Книга - A Texas Cowboy’s Christmas

A Texas Cowboy's Christmas
Cathy Gillen Thacker


A GIFT AS BIG AS TEXASMolly Griffith is ambitious, and only wants to give her little boy the opportunities she never had. Which means moving to Dallas, no matter what Chance Lockhart says! Though being with the handsome rancher does make the idea of small town life more tempting…Molly has always gotten under Chance’s skin, and now that he’s bonded with her little tyke he can’t imagine Bullhaven Ranch without them. But the single mom is so focused on her big city fairy tale, she could miss Chance’s offer of the most important gift of all—the love and support of a real family.







A GIFT AS BIG AS TEXAS

Molly Griffith is ambitious and only wants to give her little boy the opportunities she never had. Which means moving to Dallas, no matter what Chance Lockhart says! Though being with the handsome rancher does make the idea of small-town life more tempting…

Molly has always gotten under Chance’s skin, and now that he’s bonded with her little tyke, he can’t imagine Bullhaven Ranch without them. But the single mom is so focused on her big-city fairy tale, she could miss Chance’s offer of the most important gift of all—the love and support of a real family.


“I want my little boy to grow up being practical! Unlike certain idiot cowboys who shall remain nameless.”

There Molly went with the insults again, but it was better than dealing with the attraction they felt whenever they were together.

“I think I might know who you’re talking about.” Rubbing his jaw in a parody of thoughtfulness, he drawled, “That rancher brother of mine—not too bright, is he?”

Molly made a strangled sound deep in her throat. She put her hand on the center of his chest and gave a small, purposeful shove. “I’m talking about you, you big lug.”

Delighted by her unwillingness to give any ground to him, he captured her hand and held it over his heart. “Ah. Endearments.” He sighed with comically exaggerated dreaminess.

“You’re playing with fire here, cowboy.”

He grinned mischievously. “The kind of fire that leads to a kiss?”

Molly snorted. “The kind that leads to me hauling off and kicking you right in the shin!”

It was good to know he could get to her this much...because she sure got to him.


A Texas Cowboy’s Christmas

Cathy Gillen Thacker






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


CATHY GILLEN THACKER is married and a mother of three. She and her husband spent eighteen years in Texas and now reside in North Carolina. Her mysteries, romantic comedies and heartwarming family stories have made numerous appearances on bestseller lists, but her best reward, she says, is knowing one of her books made someone’s day a little brighter. A popular Mills & Boon author for many years, she loves telling passionate stories with happy endings and thinks nothing beats a good romance and a hot cup of tea! You can visit Cathy’s website, www.cathygillenthacker.com (http://www.cathygillenthacker.com), for more information on her upcoming and previously published books, recipes and a list of her favorite things.


Contents

Cover (#ud42410fe-96a7-5e85-9c4c-820521d0dcca)

Back Cover Text (#u478b148d-ebe8-53da-802a-c650dba37837)

Introduction (#u84be864f-900a-599a-a765-de683e87ef0e)

Title Page (#u41b87b58-3b75-591f-be2c-2eca9993abd1)

About the Author (#u11c4c4d8-b424-55ce-93d9-918fb8ac8dd8)

Chapter One (#ucd07ed8d-ed2a-5fc0-b3a5-815429a9b022)

Chapter Two (#uf4ac1786-a0db-5e01-a231-0994bd46833c)

Chapter Three (#ud84153b7-0e3e-551b-9fee-285f2d2758de)

Chapter Four (#u7a829090-1958-5f0a-adf1-938fd086af84)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#u982082ef-b2f2-5b56-a1e1-45ec4787a150)

“I blame you for this, Chance Lockhart!” Molly Griffith fumed the moment she came toe-to-toe with him just inside the open-air bucking-bull training facility of Bullhaven Ranch.

Chance set down the saddle and blanket he’d been carrying. With a wicked grin, he pushed the brim of his hat back and paused to take her in. No doubt about it—the twenty-seven-year-old general contractor/interior designer was never lovelier than when she was in a temper. With her amber eyes blazing, her pretty face flushed with indignant color and her auburn curls wildly out of place, she looked as if she were ripe for taming.

Luckily for both of them, he was too smart to succumb to the challenge.

His gaze drifted over her, taking in her designer jeans and peacock-blue boots, before moving upward to the white silk shirt and soft suede blazer that cloaked her curvy frame.

Damn, she was sexy, though. From the half-moon pendant that nestled in the hollow of her breasts to the voluptuous bounty of her bow-shaped lips.

Exhaling slowly, he tamped down his desire and prompted in a lazy drawl, “Blame me for what?”

Molly propped her hands on her hips. “For telling my son, Braden, he can have a live bull for Christmas!”

Somehow Chance managed not to wince at the huffy accusation. He set down the saddle and narrowed his eyes instead. “That’s not exactly what I said.”

Molly moved close enough he could inhale her flowery perfume, her breasts rising and falling with every deep, agitated breath. “Did you or did you not tell him that Santa could bring him a bull?”

Chance shrugged, glad for the brisk November breeze blowing over them. Still holding Molly’s eyes, he rocked back on the heels of his worn leather work boots. “I said he could ask Santa for a bull.”

Molly harrumphed and folded her arms beneath her breasts, the action plumping them up all the more. “Exactly!”

Working to slow his rising pulse, Chance lowered his face to hers and explained tautly, “That doesn’t mean Santa is going to bring it.”

Chance picked up the gear, slung it over one shoulder and stalked toward the ten-by-ten metal holding pen, where a two-year-old Black Angus bull named Peppermint was waiting.

One of the heirs to his retired national championship bucking bull, Mistletoe, he bore the same steady temperament, lively personality and exceptional athletic ability of his daddy.

After easing open the gate, Chance stepped inside.

Aware Molly was still watching his every move, he proceeded to pet the young bull in training. Once gentled, he set the saddle on Peppermint’s back.

Swallowing nervously at the thousand-pound bull, Molly stepped back. With an indignant toss of her head, she continued her emotional tirade. “You really don’t have a clue how all this works, do you?”

Chance sighed as he tightened the cinch and led Peppermint into the practice chute, closing the gate behind him. “I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.”

Molly watched him climb the side rails and secure a dummy on the saddle via electronically controlled buckles.

Feeling the unwelcome extra weight, Peppermint began to snort and paw the ground within the confines of the chute.

Even though she was in no danger, Molly retreated even farther. “A child writes a letter to Santa, asking for his most precious gift. Then Santa brings it.”

Chance plucked the remote control out of his pocket. “That wasn’t how it worked in my home.” He signaled to his hired hand Billy to take his position at the exit gate on the other side of the practice ring. “I remember asking Santa for a rodeo for my backyard in Dallas. Guess what?” He shot her a provoking look that started at her face and moved languidly over her voluptuous body before returning to her eyes. “It didn’t happen.”

Molly rolled her eyes, still staying clear of the snorting, increasingly impatient Peppermint. Digging her boots into the ground, she fired back, “I cannot help it if your mother and father did not appropriately censure your wishes in advance.”

Chance hit the control. Immediately, the sound of a rodeo crowd filled the practice arena. He released the gate, and Peppermint, tired of confinement, went barreling into the ring.

For the next few seconds, he bucked hard to the right and came down. Went up and down in the middle, then bucked to the left.

And still the crowd sounds filled the air.

Adding to the excitement, as Peppermint bucked higher and higher...and seeing the kind of athletic movement he wanted, Chance rewarded the bull with the release of the dummy.

It went flying. And landed facedown in the dirt.

Billy whistled.

Peppermint turned and followed the waving Billy out the exit gate and into another pen, where he would receive a treat for his performance.

Chance cut the crowd sounds on the intercom system. Silence fell in the arena once again, and Chance lifted a hand. “Thanks, Billy!”

“No problem, boss!” he replied before going off to see to the bucking bull.

Molly said, looking impressed despite herself, “Is that how you train them?”

“Yep.”

“Too bad no one can train you.”

“Really? That’s juvenile, even for you, Molly.”

He knew where it came from, though. She brought out the irascible teenager in him, too.

Chance went back into the barn, checking on his thirty bucking bulls, safely ensconced in their individual ten-by-ten metal pens, then took a visual of those in the pastures. Finished, he strode across the barnyard to a smaller facility, where his national champion was kept.

Mistletoe’s private quarters, his ranch office, veterinary exam, lab and breeding chute, and equipment facility were all there. All were state-of-the-art and a testament to what he had built.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Molly said, dogging his every step. “But I’m trying to help my son be realistic here.”

Chance paused to pet Mistletoe. The big bucking bull had a little gray on his face these days, but he was still pleasant as ever to be around. “Is that what you’re doing for Braden?” He gave his beloved Black Angus one last rub before turning back to Molly. “Helping him temper his expectations? Or censuring all his dreams?”

Molly muttered something he was just as glad not to be able to understand, then threw up her hands in exasperation.

“I want my little boy to grow up being practical!”

Chance spun around, and she followed him back down the center aisle. “Unlike certain idiot cowboys who shall remain nameless.”

There she went with the insults again, but it was better than dealing with the smoldering attraction they felt whenever they were together.

Chance paused at the sink in the tack room to wash and dry his hands, then walked out to join her. Saw her shiver in the brisk, wintry air.

Aware the day looked a lot warmer than it actually was, he turned away from the evidence of her chill and drawled, “I think I might know who you’re talking about.” Rubbing his jaw in a parody of thoughtfulness, he stepped purposefully into her personal space.

Watching her amber eyes widen, he continued, “That rancher brother of mine, Wyatt, down the road. None too bright, is he?”

Molly made a strangled sound deep in her throat. Rather than step away, she put her hand on the center of his chest and gave him a small, equally purposeful shove. “I’m talking about you, you big lug.”

Delighted by her unwillingness to give any ground to him, he captured her hand before she could snatch it away and held it over his heart. “Ah. Endearments.” He sighed with comically exaggerated dreaminess.

Temper spiking even more, she tried, unsuccessfully, to extricate her fingers from his. “You’re playing with fire here, cowboy.”

So he was. But then he had to do something with all the aggravation she caused him. And had been causing, if truth be known, for quite some time.

He let his grin widen, surveying her indignant expression. Dropping his head, he taunted softly, “The kind of fire that leads to a kiss?”

“The kind that leads to me hauling off and kicking you right in the shin!”

It was good to know he could get to her this much. Because she sure got to him. The pressure building at the front of his jeans told him that.

He lowered his lips to hers. “Didn’t your parents ever tell you that you can catch more flies with sugar than spite?”

Abruptly Molly’s face paled.

Too late, he realized he should have bothered to find out what kind of life she’d had as a kid before hurling that particular insult.

She drew a deep breath. Serious now. Subdued.

Aware he’d hurt her—without meaning to—he let her hand go.

She stepped back. Regaining her composure, she lifted her chin and said in a solemn tone, “I want you to talk to Braden. Tell him you were wrong. Santa doesn’t bring little boys live bulls.”

At that particular moment, he thought he would do just about anything for her. Probably would have, if she hadn’t been so socially and monetarily ambitious and so out of touch regarding what really mattered in life, same as his ex.

But Molly was. So...

Exploring their attraction would lead only to misery.

For all their sakes, Chance put up the usual barbed wire around his heart. “Why can’t you tell him?” he asked with an indifferent shrug. “You’re Braden’s momma, after all.” And, from all he’d seen, misguided goals aside, a damn good one.

Molly’s lower lip trembled, and she threw up her hands in frustration. “I have told him! He won’t believe me. Braden says that you’re the cowboy, and you know everything, and you said it was okay. And that’s what he wants me to write in his letter to Santa, and I cannot let him ask Saint Nick for that, only to have his little heart broken.”

She had a point about that, Chance realized guiltily. He’d hate to see the little tyke, who also happened to be the spitting image of his mother, disappointed.

Sobering, he asked, “What do you want Braden to have?”

Molly’s features softened in relief. “The Leo and Lizzie World Adventure wooden train set.” She pulled a magazine article out of her back pocket that listed the toy as the most wanted preschool-age present for the holiday that year. Featuring train characters from a popular animated kids’ television show, the starter set was extremely elaborate. Which was no surprise. Since Molly Griffith was known for her big ambitions and even more expensive tastes.

It made sense she would want the same for her only child.

Even if Braden would be happier playing with a plastic toy bull. Or horse...

Sensing she wanted his approval, Chance shrugged. Wary of hurting her feelings—again—he mumbled, “Looks nice.”

As if sensing his attitude was not quite genuine, she frowned. “It will bring Braden hours of fun.”

Enough to justify the cost? he wondered, noting the small wooden pieces were ridiculously overpriced—even if they were in high demand. He squinted at her. “Are you sure you don’t work for the toy company?”

She scowled at his joke but came persuasively closer, even more serious now. “Please, Chance. I’m begging you.”

This is new, Chance thought, surprised.

He actually kind of liked her coming to him for help.

She spread her hands wide, turning on the full wattage of maternal charm. “Braden just turned three years old. It’s the first Christmas holiday he’s likely to ever remember. I really want it to be special.” She paused and took a deep breath that lifted the lush softness of her breasts. “You have to help me talk sense into my son.”

* * *

FOR A BRIEF MOMENT, Molly thought she had finally gotten through to the impossibly handsome cowboy.

Then he folded his brawny arms across his broad chest and let out a sigh that reverberated through his six-foot-three-inch frame. Intuitive hazel eyes lassoed hers. “I want to help you.”

Pulse racing, Molly watched as he swept off his black Stetson and shoved a hand through the rumpled strands of his thick chestnut-colored hair. “But?”

Frowning, he settled his hat squarely on his head. “I can’t do to your son what my parents did to me.”

“And what was that?” she asked curiously.

“Try and censor and mold his dreams—to suit your wishes instead of Braden’s.”

Had Lucille and the late Frank Lockhart done that to Chance? The grim set of his lips seemed to say so. But that had nothing to do with her or Braden.

Molly stepped closer, invading his space. With a huff, she planted both hands on her waist and accused, “You just started this calamity to get under my skin.”

His sexy grin widened. “I was already under your skin,” he reminded her, tilting his head to one side.

True, unfortunately. Molly did her best to stifle a sigh while still stubbornly holding her ground. She wished he didn’t radiate such endless masculine energy or look so ruggedly fit in his gray plaid flannel shirt and jeans. Never mind have such a sexy smile and firm, sensual lips...

She could barely look at him and not wonder what it would be like to kiss him.

Just as an experiment, of course.

“So you’re really not going to help me?”

Chance’s brow lifted. “Convince him he doesn’t want to be a cowboy when he grows up? And have a ranch like mine that has all bulls on it? Or get a head start on it by getting his first livestock now?” His provoking grin widened. “No. I’m not going to do any of that. I will, however, try to talk him into getting a baby calf. Since females are a lot more docile than males.”

“Ha-ha.”

“I wasn’t talking about you,” he claimed with choirboy innocence.

Yeah...right. When they were together like this, everything was about the two of them.

Molly shut her eyes briefly and rubbed at the tension in her temples. With effort, she forced her attention back to her child’s fervent wish to be a rancher, just like “Cowboy Chance.” Who was, admittedly, the most heroic-looking figure her son had ever had occasion to meet.

Trying not to think about what a dashing figure he cut, Molly turned her glance toward the storm clouds building on the horizon. It wasn’t supposed to rain for another day or two, but it looked like it now. “I live in town, remember? I don’t have any place to keep a baby calf.”

Chance shrugged. “So ask my mother to pasture it at the Circle H Ranch. You’re there enough anyway.”

Molly wheeled around and headed back to the driveway next to the log-cabin-style Bullhaven ranch house, where she had parked her sporty red SUV. “Even if that were a plausible solution, which it’s not, Braden and I aren’t going to be here past the first week of January.”

Squinting curiously, he matched his strides to hers. “How come?”

Trying not to notice how he towered over her, or how much she liked it, Molly fished her keys out of her jacket pocket. “Not that it’s any of your business, but we’re moving to Dallas.”

Chance paused next to her vehicle. “To be closer to Braden’s daddy?”

Her heart panged in her chest. If only her little boy had a father who wanted his child in his life. But he didn’t, so...

There was no way she was talking to Chance Lockhart about the most humiliating mistake she’d ever made. Or the fact that her ill-conceived liaison had unexpectedly led to the best thing in her life, a family of her very own. Molly hit the button on the keypad and heard the click of the driver-side lock releasing. “No.”

“No, that’s not why you’re moving?”

He came close enough she could smell the soap and sun and man fragrance of his skin.

Awareness shimmered inside her.

He watched her open the door. “Or no, that’s not what you want—to be closer to your ex?”

Heavens, the man was annoying!

Figuring this was the time to go on record with her goals—and hence vanquish his mistaken notions about her once and for all—Molly lifted her gaze to his. “What I want is for my son to grow up with all the advantages I never had.” Braden, unlike her, would want for nothing.

Except maybe a daddy in his life.

Not that she could fix that.

Chance’s lip curled in contempt. “Ah, yes, back to social climbing.”

He wasn’t the only one who misinterpreted the reason behind her quest to get an in with every mover and shaker in the area. And beyond...

But for some reason, Chance Lockhart’s contempt rankled.

Which was another reason to set him—and everyone else in Laramie County who misread her—straight. “Look, I don’t expect you to understand. You having grown up with a silver spur in your mouth and all.”

He grinned.

“But not all of us have had those advantages.”

His hazel eyes sparkled, the way they always did when he got under her skin. “Like?”

“Private school, for one.”

Chance remained implacable. “They have private schools in Laramie County.”

“Not like the ones in Dallas.”

He squinted in disapproval. “Which is where you want him to go.”

Stubbornly, Molly held her ground. “If Braden attends the right preschool, he can get into the right elementary, then middle, then prep. From there, go on to an elite college.”

Chance poked the brim of his hat up with one finger. “I’m guessing you aren’t talking about anything in the University of Texas system.”

Molly studied the frayed collar on Chance’s flannel shirt, the snug worn jeans and run-of-the-mill leather belt. It was clear he didn’t care about appearances. Coming from his background, he did not have to. “If Braden goes to an Ivy League school, the world is his oyster.”

Chance rested his brawny forearm on the roof of her SUV. “I can see you’ve got it all mapped out.”

Molly tried not to notice how well he filled out his ranching clothes. “Yes, unlike you, Braden is going to take advantage of all the opportunities I plan to see come his way.”

“How does Braden feel about all this?” Chance asked, not bothering to hide his frustration with her.

Had Molly not known better, she would have thought that the irascible cowboy did not want her to leave Laramie County. But that was ridiculous. The two of them couldn’t get gas at the same filling station at the same time without getting into a heated argument. More likely, Chance would be delighted to see her depart. “My son is three.”

“Meaning you haven’t told him.”

“He has no concept of time.”

“So, in other words, no.”

“I will, once Christmas is over,” Molly maintained. She moved as if to get in her vehicle, but Chance remained where he was, his big, imposing body blocking the way.

“Has it occurred to you that you’re getting ahead of yourself with all your plans to better educate and monetarily and socially provide for your son?”

Chance wasn’t the first to tell her so.

She hadn’t listened to anyone else.

And she wasn’t about to listen to him, either.

Ducking beneath his outstretched arm, she slid behind the steering wheel. Bending her head, she put the key in the ignition. “What I think is that one day, my son will be very grateful to me for doing all that I can to ensure his dreams come true,” she retorted defensively.

Chance leaned down so they were face-to-face. “Except, of course, ones that have to do with livestock.”

What is it about this man? Molly fumed inwardly. He not only provoked her constantly—he had the potential to derail her at every turn, just by existing!

Pretending his attempts to delay her so they could continue their argument were not bothering her in the least, Molly flashed a confident smile. “You’re right,” she admitted with a sugary-sweet attitude even he would have to find laudable. “I have gotten way, way off track.”

He chuckled. “Back to train analogies?”

She gave him a quelling look.

He lifted an exaggeratedly apologetic hand. “I know. Even some of us big, dumb cowpokes who passed on Ivy League educations know a few big words.”

She’d heard Chance had been just as much of a problem to his wealthy parents growing up as he was to her now. “How about ‘aggravate’?” She looked him square in the eye. “Do you know what that means?”

He grinned. “I think that’s what I do to you, on a daily, hourly, basis?”

So true. Molly drew a calming breath. She started the ignition, then motioned for him to step away. When he did, she put her window down. “I’m going to be at the Circle H this afternoon, meeting with your mother about the proposed kitchen renovation.”

“Well, what do you know,” he rumbled with a maddeningly affable shrug. “I will be, too.”

She ignored the fact that their two contracting companies were competing for the renovation job. “Braden will be with me. It’s your chance to make things right with my son. Please, Chance.” She paused to let her words sink in. “Don’t let us down.”

* * *

IF MOLLY HADN’T framed it quite like that, maybe he could have bailed. But she had, so at five past three Chance found himself driving up the lane to the Circle H ranch house.

Molly’s SUV was already on-site. She and her son, Braden, were by the pasture, where a one-week-old Black Angus was pastured with his momma. Little arms on the middle rung of the fence, Braden was staring, mesmerized, at the sight of the nursing bull.

“Can I pet him?” Braden asked as Chance strolled up to join them.

Her pretty face pinched with tension, Molly shook her head.

Chance hunkered down beside Braden. The little tyke had the same curly red hair, cute-as-a-button features and amber eyes as his mother. “Petting the bull would scare it, buddy, and we don’t want that, do we?”

Balking, Braden bartered, “I know gentle. Mommy showed me.” Realizing Chance didn’t quite understand what he was saying, Braden continued with a demonstration of easy petting. “Kitty cat—gentle. Puppy—gentle. Babies—gentle.”

“Ah. You’re very gentle with all of those things,” Chance concluded.

Braden nodded importantly. “Mommy showed me.”

“Well, listen, buckaroo,” Chance continued, still hunkered down so he and Braden were eye to eye. “It’s always good to be gentle,” he said kindly. “And it’s great to be able to see a real baby bull.”

Braden beamed. “I like bulls!”

“The thing is, Santa doesn’t really have any bulls to bring to little boys,” Chance told him, quashing the kid’s dreams against his better judgment.

“Uh-huh! At the North Pole,” Braden said. “Santa has everything!”

“No.” Chance shook his head sadly but firmly. He looked the little boy in the eye. “There aren’t any bulls at the North Pole.”

Mutinously, Braden folded his little arms across his chest. “Santa bring me one,” he reiterated stubbornly.

Out of the corner of Chance’s eye, he saw Molly’s stricken expression. Yeah. She pretty much wanted to let him have it. Given the unforeseen way things were developing, he could hardly blame her.

“For Christmas,” Braden added for good measure, in case either Molly or Chance didn’t understand him. He pointed to the pasture. “Want mommy bull. And baby bull.”

Okay, this was not going according to plan, Chance thought uncomfortably.

“Baby needs mommy,” Braden added plaintively, just in case they still weren’t getting it.

Molly lifted a brow and sent Chance an even more withering glare.

Fortunately, at that moment, his mother walked out of the recently renovated Circle H bunkhouse, where she was currently living, her part-time cook and housekeeper, Maria Gonzales, at her side. The young woman often brought her own three-year-old daughter, Tessie, to work with her. The little lass peeked at Braden from behind her mother’s skirt.

“Braden, Maria and Tessie were just about to make some Thanksgiving tarts. Would you like to help them?” Lucille asked.

He looked at his mother for permission.

Molly gave it with a nod, then pointed to the ranch house on the other side of the barns. “Miss Lucille, Chance and I are going to walk over there and have a meeting. Then I’ll come back to get you. Okay?”

Braden took Maria’s outstretched hand. “’Kay, Mommy.”

Maria and her two young charges set off.

In the past, the sixty-eight-year-old Lucille had ignored interpersonal tensions for the sake of peace. However, a recent series of life-changing events had caused Chance’s mother to rethink the idea of sugarcoating anything. And now, to everyone’s surprise, it turned out she could be as blunt as Chance’s older brother, Garrett.

“What’s going on between you two?” Lucille demanded as she looked from Molly to Chance and back again. “And don’t tell me nothing, because I can feel the mutual aggravation simmering between you a mile away!”

Chance would have preferred to keep their tiff private. Unfortunately, Molly had other ideas. “Chance told Braden that he could ask Santa to bring him a real live baby bull for Christmas!” she sputtered.

Lucille turned to him, formidable as always in an ultrasuede sheath, cashmere cardigan and heels.

“I was trying not to quash his dreams,” Chance insisted hotly.

“So, instead, you lit fire to impossible ones, and now he wants not just a baby bull but a bovine mama to go with it, too,” Molly accused him, looking furious enough to burst into tears.

“Look, I—” Even as the words came out of his mouth, Chance had to wonder how Molly had managed to put him on the defensive.

She stomped closer and waved a finger beneath his nose. “If you hadn’t brought that baby bull over with his momma to pasture at the Circle H—”

“If you hadn’t brought your son with you to discuss making a bid,” he volleyed right back.

Molly planted both her hands on her slender hips. “I had no choice!”

He mocked her by doing the same. “Well, neither did I!”

Completely exasperated, Lucille stopped worrying the pearls around her neck and stepped in between them. “Enough, you two!” she chastised. “You are acting like ornery children. It’s five weeks until Christmas...we will figure out a way to work this out.”

Chance and Molly separated once again.

Satisfied things were calmer, at least for the moment, Lucille walked up the steps to the rambling, homestead-style ranch house and across the spacious front porch. “In the meantime, I have a job big enough for the two of you,” she said over her shoulder, leading the way into the house.

Chance and his crew had spent the fall getting the two bedrooms and bathroom upstairs remodeled, the staircase rebuilt and all new energy-efficient windows installed. A new roof and fiber-cement siding had been put on, and the exterior had been painted a dazzling white with pine-green shutters. They’d also followed the plans of the structural engineer and gutted the downstairs into an open living-kitchen-dining area, a laundry room and mudroom, and what would one day be a spacious master suite with luxury bath for Lucille.

For the moment, however, only the framework of the redesigned first-floor rooms and the original wood floors—which were in need of refinishing—stood.

In the center of the space, in front of the original limestone fireplace, were two big easels. One held Molly’s proposed design, the other Chance’s.

Lucille turned to her son. “Although I love the rustic nature of your plans, honey, I am going to go with Molly’s vision for the first floor.”

There wasn’t a lot of difference in the plan for the master suite, since Lucille had been very specific in what kind of fixtures and the size closet she wanted. As for the rest...

“You know that’s going to cost you twice what mine would,” Chance pointed out.

Lucille nodded. “True. But your vision for the space is so...utilitarian.”

Exactly! It was what made it so great.

Chance pointed to the samples of his proposed maple cabinets and black granite countertops, the top-of-the-line stainless steel appliances and plentiful pantry shelving. “It’ll get the job done, Mom.”

Where he had been trying to be economical, his competition had gone all out. Dual dishwashers, two prep areas, double ovens and countless other features. Everywhere you looked there was some sort of up-charge.

Lucille smiled. “Molly captured what I was looking for. Unfortunately, I don’t think she and her crew can manage to finish the entire downstairs in the next five weeks.”

Molly’s triumph faded. “Did you say five...weeks?”

Lucille nodded. “I want to reserve December 19 for delivery of the furniture from my previous house in Dallas that’s currently in storage, the twentieth and the twenty-first for decorating and the twenty-second for my planned fund-raiser for the Lockhart Foundation and West Texas Warrior Assistance program. And of course Christmas Eve and Day for my family celebration.”

Chance frowned. “Which means all the wiring, plumbing, drywall and paint, as well as kitchen and master suite bath, will have to go in by then.”

His mother remained undaunted. “You have six people on your crew, Chance. Molly has seven. If you have all thirteen people working, it’s easily feasible. I’ll pay overtime if necessary.”

All business, Molly nodded. “How are we going to divide the work?”

Matter-of-factly, Lucille explained, “Molly will be in charge of the design and the materials, and Chance will supervise the construction and installation. Then, of course, Molly, I’d like you to do the yuletide decorating.” She flashed a smile her way. “I’ll give you a free hand with that since part of the reason for the rush is to help you showcase your skills during the fund-raising open house, and make the connections with my Dallas friends that will help you drum up business there.”

Chance turned to his mother and gave her a warning look. He would have expected Lucille, who, better than anyone, knew the downside of leaving the warm, supportive utopia of Laramie County behind, to be urging caution. Not cheerleading. “You’re really supporting Molly in this lunacy?” he blurted before he could stop himself.

Molly had a growing business. A home. Dozens of people who looked out for her. A young son who was thriving in the small-town environment. Why she would want to leave all that for the coldness of the big city he had grown up in was beyond him.

“I wouldn’t call it that.” Lucille regarded him sternly. “And, yes, I fully understand Molly’s desire to be all that she can be.”

Resolved to inject a little common sense into the conversation, Chance scoffed, “In terms of what? Money? Social position?”

Molly glared at him. “Don’t forget dazzling professional success! And all the accoutrements that come with it.”

Chance looked heavenward. “I don’t expect you to understand,” Molly said stiffly, her emotions suddenly as fired up as his.

“Good,” Chance snapped back, running his hand through his hair in exasperation. Then, pinning her with a glare of his own, he said exactly what was on his mind. “Because I don’t.”


Chapter Two (#u982082ef-b2f2-5b56-a1e1-45ec4787a150)

“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?”


Chapter Three (#u982082ef-b2f2-5b56-a1e1-45ec4787a150)

This was Chance’s opportunity to make a graceful exit.

To his surprise, he wasn’t in a hurry to leave. In fact, he was sort of lamenting the fact that the time would eventually come. “Actually,” Chance admitted good-naturedly, “I was hoping I’d be able to see what the Christmas stollen looks like when it’s finished.”

“Yummy!” Braden declared, rubbing his tummy.

Chance chuckled. The little buckaroo’s enthusiasm was infectious. “You think so?”

Braden nodded magnanimously. “We share. Mommy. Me. You.”

Chance turned to Molly. “Is that okay?” he asked casually, wanting to give her the option of throwing him out—if that was what she wanted.

“You probably should see what you’ve been missing,” she said drily.

He had an inkling. And he wasn’t just thinking about baked goods.

“Outside?” Braden asked again, impatiently.

“Let’s go.” She grabbed a rain jacket for herself, then opened the door. A blast of unexpectedly warm air hit them. No doubt brought in by the front. “I was going to offer you a cup of coffee,” Molly said, looping the jacket over a wicker chair, “but maybe it should be iced tea.”

“Coffee’s fine.” Chance smiled. “Thanks.”

Molly watched her son march down the front steps and out into the light rain. They both grinned as Braden lifted his face to the sky and stuck out his tongue to catch a few raindrops. Fondly, Molly shook her head, then turned back to Chance. “Can you keep an eye on Braden for a minute? He knows not to go outside of the picket fence.”

“No problem.” Chance took the seat she indicated on the front porch. For the next few minutes, he watched Braden investigate everything from the water running out of the gutters to the drops pearling on the leafy green shrubs.

He’d forgotten what it felt like to look at the world with such unvarnished appreciation.

Maybe it was time he remembered...

“Sure you wouldn’t rather be at your mom’s watching football with your brothers?” Molly teased, returning with a tray containing a carafe, two mugs, sugar and cream. She set it on the table between them.

Chance grinned at her son, who was now hopscotching his way through a series of puddles on the front walk.

He turned his attention back to Molly. Her cheeks flushed with happiness, her auburn hair slightly mussed, a smudge of flour across one cheek, she had never looked more beautiful. Or content.

He liked seeing her this way.

“Oh, there’s no football at my mom’s on Thanksgiving.”

Her delicate brow pleated. “Seriously?”

As she neared, he caught the fragrance of her lavender hand soap mingling with the sweet, sexy scent of her hair and skin. Pushing the electric awareness away, Chance sat back in his chair. “She says that’s why DVRs were invented. Social events require socializing properly with each other, not tuning everyone out watching TV.”

Molly handed him a mug of steaming coffee. She wrinkled her nose at him. “Sounds like Lucille.”

Chance watched as she settled in the chair beside his. The hem of her knit dress rode up a little. She crossed her legs at the knee and tugged it down discreetly, but not before he had seen enough of her long slender thighs to make his heart race.

Chance worked to keep his mind on the conversation. “No doubt about it. My mother’s big on etiquette, always has been.”

Molly waved at her son, who was now marching around the perimeter of the inside of the fence. Braden stopped to lift his arms high and turn his face to the slowly clearing sky overhead. “Still, the menu would probably have been better...”

Chance couldn’t recall when he had enjoyed a holiday meal more. “I thought we had a fine meal at the cafeteria. Turkey. All the trimmings. Not to mention choice of dessert.”

She chuckled, holding her mug against the softness of her full lips. “You did have two pieces of pie.”

He watched her blow lightly on her coffee, then take a dainty sip. Shrugged. “Couldn’t make up my mind.”

He was certain about one thing, though.

He wanted to ravish Molly Griffith.

And would...

“Look, Mommy!” Braden shouted. “Rainbow!”

They both turned in the direction he was pointing. Sure enough, there was one arcing across the sky.

“Come here, Mommy! Come see!”

“Just when I wish I had my camera out,” she murmured with a rueful grin, rising to join her son.

Not wanting to intrude, Chance stayed behind to make her wish come true.

* * *

CHANCE LOCKHART WAS full of surprises, Molly thought minutes later, looking at the series of action photos he had taken on his cell phone while she and Braden had admired the burst of colors streaking across the late afternoon sky.

“Thank you for capturing that moment,” Molly said softly when they walked back inside a few minutes later to put the stollen in the oven. Chance had not only gotten several nice shots of her and Braden together—something that rarely happened on the spur of the moment since she had no other family member to do the honor—but he’d also managed to capture a close-up of the wonder on her little boy’s face.

Priceless.

“I thought you would want to remember it. Not every day you see a rainbow on Thanksgiving.”

Not every day she spent a holiday with such a sweet, handsome man. Not that this was a date. Even if it had started to feel like a date.

Molly finished getting Braden out of his rain gear, then showed her little boy the photos Chance had taken on his phone and emailed to her.

“That’s me,” Braden said gleefully. “And Mommy!” He pushed the phone away. “Can we dec’rate tree?”

That had been her original plan.

Chance shrugged his broad shoulders affably. “I’m up for it if you are,” he said.

“You’re really into Christmas, aren’t you?” She hadn’t met many single guys who were.

Or were this kind to her son.

“Hey.” Chance aimed a thumb at the center of his chest. “When the opportunity to be chivalrous presents itself...”

He was on board, Molly thought. Which just went to show how badly she had misjudged the gorgeous cowboy.

By the time the oven timer went off half an hour later, they had the lights strung and on. Half a dozen ornaments later, the fruit-and-nut-studded pastry was cool enough to finish.

Aprons went back on. Although this time Molly made sure that Chance had the larger garment. Together, they all brushed on melted butter, then sprinkled the tops of their masterpieces with granulated sugar.

“And now for the pièce de résistance!” Molly declared triumphantly, showing her son how to use the sifter to cover the pastry with a final snowy-white cover of confectioner’s sugar. She handed the sifter to Chance, watched as he did the same to his and then followed suit.

The three pastries made a lovely, Christmassy sight.

“Eat now?” Braden asked.

Molly grinned. “Let’s taste it.” She cut off a two-inch slice for Braden, a larger one for Chance and a slightly smaller one for herself.

They all bit down on the soft, citrus-flavored nut-and-fruit bread with the sweet and slightly crunchy exterior. “Wow.” Chance’s hazel eyes lit up. “That’s...amazing.”

“Yummy,” Braden agreed.

Molly had to admit, between the three of them they had done a good job. Before she could think, she offered, “Want to take a loaf home with you?”

Luckily he didn’t read any extra meaning into her impulsive gesture. An affable grin deepened the crinkles around his eyes. “Sure you don’t mind?”

Remembering what her late mother had told her—that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach—Molly shrugged off the importance. “I’ll be baking all month long.”

His gaze skimmed her appreciatively. “In that case—” he winked “—I’ll have to remember to come around more often.”

Molly caught her breath at the implication.

Was he truly interested in her?

She knew she desired him. Always had. Even though they were clearly all wrong for each other. Still...

“All done, Mommy!”

Switching quickly back to parenting mode, Molly gently wiped the sugar from her son’s hands and face. Braden reclaimed the Rudolph and sleigh, along with his favorite blue blankie. Yawning, he snuggled on the sofa.

Chance arched an inquisitive brow. “Nap time?”

“Two hours ago,” Molly confirmed softly, watching Braden struggle to keep his eyes open.

“Oh.” A wealth of emotion—and understanding—in a single word.

“Yeah. I was hoping—” Molly moved closer to Chance, whispering even more quietly “—he’d be able to get through the day without one. Especially since it’s so late.”

Chance shook his head fondly. Putting an easy hand on Molly’s shoulder, he nodded in the direction of the couch. “Looks like he’s already asleep.”

Molly took in the sight of her child, blissfully cuddled up, auburn lashes fanning across his cheek. She sighed. “Indeed, he is.”

Chance caressed her shoulder lightly. “That’s a problem?”

Molly’s heart raced at the casual contact. “He’ll be grouchy when I do wake him up before dinner and may have trouble falling asleep tonight.”

“Anything I can do?”

If you were here, sure. You won’t be. Molly looked up at Chance. Time seemed to suspend. Suddenly there was just the two of them. “Cross your fingers for me?”

His eyes darkened. He brushed his thumb across her lower lip and continued to regard her steadily. “How about something even better?” he said huskily, lifting her hand to his lips. He pressed a kiss across her knuckles. She caught her breath. And then she was in his arms. Wrapping both his hands around her small waist, he caught her against him, so they were length to length.

Molly’s breath hitched again.

“Chance,” she whispered.

His head lowered. Slowly. Purposefully. “Just one, darlin’...” He tunneled his hands through her hair and his eyes shuttered. “That’s all I’m asking.”

Molly saw the kiss coming, and she knew she should do something to stop it. She was attracted to Chance enough already. If his lips were to actually touch hers...

With a small, sharp intake of breath, she lifted both hands and spread them across the muscular warmth of his broad chest. His heart was beating, strong and steady. His head lowered even more. And then there was no stopping it. Their lips connected, and a shiver of pure delight went through her. Her usual caution gone, she opened her mouth to the seductive pressure of his. He tasted like rich black coffee and freshly baked stollen. And man. And she could no more deny him than she could deny herself. It was Thanksgiving, after all. A day to count blessings. Be happy. Thankful. At ease. And she’d never felt more at ease than she did at that very moment.

Chance knew he was taking advantage, that Molly deserved a lot better than the overture he was making. He also knew opportunities like this did not come along all that often.

Molly had a wall around her heart, strong enough to keep the entire male species at bay. She was driven by fierce ambition. And a robust little chaperone that kept her on the straight and narrow.

Had he spent time with her before now, he would have realized what a beautiful, complicated and magnificent woman she was.

He would have known there was a lot more to her than her need for tremendous financial security, and the social status that came with it. But he hadn’t, so he had squandered the two years he had resided in Laramie County. Two years in which he could have pursued her like she was meant to be pursued.

Fortunately, he still had a month left.

He wasn’t going to waste it.

Or make any more mistakes.

So he kissed her passionately until she kissed him back and curled against him. And it was only then, when they started to make the kind of connection that rocked both their worlds, that she suddenly gasped and wrenched her lips from his.

* * *

“IS THIS THE POINT where you haul off and slap me across the face?” Chance joked.

It was definitely the point where she gave herself a good hard shake, Molly thought. What in all Texas had gotten into her? She couldn’t start getting involved with someone! Or even have a fling. Not when she was getting ready to leave rural Laramie County and build a life in the city.

Reluctantly, she stepped out of the warm cocoon of Chance’s strong arms. She went to a drawer on the opposite side of the kitchen and pulled out a roll of plastic wrap.

Her lips and body still throbbing from the thrilling contact, she lifted a staying hand and admitted softly, “That was my fault every bit as much as it was yours.”

“Fault?” With displeasure, he zeroed in on her low, censoring tone.

“Holidays can be really lonely.”

He gave her a considering look. “They don’t have to be.”

Irritated he saw so much of her feelings when she wanted him to see so little, Molly admitted, “It’s easy to find yourself reaching out in ways you normally wouldn’t.”

His eyes filled with a mixture of curiosity and compassion. “Is that what happened with Braden’s daddy?”

“No,” Molly said, trying hard not to succumb to the unexpected tenderness in Chance’s expression.

He leaned against the counter, arms folded in front of him, and continued to study her. “Then?”

Maybe if Chance knew the worst about her, he would forget the sizzling physical attraction between them and realize their backgrounds were too diverse for them to ever be more than casual friends.

Molly drew a deep breath. “I don’t want to go down the wrong path again.”

“With me.”

It upset her to bring this up, but she knew for both their sakes, it had to be said. Chance had to start facing the fact they were and always would be all wrong for each other. “With anyone who was born outside my social standing.”

His brow furrowed. “You really think I’m that much of a snob?”

She flushed and dropped her gaze to his muscular chest. “I think, in this respect, you might be as naive as I once was.”

“I’m listening,” he said.

Molly grabbed the spray cleaner and paper towels, then began scrubbing down the counters. “I never really dated much after my dad died. I was too busy trying to put myself through school and get my business going.”

He moved so she could reach behind him. But not quite enough. As she reached, her shoulder lightly brushed his bicep. “Sounds like you had to grow up pretty fast.”

Molly straightened. “All that changed when Aaron Powell III came to Laramie to look for lakeside property that could be flipped.” She grimaced at the memory. “I was asked to give a bid. I did and won the work on several houses that he and his family purchased.” She removed her apron and hung it back on the hook. Recalling her first taste of unfettered luxury, she admitted reluctantly, “I’d never been friends with anyone that ostentatiously wealthy, and Aaron swept me off my feet.”

Chance’s expression relaxed in understanding. “How long were you together?”

“About three months.”

Taking her by the hand, he guided her onto the stool. Sat down beside her. “You didn’t expect it to end?”

Molly shrugged, still wishing she hadn’t been quite so naive. Shifting so the two of them faced each other, she said, “I knew Aaron’s life was in Houston, that his shuttling back and forth continuously would stop when my work was done and the lake properties were listed. But I was okay with that. I was perfectly willing to move where he was.”

Chance’s expression darkened. “He didn’t want that.”

Humiliation clogged Molly’s throat. “He didn’t think that would go over so well with his fiancée.”

An awkward silence fell.

“You had no idea,” Chance guessed in a low, even tone.

“None,” Molly was forced to admit. Restless, she got up and began to pace the confines of the kitchen. “Unfortunately, I was pregnant by then. And I’d already told him.”

Giving Chance no more opportunity to ask questions, Molly rushed on. “The next thing I know the Powell family lawyer is at my door with a contract for me to sign. All I have to do is agree—in writing—not to ever publicly acknowledge paternity and a nice six-figure check is mine.”

Jaw taut, Chance stood. “I’m pretty sure that’s not legal.”

Molly nodded as he circled the counter and strode closer.

“I could have forced the issue in court. I also knew if I did that, Aaron and his attorneys would use my modest financial circumstances to allege I was a gold digger and make our lives a living hell. My only priority was to protect my child from hurt.”

The compassion in Chance’s hazel eyes spurred her to go on.

“So I hired a lawyer and countered with an offer of my own. I would never pursue any claims of paternity, or child support, if Aaron would promise to do the same and allow me to raise Braden completely on my own.” She drew a breath. “Aaron was more than happy with that, since he didn’t really want children, never mind a bastard son from a woman from a lower social echelon.” Molly wrung her hands and lifted her chin defiantly. “So we signed an agreement...and that was that.”

Chance searched her face. “Did you ever regret it?”

Wasn’t that the million-dollar question!

Molly shrugged, the barriers coming up to protect her heart once again. Steadily, she held Chance’s gaze. “I regret mistaking big, expensive romantic gestures for love. And the fact that Braden doesn’t have the devoted daddy he deserves.”

His gaze drifted over her, igniting wildfires wherever it landed. “The latter could be fixed,” he pointed out matter-of-factly.

Maybe someday. For the first time, she was beginning to see that.

In the meantime, she had the next phase of her life plan to execute. Molly handed Chance the wrapped, freshly baked stollen and escorted him to the door. Wary of her still-sleeping son, she eased it open, then stepped with him all the way out onto the porch. It was unseasonably warm, and the sun sparkled down on them.

“The point is, even if fate works against us and Braden never gets the loving daddy he deserves, I still have to support my son to the very best of my ability.”

“Which means?” Chance prodded, suddenly looking a lot less pleased.

Molly said determinedly, “I’ve got to move to a place where I can make a lot more money than I am now. And give Braden the kind of boundless future that he deserves.”

And that meant no more getting too friendly with Chance.

And definitely no more kissing him!


Chapter Four (#u982082ef-b2f2-5b56-a1e1-45ec4787a150)

“How was your Thanksgiving?” Chance asked the two newest members of the Bullhaven family, now temporarily quartered in a private pasture at the Circle H.

“Mine was the best I’ve ever had.” He set out premium feed. “You think I’m exaggerating, but I’m not.”

Even though Molly had sort of kicked him out at the end, he’d left with a warm feeling in his chest that had continued through the night and had still lingered there when he woke up, maybe because he was going to see her again soon.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right. I’ve got it bad...” But there were worse things than knowing what you wanted. And what he wanted right now was a Christmas holiday spent with Molly. And her adorable son.





Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Получить полную версию книги.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/cathy-thacker-gillen/a-texas-cowboy-s-christmas/) на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.