A Maverick for Christmas

“But do you want to drink it?” he asked.

“Not so much,” she said. “But I would love to smell it.”

He chuckled and she opened her eyes. “What’s wrong with smelling?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he said. “Nothing at all.”

She got to the end of her tart and there was one bite left. “Bet you want it,” she said, waving the spoon in front of his mouth.

The motion was incredibly seductive, and he found himself craving what she offered. Or maybe he was craving what he wanted. He couldn’t quite tell what Abby was offering, but it was a big no-no. Or was it?

He clasped his hand over hers, the last bite of chocolate hanging between them.

“Take it,” she urged.

Her voice was too sexy to ignore. He grabbed her hand and drew it to his mouth. Cade enveloped the chocolate with his mouth and swallowed it down. The motion was both carnivorous and sexual.

Abby’s brown eyes widened in surprise.

“What did you expect?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Something more…”

“Polite?” he asked.

Her eyes darkened. “Maybe. If so, I’m glad I was wrong.”

His gut tightened. “You need to be careful. You’re asking for trouble.”

“Just from you,” she said.

His heart hammered against his rib cage. “This is a bad idea.”

“There are worse ideas,” she countered.

He felt himself begin to sweat. How could Laila’s little sister affect him this way? It wasn’t possible.

“Go away, little girl,” he said and pulled back.

“I’m not a little girl,” she said.

“You’re too young for me,” he said.

“Says who?” she challenged.

Her defiance caught him by surprise. “Says anyone with any sanity.”

Abby leaned toward him, her eyes full of everything he shouldn’t be thinking. “Haven’t you heard? Sanity’s overrated.”

“I don’t know what game you’re playing, Abby. But I’m not playing,” he told her with finality.

Chapter Three

Abby’s ego bruised again, she buried herself in her schoolwork and decided to follow up on her intention to visit Mr. Henson. She hadn’t seen his old truck in town during the past few days and decided he might enjoy some leftover chicken and dumplings Abby and her mother had made last night. She also brought along a wreath to add a little holiday cheer to his home, hoping it might lift his spirits. She drove her orange VW toward his place and slowed as she turned onto his dirt driveway. The ground was too frozen to allow the dust to kick up the way it would in the summer, she thought as she pulled in front of the old white farmhouse.

Although Mr. Henson did far more than most folks thought he should, Abby knew he’d finally given up on ranching several years ago and leased his acreage to a local rancher. The old blue truck with peeling paint was parked next to the house, which meant he should be home.

Abby picked up the container of food and got out of her car. She noticed the steps to his porch were still crusty with ice and wondered if he had any salt she could throw on them for him. Knocking on the door, she paused and listened, but there was no response. She knocked again and heard a faint reply.

“Mr. Henson, it’s Abby Cates. Are you okay?”

She heard the sound of slow footsteps and moments later, the door finally opened. Abby was surprised at the sight of him. His face was grizzly with white stubble, his hair hadn’t been combed and his clothes were rumpled.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded in a cranky voice.

“I came to see you and I brought some chicken and dumplings,” she said.

His eyes lit with faint approval. “Oh, well, that’s nice of you. Come on in,” he said and hobbled inside. “Where’s that Pritchett young man? Aren’t you two married?”

“No,” she said. “Cade Pritchett barely knows I’m alive.”

Mr. Henson glanced over his shoulder. “That’s his mistake, I’d say.”

She noticed his grimace as he took a step and her alarm buttons started to go off. “Mr. Henson, you’re limping. What’s wrong?”

He waved his hand. “Oh, it’s nothing. Couple logs fell on my leg when I was delivering wood. You mind if I heat up those dumplings? I bet they’re tasty.”

“They are, but I think you might need to get your ankle checked by a doctor,” she said.

“Doctors usually can’t do anything. Medicine is just one more racket, I say.”

“But—”

“You gonna make me beg for those dumplings?” he asked.

She sighed. “No. Sit down and I’ll heat them up for you,” she said and walked toward the kitchen, then turned as something occurred to her. “If you’ll let me take you into town to see the doctor as soon as you finish eating.”

He scowled at her. “I’m telling you, it’s a waste of time and money.”

“It will make me feel better,” she told him. “I’m worried about you. You’re not yourself.”

His gaze softened. “Well, you’re being silly,” he said gruffly. “I’ll go,” he said, sinking onto the sofa. “But not until I eat those dumplings.”

Thirty minutes later, he’d finished the food and she hung the wreath on his front door.

“What’s that for?” he asked as he shuffled toward her car.

Abby adjusted the red bow. “To give you some Christmas spirit.”

He muttered and got into her car. Abby drove toward town with Mr. Henson fussing the entire way about her car.

“What can you carry with this thing, anyway? Bet my lawn-mower engine is bigger than this. What keeps it running?” he asked. “Sounds like squirrels.”

“The only thing I have to carry is me,” she said. “I don’t haul wood, and this car is surprisingly good in the snow.”

“Can’t believe that,” he said. “You’d get stuck in six inches.”

“It’s light, so it doesn’t sink, plus the gas mileage is terrific. What kind of gas mileage does your truck get?”

He made a mumbling sound that she couldn’t understand. “Excuse me? What did you say?”

“Fifteen miles to the gallon,” he said. “But I could haul most of the houses around here if I wanted.”

She bit her tongue, refusing to point out the obvious, that there was no need to haul houses. Turning off the main drive, she pulled next to the clinic door.

“This is a no-parking zone,” he told her.

“I know,” she said. “I just wanted to get you as close to the door as possible.”

“Hmmph,” he said and opened the car door.

“Just a minute,” she said, cutting the engine and rushing to the passenger side of the car.

“Gotta be a darned pretzel to ride in that car,” he grumbled, but leaned against her as she helped him inside the clinic. Two hours later, she helped Mr. Henson back to the car as he hobbled on crutches.

“Just a sprain,” he said. “I told you it wasn’t anything and I’m not taking that pain medication. It makes me loopy.”

“It’s not a narcotic,” she said as she carefully arranged the crutches in her backseat. “Do you have plastic bags?”

“Yeah, why?” he asked.

“For the ice. The doctor said you need to put ice on your ankle.”

Mr. Henson shrugged.

“Well, if you don’t want to get better and you want to keep feeling rotten, you don’t need to follow his instructions.”

She felt the old man whip his head toward her. “I didn’t say that,” he said.

“The doctor said between the bad bruise and sprain it’s a wonder you didn’t break it. So you need to take care of it. RICE is what he said.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said. “Rest, ice, compression and elevation.”

“You can sit back and watch some TV,” she suggested.

“Hate that reality stuff. Give me a book or a ball game instead.”

“That could be arranged,” she said. “I think my mother said something about fixing some beef stew. Maybe I could bring some over for you if you behave yourself.”

The old man licked his lips. “That sounds good.”

She smiled. “You’ll get better faster if you do what the doctor says.”

“Maybe,” Mr. Henson said and paused. “You know, you would make a good wife. You nag like a good wife would.”

Abby didn’t know whether to feel complimented or insulted.

“Cade Pritchett will be chasing you sooner than you think,” he said.

“Not in this lifetime,” she said.

Mr. Henson lifted a wiry gray eyebrow. “You disrespecting your elder?”

“No,” Abby said reluctantly. “I just can’t fight reality.”

“Girlie,” he said, “I’m eighty-five and I lost Geraldine, my reason for living, eight years ago. I fight reality every day.”

She couldn’t argue with that.

After that, Abby focused on her schoolwork and her work at ROOTS, a community group founded for at-risk teens. Abby led her girls’ teen group on Tuesday nights where they talked about everything from bullies and sex to cosmetics and higher education.

The truth was most of the girls in Abby’s group were pretty cool. They were older than their years and saw Abby as the person they wanted to become. She was humbled by their admiration.

“So, we’ve told you about our guys. When are you gonna tell us about yours?” Keisha, a wise-to-the-world fifteen-year-old, asked.

“I don’t really have a guy,” Abby said.

Silence settled over the group and Abby felt an unexpected spurt of discomfort. “Well, I could have a guy. It’s just that the guy I want doesn’t see me.”

Shannon, a sixteen-year-old with purple hair, frowned. “Is he blind?”

Abby chuckled. “Not in the physical sense. He used to date my sister, so he sees me as the little sister.”

“Oooh,” Katrina, who wore faux black leather from head to toe, said. “Drama. I love it. Does your sis know you like the guy?”

Abby shook her head.

“Does she like this guy?” Keisha asked.

“Oh, no. She’s engaged to someone else.”

“Well, then, you should definitely move in on him,” Katrina said.

Abby laughed uncomfortably. “He sees me as the little sister.”

“You should change that,” Shannon said. “Maybe you could dye your hair pink.”

“I’m not sure that’s me,” Abby said.

“Well, you have to do something different,” Shannon said, her gaze falling over Abby in a combination of pity and disapproval. “You’re, like, everything but sexy.”

“She’s not ugly,” Keisha said.

“I didn’t say that,” Shannon said. “She’s just not sexy.”

“I don’t know,” Katrina said. “She’s got that fresh, natural, girl-next-door look.”

“But not sexy,” Shannon repeated.

Silence followed.

“We could help you,” Shannon said.

Alarm slammed through her. “Help?” she echoed in a voice that sounded high-pitched to her own ears.

“Yeah,” Keisha said, clearly warming to the idea. “We can sex you up. Your guy won’t be able to ignore you then.”

“I’m not sure…” Abby said.

“Hey, it’s like you always tells us,” Shannon said. “If you always do what you’ve always done, you’ll always get what you’ve always gotten.”

Abby blinked at the sound of her words played back to her. True, but how much of a change was she willing to make?

“If you won’t do pink or blond hair, then we can do big hair,” Shannon said, pursing her profoundly pink lips.

“And cat eyes,” Keisha added.

“And a short, black leather skirt,” Katrina added.

Abby winced inwardly. Black leather skirt?

Shannon nodded. “Kim Kardashian hair. He won’t know what hit him.”

Abby managed to redirect the conversation, but she knew her girls were determined to perform a drastic makeover. She ran into her fellow ROOTS volunteer, Austin Anderson, after the meeting. Austin was twenty-four years old and the two of them were good friends, thanks to their time spent working together.

“How’s it going?” Austin asked and stepped beside her as she walked toward her car in the small parking lot.

“Okay,” she said and knew her voice didn’t hold the commitment it should have.

Austin laughed. “Let’s try this again,” he said. “How’s it going?”

“I think I may have just gotten myself into a situation,” she said as she drew close to her car.

“What kind of situation?” he asked, putting his hand against her car door before she could open it.

Abby sighed and turned to lean against the car. She reluctantly met his gaze. “I did a bad thing,” she said.

“You sold drugs or killed a baby,” he said.

She couldn’t withhold a chuckle. “Neither. I did, however, get drawn into a discussion about my personal life with my ROOTS girls group. Now they want to perform a sexy makeover.”

He laughed. “Hooker time.”

She shot him a sideways glance. “Kinda. But they make an important point. They repeated my words of wisdom back to me. If you always do what you’ve always done, you’ll always get what you’ve always gotten.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

“Well, if I go through with this makeover, I may need a cohort.”

Austin stared at her for a long moment. “I’m not sure this is a good idea.”

“It probably isn’t, but I need to shake things up.”

Austin gave a heavy sigh. “What do you have in mind?”

“I dress up in makeover mode. You and I hit the town in places where people will talk. My unrequited love wakes up and sees that I am the answer to his heart’s desire.”

Austin winced. “Abby, I’m really not sure this is a great idea.”

“I’m sure it isn’t,” she said. “But I have to do something to shake up Cade’s impression of me.”

“Cade?” Austin echoed. “Cade Pritchett.” He gave a low whistle and shook his head. “Isn’t he the one who proposed to your—”

“Yes,” she said in a flat tone.

Austin took a deep breath. “Okay, I’m in. Let me know when you want to do this.”

“Apparently Saturday night,” she said in a wry tone. “It’s the most visible night.”

Austin nodded and raked his hand through his hair. “All right. Text me with the time.” Austin brushed his finger over her nose sympathetically. “You’re a great girl. If he doesn’t realize it, he’s an idiot.”

“So far, he’s an idiot,” she whispered, her heart hurting.

The following Saturday, the ROOTS teens performed their magic on Abby. As she stared into the mirror, she wasn’t sure if it was magic or something more gruesome.

“Are you sure…” she began as she looked at her dark eye makeup.

“It’s perfect,” Keisha said.

“You are so hot,” Katrina said. “You’re going to knock every guy off his feet.”

Abby was not at all sure. She squinted her eyes at her teased hair, trying to see a remnant of her usual self.

“Ready to go?” Austin asked from the back of the room.

Abby took a deep breath and turned to look at him.

“Oh. Wow,” he said.

Abby felt a sudden spurt of panic. “What does ‘Oh. Wow’ mean?”

Austin strolled toward her. “You look hot. You’ll turn heads. Look out, Thunder Canyon.”

Abby rose and walked toward him. “You’re lying like a dog, aren’t you?”

“Not at all,” he said. “You’re going to turn heads like nobody’s business tonight. Are you ready?”

She met his gaze and quieted her crazy heartbeat. “Not really,” she said. “But that first jump in cold water is the hardest. It may as well be now.”

Abby and Austin visited the hottest bars and made sure she was seen by the maximum number of people. Their last stop was an old bar on Main Street. Surprisingly enough, Cade was at this bar watching a ball game. He didn’t even notice her as she sashayed inside with Austin.

Austin, however, noticed Cade. He ordered Abby another soda water, her fifth of the evening. She countered with a martini.

Austin raised his eyes. “Lemon drop?” he asked. “I’d say you’ve earned it.”

Abby propped on a bar stool and tried to look flirty as she sipped her lemon-drop martini.

It was a little bitter, so she switched off to ice water. She jiggled her leg from the bar stool and wondered if Cade would ever tear his gaze from the screen.

Suddenly, Austin gave a loud laugh that startled her and vibrated throughout the bar. He leaned toward her and nuzzled her.

Abby blinked in shock. Holy buckets.

“Play along,” he said in a low voice.

Oh, yeah, she thought and nuzzled him back and giggled. That was what she was supposed to do. Right?

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Cade looking at Austin and her. He didn’t look happy. She forced a light laugh.

“He’s looking, isn’t he?” Austin said as he lifted his fingers to her cheek.

“Yes,” she said in a low voice.

“It’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” he asked.

Abby felt torn. “I guess.”

Austin shook his head. “Better make up your mind. He’s right behind you,” he muttered. “Cade,” he said. “Old man, how ya doing? I see a friend on the other side of the room. I’ll be back in a minute—darlin’,” he added to Abby.

Abby turned to look at Cade. His face looked like a thundercloud. “Hi,” she said. “How’s the game?”

He shrugged. “It’s California against Clemson.”

She smiled. “Not close enough to care.”

“I guess. What the hell have you done to your hair?”

Abby frowned. “Dressed it up. Dressed me up,” she said.

“You don’t need to dress up,” he said. “You’re asking for trouble dressed like that.”

Abby frowned at him, feeling a double spurt of frustration and anger. “Some people might say I looked pretty.”

“Some people would say anything to get you into bed,” Cade said.

Offended, Abby narrowed her eyes at him. “You just need to butt out of my date. I’m having a good time. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Austin appeared from behind Cade and lifted his eyebrows. “Ready to go, sweetheart?”

Abby frowned in Cade’s direction. “Sounds good to me,” she said and rose from her bar stool. It took every bit of her concentration not to look at Cade. “G’night,” she said, without meeting his gaze, and hooked her arm with Austin’s as she strutted out of the bar.

As she and Austin stepped into the cold night, she sucked in a clean breath of air. “I’m not sure that worked.”

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