A Snow Country Christmas

“It’s charming.” He glanced around as he slipped off his wool coat.

She wasn’t used to men who used the word “charming” in regular conversation, but he did have nice wide shoulders, so she’d cut him some slack. Actually, everything about him was attractive: dark hair, striking dark eyes, and what she’d define as an aristocratic face that spoke of a lineage that was Old World, probably Spain or Portugal. She had an admitted fascination for history, so she’d love to know his story. “I’ll be right back. There’s a corkscrew and glasses on the counter. Go for it.”

He took her at her word, she discovered after she’d deposited his coat on the bed in the spare bedroom—one drawback to her quaint little house was no coat closet—and poured them both a glass of wine.

“Merlot,” he told her as he set the bottle on the counter. “I took Kelly’s advice and bought the wines I like best and didn’t try to match hamburgers.”

“She’s pretty good at that sort of thing.” Raine accepted a glass, looking at him as she did. “I’ve never had a business meeting on Christmas Eve, but you probably have. What’s the protocol? I don’t have a table in a conference room, but we could sit by the fire.”

“I’m not all business, just so you know. Conference tables are overrated, and the fire sounds nice.”

“I thought business was why you were here.”

“Come on, Raine, I think you know that’s not entirely it. I do have something I want to talk to you about, but I just wanted to see you.”

Well, at least he was direct. She liked that, even as the admission surprised her. “The fire it is then.”

She led the way and he followed, and as luck would have it when they passed the tree, Jangles decided on a drive-by attack to defend his territory. Maybe she should have issued a warning, but she was so used to the giant cat’s antics she didn’t think of it, and though obviously startled, Mick managed to not spill his wine even with claws in the hem of his no-doubt expensive slacks. She apologized as the cat unhooked and retreated back into his lair. “By the way, meet my cat, Mr. Bojangles. He has a perimeter staked out around the tree and he guards it. Sorry, I should have warned you.”

“That’s a cat? I would have guessed African lion.”

“You should see the dog the Carson family gifted me. Mace made the mistake of suggesting Daisy help him pick out a puppy. She and that dog fell instantly in love. He’s hers now. I think one day you’ll be able to slap a saddle on that bad boy and ride out on the range. I have a sack of dog food in my pantry so big I need a furniture dolly to carry it in.” In an attempt to be a proper hostess, she asked, “Shall we sit down?”

And get the business part done so we can relax a little. It was, after all, Christmas Eve.

* * *

Mick wasn’t surprised at all by her house. Raine’s taste showed, well...everywhere. It was so different from the elegance of his childhood home, he tried to restrain his smile. No settees, no polished tables, no imported rugs or pricey oil paintings...

There was a poster of wine labels she’d created above the fireplace and the mantel was a hand-hewn log of some kind. A ceramic frog sat on the brick hearth, and there was a rusted antique toy truck on the other side. Her couch was ruby red and suited the dark wood floors, and a coffee table with a distressed finish added an artistic touch. A craftsman glass lamp patterned with butterflies and brilliant flowers adorned a bookshelf. Nothing matched, yet the décor oddly fit together.

He liked it better than his own perfectly decorated house, which he’d hired someone expensive to put together. Raine’s house was comfortable and lived-in; his place might look like it was straight out of a magazine, but it was hardly homey.

“This is nice.”

“This is probably about a tenth of the space of your house, but thank you,” she said drily. “Daisy and I don’t need more. She can get that at the ranch. I’m not really into personal possessions, which is a good thing since she acquired that enormous puppy. Along with my favorite pair of shoes, the rug in the kitchen has been a casualty. I happened to like that rug but I had no idea it was a culinary canine delight. He chewed it to pieces when my back was turned for about eight seconds.”

He had to laugh as he settled next to her on the couch. “Slater mentioned every time Mace went to acquire a pet, someone else in family became latched on to it and he had to try again.”

“It’s like visiting a zoo,” she agreed, also laughing. “The moment the infamous Mrs. Arbuckle-Calder became involved, game over. That woman makes an executive decision over whether or not you might need a pet, and if you are deemed pet-worthy, she’ll pick one out for you and just show up with it and drop it right inside your door. You don’t really get to say yes or no. How do think I ended up with the lion?”

He liked the way she kicked off her black flats and propped her feet on the coffee table, wineglass in hand. A gust of wind hit the rafters, but the fire balanced it nicely. “I wasn’t allowed pets growing up. My mother was opposed to the slightest hint of pet hair in her house, plus my parents traveled a lot, so pets were an inconvenience she didn’t want to suffer.”

Raine furrowed her brow. “No pets?”

“None.”

“Daisy would be desolate without her cat and dog.”

He’d had some moments of desolation, too, but he’d survived.

“Everyone is different. This is what I wanted to talk to you about. I know someone who produces Pixel motion pictures and I mentioned you were a graphic artist. I showed him your work, and he’s interested in talking about it. He’s fairly sure Wyoming is the end of the earth, but he’s willing to come here to meet with you.”

She stared at him. “What?”

Raine had the most beautiful unusual eyes. Not green and not gold, but a starburst mixture of of both colors.

“Pixel. Motion pictures. I—”

“I know what they are,” she interrupted, groaning and briefly closing those eyes. “Oh man, I swore I was going tell you no to anything...but that changes the game.”

“Anything?”

“Stop with the sexual innuendo, I’m processing here. I don’t have the time in my day to add another thing, but I can’t possibly pass that up. I thought you liked me. How could you dangle this in front of me?” She shook her head in disbelief. “I’m not even that qualified. I took some animation classes in college, but that’s it.”

He smiled. “My personal feelings about you aside, from what I’ve been able to see, you’re really talented. I’d never have mentioned your name otherwise. But I’m glad I did, because the producer agrees with me. He thinks you could be a valuable addition to the team.”

Raine glared at him from those vivid hazel eyes. “You knew this would be a graphic artist’s dream. This is a calculated move.”

“Of course I did. Never underestimate me.” He had known. He understood a lot about being driven. Why else would they be exchanging emails at two in the morning?

“What kind of company are we talking about?”

She wasn’t a fool, but he already knew that. “Let’s just say you’d recognize the name.”

She blew out a breath. “I knew you were trouble. I’m so busy right now as it is—”

“All you have to do is think about it and let me know if you want a face-to-face. I’m investing, so I want it to be topnotch. It’s in my financial best interest to help him find the best artist possible.” She opened her mouth again, undoubtedly to protest further, and he held up a hand. “That’s enough business for one night, especially when it’s Christmas Eve. I’m declaring the meeting portion of our evening officially over.”

Raine blinked, then raised a brow. “In that case, I think it’s time for the dinner portion of our evening. I hope you can stand spicy food.” She got to her feet. “Bring the wine, please.”

“I thought we were having hamburgers.” He followed her toward the kitchen, bottle in hand. “But yes, I do like spicy.”

Her kitchen was as interesting as the living room. A row of unmatched antique canisters sat on the polished counter. The appliances were modern but the vintage hutch in the corner held what looked like a beautiful set of old dishes and pink crystal glasses. A mobile made from tarnished silver forks hung over the farmhouse sink—another piece of décor that was quintessentially Raine and suited the room perfectly.

His mother would undoubtedly faint at the sight, but Mick again found himself both charmed and amused.

“Good.” Raine moved efficiently between the refrigerator and the counter as she set down a plate and several containers. “Green chili cheeseburgers are my indulgence on Christmas Eve. Questionably traditional, I know, but I love them.”

He grinned for what felt like the thousandth time that night. “Are you kidding me?” he said incredulously. “I’m from New Mexico. We didn’t move to California until I was fifteen. My aunt and uncle still live in Las Cruces. I have done some self-analyzing to try and figure out if I go to visit them, or just for the food.”

She gave him a surprised look that probably mirrored his own. “Are you serious? My cousin lives in Santa Fe. I love it there. She sends me the chilis every late August or early September and I hoard them like a miser.”

“The real deal? From Hatch? Don’t tease me.”

“Oh yeah.” Raine nodded, no doubt inwardly laughing at his expression. “I roast them myself and freeze them. I would save Daisy and the pets first in a fire, but I might consider going back in for my chilis.”

He’d just gone straight to heaven. “You’ve just given me quite the Christmas present. If I can help, let me know. Otherwise I’ll just stand here and drool.”

She pulled out a cutting board from a side cupboard. “Somehow I suspect your culinary skills are limited to making reservations, but if you can slice an onion, you have a job to do.”

“That I can do.” She was right, he didn’t cook often, but then again, he traveled constantly and home-cooked meals were hard to come by when one wasn’t often home. Maybe that was part of what he liked about Mustang Creek—every aspect of the community felt welcoming and homey. If you walked into an establishment like Bad Billy’s Burger Palace, you’d be greeted by name.

He hadn’t even realized until recently that that appealed to him.

Maybe he was just getting a little restless in his life. Something was missing, and he knew he was in Mustang Creek for Christmas for more than just work.

Standing in Raine’s kitchen, admiring the shapely curves of her body under that silvery sweater, he wondered again what it was about her that had caught his attention. It had served him well in the business world to play hunches and go with his instincts, and his instincts had started humming the instant he’d first laid eyes on her. Raine wasn’t classically beautiful but she was one of those women who, whenever she walked into a room, unconsciously made everyone turn to look. Her vitality was part of the appeal, and since he himself was reserved and self-contained, he’d been fascinated from the start.

“Knife is in the drawer.” She looked up and caught him staring. Wiping her hands on a towel, she looked down as a sudden faint hint of color bloomed in her cheeks. “What?”

“You’re just so—” he cast about for the word “—alive.”

“I hope so, since the alternative is pretty undesirable.” The smile she gave him was quizzical this time.

He wasn’t about to elaborate. “True enough, Ms. McCall.”

“Knife is in the drawer, by the way.”

“You mentioned that.” He tugged open the drawer she indicated and found the object in question. “On the job.”

Mick chopped onions while she dropped the burgers in the grill pan and in less than a minute, his mouth was watering from the tantalizing smell of sizzling meat. Outside, the snow was thickening, draping the trees and the wooden fence out back in a festive wardrobe of white. The whole scene was relaxing in a way he didn’t often allow himself, a respite from the world, and the music softly playing in the background didn’t hurt one bit.

Fire in the hearth, a concerto in the background, a glass of wine, a home-cooked meal and a beautiful woman...

The perfect way to spend Christmas Eve.

3

“THAT WAS A real treat. I felt like I was home again.”

For someone who obviously hit the gym, Mick could eat on a par with the Carson brothers, and that was a high bar. As Red, the head hand at the ranch would say, he could really strap on the ole feed bag. Raine was happy she’d decided to make three burgers instead of just two because that third one disappeared quickly. Mick’s manners were meticulous, of course, but he had devoured his food with flattering enthusiasm.

“I warn you,” she informed him when she got up to clear their plates, “I learned all about how to make dessert from Blythe Carson. Ice cream is going to be all you get.”

“That sounds just fine to me.”

“Once you taste Bad Billy’s Lemon Drop Ice Cream, you’ll be hooked for life.” She wasn’t kidding. “There’s a reason I don’t dare keep it on hand all the time. That would be a desire to keep my girlish figure.”

He gave her a slow once-over as he rose, plate in hand. “There’s nothing I’d change, trust me. Let me help with the cleanup.”

She’d argue, but had a feeling Mick Branson didn’t lose verbal battles very often, maybe ever. He was the epitome of cool, calm and collected, with a good dose of masculine confidence thrown in. It was telling that she wasn’t sure how to handle his obvious interest, because she’d decided a long time ago to just live her life as she wished and that her untraditional approach was a healthy outlook on life, at least for her. She’d sat down with her daughter and explained that the reason she’d never married Slater was that they were too fundamentally different for it to work out, and Daisy seemed to accept that, perhaps because she saw how much her parents loved her and respected each other.

But no one was more different from her than Mick Branson, so Raine had to question why, when their fingers brushed as she handed him the ice cream scoop so he could do the honors, there was an electric flicker of awareness between them.

He wasn’t her type.

She was definitely not his type. She wasn’t sure what his type might be, but she imagined a cool, polished blonde who’d feel right at home in pearls and a stylish black dress. Someone who’d fit in at corporate functions and with the Hollywood set.

Mick interrupted her musings as he scooped out the creamy lemon mixture into the two Victorian glasses she’d inherited from her grandmother. “Daisy is a great kid from what I’ve seen. Spunky and self-confident.”

She smiled. “That she is. It’s hard to believe she’s half-grown already. I don’t know where the time goes.”

He concentrated on scooping. “Have you ever thought about having more children?”

Raine’s expression must have reflected her surprise at the unexpected question. He caught her gaze and for a moment she found herself trapped in those dark eyes. “I just meant you’re a wonderful mother, according to Slater. You’re young, so it just occurred to me. Plus I talked to Grace this morning and she told me her news, and also about Luce.” He looked not exactly embarrassed but maybe off balance. “I didn’t mean to get so personal so quickly. I officially recant.”

Raine wasn’t about to let him off the hook so easily. “I don’t mind the question, but turnabout is fair play. So what about you? Kids?” He was, she’d guess, around forty or so. There wasn’t a fleck of gray in that carefully tousled dark hair, but Slater had once remarked that he and Mick were about the same age.

“Do I have any kids? No. Do I want them? Maybe.”

“I feel like I don’t know that much about you. You’ve done a good job of keeping your private life, well...private.”

“Checking up on me?” He didn’t seem to mind—quite the opposite. “I keep it that way as much as possible.”

“I might have checked a little when you first showed up in Mustang Creek, but Slater likes you, so I trust you. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be wasting BB’s Lemon Drop on you.”

“In that case, I hope to prove worthy of the ice cream. Sounds like a high bar.”

At least he had a sense of humor. She was discovering she liked that about him.

There were quite a lot of things she liked about him. Too many.

“It’s an honor, trust me. I don’t just give it away all the time.”

Without a blink, he returned smoothly, “I didn’t think you did.”

Raine couldn’t help but give him the look. “I thought I banned the sexual innuendos.”

“Hey, you can take that remark any way you wish.”

A man like him didn’t look boyish often, but his unrepentant expression was pretty close. And those eyes...

“Just for that, I’m going to make you watch my favorite Christmas movie, unless you have other pressing plans.”

“I’m all yours.” He deftly wielded the ice cream scoop. “In case you’re wondering—and I’m going to guess you are—my brother and his wife are in London for the holidays this year, my mother is in New York with friends, and since I have a little surprise for Slater, I decided Mustang Creek might not be a bad place to spend Christmas this year. I’m almost afraid to ask, but what’s your favorite Christmas movie? Please tell me there isn’t a lot of singing and dancing.”

“Relax. There’s none. I usually watch Big Jake. You know, John Wayne.” She took two long-handled spoons from a drawer. “Not only is it a great movie, but it has sentimental value. My father loved it. I remember sitting on the couch watching it with him after my mother went to bed. Unlike you, she liked the movies with the singing and dancing and he needed a good dose of the Old West afterward. I was allowed to stay up as long as I wanted on Christmas Eve. I still do that.”

“You are a big girl, so you can do whatever you want.”

She was just going to ignore that. He was deliberately provoking her. “I always have done what I want. Make a note of it. Do you want a cup of coffee?”

“That sounds good. It’ll keep me awake for the drive back to the resort later.”

The reminder that their evening would come to an end caused an odd sinking in her stomach, one she immediately chided herself for. After all, it wasn’t like she planned to invite him to spend the night, no matter how attractive she found him. The softly falling snow outside might be adding to the ambiance of the evening, but her guarded heart was resistant to even the most romantic of trappings.

She believed in love. In loving your child, your family, and of course, she’d thought she was in love with Slater what felt like a million years ago, but that just hadn’t worked out.

It would have been easy to accept his proposal once he knew she was pregnant, to settle into a comfortable life as a Carson, but she’d known from the start that neither of their hearts would have been in it. They were friends—she genuinely liked the father of her child and was grateful for the good relationship they shared—but that wasn’t the same as love.

For the life of her, she couldn’t figure out why it was Mick Branson who apparently inspired more than friendly feelings in her. She couldn’t have picked a man more different from her if she’d tried.

Not in a million years was she Hollywood. Not in a million years was he Mustang Creek.

Though when he settled next to her on the roomy couch, ice cream in hand, he seemed comfortable enough despite the designer slacks and tailored shirt. He took a bite and gave her an incredulous look from those oh-so-sexy dark eyes. “You have to be kidding me.”

“I told you. Billy is a burly, tattooed culinary angel.”

“I might kiss him the next time I see him.” Mick dug back in.

“And he might take exception to that.” She took a spoonful from her own dish. The ice cream was smooth, creamy yet tart, and everything she remembered. Billy only made it once a year and she always put in an order early. Picking up the remote, she pushed a button to cue up the movie. “Here we go. The Duke.”

“Pure Christmas magic in the form of an old western—sounds great to me. But I guess now would be the time to confess I’ve never actually seen it. Did you say Big Jake?”

“What?” She stared. “Never? That’s...incomprehensible.”

He shrugged. “If you met my family, well, let’s just say John Wayne was not on their radar. I’m sure they would enjoy it, don’t get me wrong, but they just wouldn’t think of it. I believe I was dragged to a Broadway play as a child before I ever watched a cartoon.”

That explained quite a lot. “Is that why you do what you do?”

“It might be. Why are you an artist? I doubt I’m going to get a straight-up answer. There probably isn’t one.”

She had to concede that one, so she changed the subject. “I can’t believe you already ate all of that ice cream.” He’d inhaled it. “Haven’t you heard of an ice cream headache?”

“I’ve never had one, but for that stuff, I’d take my chances.” He got up to go into the kitchen and she heard him rinse the bowl and considerately put it in the dishwasher.

Considerate? Oh no. That was trouble right there.

Mick Branson was larger than life in some ways. So was Slater, so maybe that accounted for the chemistry simmering between her and Mick. She was attracted to charismatic men.

She savored each spoonful as the opening movie scene unfolded, feeling oddly comfortable. Even though he wasn’t a stranger, they’d never spent time alone together before this evening, so the ease between them surprised her.

Everything about the way Mick acted said he was interested and she wasn’t positive she was ready for someone like him intruding on the life she’d so carefully built for herself and her daughter.

His life was all about reading signals. Meetings, the stock market, international affairs, how the media was cooperating...

Mick was in tune with the business side of his life. The personal side? Not so much.

Raine was clearly a free spirit but there was a wariness about her that was impossible to miss. It wasn’t like he didn’t understand being cautious; he tended to tread carefully himself, or perhaps he would have had more long-term relationships rather than just a fleeting romantic entanglement here or there.

Her wary aura aside, he wondered if she had any idea how sexy it was to watch her eat ice cream.

He forced his gaze to remain on the screen rather than her lips. There was no way he’d take advantage of softly falling snow and all the rest of the ambiance to get her into bed, though he had a lot of enthusiasm for a night with the lovely Ms. McCall. Maybe more than one night, and that was food for thought right there.

He was afraid this was going somewhere, and Mick wasn’t a man who considered himself afraid of all that much.

Luckily, John Wayne saved him along with everyone else on the screen. Well, not quite everyone, and with an analytical eye he admired the director’s decisions on how the plot played out. It was his favorite kind of script, showing people as they really were—not all good, not all bad, but a combination of both. Slater tended to roll that way in his documentaries as well, with villains and heroes side by side. His characters weren’t fictional, but balanced, and he made riveting dramas set in real places steeped in history.

“Good movie, but there’s no love story,” Mick pointed out when the credits rolled.

Raine sat easily with one leg folded under her. He’d already concluded she did yoga from the rolled-up mat tucked in the corner, so the agile pose didn’t surprise him. What had surprised him more was when her giant cat had wandered out and jumped on the couch with remarkable grace for a creature of his size, then settled down next to her. “Isn’t that what appeals to most men? All action and no sappy stuff.”

He shook his head, a faint smile on his mouth. “I think you have it backward. Men are more interested in romance than women are.”

“Au contraire, Mr. Boardroom.” She waved her hand in dismissal. “Men are more interested in sex.”