A Texas Cowboy's Christmas. Cathy Gillen Thacker
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“Avoiding me?” a husky voice taunted.
Molly thought work had wrapped up for the day. Which was, as it turned out, the only reason she was at the Circle H ranch house this late.
Turning in the direction of the familiar baritone, Molly took in the sight of the indomitable cowboy. Clad in a knit thermal tee, plaid flannel shirt and jeans, a tool belt circling his waist, Chance Lockhart strode toward her purposefully.
Working to still her racing heart, Molly held her clipboard and pen close to her chest. She lifted her chin. “Why would you think that?”
Chance stopped just short of her and gave her a slow, thorough once-over. “We’ve both had crews working here ten days straight, and you and I haven’t run into each other once.”
Thank God.
Aware the last thing she wanted was to give Chance another opportunity to tell her what he thought of her plan to improve her and her son’s lives, Molly shrugged. “I guess we have different schedules.”
His, she had deduced, kept him at his ranch, taking care of his bucking bulls early mornings and evenings. Hence, it was usually safe to arrive at the remodeling site during those hours.
Except today, he’d varied his routine. Why? To try to catch her in person, rather than communicate through endless emails and texts?
What she knew for certain was that it would be dark in another fifteen minutes, and all she had for light was a 220-volt camping lantern.
As seemingly unaffected by their quiet, intimate surroundings as the cell phone that kept going off with a sound that usually signaled an incoming text message—checked, then unanswered—in the holster at his waist, he glanced around. “What do you think thus far?”
That even with rumpled hair and a couple of days’ growth of beard on your face, you are without a doubt the sexiest man I’ve ever seen. Which was too bad. Molly sighed inwardly, since Chance wasn’t at all her type. But if he were...she could definitely lose herself in those gorgeous hazel eyes, big hunky body and wickedly sensual lips. Luckily he didn’t know that.
With effort, she switched on her camping lantern, set it on the floor and got out her tape measure. She measured the front windows and door for window treatments and wreaths. The fireplace and staircase for garlands. Jotting down the numbers in her leather notebook, she said, “I think our combined crews have made amazing progress.”
Under Chance’s direction, new rooms had been framed out and a first-floor powder room for guests added last minute. Plumbing and electrical wiring had been installed, new drywall put up and taped, crown molding and trim work done.
Chance moved to the fireplace. He ran his big, calloused hand along the new wooden mantel. It was cut out of the same rustic oak as the support beams overhead. “The floors will be repaired where needed and sanded tomorrow.”
Which took them all the way up to Thanksgiving, she knew. The one day every one of them would have a break from the demanding schedule.
“You got the tile for the kitchen and the bathrooms, and the paint colors picked out?”
Trying not to think what he would be doing for the holidays, Molly replied, “Still waiting on final approval from your mom. She wants to see samples in the light here before she decides. But we’ve narrowed it down to a couple of shades for each space.”
Chance ambled over and switched on several of the portable construction lamps. “The new appliances and light fixtures?”
Instantly the downstairs became much brighter. “On order.”
He walked around, inspecting some of the work that had been done. Finding a tiny flaw, he stuck a piece of blue painter’s tape on it. “Kitchen and bath cabinets and countertops?”
“Will all be delivered in time to meet our schedule.”
He nodded, as aware as she that one major glitch could throw everything off. Fortunately, thus far anyway, luck had been completely on their side.
He came toward her.
Her heartbeat picked up for no reason she could figure. Molly cleared her throat. “Speaking of the holiday... I wanted to talk to you about Thanksgiving.” She moved around restlessly. “I’ve given my crew the day off.”
Joining her at the hearth, Chance took a foil-wrapped candy from his shirt pocket. “Same here.”
There was no way, she thought, he could know that was her very favorite. Trying not to salivate over the treat, Molly continued, “But they’ve all agreed to work on Friday.”
He nodded, ripping open one end. Immediately the smell of dark chocolate and peppermint filled the small space between them.
“Mine, too.”
Chance’s cell phone buzzed again, this time with the ringtone “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus.”
Telling herself that particular choice in no way involved her, either, Molly watched as, once again, he checked the screen and ignored it.
He held out the partially unwrapped confection. “Want one?” he asked.
Now she knew he was flirting.
“I’ve got another...” he teased.
Hell, yes, she wanted some of his dark chocolate peppermint. But if she started taking candy from him on a whim, who knew what might be next?
She returned his assessing look and said as innocently as possible, “Thanks, but no.”
His eyes gleamed.
“I don’t really like those.”
His sexy grin widened all the more.
Then his phone buzzed yet again. With the maddeningly suggestive holiday song...
Thinking maybe he really should answer that, and would if she weren’t standing right there, Molly picked up her lantern before she ended up doing something really stupid—like kissing the smug look off his face—and headed for the staircase.
Able to feel the heat of his masculine gaze drifting over her, she tossed the words over her shoulder. “I’ve got to measure the upstairs windows before I go.”
“Want help?”
“No!”
He chuckled, as she had known he would.
Molly fought back a flush. This was exactly why she had been avoiding him. Luckily she had work to keep her busy. Chance might even be gone before she left.
She had just finished measuring the first window when she heard a door open, then close. Lucille Lockhart’s lyrical voice echoed through the first floor. “Chance? Why aren’t you picking up? I just got another call from Babs Holcombe. She said she’s been trying to reach you for days!”
Who the heck is Babs? Not that she should be listening...
“Been a little busy, Mom,” Chance growled.
Lucille’s high heels tapped across the wood floors. “You owe her the courtesy of a return call. Or at the very least an email!”
“After the way things ended with Delia?” Chance scoffed.
Delia? Molly perked up, edging a little closer despite herself.
“I admit that wasn’t one of their finer moments,” Lucille conceded reluctantly, “but they’ve both done a lot to support the Lockhart Foundation in the three years since.”
“Okay,” Chance countered gruffly.
“Okay you’ll call her,” Lucille pressed, sounding beside herself with irritation, “or okay you won’t?”