Blame the Mistletoe (Montana Born Christmas Book 1) Read online

  He absorbed that with a cant of his head. “You are setting a precedent, though. They’ll expect things from you going forward,” he warned.

  She shrugged, trying to be philosophical. “Maybe. I’ll deal with that as it comes, but I didn’t want to go home indignant that they’d had the nerve to ask. I didn’t want to carry guilt if I said no. Instead, I took control, decided I wanted to do this, and I feel okay about it.”

  He stared at her.

  He thinks I’m nuts, she thought.

  “Are you still bitter?” she asked.

  “As snake venom,” he replied conversationally, making a surprised laugh burst out of her.

  He had a right to be, she supposed, thinking of what she knew about his marriage and divorce, then letting her lashes sweep down so he wouldn’t know she knew.

  Did he even know?

  Chapter Two

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  Blake watched a pensive look come over her face and wondered if he’d over-shared. He was sorry if he had. Her laugh had been charming. Clear and warm and natural. And she was nice. Nicer than he’d realized the first time he’d met her and way nicer than she ought to be.

  Way too nice for the kinds of thoughts he was thinking, but he could barely take his eyes off her.

  From the second she’d walked in, he’d been captivated, not even realizing at first that he knew her. Fresh faces in small towns caught any man’s attention. Liz had a polished, expensive look that he normally veered from out of self-preservation. But even though her make-up was stylish as a movie star’s, and her dark brunette hair was glossy and cut in sculpted waves around her face, she had a softness about her. Vulnerability, maybe?

  Not weak. She had smiled and joked with their hostess as she entered, moving to set out her dish with great care. Her trim figure filled her dark jeans and snug top in a way that had had him trying out a few rusty lines in his head. It had been a while since he’d been with a woman and even longer since he’d felt such a strong pull toward a specific one. His kid was out of the house for a while . . .

  Then, he’d been struck by déjà vu. Fate was something he filed with Crystal’s New Age crack-pottery, so he dismissed soul mate bullshit, but he’d felt like he knew her. Not just that she was familiar, but he knew her.

  When she’d glanced around the room, bit the corner of her lip and heaved a small sigh, he’d remembered. Suddenly, he’d been back at the head table as Crystal’s brother had given a speech. The guy’s wife had looked, well, like it was a struggle to hold up her spirits.

  As someone who’d had his share of wondering how the hell he could carry on, he’d felt an odd mixture of empathy and an uncharacteristic sense of premonition. When the Flower Family Grapevine had revealed Liz and Dean were having marital troubles a year later, Blake hadn’t been surprised. In fact, when his own marriage began to crumble, he hadn’t been terribly surprised by that either and tended to trace it back to that moment. Like he’d seen the potential for disaster in Liz’s weariness with her marriage.

  Not that he’d thought of Liz personally at the time. He’d just recollected that glimpse of happily ever afters that weren’t.

  “How did you wind up here tonight?” he asked, wondering if there was something in the stars after all, because he’d dithered over whether to make the drive. Free food had won over cooking for himself, but he was nursing a single beer and planning to leave before he finished it.

  “Skye came by. Introduced herself.” Her irises were an enigmatic dark blue in this light, her skin tinted just enough to tell him she lived with a hint of winter sun. As she talked, he found himself staring at her lips. Not a wide mouth. Kind of set in a permanent almost-invitation to kiss. She had a dot of a birthmark on her bottom lip, slightly off center. “I thought it would be good for me—Do I have something on my mouth? Sometimes people think I do, but it’s just a freckle . . . ”

  “What? No, you’re fine,” he rushed to assure her, wits dulled by a sucker-punch of thinking about running his tongue over that little dot. Which was okay. They weren’t related. It was just maybe unwise and yeah, possibly fueled by irony and a desire to mow down the Flowers.

  And desire for Liz. She was classy and pretty and intriguing. He would love to tear up the sheets with her.

  Which would start to show if he wasn’t careful. He made himself catch up to the conversation. “What do you mean that coming here is good for you?”

  “You know. I thought I should mingle with the natives.”

  “You’re eating your social vegetables?”

  “Kind of,” she agreed, flashing straight white teeth. “Yes, I suppose that’s exactly what I’m doing. Chewing community kale to stave off a bad case of isolation rickets.”

  He nodded, liking that she could be playful.

  “And you said you brought Petra? Dean didn’t bring her?”

  “He and the woman he’s marrying already have twin sons. His van was pretty full and I wanted to visit Stella before they all left. That’s when his mother pounced.”

  “Of course she did. Are you sure you weren’t coerced, Liz? Do you need a sling for that arm that was obviously twisted?”

  “I’ll admit I’m not great at sticking up for myself. I’m a middle child who grew up following Major Bloom’s orders so I tend to—”

  “What now? Major . . . ?” he interrupted.

  “Bloom. My dad. He was in the military so he was a major. And yes, my maiden name is Bloom and my married name is Flower. Ha ha. Yes, it’s hysterical.”

  He laughed. Openly and with great enjoyment. Major Bloom. “Poor bastard never lived that one down, did he?”

  “He really didn’t. It’s probably why he’s a grouch to this day.”

  Their laughing gazes tangled and he knew he was grinning like a fool, but he was enjoying getting to know her. As his marriage had deteriorated, he’d distanced himself more and more from anything to do with Crystal’s family. Auntie Liz had just become a name on a card to Ethan at Christmas and his birthday.

  But she was so much more than that.

  “Tell me about your salons. Why can you walk away from running them this time of year?” he asked.

  “I have two jobs, actually. I write corporate communications—withhold your awe, please. And yes, sadly, I can do that from anywhere, including Nola’s sofa. The other I do with my mother and sister. We have a dozen salons across California. So, I’m working long distance a lot of the time anyway, visiting each one a couple of times a year so . . . ” She shrugged. “That’s why the Flowers are drinking margaritas in the sun, while I’m waking up to prizes on the carpet left by a cranky little dog.” She pointed at an empty martini glass left on a table nearby. A miniature candy cane hung off the rim. “What do you suppose that is? It looks like it was yummy.”

  “Eggnog martini. I had a sip of one when I got here. Lethal. If you’re driving, you might want to take one home and drink it when you get there.”

  “No, I walked up, but—”

  “Who’s giving you a lift home?” Amazing how that came out of him so fast. And with such a possessive need to know.

  “It’s not far. Maybe half a mile? I’ll just walk back in a bit.”

  “Oh, you city folk are so cute,” he said, fairly sure Chase would have caught her before she actually tried walking down in the dark, but still glad he was the one who could do it. “It’s snowing hard out there.” He pointed to the view through the glass wall where full dark had fallen. The deck was coated with a deep couple of inches that had accumulated since he’d arrived. The colored lights outside turned the floating flakes into a powdered rainbow, making it look deceptively pretty and safe, but he knew better. “It’s dangerous out there.”

  “Really?” she asked skeptically, wrinkling her nose at a scene she probably thought had been lifted off a Christmas card.

  “The bears are hibernating, but the cougars and timber wolves aren’t. It’s really easy to get turned around in that, especially without streetlights. I’
m not playing Prank the Tourist. Life and death is a fine line on a night like this.” He knew. His birth parents had died in conditions like this. “I’m not trying to scare the pretty lady into my car, either. I just want you to get home safe. I’ll take you,” he promised.

  She swept her lashes down in the shy way a woman did when a man unexpectedly called her pretty and she liked it. The male interest stirring in him solidified into something far more serious.

  “Come on. Let’s find you a drink,” he said, urging her along with a gentlemanly hand against her lower back. Yes, it was a bit of a branding iron. Don’t even think about it, stallions. He’d cut this one from the herd for himself.

  Crossing a room was hardly a date, but Blake’s light hand on her felt surprisingly significant. Which told her she was desperately in need of male attention, if she was turning to feminine pudding just because this cowboy had dominance traits.

  And maybe she was being uber-sensitive, but she thought she intercepted a look from one of the men standing near the food table that silently asked Blake, How the hell did that happen?

  “Has everyone met Liz Bloom?” Blake asked, introducing her around once she had a drink in her hand.

  “Flowers,” she corrected. “I kept my married name so it matches my daughter’s.”

  “Ah. Well, everyone will remember that I was once married to a Flower?” Blake said to the group. “Liz and I are collaborating on a country and western song about our dealings with them.”

  She threw back her head in a laugh, loving the idea. “Can you imagine how tragic that song would be? It would go platinum immediately!” Their gazes caught again, both of them brimming with amused solidarity.

  Oh I wish, she thought, but didn’t let herself finish the thought. Right now, this was enough. It was perfect.

  A lot of names and faces flew by and everyone was very easy to talk to, thanks to Blake. He seemed very well liked, bantering easily, keeping her up to speed if the conversation started to close her out as names were brought up that she didn’t know. And he fed her, reaching across to bring a plate of cream cheese pinwheels and little crackers with pepper jelly and roasted garlic and pine nuts on them.

  The evening turned out far more fun than she’d dared to anticipate, considering it had begun with such painful shyness on her part. She laughed so much her cheeks ached and a poignant feeling accosted her as the hour grew late, making her almost wish this were her life. She had friends and a home and everything she needed back in California, but she could see—for once—that maybe the Flowers were onto something. Marietta was a really wonderful place to live.

  As she readied to leave, she went searching for the plastic tub she’d used to bring up her bruschetta and found Skye stocking it with Ziploc bags filled with leftovers.

  “I’ll never eat all that,” Liz protested.

  “Neither will we. We’re heading to Texas for a few days next week, so I can’t keep all of this. One of Chase’s friends is turning thirty and having party. He wants to go,” Skye said with a shrug and a shake of her head. “I still feel so pretentious flying halfway across the country for what amounts to one evening.”

  Skye’s fiancé was a local who was now a ballplayer in the majors, but from what Liz had seen, he remained down to earth. “Have you set a date for the wedding?”

  “Not until after next season. We only started seeing each other a couple of months ago.” Skye expertly packaged egg rolls with a flick and a fold. “He’s giving me time to get used to this back and forth whirlwind life of his, but we both wanted to be committed enough to give it a serious try, so—” She gave her wrist a twist, making the gorgeous stone in her ring flash as she showed it off. “This feels surreal.”

  But she was happy. Glowing with joy.

  Liz sighed inwardly, envious and trying not to be.

  But Chase was such a gentleman, fetching her coat and holding it for her while Skye opened the door to let Blake back in from warming up his truck. Of course, Blake was quite a catch himself, stepping into the foyer so tall with snow dusting the shoulders of his worn sheepskin coat, wearing a cowboy hat now. His gaze clashed into hers like he’d been looking for her before the door had opened.

  Such a lovely, fanciful thought.

  “Uh oh, Liz. You have a decision to make,” Skye said, pointing above Liz’s head.

  Liz looked up. Mistletoe.

  “The girls made me hang it,” Chase said from behind her, referring to Skye’s nieces who’d been running around with the rest of the children this evening.

  Her gaze caught Blake’s on the way down from the little sprig and her heart skipped at the light in his eyes. Her brain grasped for a smart remark, but nothing came.

  Blake stepped into her space. “I think we owe it to ourselves,” he said. “Don’t you?”

  Swaying, she set her hands on the cold, brushed texture of his coat, feeling ridiculously small and girlish all of a sudden. “Because of our mutual experience with the Flowers?” she asked.

  “Actually . . . ” His gaze narrowed as he stared at her mouth and started to lower his head. “Let’s not think of them at all.”

  His mouth touched hers and wiped her brain clean. All she knew was the brush of cold lips that warmed against hers, pressing firmly enough to open her lips so the kiss was not nearly so chaste as it should or could have been. He lingered, waiting until temptation got the better of her and she kissed him back, letting her mouth cling to his, then he slowly drew back. Something satisfied flickered in his eyes.

  That had been bad. Good in a way that was very, very bad. Liz could barely breathe or muster a smile.

  Skye and Chase smirked at each other. Someone from the lounge whistled. Liz rolled her eyes, feeling herself blush.

  And Blake didn’t bother to hide the male smugness in his gaze as he took the leftovers from Skye and opened the door for Liz.

  “You need better boots,” he told her, gripping her elbow as she tiptoed across the drive to the battered truck that was swept of snow and sending out a cloud of white exhaust. “You never would have made it home in those.”

  They weren’t going to talk about that kiss then? Good.

  “I saw some in town. I’m just being cheap. It seems silly to buy boots I’ll only wear for a few weeks.” There. That had been a nice opportunity to remind him there could be nothing between them. Subtext was her major, thanks to the tension Major Bloom had brought into the house every time he came home.

  “You’ll need them at the ranch,” he said, bracing the truck door with his elbow so he could use his free hand to help her up and in.

  Jerking her head to look at him as she seated herself, she found herself eye to eye with him in the shadowy glow of the houselights. Snow sprinkled his hat and shoulders. He wasn’t smiling. He was serious.

  Apparently, they were talking about that kiss.

  “Blake . . . ” she began.

  “For coffee,” he said. “I’ll make you dinner, if you like. Or lunch, if you don’t want to drive in the dark.” He set the boxes of leftovers on her lap. “No obligation. Just come see the place.”

  He closed the door and she watched him come around and climb behind the wheel, lifting to pull his jacket from under his butt before he settled his big body into the space.

  He smelled good. And looked sexy as the dash lights lit his somber expression while he picked his way up the snow-covered drive.

  The road hadn’t been plowed and she realized how right he was about her walking home. She’d have been shin deep and slipping all over the place. It took him almost as long to work his way down the hill in the truck as she’d taken to walk up at dusk.

  “How far is it to your ranch?” she asked.

  “’bout thirty miles,” he said.

  “You’ll be driving all night at this rate! I feel like—” Shut up, Liz. But he’d told her it was life or death in these conditions. “I feel like I should ask you stay at Nola’s with me.”

  His teeth flashed in a
grin. “I have animals to look after in the morning. And this is just your average crappy night, not anything too worrisome if you’re prepared, which I am. I’ve got blankets and shovels and salt. Good tires and four-wheel drive. I’ll keep my speed down and get home fine. But I’d stay if you were really asking.” He turned his head to let their gazes click in the dark for one breath. “And it would have nothing to do with the Flowers.”

  Her pulse skittered and slid like the tires on the road, making her feel adolescent and hot.

  “I’m too old for you,” she blurted.

  He slowed as they reached Nola and Vern’s place, fishtailing and catching it back as he turned into the drive. He braked hard, making her rock in her seat.

  “Are you serious?”

  “I’m almost thirty-eight—”

  “I’m thirty-five.” He shifted so his arm was along the back of the seat and he faced her in the eerie glow. “If you were thirty-five and I was thirty-eight would it matter?”

  “But we’re not, so I’d feel like a cougar,” she murmured.

  He snorted. “Well, get over it. The only thing that matters is whether we’re attracted to each other. I think you’re funny and pretty and a little bit too nice for me.” He slid a finger along her cheek, tucking her hair back behind her ear. “But I’d like to get to know you better. If you’re not into that, say so.”

  “It’s not that I’m not interested,” she said, unable to believe she was revealing that much. “But be serious, Blake. Where could this possibly go? With the history we have and our completely different lives?”

  He didn’t immediately have a come back for that one. His jaw hardened and he stared off through the window a few seconds, dismayed.

  “I’d love to say I’m up for a holiday affair,” she said, almost wishing she were. “But I’m kind of old for messing around for the sake of it.”

  “And look where my last vacation fling got me,” he said flatly, running a gloved hand down his face. He was referring to Crystal. Liz knew that his first wife had come here to visit a girlfriend from high school after graduation. A few months later, she had driven back here with her father Vern and his shotgun. The wedding had happened a few weeks later.