Donna Alward - The Cowboy's Christmas Gift

Stupid rum and cola.

Sun glinted through the blinds she’d forgotten to shut last night, and she squinted. What time was it? A quick check of her ancient clock radio said eight forty-five. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept this late. As she sat up in bed, the room took an uncertain shift. She waited it out, then cautiously stood, shut her blinds, and went in search of acetaminophen and a large glass of water in an attempt to rehydrate.

It was half-gone when there was a knock on her door.

Probably Kailey, Carrie mused, shuffling her way to the foyer. She’d want a play-by-play of last night for sure. Instead she opened the door to find Duke on the step holding a cardboard tray with two coffees and a smile.

She then realized that she was in her panties and the same red shirt—still minus her bra—that she’d been wearing when she fell into bed after he left. His smile was replaced by a slightly shocked expression that mellowed to amusement. “I’d offer you hair of the dog,” he said warmly, “except I thought you’d appreciate coffee more.”

She would not freak out that he was seeing her in her underwear. She would not. “Gimme,” she muttered instead, and reached for the tray. As she disappeared into the kitchen, she called back, “You coming in or what?”

She heard his boots hit the tile and the door shut behind him. “How could I refuse such a warm invitation?” he responded, coming through to her small kitchen. He looked her up and down. “Do you always answer your door in your underwear?”

“I thought you were Kailey.”

“Right.” He grinned at her. She really wished he’d stay grouchy and broody. He was easier to dislike then.

“You didn’t need to bring coffee over.”

“I thought you might be a little worse for wear this morning, that’s all.”

Which she was. Not that she’d had trouble sleeping. But she distinctly remembered dreams last night. Dreams about Duke and what might have happened in his truck. Or inside. She wondered if the reality was even half as good as her dreams, and if it was, she discovered she quite regretted putting a halt to their activities.

Sort of. Because her body was sorry but her brain was a bit blown away by the sheer force of their chemistry. It was too much. Overwhelming. The kind of thing that could swallow a girl up and then spit her out.

“Give me a minute to pull on some pants, okay?” Avoiding his assessing gaze, she resisted the urge to scoot to her bedroom for proper clothing, instead taking calm, measured steps. It wasn’t as if she was naked....

Which she very well might have been if they’d finished what they started and were dealing with a true morning after.

She returned to the kitchen feeling seminormal, dressed in jeans and a hooded sweatshirt and her hair scraped back into a ponytail. The coffee smelled delicious, so she reached for her cup and took a cautious sip while Duke watched her over the rim of his own, his hips resting against the kitchen counter and his left foot crossed over his right. He looked ultrarelaxed when she was anything but.

Maybe walking away hadn’t messed with his sleep the way it had hers.

“Thanks for this,” she said, cupping her hands around the heat sleeve. “But you really didn’t need to come by. I’m fine.”

“Actually, I wanted to apologize.”

“You did?” She raised an eyebrow at him. “What on earth for?”

He looked oddly embarrassed as his gaze dropped to the floor for a moment and his cheeks grew ruddy. He looked up and gave a small, slightly crooked smile. “Look, Freckles, it’s pretty clear that we’ve got chemistry. But I shouldn’t have let it get in the way of my common sense. You were right last night about it being an awkward situation.”

Chemistry, hah. Carrie remembered the old trick from high school where a bunch of them had dropped a Mentos into a bottle of cola. That was chemistry, too, and that was just about how she’d felt last night. Fizzy. Explosive.

And why on earth did she feel all girlie when he called her Freckles?

“What, you’ve shortened Freckle Face to just Freckles?” She ignored the other stuff he’d said—she didn’t feel like going into a postmortem of “let’s define our relationship parameters” while her head was still throbbing.

“Too many syllables.” Duke’s lips twitched and he took another long drink of his coffee.

“Don’t worry about last night. It’s already forgotten.” Yeah, and her nose was about to grow à la Pinocchio. As if she’d ever forget straddling him in his truck or the way he’d carried her inside as if it was his single purpose in life.

“Deal,” he agreed.

Now that it was settled, Duke seemed to relax and look around him. “So. This was the house you grew up in, huh.”

She nodded, knowing how it must appear to Duke. The house was nothing special. Things had fallen into a bit of disrepair, though Carrie did her best as a handyman. Maintenance usually took up what little budget she had for household items, so she hadn’t really had a chance to put her own personal stamp on the place in the form of homey, decorative touches. Not that decorating was really on her list of strengths...

“I love it here. When Mom got sick again and my dad took off, I talked the bank into letting me assume the mortgage.”

“As a ranch hand? You weren’t foreman then, were you? Wow. I’m impressed they lent you the money.”

She shook her head. “I know you and your grandfather weren’t close, but he was really good to me. He cosigned the loan. It was the only way they’d approve me.”

“That was good of him.”

He sounded sincere, and she was glad. “So much had changed in my life. I think it was a relief to have this house, some sort of consistency. Plus it let Mom stay here during most of her illness.”

“That must have been hard.” He watched her over the rim of his cup, his gaze steady on her face. One thing she’d say about Duke, when you spoke to him, he paid attention.

She met his gaze. “Yeah, it was,” she said quietly. Harder still had been the last days, when she’d had to give in to harsh reality and her mom had gone to a hospice in Great Falls. It had meant that Carrie couldn’t be with her as much as she wanted. It had meant that she’d missed her opportunity to say a last goodbye, too. That was something she’d always regret.

“It must have been tough, being the main breadwinner.”

She shrugged. “You do what you have to do. All I can say is I’m glad the ranch is still running. Without this job, I’d lose the house, and I’m still paying off the medical bills.”

She met Duke’s gaze and saw the expected sympathy. “Hey, don’t feel sorry for me,” she said. “I’m still healthy as a horse. It’s all good. What about you? How’re you settling in at Crooked Valley?”

It was Duke’s turn to make a face. “Honestly? That house is too big and quiet for me. Quinn’s got his office in the downstairs, and I felt like a fool wandering through it all alone. I moved my things into the bunkhouse.”

Carrie put her coffee cup in the trash. “The bunkhouse is all right. Quinn never used it because he has the house nearby and he’s got Amber, too. But it had to be in rough shape. No one’s lived in it for quite a while.”

Duke nodded. “It needed some work. I spent a few days last week cleaning it from top to bottom and dropping some money at the hardware store. I’ve been doing odd jobs in between shadowing Quinn around and getting an overall feeling for the operation. There’s more here than I remember.”

“Your grandfather added the bucking stock in the past ten years. It didn’t take off the way he hoped. He needs a Kailey.”