A Cowboy's Christmas Reunion

They’d been young, too young... But they’d loved each other, really loved each other. And then life—Amy—had gotten in the way.

She swallowed. Her head was spinning. She needed to get the hell out of here. She needed to put as much space between them as possible. The only way to do that was to get rid of her headache.

She took a slow, steady breath and forced herself to relax against the pillows.

* * *

HUNTER SET THE TABLE as quietly as he could.

She’d been asleep for almost an hour. But he knew the longer she slept, the better she’d feel.

He moved to the couch and stared down at her.

The years hadn’t touched her. She’d never been a fan of makeup, so her skin was still smooth and silky. She had some faint lines bracketing her mouth and eyes, where she crinkled when she laughed. And when she laughed, she looked so damn beautiful.

He ran a hand over his face, shaking his head. If he could go back in time, follow her, he would.

No, he wouldn’t. Because then he wouldn’t have Eli. And as much as he regretted losing Jo, he loved his son.

Jo stirred, her movements capturing his attention. Her mouth parted, then smiled slightly as she turned onto her side. There was a flutter of movement under her eyelids, and she sighed.

He spread the blanket from the back of the couch over her before heading into the kitchen. He turned down the stove and put the salad back in the refrigerator. Dinner would keep—she needed sleep.

Once he’d turned off all the lights, he went to his desk and opened his laptop. He glanced at her, then at the desk. He’d had to patch the lid after Amy had ripped it off at the hinges. She couldn’t stand the H.B. + J.S. that he’d carved into the wood. Even though he’d been the one to replace the lid, he still looked for the carving whenever he opened the desk for supplies.

Did Jo have someone special? As much as he wanted her, he wanted her happiness more. He wondered if she’d made any other men as happy as she’d made him. She probably had. Eleven years was a long time to go without. And Jo was a passionate woman. He remembered that about her with great fondness.

Everything about her was like a living, breathing fire. From her sparkling eyes and lightning-fast humor to her equally fast temper and her instant and all-consuming desire. She’d been every young man’s dream.

His gaze wandered back to her. She was still his dream.

A distant rumbling made him glance out the window. The sky was flashing. They needed the rain. There was a burn ban in effect and two fires had already claimed thousands of acres on surrounding properties. All it took was one asshole throwing his still burning cigarette butt out the window and, poof, a whole season’s worth of work was up in smoke.

Maybe he should wake her. If it rained too hard too fast, the road would wash out and he wouldn’t be able to get her back home. Not home, to Carl’s, he reminded himself. She didn’t live here anymore and Texas had never been her idea of home. He’d thought he might be able to change that once, but he knew he didn’t have that kind of clout now.

He forced himself to work, reading over his students’ notes on the dog they had in clinic at the moment. Vitals were good. The leg was healing. He flipped the page back, skimming the latest X-rays of the fracture. If they kept on track, they’d be able to send him home before Christmas, which meant Hunter might be patient-free for the holidays.

The windowpane rattled as thunder hit—closer now. A blinding flash of lightning flooded the room with white light.

“Hunter?” Jo’s voice was soft.

“It’s just a storm. Go back to sleep, Jo.” He kept his voice low, watching her.

She rolled over, burrowing into the blanket. But the next clap of thunder had her on her feet. He saw her grab her head, leaning against the edge of the sofa.

“Still hurting?” He’d do just about anything to make her feel better. “Want me to take you home?”

She nodded, but then the sky seemed to open up. Sheets of rain dumped onto the tin roof, followed by a show of flashing lightning and roaring thunder. She looked out the window and shook her head.

He smiled. “Still afraid of storms? And you live in Washington?”

“Yes. Yes, I am.” She tried to give him a look, one that showed him how capable and tough she was. But the thunder sent her from the couch to his side. “It doesn’t storm like this there. It just rains...a lot.”

He hesitated only briefly before slipping one hand around her waist. His heart picked up and he waited, but she was too focused on what was happening outside to notice his touch. She was warm—he could feel that through the thin fabric of her shirt. He tugged, pulling her into his lap gently, hungrily. When she sat, her body pressed against him, he couldn’t stop the tremor that racked his body.

“I forgot how violent storms get here,” she whispered.

He couldn’t answer. She was in his arms, in his lap. She felt just the same, warm and soft in all the right places. He stared at her face, rediscovering the shape of her. He used to hold her like this for hours. Sitting, talking, kissing and being happy. How could so much time have passed? She hadn’t changed, and neither had his feelings.

“Is it... Are we safe?” she asked, glancing at him. And then she realized she was in his lap, his arms were around her. Her eyes went round. Surprised. Startled. Pleased? He couldn’t tell.

He swallowed. “Inside we’re safe. We should probably try to wait it out, though, instead of taking you back.”

She nodded, her eyes never leaving his. He expected her to tense, to pull away from him. But she seemed just as wrapped up in him as he was in her. Her breath hitched, her gaze falling to his lips. He knew an invitation when he saw one.

He bent his head, moving close, slowly. She watched him, her breathing picking up. Did she know how she affected him? He didn’t want to push her, to lose her. Everything he wanted was right here, in his arms.

And then she pulled away. “We can’t do this, Hunter.” Her voice was husky and not at all convincing.

“Sure we can.”

“No, we can’t.” She pushed halfheartedly against his chest. But her fingers gripped his shirt.

He knew his need for her was there, on display, but he didn’t care. He wanted her, he’d never stopped. To him, she was still his. “Why?” he asked.

Something about that question pushed Jo over the edge. She was out of his lap in no time, staring down at him with blazing eyes and an angry twist to her mouth. “Why?”

He looked up at her, confused. “You want me. At least, I think you do. And I know I want you.”

She froze, her hands fisting at her sides. “You do?”

“Hell, yes.” He stood as he spoke, his hands resting on her shoulders.

She shook her head, but she was staring at his mouth. “No. Hunter.” He saw her indecision, her frustration. “What we want has nothing to do with what’s right.”

He heard “what we want” and pulled her against him. His hands cupped her face, his thumb brushing across her lower lip. He felt her shudder, saw her lips part, before she stiffened. Why was she fighting? He’d missed this, the feel of her in his arms, the wholeness he felt deep in his bones. How could he tell her, make her understand? His throat tightened as he stared at her, willing her to know what was in his heart.

Her chin quivered. “Hunter,” she whispered, her voice hitching. “I can’t do this to Eli. To Amy.”

Hunter’s chest grew cold. “Amy?”

She winced when he said the name. “Yes, A-Amy.” She pushed away from him, wrapping her arms around her waist.

He didn’t know what to say to that. He’d hoped that there might be some way for them to come to terms with what had happened, what he’d done. He’d never expected her to take him back, but he’d hoped she’d forgive him. She was here, but somehow Amy was still between them.

His phone rang, but neither of them moved. It could wait. “Jo—”

It rang again.

“Aren’t you going to get that?” she murmured, her eyes cold.

“I’d rather talk to you.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” She shook her head, her anger building. “Nothing. I shouldn’t be here. This—” she pointed frantically back and forth between the two of them “—is wrong.”

Her words hurt. “Wrong?” He swallowed. “How can you—”

“How can I? You promised me, remember? I’m not going to let you break my heart again, Hunter. Do us both a favor and leave me the hell alone.” She grabbed the phone. “Hold on,” she said into the phone before tossing it to him.

He caught it, Fisher’s voice reaching him. “Hunter? Hunter?”

“Yes?” he spoke into the phone, keeping his gaze locked with Jo.

“Fence is down in the far pens.” Fisher laughed. “You’re going to have to get Jo back into bed later on.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, scowling at him. She looked so damn vulnerable, wounded somehow. But then she picked up her purse and headed to the door.

He stepped forward, blocking her path, fear rising. “Jo, hold on—”

Jo shook her head, pushing around him. “I don’t want to hold on, Hunter. I don’t want this. I don’t want you. Not anymore.” She ran out into the rain and climbed into her car.

“Hunter?” Fisher sounded stunned. “You there? You okay? Shit, I’m sorry—”

He cleared his throat, swallowing the lump to say, “On my way.” He watched her car back up, then turn around, disappearing into the driving rain and darkness.

Chapter Three

Josie straightened the remaining pastries and sat in the little chair in the doorway between the kitchen and the bakery. Sprinkles lay on her back, her fuzzy white stomach bared as she slept soundly. Josie envied the dog—she could use a nap. She glanced at the clock. It was almost two, closing time.

But today she had to help with the gingerbread, mountains and mountains of it. Her dad’s fall had put the gingerbread dough-making behind. Somehow, she had to make eighty gallon tubs of cookie dough in the next forty-eight hours. The Gingerbread Village was a huge part of the Stonewall Crossing’s Christmas on the Square celebration. Most families made a gingerbread house to display. Some made them look like their own home, others followed the theme for the year. This year’s theme, which Josie thought left a lot of room for interpretation, was Images of Christmas.

The phone rang and she answered it, pen and notepad at the ready.

“Pop’s Bakery. This is Josie. How can I help you?”

“Hey, Miss... Jo... Josie. It’s Eli Boone.” He paused. “I have the plans for the float. Can I come by and show it to you?”

She smiled. “Sure, Eli. But I’ll warn you. You might just end up elbow deep in gingerbread dough when you get here.”

“O-okay.” He sounded uncertain. “Can I bring someone with me?”

“Can they hold a mixer?” Josie added. “Just kidding. Bring as many as you like.”

He didn’t laugh. “Yes, ma’am. Be there soon.”

“Sounds good.” And she hung up the phone.

Eli was a good kid. He was just like his father. Or how he used to be, anyway.

She didn’t linger over thoughts of Hunter. Whatever memories she had of him were tarnished somehow. She’d been so young—they both had. He’d loved her with an unwavering strength. He’d been hers and she’d been his. It had been right and good and real. Losing him was like losing a part of her, the pain of which had faded to a steady hollow ache she still couldn’t erase.

But maybe the Hunter she remembered had never existed. Maybe he’d cheated on her with Amy as eagerly as he’d been willing to cheat on Amy.

It scared her, how tempted she’d been.

But saying Amy’s name had snapped her out of it and pissed her off. She’d been just mad enough to drive herself home. By the time she was home, her head was throbbing in time to the beat of the rain. She’d crawled into her bed in her wet clothes, angry, needy and confused.

She’d spent the past two days not thinking about him. It wasn’t really working...

And now she was going to spend some quality time with his son.

The phone rang again. “Pop’s Bakery.”

“Got your voice message. I talked to our librarian and she wants you to come read to the kids next Friday.” The voice on the end of the line was soft, tired.

“Why, good morning, Annabeth. I’m fine, thanks for calling. How are you?” Josie teased.

“Work is crazy, girl. I’m sorry.” Annabeth sighed. “How are you?”

“Not half as tired as you sound.”

Annabeth Upton had been Josie’s only real girlfriend in high school. She’d been there through everything, from Hunter’s betrayal to her mom’s endless string of weddings and divorces. Josie had tried to return the favor when Annabeth lost her husband to a sniper in Afghanistan. But she didn’t know how to ease the pain of losing the man you loved while having to be a coherent, positive single parent to a rambunctious boy.

“I won’t lie. I’m ready for the break.”

“I can’t imagine why. Being an elementary school principal is one of the easiest jobs in the world.”

Annabeth laughed. “R-right.”

“Are you going to get a break? Heading to Greg’s family this year?”

“No, not this year. His parents offered to take Cody for New Year’s so I could do something.” She snorted. “What the hell am I going to do? Alone? In Stonewall Crossing?”

“Whatever you want,” Josie said.

“That’s the thing. I have no idea.” She sighed. “So, how’s it going? I know you’re spread thin, with your dad and the bakery and the gingerbread craziness. And Hunter—”

“Dad’s being ornery, but that’s why I’m here.” Josie was quick to interrupt her. Not thinking about Hunter. Not talking about Hunter. “We’re heading to the doctor on Monday, so we’ll see what the verdict is.”

“Ready to get out of here?”

“Not really.” Leaving meant going back to an empty apartment. This would be her first holiday without Wes. She didn’t blame him for leaving, but she was lonely.

“You sound surprised.” Annabeth paused. “And I did notice your attempt to dodge the whole Hunter topic. Not very subtly, either, I might add.”

“Okay, let’s talk about him.”

“Let’s. Over wine and dinner?” She added, “You can call Lola to come over and keep your dad company.”

“Lola?”

“Josie, get your head out of the clouds and look around you. Lola, from the beauty shop two stores down the street. She’s sweet on Carl.”

Josie was surprised, in a good way. “And Dad?”

“I have no idea. Your dad rarely has a harsh word for anyone. So, call her so your dad can get a love life. Then we can have dinner and drinks and talk about our nonexistent love lives.”

“Deal.” She’d call Lola right away.

“Good. Oh, hold on.” There was a pause. “Will next Friday’s story time work?”

“Yes, ma’am, Mrs. Upton. I’ll put it on my calendar.”

“Thanks. Gotta go. Duty calls... Kindergarteners, noses and peas... Bye.”

“Bye.” Josie laughed, but the phone was already dead.

She stared out over the freshly mopped wooden floors, her gaze drifting around the bakery. Lola Worley was a blue-haired sweetie. And, come to think of it, Lola had enjoyed a cup of tea and a small bear claw every morning since Josie had arrived in Stonewall Crossing five days before.

She packed up a plate of pastries, patted the flour from her clothes and walked quickly down the sidewalk to the Lady’s Parlor. It was cold out, surprisingly cold, but she’d been too preoccupied to think of grabbing her sweater. She pushed through the door, the smell of acetone and bleach stinging her nose. Four heads turned to look at her.

“Joselyn Stephens?” Lola stepped forward. “What a surprise.”

“Afternoon, Miss Worley. I thought I’d bring by some pastries for your patrons.”

“Don’t that just beat all?” Lola took the pastries, smiling. “What can I do for you, sugar? A haircut? Polish for your nails?”

Josie looked at her nonexistent nails before shoving her hands in her pockets. “I was wondering if you could help me.”

Lola set the plate on the counter. “Sure thing, sugar. With what?”

“My dad. He’s a little stubborn.”

“Just a little.” Lola Worley turned a very fetching shade of pink.

“Annabeth and I would like to go out this evening. Would you be willing to come over, take care of him? I won’t be late.”

Lola took in a deep breath. “I’d be happy to.”

Josie could tell that was an understatement.

“Anything else?”

“Well—”

“Go on, sugar. You’re among family here.” Lola patted her arm.

Josie looked around the beauty parlor, where chatter and laughter filled the air. “I’m swimming in all the gingerbread. Dad won’t sit so—”

“I’ve got a half-dozen grandsons I’ll send down this evening.”

“Lola, you’re an angel.” Josie nodded. “I’ll return the favor, if ever I can.”

“Aw, now, I don’t know about that, sugar. I’ll see you about six?” Lola asked.

“Yes. And thank you.” She hugged the woman before dashing out of the parlor and back to the bakery. Eli was waiting outside with a red-haired girl.

“You can go in. I know its cold out here.” She held the door open for them.

Eli nodded at her. “Hey.”

“Hi, I’m Dara. Nice to meet you, Miss Stephens,” Dara gushed.

“You, too, Dara.” She beamed at the girl, then at Eli. Eli didn’t smile back. “Can’t wait to see the sketches.” She waved them back behind the counter.

Eli stood between the two of them and spread open a large piece of drafting paper. A chair sat in the middle of the float, flanked by two supersize books.

“These will have the covers for Floppy Ears and 34,” Eli pointed out. “Mrs. Upton said she wants to get the little brothers and sisters of the Future Farmers of America kids to ride on the float with you. Make it like you’re reading to them.”

Josie nodded. “And these?” She pointed to two blob-like shapes.

“One will be a cow and one will be a rabbit,” Dara said. “We’re going to make them out of garland and wrap them with lights. You know, those topiary things?”

“It looks great.” Josie was impressed. “And a lot of work.”

“It was Eli’s idea.” Something in Dara’s tone made Josie look at the girl.

“It’s a great idea,” Josie said. She saw Dara cast a timid glance Eli’s way, saw Eli’s red cheeks. Just when Eli looked at Dara, the girl looked back at the drawing.

The bell over the door rang.

“Hey, Josie-girl.” Fisher was all smiles. “How’s it going?”

“Gingerbread madness has begun.” She grinned. “Nice of you to stop by to help.”

“I’ll help eat my fair share. It sure smells good.” Fisher sniffed for emphasis.

“Tastes pretty good, too.” Josie offered the three of them a gingerbread man.

“Damn good,” Fisher agreed, eating the cookie in two bites. “You good with the plans?”

She nodded. “Since I’m not building it, yes. Looks great.”

Dara’s phone rang so she walked outside to take the call, and Eli followed.

“They’re adorable,” she said to Fisher.

“Eli’s too young for a girlfriend,” Fisher argued. “He’s just a kid.”

“I don’t think they’re talking marriage, Fisher.” She offered him another cookie. “How’ve you been?”

“I’m good, real good. Nothing like living your dream while being seriously good-looking, you know?”

She giggled. “You’re incredible.”

“I’ve heard that before.” He winked at her.

She kept laughing. “Behave.”

“Not in my nature,” he countered.

“Fisher,” she wheezed. “You’re going to make me have an asthma attack.”

He chuckled. “Never done that to a woman before.”

She shook her head. Fisher had always been funny. Once she was able to breathe and talk, she tried again. “I’m really impressed by the ranch. Looks like the family has been working hard.”

“Mom and Dad set the bar pretty high. And Hunter. He’s going to reach that bar, and then some. Archer’s a genius, really taking the whole refuge thing to the next level. I mean, we’re getting eleven abused horses—that’s a lot. But he’ll figure it out.” He shook his head. “Now, Ryder’s still more interested in cars and petite blondes than anything else, but he works hard when we need him.”

“How’s Renata?” Josie had always felt for Renata, Fisher’s twin sister. She couldn’t imagine having four brothers and Teddy Boone for a father.

“Renata’s working for the chamber of commerce. Does their PR and events and stuff.”

“Sounds like the Boones still own Stonewall Crossing.”

“Can’t help it if our people were competitive from the start. We don’t own it, exactly.”

“No? Just most of it?” She argued, “If I remember the little tour I took when I first moved in with dad, they said the town was named Stonewall Crossing because your great-grandfather put up stone walls to line his property.”

“Great-great-grandfather. Man is a territorial animal, Josie. Those walls are a surefire way to let people know where not to trespass.” Fisher shrugged.

“How is your father?” She’d missed him. Teddy Boone was a great barrel-chested man who let everyone know when he entered a room.

“Fine. He lives in the Lodge. He still misses Mom a lot. Think leading guests to check out the flowers when the hills are blooming, or hike, or bird-watch keeps him busy. In the hotter months, he’s with the aunts in Montana. He’s here now, so stop by and say hi. He’d love that.”

She nodded. “He must be so proud of everything you have accomplished.”

“Hunter started it, getting all successful. We couldn’t let him show us up, you know?” He swiped another gingerbread cookie. “That Boone competitive streak. You know Hunter. Hell, I think you know Hunter best of all.” His expression turned serious—as serious as Fisher ever got.

“No, not really.”

“Aw, come on, Josie. That’s not true—”

“Years ago, maybe.” She put the sample plate behind the counter and began to wipe down the counter. “Why does everyone keep talking about the past?”

“What’s got you so worked up?”

She shut the display case with a little more force than necessary. “Nothing.”

“Right.”

“Moving on.” She shot him a look. “You dating anyone?”

He winked at her. “I’m flattered, but I don’t think that would go over too well with my brother.”

She hadn’t meant to yell, but she did. “Why the hell would Hunter care if I dated anyone? He’s married, remember?”

If she hadn’t been yelling, she might have heard the bell over the door jingle. But she didn’t. So Eli’s angry words took her by complete surprise. “My mom divorced my dad when I was three.”

Josie couldn’t think. Or speak. Or breathe. The agony on Eli’s face was unbearable. “I...I didn’t know. I’m sorry, Eli,” she finally managed.

“You should be,” Eli bit out. “It’s your fault she left.”

“Eli,” Fisher cut in.

Josie was reeling. “Eli, I...” She had no words. She knew nothing she said could make a difference.

Dara placed a hand on Eli’s arm. “Walk me home?” Eli didn’t look up as Dara led him from the bakery.

Her heart ached for him, truly ached for him. She knew how hard it was, growing up without a mother. If she’d been the cause of that... No, surely not. Hunter was a man of his word. He’d married Amy—he wouldn’t have let it fall apart without a fight.

“What is all the yelling about?” Her father hobbled into the kitchen through the door that connected their home to the bakery. “I could hear you all the way in my room.”

Josie watched Eli and Dara walk away. She saw the slump to Eli’s shoulders, knew the anger and pain in his voice.

“How the hell did you not know he’s single?” Fisher asked, stunned.

“What are we talking about?” her father asked.

“Hunter.” Fisher reached around the counter for another gingerbread cookie.

“Oh.” Her father sounded far too pleased, so she looked at him. “What?”

“What?” she echoed. “That’s all you have to say?” Hunter Boone is single.