Christmas at Fox Ridge

9. Lucas

Chapter nine

Lucas

December 23

T he third alarm ringing throughout the small, dark bedroom makes my temples ache. Reaching through the darkness, I hit snooze with a groan.

There is no way it’s already morning.

Fucking hell, six o’clock comes fast when you stay up until after midnight. Granted, I couldn’t fathom heading off to bed alone—not with Eira sitting in my living room window, wrapped snug in a red plaid blanket, using watercolour to create a replica of the northern lights in her sketchpad. Especially not after spending the past two days at work, itching for the moment I’d get to come home to see her.

So once we’d finished dinner—and dessert spread over the kitchen table—I sat quietly on the couch and watched her work. The way she’d tilt her head to catch the coloured streaks disappearing over the rooftop above her, and the squint as she worked in almost complete darkness. She giggled about the possibility of all the colours on her page running together into one big blob, but when we turned the lights back on, she held up the most stunning painting I’ve ever seen.

No man in his right mind would go to bed and miss all that.

And now I’m paying for it.

A few weeks ago, I was annoyed that the holidays were forcing me to take time off. Despite my willingness to work—not even demanding extra pay to make up for working on a holiday—nobody but me seemed to think it was appropriate for a farrier to shoe horses on Christmas.

Now? I’m fucking counting down to the end of the work week. Begging for two days of nothing but Eira. I hope we don’t even leave the bed.

After practically throwing my phone on the fourth alarm, I run my fingers along the arm she has slung over my chest. She grumbles something about the annoying ringing sound under her breath, snuggling in closer, and my nose finds its way into her silky hair. Somehow, her scent fills me with the same emotion Christmas made me feel as a kid. Cookies and a warm early morning by the fire. Ineffable happiness and wonder.

God, now I really do sound insane.

Seven years ago was the worst year of my life—a drunk driver nearly killed me on my way home from a rodeo, and it was six months before I was walking again. For a long while, hearing people’s assurance that “things happen for a reason” had me picking up a bottle of liquor, not knowing if I was going to drink it or hit them upside the head. Either way, one of us was blacking out.

Eventually, the notion grew on me. Amor fati.

Trusting in something bigger than myself—and bigger than the asshole who hit me with his one-tonne pickup—made the mental and physical pain a little easier to stomach. I just needed to find the reason for the shitty hand I’d been dealt.

That reason was this ranch, which I bought five years ago with the payout I received from the accident. Since then, I’ve poured every ounce of energy into this dream—renovating, raising animals, farrier work. It gave me purpose.

Aside from that rough first date with the pastor’s daughter, I haven’t so much as looked at a woman. No time nor desire. Like everything else, I took to believing I hadn’t found the one for a reason.

Despite insisting things were too busy for me to head to the city for a weekend, I couldn’t get out of attending Holly and Daniel’s engagement party. And there she was.

Sleek dark hair framed her face as she bent over something on the table, and she remained entirely oblivious to all the madness happening around her. She didn’t flinch when a server dropped a tray of drinks. Didn’t so much as fumble her pen when a large man bumped into her chair. She was writing or drawing something that seemed important, and aside from her tongue darting out to lick her lips occasionally, the only part of her in motion was her hand. I was mesmerized.

I needed to know her.

Finding out she was my kid sister’s best friend probably should’ve deterred me. And I’m sure it would have, if hours of talking to Eira didn’t settle the noise inside my head for the first time in years. That felt too much like fate for me to ignore.

“Don’t go,” she grumbles when I pull my arm out from under her on the fifth alarm. Something in my chest seizes like an old truck motor.

“I gotta get to work, Doodlebug.” I tuck the comforter around her, swallowing hard. “Fuck, I don’t want to, though.”

“ Please, Lucas,” she whines.

My hand scrubs my jaw. “You know I can’t stand it when you beg.”

Rolling onto her back, she reaches out to grab my wrist with a sleepy, crooked smile. “Please.”

Motherfucker .

She’s batting her eyelashes, discreetly pulling me toward her. Eira knows exactly what she’s doing to me. And how easily it’s working.

She guides my touch to her thigh.

“ Needy girl . If I slip my hand between your thighs, I won’t be able to control myself. If I touch that beautiful pussy, and she coats my fingers in your wetness, I won’t be able to control myself.” I groan—her hold tightening, drawing me closer to her heat. I’m already running late and can’t afford to skip work, no matter how sore my body is and how desperate I am to be in bed with her. But I simply moan, leaning into her firm pull.

She drags my fingertips up her pussy, biting her lip as she watches. “Losing control yet?”

“Don’t do this to me, baby. I’m so fucking pathetic for you.”

“How pathetic?” She smiles innocently, like she’s not pushing my fingers deep inside her wet cunt. Her ass lifts off the sheets, forcing my touch, dragging the heel of my hand over her clit.

“You make me pick between you and work, I’ll be flat broke and homeless real quick.”

A whole lot of ugly truth for six o’clock in the morning.

Two nights sharing a bed with this woman, and I’m a simpering wreck.

Out of nowhere, her fingers unfurl from around my forearm. “Guess you better get to work.”

Leaving me with glistening fingers and a rock-hard dick, Eira sashays into the bathroom. Every step swings her hips and jiggles her bare ass, until regret seeps out of my pores in the form of cold sweat. And the sound of her starting the shower may as well be a splash of water to the face. Something to wake me from this stupor.

Fuck work.

I stalk across the floorboards, letting them creak and groan as a warning of my approach.

“Eira, fuck .” My booming voice causes dust to fall from the rafters. This house has clearly been lifeless for too damn long if a little appreciation for my girl has it shaking in its boots.

When the door swings open, Eira’s eyes snap to meet mine in the condensation-coated mirror. “Don’t you have important cowboy shit to do?”

“Yeah,” I growl, moving across the bathroom until I’m practically on top of her. “I do. Like making sure I fuck my snow angel so well her pussy aches all day.”

She smirks. “ So pathetic. ”

The shower door swings open, steam billowing out around her. And before I lose sight of Eira behind the fogged-up glass, I’m stepping in after her. Crowding her space, I’m barely breathing as my lips brush over hers and my dick slips between her wet legs. The tip glides over her skin, eliciting a whimper when it nudges her clit. I need her in the worst fucking way.

The corner ledge is meant for shampoo bottles or a woman to prop a foot up while she shaves her legs. It’s about enough room for half a butt cheek, but I make the best of it, getting just enough support for my squatted position that I feel comfortable beckoning her over.

“Sit on it, baby.” My cock twitches against my stomach. I reach out to wrap a hand around her wrist. “Sink that tight cunt down on my cock.”

“I thought you had to go to work.” She massages her breasts under the stream of water, taunting me. “You should probably get going. Wouldn’t want you to be late.”

“I don’t give a fuck how late I am. Quit being such a fucking tease.”

Bending, she kisses me and strokes a wet palm down my shaft. Then roughly cups my balls while smiling against my lips. Her tongue swipes up my jawline, hand massaging between my legs.

She has me by the balls. Figuratively and literally speaking.

Pulling away from where she’s nibbling my ear, she spins around and sinks down on my cock before I even get the chance to prepare myself for the sensation of her warmth gripping every inch, tightening when she bottoms out on my lap. A ragged, wall-shaking moan barrels out of my chest, and I drive upward instinctively.

“ Fuck .” I grab her waist. “You’re so goddamn tight. See how good it feels when you’re a good girl, giving your man this perfect little pussy like he asked for?”

She bounces on my lap while whimpers and moans hang suspended in the socked in, humid shower. Her head dips back, letting drops of water fall from the tips of her dark bob. And I sink my teeth into her shoulder, close to coming apart thanks to the sound of slapping wet skin and the ripple of her ass with every drop into my lap.

“Lucas.” Her voice shakes as she pulls in a breath. “It feels so good.”

“So good,” I mumble agreement into her wet hair. “You’re doing so fucking well, my perfect snow angel.”

She’s squeezing me in tight, rolling bursts, each one making grunts and groans slip from between my lips.

“Never want this to end,” I say. Restless hands run up and down the deep curve of her waist, and a sense of loss washes over me.

I don’t want her to go home in a few days.

“Oh my God,” she cries out, pussy pulling at my cock, filling my veins with liquid fire. And she falls apart beautifully on my lap, looking over her shoulder at me with pink, bitten lips and a hooded gaze.

I move her up and down my shaft despite the trembling in her thighs. Wrapping an arm around her, I hold tight to ground myself as pleasure licks up my spine, and I’m stuttering curse words against her neck when my own release floods out of me.

Then we sit, cloaked in thick, warm fog. My cock still fully seated inside her warmth, and her head resting on my shoulder. Unrestrained, my heart pounds against her back, and her shallow breathing slowly evens out as her fingertips follow the branching veins on my forearm. I press my lips to her temple.

We could stay like this. I could skip work and keep Eira’s skin on mine all day.

A blaring, obnoxious sound kills the mood. The end of my billionth alarm snooze this morning, no doubt.

“You should probably go to work for real,” Eira whispers. She doesn’t bother trying to hide her feelings. She wants to stay like this, too.

“I should…” My reply is weak and unconvincing. “You could come… if you want. Should only be busy for a couple hours today.”

“Don’t you like… put shoes on horses?”

I chuckle. “Yeah, that’s part of what I do.”

“Horses scare the ever-loving shit out of me.”

“As long as you don’t smuggle any carrots in your pockets, I think you’ll be fine.”

She grins, tilting her head slightly to catch my eye. “No carrots. But I do currently have an eggplant in my vagina.”

I snort a laugh, and my head falls to knock against hers. Her giggles make her pussy clench around my cock until the sharp jolts of electricity under my skin have me forcing her off my lap against my will.

“You’re something else,” I say when our laughter has died down.

Eira’s head tips back to wet her hair, eyes drifting closed, and I’m patiently waiting with a shampoo bottle when she straightens. Every moment of hers feels poetic and graceful—from the methodical way she lathers suds across her scalp to the roll of her neck when she rinses them away.

“Okay, I’ll come with you.” She licks a bead of water from her upper lip. Her arms wrap around my neck, and I pull her in close under the steady flow of hot water. “But I’m sacrificing you and your eggplant to save myself, if it comes down to it.”

“I promise I’ll keep you safe from those super dangerous horses down at the therapeutic riding stables.” I laugh, skimming my hands across her waist as we trade positions under the shower stream. “They’re used for riding lessons for kids with disabilities, but I’m sure they’ve secretly been saving all their hostile energy for the day you show up.”

“Probably. Horses are notoriously shady bitches.”

“I know we don’t know each other very well yet, but I think I gave you the wrong impression.” Eira stands next to my truck, shivering as she watches me lower the tailgate and grab my tools. “Remember when I told you I’m morally opposed to snow? Those feelings extend to cold, outside, dirt… horse poop. ”

“You’re saying you prefer city filth to a little manure?” I laugh, slamming the tailgate and motioning for her to follow me toward the barn. “Do you know how much human shit there probably is all over the city?”

“That’s why I don’t go to the park,” she states, tugging her sleeves down over her hands. She had no clothing cut out for a frozen December day, but she looks distractingly adorable in a pair of my overalls and my Carhartt coat—like a little kid playing dress up.

“Baby, I’ll grab you a clean blanket from my truck so you aren’t sitting on a dirty chair. We’ll make you a hot cup of coffee and set you up next to the propane heater so you can draw comfortably.”

Maybe it was a mistake inviting her to tag along. I’m well aware she’s not a country girl, and even agreeing to stay in a cabin on my property was probably out of her comfort zone. But selfishly, I want to spend as much time as I can with her, knowing we only have a few days.

She follows me inside and pauses as I set down my things. The lights hum through the rafters, and a horse whinnies somewhere a few stalls away. Unsurprisingly, with it being December twenty-third and all, there doesn’t seem to be a soul around. In fact, I didn’t even notice any other vehicles parked outside.

“Okay, it’s actually pretty cute here.” She homes in on a row of tacked-up drawings, likely done by the kids who ride here. “Even if it smells like horses.”

“Yeah, they did some renovations a couple years back.” I take her hand in mine, leading her into a small lunchroom, on the off-hand somebody actually is lurking around. And when the door shuts behind us, I grab the pockets of the thick canvas jacket swallowing her petite frame and crash my lips into hers.

In an alternate universe, I imagine Eira living in Fox Ridge, driving out to bring me coffee while I work, and kissing anytime we want to.

“What was that for?” Her mouth curves into a slight smile.

“Wanted to.”

A soft peck. “Good. I want you to want to do that all the time.”

“Oh, baby. That’s dangerous. I might never stop kissing you, then, because it’s already all I want to do.”

The way she slowly sucks my bottom lip into her mouth, the seductive tangle of tongues, the hint of spearmint toothpaste on her breath. No surprise it’s all I want to do. If I’m sure of anything in life, it’s that my lips were designed to be connected to hers as often as possible.

A shiver wrenches her body from mine, and she blinks up sweetly at me. “You said something about hot coffee?”

“Coming right up.” I kiss the tip of her nose before letting her fall from my grasp. The can of coffee grounds slides across the countertop, and I dump it into the coffeemaker while stealing glances at her in my periphery.

Sidling up next to me, she takes the canister from my hand and smiles at the label. “That’s the coffee I remember my grandpa drinking—he lived with us for a couple years after my grandma died. Didn’t even think it still existed.”

“Still exists. Still the best coffee you can get.”

She pries the lid off and inhales the aroma. “Mmmm. Even without trying your coffee, I can safely say the candy cane flat white from Sipsters is better. When they discontinue it every January, I have dreams about it for months.”

I lean against the counter and shake my head. “I know what those words mean separately, but I have no fucking clue what kind of drink that is.”

“I don’t know what’s in it either,” she says through a soft laugh. “All I care about is that it tastes like Christmas in a cup. But like, the perfect Christmas you only see in movies, with a real tree, and table full of baked goods, and a crackling fire. The type of Christmas I always dreamed about having when I was growing up.”

I raise an eyebrow, my mind reeling with ways I can bring her vision together. The hardest part will be the baking, because the burnt soup doesn’t inspire confidence in me that Eira can bake—we’ll have to hope the local bakery has stock left.

“You know what’s crazy?” I ask.

Plunking the coffee can down on the counter, she looks at me with confusion.

“That sounds exactly like the kind of Christmas I have on the ranch.”