A Cadence Creek Christmas. Donna Alward
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she didn’t want to forget. Instead of typing the word “cedar,” however, she felt a sharp pain in her shoulder as she bounced off something very big and hard.
“Hey,” she growled. “Watch where you’re going!”
She looked up to find Rhys Bullock staring down at her, a scowl marking his angular face.
“Oh, it’s you,” she said, letting out a puff of annoyance.
He knelt down and retrieved her phone, stood up and handed it over. “Hope it didn’t break,” he said. His tone suggested that he wasn’t quite sincere in that sentiment.
“The rubber cover is supposed to protect it. It’ll be fine.”
“Maybe next time you should watch where you’re going. Stop and sit down before you start typing.”
“It’s too damn cold to stop,” she grumbled.
He laughed then, the expulsion of breath forming a white cloud around his head. “Not used to an arctic front? This isn’t cold. Wait until it’s minus forty.”
“Not a chance.”
“That’s right. You’re only here for the wedding.”
“If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get out of the cold before my fingertips fall off.” She tried to ignore how his face changed when he laughed, softening the severe lines. A smattering of tiny marks added character to his tanned skin. If she had to come up with one word to describe Rhys, it would be weathered. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.
He took a step closer and to her surprise reached into her pocket and took out her gloves. Then he took the phone from her hands, dropped it in the pocket and handed over the gloves. “This will help.”
She raised an eyebrow. “That was presumptuous of you.”
He shrugged. “Ms. Shepard, I’m pretty much used to keeping things simple and doing what has to be done. If your fingers are cold, put on your gloves.”
She shoved her fingers into the fuzzy warmth, her temper simmering. He spoke to her as if she were a child!
“Now,” he said calmly, “where are you headed? It’s dark. I’ll walk you.”
Her temper disintegrated under the weight of her disbelief. She laughed. “Are you serious? This is Cadence Creek. I think I’ll be safe walking two blocks to my accommodations.” Good Lord. She lived in one of the largest cities in Canada. She knew how to look out for herself!
“Maybe I just want to make sure you don’t start texting and walk out into traffic,” he suggested. “You must be going to Jim’s then.” He named the bed and breakfast owner.
“That’s right.”
He turned around so they were facing the same direction. “Let’s go,” he suggested.
She fell into step because she didn’t know what else to do. He seemed rather determined and it would take all of five minutes to walk to the rambling house that provided the town’s only accommodation. To her mind the dive motel out on the highway didn’t count. She watched as he tipped his hat to an older lady coming out of the drugstore and then gave a nod to a few men standing on the steps of the hardware. He might be gruff and bossy and not all that pretty to look at, but she had to give Rhys one thing—his manners were impeccable.
The light dusting of snow earlier covered the sidewalk and even grouchy Taylor had to admit that it was pretty, especially in the dark with the town’s Christmas lights casting colored shadows on its surface. Each old-fashioned lamppost held a pine wreath with a red bow. Storefronts were decorated with garland on their railings and twinkle lights. Christmas trees peeked through front windows and jolly Santas and snowmen grinned from front yards.
Cadence Creek at the holidays was like one of those Christmas card towns that Taylor hadn’t believed truly existed. Being here wasn’t really so bad. Even if it was a little...boring.
They stopped at a crosswalk. And as they did her stomach gave out a long, loud rumble.
Rhys put his hand at her elbow and they stepped off the curb. But instead of going right on the other side, he guided her to the left.
“Um, the B&B is that way,” she said, turning her head and pointing in the opposite direction.
“When did you eat last?” he asked.
She fought the urge to sigh. “None of your business.”
Undeterred, he kept walking and kept the pressure at her elbow. “Jim and Kathleen don’t provide dinner. You need something to eat.”
She stopped dead in her tracks. Rhys carried on for a few steps until he realized she wasn’t with him then he stopped and turned around. “What?”
“How old am I?”
His brows wrinkled, forming a crease above his nose. “How could I possibly know that?”
“Do I look like an adult to you?”
Something flared in his eyes as his gaze slid from her face down to her boots and back up again. “Yes’m.”
She swallowed. “You can’t herd me like you herd your cattle, Mr. Bullock.”
“I don’t herd cattle,” he responded.
“You don’t?”
“No ma’am. I work with the horses. Especially the skittish ones.”
“Well, then,” she floundered and then recovered, ignoring that a snowflake had just fallen and landed on the tip of her nose. “I’m not one of your horses. You can’t make me eat just because you say so.”
He shrugged. “Can’t make the horses do that, either. Trick is to make them want to do what I want.” He gave her a level stare. “I’m pretty good at that.”
“Your ego isn’t suffering, I see.”
His lips twitched. “No, ma’am. Everyone has a skill. Smart man knows what his is, that’s all.”
God, she didn’t want to be amused. He was a bullheaded, overbearing macho cowboy type who probably called women “little lady” and thought he was all that. But she was amused and to be honest she’d enjoyed sparring with him just a little bit. At least he wasn’t a pampered brat like most people she met.
She let out the tension in her shoulders. “Where are you taking me, then?” She’d seriously considered ordering a pizza and having it delivered to the B&B. It wasn’t like there was a plethora of dining choices in Cadence Creek.
“Just to the Wagon Wheel. Best food in town.”
“I’ve been. I had lunch there yesterday.” And breakfast in the dining room of the bed and breakfast and then dinner was a fast-food burger grabbed on the way back from the stationery supply store in Edmonton.
The lunch had definitely been the best meal—homemade chicken soup, thick with big chunks of chicken, vegetables and the temptation of a warm roll which she’d left behind, not wanting the extra carbs.
Her stomach growled again, probably from the mere thought of the food at the diner.
“Fine. I’ll go get some takeout. Will that make you happy?”
He shrugged. “It’s not about me. But now that you mention it, I think tonight is pot roast. I could do with some of that myself.” He turned and started walking away.
Reluctantly she followed a step behind him. At least he didn’t have that darned proprietary hand under her elbow anymore. Half a block away she could smell the food. The aroma of the standard fare—fries and the like—hit first, but then the undertones touched her nostrils: beef, bread and baking.
Her mouth watered as she reminded herself that she had a bridesmaid’s dress to fit into as well. Pot roast would be good. But she would