Picking Up Cowboys (7 page)

It was time to be honest, too.  No more pretending.  Her hand fell on her stomach. “Gage--”

“Shhh!  Look.”  A white-tailed deer dodged and darted through the trees before stopping and sniffing the air.  Its wide-brown eyes rested on them and the creature looked startled for a heartbeat before bounding off.

“Gage, I need to confess something.” She would tell him before she lost her nerve.

“Shhh!  Truce remember?  No confessions until after Christmas.”  He jogged over to the tree she’d chosen and raised the ax.  “You’re certain this is the one you want?”

“Yes, but--” Catherine tried again.

Gage swung the ax, it arced out and down, hitting the base of the tree with a hollow thunk.  He pulled back for another chop and Catherine felt her knees grow unsteady.  The recollection of his bare chest surfaced and she could sense the powerful ripple of muscles under his heavy parka.

In half the time it would have taken her, Gage had felled the tree.  He grabbed the end and pulled it behind him, its sparse needles left a faint, snake-like trail in the snow.             

Excitement bubbled up in Catherine, reminding her of how she’d felt at five, waiting for Santa to come.  The giddy, sleeplessness.  The breathless peeking through the stair railing.  Perhaps this Christmas wouldn’t be a disappointment..

Chapter nine

Gage settled the tree in the corner of the living room.  The familiar action brought an embarrassing moistness to his eyes and he turned to hide it from Cat.  Memories of childhood Christmases rushed in and blanketed him like the comfortable old afghan his mother had knitted one long winter.  He could picture he and his sister clambering down the stairs at the first speck of light on Christmas morning.  Then, tearing into presents, looking for that one special wish.  Listening to his mother and father arguing about ranch life.

Gage closed the door on that thought.  “What do you think?”

Cat was staring at the opposite corner of the room.  She nodded her head in that direction.  “Pop and I always had the tree there.  Do you think?  Would you mind--” she trailed off and chewed on her lower lip.

Gage sighed.  Things changed, times changed.  If he intended to marry this woman, he would have to compromise on some things.  He shrugged and began shoving the tree to her spot.  “Sure. But next year it goes over here.”

“N-next year?”  Cat stared at him, an indiscernible emotion shining out of her blue eyes.

“Next year,”  he said firmly.  “Just think, the baby will be here by then.”             

He adjusted the tree in its stand and turned back to face her.  She was shivering and rubbing her hands over her arms. Gage rushed to her, concerned.  “Are you sick?  Is it the baby?”

She nodded her head, heavy tears poured over the rim of her eyes and avalanched down her cheeks.  Gage patted her on the shoulder.  What was he supposed to do now?  Had he said something to make her cry?  He stroked his hand over her hair, thinking how silky it felt.

“Gage--” Cat’s blue eyes were washed to a brilliant aqua from the salt of her tears.  “It’s about the baby.”

Guilt gave him a swift kick in the ribs.  He’d wanted the ranch and to get it he’d made her doubt her ability to raise this baby.  He was a heel.  A total jerk.  He laid two fingers against her lips, stopping what she was going to say.

“Don’t worry, Cat.  It will all work out.  You won’t have to raise this baby and run this ranch all by yourself.”  He tried to tuck her head against his shoulder but she stiffened and shoved away from him, the heels of her palms digging into his chest.

“I am not giving up this ranch.”  The tears disappeared, replaced by anger.

She thought he meant he was taking the ranch from her, when what he really meant was something quite different.  “Cat, all I meant was--”

Cat interrupted him before he could finish.  “There is no reason to worry that I wouldn’t be able to care for the ranch and ‘this’ baby.”  Her lips twisted into a lopsided sneer.

Gage opened his mouth to set her straight on her misconceptions of his intentions, but Cat was on a roll.  He felt a shimmer of amusement course through his veins.  Cat stood with her feet slightly apart, hands planted on her slim hips and she flipped her hair every four seconds to add emphasis to her speech.

“I’ve been trying to tell you for days.”  Suddenly her eyes shifted to the side and down, a dull red flush stole up her cheeks.  “It’s about the baby.”

“What about the baby?”  Was she going to tell him she was marrying the father?  He wouldn’t have a chance against that would he?  Cat must have loved the guy to be having his baby.  Why did that thought feel like a branding iron marking his gut and leaving it burning?

“It isn’t.”

“Isn’t what?”  What was she talk about?  A niggling suspicion tugged at his conscious, but he shoved it down as too devious for Cat.

“It just isn’t.  There is no baby.”

Her words smashed into his windpipe like a well-aimed horse’s kick.  That wasn’t possible.  There had to be a baby.  His entire plan was based on there being a baby.  He’d even bought her ice cream with pickles in it. 

“No baby?” 

Cat shook her head, another tear splashed onto her cheek and rolled down her face.  Gage ignored the flutter of sympathy he felt over her tears.  She didn’t deserve sympathy.  She’d outright lied to him to avoid his efforts to buy the ranch.  She had manipulated him.

But why did that even surprise him?  It was exactly what her father would have done in the same situation.  It really was true that the apple didn’t fall far from the rotten core.

Gage glanced her up and down, making his loathing apparent.  He ignored the hurt in her eyes.  It wasn’t real. Claibornes didn’t feel true emotions, they only pretended to, if it suited their purposes.  Calmly, he pushed his hand through the scraggly branches of the evergreen, grasped the gnarled wood of the trunk and moved the tree back to the other side of the room.  If she wanted the tree where Mustang had kept it, she could move it herself.

* * *

Catherine watched Gage stride from the room with long, angry steps.  She didn’t care what he thought.  His only goal was to steal her land from her.  Swindle it out of her and then build a scar on the face of the landscape.

If she didn’t care, then why did she feel deflated?  It was similar to the feeling she’d had every Christmas morning of her life.  She would rush down the stairs and make a nose-dive for the tree, certain that Santa left something, anything for her.  Each year she’d been disappointed.  It hadn’t been long until she’d stopped believing in Santa, but she’d always still held that hope that her father would remember her this Christmas.  There would be a present under the tree for her this Christmas.  She would be happy
this
Christmas. 

You’d think by now she’d learn not to get her hopes up.  And yet she did.  Even now, with her father gone, and it too late to expect him to finally remember, she’d let the fantasy of a happy Christmas with Gage wrap around her heart. 

“Admit it, Catherine,” she whispered, rubbing her arms to combat the chills racing through her body.  “You had visions of tearing into a prettily wrapped package and you didn’t care who it was from.”

Well, no more.  The new Catherine did not have time for this foolishness and refused to waste another moment of her life hoping for something that would never be.  She would go into town and buy her own Christmas present, wrap it, and place it under the tree.  No use sitting around forever and waiting on Santa.  Santa was a male just like all the other undependable males in her life.  She couldn’t count on him, she’d learned that a long time ago.

The bustle of last-minute shoppers shouldering her out of the way and the tinkle of the bell-ringers on each corner should have irritated her, but it only served to put Catherine in a wistful, Christmassy mood.  Her imagination took over. Pop had always said when they’d been handing out dreams, she’d fallen into the imagination tub and almost drowned.  Catherine could almost feel their hopes and dreams and the happy little Christmases they each planned to go home to.  Each person searched for that perfect gift, something the receiver would cherish.  The very thought of that giving brought a glow to the shoppers’ faces. How she wished she had just one such Christmas to compare to theirs.               One brief moment of happiness was better than the empty void she carried in her.

Catherine swallowed several times against the heavy tears clogging her throat.  Normally, she’d buy a present for Pop.  Never mind that he never remembered her, she’d always handed him a neatly wrapped and beribboned package on Christmas morning.  Well, actually, it was usually Christmas evening by the time he woke up from his drunken daze.  This year, there was no one to buy for, she didn’t even have a cat.  Weren’t pathetic, lonely women supposed to at least have a cat?

A display of heavy, insulated leather gloves caught her eye.  Before she could slap it down, her imagination conjured the image of Gage rubbing his hands together to keep them warm. Gloveless.  Her hand reached out to touch the gloves before her mind registered the motion.

The soft rasp of cowhide slid over her fingertips and the heavy scent of tanned leather rose to tease her nostrils.  She slid her hand into one of the gloves and immediately felt the warm comfort of the insulation.  She closed her eyes.  She shouldn’t. He wouldn’t appreciate it, just like Pop.  He was a jerk and a swindler. 

He was also the only thing standing between her and a solitary Christmas.  Surely one little gift wouldn’t compromise her position.  It was the season of good will after all.  What was one little gift?  Feeling a light skip in her pulse, Catherine grabbed the larger size and headed for the register before she could change her mind. What was it about giving that made you feel almost giddy, like you’d just eaten candy canes, rich fudge and a box of fine chocolates all in one sitting?  Catherine could hardly wait to see the expression on Gage’s face when he found a present under the tree on Christmas morning.

* * *

The off key notes of another Christmas carol drifted up the stairs.  Gage tugged the pillow over his head and tried to muffle the sound.  For the last two days, all he’d heard were poorly sung songs.  Why was Cat in such a good mood anyway?  Gage was irritated at the tiny thrill that ran through him.  Why would he be looking forward to Christmas?  He’d had one goal to reach by the end of the year, to regain possession of this ranch.  And it didn’t appear that Santa would be wrapping that up for him.

Tossing the pillow at the door, Gage sat up and swung his legs to the side of the bed.  He scruffed his fingers through his hair and yawned, glancing at the digital clock on the night stand.  Five in the morning.  There were some drawbacks to running a dude ranch, one of them was getting up early to feed the animals, although Cat only kept a small number here in the winter, sending the rest back to owners they’d been on loan from.

That was another thing that would need to change, he frowned.  It was important that the resort have horses here year round in case guests wanted to ride.  He would need to purchase at least seven or eight more horses and some staff to care for them.  If he could go ahead with his plans at all, he shot a glare at the closed bedroom door.

“Oh, holy night...”  The phrase ended in a high key which immediately cracked and dropped to an off-octave lower one.

Gage winced.  One thing was certain, Cat wouldn’t be leaving the ranch to make her singing debut.  Despite that, her songs were beginning to work a strange magic on him.  Christmas.  It had always been his favorite time of year.  Why should he be deprived of enjoying it just because his family was in Boston and he was here in Durango?  Cat would just have to put up with his Christmas traditions whether she liked it or not.

First, he would finish decorating that ridiculous tree that had sat bare and lonely in the corner of the room where he’d left it.  That decided, he quickly showered and pulled on jeans and a sweatshirt before heading downstairs.

Following the wail of Cat’s voice, he found her in the kitchen stirring a long wooden spoon in a heavy black pot.

Gage sniffed appreciatively at the sugary butter smell filling the room.  Cat was oblivious to it, stirring and singing and swaying her hips.

His gaze focused on the erotic sway of her backside, Gage edged closer.  Cat had pulled her heavy blonde hair up on her head and a few stray tendrils trailed onto her neck, curling in the heated, moisture of the room.  Unable to stop his advance, even had he wanted to, Gage stopped just behind her.  He swallowed the urge to wrap his arms around her and nuzzle her exposed neck.  She was the enemy.  He must never forget that.  She was a Claiborne.

“What are you cooking?”  He was standing so close, he could see the tendrils of hair stir slightly from his breath.

Cat jumped and dropped the spoon.  “Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

“Sorry.”  He reached around her and rescued the handle of the spoon before it could slip under the gooey mixture in the pot.  His arm brushed against her side and Cat gasped.  Every muscle in Gage’s body hardened in response and he was grateful he was behind her, hidden from probing eyes that would spot his reaction in an instant.

“What are you making?”  He spooned the gooey mixture up onto the end of the spoon and let it drop back into the pan with a plop.

Cat shifted from foot to foot nervously, a slight shudder passing through her body.  Good.  He was making her nervous. 

She brought her left hand up and secured one of the loose tendrils behind her ear.  “Fudge.  And I need to keep stirring it or it will scald.”

Gage didn’t move.  Cat’s own unique scent mixed with the heady freedom of wildflowers seeped into his conscious.  He didn’t want to be attracted to her.  Hadn’t asked for it, but he was.  Now, he’d have to deal with it.  He saw two ways to handle the situation.  One, stay as far away from her as possible, not really a possibility unless he left Aspen Trails.  He refused to be ran away from his home a second time because of a Claiborne.  That solution was out.  The other was to take her to bed until he was over this insane obsession.  He grinned.  Now there was an intriguing thought.

“Gage!  It needs stirred,” Cat wailed.

“I’ll stir it, he started to move the spoon through the gooey mixture, his arm brushing against her with each movement.

“No!”  Cat grabbed the spoon away from him.  “Just go sit down.”

A warm flush spread up the back of her neck.  Gage grinned.  So Miss Catherine Claiborne could be ruffled, at least she wasn’t immune to him.  The holiday might have pleasurable possibilities after all.