Caleb woke at seven the next morning, late for him, but considering his frequent night treks to look in on the cows, he hadn’t slept much. He had, however, had plenty of time to think. Mostly about Kristen.
Watching a romantic movie with her close enough that he could smell her coconut scent had, indeed, been exquisite torture. He’d loved it. He’d hated it. Because like Jack in the movie, he was in love with someone else’s woman. Only this was real life, not a movie with a guaranteed happy ending.
That was what scared him so much with Pops. They weren’t guaranteed anything, much less a happy ending.
After he’d dressed and gone outside to check on the new arrivals, he returned for breakfast. The seductive scent of bacon pulled him into the kitchen. Pops sat at the bar, sipping a tiny glass of cranberry juice.
Pops lifted a hand. “’Morning.”
“’Morning.” Caleb gave a brief nod and headed for the coffeepot.
“This is the day the Lord has made. Rejoice in it, son,” Pops said, as he did every single morning. “How is it out there?”
Caleb wondered how a dying man could find joy in watching his days fly past. “Not too bad. Wind died down. Snowed about three inches.”
“It snowed?” A spatula clattered against the stove as Kristen whipped around.
“Still falling. Nice, dry snow, too.”
“I can drive in snow.”
“Not with two inches of ice under it.”
“Oh.” She looked disappointed, and he felt a stab of unexpected grief that she wanted to leave. It was a dumb thing, but there it was.
“You didn’t have to cook breakfast.”
She turned back to the stove. “Paying for my restful night in your guest room. Pops says you like your eggs over easy. How many?”
“Two. Smells good in here.”
“Biscuits in the oven.”
“Real biscuits?” He and Pops usually just twisted open a can and stuck them in the oven.
“Yes, except you didn’t have buttermilk so I had to improvise.”
“I didn’t know a modern woman could bake real biscuits.”
“Untrue stereotype. Today’s woman simply has the choice to live her life the way she wants, and for me that includes baking.”
Pops, who hadn’t said much, chose that moment to crack. “A woman like that is a catch, son. Brings home the bacon and knows how to fry it up.”
Kristen grinned at the older cowboy. “Spoken like a true chauvinist.”
“No, ma’am. I just appreciate a good thing when I meet her. A man is only a man, but a woman is a gift from the Lord. And, boy, am I glad He decided to make good use of one of old Adam’s ribs.”
This time she laughed, her gaze gliding toward Caleb. “Your Pops is feisty this morning.”
“You should be here when he’s feeling good.”
She cracked an egg against the edge of the pan. “You have dark circles. Used tea bags can help with that.”
He snorted. “Life of a rancher. I’ll catch up tonight.” He crossed to the stove, snitched a piece of bacon. “We had three babies so far.”
“There could be more?”
“Shouldn’t be, but with the storm, I can’t be sure. I’ll ride out after breakfast and have a look.”
He reached for the bacon plate and set it on the table. Kristen had already put out plates, the utensils neatly lined on napkins, glasses in their proper places above the plates, saucers with knives across them. He had no idea what to do with that. It was a fancy table and another reminder of why he had no business in Kristen’s life.
“I had a dream last night,” Pops said as he moved from the bar to the table. “Got me wanting a Christmas tree.”
Caleb gave him a look. “Must have been quite a dream.”
Pops shook a napkin onto his lap the way the two of them never did when they were alone.
“I was a boy again, on the family home place. It was Christmas, and my brother and me were decorating a big old tree, talking about the wagon we wanted from Santa.” He shook his head, gazing down at the plate in nostalgia. “It was the best feeling. Best I’ve had a long time.”
Kristen set the plate of eggs on the table. “Family dreams like that are so lovely.”
He wouldn’t know. He’d never had any. Not good ones anyway.
“So I got to thinking.” Pops slid two eggs onto his plate. “Let’s put up a tree this year.”
Caleb took the biscuits from Kristen and set them on the table. Then he held the chair while she sat. “We never put up a tree.”
“No law says we can’t.”
“That’s a wonderful idea, Greg,” Kristen said, all smiles and sparkles so that Caleb wanted to give her the world.
“After breakfast, you and Caleb can go and cut one. There are plenty down in the woods.”
“I got cows to look after.”
“You can check the cows while you’re out looking for my tree.”
Caleb knew arguing was useless, and he didn’t want to refuse Greg anything. Kristen, either, if he was honest. “I can get it. Kristen doesn’t need to get out in the cold.”
“But I want to. I love snow. Remember? Colorado?”
Yeah. He remembered. How could he forget? Colorado was where the good doctor lived.
“Whatever you want.” He shoved a biscuit into his mouth to keep from saying more.
This might be Pops’s last Christmas. If the only person who’d ever given a flying cow chip about him wanted a tree and wanted Kristen to go along, Caleb would do it. Even if it was “exquisite torture.”
* * *
They walked out into a pretty snowfall, plump flakes swirling in lazy circles, as white and lacy as a wedding dress. Caleb didn’t want to think about wedding dresses. Pops may have dreamed of Christmas trees, but Caleb had dreamed of white lace and an auburn-haired woman with a sunny disposition and ready smile.
It was a killer dream, brought on, he was sure, by the fact that Kristen was under his roof. Now the lacy snow was a reminder he didn’t need that he was crazier about her today than he’d ever been.
Why couldn’t he have fallen in love with someone attainable?
Ripley flushed birds from an overhead oak, rattling the snow loose. It drifted down around them, a feathery fairyland. Made a man feel almost poetic.
Kristen held out a glove and caught a flake. “Every snowflake is different. I guess you know that, but isn’t snow the most incredible thing?”
Yeah, it was. Being an outdoorsman, he spent a lot of time pondering the wonders of nature. Snowflakes ranked right up there with the number of stars in the vast cosmos. And he was amazed that he knew a word like cosmos.
“How do you know they’re all different?” he asked just to tease her. “Have you examined every single snowflake on the planet?”
“Smarty.” She scooped up a handful of the soft snow and tossed it at him.
He ducked. “Missed me.”
“Just wait.” She shot him her mean look, which caused a happy bubble in his chest. Kristen didn’t have a mean bone in her body.
“Look at this landscape,” she said. “I feel kind of bad walking in it.”
She took another step and gazed down at her oversize footprints. She looked adorable in his too-big boots. Three pairs of his thick socks had made them fit, but nothing could make them graceful. “The snow is so pristine and perfect, like a vast white carpet of sparkling diamonds.”
“I think that, too, sometimes.” Though not quite as poetically. Fragile and fleeting, that was what Oklahoma snow was. Like this time with her.
She patted her gloved hands together in a cold gesture. “How far are the Christmas trees?”
She should have stayed at the warm house. He was accustomed to working outside in harsh conditions. She wasn’t. “On the other side of this pasture along the fence line. If you’re too cold we can go back. I’ll saddle up and return later.”
She shook her head, auburn hair swishing from beneath her bright blue cap. “I like cold weather. No way am I going to miss out on finding the perfect Christmas tree for your dad.”
They tromped along with Rip darting in and out as if he was moving cattle. When a red cardinal flashed above the white ground, Caleb pointed. Kristen put a gloved hand against her heart and watched until the bird disappeared from sight.
She started talking about birds and nature, skiing and Colorado and how much she loved the mountains, but Oklahoma was home and she was so happy to be here, doing what she loved.
Caleb let the words flow around him and into him. The melody of her voice brought him pleasure, relaxed him, made him love her more.
He should have done a better job of guarding his feelings. But she’d owned his heart since the first time she’d cornered him at the burger joint, talking until he’d been relaxed enough and brave enough to kiss her in a dark movie theater.
It was a teenage first kiss, one of those momentarily awkward things that quickly blossomed into the sweetest, spiciest kiss of his life. Others came and had been forgotten, but not that one.
By the time they reached the evergreens, he barely noticed the cold. Kristen’s cheeks were rosy, her breath a vapor and coming in puffs as she told him about her newest ideas for finding Pops a donor and then segued right into her plans for Christmas, and didn’t he want to come to the Christmas program at church? Caleb didn’t respond to that any more than he had the other snatches of conversation, but he’d heard her and remembered how important her faith was to her.
He wished he could believe that God cared. He wanted to, if only for Pops, who’d done his best to show Caleb the importance of a faith-filled life. Somehow the faith gene had missed him or, considering his worthless biological parents, had never been there to start with.
Kristen spotted the evergreens, gave a delighted little squeal and took off in a clumsy run.
“These are glorious,” she called, reaching the stand of bushy green trees before he did. “Look at the snow on their boughs.”
She was glorious, so heart-stoppingly pretty against the evergreens and the white landscape. So optimistic and joyous. Was it faith that caused her joy?
Caleb caught up with her, followed her around one crisp-scented tree and then another as they discussed and measured. He didn’t really care as long as she kept talking in her animated voice, her eyes aglow, her cheeks pink. He loved seeing her happy. And her cheerful chatter, her sweet optimism filled some empty spot inside him.
“What about this one?” She stepped back away from a fluffy cypress, arms wide as if she might embrace the sticky limbs. He wanted to walk right into that embrace and never turn loose. “I’m envisioning this in front of those double windows, next to the fireplace.”
“Sounds good to me.” Dropping the ax, Caleb started around to the other side in search of gaps. His boots found a slick patch of ice. His legs flew out from under him. He hit the soft snow with a shocked grunt.
Kristen hustled to his side, laughing, blue gloves to her lips. “Are you all right?”
“I’ll live.” He reached up. “Give a cowboy a hand?”
She fell for it...and yelped when he yanked her down. It was an ornery thing to do, but Kristen made him feel playful.
“You sneak!” Her gloved fists pummeled the front of his thick coat, causing him exactly no pain, but he did laugh. She was laughing, too, so that he knew she hadn’t really minded the tumble. She rolled to one side, flapped her arms and legs and created an impromptu snow angel.
“You do it,” she said.
And he thought, Why not? He’d never made a snow angel in his life, so he did. Snow flew around them like a white dust devil.
It felt remarkably good to cut loose this way, to let his bucket load of tensions flow out into the soft snow, to play like the kid he’d never been, to listen to the woman he loved laugh and talk. He could listen to her 24/7 and never grow tired of the soothing sound.
Arms and legs flung wide, he turned his face to look at her. “We’re destroying your perfect snow.”
Her bright blue cap and gloves stood out like beacons against the white earth.
“It’s okay. God made extra.” She flapped her arms and sent snow flying. “Knowing Oklahoma, this will all be gone tomorrow. Might as well enjoy it. Want to go sledding later?”
He rolled his eyes. “Do I look like a man with a sled?”
“We don’t need a sled. Trash can lids, cardboard boxes, old Slip ’N Slides.”
“Oh, yeah, I have several old Slip ’N Slides lying around. The baby calves love playing on them in the summer.”
Her eyes widened. She rolled forward to sit up, coat dusted with snow. “Seriously?”
“No.” He found his footing and stood, snow drifting from his clothes, as he pulled her up with him. In the clumsy boots, she lurched forward, fell against him. Her slender arms went around his neck. She lifted her laughing face to his.
She sparkled, she glowed, and Caleb forgot the reasons he was wrong for her.
When she cupped his face with her fluffy blue gloves and kissed him, a soft brush of cold lips that ended too soon, Caleb’s brain fogged. He couldn’t let go. And she didn’t try to move. Her green gaze bore into him as if she could reach inside his soul and see all the love he was terrified to give away. Maybe she knew, maybe she understood. She had the power to soothe him, to make him laugh, to get him up in front of a crowd to talk when he’d rather stick cacti in his eyes.
“Woman power,” he whispered, right before he warmed her mouth with his. In some distant section of his brain, Caleb knew kissing Kristen Andrews registered on the Richter scale of dumbest things he’d ever done. She didn’t love him, couldn’t, and he had no business expecting her to.
But he ignored all that. It had been so long since he’d lost himself in a woman’s kiss, her kiss, because that was the only one that had ever mattered. He wanted to relish the wonder of this one unexpected gift.
When Kristen melted against him like a snowflake, Caleb lost every mental argument along with most of his brain cells.
* * *
Kristen absorbed Caleb’s body heat and the strength of his powerful arms holding her, caressing her back, massaging the soft, tickly place at the nape of her neck. The kiss was warm and sweet with a hint of spice, but reverent, too, the kind of kiss that felt like more than the simple joining of lips. This one came from somewhere deep in his heart to speak to hers.
And she was listening. Oh, my. Was she ever listening.
With a mood-breaking bark, Rip plowed into their legs, scattering snow, and forced them apart. In the clumsy boots, Kristen stumbled again. Caleb caught her, shushed the dog, then steadied her on her feet. She took one step back, putting a little distance between herself and the temptation of his embrace. She needed time to think and to sort the emotions rocketing through her as fast and powerful as a Cape Canaveral launch.
The truth was as obvious as the cold in her toes. She was falling in love with the hometown cowboy. Falling harder and faster and deeper than she had as a teenager. This was different. This was real and very possibly lasting.
Joy shot through her, a crossbow that pierced her heart and opened up the way for love. Love for Caleb Girard.
Oh. My. Word.
She stood up on her tiptoes and touched her lips to Caleb’s again. “Much better than the last time we kissed.”
Caleb tilted his head, looking at her with a mix of worry and happiness. “You remember the last time?”
“Down to the day and year.” She rattled it off.
“Yeah,” he said. “That was it.”
“You remembered, too?”
“First kisses are unforgettable.”
Was that all it had been? Memorable because it was his first kiss? Or could the seed of love have been planted that long-ago day in a small-town movie theater, and had their recent time together had made it grow?
He was a man now, not a teenager who didn’t know how to deal with a woman who practically threw herself at him. Which was exactly what she’d done both then and now.
All those years ago, he’d simply walked away and ignored her. Would he do the same this time?
“Best Christmas tree hunt I’ve ever been on.” He held her gaze with his.
“Except for Ripley, the intruding border collie.” Her tone was wry.
The dog, clueless to sarcasm, heard his name and lifted a paw.
Caleb shook with one hand and patted the noble head with the other, but his gaze remained on Kristen. “As much as I like you, Rip, your timing really stinks.”
And that admission made Kristen inordinately happy.
* * *
Decorating a Christmas tree proved every bit as enjoyable as he’d imagined. More so because he and Pops didn’t own a single decoration, and they had to improvise. Better yet, because Kristen made his blood warm and his heart smile by chattering all the way back to the ranch. She’d held his hand—the one that wasn’t leading the horse he’d commandeered to carry the tree. Her warmth had come through their gloves and captivated him. She captivated him.
Was he crazy? Was he about to get his heart stomped beyond repair? A woman like Kristen would never choose him over a rich, suave surgeon. She was too amazing, too smart and successful, too...good, for lack of a better word.
Today, he didn’t care. Today, Kristen was in his house, and she’d kissed him like she meant it. He still couldn’t wrap his head around that.
He’d never believed a man could live on hope. Today he believed.
He was feeling loose and hopeful, as if his tensions and worries and misgivings had blown away on the north wind.
“String or ribbon if you have it,” Kristen was saying as she ticked off items on her fingertips while he secured the tree on a crossed-board stand. “Aluminum foil, spoons, old keys, any odds and ends you have lying around.”
“I got plenty of rope,” Caleb said.
She beamed. “Perfect! We’ll use it as garland.”
She wasn’t put off by their lack of appropriate decorations. With her usual energetic enthusiasm, she’d come up with the idea of decorating with found items.
“Plenty of junk around here.” Greg smiled from Caleb to Kristen as if he suspected the reason for Kristen’s rosy cheeks and Caleb’s long glances. “Caleb, get our tackle boxes.”
Caleb did as he was told, and they found a treasure trove of ridiculous items to hook or tie onto the tree limbs, everything from red-and-white bobbers to silver fish-shaped lures. Kristen proclaimed them perfect as she padded around the tree, still wearing his thick socks.
He thought she was the cutest thing, and when Greg wandered off somewhere for a minute, Caleb ducked behind their fun-filled tree with a stem of mistletoe he’d cut in the woods and held it over Kristen’s head. She stood on her tiptoes and obliged, smiling against his mouth.
“How about a hat?” Greg’s voice had them jumping apart.
Kristen snickered. “Between your dog and your dad...”
“Gotta get rid of those two,” Caleb whispered to make her snicker again. Then, while she blushed and rearranged a feathered fishing lure, he went to see what Pops was yapping about.
Greg held up his best gray Stetson. “Don’t have a star or an angel, but how about this for the top?”
Kristen popped out from behind the tree and cried, “I love it!”
She had serious hat hair, little sprigs wiggling in the heated air from static electricity. Cypress needles stuck to the oversize sweatshirt Pops had loaned her.
He was about to tease her when her cell phone pinged.
The device rested on the hearth, where she’d set it after a call from her mother. Always hopeful for a donor call, Caleb reached for it to give to her. A name and face flashed across the lit screen.
James Dudley. The surgeon.