A Cowboy Under the Mistletoe (15 page)

The caution that she'd been feeling the last few days, about the two of them, fled. She leaned into him and allowed herself to be vulnerable to the undeniable sparks between them once again. “Help me to forget I may soon have to sell the only real link to family that I have left. Or that tomorrow I'm going to find out whether or not I'm going to be laid off from my job.” Her voice cracked emotionally. She looked at him with raw need. “And that Duchess and Gracie and the rest of the puppies are going to be taken away….”

She was facing tremendous loss, Hank knew. But she wasn't going to lose him. Not if he could help it. And lowering his mouth to hers, he set about to show her that.

One kiss turned into two, then three. She shifted around on his lap so she was straddling him. The softness of her breasts pressed against his chest as she nuzzled his neck.

Hank unbuttoned her blouse, eased it off and divested her of her lacy bra. She shuddered as he palmed her nipples, teasing them into tender buds. His hands drifted lower, to release the zipper on her skirt.

Deciding the sooner there was nothing but pure heat between them the better, he shifted her again, so she was on her feet. And then she took the lead, stripping sensually, helping him do the same. She touched and kissed him with
a wild rapture, pushing him toward the edge. In a haze, he suddenly found himself sitting on the sofa again, with Ally straddling his lap.

“Now,” she said determinedly, tangling her fingers in his hair.

“Not until you're ready.” He held her wrists in one hand, using his other to touch, stroke, love. She quivered, as he kissed her again, vowing to make this last, to make it so incredible she would never want to pull away. Her skin grew flushed, her thighs parted to better accommodate his. And then she was wet and trembling, ready, wanting, needing, and Hank was lost in a completeness unlike anything he had ever known. His heart pounding, he caught her hips. Brought her flush against him. Ally closed around him, her response honest and unashamed. Surrendering entirely, she took him deep inside her, resolutely commanding everything he had to give. And when she would have hurried the pace even more, he held back, making her understand what it was to feel such urgent, burning need.

Until there was no doubt that this holiday season, the two of them had every dream fulfilled, in their lovemaking, in each other. Until she was giving him every ounce of tenderness and passion she possessed, just as he was to her.

For the first time Hank knew what it was to come home to where the heart was, to have every detail of his future happiness laid out in front of him, his for the taking.

He wanted to tell her how he felt. But with the business of the ranch still between them, he knew he had to wait. So Hank tried to show her instead, with kisses full of longing, touches full of need. Until she was shivering with pleasure, until she drew him toward the brink and was crying out hoarsely as he thrust inside her, the friction of their bodies doubling the pleasure. Her hands were on his skin, and his
were on hers, and nothing mattered but the two of them. Their mouths and bodies meshed until every bit of her was sweet and wild and womanly. And all his… Beautifully, magically, wonderfully his.

All they had to do was make it another thirty-four hours.

Until late Christmas Eve.

When he would finally be able to tell her the truth.

And give her the security and sense of belonging she had always craved.

Ally clapped a hand over her heart and stared at the litter. Her pretty face glowed with a happiness that would have been hard to imagine just two weeks before. “I can't believe it, Hank! They're actually
standing.
”

“Before they fall over, that is.” Hank chuckled as the puppies—all roughly three pounds each now—struggled upright, tottered and then fell, only to get right back up again. It seemed once Gracie had the idea, all her bigger littermates wanted to follow her example.

“It's going to be so quiet here without them,” Ally mused tenderly.

Even quieter without you,
Hank thought.
If you choose to leave. I'm still hoping a Christmas miracle will happen and you'll decide not to return to Houston, after all.

Pushing his own concerns aside, he asked, “Have you heard about your job yet?”

Ally paled. “Word was supposed to be sent out via email at seven this morning.”

Hank glanced at his watch. “It's seven-thirty.”

She acknowledged this with a slight dip of her head. “I know. I should check. But…” she lifted her slender shoulders in a shrug “…I'm afraid to look.”

Hank knew it was his job to lessen the tension. He
flashed her a consoling grin, and drawled, “You know what they say…”

“I'm sure you're going to tell me,” Ally replied, mirroring his deadpan expression.

“Burying your head in the sand doesn't give you anything but grit up your nose.”

She burst out laughing. “And here I thought you were going to go all Churchill on me and say something like—” she lowered her voice to a booming alto “—Now, Ally, there's nothing to fear but fear itself!”

“That, too.” He moved a strand of hair from her cheek, and tucked it behind her ear. “Why don't you have a look?” he encouraged gently. For her sake, he hoped she got what she wanted—continued employment and a steady salary coming in. “I'll have the champagne ready.”

She looked as if she was going to need a hanky instead. “I'm going to be fired,” she worried out loud.

Hank shook his head. “Not if they're smart.”

Ally gave him one last glance, then swallowed and went to the desk. She switched on her laptop computer and brought up her email. Waited impatiently, her hands trembling slightly all the while. Finally, she drew a long bolstering breath, typed in a command, then another. And promptly burst into tears.

Hank swore silently to himself and reached for the tissue box.

“Porter lost his job,” Ally sobbed. She accepted the tissues he handed her and wiped her face. “I kept mine.”

Hank was ambivalent, to the say the least, since this meant she would be leaving Laramie—and him. His need to be a decent and chivalrous human being demanded that he once again put his own concerns aside, and congratulate and wholeheartedly support Ally on her
career success. “Well, that's good, isn't it?” he countered enthusiastically.

Ally's face crumpled. She slumped back in her chair and wearily ran a hand over her damp eyes. “It means I have to be back in Houston for an 8:00 a.m. managers meeting on December 26.”

Which meant she would be leaving Christmas Day, if not sooner, just as she had initially planned. Not so good. Still, Hank didn't want to be a jerk. “Congratulations,” he said, meaning it with every fiber of his being.

“Thank you.” Ally closed her eyes and exhaled slowly, looking even more distressed. Finally, she straightened. “I have to call Porter.”

“I'll manage things here,” Hank promised as another round of puppies stood, wobbled and fell into a wiggling pile.

Ally stepped outside on the wraparound porch to speak in private.

Just as she finished, Talia Brannamore arrived. Ally greeted her, then brought her inside.

Hank had been prepared to loathe the breeder who'd managed to put Duchess in the care of someone so obviously incompetent. Who could lose such a precious dog who was about to give birth? But it was clear Talia Brannamore had been through a little bit of hell herself. Her face was haggard with fatigue, her middle-aged body drooping.

Duchess thumped her tail in recognition and panted happily when she saw her owner, but didn't rise to greet her, as Hank would have expected her to do after such a prolonged absence.

Talia shook her head at the puppies tumbling over each other in an effort to get to their feet and stay there. She knelt and picked them up one by one, examining each in
turn. “The nose is a little short on this one,” she noted with a discerning frown. “I don't like the look of these ears. Now this one…this one is darn near perfect. And what happened here?” Talia stopped when she saw Gracie, who weighed in at only two and a half pounds, instead of the three sported by all her littermates. “What a little runt she is!”

Ally's jaw dropped. She squared off with the woman unhappily. “I don't know how you can say that! I mean… she's on the small side, but she's absolutely beautiful!”

Talia sighed. “Only because you know nothing about show dogs. This one would not win Westminster. Now this one…” she picked up a particularly robust male puppy “…would.” The breeder set the puppy down with barely a pat of affection. She rocked back on her heels. “Fortunately, most of my customers aren't interested in showing their dogs. They just want their pet to look like he or she could be competitive enough to win first place.” That said, Talia Brannamore looked back at Gracie and shook her head in obvious disappointment.

“If you don't want her, I'll take Gracie!” Ally blurted.

Again, Talia shook her head. “I can't do that. These dogs have all been presold for months now. And even though they won't be able to go ‘home' for another seven weeks, I've promised their new owners they'll be able to come and visit their puppy on Christmas Day. So I've got to talk compensation with you, and then load them up and get going.”

Saying goodbye to all of them was tough, even for Hank, but saying goodbye to Gracie was heart-wrenching. Ally's lower lip trembled and tears rolled down her face as she kissed the smallest puppy on the head and then gently put her in the flannel lined warming box with her litter
mates. The box was plugged into the power outlet in Talia Brannamore's station wagon.

The breeder patted the blanketed cargo area. “Come on, Duchess, let's go.”

The retriever looked at Talia and then Hank, and went to stand next to him. Taking his hand in her mouth, she tugged him toward the back of the station wagon.

She seemed to be urging him to get in with the puppies.

Then Duchess went to Ally and gently mouthed her hand, doing the same.

Ally cried all the harder.

The lump in Hank's throat got even bigger. “Well, I'll be darned. She wants us to go with them,” he muttered in awe.

“Honestly,” Talia said, exasperated. She patted the cargo bed vigorously and commanded, “Duchess! Inside! Now!”

Duchess gave another last long look at Hank and Ally, then did as ordered. She settled next to her puppies, as if knowing this was where she had to be. The breeder shut the back, then turned to them. “Thanks again. Y'll have a merry Christmas now!” She got in and drove off.

As the station wagon went down the lane, they could see Duchess press her head against the window, looking back at them.

Hank had grown up around animals. He knew that there was a cycle to things, and this cycle had ended—at least for him and Ally. It still hurt almost more than he could bear. He turned to her and could tell at a glance that it was all she could do not to run after the station wagon and beg Talia Brannamore to let all the dogs stay.

He felt the same way.

On top of that, he was about to lose Ally, too! Talk
about yuletide misery. She apparently felt it, too, for she pivoted, saw his eyes gleaming with moisture, and promptly lost it.

 

T
HERE WERE TIMES,
Ally knew, when a person needed to be held. And right now she needed not just to be held, but for
Hank
to hold her. And he knew it, too. She thrust herself into his arms. He caught her to him and buried his face in her hair, offering low, consoling words and the sweetest solace she had ever felt. Then the tears came, in an outpouring of grief she could not seem to stop.

Ally cried because they'd lost the dogs they both loved so much. She cried because she had kept her job, and that meant she had to leave. She cried because she wasn't quite sure where she stood with Hank. And most of all, she cried because for the first time in her life she felt like she just might belong somewhere, with someone. And she wasn't sure that was going to last, either. All she knew for sure was that she was drenching his shirt, and that he made her feel so safe and cared for. And that he probably thought she was an utter fool, for reacting so emotionally around him…again.

Sniffing, Ally forced herself to pull herself together and draw back. She dabbed at her eyes. “They're going to be fine,” Hank told Ally firmly as they walked back into the ranch house together.

“Of course they are,” Ally agreed.

Hank laced a protective arm about her waist. “Duchess wasn't our dog to begin with.”

Ally shrugged out of her jacket. “We knew that from the outset.”

Hank went to tend the fire in the grate. “Looking out the window that way was just Duchess's way of saying goodbye to us.”

Ally battled a new flood of tears.

Hank paused, abruptly looking as utterly bereft as Ally was feeling. Ally drew a bolstering breath, aware her hands were shaking. She wrung them together. “I'm not sure what you're supposed to do in a situation like this.”

Hank replaced the screen on the fireplace. “I know what we do in the military when we lose a comrade—and in this case,” the corner of his lips crooked ruefully “—we just lost ‘twelve' of 'em. We raise a glass in our lost friends' honor.” He rubbed his chin with the flat of his hand. “The only problem is I think I drank the last beer several days ago, and since it's only eight in the morning, I doubt any of the bars in town are going to be open. Although I guess we could hit the grocery store…”

Ally didn't even want to think what the talk would be if she and Hank showed up together, looking for even “medicinal alcohol” at that time of morning.

And while she was soon leaving, to go back to her job in Houston, Hank would have to stay and face—not just the gossip—but the million and one questions from his parents.

“I think I might know where there's a bottle.” She dragged a chair over to the cabinets and stepped from that onto the countertop. Sidling carefully, she opened the very uppermost storage cabinet, above the sink. Inside, wedged in the very back, was the bottle—just where her mother had put it, the day the gift from a grateful client had arrived.

Ally removed it and blew off the thin layer of dust. “Voila! Peppermint Schnapps!”

Hank wrinkled his nose.

Happy to have something that would ease the sorrow in her aching heart, if only temporarily, Ally waved off his disdain. “Buck up, cowboy! Beggars can't be choosers.”

She turned to hand off the bottle and found Hank's
hands anchored securely around her waist. He lifted her down, as easily as if she weighed a feather. “You're right,” he acknowledged, looking like a marine, ready for action. “In this case, a drink's a drink.”

Her heart racing, for a completely different reason this time, Ally handed the pint to Hank. He ripped off the seal, took off the cap. Sniffed. His expression perplexed, he offered the bottle to her. “Is it supposed to smell like this?”

Ally dutifully inhaled the mixture of peppermint-scented vodka. “I don't know,” she said with a shrug. “I've never had it.”

He grinned. “Me, either.”

It didn't matter how tough life was, Ally noted. Being near Hank always made her feel better. “Well, let's give it a try.” She got down two water glasses, the nearness of him and the intimacy of the moment filling her senses. “You want it over ice or straight up?”

His eyes darkened seductively. “Straight up, probably while holding my nose.”

Ally wrinkled her nose at his joke glad for the distraction of their ‘toast'. She poured an inch in each glass.

Hank lifted a brow. “That's a little stiff.”

Moving closer, Ally breathed in the masculine fragrance of his skin and hair. “I can handle it.”

He met her gaze and their fingers brushed as he accepted his drink.

He lifted his glass, his deep blue eyes glittering with ardor. “To Duchess and Gracie and the rest of the cute little darlin's. May they have all the happiness they brought us.”

“Amen to that.” Ally touched her glass to his and took a hefty drink. The liqueur burned on its way down. She coughed a bit while Hank grinned, then poured another inch for both of them. They lifted their glasses again. “And
to Mesquite Ridge,” Ally toasted softly, wanting this said. “I'm glad I came back, after all.”

 

T
WO HOURS, A GOOD PORTION
of the pint—and a plate of Christmas cookies later—Hank and Ally were lounging side by side on the living room sofa. They'd pulled off their boots and had their feet propped up on the coffee table. Hank had put a CD of Christmas music on, turned the lights on the tree and built a fire in the grate.

The whole scene was like something out of a holiday movie. Ally felt her heart swelling with joy.

As she tilted her head slightly to the left, to look around, the top of her cheek brushed the hardness of Hank's shoulder. She reveled in the contentment. She still missed the dogs—and knew he did, too—but it still felt so right, being with him this way.

Like they could handle any challenge that came their way, as long as they stuck together…

“I know I didn't make that many changes, but the ranch house seems so different now,” she murmured.