All I Want for Christmas Is a Cowboy Page 8

  As if she could sense his thoughts, he heard the door to his room open and footsteps on the creaking floorboards in the hall. Was she sleepwalking? Hurt? Eli sat up on the couch, concerned. “Cass?”

  A jaw-breaking yawn met his ears a moment before she emerged from the shadows, rubbing her eyes. She wore one of his shirts again, this time knotted at the waist, and her legs were clad in jeans. “I’m up,” she mumbled at him, even though she looked as if she could use a cup of coffee or six. “Don’t go without me.”

  “Go where?” The only place she looked like she needed to go was back to bed.

  She blinked at him. “To feed the chickens and get a Christmas tree, of course.” Then she padded into the kitchen, flicking on lights. He could hear the smack of the coffeepot as she set it on the burner.

  Slowly, he got out of bed—well, the couch, really—and rubbed the sore spots on his back, because the damned thing was too short for him and made his body crick up something fierce. He pulled on a pair of jeans over his boxers—because he hadn’t expected her to emerge from bed for hours yet, and so there’d been no need to sleep fully dressed—and then wandered into the kitchen.

  “How come you’re up so early?” he asked as he walked in, noticing that she’d pulled her long, curly hair into two tails that sat atop her shoulders like puffballs. It was damned adorable, and he forced himself to stop looking at it, because that way lay madness. “Thought you’d be asleep for hours yet.”

  “Hours?” she asked, tossing scoops of coffee grounds into the percolator. “Really?”

  “At least until noon,” he teased. “You know what you’re doing with that coffee pot?”

  “Nope,” she said. “But I figure if I throw in enough grounds it’ll make something caffeinated.” She gave a little chuckle that made him glad he’d put his jeans on, so she couldn’t see how just that soft, throaty sound affected him. “I wanted to wake up early. We’ve got a lot to do.”

  “We do, huh?”

  “Yup. You have just acquired the world’s best chicken wrangler,” she told him with a lofty tone, and then added, “after a little on-the-job training, of course.”

  “Chicken wrangling? Sounds dangerous.” Damn, but she was fun to tease.

  “Highly,” Cass assured him with a nod. “Lots of pecking for the inexperienced.”

  Well, she wasn’t wrong there. “Sounds like you’ve got a full day ahead of you.”

  She cast him a flirty look over her shoulder. “After all the chickens have been wrangled into giving up their goodies, it’s tree time.”

  She wasn’t going to let him forget about that tree, was she? “That today?” he drawled. “Thought we’d wait until your head was better. Ribs, too.”

  “I’m totally fine,” she quickly said and patted her side. “What do you want for breakfast?”

  Nice try, he thought to himself. She was speedy to change the subject, that was for sure. “I’ll be the judge of whether or not you’re fine. Let me see your face.”

  Cass turned toward him with an exasperated expression, but did as she was told. She turned her face up toward his, and for a moment, he was caught in her deep blue gaze and saw nothing but those big eyes, and his pulse raced just a little more than it should have. It was nothing, he reminded himself. She was just vulnerable and his brain was trying to squeeze her into a damsel-in-distress role. Still, he didn’t have to touch her face as he examined her, but he did. Just because he could. He cupped a hand under her chin and stared down at her features. The bruises on her forehead were mighty hideous, but the swelling had gone down, and they were turning greenish and purple, a sign that things were healing. Same for her nose—it was now half the size it was yesterday and her eyes had the shadowy discolorations, but they were fading, too. In another day or two, she’d look normal again.

  In another day or two, she’d be so damn pretty he wouldn’t know what to do with himself. Because right now, despite her swollen features and bruises, she was far too tempting. When she was free of all of those? She’d be a heartbreaker.

  Part of him hoped that snow melted soon so he could send her on her way. Of course, the other part of him didn’t want that at all. He wanted her to stay forever. But that never happened. Women didn’t much care for the ranch life, and he’d seen the other cowboys get their hearts broken a dozen times over when their girlfriends wanted them to leave their jobs to “settle down,” or they just up and left the guy for some city fool with a fat wallet and a gray suit. He’d learned his lesson long ago, and Cass would be no different, despite her soulful eyes and cheery attitude.

  “Face seems to be okay,” he said after a moment.

  An impish smile curved her mouth. “Well if that isn’t damning a girl with faint praise.”

  His ears grew hot. “You know what I meant.”

  “I do. I was just teasing. But as you can see, everything’s healing up all right, except for the big hole in my memory.” She grimaced and stepped back, just enough to leave his grasp.

  “Mm. No changes on that front?”

  “None. I don’t even remember my last name.” Cass chewed on her lip and stared at the coffeepot. “This thing starts to percolate soon, right?”

  “Soon as you turn on the burner, yeah.”

  “I knew that.” She quickly switched it on and gave him a sideways look. “I’m fine, Eli. Don’t worry about me.”

  “Ribs,” was all he said.

  “Huh?”

  He flicked a finger at her, indicating she should approach. “Let me see your ribs and I’ll tell you if you’re fine or not.”

  A bright splash of color appeared on her cheeks and she put a hand to her waist. “You don’t have to look.”

  “I’m the only person on this side of the damned mountain, Cass. If it looks bad, I need to find a way to get you over to Doc Parsons. Now lift your shirt up.”

  “You’re a jerk,” she muttered to him, but she did as she was told. Cass undid the knot at her waist and then hiked up her shirt to just under her breasts, displaying a pale stomach mottled with bruises.

  He got down on his knees to get a better glimpse, aware that this was an uncomfortably intimate moment for both of them. She seemed restless and shifty, which he supposed wasn’t a bad thing. After all, if she was that twitchy, her ribs probably weren’t broken or she’d be in agony. Eli put a hand on her side—the uninjured one—to make her stand still, and at that small touch, she froze in place. Good. “I’m just looking,” he murmured so she wouldn’t feel alarmed.

  “I know,” she whispered.

  Seemed she felt as rattled as he did. He was close enough to breathe on her skin, to kiss the small freckle near her navel that he wasn’t supposed to be paying attention to. He was supposed to be looking at her waist, but all he saw was soft, soft skin that was begging to be kissed. Damn it. He clenched his jaw to clear his mind and tried to focus. Skimming his fingers over the worst of the bruises, he was glad when she didn’t even suck in a breath in pain. Her ribs looked lined up nice and proper, though it was hard to tell. “Any of this hurt when you move?”

  “No. It’s fine, really.”

  “No pains when you breathe?” He was not going to look up, not where the shirt rested just under the swells of her breasts. He would not.

  “Nope.”

  “How’s the bruising on your upper chest?”

  The shirt immediately came down with a yank, and Eli stared at the checkered pattern of it instead of her skin. “I’m not showing you my boobs!” Her voice was indignant and more than slightly nervous.

  “That wasn’t what I asked.” Now he was the one who blushed. “I just wanted to know if the bruising was okay there, and if the swelling had gone down. You hit the steering wheel and airbag pretty hard.”

  “It’s all fine. Can we just have breakfast now?”

  Eli got to his feet again. “Th
at we can.”

  * * *

  • • •

  They ate a breakfast of oatmeal, and then Eli cooked more in a pan, which obviously mystified Cass, especially when he said it was for the chickens. He pulled it off the heat to cool, and then it was a process to show Cass how to bundle up for the weather. He doubted she’d be familiar with the idea of bundling up if she wasn’t from around here, but the truth was that it was bitterly cold outside, below zero and so frigid that his breath felt like it froze in his lungs . . . and he was used to it. The snow and overcast sky made it worse. He thought again about telling her no, that she should stay indoors where it was warm and safe, and glanced over at her. She was practically dancing in place with enthusiasm at getting to feed the chickens, of all things.

  He didn’t have the heart to take that from her.

  So he took her in the mudroom and showed her how to bundle up. To put on two pairs of wool socks and then a heavy pair of borrowed boots to protect her feet from the snow that she’d have to trudge through. Since he doubted she was wearing warm flannels under those rather tight jeans of hers, he made her put on Old Clyde’s bright orange insulated jumper that they always teased him for wearing. After that came a thick overcoat, a scarf, a hat with flaps, and gloves. She meekly submitted to all of the dressing, and when they were done, she clapped her gloved hands like a child about to go sledding. “Can we go now?”

  “Give me five,” he told her, and then bundled up himself. By the time he was dressed, she was at the window to the mudroom, staring outside at the early dawn snow. She looked excited.

  Excited to do ranch chores. Either she really, truly was bored or she’d hit her head harder than he thought. He pulled on his gloves and gave her another stern look. “You sure you’re feeling up to this?”

  “I’m sure.” She pressed her gloved hands together and beamed at him. “I’m going to be so much help, wait and see.”

  Somehow he doubted that. Still, if she wanted to help, he’d take an extra pair of hands. “If you start to feel weak or slow, you tell me. All right? The last thing I need is you passing out.”

  She just smiled at him. “You’re so stern and protective. That’s cute.”

  Eli grunted at her, though he could feel his ears getting hot again under his cowboy hat. He’d see how she handled the chickens and judge how much help she’d be beyond that. Even if she wanted to help him—and he needed the help just to keep on top of things—he had nightmares of her walking behind one of the cattle and getting kicked.

  Chickens were safe. He’d let her do them. Nothing else. Not until she showed she could handle it. She might be eager, but it didn’t make her a rancher at heart. Hell, he wasn’t even sure if she was a cook at heart. He had to constantly step in and retrieve the food before she burned it, because she didn’t seem to pay much attention to what was on the stove burners.

  But when she looked up at him with those big, expressive eyes, he couldn’t say no to her.

  Chickens it was. “Grab that oatmeal and let’s go.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Not only were chickens assholes, they were also a lot of work.

  Cass was surprised at just how much went into caring for a bunch of (literally) stinking chickens. It was so bitterly cold outside that she was shocked that her fingers didn’t turn to Popsicles, and it turned out she was going to have to go outside multiple times to tend to the chickens. Cass had thought that feeding the chickens would mean laying down some seed for a handful of well-fed birds, picking up a few eggs, and then heading back into the house, smug at how much she’d contributed.

  Ha.

  Ha ha.

  The chicken run had to be prepped before the birds could even go inside out of the cold. Because there was snow on the ground, Eli shoveled the worst of it out of the chicken run, and then they had to lay down hay so the chickens’ feet wouldn’t freeze. Not only were there at least twenty chickens, but they were all stupid. The moment she entered the henhouse with Eli, the birds poured out the front as if it wasn’t a jillion degrees below zero outside. Eli fed them inside the henhouse, and then they all climbed back inside. The hay stank of chicken poop, and Eli told her that it had to be changed every other week, and he’d spare her that for now. As it was, feeding the chickens was going to be enough for her. They got warm oatmeal in the morning, he told her, feed pellets after lunch, and then cracked corn before dusk to keep their digestion going so they’d stay warm through the bitter night. It also seemed that chickens didn’t lay much in the winter, so she had to check the henhouse for stray eggs, and then add more hay if needed. She had to give them warm water because it would freeze over otherwise. She had to check their feet and combs to make sure they didn’t have frostbite, and if they did, she’d somehow have to wrestle them down so she could tend to it with a salve. She had to be on the lookout for signs of foxes or predators somehow getting into the coop, and if so, she’d have to stuff the hole and alert him immediately so the birds could be saved. A hole could appear overnight, so she had to be vigilant—all the while doing her best not to step on the birds that wandered underfoot, clucking and flapping their wings as if they didn’t have a care in the world other than when dinner would be served.

  It was a lot to do for a bunch of stinky birds that only laid one egg overnight. Not one each. One total.

  Of course, she didn’t share these complaints with Eli. She’d begged him to give her something to do and he had, so she was going to do it, damn it. So she brought warm water from the barn—not too hot, because the chickens wouldn’t drink it hot—and slopped it into the water trough. She spread oatmeal in the food trough while they pecked at her hands in their eagerness to get their food. She spread hay. She listened as Eli showed her where the rest of the feed was and the times to get it.

  She let the chickens out in the run, but only for a short time because it was too cold for them, despite the fact that the run was along the barn and sheltered from the worst of the wind. So she supervised the chickens even though she didn’t have to, standing out in the cold while Eli began his work in the barn. Frannie stood at her side, wagging her tail and looking completely unconcerned by the bitter chill even as Cass hopped in place and wished the chickens would go back inside. If they wandered back in, she could justify shutting them back into the coop. Maybe she was doing this chicken thing all wrong, but it was important that she get this right.

  She didn’t want to let Eli down.

  She wandered to the front of the barn, where Eli was giving horses fresh water and feed. He’d told her earlier that after the barn was tended, he’d have to give the cattle out in the pasture their first round of food, then let the horses out for a while so he could muck out the stalls and add fresh hay and sawdust. Then he’d have to let them back in and feed the cattle again, and then he listed an even longer litany of chores that stacked up and had to be done, to the point that her eyes were glazing over.

  “How do you get anything done around here?” she called out to him, tucking her hands under her arms. If he was half as cold as she was, he ignored it. Jim and Bandit wandered up and down the long alley of the barn, wagging their tails, while Frannie stayed parked at Cass’s side, as if she was a puppy that needed watching.

  “You do what you can,” he told her with a slight shrug of his shoulders, reaching up to pat a horse’s white muzzle before moving down to the next stall. “There’s always more to be done. Certain things have to happen—like feeding and tending to the animals—and other things you just get to when you can.”

  “I guess this is why you don’t get time off for the holidays.”

  “Nope,” he drawled, dumping feed into a horse’s trough. She watched as the horse’s head immediately dipped to start eating, and he gave it a rub and then moved down to the next stall. “The animals don’t care if it’s Christmas or not. All they care about is their hungry bellies.”

  “Well, I
’m not going to tell you how to do your job,” she teased, bending down to rub Frannie’s fluffy head. “But this beggar should probably be fed a little less. She looks like a big furry sausage.”

  He gave her the most incredulous look that she wondered for a moment if she’d said something wrong. Then a slow grin spread over his face, and it did something a little crazy to her insides. “You do realize she’s pregnant, right?”

  Cass blinked. “She is?”

  “That’s why she’s sticking with you in the house and not going out in the field with me. She’s gonna give birth any day now.”

  “Oh my goodness, Frannie!” Cass sweetened her voice as she rubbed the dog’s ears. “What a good girl you are!”

  Frannie just thumped that white tail, excited.

  Eli didn’t say anything, but she could have sworn he was pleased with her affection toward the dog. He ran hot water for a time, filling up buckets, and then moved back out to the stalls while she petted Frannie and checked on the dumb chickens that pecked at the hay in the run and puffed up their feathers against the cold. Jim and Bandit saw the attention Frannie was getting, and then Cass was surrounded by all three dogs, doing her best to equally pet the needy, adorable heads.

  After a time, Eli spoke, glancing over at her as he took his empty bucket back to the sink. “Thought you said you hated animals.”

  “No, I said I couldn’t have them. Someone’s allergic.” She thought for a moment, but no one’s face swam to mind. “It’s not me . . . but someone.”

  “Sister? Brother?”

  Cass shook her head. “I don’t think I have those.”

  “Me either.”

  “No? Is that why you don’t mind being up here alone for Christmas when everyone else is with family? What about your parents? Are they alive?”

  Instead of answering, he nodded at the chicken run. “You should go ahead and put them back inside. If they won’t come in, give ’em a handful of feed to lead them back. You can let them out again when it’s lunchtime.”