised that something she’d started with innocent intentions was fast turning intimate.

“I want you,” he said, intrigued by the snow that caught on her hair, her thickly curled lashes, her full ripe lips.

She swallowed, and the pulse in her neck warbled. “You can’t. You’re engaged.”

“That doesn’t stop the wanting.”

He leaned close to steal a kiss, pausing long enough for her to pull away from him. But she didn’t move. She just stared at him with those big eyes full of wonder and passion.

His head dipped to hers, and he kissed the snow from her eyes, her nose, before settling over her mouth. Hers trembled slightly, and he felt that hesitation clear to his soul.

A gentleman would have ended it now. He should’ve apologized for his boldness. For taking advantage of the situation.

But Reid was no gentleman.

He was a bastard, and he intended to take all that Ellie Jo Cade was willing to give him. Still, he kept his hands trapped between her thighs amid all that fabric that deprived him of exploring her as he longed to do.

There was something wickedly alluring about just kissing her. It seemed more intimate, like a stolen moment that was as fresh as the new-fallen snow.

She tasted of frosty winters and just a hint of spice. She was the dessert he’d hungered for. He damn sure wasn’t going to content himself with a sampling.

He deepened the kiss, and she leaned into him and moaned as if welcoming him home. He took his time, his tongue coaxing hers to duel, their breaths mingling as one.

But what jolted through him like lightning and set his blood on fire was when her hands stole onto his thigh. She didn’t squeeze or stroke or rub him. Just let her small, gloved hand rest on his leg. But that connection was the most erotic thing he’d felt in ages.

Sweat gathered on his brow and his crotch got a bit tighter than comfort allowed. This was do-or-die time. He’d have to take her here in the sleigh, or stop kissing her.

She pulled away from him, her eyes drowsy and her lips red and plumped from his kisses. “Please. We have to go home.”

He wanted to read more into it, but she wasn’t making any assignation for later. They’d had their stolen moment, and he suspected she’d agonize over what they’d done.

Not him.

He wanted her, and if the opportunity arose, he’d take her next time.