Christmas at Fox Ridge

12. Eira

Chapter twelve

Eira

December 24

“ Y our cat howled all night,” Lucas grumbles into the pillow next to me.

“She was probably lonely downstairs. I told you we should’ve brought her in here.”

Rolling to his side, he sweeps a large hand over my head and smiles. “I don’t love the thought of her looking at me when I’m naked.”

“Don’t tell me a tiny kitten makes you self-conscious,” I say under the sweet dusting of his kisses down my neck.

“Mmm no,” he murmurs into my hair. “More fear that she’ll remove my dick from my body the first chance she gets. Anyway, enough about your devil cat—”

“No wonder she hisses at you so much. I would, too, if you constantly referred to me as evil.”

“Oh, baby, you’re evil, all right.” He smirks, and I tease him with my scariest hiss. Lucas responds by giving a small nip to my earlobe. “Only a true siren could lure me away from work and into the shower like you did yesterday.”

My back arches, hips rolling into him. “In that case, let me beguile you again.”

“No time, temptress.” The covers pull back, and suddenly he’s practically yanking me from the bed with his hand linked in mine. “Merry Christmas Eve, Doodlebug. We have a lot to do in order to have your no-pants holiday tomorrow.”

Being in bed with him all day would easily put this Christmas in my top three. Just after that Christmas when Dad’s office Christmas party Santa—who smelled like cigarettes and cheddar cheese—gave me a hundred dollar bill, but probably before the year Holly and I pub-crawled on Christmas Eve.

At this exact moment, I care very little about having a movie-like holiday, but I roll out of bed and drag a hand down my face with a groan. Then pad behind him to the bathroom.

“What exactly do you have on this list?” I ask, reaching for sunscreen and methodically swiping it over my face.

He holds up a finger until he’s done brushing his teeth then licks his lips and smiles at me. “First things first, we need a real tree.”

Knowing my fear of horses, Lucas suggested we take his truck. But not before making a sassy comment about a horseback ride up the mountain being more romantic. Now snuggled up in his truck’s bench seat, I couldn’t disagree more. My palm rubs the length of his thigh, my head rests on his shoulder, and he periodically presses his lips to my hairline. Warm, cozy, and stealing quick kisses every chance we get, I can’t think of a better way to find the perfect tree.

“How about that one?” I point to the left hand side, sitting straighter with excitement.

Lucas slows the truck to a crawl. “Not gonna work, baby. Look at the base—you got two trees tangled up in each other there instead of one.”

“Mmm, sounds romantic.” I walk my fingers up to his chest, slipping under the collar. “Also sounds a lot like us last night.”

“God, I can’t wait to lay you down under the Christmas tree and watch the lights dance on your naked body.”

My core tightens, and I blink up at him, searching his face and hoping I’ll somehow find the words to say written in the small creases around his eyes or the peppered stubble on his jawline.

“Get back to tree hunting, Doodlebug. You’re slacking on the job.”

Doubling down on the intensity of my gaze, I meet his deep blue eyes. “Petition to make my new job staring at you.”

“You’re hired. Although I think you’ll discover how boring I am and decide to quit.”

“I’m an artist—people watching is never boring.”

The truck careens through a large pothole, and I squeeze my hands around his sculpted bicep for stability. Somehow both hands barely fit, something I spend a moment measuring so I can take it home with me.

The feel of my hands on his smooth skin, the drum of his heart when I lay my head on his chest in bed, the taste of his lips on mine—all that and so many more pieces of Lucas I can’t put onto paper as easily as I can the roped veins in his forearms and the freckles on his shoulders.

Glancing out the window, I spot a tree that looks exactly like one you’d see in a Hallmark Christmas movie. I swear there’s even a beam of sunshine streaming through the clouds in that singular spot.

“Stop!” I point excitedly. “That’s the one.”

The truck grinds to a halt on the icy back road, and Lucas follows my sightline with a smile. “That’s the one. Let’s go cut it down.”

Once again wearing Lucas’s clothes, I hold one hand on the waist of my pants and trudge through the deep snow behind him, mindful my feet don’t slide right out of the much-too-large winter boots. I feel ridiculous, but he looks at me over his shoulder and holds out a hand with enchantment gleaming in his eyes.

The tree’s farther from the road than I expected, and I’m slightly out of breath when we reach it. But excitement sparks under my skin when I circle the massive fir, envisioning how we’ll decorate it with lights, and garland, and…

“Oh.” Every ounce of Christmas joy hardens and crumbles away like a burnt sugar cookie. “It’s flat on this side. It looked perfect from the truck…”

Lucas shushes me, shaking snow from the branches, clearly disregarding the fact that I just told him this tree isn’t any good.

“Doodlebug, this isn’t a tree farm, so whichever one we pick is bound to have some imperfections. But the best trees have character.” He sweeps a foot along the ground, then squats down with his saw in hand. “Besides, we wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t drawn a picture of me with a super flat ass. I think you have a thing for flat backsides.”

I laugh, scooping a snowball in my gloved hands and hitting him in the back with it.

“Didn’t anybody ever tell you not to get in a fight with a man carrying a saw?” He twists to look at me, slowly straightening back up. There’s something menacing and fiery in his eye. Something that tells me to run.

With my first lumbering steps, he’s lunging in my direction. The saw sinks out of sight in the deep snow, and I nervously laugh while running in the most awkward, inelegant way across the open field.

Lucas’s arm snags around my waist, pulling me to him, and together we topple—a knee-deep snow drift cushioning our fall. Flakes cling to his coat and hair and eyelashes, and he claims me with a kiss. We fight each other for oxygen, with roaming hands and melting snow soaking through our clothes. We’re passionate and impatient, taking everything we can until my heart feels as if it might burst from my chest.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” His lips ghost over mine. “Let’s go get your perfect tree.”

Swallowing hard, I kiss him one last time before letting him pull me to my feet. He meticulously brushes the snow from my clothing, though it’s too late; I’m cold and soaked to the bone, while also the happiest I’ve ever been.

I unwrap the towel from around my chest and pull a pair of leggings over my red-tinted legs. Skipping the bra, I slip into a waffle-knit long sleeve. Lucas demanded I take a hot bath while he ran down to the barn to check on the horses, and I’m never one to turn down a nice soak. But I only stayed in the sudsy water long enough to defrost, wanting the alone time to finish my drawing of Lucas in the stables.

Half-Pint meows a greeting when I enter the living room.

“Hi, little one.” I toss the drawing pad and pencils onto the couch, then peel open a bag of cat treats. Nodding toward the tree propped up in the corner, I add, “If I give you these treats, you have to promise not to ruin the Christmas tree.”

She hisses, and I choose to believe that means she agrees.

I sink into the couch, reaching to scoop up Half-Pint—only receiving one minor scratch this time. She settles easily onto the cushion next to me for a liver treat-induced slumber, and I lose myself in Lucas again. His posture and taut muscles and intense focus as he worked. Never have I dreamt of being a horse-hoof before today, but I’d be okay having him lay me over his thick thigh like that.

Shortly after I’ve completed the finishing touches, the front door swings open, bringing a rush of frigid air alongside a hot-as-sin mountain man.

I meet him in the foyer, stretching to kiss him softly while brushing the snow from his shoulders and unzipping his coat. Stripping the layers and letting them fall in a damp heap on the floor with one hand, I stroke the coarse stubble on his jaw with the other.

“Let’s go decorate that tree before I get too caught up in carrying you off to bed.” He squeezes my ass. “Santa won’t come if we don’t have a tree set up.”

My head tips back to let him drag his tongue over my pulse point. “There’s no way he’s leaving us anything but coal anyway. You’re way too naughty.”

Lucas chuckles. “You’re one to talk, snow angel.”

Arm around my waist, he urges me back into the living room and slides a large tote in my direction. Popping the lid off, I find an assortment of decorations and lights. It seems a lot of them are childhood ornaments, including some handmade pieces labelled with a child’s illegible printing—likely Lucas’s.

“These are incredible.” I pull out a popsicle stick picture frame with a photo of him from the first grade. Then a tiny SpongeBob SquarePants wearing a Santa hat.

“Yeah, my mom bought something to represent each of us to hang on the tree every year. And then gifted us our own boxes of ornaments when my sisters and I moved out.” After ensuring the tree’s snug in its stand, he takes a step back to admire it.

Not wanting to intrude on what I imagine is a special part of his Christmas tradition—the unboxing and placing of thirty-two years’ worth of ornaments—I focus on making sure the red and green lights sit perfectly on the branches. I wince at the sting of needles pricking my skin, suddenly feeling a tiny bit thankful for growing up with a fake, non-stabby tree. But every inhale brings a forest scent, and the crackling fire ambience is so Hallmark it fills my chest with dancing sugarplum fairies.

“There’s one here for you, Doodlebug.” His voice catches me off-guard, and I peek around from the back of the tree to look at him.

“For… me?”

“Obviously, I didn’t know you were going to be here early enough for me to get you a proper ornament, so I cut a round from the bottom of the tree.” He blushes, holding up a perfect wood circle, a hole drilled through it for a piece of string. Our names and the year written in sharpie, in a much more legible font than the preschool ornament I saw earlier.

“Lucas, stop. That’s the best gift anyone has ever given me.” My arms loop around his neck, and the ornament bounces over my back with his tight embrace.

It’s official, a McKinney Ranch Christmas is better than any movie.

“Wow, you’ve had some shitty gifts.”

My laughter is guttural, emotion thick and uncomfortable in my throat. I blink away the burning under my eyelids and press the side of my head to his firm chest.

“Lots of good gifts. None as thoughtful, though.” I clutch the piece of wood to my chest, scanning the tree for a suitable branch. “Where should we put it?”

“Left a vacant spot front and centre. As it deserves.”

The ornament dangles from the branch, spinning clockwise then counterclockwise, catching the light with every turn.

“What’s next on the list of things you always do on the ranch during Christmas?“ I doubted him the second he said my Christmas vision was his norm—given he’s a bachelor who couldn’t be bothered to spend the holiday with his loving family—but it hasn’t gone unnoticed, or unloved, how much effort he’s making. I ease back into his embrace, his fingertips catching my chin and forcing my gaze to meet his.

“Baked goods. Lots of it. I bought out everything the bakery had left yesterday, so we can really make good use of your no-pants holiday style.”

I smile against his lips. “No pants and desserts are my love language.”