A Cowboy Under the Mistletoe (8 page)

“Me, either. But you need to celebrate with your foster family and I’d love to be there. I’ll just need a few minutes to change clothes and then we can go.”

Now that the keys to her apartment rested in his suddenly sweaty palm, he wondered how that would work, with her changing clothes while he was there. “The party might run late.”

“Doesn’t matter.” She looked into his eyes. “I have a feeling that once we get back to my apartment, we won’t be tired anymore.”

As he imagined that explosive moment, he wasn’t capable of coherent speech, so he made a little noise of agreement deep in his throat.

“But you probably need to make sure that nobody expects you to come home until morning.”

“They won’t.”

“You’re sure?”

He nodded. “Rosie wasn’t born yesterday.”

“All righty, then. I have to be at work at eight.”

“That early? Then maybe we shouldn’t—”

“We definitely should. I’m only telling you because sometime around six-thirty, I’ll need to shower and get dressed. But until then, I’m all yours.”

He clutched the keys so tightly they bit into his palm. “But...” He paused to clear his throat. “But you’ll be working most of the day. You need sleep.”

“I live in the land of constantly available caffeine. You’re the one who has to drive down to Cheyenne tomorrow. Can you go back to the ranch and take a nap first?”

“Absolutely.” Or he’d mainline coffee all during the trip. He was worried about her lack of sleep, but not his. He’d made it through law school. He’d be fine—more than fine.

Her eyes grew as dark as melted chocolate. “Then I think we have a plan, cowboy.” She motioned to the dishes that had appeared in front of them. “Now eat your mac and cheese. You have to keep up your strength.”

He pocketed her keys and tucked into his meal, although he could barely taste it as anticipation sizzled in his veins. He’d presented the situation, and she’d reacted exactly as he’d hoped. They’d attend the celebration, and then...he forced himself to think of something else. Otherwise he’d have to deal with those predictable anatomical consequences again.

“Watch TV if you want while you wait for me,” she said between bites.

“Okay. Thanks.”

“I wish I could offer you a beer or some wine, but I don’t have any. I drank the rest of the wine after you left.”

“I’m glad you did. I was going to pick some up for us to have tonight, but now it doesn’t make much sense.”

“No, it doesn’t. We won’t have time to be drinking wine.”

She made the statement so earnestly that it struck him as funny. He turned to her with a grin. “Do you have a schedule mapped out?”

“You know what I mean. We have limited time and—”

“Lots to accomplish?”

Cheeks pink, she rolled her eyes. “Never mind.”

“If you have a list, I should probably have a look at it.”

“I should make one, just to shut you up.”

“By all means. Then I won’t waste precious minutes on things you’d rather skip.”

She locked her gaze with his. “I don’t want to skip
anything
.”

Just like that, she turned the tables on him. His body tightened and his breath came faster. “Sounds like a long list.”

“You’d better believe it.” With a gleam of victory in her eyes, she turned away and began eating again. Only a slight quiver of the fork in her hand indicated that she might have stirred herself up, too.

They left the diner soon after that and he walked her to the coffee shop. He considered kissing her goodbye outside the door but thought better of it. She wouldn’t want to go into work looking kissed.

So he squeezed her hand and let her go. “See you soon.”

“Looking forward to it.”

“Me, too.”

“Bye.” She smiled and turned away.

He watched her step inside and immediately she started interacting with customers sitting at the tables she passed. She was a natural at a service-oriented job, but she’d excel at anything that involved meeting the public. His mom and dad would have loved her.

Where had that thought come from? He couldn’t remember ever thinking that about any woman he’d dated. It was a pointless fantasy to have, anyway.

As he left the coffee shop, he turned his collar up against the bite of the wind and tugged his hat down over his eyes. The wind was making them water. That was his story and he was sticking to it.

But damn it, he really did want his folks to meet Whitney. Whitney would have loved them, too. Pointless fantasy or not, he couldn’t seem to get the idea out of his head.

He’d just started to notice girls around the time they died, but he hadn’t talked about it to either of them. His mom must have noticed, though, because she’d commented that soon he’d be glad for the ballroom dancing lessons she’d foisted on him. He’d secretly had fun taking them although he’d complained long and loud every week. He was good at it, better than any other guy in the class.

And he had been grateful for the lessons once he’d started going to dances in high school. A fast two-step lifted his heart and made him forget everything but the music. He wished he could have told his mom that she’d given him a tool that had helped a whole lot.

Once he was in his truck, he cranked up the heater and started toward Whitney’s apartment. Then, on impulse, he turned down the street that would take him into his old neighborhood. He never drove by the house, but tonight he felt the urge to test himself and see what happened.

Slowing the truck, he leaned down to gaze through the window at the two-story house where he’d spent the first fourteen years of his life. Lights were on and whoever lived there now had put up Christmas decorations. The roof was lined with multicolored bulbs and a blow-up Santa and sleigh sat in the small front yard.

The front walk was shoveled and the house looked taken care of. That was good. He wouldn’t have wanted the place to get run-down. Tension that had gathered in his chest eased. He’d seen the house and hadn’t been hit with a tidal wave of grief.

He continued on to Whitney’s apartment complex with a sense of accomplishment, as if he’d jumped a hurdle he’d been avoiding for years. He told everyone he was at peace with losing his parents because then they tended to leave the subject alone. He wasn’t about to let anyone dig into his past and open up old wounds.

Whitney seemed sensitive to that. Helping decorate her tree had skimmed the surface of his past like a light breeze over tall grass. He’d felt the memories stir, which was probably why he’d had the wayward thought about her meeting his parents and why he’d felt like driving by his old house.

Apparently he could handle that kind of gentle visit to his previous life without falling apart. He was relieved to find that out because being around Whitney seemed to cause random memories to surface. But just because he’d survived helping with her tree and seeing his childhood home didn’t mean he wanted to unpack the photo albums stored in the back of his closet.

Theoretically he should be able to recall every page in those albums, but he couldn’t remember a single picture or even what his parents had looked like. A guy with a photographic memory should be able to visualize his own parents, but he couldn’t. He’d never told anyone that, not even Rosie. Sure as the world she’d have pushed him to see a therapist. No thanks.

Once he’d arrived in her apartment, he heard nothing from her neighbors. Good soundproofing. Wouldn’t have to worry about waking the neighbors later on tonight.

The living room felt like Christmas with the glow from the tree lights and the scent of pine in the air. Crouching down, he saw a timer in the wall plug. He used a timer for his artificial tree so he was greeted by lights every night when he came home, but maybe he should think about getting a real tree this year. He’d forgotten how great they smelled.

As he took off his coat, he admired the job she’d done with the decorations. Wired red ribbon had been woven through the branches and the little teddy bear anchored to the top made him smile. Glass snowflakes and icicles sparkled in the light and the ornaments all were different.

Leaving his coat and hat on the futon, he checked them out and soon realized each bore a different date. He counted twenty-seven It didn’t take a genius to figure out that she had one for each year of her life. Nice. In a way he was glad he hadn’t helped put them on. Accidentally dropping one would have been bad.

So, here he was in her apartment. He could sit down and watch TV, which sounded boring, or he could prowl around a little, which sounded way more fun. He knew what the kitchen was like, but there was an important room he’d never seen. She’d given him her keys so she had to know he’d take a look.

Heading down a short hallway, he came to her darkened bedroom. No timed lights in here. He patted the wall beside the door and found a switch. When he flipped it, two bedside table lights came on and illuminated a bed so inviting that he hated not having her here right this minute.

The headboard was some kind of reddish wood, maybe cherry, and the fluffy comforter was dark green. It had been folded back, along with the white top sheet to reveal the snowy bottom sheet. Pillows in white cases had been stacked against the headboard—six of them, to be exact.

It wasn’t the fanciest bed he’d ever seen, but it was the most tempting. Then again, he probably thought so because he was picturing Whitney lying naked in it. Crossing the room, he stroked his hand across a section of the bottom sheet. Nice and soft. Perfect to make love on.

He’d bought condoms yesterday, just in case. The box was in his truck, but he’d put two in each of his front jeans pockets before coming up here tonight. He’d love to leave them in here instead of carting them around all night, but where?

Putting them in one of the bedside table drawers seemed too much like snooping, but leaving them lying on top was too blatant. Finally he decided to open a drawer and toss them in. He wouldn’t look at anything in there.

But when he opened the drawer, an entire box of condoms was already inside. He picked it up and discovered it had never been opened. She’d obviously been shopping recently, too.

Chuckling, he added his loose packets to the drawer and closed it. At least they wouldn’t run out. Still smiling, he walked back into the living room. Just as he picked up the remote for her TV, the intercom buzzed.

Damn, he hoped she didn’t have an unexpected visitor. Then he had to laugh at himself. It was probably Whitney, who’d given him her key and now needed to be buzzed in. Maybe someone was covering her last hour for her.

In that case, they had an hour in which no one expected them to be anywhere. Talk about an answer to his prayers. They might not have to wait until after the party, after all.

He opened the intercom connection. “Whitney?”

The silence that followed was not promising. “No, this is her mother. Who are you?”

7

T
HANK
G
OD
M
ERYL
had been willing to cover for her. As Whitney drove home, she tried to figure out her best approach to this fustercluck. A surprise visit from her mom and dad had never occurred to her, but maybe it should have.

When her mother had called a few minutes ago, she’d said they’d come up to surprise her with Thanksgiving leftovers. Whitney had never been away for Thanksgiving before, so that was a semireasonable explanation. Her mom had said they’d tried her apartment first and had been prepared to drive to Rangeland Roasters if they hadn’t found her at home.

Knowing her parents and their love of tradition, they might have decided on a whim to make the ten-hour round trip to bring her turkey, cranberry sauce and pumpkin pie. Her dad might believe that rationale, but Whitney didn’t buy it. After that Thanksgiving Day conversation, Ellen Jones had wanted to find out if anything was going on between her daughter and
the guy from the calendar
, which is how she’d referred to Ty on the phone just now.

Mentioning him had been a huge mistake. Because she’d gone to college in Cheyenne, her parents had met everyone she’d ever dated. But
the guy from the calendar
was an unknown, and to be fair, he looked like a rascal in that shot.

So delivering Thanksgiving leftovers was a cover story and the actual reason was currently sitting in her living room sweating out an unexpected face-to-face with her parents. Poor Ty. She hadn’t meant to put him in this position. She’d had several other positions in mind, though, and now that was a lost cause.

Because Ty had her front-door key, she used the intercom to get buzzed in.

Her dad answered. “Hey, sweetie! We’re making turkey sandwiches and drinking a really good pinot noir. Come on up and join the party!”

“Be right there!” Oh, boy. They would assume she’d want turkey sandwiches on the Saturday after Thanksgiving because she always had before. She wondered if Ty was forcing down a sandwich to be sociable even though he’d had a large helping of mac and cheese not very long ago.

Her mother came out of the hallway and hurried to meet her. “Honey, I had no idea you would be seeing him again tonight. But once we were here, what could we do? He seems nice.”

“He is nice, Mom.” She gave her mother a hug. “And surprising me with Thanksgiving leftovers is a sweet and thoughtful idea.”

“I actually wanted to find out what was going on with this new guy.”

Whitney laughed. “I knew that.”

“So you’re not surprised we showed up?”

“I was at first, but when I thought about it on the drive home, I figured it out.”

“Forgive me?”

“Of course.” She smiled at her petite mother, whose head was a smidgen higher than Whitney’s shoulder. Her parents were physical opposites, and Whitney had inherited her height from her dark-haired dad. Her coloring came from her mother, who was just beginning to go gray.

“I debated with myself for a long time after we talked on Thanksgiving, but in the end, I had to come up here. I trust your judgment, but I heard that homesick note in your voice, and here you were inviting this rakish-looking centerfold person into your apartment. You’ve never lived this far away before, and I just...needed to see for myself that you were okay.”