the end of Main Street. It’s got some arcade games in the back. But with the roads so bad, I don’t think you’d find many kids hanging out there, especially two days before Christmas.”
“Oh.”
“Come on,” Shane said. “Let’s go finish our lunch. After that, if you’re bored, you can help me shovel the driveway.”
Hunter followed him back inside, scuffing his feet. The others were still at the table, Muriel sipping her tea, Henry spooning up the last of his beans. Amy had just set a plate of iced cookies in the center of the table. “We might as well eat them now, since they’re not really Christmas cookies,” she said.
“They look like Christmas to me.” Shane took his seat next to Kylie and helped himself to a cookie. “They taste like Christmas, too.”
“What she means is that they’re not red and green,” Kylie said. “We didn’t have colored icing or sprinkles. But now that the roads are clear, I could drive to Shop Mart and get some.”
Shane’s eyes traced her profile, lingering on the luscious lips he’d kissed last night. Kylie had always been a perfectionist, he recalled. Now she was determined to give her children a perfect Christmas—and everything was working against her.
Part of him wanted to gather her in his arms, rock her like a child, and tell her to quit knocking herself out. He wanted to say that Christmas was about warmth and family and celebration, and that fancy trappings didn’t matter. But something told him Kylie wouldn’t listen to him. And, sadly, neither would her children.
“I wouldn’t try driving if I were you,” he said. “That bulldozer left a layer of packed snow on the road. With those bald tires of yours, you could slide out of control and wreck.”
“You looked at my tires?”
“I gave them a passing glance. I’m surprised you made it all the way here without a blowout.”
“If you need to go to town, I can drive you in my Jeep,” Henry said.
“Thanks, Henry.” She gave him a smile. “But you’ve got better things to do. I won’t ask you to drive me, unless it’s for something really important.”
In other words, rather than impose on Henry, she’d take a chance in that rattletrap wagon on those slick tires and probably end up stuck in a ditch. Too bad her vehicle was parked in the shed; otherwise, he could “accidentally” bury it in snow.
Shane rose from his chair. “I’ll take another cookie. Then I’ll be off to shovel the driveway. No need to help me, Henry. I don’t want you throwing your back out like you did last winter.”
“Maybe you should invest in a snowblower,” Kylie said.
“Hardly worth it when a storm like this only happens once every few years. We’re tough here in Texas. We can shovel. Thanks for lunch, ladies—and for dessert.” Shane slid another cookie off the plate, lifted his coat off the chair, and walked outside.
There were two shovels by the porch and a wide expanse of snow to clear off the driveway. Shane was hoping Hunter might come out and help him, but he didn’t show up. Maybe his mother needed him for something. Or maybe the boy was just tired.
He’d resolved not to get involved with Kylie and her children, Shane reminded himself. But it was already happening. It had started when he’d kissed Kylie last night—a brief, innocent kiss that had rocked his senses in a way he couldn’t forget. Then this morning, he’d gotten to know Hunter, and to like the boy. Now he was concerned about the drivability of Kylie’s car and her safety on the road.
He jammed the shovel under the snow and tossed the load to one side. Damn it, he was getting sucked in—and he wasn’t happy about it. He’d wanted to sell the ranch and make a clean break from Branding Iron, Texas, with nothing to call him back. Later on, if he got tired of being on the road, he could always settle down, but it wouldn’t be here. It would be someplace wild and beautiful, like the backcountry of Wyoming or the
“Oh.”
“Come on,” Shane said. “Let’s go finish our lunch. After that, if you’re bored, you can help me shovel the driveway.”
Hunter followed him back inside, scuffing his feet. The others were still at the table, Muriel sipping her tea, Henry spooning up the last of his beans. Amy had just set a plate of iced cookies in the center of the table. “We might as well eat them now, since they’re not really Christmas cookies,” she said.
“They look like Christmas to me.” Shane took his seat next to Kylie and helped himself to a cookie. “They taste like Christmas, too.”
“What she means is that they’re not red and green,” Kylie said. “We didn’t have colored icing or sprinkles. But now that the roads are clear, I could drive to Shop Mart and get some.”
Shane’s eyes traced her profile, lingering on the luscious lips he’d kissed last night. Kylie had always been a perfectionist, he recalled. Now she was determined to give her children a perfect Christmas—and everything was working against her.
Part of him wanted to gather her in his arms, rock her like a child, and tell her to quit knocking herself out. He wanted to say that Christmas was about warmth and family and celebration, and that fancy trappings didn’t matter. But something told him Kylie wouldn’t listen to him. And, sadly, neither would her children.
“I wouldn’t try driving if I were you,” he said. “That bulldozer left a layer of packed snow on the road. With those bald tires of yours, you could slide out of control and wreck.”
“You looked at my tires?”
“I gave them a passing glance. I’m surprised you made it all the way here without a blowout.”
“If you need to go to town, I can drive you in my Jeep,” Henry said.
“Thanks, Henry.” She gave him a smile. “But you’ve got better things to do. I won’t ask you to drive me, unless it’s for something really important.”
In other words, rather than impose on Henry, she’d take a chance in that rattletrap wagon on those slick tires and probably end up stuck in a ditch. Too bad her vehicle was parked in the shed; otherwise, he could “accidentally” bury it in snow.
Shane rose from his chair. “I’ll take another cookie. Then I’ll be off to shovel the driveway. No need to help me, Henry. I don’t want you throwing your back out like you did last winter.”
“Maybe you should invest in a snowblower,” Kylie said.
“Hardly worth it when a storm like this only happens once every few years. We’re tough here in Texas. We can shovel. Thanks for lunch, ladies—and for dessert.” Shane slid another cookie off the plate, lifted his coat off the chair, and walked outside.
There were two shovels by the porch and a wide expanse of snow to clear off the driveway. Shane was hoping Hunter might come out and help him, but he didn’t show up. Maybe his mother needed him for something. Or maybe the boy was just tired.
He’d resolved not to get involved with Kylie and her children, Shane reminded himself. But it was already happening. It had started when he’d kissed Kylie last night—a brief, innocent kiss that had rocked his senses in a way he couldn’t forget. Then this morning, he’d gotten to know Hunter, and to like the boy. Now he was concerned about the drivability of Kylie’s car and her safety on the road.
He jammed the shovel under the snow and tossed the load to one side. Damn it, he was getting sucked in—and he wasn’t happy about it. He’d wanted to sell the ranch and make a clean break from Branding Iron, Texas, with nothing to call him back. Later on, if he got tired of being on the road, he could always settle down, but it wouldn’t be here. It would be someplace wild and beautiful, like the backcountry of Wyoming or the
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