A Cowboy Under the Mistletoe (17 page)

The blizzard raged all day and into the night. She exchanged texts with Rosie, who had resigned herself to a change of plans. So had Whitney. Even if the storm petered out, having Ty drive up for one night was insane. She played Christmas carols and wrapped packages, something she’d need to do anyway before she drove to Cheyenne on Christmas Eve in a couple of weeks.

When the weather didn’t improve at all on Saturday, she felt fortunate to have food in the apartment and power to her appliances. Mother Nature had shut down all activity with a breathtaking show of power. So she wrote Christmas cards, a job she’d been putting off for days.

She hadn’t heard from Ty, which meant either he was having trouble getting cell phone service or he was royally pissed that they wouldn’t see each other this weekend. She was willing to believe either or both possibilities. Her one text to him—
There’s always next weekend!
—
wasn’t answered.

Saturday night, when she should have been rolling around in bed with Ty, she watched a movie on TV that didn’t hold her interest. Eventually she climbed under the covers and turned out the light. Her usual optimistic outlook was a little tarnished because she really missed Ty. Too bad they hadn’t started this affair in the summer.

A persistent buzzing noise woke her up. At first she panicked, thinking it was the fire alarm because she’d left something on the stove without realizing it. No, it wasn’t the fire alarm. It was her intercom. She glanced at her bedside clock. Two in the morning.

It had to be Ty. No one else would show up at two without calling. And she was wearing her flannel nightgown with rosebuds on it. Racing to the living room, she flipped the switch. “Ty?”

He sounded exhausted. “It’s me. I need you.”

Heart pounding, she activated the front door lock. Then she ran barefoot into the hall. She’d started down the stairs when he met her halfway, his face haggard and his coat and hat dusted with snow. He clutched a duffel bag in his right hand.

Diving into his arms, she hugged him and felt him stagger. She hugged him tighter and absorbed the chill of his sheepskin coat. “You idiot! What the hell were you thinking?”

“That I had to see you.” His arms came around her and the duffel bumped her hip. They stayed like that, holding each other, until he finally sighed and loosened his grip. “It’s okay, now. I made it. Let’s go upstairs.”

They walked up the steps in tandem, their arms around each other. “You’re crazy,” she said. “I hope you know that.”

“No, I’m not. I followed a snowplow. You can’t go off the road when you follow a snowplow.”

“I should be really mad at you for this stunt.”

“But you’re not. I can tell because you ran out to meet me. Sexy nightgown, by the way.” Even when he was exhausted, he apparently couldn’t resist teasing her.

“It’s the granny gown I wear when I’m not expecting anyone, and I certainly wasn’t expecting
you
,
cowboy.” She wanted to lecture him about being stupid, but she couldn’t. He’d gone through hell and a blizzard to be with her, and that was heroic, in a dumb sort of way.

He wasn’t moving very fast, and he leaned against her as they walked. She glanced up at him. “How long have you been on the road?”

“Not sure. I think I started out around three this afternoon.”

“Three? But that’s almost twelve hours!”

His chuckle was ragged. “Time flies when you’re having fun.”

She maneuvered him through her open apartment door. He was still holding on to her as if without her support he might collapse. Leaving the door open for now, she walked him into the bedroom and over to the bed. “Lie down.”

“Okay.” He dropped the duffel and collapsed onto the bed, clothes, boots and all. Somewhere along the way he’d lost his hat. He gazed up at her, his gray eyes dull with fatigue. “Are you getting in with me?”

“In a minute.” She hurried back to the living room so she could lock up. Then she scooped up his hat from where it had fallen on the floor. By the time she returned, he was asleep.

Although he was deadweight, she managed to work him out of his boots and socks plus both sleeves of his coat. Pulling the coat out from under him proved to be impossible. Sleeping with a belt on wouldn’t feel very good, so she unbuckled it, but she couldn’t tug it loose, either.

In his place, she’d want her jeans unbuttoned, too. How strange to be performing that intimate task when he was asleep instead of aroused and desperate to have her. He looked so vulnerable lying there.

Then again, she’d never seen him sleeping. Every time they’d been together he’d been awake, loaded with testosterone and ready to make love. This quiet moment allowed her a glimpse of the young boy who’d had both parents yanked from his life in an instant. With no siblings, no close relatives to cling to, he’d lost everything.

Judging from Rosie’s description, he’d responded with anger. He’d gotten past that with the help of Rosie, Herb and his foster brothers. On the surface, at least, he seemed at peace, as he’d proudly announced to her.

But he was a man who needed a deep emotional connection, whether he could admit it or not. She might never have known that if they hadn’t made love. She’d seen wonder in his eyes, the same wonder she’d felt, but she’d also seen fear. A man with his past could be terrified that making that connection meant risking the loss of it. She couldn’t blame him.

If he wanted to believe their relationship was mostly sexual, she’d go along for now. But she didn’t know how he could keep fooling himself when he’d driven twelve hours through a blizzard to see her. Once he realized she was becoming critical to his happiness, he might run like the wind. Then they’d both lose.

14

T
Y
WOKE
WITH
a start and stared into the darkness. Was he still driving? Had he fallen asleep at the wheel and run into a snowbank? No, he was in a bed. Whitney’s bed. Gradually he remembered getting to her apartment complex and stumbling up the stairs with her. God, how pathetic.

She’d been wearing a granny gown and he’d joked about it. But he hadn’t made love to her. He would have remembered that. In any case, she must have led him in here although he couldn’t recall the exact sequence of events.

He could hear her slow, even breathing next to him. Turning his head, he saw her lying on her side facing him, but her eyes were closed and she’d pulled the covers up to her chin. He, on the other hand, was on top of the covers. Apparently she’d put a blanket over him so he wouldn’t get cold. Once he’d conked out, he must have been too heavy for her to move.

He pictured himself collapsing, fully dressed, onto her bed. Lovely. And wearing his boots, too? He hoped to hell not. Wiggling his toes, he ascertained that he wasn’t wearing socks, let alone boots, but he might have been when he’d flopped down on her green comforter.

Bad form
,
Slater
.
Bad form
. Moving carefully so he wouldn’t wake her, he eased out from under the blanket. He’d swallowed gallons of coffee on the way up here and he needed to make a quick trip across the hall. When he stood, his belt jangled and he realized it was unbuckled. The button on his jeans was undone, too. He doubted she’d done that in hopes of some action. Probably she’d tried to make him as comfortable as possible considering he’d been unconscious and impossible to budge.

Holding his belt so it wouldn’t rattle, he managed one step before he tripped over something soft and went down with a thud. Damn. He’d likely woken her and anyone sleeping in the room below. He was one smooth operator this weekend.

“Ty?” She switched on a lamp. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.” He got to his feet and turned back to her. “Sorry. Tripped over my duffel.” A glance at the bedside clock told him it was a little past four. He’d sailed in at two, interrupted her sleep, and now, two hours later, he’d interrupted it again.

She sat up, rubbed her eyes and yawned, exactly like a little girl might. “I should have moved it. Forgot.”

“I should have remembered it was there.” He was transfixed by the sight of her in that granny gown. The combination of the sweet little rosebuds and no makeup made her look about ten years old. Then she straightened her shoulders and her breasts moved under the flannel. Nope, not ten. His cock twitched.

“Can I get you something?”

“No, I just...” He gestured toward the bathroom.

“Sure, sure.” She made shooing motions with her hand. “That was a long drive.”

“Yeah, it was.” An insanely long drive. He probably needed to look long and hard at his reasons for making it. But for now, he had something more basic to take care of. He walked into the bathroom, closed the door and turned on the light. Then he caught a glimpse of some raggedy stranger in the mirror.

The stranger turned out to be him, and damn, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d looked this bad. Scruffy beard, hair sticking out every which way, bloodshot eyes. Shitfire. Whitney must be dying to get a piece of this.

After taking care of his most urgent problem, he fastened his jeans but took his belt off. He’d get it later.

Returning to the sink, he washed his hands and splashed cold water on his face. It didn’t improve his reflection any, but his eyes felt a little less gritty. While his hands were still wet he finger-combed his hair into something more presentable.

He couldn’t do anything about the bristles unless he fetched his shaving kit out of his duffel. Settling back down so they could both get some sleep was a higher priority. He turned off the light and walked back into the bedroom.

She was still sitting up with the light on as if she’d been waiting for him. “You probably didn’t have a decent dinner. If you’re hungry, I can fix you something. It won’t be fancy, but I have some eggs and bread for toast. I even have homemade jam from my mom.”

Sounded heavenly. He hadn’t eaten since grabbing a quick lunch before leaving. But he wasn’t about to have her get up and make him something. “That’s okay. Let’s just go back to sleep.” His stomach rumbled loud enough that he knew she’d heard it.

She laughed and threw back the covers. “Come on. Neither of us will get any sleep with that going on.”

“You can go back to bed. I’ll have a slice of bread and jam and that’ll take care of me.”

She shook her head as she shoved her feet into a pair of fuzzy pink slippers. “I’m awake, now, and I doubt I’ll go back to sleep while you’re rattling around in my kitchen. Unless the blizzard’s let up and the roads are all cleared, I won’t be opening Rangeland Roasters this morning, so no worries.”

He followed her into the kitchen, watching her hips move under the soft flannel. She wouldn’t be wearing anything under that nightgown. “I kept the radio on while I drove, and they said to expect heavy snow until late this afternoon. Nobody will be on the road today except emergency vehicles and snowplows.”

She sighed. “Oh, well. Good thing business has been great until now. Our bottom line won’t be hit too hard, but I worry about my employees. I pay them by the hour and when they don’t work for several days, it has to hurt.”

“I hadn’t considered that.” Selfish jerk that he was, he’d only thought about the joy of snuggling with her all morning because she wouldn’t be going in to work.

“I’ll find a way to make it up to them.” She opened the refrigerator and took out a carton of eggs. “Next week I’ll spend less time behind the counter and give them extra shifts. I’ll find out if anybody has a rent or car payment due and they can have first pick of hours.”

“You’re a good boss.”

“Thanks.” She smiled at him. “That’s my goal.”

“What can I do to help?” He leaned against the counter as she bustled around grabbing a frying pan and a bowl from a cupboard and butter from the refrigerator.

“Make toast.” She took a toaster from a bottom cupboard and plugged it in. Then she put a loaf of cinnamon bread on the counter and a jar of cherry jam.

“I’d be happy to.” He hated to admit it, but he was starving now that food was being offered. Watching her move around the kitchen was giving him a sexual appetite, too, but after barging in here without warning, he’d settle for a meal. He’d seen himself in the bathroom mirror. He wouldn’t blame her if she’d rather feed him eggs and toast than have sex with him.

While butter melted in the pan, she beat the eggs with a wire whisk. The motion made her breasts jiggle, and yes, he noticed that, too. She poured the mixture into the pan and the sizzle fit his mood. If he had his way, they’d eat this in bed and satisfy both his hungers, but he wasn’t going to suggest it.

She used a wooden spoon to stir the eggs as they began to cook. After she added some salt and pepper, she glanced over her shoulder. “What do you want to drink?”

“Not coffee. I’ve had enough to last me a lifetime. Whoops, that might sound offensive to a barista.” He spread jam on two slices of warm toast and then popped two more pieces of bread into the toaster.

“I’m not offended. How about cocoa?”

“I could go for that.”

“Me, too. I even have a can of whipped cream. Unless you’re a marshmallow guy.”

“Nope. Always liked whipped cream better.”

“All righty, then.” She turned off the heat under the frying pan. “Those will be fine for a couple of minutes while I make some cocoa.”

He’d never felt so domestic in his life. He wanted cocoa and he wanted her. Upon arriving he’d joked about the flannel nightgown, but it was growing sexier by the minute. Knowing her naked, luscious body was concealed under all those rosebuds fired his imagination. The combination of wholesome and erotic was damn near irresistible.

At least one of his appetites needed to be satisfied ASAP. “Do you mind if I eat some of this toast? I’m hungrier than I thought.”

“Please do. I have another loaf in the freezer. Cinnamon bread, peanut butter and cherry jam are what I stock in for blizzard conditions.”

“You have peanut butter?”

“I do.” She grabbed another pan from the cupboard and began measuring out sugar and cocoa. “In the refrigerator. Help yourself.”