A Cowboy Under the Mistletoe Read online

  She’d straightened her small apartment before leaving for work and she’d pulled out the box of tree ornaments. The fragrant Scotch pine she’d bought early this morning was medium-sized, a little over six feet, but that was plenty big enough for her living room. It looked great tucked in the corner.

  A futon doubled as a couch because she’d wanted extra sleeping space when her friends or her folks visited. Besides the futon, the living room furniture included two end tables, two lamps and a bookcase that held her TV. Oh, and the rocker from her mother, who believed every home should have one.

  Other than that, she owned a small kitchen table and matching chairs, a queen-sized bed and a dresser. Decorating wasn’t her thing and she was grateful that Rangeland Roasters had a template for each holiday. Her boss Ginny shipped the materials and Whitney let her staff go crazy.

  The one exception to her lack of interest in decorating was her Christmas tree. Her mom had faithfully bought dated ornaments every year since Whitney and Selena had been born. Selena’s sixteen ornaments were packed away in her parents’ basement, but Whitney had all twenty-seven of hers, including the newest one her mother had mailed last week.

  Whitney’s box of decorations included two strands of lights plus the glass icicles and snowflakes she’d added a couple of years ago. She used wired red-and-gold ribbon instead of a garland and was still debating her options for a tree topper. Her parents had a lovely star, but she favored angels. She hadn’t found one she liked, so for now she used a small teddy bear she’d had since she was four.

  Five minutes before Ty was due to arrive, she thought about what they’d drink with their Chinese food. A good hostess would have a couple of bottles of wine available, or a six-pack of beer. What if he liked soda? She didn’t have any of that, either. Mostly she had...coffee.

  Apparently she’d stumbled into the right profession because she loved coffee—caffeinated, decaffeinated and flavored. She had an espresso machine and a professional-grade blender that could mix up an iced coffee drink that would melt in your mouth.

  She knew Ty liked coffee, but it didn’t seem like the right choice for Chinese food. What, then? Well, she sometimes drank tea when she ate at a Chinese restaurant, but mostly she considered it a weak version of coffee and not worth the bother. Consequently she didn’t stock it at home.

  About the time she’d decided water was her only option, her intercom buzzed. Showtime. Anticipation jacked up her pulse rate as she walked to the intercom and opened the connection. “Ty?”

  “Yep.”

  The sound of his deep baritone made her quiver. “Come on up. Second floor, number two-oh-four.”

  “Got it.”

  A manly voice for a manly man. She buzzed him in before opening her apartment door and stepping into the hall. His boots sounded on the stairs and then he came down the hallway toward her. He held a bulging plastic bag in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other.

  But she was more interested in the man than what he’d brought for dinner. He wore his shearling coat, snug jeans and a brown Stetson dampened by melting snow. She couldn’t remember opening her door to a more appealing sight.

  His gray gaze warmed as it met hers. “I’ve never seen you dressed in anything but a Rangeland Roasters uniform. You look different.”

  “That uniform isn’t exactly the height of fashion.”

  “No, but...you do it justice.”

  “Thanks.” She tingled with awareness. If she’d imagined this might be a platonic evening spent in casual conversation, he’d just changed the game. Then again, she’d never believed their date would be casual and platonic.

  She stepped back from the door. “Come in. And thanks for bringing wine. I had no idea what we’d drink with dinner.”

  “Tea is traditional, but I wasn’t in the mood for tea.” He brought the chill of a cold Wyoming night with him as he walked in, along with the exotic scents of Asian spices, a whiff of pine-scented aftershave and a crackle of electricity.

  She hadn’t realized how he filled a space until he stood in her living room. She’d hosted a couple of her girlfriends since she’d moved here, and her folks had visited twice, but the apartment hadn’t felt truly small until Ty Slater stepped inside. She wasn’t complaining. He was the most exciting guest she’d ever had.

  “Nice tree. Smells great.”

  “Doesn’t it? That’s Christmas to me.”

  “Agreed.” His smile flashed. “It isn’t Christmas until there’s a tree in the living room. How do you want to do this? We could eat while decorating, or eat first and then decorate, or vice versa. Your call.”

  “I’m starving and we don’t want the food to get cold, so let’s eat first.”

  “Works for me.” He lifted the plastic bag and the wine bottle. “Where to?”

  “All I have is the kitchen table.”

  “Hey, that’s all I have, too. My apartment is about the size of yours. In fact, I have that same futon. Did you get yours in Cheyenne?”

  “Uh-huh.” She led the way into her tiny kitchen. “From that furniture store that’s always running sales.”

  “That’s the one.” He set the bag and wine on her small round table.

  “Did your salesman have a Santa Claus beard?”

  “Yep, same guy.” He took off his coat and hung it over the back of one of the chairs. The movement stirred up the scent of whatever soap he’d used, something lemony.

  Whitney took a deep breath. Having this man around was aromatherapy for a condition she hadn’t realized she had. She hadn’t intentionally cut dating out of her life. It had come with the new job.

  “I found out he plays Santa for the kids who are in the hospital over Christmas,” Ty said.

  Looking at him standing in her kitchen, his broad shoulders emphasized by the yoked style of his cream-colored Western shirt, she felt as if Santa had brought her an early present. “That’s awesome!”

  “I thought so. Made me feel good about buying the futon from him.” He removed his hat. “Can I just put this on the counter? It needs to dry off a little.”

  “Sure. Anywhere.” She would love to mess with his hair and get rid of the hat-brim crease.

  “You don’t have a lot of stuff sitting around.” He laid his hat on the counter brim side up, cowboy-style. Then he finger-combed his damp hair, leaving it tousled and sexy looking.

  “Just the espresso machine.”

  “I’d expect that. I meant you don’t have a lot of doodads and whatchamacallits. Very streamlined. I like it.”

  “Thanks.” Her list of things she liked about him was growing longer by the minute. “My mother thinks my apartment’s stark, but I call it uncluttered.”

  “Less to move when you’re cleaning.”

  “Exactly! And it’s not like I spend a lot of time here, so I don’t want to waste money buying a bunch of things I’ll never use. My mom brought wineglasses when she and my dad came to visit in October, only to discover I didn’t have a wine opener. I just buy screw-top.”

  Ty laughed, picked up the wine and opened it with a twist of his wrist. “I’m beginning to think we’re twins.”

  “Sort of, yeah.” Except that twins didn’t always think alike. For instance, Selena would have decorated this apartment within an inch of its life. But now wasn’t the time to think about that. She opened a cupboard, pulled out two of the pricey goblets from her mom and set them on the table.

  “I took a chance on the wine. I didn’t know if you were into it, and if so, what you liked.” He held up the bottle. “This is a Sauvignon Blanc. Is that okay?”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “Well, taste it and make sure you like it.” He poured some in a glass and held it out to her.

  “Is this the part where I’m supposed to swirl it around and stick my nose in the glass?”

  He grinned. “Whitney, I do believe we’re going to get along.”

  She met his gaze. “So do I.” She drained the glass and returned it
to him. “Fill ’er up while I get us plates, napkins and silverware.” She turned back to the cupboard.

  “Yes, ma’am. I asked them to include chopsticks, though, if you want to skip the silverware.”

  “I’ve never learned to eat with those, so I’ll require a fork.” She put cloth napkins, one of her few touches of elegance, on the plates. Then she opened another drawer and added utensils, including serving spoons for each carton.

  “Want to learn how?”

  She considered the prospect as she walked back to the table with the plates. Might be fun, considering who’d be teaching her. “Okay, why not?”

  He’d unpacked the cartons and set them in the middle of the table. “See, I knew you were a woman with adventure in her soul.”

  “You did? Why?”

  Opening each carton, he shoved a serving spoon in. “We could be meeting for a drink tonight, which would be the typical first step since we’ve never gone out. But you discarded that conservative move in favor of inviting me over to help with your tree.”

  A shiver of anticipation ran down her spine. “Too bold?”

  “Nope. I loved it.” He picked up both goblets and handed one to her before touching the rim of his glass to hers. “Thanks for asking me.”

  As she looked into his gray eyes and saw heat simmering there, her breath caught. Only minutes into this date she was already imagining what it would be like to kiss him. If the warmth in his gaze was any indication, he had kissing on his mind, too.

  Instead he took a sip of his wine, and she followed his lead. The Sauvignon Blanc had a velvety taste that she liked very much. If she kissed Ty now, his lips would be flavored with wine. When he set his glass on the table, she wondered if she was about to have that experience.

  Instead, he pulled out the chair across from him, the one that wasn’t holding his coat. “Have a seat and I’ll show you how to use chopsticks.”

  Good call. One kiss would likely turn into two, or ten. In the privacy of her apartment they had nothing and no one to interrupt them. She actually was hungry and she really did want to decorate her tree tonight.

  Yet as he tore the wrapping from his chopsticks with his blunt-tipped fingers, excitement curled in her belly. Until now she hadn’t realized how much she’d fantasized about this man. Having him all to herself for several hours didn’t seem quite real. Maybe she could postpone the tree project.

  He glanced up. “Ready?”

  Now there was a loaded question. “You bet.” Grabbing the wrapped chopsticks, she ripped off the paper and clutched one in each fist on purpose to make him laugh.

  He did, which drew her attention to his mouth. He’d been blessed with lips that should be lovely to kiss, although shape meant nothing if he had no technique. That would be a crying shame. Until he proved her wrong, she’d assume he had excellent technique.

  “Let’s start with a piece of broccoli.”

  Oh, yeah. The chopstick lesson. “Broccoli’s a good place to start.” Using the chopsticks like pincers, she snatched a dark green clump from one of the cartons and deposited it on her plate.

  His smile widened. “I thought you didn’t know how to do this?”

  “I don’t, but obviously it’s easier to grab ahold of something firm than something limp.” In the dead silence that followed her cheeks grew warm. “I mean...when you’re talking about...chopsticks.” But there was no fixing this.

  Lips pressed together, he glanced up at the ceiling. Then he dropped his head to his chest and a small snort escaped. His shoulders shook. Finally he gave up the fight and laughed until the tears came.

  She couldn’t blame him. Besides, his laughter was catching. Once she started in, it was hard to stop, especially whenever they looked at each other.

  At last he wiped his eyes and drew a ragged breath. “I’ll never look at broccoli and chopsticks the same way again.”

  “Me, either.” She stifled a giggle. “Talk about an icebreaker.”

  “Yeah.” He chuckled. “I’d say the ice is permanently smashed, and there wasn’t much there to begin with. So.” He smiled at her. “Still want to learn to use chopsticks?”

  “If you don’t teach me now, I’ll never learn. If anybody else tried, they wouldn’t understand why I keep cracking up.”

  “All righty. Let me take a restorative sip of wine and we’ll begin again.”

  “I like your selections, by the way. I’m a fan of beef and broccoli and orange chicken.”

  “Somehow I’m not surprised.” He gazed at her for a long moment.

  Another few seconds of that intensity and she was liable to abandon dinner and suggest dessert, the most delicious kind she could imagine. Still, she thought they should hold off. This getting acquainted time was sweet and she didn’t want a physical relationship to overpower it. “But if I’m going to eat anything besides broccoli, I need more instruction.”

  “Right.” He balanced his set of chopsticks between his fingers. “Hold them like this. Use your thumb and forefinger to control the action.” He plucked a piece of chicken out of the carton.

  She was reasonably well coordinated, so after a few practice tries, she was able to pick up both the beef and the chicken and put them on her plate.

  “Excellent.”

  “Yes, I did it, but at this rate I’ll starve to death. I think I’ll use a fork for the meal and practice later. I have the general idea.” She peered at him. “Unless you’re some kind of stickler who’ll be offended.”

  “I’m a stickler when it comes to contract law and not much else. By all means, use a fork.”

  “But you won’t, will you?”

  He shrugged. “I’m used to eating with chopsticks. It’s fun for me.”

  “Then by all means, go for it.” She served herself a generous portion of each dish, plus a spoonful of brown rice. “Who taught you how to use them?”

  “My mom.”

  The abbreviated response told her not to ask any more questions. The short bio on the calendar had mentioned that he’d lost both parents at fourteen, so it had likely been an accident of some kind. She understood how one tragic moment could change someone’s life.

  She and Ty didn’t know each other well enough to delve into those dark recesses. But his mother had taught him well. He could manipulate those chopsticks as if he’d been born with them in his hand.

  He picked up a clump of rice and held it effortlessly in midair. “The new location seems to be doing great.”

  Change of topic. That was fine with her. She nodded as she finished a bite of the excellent orange chicken. “It is. Ginny had high hopes that the town would be a good market, and it’s turned out that way.”

  “I’m sure you had something to do with that.” He popped the rice into his mouth.

  “I hope so. I’ve always loved coffee shops. They’ve been gathering places for centuries. I feel as if I’m carrying on an important tradition.”

  “You definitely are. I’ve used Rangeland Roasters for meeting both clients and friends. It’s a no-pressure spot to hang out.”

  “I know!” She warmed to her favorite subject. “I brought in some universal games like checkers and chess. My customers love them! And while they play, they drink coffee, so that means more revenue. Good for them and good for the shop.”

  “Besides that, you make them feel at home. You remember names and drink orders.”

  “Oh, that’s easy.”

  “For you, maybe. Some people have a really tough time recalling names and personal details. Their brains are busy with stuff like quantum physics.”

  “Or contract law?” She knew he was smart, but she didn’t have a grasp on what kind of smart.

  “Thinking about a case doesn’t keep me from remembering everyday things, especially if they’re written down somewhere or I have a clear picture in my head.”

  “Photographic memory?”

  “That’s what the tests say.”

  That fascinated her. “Tell me how it works.”


  “I can’t speak to how it works with others, but for me, if I need to remember something, I take a mental picture of it. That can be a page of case law or the items on this table.”

  “Perfect recall.”

  “If I concentrate, pretty much.”

  “Amazing. What a talent.”

  He smiled and shook his head. “Maybe, but I can’t take credit for it. I was born that way.” He hesitated. “So was my mom.”

  She accepted that admission as the gift it was. He trusted her enough to tell her something personal. All things considered, this date was off to a great start. “That’s a nice legacy.”

  “That’s what my foster mom said a long time ago. She was right, but then, she usually is. I guess you’ve met her.”

  “Rosie? Oh, yeah. She pops in at least once a week. Usually she orders a Mocha Madness, but every once in a while she’ll have a Crazy for Caramel instead. She keeps telling me I need to get a liquor license so I can serve Baileys in her coffee.”

  He laughed. “She does love that combo. By the way, she and Herb, plus a couple of my brothers and their girlfriends, are out dancing tonight. We’re invited, but I didn’t make any promises.”

  “Oh!” Maybe she wouldn’t have him all to herself, after all. He’d come to Sheridan to visit his foster family and they were off having fun without him. “Of course we can. I’ll decorate my tree another time.”

  “But you’d set aside tonight to do it. I’ll take a wild guess that the Friday after Thanksgiving is when you normally put up your tree.”

  “It is, but—”

  “Then that’s what we’ll do. I want to. I haven’t decorated a tree since I lived at Thunder Mountain.”

  “You don’t put up one in your apartment?”

  “I have a predecorated tree I haul out of the closet and plug into a timer.”

  She gazed at him. “That sounds very...practical.”

  “And boring?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “But tell the truth and the whole truth. You were thinking it.”

  She smiled. “Yes, your honor, I was. Okay, we’ll decorate the tree, but it won’t take long, and we can probably still meet your family afterward.”