The Cowboy's Christmas Gift

Chapter Three

She’d actually come.

Duke hadn’t expected her to. Carrie struck him as the buttoned-down type that maybe got out now and again with her girlfriends to cut loose but wasn’t out on the prowl. She was too sweet. Too reserved. Her friend Kailey was more on the vivacious side and good for a laugh. But it wasn’t Kailey he’d danced with. It wasn’t Kailey who’d captured his attention.

It was Carrie, and her sun-streaked hair, big eyes and sad smile. His response to her had been instant and exciting, and before he could think better of it he’d made his proposition. Once outside, though, the cold air had brought him to his senses. He was ten kinds of fool. She wasn’t some girl hanging around a bar on base, looking for a good time. She was Carrie Coulter. Freckle Face. His employee, for God’s sake. What a dumb idea.

He looked over at her as he turned on the heater and put the truck in Reverse. The way her jaw was tensed, she was as nervous as he was. He’d waited for her because he’d said he would, but he hadn’t truly thought she’d take him up on his offer. He’d never actually made that sort of proposition before, and he’d figured he’d blown it. Watching her come out the doors and into the parking lot had set his heart racing. His confidence had taken quite a beating lately, but maybe he had more going for him than he realized.

Either that or Carrie Coulter was desperate.

He couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought. More desperate than he was? Not likely. What a pair they made. Secretly, he was glad to be out of the bar. The noise had been overwhelming and instead of relaxing, he’d found himself tensing up. Just trying to hear the conversations going on around him took all his focus. Now he was sitting here, away from the crowd, and neither of them was saying anything.

“What’s so funny?” she asked, turning her head to look at him, chafing her hands together.

“Nothing,” he answered, but judging by the look on her face, she didn’t believe him. “I really didn’t think you’d come.”

“I had second thoughts. And third and fourth.”

Intrigued, he checked the road and then glanced back at her again. “But you came anyway.”

“Let’s not analyze it to death,” she suggested, and he chuckled again. Dammit, he enjoyed her. He liked how she shot straight from the hip without trying to impress, liked the way she smiled and really liked the way she smelled when she was snuggled close in his arms—like shampoo and fresh air and some sort of light perfume, all of it magnified by the heat of her body against his.

It was one thing to proposition a woman on the dance floor and another to wait and then spend fifteen minutes in a vehicle, prolonging things to close to half an hour. It gave a person way too much time to think, and so it was that as Duke turned down the side road leading to Carrie’s house, he felt compelled to let her off the hook.

“We don’t have to do this, you know.”

Her head snapped to the left and he felt her gaze burn into the side of his head. “You don’t want to?”

Damn. “It’s not that. It’s just...I don’t want you to feel pressured if you’ve changed your mind.” His fingers tightened on the wheel. Why the heck was he so nervous all of a sudden? Nervous wasn’t generally part of his vocabulary. He normally made a decision and got on with it, no second thoughts, no reservations.

Until two months ago. Until the IED had changed everything. He’d gone from being 100 percent sure of himself to questioning every single decision. He didn’t even know why he felt like such a failure. The explosion hadn’t been his fault. He’d merely been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

She didn’t say anything, so he let out a breath and said, “You’ll have to tell me which mailbox is yours.”

A few hundred yards more and Carrie pointed with her finger. “The next one,” she said quietly, and he slowed, his headlights sweeping a swath of light across her front lawn as he pulled into her driveway. Her truck sat beneath the protection of a carport next to the bungalow, a model only slightly newer than his with rust spots around the license plate.

He pulled to a stop, killed the engine, and silence settled around them in the twilight.

He wasn’t sure how to start. Wasn’t that the darndest thing?

“So, uh...thanks for the drive,” Carrie said, and without looking at him, she put her hand on the door handle and pulled.

Panic shot through his veins and he reached out, grabbing the wrist of her left hand before she could get out of the vehicle. “Don’t go,” he said roughly, wondering how he could have messed things up so completely between the bar and her home and so little that was said. But he had. He’d tried to give her a way out and instead he’d made her feel like he’d reconsidered his offer.

Such as it was.

He didn’t have a lot to offer a woman at the moment, but he could damn well make sure that Carrie ended tonight feeling desirable and wanted. Because she was both.

“Look, I’m a little out of practice,” he confessed quietly. “And probably going about this all wrong.”

“You? Out of practice?” She’d stayed in her seat but she still had her hand on the door. Her face, in the glare of the interior light, looked amused. “Have you looked in the mirror lately, Duke? I bet you have to fight the girls off with a stick.”

“Hardly.” Maybe when he’d been a lot younger. Full of himself and testosterone and with the general hubris that came from being a soldier in his prime. But then he’d met Roxanne, and for the better part of three years they’d maintained a relationship—through two deployments and a base move. He’d been a month into his third deployment when she’d called it quits. Not that he could blame her. It wasn’t an easy life.

There’d been no fighting women off for quite some time.

“Carrie,” he said, his voice quietly commanding. “Shut the door.”

She did. The overhead light turned off, plunging them into darkness once more. Her features were illuminated only by the moonlight that shivered through the windows, and the intimacy he’d been craving came rushing back.

“Come here,” he ordered, and to his surprise she complied, sliding over on the bench seat so she was next to him.

He turned on the seat so he was facing her better, raised his hands to cradle her face. She had her hair up in some fancy kind of braid and the smoothness of it grazed his fingers. Her eyes looked larger now as his mouth hovered only inches from hers and he could hear the quick sound of her breath as she waited. Waited. He closed his eyes, shutting out the voice that listed the reasons why this was a mistake. Then he touched his mouth to hers.

Her lips were soft and pliant, and to his surprise she didn’t take any coaxing. Her tongue tangled with his as the kiss exploded, and Duke’s body felt as if it was expanding within his skin. He heard a sound echo in the cab of the truck—Good Lord, had he made that moaning sound?—as she nibbled on his bottom lip. Her mouth tasted of sweet soda and sharp rum and sultry woman and he decided on the spot that he’d made a good call on the dance floor after all. He hadn’t expected this. He hadn’t expected anything this instant, this gratifying.

His hand slid from her neck down to her jacket and he pulled the zipper all the way down until the two sides parted. Inside the material she was warm, and he cupped her breast, finding the nipple hard either from his touch or the frigid air in the cab of the truck. He found the hem of her shirt and slid his hand underneath, encountering a lace-edged bra.

“Mmm,” she murmured, arching into his palm. Before he could reach around to the clasp, she pulled away.

“Slide over to the middle of the seat,” she commanded. He shifted a foot to the right and she straddled him, her knees on either side of his hips, her mouth on his again. God, she was sweet. Sweet and hot and amazing...

And she was sucking on his earlobe.

“I thought the steering wheel would get in the way,” she murmured, her hot breath and soft words sending shivers down his spine. She unzipped his coat, too, and spread it wide, so that their bodies were only separated by a few layers of denim and Duke was rapidly losing coherent thought. He slid his hands beneath her shirt, unfastened her bra and, in one quick movement, lifted the fabric and fastened his mouth on her breast.

She cried out at the contact and it was all he could do to not flip her down on the seat and make love to her right then and there. The windows had steamed up and without the heater, the interior of his truck was cooling fast despite the heat they were giving off.

He wanted to do this right, wanted to make love on a soft bed with lots of room and no worries about anyone wandering by and discovering them. “Inside,” he grated out roughly. “For the love of God, Carrie, let’s go inside.”

She ground her pelvis against him and he swore his eyes rolled back in his head.

“What if someone goes by and sees us?” He put his hands on her shoulders and held her away a little. “It’s cold. If we’re only going to do this once, I want to do it right.”

Her gaze burned into his and she slid off his lap. In the time it took her to get right-way around and grab her purse, he was out and at her door, reaching for her hand. Halfway to her back door he swept her up in his arms and she let out a musical, sexy laugh that made him smile. After a quick search for keys, he carried her through the door and into her small foyer, then let her down. Her legs slid against his until her toes touched the floor. Once they were stable he moved forward until her body was pressed between his and the wall.

Articles of clothing began to come off; coats dropped to the floor, a few buttons popped as she struggled to release him from his shirt, and her braid was tattered from both his hands and the tangle from pulling her shirt and bra over her head.

It wasn’t until Duke’s hands got busy beneath the waistband of her jeans that things suddenly seemed to be too much for her. Soon they’d cross a line they couldn’t turn back from, and he sensed the moment Carrie’s doubts started to creep in. She pulled back a little. Didn’t resist his touch but didn’t lean into it either, and he slowly got back his control and decided that perhaps a little finesse was required.

“Duke,” she breathed, and he was pretty certain his name had never sounded quite that sexy before.

“Hmm?” He nuzzled at her neck, taking his time. It wasn’t a race after all.

“I don’t think I can do this.”

Damn.

He swallowed. Took a deep breath.

“Is it because I’m your boss?” He dropped light kisses on her cheeks, across the soft curve of her ear, resting his hands on the warm skin just above the waist of her jeans. “Because that doesn’t matter. Trust me. I can always fire you and then it won’t be an issue.”

She let out a breathless laugh but it faded quickly. “No, it’s not that. Not entirely. I’m...I’m not ready. That probably sounds stupid.”

They hadn’t even bothered to turn on a light when they’d come inside. In the shadows Carrie’s eyes appeared dark and apprehensive.

Several seconds spun out while Duke tried to regain his equilibrium and common sense. “Whew,” he finally said, down low. “Okay. Okay.”

“You’re not mad?”

“Of course not.” He frowned. “You always have the right to say no, you know.”

“I thought you’d be disappointed.”

And, oh, he was. His body was still jacked up from all the stimulation, and he was going to have to find some sort of displacement activity to burn off the energy. “Hell yeah,” he murmured, running his finger over her bare shoulder. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t. But not disappointed in you. Right now I’m just cursing your sensible side. You’ve got me wound pretty tight, Miss Coulter.”

“It would appear we have some chemistry going on.”

He chuckled. “And that’s the understatement of the century.”

He bent and picked up her top and helped her get it over her head, but she wore it without her bra, and the idea of her bare breasts beneath the fabric didn’t help deflate his libido one bit. As he shrugged on his own shirt, she hiccuped softly and he knew without a doubt that she’d been right to put on the brakes. She wasn’t drunk but she wasn’t quite sober either, and he didn’t want that on his conscience. If they ever did go through with it, he wanted her clearheaded and present for every single second....

And that line of thinking wasn’t helping cool his jets, either.

“I should go,” he said quietly. “Are you going to be okay?”

She made a dismissive sound. “I’m not that drunk.”

He laughed. “No, ma’am.” He went forward and put a finger beneath her chin, lifted it and dropped a light kiss on her lips. “You are, however, a very difficult woman to walk away from.”

He’d surprised her with that. He could tell in the way her lips dropped open the slightest bit and her eyes widened.

“It’s probably better this way anyway,” she said, stepping back. “If we...you know...it would be awkward at the ranch.”

Only if they let it be, but he understood her concern. “I had a nice time tonight,” he admitted. “And that was unexpected, so thank you, Carrie.”

She nodded quickly. “Me, too.”

“I’ll be going, then. Unless...”

There was a short pause. “No, it’s better this way. I’ll see you later.”

It was another awkward moment where neither of them seemed sure what the right next move was, so Duke stepped forward and placed a kiss on her forehead before sliding out the door and heading for his truck.

He was backing out of her driveway when a light came on inside, and when he went to put the truck in Drive he noticed his hands were shaking.

It bothered him to realize how much he’d truly wanted to stay. And bothered him even more to know that he’d temporarily lost his mind simply because he’d danced with her. Who knew a woman could have such a rapid and visceral effect on him?

It was going to be a problem, though he would never admit that to Carrie. He’d have to either forget about her or get her out of his system. Considering she would be at the ranch day in and day out, forgetting didn’t seem like the most likely option.

* * *

CARRIE’S HEAD SEEMED to pulse at the same tempo as her heartbeat. She swiped her hand across her eyes, scraping away the grittiness in the corners and wincing at the pain that throbbed just behind her forehead.

Stupid rum and cola.

Sun glinted through the blinds she’d forgotten to shut last night, and she squinted. What time was it? A quick check of her ancient clock radio said eight forty-five. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept this late. As she sat up in bed, the room took an uncertain shift. She waited it out, then cautiously stood, shut her blinds, and went in search of acetaminophen and a large glass of water in an attempt to rehydrate.

It was half-gone when there was a knock on her door.

Probably Kailey, Carrie mused, shuffling her way to the foyer. She’d want a play-by-play of last night for sure. Instead she opened the door to find Duke on the step holding a cardboard tray with two coffees and a smile.

She then realized that she was in her panties and the same red shirt—still minus her bra—that she’d been wearing when she fell into bed after he left. His smile was replaced by a slightly shocked expression that mellowed to amusement. “I’d offer you hair of the dog,” he said warmly, “except I thought you’d appreciate coffee more.”

She would not freak out that he was seeing her in her underwear. She would not. “Gimme,” she muttered instead, and reached for the tray. As she disappeared into the kitchen, she called back, “You coming in or what?”

She heard his boots hit the tile and the door shut behind him. “How could I refuse such a warm invitation?” he responded, coming through to her small kitchen. He looked her up and down. “Do you always answer your door in your underwear?”

“I thought you were Kailey.”

“Right.” He grinned at her. She really wished he’d stay grouchy and broody. He was easier to dislike then.

“You didn’t need to bring coffee over.”

“I thought you might be a little worse for wear this morning, that’s all.”

Which she was. Not that she’d had trouble sleeping. But she distinctly remembered dreams last night. Dreams about Duke and what might have happened in his truck. Or inside. She wondered if the reality was even half as good as her dreams, and if it was, she discovered she quite regretted putting a halt to their activities.

Sort of. Because her body was sorry but her brain was a bit blown away by the sheer force of their chemistry. It was too much. Overwhelming. The kind of thing that could swallow a girl up and then spit her out.

“Give me a minute to pull on some pants, okay?” Avoiding his assessing gaze, she resisted the urge to scoot to her bedroom for proper clothing, instead taking calm, measured steps. It wasn’t as if she was naked....

Which she very well might have been if they’d finished what they started and were dealing with a true morning after.

She returned to the kitchen feeling seminormal, dressed in jeans and a hooded sweatshirt and her hair scraped back into a ponytail. The coffee smelled delicious, so she reached for her cup and took a cautious sip while Duke watched her over the rim of his own, his hips resting against the kitchen counter and his left foot crossed over his right. He looked ultrarelaxed when she was anything but.

Maybe walking away hadn’t messed with his sleep the way it had hers.

“Thanks for this,” she said, cupping her hands around the heat sleeve. “But you really didn’t need to come by. I’m fine.”

“Actually, I wanted to apologize.”

“You did?” She raised an eyebrow at him. “What on earth for?”

He looked oddly embarrassed as his gaze dropped to the floor for a moment and his cheeks grew ruddy. He looked up and gave a small, slightly crooked smile. “Look, Freckles, it’s pretty clear that we’ve got chemistry. But I shouldn’t have let it get in the way of my common sense. You were right last night about it being an awkward situation.”

Chemistry, hah. Carrie remembered the old trick from high school where a bunch of them had dropped a Mentos into a bottle of cola. That was chemistry, too, and that was just about how she’d felt last night. Fizzy. Explosive.

And why on earth did she feel all girlie when he called her Freckles?

“What, you’ve shortened Freckle Face to just Freckles?” She ignored the other stuff he’d said—she didn’t feel like going into a postmortem of “let’s define our relationship parameters” while her head was still throbbing.

“Too many syllables.” Duke’s lips twitched and he took another long drink of his coffee.

“Don’t worry about last night. It’s already forgotten.” Yeah, and her nose was about to grow à la Pinocchio. As if she’d ever forget straddling him in his truck or the way he’d carried her inside as if it was his single purpose in life.

“Deal,” he agreed.

Now that it was settled, Duke seemed to relax and look around him. “So. This was the house you grew up in, huh.”

She nodded, knowing how it must appear to Duke. The house was nothing special. Things had fallen into a bit of disrepair, though Carrie did her best as a handyman. Maintenance usually took up what little budget she had for household items, so she hadn’t really had a chance to put her own personal stamp on the place in the form of homey, decorative touches. Not that decorating was really on her list of strengths...

“I love it here. When Mom got sick again and my dad took off, I talked the bank into letting me assume the mortgage.”

“As a ranch hand? You weren’t foreman then, were you? Wow. I’m impressed they lent you the money.”

She shook her head. “I know you and your grandfather weren’t close, but he was really good to me. He cosigned the loan. It was the only way they’d approve me.”

“That was good of him.”

He sounded sincere, and she was glad. “So much had changed in my life. I think it was a relief to have this house, some sort of consistency. Plus it let Mom stay here during most of her illness.”

“That must have been hard.” He watched her over the rim of his cup, his gaze steady on her face. One thing she’d say about Duke, when you spoke to him, he paid attention.

She met his gaze. “Yeah, it was,” she said quietly. Harder still had been the last days, when she’d had to give in to harsh reality and her mom had gone to a hospice in Great Falls. It had meant that Carrie couldn’t be with her as much as she wanted. It had meant that she’d missed her opportunity to say a last goodbye, too. That was something she’d always regret.

“It must have been tough, being the main breadwinner.”

She shrugged. “You do what you have to do. All I can say is I’m glad the ranch is still running. Without this job, I’d lose the house, and I’m still paying off the medical bills.”

She met Duke’s gaze and saw the expected sympathy. “Hey, don’t feel sorry for me,” she said. “I’m still healthy as a horse. It’s all good. What about you? How’re you settling in at Crooked Valley?”

It was Duke’s turn to make a face. “Honestly? That house is too big and quiet for me. Quinn’s got his office in the downstairs, and I felt like a fool wandering through it all alone. I moved my things into the bunkhouse.”

Carrie put her coffee cup in the trash. “The bunkhouse is all right. Quinn never used it because he has the house nearby and he’s got Amber, too. But it had to be in rough shape. No one’s lived in it for quite a while.”