A Texas Cowboy's Christmas

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

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.