On a Snowy Christmas Night

Shea held herself tall even though she wasn’t. He’d guess five-six? A little thin, but no big deal. While her body was pleasant, he was drawn back to her face, her unusual eyes with their dark lashes. He liked that she had full lips but didn’t wear a hint of lipstick on them. He might not mind the look of the gloss, but he’d never liked the taste.

“Uh,” she said, shaking her head, her straight light brown hair swinging from side to side and bringing him back to the conversation. “I’m not eating with you.”

He didn’t know what to say at first and just stared as she pressed her lips together, making one cheek dimple. “Should I take this personally?”

“No,” she said matter-of-factly. “I promised Rachel I wouldn’t be any trouble. I have some cheese crackers here.…” A slight frown puckered her brows. “There’s no rule against eating in the rooms, is there?”

“I doubt it.” Jesse laughed. “Look, Rachel made lasagna. If you don’t come down, she’ll be charging up to get you. Not to mention I’ll get chewed out.”

“Hmm, this is a bit awkward,” she said, with a frank unwavering gaze he found intriguing. “Honestly, I didn’t think this would be an issue.”

He moved farther back to give her space. “For now how about coming downstairs with me? I can smell the lasagna from here.”

She sniffed, and her stomach growled loudly. She glanced down with annoyance and pressed a hand to her flat belly. “I haven’t had home cooking in a long time, and you’re right, it smells heavenly.”

“My sister can be a pain in the neck, but I’ll admit, the woman can cook.”

She flashed him a quick smile. “I’m Shea, by the way. Did you tell me your name?”

He shrugged. “It’s Jesse.”

“Pleased to meet you, Jesse.” She offered her hand in an unexpected businesslike manner.

“Likewise.” He liked her firm grip, the softness of her palm pressed against his. “I hear Rachel rounding up everyone.”

“What?”

“I think dinner is on the table.”

“Okay.” She released his hand and dragged her palm down the front of her jeans. She slipped through the doorway into the hall, still barefoot.

“No one will care whether you’re wearing shoes or not, but you should know we have wood floors downstairs.”

Shea looked down. “Oh.” She grinned and wiggled her toes. When she lifted her gaze, her cheeks were slightly flushed, making her eyes seem a little bluer. “I forgot. You go ahead if you want. I’ll be right there.”

He watched her disappear into her room but didn’t move except to fold his arms across his chest, lean against the wall and wait. The irony of him being the one Rachel sent as the family’s goodwill ambassador wasn’t lost on him. He of all people couldn’t blame anyone for not wanting to sit around with a bunch of strangers and he’d be the last person coaxing someone to the table.

Yeah, he’d considered backing off, letting her eat her crackers in peace. But he didn’t think Shea’s reluctance was due to shyness or anything other than genuinely not wanting to intrude. What a change from most of the guests who’d come to stay since Rachel started the dude ranch six months ago.

Some of those women had been something else. Even Trace, who was quite the Casanova, had started complaining about finding them under every rock. Not that it mattered to Jesse. He’d usher Shea downstairs and that would be it. If he had a rescue to deliver, maybe he’d see her at the shelter. And if not, that was fine, too.

3

WHEN SHEA SAW all the people sitting at the large dining-room table she wanted to turn around and run. Of course the whole family would be here. What was she thinking agreeing to have dinner with them? She’d let her empty tummy sway her.

“Here, Shea.” Rachel pulled out a chair. “Sit next to me. I’ll introduce you to everyone.”

They were all looking at her with friendly expressions but that didn’t help. Her pulse had already started racing, her legs felt leaden and stiff and she was pretty much stuck because she doubted she could make it up the stairs.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt the pressure of a hand at the small of her back. She whipped her head around and met Jesse’s warm brown eyes.

“Go ahead,” he said, with an encouraging smile—he must have noticed how tense she was. That knowledge didn’t help one bit. “I’ll get you something to drink. Wine?”

She jerked her chin in some vague form of a nod and kept her focus on the empty chair until she was safely seated.

No one seemed to have observed her attack of nerves, no one except Jesse, of course. Rachel had already started passing a platter of bread and butter around the table.

“Listen up, everyone,” she said, pulling a large glass bowl of salad toward her. “This is Shea. I lied and told her how nice and perfectly civilized we all are, so try and fake it, okay?”

Laughter interspersed with indignation filled the room. The older woman Shea had seen earlier sat at the head of the table shushing them, then directed a smile at Shea. “I’m Barbara McAllister, the mother of this rowdy bunch. Except Jamie over there, who I’ve decided to claim, anyway.”

Grinning, the blonde lifted a hand and wiggled her fingers.

“That’s Cole cutting the lasagna,” Barbara continued.

“Glad you could join us, Shea,” he said, regarding her with the same dark eyes as Jesse. “Hand me your plate. I’ve got a nice big juicy piece for you.”

“Come on, you know I have a system.” Rachel stopped tossing the greens to glare at her brother. “Keep cutting. Let me get the salad passed around clockwise and then—”

“Oh, Christ, here we go—”

“Trace!” Barbara gave him a reproving look.

A giggle rose in Shea’s throat and she pressed her lips together trying to smother the sound.

Rachel clearly heard. “What?” she asked, her mouth slightly curved. “It’s okay. Everyone laughs at Trace.”

“No, your system. Passing clockwise,” Shea said, trying to compose herself. “I get that. I really do.”

“Thank you,” Rachel said with a smug lift of her chin aimed at Trace.

He made a crack that Shea didn’t hear because Jesse came up behind her, and suddenly all her senses were fixated on him.

“Would you like white or red?” he asked, bending close to her ear, his warm breath tickling her skin and sending an unexpected shiver down her spine.

She turned her head and saw that he was holding a bottle of wine in each hand. “Actually, I’m not much of a drinker. Maybe I should stick with water.”

“All right, but this chardonnay is pretty good stuff.” His voice was low and deep, and terribly unnerving because it seemed meant only for her.

Shea sighed. Probably a mistake given that she was already feeling rather warm, but she said, “Maybe a little.”

“Wine?” Trace snorted. “What’s the occasion?”

“Think, you heathen. We’re celebrating Jamie coming to be with us for the holidays.” Rachel sprinkled sunflower seeds on the salad, gave it a long approving look, then passed the bowl to her mother.

Jamie grinned. “We can always hook you up to a keg, Trace.”

“Hey, I’m down with that.” Trace smiled, his teeth strikingly white against his tan skin.