A Cowboy's Christmas Reunion

Her hands tightened on the tray she held and her lungs emptied as a memory of the way that rear felt under her hands...

She sighed, completely trapped.

This was not the reaction she’d expected after so long. Or the way she wanted to see him again. It...it pissed her off.

This isn’t fair.

“Need some help with that, Josie?” Her father’s voice made her wince.

She was hiding, clutching a tray of her dad’s famous German breakfast kolaches and Danish, and crouching behind the display counter. Why was she—a rational, professional woman—ducking behind a bakery counter? Because he’d walked in and thrown her confidence in her face—a face whose forehead was currently streaked with flour and sugar and who knew what else.

There was no doubt her father’s amused question had made all eyes in Pop’s Bakery turn toward her. All eyes, even the very dazzling blue-green ones she was trying so desperately to avoid. There wasn’t much to do about it now.

She shot her father a look as she said, “Nope, thanks, Dad. I’ve got it.”

Her father winked, looking downright giddy. He’d known exactly what he was doing, and, knowing him, he could hardly wait to see what happened next.

Taking a deep breath, she stood slowly and slid the tray of breakfast goods into the display cabinet with intentional care. She refused to look at anything except the pastries. Or the stuffed deer head over the front door. That always made her smile—not that she was a fan of taxidermy. But her father insisted on decorating it for the seasons. It wore a red Santa hat. Ornaments dangled off its antlers, which were finished off with some tinsel and blinking twinkly Christmas lights. Only in Stonewall Crossing, Texas.

“I couldn’t tell,” her father continued. “You were all bent over, trying to balance that tray.”

Josie’s cheeks felt warm, but she wasn’t about to admit she’d been hiding. “All good.”

“Josie? Josie Stephens?” a high-pitched voice asked. “Oh, my God, look at you. Why, you haven’t changed since high school.”

Josie glanced over the display case at the woman speaking. Josie couldn’t place her, so she smiled and said, “Thanks. You, too.”

That’s when her gaze wandered to Hunter. He was waiting. And, from the look on his face, he knew Josie had no idea who the woman was. Which irritated her. Him, standing there, looking like that, irritated her.

This morning gets better and better.

First one of the ovens died, then she’d argued with her dad over which pills he was supposed to take, her dad’s dog, Sprinkles, had buried one of her shoes somewhere in the backyard and now this. Hunter Boone, gorgeous and tall and manly and still too-perfect, looking at her. The front view is just as good—bad—as the back.

He smiled—bright blue-green eyes sparkling, damn dimple peaking in full force. She swallowed the huge lump in her throat. Not that she could have said anything if she’d wanted to.

“So it’s true?” the woman continued. “Your dad said you were coming to help him, but I couldn’t imagine you back here. We all know how much you hated Stonewall Crossing.” Her speech pattern, the snide condescension, the narrowed eyes. Josie remembered her then. Winnie. Winnie Michaels. “What did you call it, redneck hell—right?”

Josie watched Hunter frown at Winnie’s question, the slight shake of his head. It was all so familiar, unsettling, confusing. She blinked, turning her attention to the deer head and its flashing holiday cheer.

“Guess hell froze over.” Winnie kept going, teasing—but with a definite edge.

“Kind of hard to say no when your dad needs you,” Josie answered, forcing herself not to snap. Instead, she smiled. “I’m here.”

“She wasn’t about to let her old man try to run this place on his own.” Her father jumped to her defense. “No matter how busy her life might be.”

Busy didn’t come close to describing her mess of a life, but her dad didn’t need more stress right now.

Her father dropped his arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “She’s always been a daddy’s girl.”

She arched an eyebrow and shot him a look. “Are you complaining?”

Her father laughed. “Nope.”

“I didn’t think so.” She kissed his cheek. “Now go sit down.”

He shouldn’t be up, but she knew better than to think he’d stay in his chair or use a walker. That was why she’d flown home from Washington, to take care of him. And because she needed someplace quiet to think things over.

“You know that’s not going to happen, Jo.” Same voice, same smile, same butt, same irritating nickname that only he used.

“That’s why I’m here.” Josie was thrilled she sounded completely cool, calm and collected. Her heart, on the other hand, was beating like crazy.

“It’s kinda weird to see the two of you standing here.” Winnie glanced back and forth between Josie and Hunter. “I mean, without having your tongues down each other’s throats and all.”

“Well—” Josie stared at the woman, then Hunter. He wasn’t smiling anymore. His jaw was rigid, the muscles knotted. Interesting. “It’s kind of hard with the display case in the way,” she teased.

Hunter was quick. “I could jump over.”

Josie shrugged, but her heart was on the verge of exploding. It was all too easy imagining him sliding across the glass-top counter, pulling her into his strong arms and— Not going there. “Nah. You don’t want to break Dad’s case.”

“I don’t mind,” her father murmured, for her ears only, as he retreated to his chair.

Hunter shook his head. “I think we’ll have to wait for now.” He cocked his head, eyes still pinned on Josie. “I’ve gotta get these kolaches to the boys.”

Josie saw him take the huge box by the register. A swift kick of disappointment prompted her to blurt out, “Too bad, Hunter. If I remember it correctly, you knew how to kiss a girl.”

He smiled again, shaking his head. “If you remember? Ouch. Guess I’ve had some competition the last few years.” His eyes swept her face, lingering on her lips just long enough to make her cheeks feel hot.

She knew better but didn’t say a word.

Hunter inclined his head ever so slightly. “Thanks, Carl. I’ll see you later on. Have fun while you’re back in hell, Jo. I’ll see you around.”

That would be a bad idea.

Josie watched him leave. His back—and butt—disappeared as he climbed into the driver’s side of a huge dark blue one-ton extended cab truck. She saw him wink at her then and shook her head, a familiar ache pressing in on her. Time doesn’t heal all wounds. How many hours had she spent wishing she hadn’t pushed him away? That she hadn’t set him up for failure, because she had... No point in rehashing it again.

She turned back to the display counter to arrange the pastries she’d made at four-thirty this morning. Dad’s fall had shaken them both. He was the last stable thing she had left. He needed her—that was the only reason she’d come home. The last thing she wanted was to be back exactly where she’d been eleven years ago, working in her father’s bakery in a town she couldn’t wait to escape. Yes, she’d hoped coming back would dispel some of her fantasies about Hunter Boone. And, if she was really lucky, she could finally get her heart back. After seeing Hunter again, one thing was certain. As soon as her dad didn’t need her, she was gone.

* * *

HUNTER PUT THE TRUCK in Reverse and blew out a slow breath as he craned his head to check his blind spot.

“Was that her?” Eli asked, his voice and eyes cold.

Hunter glanced at his son but wasn’t up for an argument. “That’s Jo.”

“She’s not that pretty,” Eli grumbled.

“No? I think she is.” His voice was neutral. Pretty didn’t come close to describing Jo Stephens. Silver-gray eyes, wild curly hair, with curves to drive a man to drink. She was beautiful. There wasn’t a man alive who wouldn’t admit that. Except his son. “And she’s funny. Really funny.”