A Cowboy's Christmas Reunion

She turned, one eyebrow arched, all sarcasm. “What makes you say that?” A boy peered around Hunter then. And Josie felt her irritation slip.

This was him... Hunter’s son. She felt pain. Pain she thought she’d worked through years ago. She stared at the boy.

The boy stared back. He had Hunter’s intense gaze and startling eyes.

She held up a finger. “Let me get dressed.”

“We’re not going to stay long.” Hunter’s voice was soft.

She pulled her gaze from the boy, her toes curling into the area rug beneath her feet. “Well, you’re going to have to give me a second because I refuse to have a conversation with someone while I’m wearing a robe. Okay?” And she needed a minute to get a grip. She half ran to her room, almost tripped over Sprinkles again and closed the door without a sound. “Shit,” she murmured with feeling.

Dad needs me. That’s why I’m here. I don’t have to do this float or spend time with Hunter...or his beautiful son. But I do have to take care of Dad.

She pulled on her underwear and dug through the suitcase, then the piles of clothes all over her room. She sighed, pulling on a pair of jeans and a thermal shirt. A quick search unearthed her fuzzy pink bunny slippers, which she slipped on while she headed back to the waiting crew.

“It’s the best I could do in two minutes,” she muttered when she saw her father’s disapproving glance. “I’ll put on my hoopskirt and pearls next time, okay?”

The boy smiled briefly, while Hunter laughed.

“Nice to meet you.” She stuck her hand out to the boy. She couldn’t ignore him—she didn’t want to. He looked like a Boone, which was a good thing. If he’d looked like Amy... She swallowed. “I’m—”

“Joselyn,” her dad offered.

“Or Jo,” Hunter added.

“Or Josie, even.” She rolled her eyes.

“Eli,” he said, shaking her hand quickly. He nodded and then sat by her father on the couch.

The door opened and Josie felt a moment’s panic as she spun around. If it was Amy—

“Well, if it isn’t Miss Joselyn Stephens.” Two hands picked her up, holding her eye to eye with a large wall of a man.

“Fisher?” She couldn’t believe this...this person was Hunter’s little brother. “What happened to you?”

He smiled. “I drank milk.” He pulled her into a bear hug.

“By the truckload?” She hugged him back. “You look great.”

“I do.” He nodded.

She giggled, stepping away from him as he put her on the ground. “At least your sense of humor hasn’t changed.”

“Not that I mind you all stopping by, but can we start over so I know what’s going on?” her dad interrupted. He was a stickler for his routine. The bakery opened at six, so he was in bed by nine each and every evening. She glanced at the clock. It was ten after nine.

Hunter spoke first. “Christmas float time. FFA met tonight and came up with a few ideas. One of them was to build something around Josie’s story characters.”

Josie didn’t know where to look. If she looked at Hunter, she felt...all sorts of conflicting and overwhelming things. If she looked at Eli, she felt empty. And if she looked at her dad, she felt rumpled and unattractive. Fisher was her only option. He winked at her when she glanced his way. It helped.

“You don’t have to tell me it’s Christmastime. Christmas parade kicks off the Gingerbread Festival.” Her father winked at her. “Which means Josie and I will be up to our elbows in the stuff for the next week.”

“Can’t wait.” Josie smiled. “Bonding while baking is a family tradition.” She made the terrible mistake of looking Hunter’s way. Hunter, who was watching her. His crooked grin and cocked eyebrow stirred up a series of memories. A flash of him smiling at her while they floated down the river. Another of them lying on a blanket under the stars. Him teaching her to drive stick shift. Making love for the first time. Not thoughts I need to have right now. Her heart lodged itself in her throat.

“Family traditions are good.” Fisher grinned. “Even better if it puts food on the table, right? A man’s got to eat.”

“Which characters?” her father asked, turning to Eli.

Eli shrugged. “Thirty-four, probably. Since some of us have calves.”

“Thirty-four?” She tore her gaze from Hunter.

“It was Dad’s calf, right?” Eli asked.

Josie nodded, rattled. “Yes, his state champion calf.” Her gaze settled on Eli. He looked a lot like Hunter when they’d first met. Her heart hurt. “What can I do to help?”

“Well, we’re gonna build the float. But they—we—were wondering...” Eli was clearly uncomfortable. “Would you ride on it?”

She shook her head. “Um, I hate the spotlight, Eli.”

“It’s just a parade.” Eli’s eyes were scornful. “In Stonewall Crossing.”

“Come on, Josie,” her father said. “You wrote books about this place, the town and people.”

Fisher elbowed her. “You are a celebrity here, kind of.”

“And it’s for the kids,” her dad added.

She held her hands up. “Really, Dad? You’re going to play the for-the-kids card?”

Hunter laughed, sending a wave of awareness along her neck. “Nothing to add, H-Hunter?” She stumbled over his name. It was stupid. Not like she could call him Mr. Boone. It’s a name, for crying out loud. Saying it shouldn’t affect her, or send the slightest shiver down her spine.

His gaze traveled over her face before peering into her eyes. “You might make some good memories before you go back. Something for a new book.”

She couldn’t look away. And she really needed to look away. He might not be grappling with memories, with need and want, but she sure as hell was.

“Come on, Josie. Live a little,” Fisher added.

She should say no, but Hunter had found her weakness. A new book... Wouldn’t that be something? Not that anyone knew she was in the midst of the longest creative drought of her career. That’s why she was considering the teaching position in New Mexico. She wanted to feel inspired again.

Maybe working on the float could help. At this point, it couldn’t hurt. Her career, anyway.

“So?” Eli’s question ended her tortured introspection.

“Yes.” She smiled at Eli as she spoke. “Thanks, Eli. I mean, it’s nice to feel special for my stories.” Don’t ask. Don’t ask. But she did. “Did you ever read them?” Thinking about Amy reading her stories to Eli made her stomach twist.

Eli looked at his dad. “Dad used to read me 34 and Floppy Feet all the time.”

Fisher snorted. “Hey, hey, now. I’ve read the cow one—”