Read A Cowboy Under My Christmas Tree Online

Authors: Janet Dailey

A Cowboy Under My Christmas Tree (3 page)

BOOK: A Cowboy Under My Christmas Tree
2.34Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads
“It helps to be flexible.” She smiled at him for the first time as she sat back on her haunches.
What a smile. One dimple. Almost perfect teeth. He was dazzled.
“I’ll do my best,” Sam replied. “Greg hired me as a rigger, but I’ve done just about every kind of carpentry there is. I grew up on a ranch. I don’t suppose you have any fences that need mending.”
She shot him a baffled look that eased into a smile. “No.”
He wanted to say something funny, keep her smiling, but she was looking back at one of the guys, who asked her a question. She twisted her lithe body around to show them how she wanted the framework positioned.
Looking at her, the last thing he wanted to do was leave, but Sam realized that he had to get back.
“Hey, thanks again for the job,” he said when she returned her attention to him. He held up the rolled graph paper. “And this. I’ll look at it tonight, but I have to get back to the park. See you soon.”
“Not so fast.” Nicole took her cell phone out of her shorts pocket. “Give me your number.”
He rattled it off and watched her enter it.
Tap tap tap.
She had pretty hands.
“Got it,” she said, and smiled again.
 
 
What with one thing and another, Sam and the rest of the crew stayed at the little park until long after sunset. Greg hung caged lightbulbs from the scaffolding so they could get a jump on installing the twinklers. The guys ran power cords up the trunks of the trees, saving the detail work for tomorrow.
It would take hours to get lights on every branch and twig. But the result would be worth it. Sam enjoyed watching rosy-cheeked kids peer up into the trees and ask their moms and dads and babysitters what was going on. In his lofty perch he was as good as invisible.
Greg called a halt and got everyone down on the ground. Sam pulled off work gloves that were sticky with resin. He would have to buy a new pair tomorrow. One after another, all five of the guys slung their gear into a big yellow locker, too weary to tell jokes. Greg shot the bolt and padlocked the hasp.
“Good work,” he told the crew. “Early start tomorrow. Seven a.m.”
There was a chorus of groans.
“Like I care, ladies. Go home and get your beauty sleep.” Greg herded them outside the wrought iron fence and padlocked that too. The men headed off to the subway and buses.
Greg tipped his Yankees ball cap to Sam. “Give Uncle Theo my regards.”
“Will do.”
Sam was grateful that his temporary accommodations weren’t far away. He liked the subway, but there was no point in riding it when the walk home was only about ten blocks.
He headed south, glancing in a few shop windows along the way but not stopping anywhere. The street he walked down was in an older area, with funky neon signs from decades ago and newer, vinyl awnings over small storefronts. The colorful fruit and vegetable stands that also sold flowers brightened up venerable facades of red brick.
There were touches of Christmas everywhere he looked. Shimmering garlands decked apartment building doors—hung on the inside of locked glass doors, of course, where they wouldn’t get swiped. This
was
New York.
The fire escapes that formed zigzags on the older buildings were draped with outdoor lights here and there. Some people added illuminated figures that weren’t any different from the ones decorating Colorado ranch yards and lawns in the small towns and suburbs. Reindeer. Carolers. Angels, glowing white.
Outside the small grocery stores, live miniature pines in pots wrapped with crimson foil stood in rows next to floral Santas made from red and white carnations. He’d already bought one of each to decorate his sleeping quarters. Sam couldn’t wait to hit the sack.
 
 
The following day, they were up in the trees until late in the afternoon. But yesterday’s head start and Greg’s encouragement helped them finish by five.
Weary but feeling pretty good otherwise, Sam waited with the other three riggers to hand his gear to Greg to stow in the open locker. Dusk had fallen and the trees sparkled brightly above the end-of-the-day rush, adorned with thousands of tiny lights, down to the smallest twig. The men had drawn straws for the flip of the switch, and the honor had gone to Sam a half hour ago.
He’d waited until he saw plenty of children on the sidewalks on the other side of the street.
The riggers cheered, but it was the oohs and ahs and bright eyes on the kids that really did it for Sam.
After that, it seemed only right to be last in line to sign out and go on home. He watched Greg get the locker in order and padlock it, ready to be picked up by a city truck for some other job.
His cell phone rang in his pocket. He could barely feel the vibration above the constant humming of the city itself, from the subway trains underground to the buzz of signs and streetlights. Sam reached for it, not recognizing the number on the screen. Area code 212.
Excellent. That meant Manhattan. Could be Nicole. He answered the call, keeping the phone very close to his ear.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Sam. This is Nicole.”
“Nice to hear from you.” More than nice. He now had her cell number in his memory chip. “What’s up?”
“I was wondering if you had a chance to look at the design yet.”
“No. We just swung down out of the trees.”
Greg shot him a quizzical look. “Say what, Tarzan? Who are you talking to?”
Sam put a palm over the phone. “Shut up.”
He put the phone back to his ear to hear Nicole’s laugh.
“Um, I was thinking—do you want to meet me at The Auld Alehouse in about an hour?” she asked.
He hadn’t been expecting that.
“It’s a bar, not too far from the park where you are,” she explained. “They have booths and pretty good burgers. We could, you know, eat.”
She sounded as nervous as he felt. Sam was surprised.
“Sure. I’ll bring the design—um, I have to go get it. And, uh, take a shower and change. How about an hour and a half?”
“That works for me,” she chirped. “See you there.”
Sam knew he had a goofy grin on his face when he said good-bye, even before Greg started laughing at him.
“You wouldn’t happen to know where The Auld Alehouse is, would you? She wants to meet me there.”
“Five blocks north of here. You can’t miss it.” Greg slapped Sam on the back. “Who is she? Where’d you meet her?”
“Her name is Nicole. She’s designing the holiday windows at Now. It’s a boutique. I was going to—”
“Aha. And I thought it was Bob Eady who wanted to hire you. You’re too much, man. First time in New York and you got here, what, five days ago?”
“Seven. ”
“And you have a girlfriend. What’s your ancient Chinese secret? I want to know.”
“Huh?”
“I’m kidding. That’s an ad for something. I forget what. Maybe a love potion.” Greg walked with him to the gate, locking it.
“Oh. Well, Nicole’s not my girlfriend. She’s my boss.”
“I see.”
They crossed the street, fast, jaywalking.
Chapter 2
W
ithout his seeing her, Nicole watched Sam Bennett enter the alehouse. So did several other women.
Their interest was understandable. He wasn’t faking the well-worn denim or the Stetson. The moment she’d seen him for the first time through the shop window and he’d tipped it to her, she’d had the immediate feeling that he was a good guy.
If she happened to encounter any desperadoes, she was in luck. Sam definitely had that direct gaze and Western walk—slow and easy, with a touch of cowboy swagger. And his height and muscular strength made for a potent combination that really got noticed in New York. He just had a look you didn’t see too often in a big city. That I-drank-my-milk-and-grew-up-tall-and-strong look.
The hostess was awfully friendly to him until he mentioned that he was meeting someone, and she pointed to the back booth. She brought him to Nicole, gave her a thin smile, snapped down two laminated menus, and stalked away.
“Hi,” Nicole said happily. “You found the place, I see.”
He set the rolled-up design on the table. “Greg gave me directions. On my own, it might not have been so easy.”
“Oh, pshaw.”
He laughed and slid into the opposite side of the booth, taking off the wide-brimmed hat. “Pshaw? Can you spell that for me?”
His skin glowed, freshly shaved, his strong cheekbones ruddy from the cold night air. His brown hair was a bit darker from the shower. He slid out of the lined denim jacket she remembered him in, tugging at the cuffs of a different shirt with nice, neat fold marks down its front and sleeves. She wondered who’d done the folding and hoped it had been laundry ladies.
Sam settled back against the maroon vinyl and folded his arms, giving her a shy grin. Yowza. Those were arms that could—he’s going to be working for you, she reminded herself.
Showered or not, there was still a faint whiff of pine about him that she really liked. So outdoorsy. He smelled like clean, lightly chilled man—more intoxicating than chilled champagne, in her opinion.
He unfolded his arms and rubbed his big hands as if they were still cold, looking around the bar.
She took the chance to look at him, jumping a bit when he turned his attention back to her. Nicole realized he was waiting for an answer to a question he seemed to have asked a week ago.
“Pshaw,” she repeated thoughtfully. “Um, I’m not sure how it’s spelled. My grandma used to say it just to be funny. Want me to call her and ask?”
Sam shook his head. “No, that’s okay. Does she live in New York?”
“Yes. In Skaneateles.”
Sam seemed puzzled. “Is that anywhere near Astoria?”
“No.” She laughed. “It’s upstate.”
“Did you grow up there?”
“Nope. In Manhattan, believe it or not.”
Sometimes people from out of town seemed to think that no one in their right mind would raise kids in the city. He seemed fine with it. “Ah,” he said. “You’re a native, like Greg. He knows everything about New York City. I’d bet anything he had a subway map printed on his baby blanket.”
Nicole was charmed. Sam had a sense of humor in addition to being great-looking. The crinkles around his smoky blue eyes were getting to her. “That’s a good idea. Mind if I steal it?”
“Not at all,” Sam said. “Do you design baby blankets too?”
“Not yet.”
Nicole had to smile. Five more minutes and he might just ask her to marry him. She kept the wry but interesting notion to herself. At least a Western man could mention the word “baby” without getting nervous.
There was no faster way to scare a New York man than to say that loaded word. Not that she was even thinking about a commitment or marriage at this point in her life, let alone a baby. But the last date she’d been on with a New York guy, he had been so absorbed in criticizing the fancy offerings on the menu, he hadn’t even noticed when she bailed on him. Nicole remembered that had been the last date she’d been on, period.
She looked at Sam. He’d only been making conversation. And this wasn’t a date. “So,” she said casually. “Tell me about your other job.”
He filled her in on his long-standing friendship with Greg, and the deal for the trees, and a few particulars about the installation. “You should walk down from Now and check out the trees,” he added. “They look great, especially at night. ”
“Will do. That’s so cool that one of them came from your ranch. Where in Colorado are you from exactly?”
She knew where Denver was, and that was it.
“Near the Front Range.”
Nicole had not one clue as to where or what that was. He picked up on her momentary confusion.
“As in the front of the Rocky Mountains, northwest of Colorado Springs, give or take fifty miles. I grew up on a ranch, not too far from Velde—well, you wouldn’t know it. Nice little town. Quiet.” He took out his phone and tapped at it, then handed it to her. “I took this picture the day before I left. That’s the main street right around rush hour.”
Nicole studied the small screen and smiled. Not a single car. There were a few trucks parked in front of Victorian-era buildings with brick or clapboard facades and a few people out walking. Men with cowboy hats and jackets like Sam’s. Women in shearling or knits and jeans.
She used the zoom function to look at the details and read the old-timey signs. Grizzly Bar & Grill. Albert’s Mercantile. Jelly Jam’s Pie and Cakes. Even though the photo had been taken at the end of the day, the shops looked freshly painted and prosperous, the windows bright and cheerful against the deep purple shadows of twilight.
“Can you e-mail this to me?” she asked. “I’d like to add it to my idea folder. It’s a really nice image.”
She raised her voice enough to be heard.
“Sure.”
The alehouse had gotten noisy, packed with people now, talking a mile a minute into cell phones and occasionally to each other over the clatter of plates and commotion in the kitchen. The portholed doors swung open repeatedly as orders were brought out on trays. A passing waiter accidentally kicked the side of the huge tote she’d stashed under the table.
“Sorry,” he said over his shoulder, rushing away.
“Not a problem. My fault,” Nicole replied to the air. She set down the phone to pull the tote to safety on the empty part of the booth.
“What’s in the bag?” Sam asked.
“Art supplies and craft stuff and some things I found. I’m going to sort it all out once I get home.”
The hubbub increased. Outside a fire engine wailed and honked its way through the traffic. Usually the city’s racket didn’t bother her, but right now she found it irritating. She picked up the phone again, thinking how nice it would be to visit a place like Velde right now. It looked so peaceful, nestled inside drifts of pure white snow.
“There’s more where that came from. Scroll through the gallery.”
Nicole did, looking intently at each one. “I’ve never been to Colorado. Everything looks like a postcard.”
Sam nodded in agreement. “I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.”
Nicole’s expression turned a little wistful. “Must be nice to feel that way.” She stopped on a photo of a white ranch house set behind a split-rail fence in the foreground. Flowers bloomed in front of the fence and lined the winding drive. The house nestled in the center of the surrounding land, which rolled in green waves to the mountains in the distance. She looked again and noticed other structures, half hidden by the dips in the terrain.
“Is this your ranch? Must be summer.” She turned the phone so he could see the screen again. “How big is it?”
“About a thousand acres.” Sam straightened in his seat and leaned forward to point out things. “That’s the main house, and over there is the corral and the horse barn. The pastures are in back.”
“Is that a bunkhouse?”
“That’s right. Used to be a bigger operation. We had a couple of hands living on the place and cowboys coming in for roundups. Then my folks had to sell off some land and a lot of the cattle when the price of beef dropped—we’re wintering over about a hundred head now.”
Nicole blinked. Her beef came prepackaged and wrapped in plastic. She’d never really thought about where it came from.
“Anyway, my brother Zach and I took over the bunkhouse and fixed it up last year. He has his side, and I have mine. Works out fine.”
His lighthearted tone told Nicole a lot. “You’re lucky. I’m an only child. I always wanted a sister.”
“I have one of those too,” he informed her.
“Younger or older?”
“Younger. She got away with everything, unlike me and Zach.” He chuckled.
“I heard that can happen.” Nicole laughed.
“Well, it all worked out. Family is everything.”
She was touched. “I know what you mean.”
“Us Bennetts stick together, and we do all right. Most years we don’t have to buy much.”
He folded his hands on the table—rugged hands, with strong, calloused fingers. Intuitively, Nicole understood what he seemed disinclined to explain.
“But a ranch is hard work, no matter what,” Sam went on. “My dad always said you have to be born to it.”
“Sounds like you love it.” Nicole couldn’t help saying it. The conversation had taken an unexpectedly personal turn.
“It’s what I know and who I am,” he said simply.
She scrolled back to the first photo of Velde, noticing the background this time. Behind the single street rose a tree-clad slope, a dark, looming mass parted by a wide snow trail.
Nicole squinted to make sure she wasn’t seeing things. “Is that a ski run? Right at the end of Main Street?”
“Yup. Not the biggest or the best, but I learned to ski there. So did Annie and Zach.”
He took the phone back and touched the screen to pull up a photo of a laughing girl in ski wear, goggles pushed up on her head, her dark hair whipped by the wind. “That’s her,” he said proudly.
“What does she do?”
“She’s a ski instructor in Vail.”
“I’m impressed.” Nicole laughed. “My downhill racing experience is pretty limited. I did set a speed record once, in a cardboard box on a slope in Central Park. I think I was five.”
“Good for you. Gotta start somewhere.” His smile warmed her.
“I think Colorado is a better bet for winter sports,” she replied honestly.
He nodded in agreement. “Haven’t seen any snow in New York yet. How much do you get here?”
“Depends. Sometimes we only get a few inches total for the whole winter. But they’re predicting a lot of snow this year.”
Sam raised his eyebrows. “Now that would be a sight to see.”
Nicole sighed. “I wouldn’t mind, so long as I can complete all my jobs and get paid. A really good snowstorm can shut down the city for a whole day.”
He chuckled. “Only a day? The roads can close for a week or two out where we are. Sometimes more. But if you’re prepared, you manage. Out our way, we all help each other.”
“That’s great.” For a second or so, Nicole imagined herself out on the range, or wherever his ranch was, hanging out with Annie and his mom and dad and golden retriever.
Wait. Wrong dog, she told herself. Cowboys had—what was the name of that breed?—it came to her. Blue heelers. If he had one, she’d bet anything the dog followed him everywhere.
She realized the waitress was impatiently looking their way and picked up the menu.
“I’m starving,” she announced. “Let’s order.”
“Me too. Good idea.”
The waitress came over before either of them even signaled and took their order for two cheddar burgers, then disappeared.
Sam’s hand moved toward the design he’d set on the table, but Nicole stopped him before he could unroll it.
“Thanks for bringing it,” she said, “but I thought up a new design. Bob and the guys are jigsawing it at his workshop tonight.”
He acknowledged the update with a smile. “That was fast.”
“Gotta get it done. By the way, I forgot to ask if you can do more than basic carpentry.”
“Some. Although I’m no expert,” Sam admitted. “I picked up what I know from my dad. He restored the interior of our ranch house, got it back to how it looked at the turn of the century. ”
“That’s amazing.”
Sam nodded. “The original house made it through more than a hundred Colorado winters. Built to last.”
So are you,
Nicole thought. He was leaning back in his chair, his arms folded over his broad chest. She liked the thoughtfulness in his tone and the warmth in his dark blue eyes.
“It was like going back in time when he was done,” Sam said. “Huge beams, log walls. He uncovered the original fireplace too—native rock.”
“Wow,” Nicole said, distracted again. “I can just imagine it.” A roaring fire, going strong. Sam, getting comfortable on a long cowhide sofa in front of it. The alehouse seemed a lot warmer all of a sudden.
BOOK: A Cowboy Under My Christmas Tree
2.34Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

Three Minutes to Happiness by Sally Clements
Reformers to Radicals by Thomas Kiffmeyer
Frost by Wendy Delsol
Hollywood Hills by Aimee Friedman
Resurrection by Barker,Ashe
The Bracken Anthology by Matthew Bracken
Double Happiness by Mary-Beth Hughes
To Wed The Widow by Megan Bryce