Lone Star Christmas. Cathy Gillen Thacker
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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