“How did that get in my pocket?”

Nash flashed a sexy grin as he held a sprig of mistletoe above Callie’s head.

He knew he wasn’t playing fair, using their attraction for each other to draw Callie all the way into the present. But there were times, like now, when it was the best way to make her see that the past was over. There was no use hiding behind it, not when they had a connection as fierce as the chemistry between them. Hooking the toe of his boot beneath the rung of a chair, he brought it all the way from the table and sank into it, dropping the mistletoe and pulling her onto his lap on the process. “Nash …”

He drew back to see into her eyes, knowing he didn’t need a cornball excuse to kiss her, touch her, hold her. “Kiss me, Callie …”

Wreathing her arms around his neck, she turned her head to his and smiled with a devastating mix of tenderness and mischief. “Is that your Christmas wish?”

He grinned. “One of them.”

Lone Star Christmas

Cathy Gillen Thacker

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CATHY GILLEN THACKER is married and a mother of three. She and her husband spent eighteen years in Texas and now reside in North Carolina. Her mysteries, romantic comedies and heartwarming family stories have made numerous appearances on bestseller lists, but her best reward, she says, is knowing one of her books made someone’s day a little brighter. A popular Mills & Boon® author for many years, she loves telling passionate stories with happy endings, and thinks nothing beats a good romance and a hot cup of tea! You can visit Cathy’s website, www.cathygillenthacker.com, for more information on her upcoming and previously published books, recipes and a list of her favorite things.

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Contents

Cover

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Nash Echols dropped a fresh-cut Christmas tree onto the bed of a flatbed truck. Watched, as a luxuriously outfitted red SUV tore through the late November gloom and slammed to an abrupt stop on the old logging trail.

“Well, here comes trouble,” he murmured, when the driver door opened and two equally fancy peacock-blue boots hit the running board, then the ground.

His glance moved upward, taking in every elegant inch of the cowgirl marching toward him. He guessed the sassy spitfire to be in her early thirties, like him. She glared while she moved, her hands clapped over her ears to shut out the concurrent whine of a dozen power saws.

Nash lifted a leather-gloved hand.

One by one his crew stopped, until the Texas mountainside was eerily quiet, and only the smell of fresh-cut pine hung in the air. And still the determined woman advanced, chin-length dark brown curls framing her even lovelier face.

He eased off his hard hat and ear protectors.

Indignant color highlighting her delicately sculpted cheeks, she stopped just short of him and propped her hands on her slender denim-clad hips. “You’re killing me, using all those chain saws at once!” Her aqua-blue eyes narrowed. “You know that, don’t you?”

Actually, Nash hadn’t. And given the fact his crew had only been at this a few hours...

Her chin lifted another notch. “You have to stop!”

At that, he couldn’t help but laugh. It was one thing for this little lady to pay him an unannounced visit, another for her to try to shut him down. “Says who?” he challenged right back.

She angled her thumb at her sternum, unwittingly drawing his glance to her full, luscious breasts beneath the fitted red velvet western shirt, visible beneath her open wool coat. “Says me!”

He took in the hefty diamond engagement and wedding rings glinting on her left hand, squinted and asked in a way he knew would rankle, “Just out of curiosity, ma’am, does your husband know what you’re up to?”

For a moment, his uninvited visitor seemed caught off guard. Perplexed, almost. Then she stiffened and squared her shoulders, even more militantly. “For your information, cowboy, I don’t need ‘permission’ from anyone.”

Amused, he looked her over slowly, head to toe. “Then your husband wouldn’t mind you creating a ruckus?”

Another long, thoughtful pause. Followed by a glimmer of inscrutable emotion in her eyes. “No,” she said finally. And without another word, left it at that.

Which meant what? he wondered. Her husband was used to her temperamental ways? Or was just so weak he had no say? Her cagey expression gave no clue. Nash knew one thing, however. If she were his woman he wouldn’t want her out here, stirring up trouble with a group of cattle and horse wranglers temporarily turned lumberjacks. “And you are?”

“Callie McCabe-Grimes.”

Of course she was from one of the most famous and powerful clans in the Lone Star State. He should have figured that out from the moment she’d barged onto his property.

Nash indicated the stacks of freshly cut Christmas trees around them, aware the last thing he needed in his life was another person not into celebrating the holidays. “Sure that’s not Grinch?”

Her thick lashes narrowed. “Ha, ha.” She blew out a frustrated breath. “I’m your neighbor, to the east.”

Ah, yes. Nash nodded. “The owner of the Heart of Texas Ranch and Corporate Retreat.”

He’d heard that the hot-shot marketing wiz had apparently decided to stop helping everyone else get rich and go into business for herself. And while Nash respected the latter, he detested dealing with the diva-offspring of famous Texas families. Especially those who felt that, by virtue of their name and connections, they should automatically rule whatever roost they found themselves inhabiting.

“Well, then,” Callie huffed, “if you know that, then you also know that my business is located in the valley between Sanders Mountain and Echols Mountain.”

Lifting a brow, Nash took in the pink color staining her pretty face and the mutinous twist of her soft, voluptuous lips. “So?”

“So—” she waved at the dozen chain saw-wielding cowboys behind him, and the other six wrapping up recently shorn holiday trees “—all that racket you are making is carrying over onto my property!”

Nash squinted at the searing emotion in her eyes. This conversation was getting stranger all the time. “What did you expect when you set up shop next to a lumber operation?”

“There was no lumber operation when I purchased the property six months ago!”

Nash supposed that was true enough. He shrugged. “Well, there is now.”

Panic warred with the fury on her face. “Since when?”

“Since I inherited the property from my great-great-uncle two months ago.”

Callie sobered. “I’m sorry to hear about Mr. Echols’s passing.”

Nash studied her, pushing aside his own lingering grief. “You knew my uncle Ralph?”

“No,” she admitted kindly. “I never had the pleasure.”

“But if he was anything like me...?” Nash couldn’t resist goading.

The stubborn look was back. Callie folded her arms in front of her in a way that delectably plumped up her breasts. “Let’s hope he wasn’t.”

Nash tore his gaze from the inviting softness. Unable to resist teasing her a little more, however, he grinned. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you it’s the season to be jolly?”

Callie sighed in exasperation and shoved her hands through her chocolate-brown curls. “First of all, cowboy, it’s not even Thanksgiving yet.”

Yet, for him and his business, anyway, time was a wastin’. “It will be three days from now.”

Callie threw up her palms in frustration. “Three days in which I will lose my mind if this racket keeps up.”

No doubt about that. After all, from what he’d witnessed thus far, she did seem a little high-strung. He shifted his gaze to the pouting ripeness of her lips. Damned if he wasn’t longing to kiss her, here and now, even though he knew as a married woman she was strictly off-limits.

Slowly, he let out a breath and returned his thoughts to the murky business at hand.

“And what would you have me do about it?” he asked grimly.

“I don’t know.” She paused to bite her lip, then asked, “Use one chain saw at a time?”

This time, Nash wasn’t the only one who laughed.

When the ruckus from the men standing behind him quieted down, he winked at her and said glibly, “I’ll think about it.”

She stamped closer, not stopping until she was just inches away from him. “I want you to do a lot more than think about it, cowpoke!”

Nash took exception to her tone.

Her attitude.

Hell, just about everything about her.

His own temper rising, he schooled her quietly. “My name is Nash. Or Mr. Echols to you. And if that’s all...”

Before he even had one ear covered up again, she planted her hand in the middle of his chest. Warmth spread instantly from beneath her delicate palm. Pooling in his chest, sliding ever downward, past his waist, to the place he least wanted to feel a rising pulse.

“Hold on there a minute, cowboy!” she declared. “I’m not done!”

Heart pounding, Nash plucked her hand from his chest like some odious piece of trash. “Too bad, little lady. Because I am.”

She sniffed indignantly. “You can’t just start up something like this without considering how it’s going to affect everyone around you!”

Nash smiled. “Seems like—in your view anyway—I already have.” He put the sound guards back on his head, then the hard hat, and gave his men the signal to resume.

She propped both hands on her hips. And this time she did stomp her pretty little foot as the whine of power saws echoed in the cool late November air.

Nash couldn’t hear her muffled words of outrage, but he sure could see Callie McCabe-Grimes mouthing something as she glared at him, slapped her palms over her ears and spun on her heel. Her hips swaying provocatively, long luscious legs eating up the ground, she marched back to her truck and climbed into the cab. Then she extended her arm out the window, looked him right in the eye and offered him a surprisingly unladylike gesture before turning her pickup around and peeling away.

He stood there a moment, chuckling at her moxie. It was a good thing their personalities mixed about as well as oil and water, he thought, watching the dust fly in her wake. Otherwise a woman that beautiful and spirited could easily waylay him. And a distraction like that was something he did not need.

Especially at this time of year.

* * *

“THERE MUST BE something I can do to stop that big buffoon!” Callie complained to her sister Lily over Skype, as soon as she got back to the ranch.

With the cool expertise of an accomplished attorney, Lily McCabe rocked back in her desk chair, at her Laramie, Texas, law office, and listened intently.

Doing her best to calm her racing pulse, Callie persisted. “Nash Echols has got to be violating some noise regulation—or something with all that racket!”

Lily shook her head. “First of all, there are no noise ordinances in rural areas.”

Callie bit down on an oath. It was bad enough that her next-door neighbor was incredibly annoying, but at six foot two, with a lumberjack’s powerful build, shaggy wavy black hair and slate-gray eyes, he was also handsome enough to grace an outdoor-living magazine cover. Not that his rugged good looks would help him where she was concerned...

“There are air rights,” her sister continued practically. “But those belong to whoever is renting or residing on the property on which any noise is made. Which means any noise Nash Echols creates on his land is well within his rights.”

Callie didn’t care if Nash made himself deaf. It was her son—who luckily was still at nursery school—and the retreat clients set to start arriving the following week that she was worried about. Thankfully, though, at the moment she was the only one on her ranch, witnessing the ruckus.

“But his noise is coming over to my property! I mean, it’s horrible.” She opened up the window next to the phone, and just like before, the constant whine of multiple power saws reverberated in the brisk November air. She shut it again and turned back to the computer screen on her desk. “See what I mean?”

Lily nodded. “Just hearing it through the walls of your ranch house is enough to give me a headache—and I’m two hundred miles away! I can only imagine what it sounds like from your end.”

“Exactly!”

Her sister picked up a pen and turned it end-over-end. “But you can’t go to court on account of someone giving you a headache, Callie. Or the justice system would be jam-packed with nuisance cases.”

Reluctantly, she supposed that was true.

Lily’s demeanor gentled even more. “You want my honest advice, sis?”

Callie did her best to relax. Not easy, when she was still seeing—in her mind’s eye, anyway—the smug expression on Nash Echols’s blatantly handsome face. Still feeling the taut, warm muscles beneath the palm she had recklessly planted on his chest...

Callie swallowed, tamping down the whisper of long suppressed desire. She was romantically unattached now, and planned to stay that way.

“That is why I called you,” she said quietly. Because, of all five of her sisters, Lily was always the quickest to cut to the chase with a solution.

“Go back. Apologize to the man. Tell him you temporarily lost your mind and want to work out an amicable solution, so that both your businesses can continue to operate.”

The idea of groveling in front of the way-too-confident man next door rankled. Worse, just the thought of seeing him again made her pulse race.

Taking all that into account, Callie uttered a morose sigh and rubbed at the tense muscles in her forehead. “He’s not going to go for it.”

Frowning at her sister’s defeatist attitude, Lily warned, “You better hope he does, because otherwise you’re in a heap of trouble. In the holiday season, no less.”

* * *

NASH HAD JUST gotten out of the shower when he heard a vehicle in the driveway. He pulled on a pair of jeans and, still rubbing a towel through his hair, walked barefoot to the front hall. The bell rang. Nash looped the towel around his neck, opened the heavy wood door and got his second surprise of the day.

On the other side of the portal was Callie McCabe-Grimes. She had a big wicker basket in one hand, and a handsome little toddler, clad in a tyke-size cowboy getup, in the other.

Although she was a married woman—with a kid, no less—and should be used to the sight of a partially disrobed man, she appeared taken aback by the sight of him. So much so that when she silently took in his bare chest and damp hair, she looked as if she wanted to bolt, but didn’t.

Tightening her grip on the little boy’s hand, and plastering a smile as big as Texas on her face, she said, “I’m here to apologize.”

That was news.

Reluctantly, she lifted her eyes to his, and kept them there. “I’m afraid we got off on the wrong foot.”

No joke.

“Hence, my son, Brian—” she indicated the curly-haired little boy beside her with a tilt of her head “—and I would like to make amends and start over.”

If anyone had accompanied Callie for the mea culpa, Nash would have expected it to be her husband. But then, maybe Mr. Grimes didn’t know what his little woman had been up to.

Nor did her son.

Unable to resist making things at least a little difficult for the Texas belle, Nash ran a hand across his jaw and pointed out, “Brian doesn’t owe me an apology.”

Callie flushed, obviously recalling her diva-like exit from his property. “Yes, well, as I said...I forgot my manners momentarily. And I do feel terrible about that.”

She felt terrible about something—that was clear. Exactly what that was, he wasn’t entirely sure.

Still, he had been raised with manners, too, and since his new neighbor had taken what had to be a difficult first step toward reconciliation, he felt obligated to be cordial, as well.

He stepped aside, suddenly concerned about the drop in temperature. It was just above freezing now. “Would you like to come in? It’s pretty cold outside for your little one.”

“Yes, thank you. That would be nice.” Ushering his guests inside and shutting the door behind them, he realized that the foyer was a little chilly compared to the warmth of the rest of the rustically outfitted log-cabin-style ranch house. But that didn’t seem to bother Callie or her son.

She glanced around, taking in the soaring cathedral ceiling and large fieldstone fireplace in the adjacent living room. Her eyes fell on the leather furniture and earth-toned Southwestern rugs.

While his great-uncle Ralph had been alive, the Echols Mountain Ranch house had definitely been a man’s domain. Nash hadn’t changed much since he had arrived.

Nor did he intend to do so in the future.

Aware the domain seemed all the more masculine with someone as feminine as Callie in it, he asked casually, “How old is your son?”

“Two and a half.”

Nash had never been one to gush over kids, but there was something about this little guy—maybe it was his resemblance to his mama?—that drew him in. He smiled, inclining his head at the tyke. “Cute.”

“Thanks,” Callie murmured. And this time her smile appeared genuine.

Looking ready to make himself at home, Brian took off his Stetson and attempted to fit it over the newel on the staircase. It fell to the floor instead. He reached for it, tried again and missed by an even wider margin.

Nash leaned down. “Let me help you, little fella.”

“No,” Brian retorted with the stubbornness he evidently got from his gorgeous, dark-haired mama. “I do.”

Nash lifted his hands and stepped back.

Seeming torn between correcting her son and getting on with it, Callie blew out a breath and handed Nash the basket. “Inside you’ll find our welcome-to-the-neighborhood dinner. Homemade Texas chili and cornbread, fruit compote and chocolate cake.”

Nash couldn’t recall the last time he’d had a hot, home-cooked meal. Most of his meals were either from a restaurant or the freezer section of the local supermarket.

“Seriously?”

She shrugged. “Nothing I wouldn’t do for anyone else moving in.”

Nash figured that was probably true.

“The chili and cornbread are still hot.”

She was killing him; she had to know that.

Aware he was attracted when he shouldn’t be, he went on a fishing expedition. “I imagine your husband is expecting you home soon?”

Again, that pause. A definite evasion.

“Ah, no,” she said finally.

Which meant what? Nash wondered. Was she separated? Getting a divorce? Just unattended and unhappy?

Not that it was any of his business. Except, they were neighbors and, in the Lone Star State, anyway, neighbors looked out for one another.

Furthermore, his gut told him that Callie McCabe-Grimes definitely was in need of some—if not TLC—then, at least, amiable concern.

Meanwhile, little Brian was still tossing his hat at the newel post. And missing. Again. And again.

To her credit, Callie stood back and let the little fella keep on trying.

Aware he wouldn’t mind a chance to ease the rift between them and get to know a little more about his new neighbors, Nash turned back to Callie. She was right—there was no time like the present to start over. “Have you and your son eaten?” he asked impulsively.

Callie blinked, clearly taken aback by the question. “Well, no...not yet...but...”

Nash gazed deep into her aqua-blue eyes and took another leap of faith. Maybe there was a helluva lot more to her than had first appeared. “Want to join me?”

Chapter Two

Nash Echols was a man who was full of surprises, Callie acknowledged. The least of which was his current chivalry. Which seemed, at the moment anyway, to be as deeply ingrained as her own usual good manners.

Had she confronted him about the ruckus in any other way, she might have had a very different result. But she hadn’t, and now she had to deal with the consequences of her earlier outburst. And what was, at best, a very awkward situation.

Nash’s sexy smile widened as he continued in a silky smooth voice that ratcheted up the tension inside her even more, “I’m more than willing to share this delicious spread. I assume you brought enough?”

Glad she had one of the most effective chaperones ever put on this earth with her, as well as a reason to depart quickly once her mission was accomplished, Callie nodded. “Except...Brian doesn’t eat chili. It’s too spicy.”

His gray eyes twinkled. “Will he eat cornbread and fruit, and—” Nash paused, clearly thinking how to phrase it “ —the last course?”

Callie nodded, aware her son was listening intently now—and clearly a little enamored of Nash. Maybe this was a good time to work out a solution to their mutual problem. “Oh, yes. He loves c-a-k-e.”

“Cake, Mommy!” Brian yelled.

“Some things, he can spell,” Callie said dryly.

Nash chuckled. “Well, then, we’re all set.”

Callie studied him cautiously, trying—and failing—not to be turned on by the sleek, suntanned skin over his wide, inviting shoulders and nicely sculpted chest and abs. “You’re sure it’s not an imposition?”

A slow grin tugged at the corners of his sensual lips. “I wouldn’t have asked if it was. Dishes are in the cabinets. Help yourself. I’m going to finish getting dressed then I’ll be right back.”

Yes, dressed was a good idea.

Standing there talking with him, when he was only half-clothed, had conjured up a wellspring of longing that was destined to go unmet.

“Right back, Mommy,” Brian echoed, snapping her out of her reverie.

Callie knelt to help her son off with his coat.

Nash headed upstairs. By the time he came back down, Callie had set out the food, situated Brian on a stack of phone books and pulled his chair up to the table.

Nash extended his hand. “Let’s start over,” he said, every bit the Texas gentleman now. “I’m Nash Echols.”

Warmth spiraled through her. “Callie McCabe-Grimes,” she added with a smile. “And my son, Brian.”

Nash helped her with her chair. For the next few minutes, they talked about where they both grew up. Dallas for him, Laramie, Texas, for her. The conversation then segued into where they’d gone to college, and the fact that, after graduation, she’d had her first business experience in Dallas, whereas he had spent ten years working in the Pacific Northwest, before coming back to his home state.

Nash helped himself to more chili. He topped it with pico de gallo, cheddar and sour cream. “How did you end up in this part of the state?”

Callie cut her son’s cornbread into bite-size pieces. “My twin sister, Maggie, and I planned joint nuptials at the Double Knot Wedding Ranch on Sanders Mountain. She had second thoughts and bolted during the ceremony, so I was the only one to actually get married that day.”

Nash grinned at Callie over the rim of his iced tea. “That sounds like quite a story.”

Nodding, Callie returned his smile. “Maggie stayed on at the ranch after her failed wedding to work off her debt. Fell in love with their son, Hart Sanders, and his little boy, Henry. And then they eventually tied the knot.” She paused. “Do you know Hart?”

Nash smiled fondly. “We go way back. I used to play with him when I was kid whenever I visited my uncle. Although, I haven’t had a chance to see either Hart or his folks in the two weeks since I’ve been back.”

Callie continued, “Hart’s parents, Frank and Fiona Sanders, hired me to craft a new marketing campaign that involved utilizing social media for their wedding train business. I moved here to do that. Once I finished that, I decided to go into business for myself. Which is why I bought the one hundred acre ranch in the valley between Sanders Mountain and Echols Mountain last summer, and spent the past few months—” and almost all her savings “—turning it into a corporate retreat.”

He regarded her with respect, one business person to another. His glance fell briefly to the rings on her left hand, before returning to her eyes. “How’s that going?” he asked, seeming genuinely interested.

“My first event is a week from today.”

A corner of his mouth twitched. “You’re worried about the noise from the tree-cutting.”

Callie forged ahead. “I advertise a peaceful setting for important meetings. If I don’t deliver that right out of the gate...” She’d be out of business before she even got started.

Nash rubbed a hand across his jaw. He clearly hadn’t shaved since morning, and the evening shadow gave him a sexy, rough-hewn allure. “How many bookings do you have?”

Seeing him push his empty plate and bowl away, Callie got up to cut them all a piece of cake. “I have four events planned from December first to December eleventh.”

He thought a moment. “Are they day-only events?”

“Yes.” Callie resumed her seat. “From eight in the morning till around ten in the evening, although if my clients’ meetings are slow to wrap up, it could run slightly later than that.”

Nash smiled, watching Brian dig into his cake. “I see where you are coming from.” He leaned closer. “But here’s my problem. I have been contracted to deliver four thousand fresh-cut Christmas trees by December seventh. I have a temporary crew of eighteen, coming in to help with the cutting and bundling and delivery, for the next two weeks.” There was a long pause. “However, today, for a lot of reasons, we only managed to get two hundred trees ready to go. And that doesn’t even include possible inclement weather because we can’t cut down trees if it gets too wet. So for me to suspend operations for four whole days—”

“Would likely mean you wouldn’t meet your business goals.”

A quirk of his dark brow. “Unless...”

Trying not to think what his steady appraisal and deep voice did to her, Callie cleared her throat. “What?”

“I’m not sure it would work.” His sensual lips thinned. “But...if I can get the guys to work through the weekends, including Thanksgiving Day, with the promise of equivalent days off during your events...” He paused to look her in the eye. “Would you be willing to bring in Thanksgiving dinner for everyone—if I order it and foot the bill?”

Callie was willing to do whatever necessary to facilitate peace. “I’ll do better than that,” she offered, beyond thrilled that they had found a solution at long last. “I’ll cook. You-all can come to my ranch and have dinner there.”

* * *

“I HAVEN’T SEEN you this excited since the first time you cooked dinner for Seth.”

Callie turned to her twin sister. The six-months pregnant Maggie had come over with her husband, Hart, and their three-year-old son, Henry, to aid in the preparations. Currently, Hart had both Henry and her son, Brian, out riding tricycles on the sidewalk that led from the converted bunkhouse, where the meal was being prepared, to the ranch house, where she and Brian lived.

Callie carved the first of two big roasted turkeys. “The first time I cooked for Seth, it was for just him and me. Tonight, we’re having twenty-four people.” Hardly an intimate setting, even if her meal with Nash three evenings before sort of had been. “So if I seem a little overwrought or whatever, it’s because I’m using this evening as a trial run for my first hosted corporate retreat next week.”

It had nothing to do with the ruggedly handsome man heading up the team of cowboys turned temporary lumberjacks. Or the cozy dinner they’d shared. Or that this somehow carried all the emotional impact of a date. Because she wasn’t dating again for a good long time. If ever.

Maggie stirred the big kettle of gravy on the stove, clearly not buying it. “Hmm.”

“Plus, you know how I like to stay busy during the holidays. It just helps, not having time to think.” Because it was when she let herself ruminate on the events of the past that she felt her mood fall, and she couldn’t let that happen now—not when she had a child depending on her to provide the best holiday ever.

“Furthermore, just because you’re happily married and expecting another baby in the spring, doesn’t mean I need to be doing the same.” Callie finished slicing up the first turkey and started on the second.

Maggie brought out the cranberry relish and dinner rolls, and then carried them to the long plank tables. The scent of sage dressing and freshly mashed potatoes added to the delicious aromas in the air.

“I still think you’re selling yourself short,” Maggie told her. “You’re still young enough to marry again and have another baby or two.”

And Nash Echols was definitely sexy enough, Callie thought. If she were looking for a mate to father more children. Which she wasn’t. “The only things that concern me right now are my son and my business—”

Callie stopped at the sight of the gorgeous man in the kitchen door.

He was dressed pretty much as she’d expected. In dark jeans and a slate-gray shirt that molded his sinewy shoulders and chest and brought out the mesmerizing dark silver of his eyes. His black hair was freshly shampooed and combed, and as he strolled nearer, she caught the tantalizing scent of his aftershave lotion.

“Sorry to interrupt.” Nash Echols nodded at Maggie then turned back to Callie with a genial smile. “Hart said I should just come on in.”

Callie set down the carving knife and fork. Trying not to feel too excited, she wiped her hands on her apron. He was a guest...that was all. “Are the rest of the men here, too?”

His glance moved over her lazily. “They will be momentarily—if you’re ready for us.”

Callie fought back a reaction to all that testosterone. She jerked in a bolstering breath and returned his smile. “We are.”

The question was, was she ready to spend so much time with Nash Echols—even in a group? All he’d done was walk into the spacious bunkhouse and already her heart was going ballistic.

Fortunately, the crew was right behind him.

Clearly not one to simply stand around, Nash took over the rest of the carving, while Callie pulled out big stainless-steel trays of buttermilk mashed potatoes, sweet potato casserole and green beans from the warming ovens. Maggie helped spoon hot food into serving dishes while her husband situated both little boys in booster seats. Their guests all pitched in to carry the food into the dining room.

One by one everyone found a seat. Callie took the head of the table. Nash, who had been busy filling water glasses, paused when it appeared there was only one chair left—at the other end of the long plank table. He lifted a quizzical brow her way. “Will your husband be joining us?” he asked.

* * *

IT WAS A simple question, Nash thought.

One that should have been easy to answer.

Instead, Callie froze as if that were the last thing she had expected to hear. Her twin sister and her husband exchanged long, baffled looks. Then Maggie turned back to Callie, who wasn’t really meeting anyone’s gaze directly, and silently telegraphed something that her twin obviously decided to ignore.

Regaining her composure, Callie flashed an overly bright smile his way. “It’s just us.” She gestured graciously to the chair opposite her. “So if you’ll have a seat, too...”

Which begged the question, Nash thought, where was the elusive Mr. Grimes? Not that anyone else but him seemed intrigued by the matter, as grace was said, the platters of abundant food were passed around and everyone dug in. During the meal—which was, by far, the most delicious Thanksgiving dinner he’d ever had—conversation revolved primarily around the sports teams playing and the results of the games thus far.

Maggie McCabe-Sanders and her husband worked to make sure everyone felt at home. While Callie seemed happy to concentrate on making sure her son got enough to eat, and the serving platters on the table were replenished as often as need be.

Not surprisingly, by the time dessert and coffee were served, the little ones were drooping with fatigue.

Callie looked at her sister. “Would you and Hart mind...?”

Maggie smiled. “Not at all. We’ll take them over to the house and get them into their pajamas.”

The lumberjacks lined up to help clear the table and thank Callie for the amazing dinner, and then they headed over to Nash’s ranch house next door to play cards and watch football.

Finally, it was just Nash and Callie, alone in the bunkhouse kitchen. He surveyed the tall stacks of dirty dishes while Callie picked up her buzzing cell phone. She seemed to want to sink through the floor when she caught a glimpse of the caller ID screen.

Pivoting so her back was to Nash, she said hello. Listened. With a smile in her voice said, “Of course you can. Yes, absolutely. Right now is fine. I’m in the bunkhouse.”

She hung up and immediately punched in another number. “Maggie? You heard...? Oh, good. Can you keep Brian awake? Thanks.” She ended the call and swung back to Nash. Bright color highlighted her elegant cheekbones.

“Company coming?” Like maybe an estranged husband?

She nodded.

“Not to worry,” he said. “I’ll stay here and clean all this up.”

To his surprise, she looked even more panicked. “Not a good idea.”

The evening was getting stranger and stranger. “Why not?”

She bit her lip. “Because—”

The door opened and a couple in their early sixties walked in. Both were eclectically dressed. The woman in a violet cashmere wrap, multicolored flowing skirt and matching blouse. An abundance of costume jewelry, a hammered silver belt and elaborately crafted Western boots completed her free-spirited look. The man wore a tapestry vest shot through with silver and gold threads, band-collared shirt, jeans and boots. A Stetson covered his free-flowing shoulder-length silver hair.

“Darling!” The woman opened her arms. Callie went into them, returning a fiercely affectionate hug, then accepted an equally warm embrace from the man.

“The place looks wonderful!” the older gentleman said.

“This retreat will be the best in Texas within the year,” the woman enthused. “In fact, I’m betting it will be featured in every magazine and newspaper in the state!”

The over-the-top prediction elicited a brief, pained look from Callie. “I’d settle for just a modest success,” she murmured.

“You’re going to do much, much better than that,” the woman insisted. “And in the process, prove all the naysayers who thought you should stay in Laramie, wrapped in widow’s weeds, wrong.”

Widow. Had she said widow?

Nash’s gaze fell to the diamond and engagement rings still sparkling on Callie’s left hand.

Now, this was interesting.

The older woman turned to Nash. “I’m Doris Grimes, by the way. And this is my husband, Rock. We’re Seth’s parents.”

Nash returned the smile and stepped forward to shake hands. “I’m Nash Echols, Callie’s neighbor. My men and I joined Callie and her sister’s family for Thanksgiving dinner.”

Callie waited until the handshaking was concluded, then intervened, “Well, I know you’re anxious to see your grandson,” she told her in-laws, “so you-all go on ahead. I’ll be up at the ranch house as soon as I get things squared away here.”

After she ushered them toward the door, they left.

Nash didn’t utter a single word until Callie turned back around and met his questioning glance. “Widow, hmm?”

Pursing her lips, she angled a thumb at her sternum. “Hey, it’s not my duty to correct any wrong assumptions on your part. Or anyone else’s for that matter.”

“So this is a common ploy? Pretending you’re still married?” To do what? Drag on the grief? Keep from doing what everyone had to do eventually, which was move on...?

Callie’s jaw set stubbornly as she lifted her gaze to his. “I am still married. In my heart. And always will be.”

The way she had inadvertently checked him out when he walked in, and apparently liked what she saw, said otherwise. She was still a woman, and still very much alive in every respect, whether she wanted to admit it or not.

Not about to let her get away with deliberately misleading him, he lifted a brow. “Bull.”

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

He stepped closer, purposefully invading her personal space. “You wear those rings, and let people assume you’re married, to keep guys from hitting on you.”

Callie drew a deep breath and stepped back. Her blue eyes took on a cynical light. “So what if I do? In my situation you probably would, too.”

“I don’t go around misrepresenting myself.”

“Oh, really?” she scoffed. “Because I’m pretty sure you wanted my in-laws to think you were an upstanding Texas gentleman just now.”

“I am an upstanding Texas gentleman.” Even if he had spent the past ten years in the Pacific Northwest.

“Really?” She pushed the words through gritted teeth. “Because I’m pretty sure a real Texas gentleman would not have brought up the fact that I’m a widow when it is clearly a subject I do not wish to discuss.”

He answered her insult with a shrug, but did not disengage their locked gazes. “Fine with me,” he said, just as carelessly. “I can do a search on Google on anything I want to know, anyway.”

Briefly, Callie’s shoulders slumped, but then she pulled herself together. Planted her hands on her slender hips. Stared at him long and hard. “Why are you so darn difficult, anyway?”

Did she really expect him to answer that? Well, turnabout was fair play, and he had a question of his own.

Why was she so damned pretty?

He’d thought she looked good the other day, when she confronted him in the woods, and again when she had showed up at his place, bearing dinner and a sweet demeanor meant to turn him pliable.

Which it had.

But it was nothing compared to the way she looked this evening, in a trim black wool skirt, tights and pleated ivory blouse. The fact she was wearing comfortable leather flats, instead of her usual heeled boots, made the seven-inch height difference between them all the more apparent.

Aware she was still waiting for some explanation as to why he took her deliberate deception so personally, he replied, “I don’t like being lied to.”

And he didn’t like people who hung on to their grief in ways that hurt everyone else around them, either.

Callie stepped closer and leveled a withering glare on his face. “I wasn’t lying.” He challenged her with a raised brow.

Averting her pretty blue gaze, she mumbled, “I just didn’t tell you everything you wanted to know.”

Which, in turn, made him wonder. “And that is...?” he prodded casually.

She whirled away from him in a drift of perfume. “Probably that my husband died a little over three years ago in a car accident. I’d just been married a few months. I was pregnant at the time.”

Nash felt for her. Losing a loved one was always hard. Especially so unexpectedly.

“And then what?” The edge was still in his voice, for a different reason now.

She walked back into the kitchen and, rolling up her sleeves, began loading dishes into the large stainless-steel dishwasher. “My family—my parents mostly—convinced me that I needed to leave Dallas and move back to Laramie, Texas, where I grew up, and be near them.”

He took a stack, as well, and began loading dishes, too.

“And that’s where I was,” Callie continued, with a matter-of-factness that did nothing to disguise the aching loneliness in her eyes. “Until a year and a half ago when I moved here. First as marketing director with the Double Knot Ranch, and then as owner of my own ranch and business. See? Nothing all that exciting about that. ”

Finished with the plates, she began working on glasses, while he began loading the silverware.

Frustrated by her sudden silence, Nash drawled, “Which brings us to yet another problem.”

Callie looked up, the pulse working in her slender throat. She rinsed her hands beneath the faucet. “Really. And what might that be?”

Nash stepped in beside her to do the same. “You’re young. You’re single. You’re gorgeous.” He leaned close enough to draw in a whiff of her hair, which was as enticing as the rest of her. “There damn sure should be something exciting going on in your life.”

Callie straightened slowly.

“Let me guess.” She reached for a paper towel to dry her hands. “You’re just the man to give it to me.”

Nash shut off the water, and once again did the same.

“Well,” he said lazily, wadding up the towel and tossing it into the trash. “Since you asked so nicely.” He smiled broadly. “I just might be.”

Chapter Three

Callie stared up at Nash in dismay. “You wouldn’t dare.”

His gaze roved her face, lingering on her lips, before returning ever so slowly to her eyes. He flashed her a sexy grin, chiding, “Another thing you should never do...”

Callie caught her breath, aware she had never been around such an impossible, arrogant man. Never mind in such close quarters! “What?”

He wrapped one hand around the nape of her neck, the other flattened on her spine. Then his slate-gray eyes shuttered to half-mast as his head slowly dipped toward her. “Challenge me.”

Callie shivered as his lips ghosted lightly across hers. “I’m not...” But already her eyes were closing, too. Already, she was losing herself in the feel of his hard, strong body pressed against her, the brisk wintry smell of him, the implacable masculine taste of his mouth and the resolute possession of his lips.

She thought she’d been kissed before.

She hadn’t been.

Not like this.

Like he wanted to savor every iota of her heart and soul.

Yearning swept through her, fierce and undeniable. It had been so long since she had been kissed, touched, held. So long since anyone had wanted her like this. Her whole body radiated heat and he responded by kissing her even more deeply. Unable to help herself, unable to resist the probing pressure of his lips, she surged against him. And still he kissed her, over and over again. Hard, fast. Slow, easy. Tenderly. Erotically.

Dazed, she heard a low groan wrenched from his throat, as if he wanted her beyond reason, too. It was answered by the hardening of her nipples, and lower still, the beginning of an ache that nearly rendered her senseless.

And that was, of course, when he groaned again, jerked in a breath and called a halt to their steamy foreplay.

Frustration mingled with her desire, adding to the tumultuous emotion of her day. She glared at him. “I can’t believe you just did that.”

He met her gaze evenly, his eyes dark, warmly assessing. “I can’t, either.” The corners of his mouth lifted ruefully. “I’m usually a lot more sensible. But then—” gently, he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear “—you seem to bring out the recklessness in me.”

Callie let loose a rather unladylike phrase, then stepped back. “Your ego knows no bounds.”

He laughed, the desire in his eyes every bit as hot and enticing as his embrace had been. He leaned close enough to press a fleeting kiss across her brow. “You could say that with some impunity if you hadn’t kissed me back, Callie. Unfortunately, for your ego, you did.”

* * *

“I DON’T SEE what the problem is,” Maggie told Callie later that same evening, when everyone but the two of them had gone on to bed. Together, they carried their cups of hot apple cider into the family room and settled before the fire.

Maggie sized her sister up. “You said you were tired of being viewed as this poor tragic young widow who’s constantly being handled with kid gloves.”

Which was true, Callie thought, kicking off her flats and tucking her legs beneath her.

“And Nash didn’t feel sorry for you,” Maggie continued.

Callie sipped her cider and pointed out ruefully, “He kissed me instead.”

“And that’s a problem because...?” Maggie asked, grinning.

Callie closed her eyes against the sultry memory and the new flood of desire it conjured up. “I didn’t want him to.”

“Really?” Her sister’s eyes twinkled all the more. “’Cause I think you doth protest a little too much. I mean—” she shrugged “—it’s not as if he’s the first guy who made a pass at you since Seth died. You handled those missteps, barely blinking an eye.”

All too true. Callie rubbed at an imaginary spot on her wool skirt. “That’s because...”

Maggie ventured wryly, “You didn’t kiss any of them back?”

Callie paused. “How do you know that?”

“Because I’m your twin. And I know the way you think. Always have, always will, remember? Plus, I saw the way you looked at him when he came into the bunkhouse today.” She waggled her brows. “Like you wanted to gobble him right up.”

Callie blushed despite herself. “Okay. I admit there’s a definite physical attraction there. But that’s all it is.”

Maggie chuckled. “You keep telling yourself that.”

And Callie did.

All through the rest of her late-evening gabfest with her twin, all that night as she tossed and turned in her bed, and into the next morning. Fortunately, she had a lot to keep her busy. Breakfast to prepare for the family still gathered there, a holiday to-do list a mile long and a whole lot of distant whining chain saws in the distance to ignore.

First on the list was the purchase of two Christmas trees. As they lingered at the breakfast table, her brother-in-law listened to her plan. “Of course I don’t mind driving into San Antonio to pick them up for you,” Hart said. “But don’t you think it’s a little silly to go all that distance and drive all that way back with two trees lashed to the pickup truck when there is a perfectly reputable business selling them—likely at wholesale no less—on the ranch right next door?”

Callie had been afraid he would bring that up. Especially since she now knew that Hart and Nash were childhood friends. “Nash is not in the retail business,” Callie argued.

Her former mother-in-law shrugged. “He seemed like a reasonable guy. Why don’t you just ask him?”

“Or better yet, text him and see,” Maggie said, still keeping an eagle eye on the two preschoolers playing in the next room.

Noticing the two little boys were beginning to get a little too rowdy, Hart went on in to supervise directly. “You have his cell phone number, don’t you?” he said over his shoulder.

Callie nodded, as Hart settled onto the floor and began building a wooden block tower. Two-and-a-half-year-old Brian and three-year-old Henry immediately joined in.

“He gave it to me when we were setting up the Thanksgiving dinner,” Callie admitted.

“Then...?” Maggie persisted.

Everyone stared at her, wondering why she was so reluctant to make the holiday decorating as easy as she possibly could.

Because, Callie thought, I don’t want to end up kissing him again.

But knowing there was little chance of that, with the group of four adult chaperones at her side, she shrugged off her lingering desire and went to get her cell phone.

All eyes were upon her as she texted Nash. I need two trees. One for the house and one for the bunkhouse retreat. Can I buy them from you?

She hit Send.

Thirty seconds later, her phone chimed. No problem, Nash texted back. What size?

Twelve foot for the bunkhouse, and six foot for the ranch house, Callie typed in return.

Again, the reply coming in was nearly instantaneous. I’ll get them to you this morning, Nash wrote, with the symbol for a wink. Last night was great, by the way. Especially before you kicked me out.

Reading it, Callie had to stifle a laugh but could do nothing to contain the telltale heat climbing to her cheeks.

“What?” Maggie asked, drawing nearer.

Callie shook her head and slid her phone into her pocket. “He was talking about the dinner, how much everyone enjoyed it,” she fibbed. “That’s all.”

Maggie lifted a speculative brow.

But before anyone had another chance to say anything, a ruckus broke out in the adjacent family room. “My daddy!” Henry shouted.

“No,” Brian disagreed, climbing onto Hart’s lap and wrapping his arms around Hart’s neck. “He’s mine!”

Henry attempted to push his cousin aside. “No,” Henry shouted back emotionally. “He is your uncle Hart. He’s my daddy!”

Hart wrapped both boys in his arms. “Hey now,” he soothed, holding them both close—to no avail. “I’m here for both of you...”

Brian let out another outraged howl, and Henry followed suit. Her heart breaking, Callie rushed to the rescue.

But Brian did not want to go with her. Or his grandparents. Or his aunt Maggie. So Callie did the only thing she could do, the thing she always did, and she went to get Brian’s picture of Seth.

* * *

NASH COULD HEAR the ruckus inside, the moment he pulled up to the Heart of Texas ranch house in his pickup truck.

Inside, Nash found, it was little better. Callie was in tears. So were both preschoolers. Hart and Maggie were doing their best to separate—and soothe—the two quarreling little boys, but emotions were at an all-time high. Only Callie’s in-laws were calm.

“This is exactly why you’ve got to think about remarrying,” Doris was telling Callie.

Rock agreed. “We loved our son dearly, honey, and we will always miss him, but we know, like it or not, that life goes on. It has for us. And it must for you and our grandson, too.”

Callie shook her head, understanding—if not agreeing. She wiped the moisture from her face and, picture in hand, went to her son. She hunkered down beside him. “Brian, honey, we have to talk.”

The tyke turned to Callie with a heartfelt glare. “No, Mommy,” he said. “No talk. No picture!” He pushed the framed photo in her hand away.

Deciding to do what he could to break the tension, Nash stepped forward and interjected brightly. “Who wants to see how many Christmas trees I have in the back of my pickup truck?” He squinted at the two boys. “I’ll bet you anything you can’t count them.”

Henry straightened. “I can, too!” he said with importance.

Brian scrambled off Hart’s lap and headed for Nash, doing his best to push his cousin out of the way in the process. “I want to see!” Brian declared.

“Well, okay then.” Nash put out a hand to each child. “Let’s go see. You think you fellas are old enough to see into the bed of my pickup truck, if I lift you up?”

“Yes,” Henry and Brian shouted in unison.

Out the door they went. When they reached the tailgate, Nash bent down to take a boy in each arm and lifted them high. Their quarrel forgotten, they leaned over to look into the bed of his truck, where four unwrapped, fresh-cut pines, of varying sizes, lay.

“Wow,” the cousins said in unison.

Nash let them study the trees. “Think we should get them out, to see just how tall they are?”

The boys nodded.

Nash handed off Brian to Callie, and Henry to Hart. “Okay then,” he said with comically exaggerated importance. “Everyone stand back...”

The next few minutes were spent admiring the trees from all angles and selecting which one would go into the bunkhouse retreat and which would go to the ranch house.

By the time they secured each in the stands Callie had already purchased, the boys were filled with wonder.

“You’re a lifesaver,” Callie said, as she walked him back to his truck, while the others all returned to the ranch house.

Nash tipped his head at her. “Happy to be of service,” he drawled.

Callie’s eyes drifted to his mouth. Flushing, she sucked in a breath and returned her gaze to his. “What do I owe you for the trees?”

That was easy. “Dinner—tonight.”

Her slender shoulders stiffened. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

He studied the mutinous expression on her pretty face. “Why not?” he prodded, enjoying the display of temper.

Aqua-blue eyes narrowed. “Because.”

He stepped close enough to inhale the flowery scent of her hair and skin. “We might end up kissing again?”

Scoffing, Callie folded her arms in front of her, tightening the cashmere fabric of her sweater over the rounded softness of her breasts. “That’s not going to happen.”

He moved even closer. “Mmm-hmm,” he said huskily. It took everything he had not to touch her again. Haul her into his arms. And...

“And what if I promise not to kiss you again?” he asked. “At least tonight?”

A pulse throbbed in her throat. “Meaning?”

“I only like to think about things like that short term.”

“Well, I don’t like to think about them at all!”

He’d been able to tell that it had been a while. A long while. “So noted,” he said dryly. Besides it wasn’t a vow which would necessarily be hard to keep if she continued to have as many chaperones as she had inside her home at that moment.

“Seems like your son could use the distraction,” he persuaded.

He had her there...and she knew it.

Callie blew out a gusty sigh. “Fine,” she conceded. “But don’t expect anything other than leftovers.”

Leftovers sounded a heck of a lot better than she knew.

“What time?” he asked, before she could change her mind.

Another breath, so deep it lifted—then lowered—the soft swell of her breasts.

Not that he was noticing, he told himself firmly.

She bit her lip, as she considered. “Seven-thirty?”

Nash shrugged. “Sounds good to me.”

And then, before he was tempted to forgo all reason and kiss her again, he turned and walked away.

Chapter Four

Nash was surprised to see only Callie’s SUV parked in front of her ranch house when he arrived Friday evening. And even more surprised to see the way she was outfitted when she opened the door to him.

“Ah,” he couldn’t resist teasing, “you dressed up just for me.”

Callie flushed. Clearly she had meant her attire to send a message that this evening meant nothing to her. And he had to admit, on that score, she had done a fine job.

She was definitely dressed to un-impress—in old jeans and a loose-fitting blue chambray shirt, washed so many times it was soft and thin as silk, socks and moccasins, all her makeup scrubbed off.

Looking around the foyer, he realized that everyone else appeared to be gone. She had massive to-do lists spread out on the coffee table, as well as photos of her late husband and wedding pictures prominently displayed on the mantel.

Which was even more amusing, Nash noted, since none of that had been there earlier in the day.

He shrugged out of his shearling jacket and hung it on the coatrack, then followed her into the kitchen. The scent of sage dressing, turkey and cranberries wafted through the air.

“Brian asleep?”

Callie nodded, clearly disappointed about that, too. “I had hoped he would be up, but he is so overtired, it’s probably for the best.”

“And your in-laws?”

Another tight officious smile. “They’re off to spend the weekend at the holiday craft show in San Antonio.” She gestured for him to have a seat at a table set for two.

She went to the oven and pulled out casserole dishes. Turkey smothered in gravy. Potatoes and stuffing. Some sort of vegetable medley that hadn’t been on the table the evening before. Warm cranberry and apple compote. A loaf of what appeared to be homemade bread. And butter.

When she had everything at the table, she sat down, too. “Rock and Doris have a wholesale Texana souvenir business. Basically they sell or make anything and everything that has to do with the history and culture of Texas. They trade with businesses all over the state, so even though they are based in my hometown, they are on the road a lot.”

Nash heaped food on his plate, then dug in. “I gather they supported your decision to start your own business and move away from Laramie?”

“They did.”

Her food was every bit as good the second time around. “Are your parents as understanding?”

“No,” Callie admitted. “They wanted me to stay closer to home. But I still see them a fair amount, since they’re both doctors, and attend a lot of medical education seminars in San Antonio.”

“How do they feel about the prospect of you getting married again?”

She kept her eyes on his a disconcertingly long time, then lifted her chin. “We haven’t really talked about it.”

“And yet your in-laws want you to take another leap of faith, as soon as possible it would seem.”

“What can I say?” Her silver Christmas star earrings jangled as she tilted her head slightly to one side. “They’re hopelessly romantic. My late husband was the same.”

“And you...?”

“Used to be a romantic fool,” she said. The enticing curves of her breasts pressed against her blouse as she inhaled sharply. “No more.”

Wishing he could give in to his desire, haul her onto his lap and lock lips with her again, Nash recalled his promise not to kiss her again tonight. “So you’re not interested in getting married again?”

The mutinous light was back in her blue eyes. “Nope. Not at all. Been there, done that. See no reason to ever do it again. Or even, really, date.”

Message sent, Nash thought, but not necessarily received.

He grinned, the man in him rising to the womanly challenge in her. He leaned back in his chair, his shoulders flexing against the rungs. “You’re going to live your whole life without sex?”

“I didn’t say that, exactly.”

Now they were getting somewhere! “Then...?”

Her flush deepened, as if she knew how ludicrous she sounded. “Why are you asking me this?”

Lazily, he looked her up and down, amazed at how gorgeous she was, under any circumstances. Aware she was waiting for an answer, he said, “I’m curious.”

She studied him coolly in return. “Okay, if you must know,” she said, clearly not understanding why this was so, “I could see myself having an affair—at least in theory—if I could keep it strictly as a bed-buddy, casual-sex type of thing.”

This was news. “Bed-buddy,” he repeated in shock.

She leveled another long, droll look. “You know. Someone you have sex with when the mood strikes, but don’t have any kind of romantic attachment to.”

Her matter-of-fact assertion sounded even more ludicrous the second time around.

“Or you could ‘hire’ a companion,” he quipped. “Someone like...say, me...who would ‘work for food’ under those circumstances.”

She shook her head at the merriment twinkling in his eyes. Knowing even without him saying so that he was already half-serious. “You’re so funny.”

He chuckled. “So are you.”

Again it took everything he had to resist touching her.

They locked eyes, drawing out the sensually charged moment.

“You don’t believe I could have a casual affair, do you?” Callie challenged. He stood and carried his dishes to the sink. “Not for one second. No.”

She rose, too, her motions as graceful as they were deliberate. “Why not?”

He watched her slide the plates into the dishwasher, then ease the door back into place with more than necessary gusto. “Because you might say you’ve let go of your romantic ideals, but those to-do lists you had out for me to see, of everything you want to do to celebrate Christmas, say otherwise.”

Callie swung toward him, her body nudging his in the process. “Those lists have nothing to do with how I feel. And everything to do with how I want my son to feel.”

He studied the conflicted expression on her face. “I don’t understand.”

“The truth is...I haven’t felt like celebrating Christmas since my husband died. But,” she added the all important caveat, “I have a child who needs to experience all the wonder and hope and joy that the holiday can bring, so I go through the motions. For him.”

“You don’t think he knows that’s what you’re doing?”

Callie released an exasperated breath. “He’s two and a half.”

“So?”

Another silence fell, this one fraught with tension. “So...he can’t even figure out what a daddy is. Yet.” Nash lounged against the counter, legs crossed at the ankle, his hands braced on either side of him. “Except that he knows he wants one and doesn’t have one.”

Her jaw took on the determined tilt he was beginning to know so well. “Brian will get over it.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“He is going to have to,” Callie insisted, looking Nash right in the eye, “because I am not going to marry again without love. And I’m not going to marry for purely romantic reasons, either.”

* * *

HER WORDS WERE TRUE. Nevertheless, Callie still wished with all her heart that she hadn’t said them. Hadn’t revealed nearly so much about herself to the man standing opposite her.

Nash looked shocked. “So you won’t marry again, period.”

His low, masculine voice sent a thrill through her. “Nope.” Determined to keep him at arm’s length, she continued, “Once you’ve had the best, anything that follows is bound to be second-rate, and who wants that, right?”

His chuckle was warm and seductive. Gazing down at her, as if she had just given him the opening he needed, he turned to face her, trapping her between the counter and his big hard body. “Not even for companionship and sex?” he taunted softly.

Pretending she couldn’t feel the sizzle of awareness sifting between them, she backed up as much as she could, which turned out to be about half an inch. “Why do you keep bringing the subject back around to sex?”

He remained close. Still not touching her, he shrugged. “Not sure.” His gaze traced the shape of her lips before returning evocatively to her eyes. “Just seems to be on my mind whenever I’m around you.”

Hers, too. She flattened her hand across his chest. “Well, stop thinking about it.” Her attempt to shove him aside failed.

He remained as unmovable as a two-ton boulder. Dipping his head, he kissed the back of her forearm. “Easier said than done.”

Her entire body leaped into flame. And he hadn’t so much as actually touched her yet. She lifted her hand away from the hard musculature of his broad chest and the slow, steady beat of his heart. “Listen to me, Nash Echols, I am not the woman for you.”

He flashed another thoughtful half smile, then lowered his head and slanted it across hers. “Actually, Callie,” he said, pausing to deliver a gentle, persuasive kiss, “you might be just what I need.” Hands still braced on the counter on either side of her, he kissed her again, even more provocatively this time. “And I might be just what you need,” Nash persisted, trailing kisses over the nape of her neck, across her collarbone. “Since you’re in the market for sex-with-no-strings-attached...”

Callie’s eyes shuttered closed, but she forced them open. Forced herself to look him in the eye. “I never actually said that.” Although she had been thinking it, at least whenever he was around.

His chuckle remained confident. “Speaking hypothetically is one step away from actually doing something. You know that.”

Fine. So maybe the idea of going without making love again—ever—was not only depressing, it was a tad unrealistic, too, given the signals her body had been transmitting the past few days.

But not about to give him the satisfaction of being right, she squared her shoulders. “I didn’t say I wanted the sex to be with you.”

He looked down at her old, loose chambray shirt—seeming to visually strip her naked, to see what was beneath. “Not verbally. Physically,” he looked again, as if he could tell her nipples had peaked, “you seem to be hinting at just that.”

She moaned as his hands slid under her blouse, moved upward to cup her breasts. “I knew you were trouble the first day we met.”

He bent to kiss her again. Slowly, tantalizingly. “But it’s the kind of trouble you want to be in. Would be in, if you weren’t so set on living the life of a nun.”

One button was undone, then the next, and the next. “And it’s a damn shame to see you so alone.”

She willed herself to move, but found her legs would not cooperate. Nor would her knees. She swayed back against the counter, holding on to the edge on either side of her. “Why?”

The side of his hand moved across her collarbone, lower still, to the valley between her slowly rising and falling breasts. “Because you’re young and vital and beautiful.” His fingers grazed across her skin. “And, judging from your display of temper the other day, have way too much passion locked away inside.”

Passion that welled up, unchecked, whenever she saw him. Passion that—like now—made her helpless to fight the desire roiling inside her. She moved her hands up to his shoulders, intending to push him away and failing. “You don’t know anything about me,” she whispered, looking deep into his dark silver eyes. “Not really.”

He reached around behind her, unfastening her bra, caressing and claiming her beneath the sheer lace cloth. “I know,” he rasped, “that widow or not, you miss being kissed. Touched. Loved.”

“I do. Not—” Her words were smothered by the feel of his lips on hers.

She meant to resist him, she really did, but the heat and pressure of his mouth sent a thrill spiraling through her. For too long she’d been treated with kid gloves by everyone around her. For too long, she’d felt only half alive. Yet now, with his hands on her skin, his mouth on hers, that was no longer true. She was more alive than she had been in her entire life.

“See?” he whispered, stepping back. “That wasn’t so bad, now was it?”

She exhaled slowly, wishing there were some way to discretely refasten her bra. As embarrassment and anger surged within her, she scowled at him and turned away. “I should have known you wouldn’t be a gentleman for long.”

He stepped behind her, fastened her up again. Then, coming around to face her, reached for the buttons on her blouse, declaring proudly, “I thought my kiss was very...gentlemanly.”

She shoved his hand away and put her shirt together herself. “Erotic, yes.” She looked down to make sure the buttons were in the right holes.

He chuckled. “I can go with that.”

Finally, Callie was dressed again, but her breasts were still tingling. Lower still, a wildfire of need raged.

She drew a deep, bolstering breath, determined to put him in his place. “But let’s be clear here. A gentleman wouldn’t have kissed me at all. Especially after promising me that he wouldn’t!”

Mischief danced in Nash’s eyes. “You’re right. It is all a little too soon. This being our third date, after all.”

“Third!” Callie sputtered. Now she knew why she had never dated a bad boy before. They were definitely too much trouble.

“The first was the night you brought me dinner. The second, Thanksgiving.”

“There were twenty-six people here, if you count my in-laws!”

“I admit it was kind of a group thing. Till after...” He waggled his brows suggestively. “Then, it was just you and me. And then of course, there’s tonight. I really enjoyed tonight.”

The hell of it was, so had she. From the moment he had stepped through her front door, she had felt incredibly excited and alive. But that was neither here nor there. “You may annoy the heck out of me.”

He grinned.

“But this isn’t seventh grade.”

“You’re right.” He rubbed the flat of his hand beneath the underside of his smoothly shaven jaw. “I never went to second base in seventh grade...and I suspect you didn’t, either.”

Ignoring that last comment, she plunged ahead. “Furthermore, I don’t get involved with sexy upstarts. Never have. Never will.”

His expression sobered, all but his eyes, which were still gleaming merrily. “Good to know.”

Feeling like a schoolmarm in front of an unruly class, Callie lifted a lecturing hand. “From this point forward, there is not going to be anything going on between us—except cooperation of a business nature.”

Nash went back to the table to claim the serving dishes. “Speaking of which...did Frank and Fiona Sanders tell you that they have invited me and my crew to join the Old-Fashioned Christmas Celebration at Sanders Mountain on December twenty-first?”

* * *

CALLIE STARED AT him in shock. “The Sanders did what?”

“Asked me to participate. They said you are organizing it.”

Telling herself she had not just stumbled into a lion’s den of temptation, Callie kept her eyes locked with his. “Although I no longer work full-time at the Double Knot, I still advise them part-time and help out with all the marketing.”

“Is this an annual event?” he asked.

Glad to be moving back to a conversation that was strictly business, she got the last of the serving dishes and slid them into the dishwasher. “It’s the first, although we’re expecting it to become a beloved yearly tradition.”

Nash stepped back, giving her room to work. “How did it come about?”

Callie added soap to the dishwasher and turned it on. “They don’t book a lot of outdoor weddings for Nature’s Cathedral in December and January—the weather is too cold for most. So I suggested that Frank and Fiona use the lag time to put on an old-fashioned Christmas Celebration for their clients, suppliers and referral partners and their families, both as a way of saying thank you and to drum up future business.”

She switched off the light and he followed her into the hall. “For you, as well?”

Callie nodded. “We could do the same for your Christmas tree business.”

“As well as the xeriscape plants and trees I am hoping to sell to local garden centers.”

She paused next to the coatrack in the foyer. “In the meantime, you could do what I am going to do, and raffle off free trees and/or evergreen wreaths to whatever number of lucky guests you decide upon.”

“How many people are you hoping to host?”

“Five hundred or so. Although invitations are going out for close to one thousand guests.”

He smiled. “Impressive.”

She reached for his hat and coat, and handed them to him. “We’re setting up the party barn at the Double Knot as a Santa’s Village. Hart is going to play Santa. We’ll also have photographers, train rides up the mountain and a choir and a brass quintet at Nature’s Cathedral to get people in the holiday mood.”

“Sounds great.”

She arched a brow. “So you’re in?”

“Absolutely.”

“It means you’ll have to help the day of the event, as well as the week or so leading up to it,” she warned. “Sure you’re up to that?”

“No problem. As soon as I fill the orders for the Christmas trees I already have, my schedule will free up considerably.”

They looked at each other.

Callie knew if he stayed they would only end up kissing again. She made a show of stifling a yawn.

He grinned, as if knowing however tired she might be, sleep was going to be a long time coming. Especially if she started thinking about the way he had kissed her, and touched her, again...

Which, she told herself firmly, she would not.

His grin widened all the more. “I can take a hint.” He shrugged on his coat and ambled toward the front door. “If you need anything before Monday...” he said over his shoulder.

“I’m good, but thanks.” She reached for the knob and opened the door for him.

“Seriously.” He paused, looking down at her, tenderness pushing aside the mischief in his eyes. “I’m here for you.”

Callie nodded, a lump in her throat. It had been a long time since she had been looked after by any man.

He settled his Stetson square on his head. “This is where you tell me you’re here for me, too.”

She continued looking at him, poker-faced.

He winked. “Us being neighbors and all...”

He really knew how to put a gal on the spot. Lucky for him, she’d been brought up to be a Texas lady. “I’m here for you—as a neighbor—too,” she said finally.

He looked like he’d won the lottery. “Just what I wanted to hear.”

To her surprise, she felt like she had won it, too.

“In the meantime,” he went on, stepping over the threshold, “it’s supposed to rain tomorrow. So we probably won’t be working.”

Callie lounged in the doorway, arms crossed, aware he had planned for weather delays.

“So if you and Brian are up for it,” Nash continued genially, “I was going to see—”

Callie held up a hand, cutting him off. “Actually, we already have a get-together planned for tomorrow. But maybe some other time?” For a moment, Nash looked like he wanted to say something else. Then he stopped himself, nodded. “Some other time, then,” he said.

And, looking more cheerful than ever, left.

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