Her First Christmas Cowboy by Maisey Yates

CHAPTER EIGHT

OVERTHENEXTcouple of weeks they settled into a pattern. He worked around the house during the day, he made sure to cook for her every night and then they went to bed together, after making love at least twice. And sometimes he would wake her up after she had fallen asleep and have her again.

He was happy with it, but he knew it couldn’t last. There was just no way. Keeping her close like this while there was still danger out there...

That just didn’t work.

Taking advantage of her hospitality didn’t sit well with him either.

Even though he knew...

He knew things about her. Not just things about her past, though they shared plenty of stories about their messed-up childhoods. And who would’ve thought that one designed to repress you would have so many commonalities with one designed to make you a career criminal? He certainly wouldn’t have. But it turned out they had more in common than they had different.

He knew how she liked her tea. That she drank black tea up until five, and then switched to chamomile. And she liked coffee in the morning. She really liked hot drinks.

She loved winter, and she had never really had a nice Christmas before. Because her mother hadn’t believed in celebrating it, and after that she’d been on her own.

She had taken college so seriously she had never stopped to enjoy anything extra.

He knew that she got a little crease between her brows when she was grading papers. And she looked genuinely worried when she read things that she considered a sad indictment of the state of today’s youth.

She was old-fashioned. She loved those frilly nightgowns, and he loved taking them off of her.

For all that she was old-fashioned, she wasn’t shy. And she wasn’t a prude. Not with him. She seemed to love everything they did and want more.

And he wanted to do something. Wanted to give her something. Well hell, he wasn’t poorly, not anymore. There wasn’t any reason he couldn’t go out and do some things for her. She had gone and gotten him clothes at a certain point. So now he had some respectable things to wear. Even if they were just a little bit nineties. The denim jacket that she had picked out for him made him think of something his dad might’ve worn.

He put his black cowboy hat on and walked around the woods until he found it. The cabin. He went inside and lifted the floorboards and found his black bag full of his rodeo prize winnings. He had known he could never have the bulk of his life stored in a bank. Not when everything could fall apart.

He took some cash, stowed the rest back where he’d found it, then started walking till he got to the main road. It took a couple hours, all up, but he managed to get himself down to the general store. And there he found Christmas decorations. A whole heap of them.

“Any possibility you could make a delivery up to Sullivan’s Point?” he asked the man manning the register.

“Sure could do,” the man said. “I’m off soon.”

“I thank you kindly for it. Especially if you could put a Christmas tree into the mix.”

“I could do that too. You need a ride?”

“I wouldn’t say no.”

And that was how he found himself in the bed of a pickup truck with a Christmas tree, wondering how the hell it was he’d found himself doing all this just for a few strings of tinsel, so that he might make a woman smile.

Another thing he’d managed to find down there at the store was a necklace. Handmade by some local artisan, or so the tag on it said. He just wanted to... He wanted to do something special for her. Wanted to give her something nice. He had never realized that he’d spent most of his life alone. Not until this. Not until her. This was sure as hell the most domestic he’d ever been in his life. But he wasn’t restless. Not in the way he might’ve imagined. He was restless knowing that it would have to end. But he would wait. He’d wait until after Christmas at least. That wasn’t so much to ask. One Christmas before he went underground.

He hung a wreath on the door and tinsel around the room. He decorated the tree with all the decorations he’d managed to find in the store, and sure, a couple of them were fishermen with sparkly rods and reels, but he figured that gave it some local flavor. Then he cooked up some steak and potatoes for dinner, and when Tala walked in from work that evening, her mouth dropped open. “What did you do?”

“I brought you Christmas.”

She blinked, hard, and he could see tears in her eyes. “You’re a terrible outlaw,” she said. “Do you know that?”

“As long as I’m good for you.”

She dropped her bag and threw herself into his arms, kissing him hard. “I need you,” she said.

“I’ve got dinner ready to go.”

“I don’t care about dinner.”

This was Christmas. This. Presents didn’t matter. The day didn’t matter. This was merry and bright in all the ways he had never understood it, because truth be told, he’d never had a real Christmas either.

He spent it out at bars with other guys from the rodeo, but Christmas had never featured at his house growing up.

And something like this. This cozy little room, and a Christmas tree just for them...

And her unwrapping herself beneath it... It was everything.

It didn’t matter that he’d seen her undress countless times in the last couple of weeks. It was like magic every time. To watch her unveil her plump, perfect breasts, to see the pert, tight nipples begging for his attention. The indent of her waist, the gentle flare of her hips. She was everything beautiful made just for him. The sort of softness his hands had always itched to touch, even though he’d never known. The exact shape of all of his fantasies, even if he never had them before he’d seen her.

This house contained them all. And she contained everything.

Brightness and hope and joy.

She moved to him, pressing her hand to his chest, then moving it down and pushing her fingertips beneath the hem of his shirt. She pushed it up over his head, revealing the angry red scar where his stitches were no longer. He was on the mend, and there was no excuse for him to still be here. That was a fact. The day they’d cut the stitches out, they hadn’t talked about that.

Instead, she’d asked him what was for dinner.

They had just kept on ignoring the fact that there was no reason for him to linger.

Except maybe Christmas.

Which neither of them had ever really celebrated.

But they were now.

They were now.

And he took his jeans off, his underwear and everything else. And she kissed his chest, that featherlight touch more impacting than a gunshot ever could be.

And it would leave a scar even deeper. One that no one else would be able to see. But that he would always feel.

And he knew that this was it for him. That this was the only taste of love he would ever have in his whole life.

This few weeks away from reality with her.

Clayton wasn’t a man who had ever believed in miracles. Not once before in his whole life. But she made him believe in destiny, divinity and hope all rolled into one. She kissed his stomach, then went around and kissed that scar. And he drew in a breath so sharp it hurt. So sharp that it cut him. Then she sank down to her knees in front of him, wrapping her hand around the hardened length of him.

She looked up at him, her eyes meeting his, then she stroked her tongue over his body. Over and over again. Giving him gifts he didn’t deserve, gifts he wasn’t strong enough to say no to.

Because he wanted it. He wanted everything in this moment.

Wanted to be baptized in this need and made a new creation.

But it was impossible. For men like him.

It was impossible.

She took him in deep, and he let his head fall back, a prayer on his lips.

Tala.

And it felt unfair. To know that all this time love had been sitting out here in the middle of the woods, but he hadn’t known where to find it.

Knowing that she was real and true and wonderful and... Could never really be his.

But she was his now. The sweet, soft suction of her lips drawing him closer and closer to a heaven he could not stay in.

A heaven he could never inherit. Because in the end, he was damned, and he’d heard there was Grace so amazing out there, but none of it was left over for him.

She teased him, tortured him until he reached the end of himself. Until he laid her down on the floor beneath the tree, looking at the lights in the colorful glow they cast over her bare skin. Until he pinned her hands up over her head and positioned himself between her legs, thrusting home.

Home.

Home was inside her. With her. Home was her. And always would be.

His thoughts fractured as he thrust inside of her, as he lost himself in the rhythm of knowing her. The hot flush of intimacy that he had never experienced anywhere else. That he hadn’t believed existed until her.

He was a man who had never known softness before, and now he was drowning in it.

Drowning in her.

And he shouted out her name in the end, and she clung to his shoulders and said his.

Like marriage vows. And then she curled up against him and started to drift to sleep in his arms. “I love you,” he whispered. And she wrapped her arms around his and said nothing. But he could’ve sworn that he felt a tear land on his wrist.

“Merry Christmas.”

And he knew what he had to do next.