Cathy Thacker - A Texas Cowboy's Christmas

Molly slid behind the wheel. “Thanks, but I won’t.” She looked up at him.

Whether Chance admitted it or not, she was out of his league socially, too. “And don’t worry about Braden. I’ll figure out a way to handle his misconceptions about what is possible for Christmas. And what is not.”

* * *

EXCEPT SHE WASN’T handling it, Molly thought the following day when they entered the popular San Angelo cafeteria. At least not as well as she or her son would like.

“I’m hungry, Mommy,” Braden complained as the line of customers inched forward.

Although she had been hoping to make this Thanksgiving really special for him, he’d been grumpy since waking that morning. “I know.” Molly inched up slightly, clear of the entrance. “It will be our turn soon. See?” She pointed to the lighted display cases up ahead.

Braden stamped his cowboy boot. “Don’t want to wait,” he fumed.

“I know.” Thinking he might be overheated, Molly knelt down in front of him and unzipped his fleece hoodie. She figured he would be fine once they sat down. Avoiding a meltdown before that concerned her.

“Can we go home now?” Braden persisted.

“Oh, you don’t want to do that,” a familiar low voice said from behind them. “I hear the holiday buffet here is not to be missed.”

Braden lit up like a Christmas tree. “Cowboy Chance!”

“Hi, buddy!” Chance held out his palm. Braden high-fived him.

Slowly, Molly straightened to her full height. To her dismay, she was ridiculously glad to see him. Especially looking so fine.

Like her, he had upped his game a notch. Slacks, a starched shirt, tie and tweed Western-cut blazer, instead of his usual flannel shirt and jeans. “Aren’t you supposed to be at your mom’s today?”

“Already made my appearance.”

Which accounted for his neatly combed chestnut hair and freshly shaven jaw.

“I’m tired,” Braden complained.

Molly inhaled the sandalwood and leather fragrance of Chance’s cologne, mixing with the usual soap and fresh air scent of his skin.

“Probably a little bored, too.” Chance winked. He reached into his jacket pockets. “Which is why I brought you these.” He pulled out a toy reindeer with a big red nose and a coordinating winter sleigh.

Braden beamed. “Rudolph!”

Molly gave Chance a look her delighted son could not see. “What are you doing?” she demanded sweetly.

Grooves deepened on either side of his mouth. “Working on that solution.”

Aware how easy it would be to fall for this sexy cowboy’s charms, Molly stiffened. “I fail to see how—”

He clapped a hand on her shoulder. “All in good time, my darlin’. All in good time. And—” he nodded at the space behind her “—you’re going to want to move on up.”

The line was indeed pushing forward.

Molly inched ahead. “I don’t remember inviting you,” she murmured so only he could hear, while her son energetically played with the reindeer and sleigh.

Chance leaned down to whisper in her ear. “That’s the good thing about having Thanksgiving here. You don’t need an invite.” He looked around, impressed. “Although given how crowded the establishment is quickly getting, it would probably be considerate of the three of us to share a table, rather than unnecessarily take up more chairs than we need.”

“You’re impossible.” Despite herself, she was glad to see him.

Braden tugged on Chance’s blazer. He tilted his head back so he could see his idol’s face. “Thank you for toys.”

Chance ruffled her son’s hair. “You’re welcome, buddy. It was my pleasure.”

To Molly’s surprise, it was hers, too.

* * *

“SO WHAT NEXT?” Chance asked as the three of them finished their turkey dinners.

Molly looked out the cafeteria windows. The rain that had been threatening since the previous evening had started midmeal. It was now coming down in sheets. She sighed. “No playground, unfortunately...”

Braden stopped playing with the toys Chance had brought him long enough to scowl. “Promised!”

Molly used a napkin to wipe some cranberry sauce off her son’s chin. “I know, honey, but everything will be all wet, so we’ll have to do something indoors.”

“Bouncy house?”

“Afraid not. It’s closed because today is a holiday.”

“Cowboy Chance play. My house.”

She did have activities planned there, two they had already started, in fact, in addition to Braden’s usual time set aside to do whatever he wanted. “I’m sure Mr. Chance has other things to do, honey.”

He met her eyes. “Not really.” Chance turned back to Braden, his cordial tone as reassuring as his presence. “What kind of toys do you have?”

“Trucks and cars.”

“Trains?”

Braden shook his head.

Abruptly Molly saw where Chance was going with this.

If he did have an idea how to convince her son to yearn for the holiday gift she had chosen for Braden...could she afford to turn Chance down? Especially if the end result was Braden’s happiness?

Braden tugged on her sleeve. “Go now, Mommy!” He stood on his chair and held out his arms to their lunch companion. “Cowboy Chance, too!”

Chance caught Braden in his big arms.

Trying not to think how natural the two looked together, Molly said, “We won’t expect you to stay long.”

Chance stood, Braden still in his arms. “I won’t wear out my welcome. On the other hand...” He winked and shrugged in a way that opened up a ton of possibilities. A shiver of awareness swept through her. He probably would be a good time, Molly thought despite herself. Too good a time.

She shook off the awareness. Stacking their dishes and trays, she asked, “You know where I live?”

He nodded, looking as unexpectedly content in that moment as she felt. “Spring Street in Laramie.”

* * *

MOLLY LED THE WAY. The drive back to Laramie took thirty-five minutes. It was still raining when Chance parked behind Molly’s SUV and got out of his pickup truck.

Her home, a former carriage house, sported a three-foot-high white picket fence and was sandwiched between two large Victorians. The one-story abode, while much smaller and set back a ways from the sidewalk, was just as attractive—if not more so—than every other home on the prestigious street. A front porch with white wicker furniture spanned the width of the thousand-square-foot house, which featured gray clapboard sides, white trim and black shutters.

The scent of fresh-cut pine hit Chance the moment he walked in the door.

A Christmas tree stood in the corner of the comfortably outfitted living area, boxes of lights and decorations beside it.

The state-of-the-art kitchen, situated at the back of the main living area, was banked by a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows that flooded the small, cozy space with light. Plentiful cabinets, painted a dark slate, and an island that also served as a dining area were a nice counterpoint to the white quartz countertops, bleached wood floors and stainless steel appliances.

Standing there, noting how beautiful her home was, he couldn’t imagine why she would ever want to leave it.

Her son, however, had other things on his mind.

Barely standing still long enough for his mother to wrestle him out of his damp rain jacket, he set his Rudolph and sleigh on the coffee table, next to a soft blue blanket, then headed importantly for the kitchen, where a delicious fresh dough and orange smell emanated. “Come on, Mr. Chance. We cook!”

Braden grabbed a tyke-size navy chef’s apron off the hook, and then handed Chance one, as well—frilly and floral. “Put on!” he demanded.

Molly’s amused expression dared Chance to do so.