Christmas at The Corral (Holidays at The Corral) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Praise for Debra St. John’s Corral Series

  Christmas at The Corral

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Epilogue

  Other Books You Might Enjoy

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  “I’ve never done this before.”

  Maggie glanced over. “Driven a pickup?” He looked right at home behind the wheel, down to the straw cowboy hat perched on his head. “Don’t all Texas boys have to as a rite of passage or something?”

  “Not the truck. I’ve never cut down a Christmas tree.” He shifted his gaze from the road and shot her a wicked smile. “And there are definitely lots of things boys in Texas need to do in their pickups as a rite of passage. Wanna try one or two?”

  Once again her long-dormant libido made its presence known as she imagined the one or two things he had in mind. She tingled in places that hadn’t tingled in forever. The tempting offer was nearly enough to distract her from his Christmas tree comment, but not quite.

  “How is that possible?”

  “Well, I could pull over. You’d slide along the bench closer to me, and—”

  “Not that.” Ay yi yi. He was killing her. Her face, along with the rest of her body, went up in flames.

  He chuckled, low and sexy. Knowing.

  “The Christmas tree thing.”

  He shrugged. “We always had an artificial tree while I was growing up. In fact, my parents still have the same one. The thing must be thirty-some years old.”

  “What kind of tree do you have in—where do you live?”

  “Dallas, and I don’t have any kind of tree.”

  “Why not, Mr. Scrooge?”

  “Ha. Ha. I’m never home, and it’s just me there anyway. Why bother?”

  “Because it’s Christmas.”

  Praise for Debra St. John’s Corral Series

  “Original turns of phrase make [THIS FEELS LIKE HOME] a delightful read. A great concept—a bull rider pared with a safety-conscious woman—who could ask for more built in conflict? I also enjoyed the authentic look at rodeos!”

  ~Ashantay Peters, author of “Dickens of a Death”

  ~*~

  “The story and characters tugged at my heart while reading. I enjoyed [THIS CAN’T BE LOVE] very much…If you like a contemporary, passionate and emotional read, then laugh and cry along with this one. An author who can make the reader feel so many things is one that has staying power in the writing world.”

  ~Long and Short Reviews(5 Books)

  ~*~

  “Ms. Debra St. John has created a magnificent storyline in [THIS TIME FOR ALWAYS], her first published work…Her couple faced so many devastating situations that it was impossible to not get sincerely involved in their ups and downs…The sensual scenes were beautifully written…I highly recommend this book to anyone who enjoys an expressive romance with a happily ever after.”

  ~The Romance Studio (5 Hearts)

  Christmas

  at The Corral

  by

  Debra St. John

  Holidays at The Corral Series

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Christmas at The Corral

  COPYRIGHT © 2015 by Deborah Rittle

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Diana Carlile

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Champagne Rose Edition, 2015

  Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-0195-2

  Holidays at The Corral Series

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  To John:

  I’ll always cherish the memories we made

  at the real “Corral.”

  Chapter One

  “What do you mean you’re stuck in Colorado and can’t get home?”

  Van Rawlings glanced over at the woman sitting a few stools down at the bar. Her open-mouthed expression of dismay might have been comical if it weren’t paired with the desperate tone of her voice, which carried even over the energetic beat of Luke Bryan’s “Run, Run Rudolph” currently blasting through the room’s speakers.

  Although it had been the content, not the tenor, of the sentence she’d spoken into the phone tucked against her ear that had caught his attention. He also happened to know someone stuck in Colorado unable to get home. No way could it be a coincidence. Not in a town this size.

  Who was this woman?

  She tucked a strand of long, honey-blonde hair behind her ear. “How could you do this to me?” She paused to listen. Made a face. “Easy for you to say. You’re frolicking in Colorado with your wife. What am I supposed to do now? It won’t be the same without you, Zach.”

  Van frowned as he took a sip of beer. Yep. She was talking to his brother. Cheating husbands and wives weren’t anything new to him, but somehow he never imagined Zach falling prey. Was his “perfect” marriage already crumbling into the dust of impending divorce? Goes to show, even the good guys had trouble keeping those wedding vows.

  “Fine. I’ll talk to you when you get home.” Another pause. A sigh. “No, I’m sorry. I know you didn’t do this on purpose. Besides, there’s always next year. And you owe me one. Huge.” She laughed. “Me too, but don’t let Jessica hear you say that.”

  She placed the phone on the bar. “Better make my refill a double, Nick.”

  The bartender nodded. He returned shortly to place two stemmed glasses in front of her. He winked. “Double chardonnay, per your request.”

  The woman laughed. Not the forced sound of polite acknowledgement, but one of genuine amusement.

  Van took another swallow of beer. Should he say something? Confront her? What would he open with… “So, are you fooling around with my brother behind his wife’s back?”

  Nope. Best to stay out of it. Really, it wasn’t any of his business. Not yet. If it came down to it, he’d offer Zach a family discount.

  The woman sighed and tapped long, red fingernails on the bar. Since she seemed wrapped up in her own thoughts, he studied her without fear of getting caught. A black sweater hugged her curves. Skinny jeans encased the long legs propped on the rung of the stool. Tall boots molded shapely calves. Definitely attractive.

  Still. Even though his life was filled with people who didn’t give a damn about upholding the sanctity of marriage, he honestly had a hard time believing Zach would cheat on Jessica, no matter how attractive the other woman. Seeing Zach and Jessica together almost made Van rethink his view on the institution of marriage. Almost.

  Why would anyone bother getting married when there was a one in two chance it wouldn’t work? Then again, if marriage became obsolete, he’d need to find himself another career. Or at least another branch.

  Van chugged the rest of his beer. On a professi
onal level, he didn’t have a problem waiting to see how this thing played out. However, on a personal level, he should figure out what was going on with his big brother. Even if Zach had ditched him.

  He leaned across the empty stool between him and the alleged adulteress. “Excuse me, ma’am.”

  The woman turned. Brown eyes appraised him.

  Interesting. He would have guessed blue or green.

  He cleared his throat. “I couldn’t help but overhear, and I was wondering—”

  The hazelnut-colored eyes narrowed. She sighed. “Thanks, but I already bought my own drink.” She held up the wineglass.

  “What?”

  A second sigh ruffled the long bangs curving to brush her right cheek. “I’m not having the best night here, so don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m not interested.”

  Great. Zach’s mistress thought he was hitting on her.

  Although…His gaze slid over her again. The long hair, curling slightly at the ends and touching the middle of her back made him want to tangle his fingers in the strands to tip her head back so he could raise her lips for a kiss. Or span her slender waist with his palms, aligning their bodies so her curves fit against him. Definitely his type.

  He groaned. Yeah. ’Cause that’s just what this situation needed. Talk about a helluva love triangle. Jessica. Zach. Mystery woman. Him. Would that make it a love quadrilateral?

  He shook his head to clear the disturbing images. “No. What I meant was…never mind.” He signaled the bartender for another beer. Enough leading. Time to cut to the chase. “Man trouble?”

  She leveled a stare his way. How was it possible for such a warm color to appear so cool? “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

  “It might be.”

  Her glass landed on the bar with a thud. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Depends who the man is.”

  “Look. I don’t know who you are, or who you think I am, but I’m not in the mood tonight, so if you don’t mind…”

  He shrugged. Well, he’d tried. Zach could muddle through this one on his own.

  ****

  Maggie Pearson sighed. Finally. Message received.

  After finding out Zach wouldn’t be home in time for Christmas, the last thing she needed, or wanted, was a random stranger hitting on her.

  She snuck a glance. Slightly wavy but neatly trimmed hair. Not brown, but not blond either: that indescribable in-between shade. Wide shoulders filled out a light blue denim shirt worn untucked from faded jeans. Snakeskin cowboy boots peeked from the slightly frayed hems. She checked his profile again.

  Odd. He looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t put her finger on how she knew him. And what was with the third degree about her man troubles? Trying to figure out if she was available?

  Well, she wasn’t, thank you very much. Plus, he was right about the trouble. She had plenty without inviting more.

  She’d been counting on Zach. Her carefully laid plans were crumbling. Would everything fall apart without him? Of all times to go traipsing off to Vail with his wife.

  Maggie chided herself for the uncharitable thought as she stared at her reflection in the evergreen-bough-draped mirror behind the bar. Pathetic puppy dog eyes gazed back. She frowned at the image. No sense feeling sorry for herself. ’Twas the season of giving and sharing…not moping.

  Maggie centered both glasses of wine, one half-empty, in the exact center of the coasters. She inched the square pieces of cardboard into perpendicular alignment with the back lip of the bar.

  Did she wish Zach hadn’t flown off at this particular time? Yes.

  Was there anything she could do about it now? No.

  Would everything work out fine in the end? Of course.

  Time to stop sulking and move on to plan B? Definitely.

  First step, getting off the barstool.

  After she finished her drink…s.

  Before she could raise the glass to her lips, a hand, palm-up, appeared in front of her. She glanced toward it. Mr. Twenty-Questions smiled. Emerald eyes twinkled at her. A strange, fluttery sensation quivered in her stomach.

  “Would you care to dance?”

  Tenacious. She’d give him that.

  “I’m a bit rusty, but I’m sure I can manage a few turns around. There’s no better song for two-steppin’ than Kenny and Dolly’s ‘I’ll Be Home with Bells On.’” He inclined his head toward the parquet dance floor.

  She opened her mouth to refuse, but reconsidered. Why not? Maybe a dance with a handsome, albeit nosey, stranger was just what she needed to turn her night around. At the very least it would take her mind off of Zach’s absence and what to do about it at least for a little while. Plan B could wait for five minutes.

  “Sure.” She rose, tucked her phone in her back pocket, and placed her hand in his.

  He squeezed in a gentle, warm grip and led her out onto the floor. Spinning her to face him, he waited for an open spot in the sea of dancers, then guided her into the rhythmic steps of the classic couple’s dance. Despite the disclaimer, he led her smoothly through a series of turns.

  “I wouldn’t call that rusty,” she said when they were face to face again.

  He inclined his head in acknowledgment of the compliment. “I guess it’s like riding a bike.”

  “So I take it you don’t come here often?” She’d never seen him at The Corral before, but small talk was part of her repertoire.

  He lifted their joined arms, and, with a twist of his wrist, had them side-by-side, arms draped across each other’s shoulders. “I haven’t been here in ages.”

  “Do you live nearby?” Was it exertion from the activity or the proximity of a very masculine body making her voice breathless?

  Another turn and they were eye to chin. She raised hers to meet his gaze. The spin and the subtle, yet sexy scent of his aftershave made her dizzy. In a good way.

  “Not anymore, but I grew up here. What about you?”

  “I’ve lived here for a few years.”

  He coaxed her through a double spin, then bent her slightly back over his arm in perfect synchronization with the end of the song.

  Vivid green eyes asked unspoken questions as they studied her. Was it wrong to wish—hope?—he’d draw her closer and touch his lips to hers? Where was a well-placed sprig of mistletoe when a girl needed it? Only when another couple jostled them on their way off the floor did he break the intense stare and set her upright.

  “Thanks for the dance, ma’am.” His easy drawl became more pronounced with the formal words.

  Her heartbeat, already racing from the dance, skipped a beat, then fluttered faster. She took a deep breath. What was she doing? No time for a fickle heart. She had a crisis to resolve.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “I’m Van, by the way.” He placed a hand at her waist as they made their way back to the bar.

  “Maggie.”

  “So, Maggie, was I stepping on anyone else’s toes besides yours when I asked you to dance?”

  She laughed as she slid onto the stool to reclaim her spot. “You didn’t step on my toes. If that’s what you call rusty, I can’t imagine your definition of polished.”

  Van sat next to her. “What about those other toes?”

  “No other toes.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Are you sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure.” Why did he sound like he didn’t believe her?

  “Then what was that phone call about earlier?”

  She tensed. The euphoria and aura of contentment from their dance vanished quicker than fifty percent off Christmas items from the shelves on December 26. “You were eavesdropping?”

  “Not on purpose. I just happened to overhear. And from what I could tell, it sounds like you’re having an affair with my brother.”

  Chapter Two

  Maggie’s jaw unhinged and fell open. She snapped it shut. She had to have heard wrong. “What?”

  “Was that Zach Rawlings y
ou were talking to?”

  “Yes, but…”

  “You seemed pretty upset when he told you he wasn’t coming home.”

  She blinked. “Of course I was. He—”

  “He’s married, Maggie.”

  “I know that,” she said. What the hell was the matter with this guy? She stood, but even though he remained seated, it didn’t give her a height advantage over him. “First of all, you don’t know your brother very well if you think he’d have an affair. Never in a million years would Zach cheat on Jessica. He loves her.”

  A strange, almost thoughtfully surprised expression crossed Van’s face.

  “Second of all, how dare you accuse me of something like that? You don’t even know me.” She turned, took a step, then whirled back. “Not that it’s any of your business, but Zach was supposed to cook for the appreciation dinner here on Christmas Eve. Now he can’t, and I have to figure out how to feed three hundred people.” Why was she explaining herself to this jerk?

  She’d almost reached the stairs when a hand on her arm stopped her.

  “Maggie.”

  She shook it off.

  “Please.”

  She took a deep breath. Rehearsed a few choice “go to hell” phrases. Pivoted.

  “I’m sorry.” The sincere words gave her pause. The genuinely contrite look in his eyes further softened the edge of her anger. “I had no right to say those things to you. I jumped to the wrong conclusion with little evidence to support my case.”

  She folded her arms across her chest. “You sound like a lawyer.”

  He smiled. “Guilty as charged.” The smile faded. He took her hand. “But I know you’re not. I truly am sorry. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?”

  As much as she wanted to hold her ground and bask in righteous indignation, it slipped under the onslaught of his easy charm. “Can you cook as well as Zach?”

  Van grinned. “’Fraid not. But there has to be someone else in this town who can.”

  “Of course there is. The sous chefs here will take care of things. Zach is sending instructions.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “So you actually don’t need to figure out how to feed three hundred people on your own?”