Saving the Cowboy’s Christmas (Rowdy Ranch #12)

Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

R ance wasted no time settling Lani in the sleigh and heading out.

“What’s in the backpack?”

“A thermos of hot chocolate and a couple of mugs.”

“Can you drink and drive?”

“No, and you probably shouldn’t try drinking it while we’re moving. Our turnaround point is a pretty little meadow. We can stop there.”

“Um, okay.”

She was suspicious and he didn’t blame her. He’d fantasized kissing her while they were stopped in the meadow. But the mood had to be right. If it wasn’t, he’d wait. His time would come.

At least Mother Nature had cooperated with his plan. A recent snowstorm had dropped enough of the white stuff to fill ruts in the ranch roads but not so much they required a plow.

Perfect for a fast getaway. He urged Thor into a trot up his mom’s road to the main ranch road. At the juncture he went left, which would take them past his cabin. Maybe Granny would hear the sleighbells and know he’d made it this far into his scheme.

The distinctive jingle and the clippity-clop of Thor’s hooves stood out in the silent, wintry morning. The rustle of paper as Lani unwrapped the box stood out, too.

“I’m impressed you found paper with sleighs on it. Nice touch.”

“My specialty.”

She snorted.

He’d automatically given a cocky response, but despite the cold, he was sweating bullets. What if she didn’t like it?

Worse yet, what if she was bored? The book was his emissary. If she was bored with it, she’d be bored with him and all his dreams would die a miserable death.

A soft scrape and pop signaled she’d opened the box, which meant she’d seen his title, Tequila Shots in the Dark. “That title can change. I just wanted something bar related.”

“I like it.”

His breath hitched and a small spark of hope flickered in his heart. “Thanks.”

“No pseudonym?”

“Mom gave me a cowboy name so I might as well use it.”

“Good choice.”

At least she liked his name. So did he, when it came down to it. Rance was Jimmy Stewart’s character in The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance. Being named after him didn’t suck.

He’d visualized RANCE MCLINTOCK on the cover and liked the look of it. He’d considered creating a mockup of a Stetson lying on a bar along with a badge and an empty shot glass. But his computer skills for creating images weren’t great and he couldn’t farm it out since the project was top secret.

He started to tell Lani about his cover concept. Changed his mind when the swish of a page told him she’d moved on. Button your lip, idiot. Let your book do the talking.

He was so focused on what was happening behind him that he would have missed the turnoff coming up on his right. Thor didn’t. Thanks to the Belgian they left the road and were now moving through the trees.

He'd been part of a family work party a few years ago when they’d cleared a path that was specifically sleigh-friendly. While the sleigh could handle other trails leading directly from the ranch, this one provided a smoother experience with less chance of getting smacked by a branch. The meadow turnaround was handy, too.

On the most important sleigh ride of his life, he wanted the runners to glide like the blades of Olympic figure skaters. Which they did, leaving him free to concentrate on each turn of the page, every intake of breath. The little gasps were precious. He was proud of the suspense he’d created in the first few pages.

When she let out a soft chuckle, he treasured that even more. She was enjoying herself. Bartender Dooley and Sheriff Sophia were keeping her entertained. So far.

Pain in his jaw told him he was clenching his teeth. And tightening every muscle in his body, on top of it. He had a death grip on the lines, totally unnecessary when Thor knew the route and wasn’t the least bit skittish.

Time to relax. He loosened his grasp on the lines, gently pulled cold air into his lungs and let it out gradually. He should have brought earplugs. Turning up the thick collar of his jacket didn’t block the crackle of flipped pages, the rapid shifts in Lani’s breathing or her quick gasps and soft giggles.

Initially he congratulated himself on her laughter. Then paranoia set in. What if she was quietly giggling because the writing was ridiculously bad?

No. No, it wasn’t. He’d been trained from the age of two to separate good writing from dreck. He’d had a flair for this from the get-go. He’d aced every writing assignment in high school.

Then again, he loved this story, loved Dooley and Sophia. If love was blind, he wouldn’t be able to see their flaws or the plot holes he’d left for them to fall into. He… wait, why weren’t they moving?

Oh. They were in the meadow. Thor had circled the perimeter as he’d been trained to do. They were still in the clearing but pointed back the way they’d come. The Belgian snorted and turned his head to look at him, clearly questioning his lack of involvement in the program.

He took a cautious peek over his shoulder. Did Lani realize they’d stopped? She gave no indication of it. Head down, she appeared oblivious to her surroundings. Dear God, had she fallen asleep?

Then she quickly turned the page. Not asleep. Still reading.

He held his breath, mesmerized by the sight of Lani engrossed in his book. He couldn’t ask for more than this.

She wasn’t chuckling here, but she caught her breath a few times. An action scene? Or one where Dooley and Sophia try to resist the chemistry between them?

Leaning a little closer, he could almost see a section of the page, almost read the?—

She suddenly looked up. With a startled cry she fell back against the seat.

He straightened. “Sorry. I was just?—”

“I had no idea you were there!” She pressed a hand to her chest. “I’d just realized we’d stopped, and?—”

“My apologies. I glanced around to see how you were doing.”

“That was no glance. You were looming over me like… like you were ready to pounce or something.”

He grimaced. Way to screw up the moment. “I was trying to see where you were.”

Taking a quick breath, she focused on the manuscript on her lap. “I’m in the part where, um, she comes into the bar after closing to discuss the case and they’re, um, having a… a moment.”

“Ah.” With her head down he could barely see the pink on her cheeks. His pulse ratcheted up a notch. She’d been affected. Probably didn’t want to talk about it.

But he did. “The first kiss scene. What did you think?”

“It was good.”

“Good enough?”

“Yes.”

He sucked in air. “Thanks.” Questions rose up, each one begging to be answered. How was the opening? What about the pacing? Could she visualize the setting?

He swallowed them all. “Ready for some hot chocolate?”

“Sure.” Keeping her head down, she reached for the wrapping paper and tore off a small piece to use as a bookmark. She tucked it between the pages and returned the manuscript to the box.

“The snow’s only a couple inches deep. Let’s get down and stretch our legs.” He hopped down.

“Works for me.” Setting the box aside, she folded back the lap robe and stood.

He held out his hand, hoping she’d take it, not sure she would. She’d climbed in by herself. But she put her gloved hand in his. Two layers of glove didn’t make for a very intimate connection, but she hadn’t balked at letting him help her out.

When she had her footing, he let go and reached in to grab the backpack. She wandered a few feet away as he took out the ceramic mugs and thermos.

Pulling off his gloves, he shoved them in his pocket before unscrewing the lid on the thermos and pouring them each a cup. Steam rose from the surface, along with the sweet smell of sugar and chocolate.

He recapped the thermos and put it into the backpack. She stood several yards away, hands shoved in her pockets as she surveyed the meadow, clearly not wanting to focus on him.

He carried the mugs over. “Here you go.”

She turned and accepted the mug he handed her. She’d ditched her gloves, too. “Smells delicious. Did you make it?”

“Granny did.”

“That was nice of her.”

“She’s special.”

“I think so, too.” She lowered her lashes as she took a cautious sip. “Mm. Temperature’s perfect.”

“Drink up. It won’t stay that way.” He took a long swallow.

“Nothing ever does.”

“Getting philosophical on me, Lani-lou?”

Awareness flashed in her hazel eyes, as it always did when he called her that. Then it was gone, replaced with a frown of disapproval. “See, this is why I don’t spend much time with you. You insist on calling me?—”

“Because deep down, you like it.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Tell the truth and shame the devil.”

She sighed. “I doubt it would work. You’re completely shameless.”

“You’re calling me a devil?” Not really a bad thing, in his estimation. Put the word sexy in front of it and he’d take that compliment any day.

“You’re a sly, sneaky devil. You’ve never once mentioned you had an interest in writing.”

“Because I don’t.”

“The hell you don’t. You’ve?—”

“I don’t have an interest in writing. It’s the core of who I am, the only thing I’ve ever wanted to do.”

“Then why doesn’t anybody know about it?”

“Because I’m the son of a New York Times bestseller who’s been a force in the industry for decades. By the time I was born she was already highly acclaimed. I could have instant access to agents and publishers. My work would be taken seriously from the minute it crossed somebody’s desk.”

“Most writers would kill for that opportunity.”

“Not if they stopped to think about it. Oh, I could probably get published by a major house, probably even hers, but I’d never know if it was my writing or my mother’s influence that got me there.”

“I see.” She sipped her hot chocolate and went back to admiring the scenery.

He was dying to ask her opinion of what she’d read, but he’d be damned if he’d do it. He’d wait her out. She’d have to tell him sometime. That was her job.

She tipped her head back to get the last drop from the mug. Then she dragged in a breath. “Judging from the chapters I’ve read, you don’t need your mother’s influence.”

He stared at her, not quite processing what she’d said. “It’s good?”

“It’s crazy good. I suppose it could fall apart at any point, but?—”

“Crazy good?” Joy bubbled in his chest, pushing him to do something wild and stupid to commemorate this moment.

“I didn’t want to put it down. It’s?—”

“Sorry, Lani-lou, but I gotta kiss you.” Tossing his mug in the snow, he nudged back his hat and pulled her close. Then he claimed her mouth before she had time to say no.

Maybe she’d bite him. Maybe she’d hit him upside the head with her empty mug. It was a risk he was willing to take.