Sullivan's Ridge: A Christmas Tale Read online

  No, he’d have to be the one to make the move. She’d have to hint that she was amenable to the proposal, and let him make the decision to ask. She really wasn’t at all sure how to do that, but she could try. Perhaps she could cry all over him again. That seemed to work last time!

  That silly thought made her laugh out loud, and the object of her thoughts and affection came galloping into view, with the miniature cowboy perched atop his shoulders squealing with glee.

  She smiled for the rest of the afternoon; when Joshua found the perfect tree; when she admired Nick’s backside after he stripped out of his jacket and took up the ax to chop down the tree and drag it back to the wagon. And she—and Nick—smiled extra-widely when Maggie and Red eventually made their way back to the group, a little disheveled and flushed.

  They hauled the perfect tree back to the ranch house, and on the way it started to snow. Nick had turned and given her such an “I told you so” look that she couldn’t help the giggle that escaped.

  The flurries blanketed the ground by the time they got back, and the men hauled the tree inside and then left to check on the herd down by the river. They joined the women much later, in time for a simple dinner Maggie had concocted, and they all helped decorate the tree.

  Joshua amused them all with his delighted reactions to the ornament, and Connie insisted they sing carols. Old Abe had a surprisingly beautiful voice, but Nick couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. It didn’t matter, though, because after some whiskey, everyone’s singing was enthusiastic and merry.

  They hung up the garlands, and the intricately carved wooden snowflakes, and the new white candles in their bronze holders. When it was all decorated, Red lifted Joshua up to place the angel on the top, and they stood back to admire their work.

  Connie found herself standing beside Nick, and her smile only grew. She reached out to lightly touch the back of his hand, and he jerked as if burned. She smiled at him softy. “Thank you for your help. This is wonderful.”

  She meant Your company is wonderful. Your smiles and laughter and friendship are wonderful. The way you smell, and your handsome eyes, and the way you make my stomach flutter are wonderful. She tried to make her eyes say all of that.

  She might have succeeded, because he closed his eyes with a groan, and turned suddenly. She watched him stumble out the door, not even bothering with his coat. Her grin grew slightly, pleased that she had that effect on him, her mind filled with possibilities.

  She was home again. She had new friends and old ones, beautiful decorations, and delicious food. It was even snowing, adding to the wonder of season.

  If only her father could be here with her, to celebrate like they used to. But the ache of his loss had already mellowed. She missed him desperately; missed his humor and his advice and his insights and his teasing. But it had been so long since she’d heard his laughter or felt his arms around her that she felt like she was mourning memories; mourning for something that she lost eight years ago. What she really missed, now, was his constant presence in her life.

  When she’d returned to Montana, there’d been a big empty pit inside her, but it was slowly filling up with joy at being back on the range, comfort from surrounding friends, and excitement at the possibilities Nick Anderson represented.

  Oh yes, she hadn’t been this happy in a long time.

  Nick was absolutely miserable, and it was all Connie’s fault. The woman was just too damn happy all the time. She smiled at him constantly, and seemed to always find excuses to touch him.

  Did she not realize just how desirable she was? Did she not realize that he was going out of his mind, not being able to take her in his arms and kiss the breath out of her? Every time she gave him one of those come-hither smiles, or accidentally brushed up against him, his determination to be honorable was tested. Did she know that?

  Was she doing it on purpose? Nick didn’t think she had an evil bone in her body, but it certainly would be evil to be testing, teasing him like this. Unless… unless she was the kind of woman who would betray her vows to her husband? Maybe she was trying to tempt him? But Billy Sullivan’s daughter wasn’t the kind of person to play those games… but since meeting Connie Lane, Nick had learned all sorts of things about her that her father had never shared with him. Maybe Billy just hadn’t known her as well as he’d thought. Maybe the kind of woman to get married without her father’s blessing was the type to betray her husband.

  And so his thoughts would go around again and again, until he was ready to curse. Or drink heavily. It was getting damn near impossible to see her without pulling the pins out of that glorious hair, running his fingers through it, and making sweet love to her lips.

  Matters came to a boil on Christmas Eve. Early in the day, Red cornered him in the barn, and thrust a small batch of what looked like weeds tied with a ribbon in his face. He barked, “Whatdya think?”

  Nick took a step back, and peered at the bundle of leaves. “About what?”

  “Do these look like mistletoe?”

  Nick wasn’t sure he’d heard the man correctly, and just stared. Red was usually a quiet man, and preferred his own company. He had a house along the road back to town, and usually slept there, liking the solitude. He’d been spending his evenings here at Sullivan’s Ridge lately, and it didn’t take a genius to see it was because he was determined to woo Maggie.

  That thought prompted a realization. This bundle of leaves almost certainly had something to do with Maggie McFadden.

  Red patiently shook them again. “Do these look like mistletoe?”

  “Not even a little bit. Haven’t you ever seen mistletoe?”

  “Yeah, but I’m betting Maggie ain’t.”

  Ahh. Well, Nick was right. That evening, when Red hung the sickly-looking plants up over the door to the parlor, Maggie giggled and blushed becomingly. Connie raised one extremely skeptical brow, and Nick had to fight to keep his face impassive.

  He and Maggie had made another pretty good meal together, but this time Connie insisted on trying to help. And since Maggie was there, there was no way Red was going to be left out, and they kept having to give him tasks, or he’d try to corner Maggie for a kiss. It was left to Old Abe to occupy Joshua, and dinner was later than usual.

  Connie opened a bottle of her father’s port, and they all had a small glass in the parlor after dinner. It was still snowing slightly, and with stomachs full, no one was really in the mood to leave. Old Abe kept them laughing with stories from his childhood, and they all shared happy memories of Billy and other lost loved ones.

  Maggie kept finding excuses to walk through the doorway, and every time she did, Red would jump up and snare her. The noises they made while kissing made Connie blush, Joshua giggle, and Abe grumble. Nick was finding it harder and harder to sit there and watch it all happen, when what he really wanted to do was catch Connie under that pretend mistletoe, and kiss her with all of his pent-up passion.

  He’d been able to hold it all together until the end of the evening. Connie picked up the port glasses and was heading for the door to the kitchen just as he put his hat on to head back to the bunkhouse. They each turned, and quite by accident—as far as he could tell—met under the doorframe. Under the mistletoe.

  They froze, only inches from one another. His hand came up unbidden and grasped her upper arms, and he could feel the heat of her through the wool of her dress. She was staring up at his eyes, and dear God she had the most tempting lips a man had ever seen. He started to lean forward, and realized that she was holding her breath.

  It was that moment, the moment he realized that she’d given him no encouragement, no sign—other than the innocent glances and brushes of the last week—that she actually wanted him to kiss her, that he was able to stop. He stood like that for a long minute, holding her as still as a statue, fighting an inner battle against his desires.

  He let out a wordless growl, squeezed his eyes shut, and escaped into the night.

  Nick didn’t sleep well t
hat night. He lay in bed, tossing and turning for hours, wrestling with his conscience and his desires. When he did finally fall asleep, he dropped into an erotic dream about Connie and about a hundred yards of blue silk. He woke himself up, panting and sweating, and aroused beyond all belief.

  When Old Abe knocked on his door to tell him everyone was waiting for him, Nick called out that he was feeling poorly, and would celebrate with them later. As was traditional, everyone from Sullivan’s Ridge was headed into town to hear Reverend Trapper’s Christmas sermon and celebrate with their neighbors. They’d have a big Christmas feast at the hotel, and spend hours celebrating and laughing and enjoying themselves.

  There was no way Nick would be able to sit beside Connie for that long without doing something they’d both regret. Like unbuttoning those prim and proper high-necked dresses she wore and burrowing his face between her breasts. Like suckling on one pert nipple while she moaned under him. Like burying his fingers inside her…

  He threw on some pants and hurried outside to stand barefoot in the snowdrift, but even that couldn’t cool the images he’d had floating around his head for the last week.

  This was a hell of a Christmas.

  He finished dressing and headed to the barn. There was always some kind of work that he could find to do. The cattle had enough food—they’d made sure of that yesterday—and the stalls were all mucked out. So he busied himself with refilling feed and fixing a few loose boards in the chicken coop. Then he gave each of the horses—the ones the others didn’t take into town, at least—a brushing and pampering.

  He spent the next few hours in his little room, writing to his older sister. When he was finished telling Becky the whole pitiful story about the pain Connie was putting him through, he scrounged some food, and took a nap. It was easier to fall asleep than he’d expected.

  The light coming through the window told him that it was late afternoon when he woke. He laid there, his hands stacked behind his head, his legs crossed, and wondered how many mornings he’d lain just like this, looking forward to what the day offered.

  He remembered the first time he’d met Billy, there in town, at the saloon. How they’d hit it off right away, and how Billy offered him a job then and there. It wasn’t until Nick saw Sullivan’s Ridge and heard Billy’s plans for its future that he knew he’d found a home. He’d never regretted the choice he’d made, and had known that Billy’s friendship and his trust with his most valued possession was what gave his own life meaning. They’d spent years laughing and joking and sweating together. They’d more than doubled their herd size in the last five years, and Billy was fond of saying “This is your ranch as much as mine.” They’d read each other their letters—from Connie and from Becky—and talk over problems together.

  Nick was the one who reached Billy first, after his horse had spooked and thrown him. Nick was the one who’d rigged a sled to drag the older man carefully into town, who held his hand after he’d stabilized and come to. He was the one who spooned broth past those pale lips and who wrote the letter to Connie as Billy dictated. He was the one who prayed with Reverend Trapper and shed honest tears when Billy had finally passed.

  He had loved Billy, and he loved this ranch. It was his home, as much as it was Connie’s. He’d said his goodbyes to Billy, though, and he was going to have to say goodbye to Sullivan’s Ridge.

  He was going to miss it.

  This was, quite possibly, the worst Christmas ever.

  He’d roused himself to go find some supper, and was just pulling on his shirt when there was a knock at the door.

  He sighed, assuming the others had returned from town, and Old Abe had been elected to check on him again.

  His shirt wasn’t even buttoned all the way when he used one bare foot to kick the door open. His protest died on his lips.

  Standing there, dressed in her Christmas finery, stood Connie. Her hair was piled on top of her head, accented with a few red berries that accentuated her pink lips and maroon dress. Gleaming on her left hand, the small gold band cheerfully mocked him. She was holding a tray carrying a plate piled high with delicacies, but Nick only had eyes for her.

  If possible, she was even more stunning than he’d remembered.

  Connie stared at him for a long moment. He was wearing only a pair of snug pants, hanging low on those lean hips, and a blue plaid shirt, unbuttoned at the wrists and halfway down his chest. She could see his light chest hair, and felt her pulse quicken. She could feel her cheeks heating up, especially when confronted with his stunned expression.

  “What are you doing here?” He’d all but barked it, and it put her on the defensive. She raised one brow, straightened her shoulders, and raised the tray slightly.

  “I brought you some dinner back from the hotel.”

  She pushed past him, trying to maintain a breeziness, and placed the tray on his desk. She took the time to move some of his correspondence out of the way, and arrange the napkin and utensils just so, before turning to him. She clasped her hands in front of her, and prayed that he wouldn’t see their shaking, or know how nervous she was.

  She had no right to be here, and judging from his horrified expression, he was about to tell her just that. But she’d spent the day thinking of him, and wondering what was ailing him, and how to make him part of their Christmas. So she’d brought him home some food—it was most certainly cold by now—and made the bold move of bringing it to him. No matter what others would think, she needed to see that he was okay. But now that she was here, and he obviously didn’t want her here, she was second-guessing herself.

  Before he could ask her to leave, however, she blurted out her question. “How are you feeling?”

  “Fine.” And then, almost reluctantly, he added, “Thank you.”

  She was fast losing her resolve in the face of his hostility, but she was determined to find out what was wrong. She’d been so sure that she was making progress with him; that he was attracted to her and would make some overture. But last night, when he’d had his chance, he’d refused. They’d been so close to kissing; she’d been so sure that he would bend down to press his lips against hers. But then, when the moment had stretched impossibly tight, he’d walked away. Her lips had felt bruised all night, just in anticipation.

  Why hadn’t he kissed her? Had she misinterpreted his signs, his desire? Was he really not attracted to her? She was here to find out.

  “Did you have a pleasant Christmas?” She winced. It sounded silly even to her ears.

  “Not really, no.” He was just standing there at the door, his shirt untucked, his feet cold, staring at her. And frowning.

  She forced herself to ask what she’d come to find out. “Why didn’t you join us for the celebrations? Reverend Trapper asked after you.”

  Suddenly, he turned away with a muffled curse, and ran one strong hand through his hair. Without looking at her, he gritted out, “Ma’am, I need to speak to you about something.”

  Completely confused, she nodded uncertainly, and then realized he couldn’t see her. “Go ahead.”

  “I think it’s time for me to move on.” She stared at his back, uncomprehending. “I’ll stick around a few more days to train someone to run this place. I’d suggest Red, but Abe’s been doing it longer. Either one should do well enough ‘til Mr. Lane joins you.”

  What? “I… I don’t understand.”

  He turned to face her, and she caught the anguish in those eyes before he shut them. “I’m leaving, ma’am.”

  “But this is your home, Nick! You told me so yourself!”

  “Yes ma’am. This was my home.” He paused, and looked away. “It’s not anymore.”

  Why not? “What’s changed, then? My father’s death? My arrival?” He couldn’t be leaving. He couldn’t!

  A barest whisper, “Everything changes, Connie.” And then he turned to her, piercing her with his determination. “Billy’s death meant that Sullivan’s Ridge goes to you. It’s your home, and your right to run it a
s you like. You don’t need me anymore.”

  “I do!” Dear Lord, she could hear the panic in her own voice, no matter how she tried to control it. She reached out and grabbed the chair back beside her in an effort to stop herself for reaching for him. She took a deep breath to steady herself.

  “My father thought that you were the best man to run Sullivan’s Ridge. I agree. I want you here, beside me.”

  “Oh God.” He groaned and turned away again, running his hands through his hair. “You can’t say shi—things like that to me! I’m just your foreman! You husband will be here soon enough; think of how he’ll feel when he shows up and here I am running the place! Standing beside you like I have a right to be there…”

  She heard the longing in his voice, and wished she could see his eyes. Was he longing to be a part of Sullivan’s Ridge? Or to be beside her?

  “I want you here, and I don’t care what Darren says or thinks.”

  He turned slightly. “Who the hell’s Darren?”

  Shoot! “Daniel, I said Daniel. David Daniel. Whatever.” She was flustered, and waved it away. Why was he getting so hung up on details? She needed to get to the bottom of his feelings. “Is he the only reason you’re leaving? Because you think my husband is going to show up soon?”

  He turned, and the sunlight caught his tortured face. There was something fierce in his blue eyes. Something that made her breath catch, made her heart flutter. And then she didn’t have time to think, because he was stalking across the room towards her.

  He halted only inches away, and she was forced to tilt her head back to look into his face. She held her breath, and watched the battle of emotions in his eyes.

  “No ma’am.” She heard passion in his rasp, “The reason I’m leaving is that I can’t be around you any longer…without doing something stupid.”

  “How stupid?” she breathed, anticipation making her light-headed.

  He tangled one hand in her coiffure, and she felt the other one on the small of her back. She had mere seconds to register his heat before his lips slanted across hers with a desperation and determination she hadn’t imagined possible.