Although the Old-Fashioned Christmas Celebration would not begin for another hour, the 1880s Western-garbed waitstaff was already busy setting up a sumptuous holiday buffet when Callie, Brian and Nash walked in to the party barn. Admiring the festive decor, she smiled with relief that all their hard work and planning had truly paid off.
In one corner, children’s arts and crafts tables were situated. Santa’s village occupied another corner. Musicians were tuning up on stage. Beautifully adorned gift baskets for the guests were being laid out. Gifts for the door prizes—handmade candles, quilts, cakes, Christmas trees and wreaths—were also on display. Along with the brochures that Callie had made for the local businesses sponsoring the event.
She settled her son with the other kids being supervised by local art students, then went to work setting up, too, while Nash assisted with some of the heavy lifting. “You look happy,” Maggie said, when she caught up with her.
Callie returned her twin’s hug. “And you don’t.” She paused. “What’s wrong?”
Maggie frowned. “It’s Hart. He’s got the flu.”
Callie sympathized. “Oh, no.”
“He went to the urgent care clinic first thing this morning, and got started on antiviral medicine, which should limit it, but he’s not going to be able to be—” Maggie paused as a couple of children passed by “—You Know Who today. And we got the, um, You Know What to fit him. So...” Maggie waved Nash over then paused to size him up with a critical eye. “You’re about the same size. Six foot four, give or take, two hundred and twenty pounds...”
Of pure solid muscle, Callie added silently. A very sexual being. Kind, loving, funny, charming. Intelligent. And so much more...
Oblivious to her adoring thoughts, Nash asked, “Need a volunteer?”
Maggie shot him a grateful glance. “Pronto. So, if you wouldn’t mind... Callie can you help him? The costume is in the main house, in one of the upstairs bedrooms. You can’t miss it. When you’re ready, let us know, and we’ll set up for your ‘big entrance.’”
“And here I was just getting used to your Texas Maverick look,” Callie quipped, picking up her skirts and leading the way as she and Nash slipped out of the party barn and headed across the lawn.
On the other side of the parking lot, the steam engine warmed up beside the train station, preparing for the run up to the mountaintop and Nature’s Cathedral, where an outdoor concert would be held every hour on the hour. Overhead, the skies were still a wintry gray, but perhaps that wasn’t such a bad thing given it was a Christmas celebration. Had it been sunny and seventy degrees, it would have been a lot harder to get in the mood.
Playful as ever, Nash winked. “I can put it all back on later, if you like. In fact, I’m going to have to—unless you want me to go home au naturel.”
Callie snickered. “Cute. And no, G-rated is fine.” They moved inside the house, out of sight of others. “This is a family event. Remember?”
As soon as the words were out, she regretted them. “Oh, Nash, I’m sorry,” she breathed, embarrassed.
“Don’t be,” Nash returned gruffly. He leaned in and kissed her cheek. “I’ve got lots of friends.”
“But—”
He tightened his grip on her. “Right now you and Brian are the only family I need.”
To her surprise, as she luxuriated in the feel of his strong arms around her, Callie felt the same.
It was easy to tell which room was designated as Santa’s dressing room. There was a cutout sleigh taped to the shut door. Callie knocked, just to be on the safe side. When there was no answer, they slipped on in. “You may need a little help adjusting the padding.”
Nash flashed her a sly grin. “No volunteer I’d rather have.” He shucked the gambler clothing in no time flat.
Doing her best to keep her mind on the business at hand, which wasn’t easy given his mouthwateringly fit physique, she handed him the red fleece pants then went to retrieve the black knee high boots.
“Have you ever done this before?” she felt compelled to ask.
Nash deliberately misinterpreted her question. “Taken off my clothes in front of you? Why, yes, ma’am.” He tipped an imaginary hat and strolled closer still, crisp white T-shirt clinging magnificently to his bare chest and broad shoulders. “I have.” His glance roved her up and down, lingering on each and every sensitive spot. “I have to admit I enjoyed it, too.”
She batted his mischievously roaming hands away and fought back the desire to kiss him. “I meant played Santa.”
“No.” He pulled her closer still, his hands sliding down her waist to her hips. He fitted her against him—at least as much as her full skirt and his loose-fitting trousers would allow. “Can’t say that I have.”
A thrill swept through her as she felt his hardness and the answering tingle within her body. Extricating herself, she went to get the padding that would give him the girth he needed to play Old St. Nick. With him watching her closely, she adjusted the elastic straps over his shoulders and around his waist, situating the pillow where his belly should be.
“I could get used to this,” he drawled.
So could she. Whoever would have thought playing dress-up with the man she lo—lusted after—could be so much fun? Doing her best to keep her feelings in check, she batted her lashes at him flirtatiously. “Ho, ho, Santa.”
His low laugh filled the room as she tugged the suspenders holding his pants up over his broad shoulders. The red coat with the white fur trim followed. He sat down on the edge of the bed so she could properly situate the curly white wig, mustache and beard. Still standing between his spread thighs, she planted the hat on his head and then stepped back slightly to admire her handiwork.
“Sexy Texas maverick to old man in three minutes. Not bad.”
Nash vaulted to his feet, unabashed desire in his eyes. He wrapped his hands around her waist and guided her close. When she was snug against him, he tugged down the beard, lowered his head and delivered a long, hot, scintillating kiss that rocked her world.
When he finally released her, she was trembling all over. Wanting him so much it hurt.
He winked. “Consider that a down payment for later.”
“If I didn’t know better,” Maggie remarked after Callie had returned to the party barn alone, “I’d think you’d been making out.” She paused, cookie tray in hand, and looked closer. “You have been making out!”
Callie struggled not to blush and busied herself filling bowls with individually wrapped chocolate peppermint candies. “Shush.”
“Hmm. Well, at least one of us is getting a little yuletide action,” Maggie teased dryly, looking genuinely happy for her sister.
Then she sighed abruptly, her expression becoming fretful once again.
Callie sympathized, “Worried about Hart?”
Maggie set a row of snowball cookies next to the gingersnaps. “It is so hard to keep that man in bed,” she lamented.
Callie snorted.
Maggie suppressed a laugh at the accidental double entendre. “Resting, I mean. You know these big tough guys. They hate being sick.”
“And hate following doctor’s orders even more?” Callie guessed.
“Exactly.”
And getting extra sleep was the fastest way to recovery from any illness, they both knew. “So rest with him,” Callie suggested, as they headed back to the kitchen, empty trays in hand. “I mean it. You’ve kept Brian for me several times recently. Why not let me reciprocate this evening with Henry?”
Her twin offered a faint smile. “Only one problem with that. Frank and Fiona have already called dibs on him.” And grandparents ruled, that Callie knew. “But,” her twin continued, hopefully, “if you wanted to have Henry over to play with Brian tomorrow...”
“Consider it done,” Callie vowed with a hug.
No sooner had they deposited their trays and returned to the party, than the music struck up. “Jingle Bells! Jingle Bells! Jingle all the way...”
All eyes turned, as Santa strode into the party barn, a big sack of toys slung over one brawny shoulder. “Ho, Ho, Ho! Merry Christmas!” Nash said in a deep and rumbling voice that sounded nothing like his usual Texas drawl.
“And here we go.” Maggie beamed.
Together, she and Callie rounded up the children congregated in the arts and crafts area of the party barn, and took them over to see Santa, one by one.
Henry did great. As did all the other children. Finally, it was Brian’s turn.
Callie led him over to the North Pole. His normal bashfulness in such situations absent—maybe because so many kids had already gone ahead of him—Brian climbed importantly up onto Santa’s lap, an inquisitive look in his baby-blue eyes.
Oh, no, Callie thought. Please tell me he’s not going to ask Santa if he is his daddy? And for a second, that was exactly what she thought her son was going to say.
Instead, Brian stared at Santa long and hard. Putting both his hands on Santa’s bearded cheeks, Brian stared deep into his eyes.
Santa looked back, kindly, lovingly.
Callie could not tell whether or not her son recognized Nash, but he definitely sensed some sort of connection.
“Well, hello there, young man,” Nash said in an impressively well-disguised baritone. “Have you been a good boy this year? Helped your mommy out? Picked up your toys and gone to bed on time?”
Brian had to think about that. Finally, he nodded soberly. “That’s good to hear,” Santa said, quietly and authoritatively. “What would you like me to bring you for Christmas?”
Again, Callie held her breath.
And Brian said, “My friend Nash.”
Nash had prepared himself for many things. The request for a daddy, for instance. Or being recognized, his identity blown.
But never this.
Sensing Nash just wasn’t getting what he meant, Brian added, “Stay—me.”
“You want Nash to stay with you?” he asked.
Brian nodded soberly. “Stay—Mommy, too.”
“Oh. Well...” Nash worked to stay in character “...that’s not the kind of thing Santa and his elves can bring you.” But it was the sort of thing he could work on. “Santa can bring you toys, though.” He stroked his beard thoughtfully. “So, young man, what would you like Santa to bring you that you can play with?”
Again, Brian had to think. He settled back down again, leaning against the curve of “Santa’s” big, strong arm as he gave the question careful consideration.
“A puppy,” he said at last.
Beside them, Callie nearly fell through the floor.
Figuring he should quit while he was ahead, Nash said, “All right then, Brian. Let’s get your picture taken with Santa. Mommy, you can be in the photo, too, if you like, and then you’ll be good to go...”
Just that quickly, the visit was concluded, and Brian scrambled off Nash’s lap. After one long last thoughtful look back at him, the two-and-a-half-year-old went off to ride the steam engine with his mother and a whole host of other parents and children.
Nash continued to be Santa for several more hours.
He left with the same flourish he’d entered the party barn with, then slipped off to change back into his Western garb to hand out the free Christmas trees and wreaths—on behalf of his business—to departing guests. Meanwhile, Callie was in charge of presenting the gift baskets to all the adults, and Maggie had the goodie bags for the kids.
The incredibly successful day ended with a private celebratory dinner for everyone who had worked the event. It was a lively affair, and by the time Callie and Nash returned to her ranch, still in costume, Brian was already sound asleep.
Callie tucked her son into bed, then returned with a bottle of champagne and two glasses. The cold winter rain that had been predicted began to fall, and they settled before the fire and began discussing the day.
“It could have been worse,” Nash told Callie, when talk turned to Brian’s visit with Santa. “He could have asked for a sibling. In fact, he probably will once Maggie has her baby and his cousin Henry has a little brother or sister.”
Callie groaned and then buried her face in her hands. “Let’s not jump ahead of ourselves. Let’s focus instead on what we’re going to do about the puppy situation.”
Nash liked the way she was including him in the decision-making process—as if he were truly part of her immediate family now. He also liked the way she looked in that vintage red-and-black-striped taffeta gown—and the fact that she hadn’t taken it off yet. Because he had been fantasizing about doing just that, all day long...
Callie handed him the bottle. He loosened the wire cage holding the cork in place and then, holding the bottle forty-five degrees away from them, opened it carefully. “Are you ready for a little four-legged critter?” He poured while she held the glasses.
Callie hesitated. “When Brian is older, yes. Not now.”
Nash toasted her with a smile, then clinked his glass against hers.
“I might be.”
She studied him. “Seriously?”
Nash shrugged, admitting, “It gets a little lonely at the ranch. I wouldn’t mind some company.” I wouldn’t mind having you and Brian there. But he knew that was the kind of overly romantic declaration she didn’t want to hear. Not yet, anyway. “But we digress,” he said, taking her free hand in his.
“Yes.” Sighing softly, Callie shifted around so she was nestled in the curve of his body, her head resting on his shoulder. “We do.”
Enjoying their closeness, he leaned down to breathe in the fragrant flowery scent of her hair. “How about I pick up a stuffed toy puppy for him?” He pressed a kiss against her temple. “I have to go into San Antonio tomorrow anyway.” To get a present for you. “I could get one for Santa to bring him then.”
She shifted again, her thigh bumping against his, causing his body to harden. “You wouldn’t mind?”
Nash took another sip of the chilled champagne. “Not at all.” He set his glass aside, relieved her of hers, too. Standing, he took her by the hand, drew her to her feet. “Of course,” he teased, retrieving both glasses and bottle of bubbly before leading her mischievously toward the stairs, “I am going to need payment for my trouble.”
She accompanied him down the hall, stopping to kiss him every five or six steps. Eventually, they ended up in her bedroom. She locked the door behind them, pausing to turn on the bedside lamp, then sashayed toward him. Her blue eyes as mischievous as her voice, she watched him put the champagne aside for later, then asked, “What kind of payment?”
What kind indeed? “Hmm...” Nash pretended to think as she came to a halt in front of him. He bent and kissed the side of her neck, felt her arch pliantly against him. “I have been wanting to try to get you out of this dress all day—or see what was required to get you out of this dress.”
She batted her lashes in all innocence. “And leave my virtue intact?’
He laughed, loving the playful, womanly side of her. “No one said anything about virtue...” he teased, unbuttoning one fitted sleeve from wrist to forearm. Then the other.
She trembled when he reached for the row of buttons that stretched from the high-banded collar to just below her waist.
One by one, he undid them, opening up the cloth at her throat, past the ridges of her breasts, her ribs, all the way to her waist. Finished, he parted the cloth. “No modern-day garment this,” he breathed.
It was sexy as hell. Made of some sort of soft, delicate, nearly transparent linen. Laced snugly up the front. Her breasts spilling over the lace-edged décolletage...
He hardened just looking at the imprint of her rose-colored nipples pressing against the cloth.
A tug and the top of her dress slithered to her waist. Another shift and the skirt pushed past her hips, fell to a circle on the floor.
However, to his chagrin, the sexy-as-hell chemise disappeared into another floor-length slip-style thing. “What’s this?” he asked.
“Petticoat.”
“How do I get it off?”
She turned, offering him her back. “Untie it.”
He did, but upon pushing it off, found the chemise only went to midthigh. “Anything beneath this?” he asked huskily.
She wreathed her arms about his neck. Looked him in the eye. Smiled coyly. “Find out.”
He slipped his hands over her thighs, slid them upward, encountered...the one modern-day garment she had on. Tiny red silk bikini panties. “These I am familiar with.”
Another smile. “No way was I wearing pantaloons.”
“Can’t blame you. Although—” he went back to unlacing the front of her chemise “—I do like this.”
“I thought you might.”
He opened up the edges. Her breasts spilled out. The curves round and silky and pale. The nipples jutting proudly. He covered them with his hands, felt them press into his palms. He lowered his head to hers. She shuddered in response as he kissed her. Her eyes drifted closed, even as her hand slid between them and went to the buttons on his vest. Then his shirt. He shrugged out of both, still kissing her, then spread the edges of her chemise so her breasts were crushed against his bare chest.
She moaned, her body responding to the friction of their skin. Lower still, she was damp, trembling. He eased his hand beneath the elastic of her panties, touching, caressing, tempting, teasing. She reached for the belt of his pants. He caught her hands and held them behind her. Turned her so her back was to his front, then let his free hand slide lower to find the softness.
She whimpered as he slid his palm over her mound, tracing the flowering petals with his fingertips, easing his way inside. Again, and then again. And again. “Nash...”
“Open for me, Callie. All the way. Show me how much you want me...”
She sagged against him, knees weakening, trembling, coming apart in his hands. And again he touched her. Finding. Soothing. Stroking. Until there was no more waiting. Only wanting.
He turned her so she was facing him. Eased her back against the wall. Swiftly disrobed. Loving the sight of her, clad in nothing but the filmy chemise, body aching with the need to claim her, he stepped between her spread thighs.
Breathing raggedly, he lifted her until she was at just the right height. Feeling her full voluptuous breasts tautening, her whole body quivering, his pleasure intensified threefold as her naked thighs brushed against his. Welcoming him home into her silky softness, she tangled her hands in his hair, forcing his mouth back to hers, kissing him until he felt his soul stripped bare. His head got a little lighter, his body got harder. And still they claimed each other. Kissing again and again and again. Moving together. Ever higher. Loving each other with everything they had. Until at last, there was no more holding back, no more waiting, nothing but the most incredible pleasure. And the exaltation of their hearts.
And Nash knew the Christmas he had been longing for, the meaning he had coveted, was finally here.