A Cold Creek Christmas Surprise Page 14

  When Destry headed up the log staircase to her room, he suddenly realized he was alone with his houseguest again.

  “You’re probably exhausted, too,” he said.

  “Not really. That nap sort of took the edge off. Right now I’m not tired at all.”

  “I’ve got to wait about an hour until I’m certain she’s asleep before I play Santa Claus. Do you want to help?”

  “Oh!” she exclaimed, looking intrigued. “That sounds fun.”

  “I have to admit to being selfish about this part of Christmas. The way things have always worked out in the past—and even this year, with all the craziness of her wedding, if you can believe that—Caidy has always done a lot of the holiday shopping for me. She even wraps most of the presents. She’s good at it so I let her, but I always tell her I like to play St. Nick. I always like filling the stockings and setting everything out around the tree. Thank you for keeping me company.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Can I get you something to drink?”

  “I’ve been thinking all day about that delicious raspberry cocoa Destry made yesterday.”

  “You got it.”

  Cocoa actually sounded great to him, too. Perfect for a cold Christmas Eve. He quickly heated water and mixed in the gourmet cocoa packets Caidy had left behind—raspberry chocolate for Sarah, mint chocolate for himself. When the mix dissolved, he carried the mugs back to the great room, where he found her gazing at the Christmas-tree lights reflected in the front window.

  This time he did sit beside her on the sofa, and she moved her feet a little to make room for him.

  They sat in surprisingly companionable silence, especially given the currents that seemed to zing between them.

  “These past few days you’ve had a taste of the Bowman Christmas traditions. What about the Whitmore Christmas traditions?”

  She tensed at the question with the mug halfway to her mouth. “What about them?” she asked, her tone far more defensive than he might have expected.

  “I’m curious. That’s all. I’ve noticed you have a habit of not talking much about yourself. It’s tough to get to know you when you don’t share much.”

  “I told you my parents divorced when I was young, and that I...didn’t have much of a relationship with my father.”

  “Yes. I’m sorry for that.”

  “I could tell by the way you cherished your father’s Bible this evening how much you miss him. Mine died only a few months ago, and I don’t miss him at all. Does that make me a terrible person?”

  “It makes you normal, Sarah. You didn’t know the man. You can’t grieve for someone simply because you happen to share his DNA.”

  She was quiet, her fingers picking at the edge of the soft fleece blanket she had tucked around her feet. “If I grieve for any loss,” she finally said, her voice low, “it’s the fantasy I had of a good, loving father who wanted the best for me. The kind of father you are to Destry.”

  Emotion rose in his throat again, both at the sweetly touching compliment she had just paid him and for everything she had missed in her childhood.

  “What about your mother?” he pressed. “Did you have any traditions with her?”

  “We went to church every Christmas Eve. I don’t remember much besides that. I can tell you that I was never so stirred in a church service as I was tonight by the way you read the simple story.”

  She gazed at him, her eyes soft, and he felt something sparkle to life in his chest like someone had just plugged in a hundred Christmas trees.

  He was falling hard for this lovely woman who treated his daughter with such kindness.

  Fear not.

  That little phrase written in his father’s hand seemed to leap into his mind.

  Fear not.

  He was pretty sure this wasn’t what his father meant—or the angels on that first Christmas night, for that matter—but he didn’t care. It seemed perfect and right to fearlessly take her mug of cocoa and set it on the side table next to his own, to lean across the space between them, to lower his head, to taste that soft, sweet mouth that had tantalized him all day.

  Chapter Eleven

  She knew they shouldn’t be doing this, but kissing Ridge Bowman was an irresistible joy and she couldn’t seem to summon the strength to stop.

  “All day long, I’ve been thinking about kissing you again.”

  She shivered at his low words against her mouth. Tenderness for this man—solid, steady, ranch-tough but achingly sweet—fluttered inside her like a tiny, fragile bird.

  Her entire life, she had dreamed of a man like him. Someone she knew would cherish her—a man who would see and appreciate her strengths, who would love her despite her weaknesses.

  How could she ever have imagined she would find him here—or that she would have to walk away before she really had the chance to savor this unexpected wonder?

  She returned the kiss, pouring all the emotions she couldn’t tell him into it. He smelled delicious—soap and some kind of outdoorsy aftershave—and tasted even better, of chocolate and mint.

  Her casted arm seemed to get in the way, even though he took great care not to jostle it, and she fleetingly wished that she didn’t have the bother of it.

  As soon as she had the thought, she pushed it away. She never would have believed she could be grateful for breaking her arm. If she hadn’t, though, she would have dropped off the painting and returned to San Diego to arrange delivery of the rest of the collection.

  She never would have known Ridge or Destry other than as strangers she had once met. She never would have discovered how very appealing she found a man who cared deeply for his daughter and was trying to do right by her under hard circumstances.

  She never would have guessed that first day she showed up at the doorstep that she would enjoy the most joy-filled Christmas of her life in company with a tough rancher and his irrepressible daughter.

  Yes, leaving them was going to hurt—so badly she didn’t know how she would bear it and was already bracing herself for the inevitable pain. But she wouldn’t have missed this chance for anything, this rare and infinitely precious moment tangled around him while the tree lights gleamed and the fire crackled beside them.

  They kissed for a long time—deep, lingering, intoxicating kisses that left her achy and restless for more.

  Finally he drew away and rested his forehead against hers. “I can’t believe I’ve only known you a few days. You’re perfect. The most wonderful woman I’ve ever met. I feel like I’ve been waiting for you my entire life. You fit perfectly into our lives, as if you’ve been at the River Bow forever.”

  The husky words pierced the soft, delicious haze surrounding her. She had a wild rush of joy that he was beginning to care for her, too, and then the reality crashed down as if the whole Christmas tree had toppled onto the two of them, shattering ornaments and lightbulbs and angels.

  Oh. Oh, no. How could she have been so selfish? This wasn’t all about her. She had been so wrapped up in thinking about how she would hurt when she left she hadn’t given any thought to his feelings. What if he were coming to care for her, too? He would be even more angry when he found out the truth.

  Heart aching with the words she couldn’t say, she eased away, desperate for space between them.

  The tenderness in his gaze raked her conscience with sharp talons. She was here—in his house, in his arms—under false pretenses. When he found out the truth, those kisses she considered sweetly magical would seem tawdry and wrong.

  She was making everything worse by pushing her way into their lives, fooling them into beginning to care about her. If she had thought of the consequences, she never would have come here.

  “Don’t you think we should put the presents out now?” she said, hoping he didn’t hear the not
e of desperation in her voice. “I imagine Destry’s asleep by now.”

  He gazed at her for a long moment, a tiny frown between his brows. “Yeah. You’re right,” he finally said. “I’ve got them all stored in a corner of the attic. Give me a minute to carry them down.”

  “Do you need my help?” she asked, grateful that her voice wasn’t trembling as much as she feared.

  “No. I’ve got it.”

  She nodded and curled her legs up beside her on the sofa. While she waited for him to return, she gazed into the fire and seriously considered leaving. Just packing her things right now at nearly midnight on Christmas Eve and driving away.

  She couldn’t do that to Destry. After the wonderful day they’d had today, the girl would be hurt at such an abrupt departure.

  But how could she stay, when each moment with Ridge sent her tumbling further and further in love with him?

  What a mess.

  She pressed a hand to her stomach, wishing on all the Christmas stars in the sky that things could be different.

  A moment later, Ridge came down the stairs carrying a huge plastic bin piled high with wrapped presents.

  “Here we go,” he said, setting the bin down by the tree. “I’ll fill the stockings while you set the other presents under the tree.”

  All over the world, parents who celebrated Christmas were doing this same thing, she thought with a little amazement. Perhaps with only a gift or two, perhaps with grand expensive gestures.

  Her part didn’t take long, then she turned back to watch Ridge, more charmed than she wanted to admit as she watched him fill a stocking with oranges, candy, small wrapped packages.

  “Did you wrap the presents yourself?” she asked him as she looked at the artful pile of gifts under the massive tree.

  “Some of them. I would guess Caidy bought and wrapped about half of them. I did the rest. I’m not sure how she found time to think about Destry’s Christmas gifts leading up to the craziness of the wedding, but somehow she managed. She actually starts pretty early in the year and is usually done by Thanksgiving, so that probably helped.”

  “She sounds like an amazing person.”

  “She is. I think you’ll like her, and I know she’ll love you.”

  That guilt settled low in her stomach. She wouldn’t have the chance to meet Caidy Bowman Caldwell. By the time his sister and her veterinarian husband returned from her honeymoon, Sarah would only be a memory to Ridge and his daughter—and not a very pleasant one.

  “There. That should do it.” He carried the stocking over to the mantel, where a heavy brass stocking holder was already in place, then he returned to the table where he had the little bits and pieces of leftover candy and began to fill two more.

  Two. One for himself, she assumed, and one for her.

  “You have a stocking for me?”

  He looked up, surprised. “Of course.”

  He held it up and she saw it was a lovely hand-sewn stocking made from a shimmery burgundy material.

  “Where did it come from?”

  “The attic. I found it in a box of one of the old Christmas things while I was up there. That’s what took me so long.” He paused and studied her with an expression she couldn’t decipher.

  “It was my mom’s. I figured she would be delighted to share with you.”

  His mother’s. The woman who had created that work of stunning beauty over the mantel and the tender portrait of her daughter that vibrated with Margaret’s love for Caidy. The parent who hadn’t lived long enough to see her first grandchild—or all the children who had come after, adopted into the family or biological.

  As she looked at those big, callused hands holding the delicate thing, thick emotions welled up in her throat and spilled over.

  He immediately looked horrified. “Hey. Don’t cry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I just didn’t want you to feel left out and have nothing on Christmas morning.”

  She let out a hitching little sob. “You’ve been so wonderful to me. I’ve never known such a happy Christmas. I mean that. Thank you for sharing your holiday with me, Ridge. I can’t begin to tell you how much I have enjoyed every moment.”

  He gave a rough laugh. “That’s funny. You look like your heart is broken or something.”

  It was cracking apart. Surely he could see the pieces lying there on the floor. “I just...don’t deserve your kindness and generosity. I’m a stranger.”

  “Not anymore, Sarah. Can’t you see that? You will always be welcome at the River Bow.”

  Oh, how she wished that were true. She should tell him everything, right now. The weight on her conscience was becoming more than she could bear.

  How could she ruin his Christmas by bringing such dark ugliness into it? Just a few more days, she told herself. Then she would be honest with him for the first time.

  She continued the lie by forcing a smile. “Thank you for that, and for the stocking. It was remarkably kind of you. That’s the reason for the tears—your kindness, and the fact that my arm is letting me know it’s been a long day. I should probably turn in.”

  He gave her a searching look, but she forced her features into what she hoped appeared as calm composure.

  At all costs, she had to keep the love and tenderness out of her expression. If he knew how much she was coming to care for him and his daughter, everything would be much worse.

  “Good night. Merry Christmas.”

  “Merry Christmas.” She smiled, drew in all her strength and kissed the corner of his mouth with feigned casualness, then slipped away before he could pull her into a deeper embrace.

  * * *

  Something was definitely eating her.

  Ridge watched Sarah walk to her bedroom, each step measured and her head sagging as if her neck couldn’t support the weight of whatever was bothering her.

  He had no idea how to bridge the distance she seemed so determined to keep between them.

  Maybe he needed to stop trying.

  His feelings for her were growing, but that didn’t automatically mean she felt the same thing. He closed his eyes. No. He had seen something in her gaze, something soft and tender and real, like the star on the very top of the Christmas tree, but then she pulled away before he could reach for it.

  With a sigh, he hung the other two stockings then went about his routine of shutting down the house—banking the fire, turning off lights, making sure all the doors were locked.

  He left both Christmas trees on, another Bowman family tradition.

  “Santa’s got to find his way here somehow, doesn’t he?” Frank would always say with a wink, even when Ridge and the boys were into their late teens.

  Perhaps that was the core of Sarah’s misgivings. From the few things she had told him, his heart ached for what sounded like a painful childhood.

  Of the two of them, he was far luckier. Yes, his parents had been taken from them all in a terribly tragic way. But at least he had known twenty-four happy Christmases with them—okay, twenty-three and then the one where he’d just been an ass.

  Judging by what little she had said, and her astonished joy in everything they did that day, her childhood holidays must have been dry, cheerless affairs.

  This year would be different for her, he vowed. Tomorrow he would do everything he could to give her the bright day full of hope and promise that she deserved.

  He gave the tree one last look, ran a hand down his father’s Bible still sitting on the side table, then headed for the solitary bed he had slept in for the past twelve years, wishing fiercely that things could be different.

  * * *

  Watching Destry Bowman on Christmas morning was a sheer delight, Sarah thought.

  The girl was grateful for every gift she opened, from a collection of lip glosses her father confess
ed to picking out himself to a new eReader she had been wanting “for ages,” she declared dramatically.

  If Destry could be this excited about Christmas at nearly twelve, Sarah could only imagine the girl’s reaction a few years earlier.

  She loved this glimpse into their lives, seeing the bond between father and daughter. Ridge was a great father—firm but loving.

  He should have had more children, she thought, and fought down a pang of sympathy that his life had taken a very different road than he probably expected.

  “Looks like there are only a few left,” Destry said. From under the tree, she pulled out the big, beautifully wrapped box Sarah knew contained the gift the girl had made for her father.

  “Hey, this one’s for you,” she said in mock surprise. “I wonder what it could be?”

  Ridge chuckled. “I have a feeling you know the answer to that.”

  “Maybe. Well, open it already!”

  Ridge looked down at the box. “The wrapping paper is so pretty. Whatever it is, somebody put a lot of time into wrapping it.”

  “It’s from me, okay? Open it, would you?”

  He laughed again, clearly enjoying teasing his impatient daughter. “Haven’t you ever heard of anticipation? Savoring the journey instead of always rushing headlong to the destination? Maybe you should work on it sometime.”

  “I will,” she promised. “Just not right now. I’ve been dying for you to open my present. You’re going to love it.”

  Sarah found it touching, and another mark of excellent parenting on Ridge’s—and his sister Caidy’s—part that, as excited as Destry had been about opening her own gifts, she seemed even more thrilled to be giving her handmade, from-the-heart gift to her father.

  “All right, all right,” Ridge finally said. He took the box on his lap and started carefully removing the wrappings. By the time he pulled off the last bit of wrapping, even Sarah was on the edge of her seat with anticipation.

  She suddenly had no doubt that he would make love with the same deliberate, focused attention.

  She blushed at the inappropriate thought, right here in the middle of a family Christmas. What was the matter with her? Her mind was entirely too unruly when it came to him. She pushed away the thought as he opened the lid to the box and pulled out the richly colored throw.