Lone Star Christmas. Cathy Gillen Thacker
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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,