A Cowboy Firefighter For Christmas (Smokin' Hot Cowboys 1) (20 page)

“I’m not even gonna talk about good or bad intentions. That could get us both into trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“Not another word.” He grabbed her hand and started walking alongside the swimming pool.

He skirted a long planter with a row of evergreen shrubs that provided privacy for the guest residence made of brick and stone that matched the main house. He stopped in front of double pale oak doors with square, steel contemporary hinges and door handles set in the center of a wide swath of floor-to-ceiling windows. He threw open the doors.

“Welcome to my home.” He gave her a mischievous look, tugged her inside, and planted a hot kiss on her lips.

“It’s lovely here.” She glanced around, then back at him. He’d become north on her personal compass, for her attention always strayed back to him.

“Make yourself at home. If you want to freshen up, there’s a half bath over there.” He gestured at a closed door. “I’ll run upstairs, grab a shower, and be back real quick.”

“Don’t hurry on my account.”

“That’s exactly why I’ll hurry.” He headed for the oak staircase set against a wall of stone near the entrance, then turned back. “Almost forgot.” He took long strides over to the bar in the kitchen, tugged the bluebird out of its sack, and proudly set it on the bar. He crushed the sack and tossed it in the trash.

She watched as he took the stairs two at a time with his long, strong legs. When he disappeared from sight, she turned to focus on the open floor plan of his beautiful home. She looked up at the high ceiling in the octagon shape of the outside. Wood slats filled the ceiling between exposed beams, and a contemporary steel ceiling fan hung from the center. The walls were gray brick with floor-to-ceiling windows framed with pale oak. A cordovan leather sectional couch sat on a colorful geometric pattern area rug that covered a wood floor in the center of the room.

Everything in the house looked so lovely that she decided to take off her dusty red boots and leave them by the front door so as not to track dirt into his home. She leaned against a wall, tugged off her boots and socks, and set them in a corner. Then she ventured deeper onto the house.

On one side was a kitchen fronted by a long wooden bar with a black-and-gray granite countertop and stainless bar stools covered with black-and-white cowhide. Oak cabinets and stainless steel appliances finished off the area. Across from the kitchen rose a large natural rock fireplace with a simple oak mantel. A single Christmas stocking that appeared to have been knitted by hand of red and green yarn hung by its lonesome in the center of the mantel. In one corner of the expanse of windows across the back wall rose a cedar tree trimmed with vintage glass ornaments and a blond angel on top.

Misty adored his home—classy and warm and inviting all at the same time. She decided to clean up a bit in the powder room. As she walked over to the door under the staircase, she decided she’d never again leave home without her handbag. Of all the times when she could have used so much that she normally carried, she had nothing except her lip gloss. It’d just have to do.

She opened the door and closed it behind her. Another beautiful room with oak cabinets and a black-and-gray granite countertop accented with a stainless steel sink, large mirror framed in oak, and a crystal and steel vanity light above the mirror. Red-and-green fingertip towels with Frosty the Snowman were laid out for seasonal fun.

She selected a cabinet and found an unopened toothbrush and toothpaste, as well as a small comb and brush. Thank goodness for planning ahead for guests. She quickly took advantage of all the amenities, washing and brushing till she felt more her usual self. She glanced in the mirror and added a little lip gloss. She didn’t need any color in her cheeks because they were pink from the exertions of the day or simply the nearness of Trey.

She walked out, feeling much more refreshed after everything. She could hear the shower running upstairs and knew Trey would soon be down to join her. She stopped in front of the wall of windows and looked out over the ranch. She could see a red ribbon in the distance that must surely be the Red River. It was a beautiful, peaceful sight.

She stepped from there to the Christmas tree. She reached out and touched one of the ornaments. The red-and-green swirls looked familiar. She looked closer and felt her breath catch in her throat as emotions started to rise. She’d had a Christmas ornament just like this one so very long ago. Tears stung her eyes. She felt her breath catch in her throat. She smelled smoke.

Misty whirled around and put her back to the tree. But it was too late. Everything had been too much for too long. And it’d finally caught up with her. She didn’t want to be here, not now, not when she suddenly felt so fragile. She needed to be alone so she could recover in privacy. But it was too late.

She stumbled blindly to the couch with her eyes filled by tears, no longer seeing the room. Memories were crowding in on her, overwhelming the present. She’d held them so long at bay. She’d been so careful. She’d never allowed herself too much of anything. Aunt Cami had understood. They’d carefully negotiated the perils of Christmas.

But now Trey and Wildcat Bluff had pushed past her defenses, knocked down her carefully constructed walls, and lured her into wanting more than she ever had before.

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she curled into a small ball on the couch, hoping against hope that she could have her cry out before Trey came back downstairs. She desperately didn’t want him to see her true self instead of the person she’d presented to him.

Above all, she wanted to flee.

Trey bounded down the stairs. He’d showered off the stink and dirt of the fire. Fortunately, he hadn’t sustained any injuries. He’d pulled on a Frosty the Snowman T-shirt, comfortable jeans, and leather loafers. He felt good. And he was all set to enjoy Misty’s company.

“You ready for some good home cooking?” he called as he came down the stairs.

When she didn’t respond, he chuckled. “Not afraid of my ability as a chef, are you?”

Still no response. His mood abruptly shifted. Had she left? She could’ve hiked down to Wildcat Road and walked or hitchhiked back to town. But why? Everything was good between them, as far as he knew. Maybe a few kinks to iron out, but he wanted to tackle Texas Timber on a full stomach. Maybe she was outside looking around the property or petting a horse down at the stables.

But he felt uneasy. Something wasn’t right.

When he heard glass break near the Christmas tree, he glanced over there. Misty was by the tree, looking small and alone. Why wasn’t she sitting on the comfortable couch or rooting around in his refrigerator looking for food and drink?

“Misty?” He quickly strode over to her.

“I’m sorry.” She sat with her head bowed and legs crossed under her.

“Why are you sorry?” He knelt beside her.

“I smashed your tree ornament.” She held out her hand, palm up where broken glass mixed with blood. Most of the ornament lay in pieces on the floor.

“Misty!” He reached for her hand, but she snatched it back.

“Not fair. It’d hung there, hadn’t it? Christmas after Christmas after Christmas.”

“Yes. It was a bit of our family heritage left. Our oldest ornaments were with Kent’s parents when the fire broke out.”

“I just couldn’t stand the memories.” She looked up, revealing tear-filled green eyes and moist cheeks.

He felt his breath catch at the pain etched on her face. He hurt for her, not only for her abused hand but for her obvious deep torment. This time he didn’t take no for an answer. He raised her hand, turned it palm up, and flicked pieces of glass onto the floor beside the broken ornament. Fortunately, the cuts on her palm looked minor, but the glass was sharp and her injuries could’ve been worse.

“I’m so sorry to have caused you to lose more of your past.”

“I don’t care about the Christmas ornament. That’s an old memory.” He reached down and gently lifted her to her feet. “I care about you. We can make new memories.”

“You’d better take me to Twin Oaks. I’m not fit company.”

“I’ll do no such thing.”

“And I’ll pay to replace what I broke.”

“Forget it.”

He led her over to the couch and set her gently down in the corner near the fireplace. When she trembled, he pulled a Frosty the Snowman throw off one edge of the sofa and spread the soft cotton over her lap and legs.

“Stay right there.”

He walked over to the kitchen and grabbed the small medical kit he kept handy near a fire extinguisher. He went back, set his kit on the large cedar coffee table, and sat down beside her.

“I’d like to clean your wounds now.” He kept his voice soft and low so as to comfort her. “Is that okay with you?”

“If you’ll take me to Twin Oaks, I’ll be fine.”

“Remember, I’m your personal paramedic. If you get an infection on my watch, you know I’ll never hear the last of it from my cousins.”

She sighed. “Okay, get it over with.” She placed her hand, palm up, on his thigh.

He knew he had to go as gently with her psyche as with her hand. He couldn’t help but think her reaction to the ornament was somehow related to her reaction to the first fire. “I’ll use hydrogen peroxide to clean the wounds. If you feel any discomfort let me know.”

She made an irritated sound in the back of her throat. “Pain. That’s what you mean. I don’t need to be mollycoddled with you substituting ‘discomfort’ for ‘pain.’”

That was a good sign. He needed her strong to heal. But he still had to proceed with caution. “Misty, why don’t you share what’s troubling you while I see to your wounds?” He opened the medical kit, hoping his physical actions would distract her mind and free up the memories underneath.

“I’m not troubled.”

He silently kicked himself. He knew better than to be so direct. He’d used the wrong word and lost her. He pretended like he hadn’t heard her while he set out cotton swabs and the small bottle of peroxide.

“Anyway, you don’t want to hear about me.”

Good. She was reaching out to him. He’d learned that was the way it worked with folks. If you reached out, they pulled back. If you pulled back, they reached out. Automatic human reactions. “You were a good listener when I talked about my parents being gone for the holidays. Helped me see why they’d do it.”

“They must love you a great deal.”

“Yep.” He gently cleaned her palm but remained quiet to draw her out.

“I’m already embarrassed enough. Everybody in Wildcat Bluff is so strong. And now—”

“You fit right in with us.”

She wiped away moisture beneath her eyes with one hand, not agreeing or disagreeing.

He gave her time like he would any wounded one. He used tweezers to gently pull out several small glass shards in her skin, and then quickly finished with hydrogen peroxide to disinfect.

She hissed on a breath and winced at his touch.

“I’m being as gentle as I can.” Fortunately, her cuts weren’t deep, but they could be painful.

“It’s okay.”

“I hope you know you can trust me. Anything you say won’t go beyond my ears.”

“I’m usually fine.” She clenched her injured hand, moaned, and quickly released her fist.

“Hurt?”

“Not bad.”

“Good.” He gently applied antibiotic cream over the cuts before he covered her palm with a bandage. “All done.”

She withdrew her hand as she glanced out the windows. “Everything that’s been going on in Wildcat Bluff since I got here has pushed all my buttons.”

“It can happen.”

“But not to me. I’m cautious.”

“Sometimes cautious can set us up for a fall.”

She looked back at him, a puzzled expression in her vivid green eyes. “Really?”

“Early on I learned that if I focused on something like ‘I won’t fall off the back of a horse’ that’d be the first thing I did. ’Course I never thought that till I fell the first time. Hurt my pride more than my backside.”

She smiled at him, a little twitch of one corner of her mouth.

“I know. Hard to believe a horse got the best of me.” He returned her smile, feeling relieved she was listening to him. Now if he could find a way to put together the right words to help her.

“I’d like to meet that horse.”

“My lips are sealed. So are the horse’s.” He was rewarded with a bigger smile. “Anyway, seems like the more I try to avoid something the more it comes after me.”

“Maybe like attracts like?”

“Yeah. And maybe if you take your eye off the current ball to watch a past ball, you lose your focus.”

“I see.” She nodded as she stared at the Christmas tree. “When I was twelve, my family’s house caught on fire.” She wrapped both arms around her chest as she sat stiffly upright.

“Oh, Misty, no.”

He couldn’t stand to see her look so alone. She must have sealed off a part of herself a long time ago. He wouldn’t let her stay that way, not when he could do something about it. He put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her against his chest, drawing the throw up over them both. He rubbed his palm up and down her back for comfort.

She remained stiff for a long moment, and then she snuggled against him and laid her head on his chest.

“It happened early one Christmas morning,” she said in a soft, almost childlike voice. “Still dark out. I was sound asleep. I’d been awake late because I’d been too excited to sleep.” She glanced up at Trey, as if making sure he was still with her.

“I’m here. You’re safe.” He spoke softly and gently as he watched tears spill from her too-bright eyes and roll down her too-pink cheeks. She seemed unaware, so he caught her tears with his fingertips as his heart went out to her.

“Safe and sound.” She glanced around the room before she refocused on him. “Daddy woke me. I smelled smoke. It burned my eyes. He carried me out through the living room. Our Christmas tree was full of lights. I wondered why the pretty lights were on so early. That’s when I realized the tree was on fire.”

Trey held Misty tighter as she clung to him. He felt her tears hot and damp against his skin. All he could do was provide a safe place for her to share her grief, but he wanted to do so much more. He wanted to go back in time and stop the fire before it had caused so much damage.

“Daddy pushed me out the front door. I didn’t want to leave him. I wanted Mommy. He told me to run next door. He’d get Mommy.”

Misty suddenly shoved away from Trey, tossed aside the blanket, and stood up. She paced over to the Christmas tree, as if hardly able to contain her energy, and pointed at it. “You must be careful of the cords, the electrical outlets. You can’t overload or anything that might cause a fire.” She glanced back at him. “Did you check?”

“I’m careful.”

“Good.” She wrapped her arms around her chest once more and stood a little straighter. “I never saw my parents alive again. Firefighters tried hard to save them, but it was too late.”

“Misty, I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you.” She dropped her hands to her sides and whirled to look out the window.

He couldn’t have been more proud of her. She had the courage of a lioness to relive and overcome a terrible personal loss. He felt honored that she’d allowed him to be part of this moment in her life. He’d known she was smart and strong and beautiful from the first moment their lives had come together on Wildcat Road. Now he knew she’d captured his heart.

He got up and joined her at the window. He gently wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “What happened to you afterward?”

“Aunt Camilla took me in. She was single with no children, but she couldn’t have been better. We did everything together. She was a history teacher. I know you two would’ve liked each other.”

“She’s gone?”

“Way too soon. Cancer.”

“I’m sorry.” He hesitated to push Misty’s memories any more, but he figured there might be a little more for her to recognize and release. “How did you two handle Christmas?”

“You guessed, didn’t you?”

“What do you mean?”

“We avoided it. She’d lost her brother. I’d lost my parents. Instead, we celebrated Winter Solstice.”

“A good compromise. But—”

“Maybe not so healthy in the long run.”

“I wouldn’t say that. You both did what you needed to do. Never doubt it.”

“You’re right.” Misty stepped away from him and put a hand against the window as she gazed out at the Red River. “So wonderful here.” She turned back and looked him up and down. “Just like you.”

He didn’t know if he felt so wonderful. He felt like he’d roped a buffalo and been hanging on for dear life. One slip and he could’ve lost Misty.

She slowly lifted her macramé necklace, kissed the angel pendant, and took the few steps back to him.

He stood very still, not knowing what to expect.

She lifted the necklace, dropped it over his head, and let the angel nestle against his chest. She tapped it with the tip of one finger, and then glanced up at his face. “You’re my Christmas angel.”

He smiled, feeling a warm glow deep inside. She’d come out on the side of the angels, strong and whole and beautiful.

“And I want you.
Now
.”