A Cadence Creek Christmas (Cadence Creek Cowboys) (4 page)

It was warm inside, and smelled deliciously like tomatoes and garlic and warm bread. Rhys stamped off his feet and unzipped his jacket, tucking his gloves into the pockets as he walked toward the back corner. His mom had been right. Other than a couple of truckers waiting out the bad roads, the place was empty.

He stopped and looked at the miracle she had produced in a scant hour.

The Christmas tree was lit, sending tiny pinpoints of colored light through the room. The heavy tables were pushed together to make one long banquet style set up for twelve, and they were covered with real linens in holiday red. The napkins were only paper but they were dark green and white, in keeping with Christmas colors. Thick candles sat in rings of greenery and berries—where had she come up with those?—and the candles lent an even more intimate air to the setting. But the final touch was the ice buckets on both ends, and the sparkling wineglasses at each place setting.

“What do you think?” His mother’s voice sounded behind his shoulder.

“You’re something, Ma,” he said, shaking his head.

She frowned a little. “Do you think it’ll be okay for Taylor? I know she must have had something fancier planned for the rehearsal dinner.”

“You’ve worked a miracle on short notice. And if Taylor Shepard doesn’t like it, she can...” He frowned. “Well, she can...”

“She can what, Rhys?”

Dammit. Her sweet voice interrupted him. He felt heat rush to his cheeks but when he turned around she was looking at Martha and smiling.

“Martha, how did you possibly do all this in such a short time?”

“It was slow in here and I had some help.” She grinned. “Jean from the bakery sent over a cake—they were closing early anyway and she was happy to help with dessert. It’s chocolate fudge.”

“And wine?” Rhys watched as Taylor’s eyes shone. Maybe he’d misjudged her. Maybe she’d just been stressed, because the snooty perfectionist he expected to see wasn’t in attendance just now.

Or, perhaps she understood she was in a sticky place and was making the best of it. He suspected that faking it was in her repertoire of talents. His jaw tightened. When had he become so cynical? He supposed it was about the time Sherry had promised him to stick by his side—until things got dicey. Then she’d bailed—taking her two kids with her. Kids he’d grown very fond of.

You got to see someone’s true colors when they were under pressure. It wasn’t always pretty. Sherry hadn’t even given him a chance to make things right.

He realized his mom was still speaking. “I’m not licensed, so I’m afraid it’s not real wine. But the bed and breakfast sent over a couple of bottles of sparkling cider they had on hand and I put it on ice. I thought at least you could have a toast.”

To Rhys’s surprise, Taylor enveloped Martha in a quick hug. “I underestimated you,” she said warmly. “This is perfect.”

Martha shrugged but Rhys could tell she was pleased. “Heck,” she replied with a flap of her hand. “That’s what neighbors are for.”

The rest of the wedding party arrived, complete with laughter and the sound of stomping boots. The next thing Rhys knew, he was seated at the table next to Avery’s maid of honor, Denise, and things were well underway. Drinks were poured and he found himself chatting to Harry, who was on his other side. The senior Shepard was a very successful businessman, sharp as a tack and charismatic. Rhys could see a lot of his acumen and energy in Jack, the younger son, and the strength and reliability in Callum, the eldest. Rhys noticed that while Harry spoke proudly about Callum’s military career and Jack’s business, he didn’t say much about Taylor’s successes.

What about Taylor, then? She had the dark looks of the Shepard men rather than the more fair coloring of her mother, who sat across the table. But her lips were soft and full, like Mrs. Shepard’s, and the dusting of freckles came from there, too. When he met Mrs. Shepard’s gaze, he saw a wisdom there that he’d glimpsed in Taylor, too. Wisdom and acceptance. He guessed that it must have been hard to be a girl growing up in a household of such strong males. Had she felt pressure to keep up? Or were the expectations lower because she was female? He’d only known her a short time but he understood that she would hate to be treated as anything less than equal to her brothers. And then there was the tension he’d sensed between them at the rehearsal.

To his surprise, Taylor didn’t sit at all but donned an apron and helped Martha serve the meal. When she put his plate before him, he looked up and met her eyes. “Thank you, Taylor.”

“You’re welcome.”

She turned to move away but he reached out and caught her wrist. “What you said to my mother, that was very nice.”

Her eyes met his. “I meant it. I apologize for my mood earlier. I was stressed.”

“And here I thought it was because you didn’t like to be told what to do.”

Her eyes flashed at him for a second before mellowing, and then her lips twitched. “I do believe you’re baiting me. Now stop so I can finish serving the meal.”

He watched as she helped put the plates around, smiling and laughing. He’d thought her too proud for serving but she wasn’t. She’d do what it took to pull off an event. There was lots of talking and laughing and toasting around the table, but Rhys frowned. Wasn’t she going to sit and eat? While Martha tended to the few customers at the counter, it was Taylor who refilled bread baskets and beverages. Once he spied her in a corner, talking on her cell and gesturing with one hand. When Callum stood and offered a toast Rhys could see her in the kitchen, slicing cake onto plates.

Maybe it was her job, but it was her family, too. She was part of the wedding party, after all. And no one seemed to realize she was missing out.

When the meal was over the party broke up. Callum and Avery departed with a wave, in a hurry to get home to their daughter who was with a sitter. Mr. and Mrs. Shepard left for the bed and breakfast and Jack, being chivalrous, offered to take Denise with him, since they were all staying there anyway.

Angela and Clara offered to help tidy up, but Taylor shooed them away. “You’ve got Sam and Ty waiting and the kids at home. Go. This won’t take but a minute anyway. I’ll see you in the morning.”

They didn’t put up much of an argument, Rhys noticed. Clara put a hand on her swollen tummy and looked relieved.

As they were leaving, another group of truckers came in, looking for hot coffee and a meal before calling it a night. Martha bustled around, attending to them—Rhys knew that on a night like tonight, the tips would be generous.

Meanwhile Taylor grabbed a plastic dishpan and was loading up dirty plates.

She’d missed the entire celebration and was left to clean up the mess. He was pretty sure this wasn’t in the job description, and he was annoyed on her behalf. Her family had been utterly thoughtless tonight.

He went around to the opposite side of the table and began stacking plates.

“What are you doing?”

Clank, clank.
The flatware clattered on the porcelain as he picked up the dishes. “Helping.”

“I got this, Rhys.”

He took the stack over to her and put it in the dishpan. “Well, you shouldn’t.”

“Sorry?”

She looked tired. Tiny bits of hair had come out of her braid and framed her face, and her eyes looked slightly red and weary. “Have you even eaten, Taylor?”

“I’ll get something later.”

Lord, she was stubborn. “There’s no one here now to know that this is your job, because I know that’s what you’re going to say. And you know what? This isn’t your job. For Pete’s sake.”

“Are you angry at me? Because I’m not leaving all this for Martha. It
is
my job, Rhys. When I plan an event, I sometimes have to chip in and help where it’s needed. Even if it’s taking out trash or clearing dishes or providing someone with a spare pair of panty hose.”

“Not this time. And no, I’m not angry at you.”

She lifted her chin. “Then why are you yelling at me? People are staring.”

He looked over. Martha was pretending not to watch but he could tell she was paying attention. The truckers weren’t so discreet. They were openly staring.

He sighed. “I’m angry at your family. They never even noticed that you didn’t sit down. Callum gave the toast without you. And other than Clara and Angela, everyone left without so much as an offer to help clean up. If everyone had pitched in...”

“They had more on their minds.” Her posture had relaxed slightly. “It’s okay, Rhys. Really.”

“Will you go eat, please? Let me look after this.”

She sighed. “Tell you what. I’ll help clear the tables, and then I’ll eat while you put the tables and chairs back to where they normally belong. Deal?”

He could live with that, especially since he figured Taylor wasn’t one to generally compromise. “Deal.”

With carols playing softly in the background, it only took a few minutes to clear the dirty dishes away. Rhys took them to the kitchen while Taylor stripped away the soiled tablecloths and put the centerpieces in a cardboard box. Together they loaded the kitchen dishwasher and then Rhys put a square of leftover lasagna on a plate, heated it in the microwave and poured Taylor a glass of ice water. When it was hot, he added a bit of salad to the side and grabbed a napkin and utensils.

“That smells delicious.”

“Sit. Eat. That’s an order.”

He knew she was tired when she merely smiled and faked a salute as she sat at an empty table. “Yes, boss.”

She’d made a good dent in the lasagna by the time he’d pushed the tables back into place and put the chairs around them. Without a word he went to the kitchen and cut a slice of that chocolate fudge cake she’d missed out on. When he took it to her, she held up her hand. “I couldn’t possibly.”

“Yes, you can. It’s delicious.”

“I have a dress to fit into tomorrow.”

“Which will look beautiful.” He put a bit of cake—complete with fudgy frosting—on the fork and held it out. “Trust me.”

“Trust you.” She raised one cynical eyebrow so brilliantly he nearly laughed. “As if.”

He wiggled the fork. She leaned forward and closed her lips around it, sucking the frosting off the tines.

His body tensed simply from the intimate act of feeding her, feeling the pressure of her lips conducted through metal, the way she closed her eyes at the first rich taste. He enjoyed bantering with her. Matching wits. That didn’t happen often around here. But it was more than that. There was an elemental attraction at work. Something indefinable that was more than a physical response to her unusual beauty. She was the most capable woman he’d ever met. So why did she seem particularly vulnerable? Especially around her family?

“That’s good,” she murmured, licking a bit of chocolate from her upper lip.

“I know.” His voice was hoarse and he cleared his throat. “Have another bite.”

“I shouldn’t.”

In response he put more on the fork and held it out. She took it, and then he took a bite for himself, feeling adolescently pleased that his lips followed where hers had been. The room seemed more silent now, and he suddenly realized that the last few customers had gone, the music had stopped and Martha was turning out lights.

“Oh,” Taylor said, alarmed. “We should go.”

Martha peered through the kitchen door. “Was everything all right, Taylor?”

“It was lovely, Mrs. Bullock. Thank you so much.”

“Don’t thank me. You were the workhorse tonight.” When Taylor moved to stand up, Martha flapped a hand. “Take your time. Rhys will lock up, won’t you Rhys?”

“Sure thing, Ma.” He never took his eyes off Taylor as he answered. They were going to be alone—truly alone—for the first time. Eating cake by the light of the Christmas tree in the corner. The back door through the kitchen shut, echoing in the silence.

“I didn’t mean to...”

He shook his head. “I have keys to the place. It’s okay. I’ve locked up plenty of times.”

“No, what I mean is...”

She stopped talking, looked into his eyes and bit down on her lip.

She was feeling it, too. There was something. Something that had been lit the moment that she’d threatened to make him wear a cravat. She meant they shouldn’t be alone.

She was probably right.

Instead he gazed into her eyes, unwilling to end the evening just yet. “Do you want some milk to go with your cake?” he asked.

CHAPTER FOUR

S
HE
SHOULD
NEVER
have had the cake. Or the milk. Or sat around actually enjoying Rhys’s company as the night drew on and on and it was close to midnight and she was still so wired the thought of sleep was ludicrous.

Rhys was bossy and annoying and, at times, growly. He was also the only person to have noticed how she was excluded tonight. When she was working a job she tried to be invisible, behind the scenes. Maybe she’d done her job a little too well, then. Because she’d sure been invisible to her family this evening.

It had stung. In her head she knew she was just doing her job but in her heart it had hurt a little bit, that no one had at least asked her to pause and join the celebration. Not even for the toast.

Except Rhys had noticed.

She was getting used to the sight of his face, rugged and far less refined than most of the men she was accustomed to. Rhys wasn’t pretty. But as she looked into his eyes across the table, with the lights of the tree reflected in the irises, she realized a man didn’t have to be pretty to be sexy as hell.

“It’s getting late. I should get back. Tomorrow’s a long day.” She balled up her paper napkin and put it on her dirty plate.

“You’re probably right,” he agreed. “I’ll just put these things in the sink.”

She followed him to the kitchen. “Rhys. Thank you. I know I blew it off before but it did kind of hurt. That they didn’t notice, I mean.”

He rinsed the plate and left it in the sink since the dishwasher was already running. “No problem.”

She gave a short laugh. “Well, at least being away from the table meant I avoided the ‘why aren’t you married with a few kids yet’ speech.”

Rhys gave the kitchen a final check. “Why aren’t you, by the way? Or aren’t you interested in those things?”

She shrugged. “I like kids. My dad tends to think in lines of traditional roles, like who the breadwinner is and who does the nurturing.”

“And you don’t?”

She lifted her shoulders. “I don’t. I think as long as a couple has a division of labor that works for them, then who am I to criticize? I suppose I’ll settle down someday, when I have the time. After I’ve proved myself.”

“And how will you know when you get there?”

She looked up, startled. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, how do you measure that? What do you need to check off on a list to consider yourself a success?”

She floundered. There was no list. “I guess I’ll just know.”

“Or maybe you’ll never know. Let me hit the lights.”

She thought about his words as she put on her coat. What was her “yardstick” for success? A dollar amount? Number of employees? Acceptance from her family?

She was so afraid of disappointing any of them, she realized. Callum was a decorated soldier. Jack had been an elite athlete before he’d become a businessman. She loved her brothers but it was hard to compete with their overachievements.

It was a bit of a shock to realize that she’d picked a business where she was behind the scenes, out of the limelight. Where she was protected just a little bit from visibility if she failed.

When had she become so afraid?

Rhys finished up and when they stepped outside she realized just how much snow had fallen—and it was still coming down. Her car was covered and the snowplow had been by, leaving a deep bank right behind her back bumper. She sighed. She didn’t even have a shovel, just a brush in the backseat for cleaning off the windshield.

“Come on, I’ll take you in the truck,” Rhys said, but Taylor shook her head.

“I have to dig it out sometime and I’m due at the golf club by 9:00 a.m. in order to get everything set up for the reception.”

“You try driving that little thing out there before the plows make another pass and you’re sure to slide off into the ditch.” He shook his head. “There aren’t even snow tires on it, just all-seasons. I’ll take you out there in the morning.”

She didn’t want to rely on Rhys too much, especially since he seemed very adept at prying into her business. “Jack’s rental’s a 4x4. I’m sure he’ll run me out if the roads are bad.”

“Suit yourself.” He didn’t sound too put out by her refusal, which was a relief. “But for now, you’d best let me take you home.”

Home being the B&B. She didn’t have a choice. There was no way her car was going to be unstuck tonight and she really didn’t feel like walking through the snowdrifts at this hour.

Rhys unlocked the door to his truck and waited while she got in, then jogged around the front and hopped in the driver’s side. He started the engine and let everything warm up for a few minutes while Taylor stared at the clouds her breath was making in the air.

The heater kicked in and the air around her feet began to warm. “Gosh, it’s cold. I’m so used to the coast. This is full-on winter.”

“Complete with whiteouts and a snow removal system that operates at the speed of a slug.” Rhys grinned. “Still, with this good dump of snow there’ll be lots of sledding happening over the holidays.”

“Sledding?”

“Snowmobiles,” he confirmed. “Lots of wide-open space here, but a lot of the guys like to go into the mountains and into the backcountry.”

“That sounds like something Jack would love.”

Rhys grinned. “He might have said something about coming back for a trip later this winter. If he can drag Callum away from his new bride. I get the feeling that Jack’s a little more adventurous than Callum.”

“Just in a different way,” she replied, rubbing her gloved hands together. “Callum got all the adventure he wanted in the army, I think, and he was ready to settle down. Jack’s more of a daredevil. Anyway, hopefully this will let up by the morning so nothing interferes with the wedding.”

He put the truck in gear. “Right. Well, let’s get you home so you can get your beauty sleep.”

It took no time at all, even at crawling speed, to reach the B&B. The front porch light was on and white Christmas lights twinkled through the snow that had settled on the porch and railings. Rhys put the truck in Park and left the engine running.

Taylor faced him; saw his face illuminated by the dashboard lights. The snow on his hair had melted, making it darker than usual, almost black. Who was Rhys Bullock anyway? Horse trainer, sure. And clearly devoted to his mother, which was another plus. But what made him tick? What were his thoughts, his views? What went on in that complicated male mind of his? On one hand he claimed he didn’t want to be tied down, but there was no doubt in her mind that he’d put down roots in Cadence Creek. What was that about?

Why on earth did she care?

“I, uh, thanks for the drive.”

“You’re welcome.”

“And for making me eat. And...” She wet her lips. “Well, for noticing what no one else did.”

There was an awkward pause as if he were deliberating over his next words. “You don’t need to prove anything to your family, you know,” he finally said quietly. “As long as you’re squared away with yourself, that’s all that matters.”

Her lips dropped open. How could he possibly know that she’d always felt like she came up short? Her dad was always talking about how the boys made him proud. She always felt a few steps behind. There was something in Rhys’s voice, too. Something that said that he was familiar with those words. Like maybe he’d said them to himself a time or two. Why?

“Rhys.”

She’d unbuckled her seat belt and for several heartbeats the air in the cab held, as if wondering if she were going to stay in or get out. Their gazes met and things got ten times more complicated as neither of them seemed capable of looking away. Somehow they drifted closer. Closer...

She wanted to kiss him. The notion was strange and wonderful and slightly terrifying. Nothing could ever come of this, but he was feeling it, too. He must be, because she saw him swallow as he blindly reached around and undid his seat belt, his dark gaze never leaving hers. Nothing was holding him back now and still the fear and excitement waved over her, amplified in the small space of the truck cab. She didn’t do this. She didn’t get personal. And still she had the urge to touch, the desire to explore.

“You’re going to have to meet me halfway,” he murmured, his voice deep and inviting. There was no doubt now, was there? With those words he’d told her that they were on exactly the same page. The air between them sizzled.

“This is probably a mistake,” she answered, dropping her gaze, breaking the connection. “I should go inside.”

She didn’t want to, though. And her pulse leaped wildly as he slid across the seat and reached out with his left hand, curling it around her hip and pulling her across the upholstery. “Hush,” he said, and then cupped her cheek in that same hand. “We’re both sitting here wondering, so why don’t we get this out of the way?”

When his lips came down on hers, it stole her breath. Nothing could have prepared her for the warm insistence of his mouth or the reaction rocketing through her body. One taste and the whole kiss exploded into something wild and demanding. She reached out and gripped the front of his jacket and his arms came around her, pulling her so close she was nearly on his lap. A squeak escaped her lips as he looped one arm beneath her bottom and tugged so she was sprawled across his legs, cushioned by a strong arm as the kiss went on and on, her body ached with trembling need and her head was clouded with sheer desire.

Except somewhere in the fog was the understanding that this couldn’t go any farther. She pulled away first, shaking with the intensity of their connection. “Wow,” she whispered, their limbs still tangled. Despite the truck being left running, the windows had already fogged up as the sound of their breathing filled the cab.

He let out a soft curse. “I didn’t expect that,” he said, running his hand over his hair. “God, Taylor.”

She had to get some of her bravado back or he’d see exactly how rattled she was. “Too much?” she asked innocently.

“Too much?” He gaped at her for a second, but she wasn’t fooled. There was a fire in the dark depths of his eyes that was tremendously exciting.

His voice held a rasp that shivered over her nerve endings. “When I was eighteen I would have been digging for the condom in my wallet by now and heading for the privacy of the gravel pit.”

She giggled. He had a condom in his wallet? Or did he mean hypothetically? What was most surprising was how badly she wanted to. Wanted him. That if he’d seriously asked she would have actually considered it even though she totally wasn’t into casual anything.

It was too much. Too fast. “That sounds romantic,” she replied, the words injected with a healthy dose of sarcasm. She pushed off his lap and back onto the seat of the truck.

“I’m not eighteen anymore,” he admitted, letting out a breath. “I’d like to think I’ve learned some finesse since then. And a quickie in the cab of my truck...” He hesitated, let the thought linger.

Would never be enough. He didn’t need to say it for her to hear the words. “I’d better go,” she said, sliding all the way over to the door and grabbing her purse. Get out before she changed her mind and crawled into his arms again. “This wasn’t such a good idea.”

“Because I’m a small-town hick, right?”

She frowned, brought up short. Did he really think she was such a snob? “I didn’t say that. It just doesn’t make sense to start something when I’m only here until Boxing Day. Then I go back to my world and you stay here in yours. Anything else is just fooling ourselves, Rhys, and you know it.”

There was a long, awkward silence. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning and take you to the club,” he offered, but his voice was tight, like she’d somehow offended him.

“Jack will take me.”

Rhys let out a frustrated sigh. “Will you call if you need anything?”

She squared her shoulders. “I won’t. Thanks for the lift. See you at the church.”

She opened the door and hopped down, her boots sinking into eight inches of fresh snow. She wouldn’t look back at him. He’d know. Know that if he said the right thing or made the slightest move she’d be in the middle of that bench seat, holding on to his arm as he drove out to the pit or wherever people went parking these days, snowstorm be damned. And she never did things like that. In fact, she hadn’t been involved with anyone that way since John. Since he’d said all those hurtful things before slamming the door. She’d put all her energy into the business instead.

Without looking back, she started up the walk to the porch. Rhys gunned the engine the slightest bit—did “Mr. Uptight Pants” have a bit of a rebellious side after all?—and pulled away, driving off into the night.

She tiptoed up the steps and carefully opened the door—a single light glowed from the front window but Taylor expected everyone would be in bed. She’d have to apologize in the morning for coming in so late.

“Aren’t you a little old to be parking?” came a voice on her right.

She jumped, pressed a hand to her heart. “Jack. What are you doing up?”

“Big brother was waiting for you. What took you so long?”

She recalled Rhys’s criticism of her family and felt her temper flicker. “Someone had to stay and clean up.”

“Isn’t that the owner’s job? What’s her name? Martha?”

“Rhys’s mother, yes. And considering she was a staff of one tonight and still managed to put on a great dinner for us at a moment’s notice, I certainly wasn’t going to walk out of there and leave her with a mess. Not that anyone else seemed to mind.”

He came forward and frowned down at her. “Touchy,” he remarked. “This have anything to do with why you were in Rhys’s truck for so long, and with the windows steamed up?”

She didn’t want to blush, but the heat crept up her neck and into her cheeks anyway. “That is none of your business.”

“Be careful is all I’m saying. He’s not your type.”

“How would you know what my type is?”

He straightened and it seemed to her that he puffed out his chest. “Oh, I know. You go for the pretty boys who work downtown in two-thousand-dollar suits.”

“Men like you, you mean?”

His eyes glittered. “Hardly. You pick guys who aren’t a challenge and who don’t challenge you. Guys like Rhys Bullock won’t let you away with your usual tricks, sis.”