Mistletoe Bride

With a guilty jolt, Ryan came to life and found that Dani had spotted him hiding behind the sapling just a few feet away. He felt his face glow crimson and could only hope that she didn’t notice the other physical evidence of his shocking, ill-timed fantasy, which now tested the buttons of his fly.

“Actually,” he said as he walked over to her, “I came out here for the same reason you did—to find a Christmas tree.”

“Were you going to pick it like a daisy?” She directed her gaze to his empty hands.

“Of course not. I heard someone out here and guessed it might be you. Naturally, I came to help.”

“So help,” she said, handing him the ax.

Immediately, Ryan tested the edge of the blade. “I could probably gnaw that tree down faster than this blade will ever cut it.”

Dani sighed. “The grinder is in the shed. Sharpening this ax can be your very first task as my temporary ranch hand.”

“Actually, making the coffee was my first task,” he retorted, adding, “Why don’t you go in and have a cup? You look as if you could use it.” In truth, her cheeks glowed scarlet with cold, and he noticed that her teeth had begun to chatter. Scooping up her jacket, probably shed for ease of movement, he held it out so she could slip into it.

Dani did, then gave him a smile. “I’m not the most wonderful cook in the world, but I’m pretty good with pancakes. Is that okay for breakfast?”

“Cook anything you like,” Ryan said. “We’ll never complain.”

They walked together as far as the toolshed, both silent. She did not stop since the door had been left ajar, but nodded a goodbye as Ryan veered off to duck into the building. He found the grinder, mounted on a sturdy wooden worktable, without any trouble.

While Ryan sharpened the ax blade, he tried to analyze the reasons for what had happened in the woods, from the sudden onset of his lustful fantasy, to its embarrassing physical result. Such an analysis proved next to impossible since Dani wasn’t the sort of woman who normally turned him on. As a rule, he preferred taller females, probably because of his own six-three height. Critical body parts—private parts—fit together best when the woman stood nearly heads even. Besides that, he favored brunettes, though, now that he thought about it, he hadn’t had much luck with them so far.

Maybe it was time for a blonde.

Time for a blonde? Ryan nearly dropped the ax. It wasn’t time for a blonde. It wasn’t time for any woman. He had a son now, an impressionable son who needed food and clothing, a son whose upbringing would require dedication and full concentration. The last thing Ryan needed was the distraction of some female. Not that Dani could ever really distract him. She couldn’t. Clearly, the problem was him. Deprived of the pleasures of sex for too long now, his libido was just a little trigger-happy.

Trigger-happy.

Ryan laughed aloud at that unfortunate metaphor. So his libido was trigger-happy, huh? Well, something told him he’d damn well better keep it holstered lest it get him kicked off Dani’s ranch. She had a chip on her shoulder the size of Pike’s Peak, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out that a man—maybe even a cowboy—had put it there.

When the blade of the ax felt sharp to Ryan’s touch, he switched off the grinder and turned to head back outdoors, but paused first, giving the room a cursory examination. He saw a mess—clutter that could only result from years of neglect. Ryan, who despised a disorderly workroom such as this one, placed the cleaning of it high on a mental list of tasks he intended to accomplish over the next few days.

Just before he stepped through the door, he spied a basket, one of the kind so often sold at craft fairs for use as decoration. Ryan paused again, then impulsively scooped up the basket, which looked fairly new, by its handle. He could make use of it to remedy a situation that had bothered him all night.

Ax and basket in hand, he walked back to the pine tree Dani had picked out and quickly chopped it down. He left the tree where it lay for a few minutes while he searched for pinecones, easily visible in the sparse snow beneath some of the larger pine trees several yards away. There were plenty to choose from, ranging from small to huge. Ryan picked up quite a few and put them into Dani’s basket, which looked pretty dusty now that he had it out in good light.

Ryan tried to remember if he’d seen an outside water spigot. He couldn’t, and had almost decided he’d have to carry the basket indoors, thus spoiling what he’d intended to be a surprise, when he heard the unmistakable trickle of water. He froze, straining to hear the sound again. When he heard it a second later, Ryan followed it into the woods, where he soon stumbled onto a spring.

He wished for his camera to capture forever the beauty of the winter scene—snowbanks, trickling stream, gnarled tree roots at his feet, a canopy of tangled bare limbs over his head. Enchanted, Ryan knelt and dipped his hand into the ice-cold water, then raised it to his lips so he could sip. He grinned. Delicious!

Next, he proceeded to wipe down the basket with his hands, which were now red and rough from the cold. When it passed inspection, he set it down so he could gather some of the colorful pebbles lying all around. They were smooth and round, thanks to time and water flow. He laid them inside the basket with the pinecones.

He gathered other natural artifacts, all of which he tucked into the basket. In his mind’s eye, he arranged and rearranged everything. By the time he walked back to get the tree, he had a good idea what he wanted to do.

Leaving the basket sitting behind a wooden chair on the side porch and placing the tree near the door, Ryan stomped the snow off his boots and stepped into the kitchen. On the floor just inside the door, a Christmas-tree stand waited.

“Finally!” Dani exclaimed from where she stood frying bacon at the stove. Her smile said she wasn’t scolding, just impatient to get started decorating the tree.

Ryan noted that Sawyer had risen and dressed and was now helping Dani by setting the table. The boy did a good job, arranging the colorful plates on coordinating place mats and placing napkins and silverware to the side while she instructed.

“Actually,” Dani said, “I don’t know why I’m so anxious about the tree. We can’t decorate it until after breakfast, and that won’t be ready for another ten minutes.”

“Then I think I’ll go ahead and get the tree set up in the living room,” Ryan told her, lifting the stand and heading outside. Several minutes after, he reentered the house via the front door and proceeded to situate the tree in the stand. That accomplished, he stepped back to examine it. Dani had chosen well, he realized, noting the symmetry of the branches.

“It’s ready!” she called out.

Ryan returned to the kitchen and washed his hands, then joined them at the small, wooden kitchen table. Dani held out one hand to him across the food. The other she held out to Sawyer, seated to her right, an action that baffled Ryan until he remembered the old custom of joining hands to return grace. Somewhat awkwardly, he took her hand and extended his other one to Sawyer. Taking his cue from his dad, Sawyer quickly completed the link. Dani bowed her head, and in a clear, sweet voice, thanked her maker for their food, their shelter and each other.

She tried to release his hand immediately after her soft “amen,” but Ryan wouldn’t allow it. Instead, he tightened his grip slightly, a move that earned him a questioning look.

“I want you to know how grateful I, uh, we are to be here. You didn’t have to take us in.”

“It’s no big deal,” she said, clearly uncomfortable with his thanks.

“Maybe not to you,” he said. “It is to me. And I’ll never forget it.” That said, he released her.

Cheeks stained an attractive pink that had nothing to do with the cold, Dani could only stare at him for a moment before coming to life and thrusting a plate stacked with pancakes in his direction.

Ryan took the food, but instead of helping himself, he offered the pancakes to Sawyer, who forked a stack, the next instant exclaiming, “Look! Christmas trees.”

Christmas trees? Belatedly, Ryan realized to what Sawyer referred—the pancakes. Somehow, Dani had shaped each like a Christmas tree and decorated it with blueberries. And she said she couldn’t cook….

“Some of them are a little lopsided,” she said, shrugging self-consciously.

“I like ’em just fine!” Sawyer gleefully assured her. His grin stretched from ear to ear.

Oddly pleased that she’d taken such pains to make Sawyer’s Christmas breakfast so special, Ryan helped himself to a short stack of the “trees,” then passed the plate back to Dani. Butter and syrup came next, then the bacon. Soon everyone ate in contented silence.

“I like this,” Sawyer suddenly announced.

“Pancakes are my favorite, too,” Dani said.

“I’m not talking about them,” Sawyer told her. “I’m talking about us eating together. It’s just like at my friend Robby’s house. He sits at the table every single morning with his mom and dad and eats stuff like this.”

His mom and dad? Ryan nearly choked at the comparison.

Dani, however, looked amused. “And what do you usually do for breakfast?”

“Well, when I lived with Granny Wright in Arkansas, I always had cereal and milk,” Sawyer told her around a huge bite of pancake. Ryan bit back the urge to tell him not to talk with his mouth full. “Dad and I have doughnuts and cookies and stuff.”

Ryan felt Dani’s accusing gaze on him and squirmed in the chair. “That’s because you told me you didn’t eat cereal,” he said. “You know I don’t have time to cook in the mornings.”

“It’s okay, Dad,” Sawyer hastily assured Ryan, as if afraid he might have hurt his feelings. “I like what we have.”

Dani said nothing—at least not out loud. But her expression spoke volumes, and Ryan saw curiosity and speculation in her eyes. At once, he made two mental vows, the first to keep his personal business to himself. As for the second, well, that was to drag his butt out of bed a little earlier from now on to cook his kid some eggs or something.

“Tell me about your Granny Wright,” Dani said to Sawyer. “How long did you live with her?”