Decidedly With Mistletoe Page 11

  Memories of when we were growing up replay in my head. Hanging out with her and Austin. Biking together. Swimming in the river. Riding horses. Back when I thought Violet was the coolest girl around. Back before I became aware of her as something more than Austin’s little sister.

  I’ve seen that photo so many times, and the reaction is always the same.

  My insides twist into a knot—the kind you get when you miss someone.

  “She’s doing really well,” Grandma Meg says. “She’s still working for a fancy marketing and publicity firm in LA that specializes in the entertainment industry. She’s also been doing some work as a professional photographer.”

  I smile because even back in high school, Violet’s photos were amazing. “I’m not surprised she’s doing well. She’s worked hard for both.”

  Grandma Meg’s face glows like a peacock on parade. Her smile widens. “I’ve got a gift Bert left explicit instructions to give you on your thirtieth birthday. But first I have something in the kitchen for you.”

  The kitchen is bright and cozy, with the white cabinets and the white walls and the white-tiled floor that Austin and I installed last year. The curtains, towels, and seat cushions are a chaos of yellows and blues and florals. It’s nothing like the kitchen at the ranch she and Bert lived on when he was still alive, but the place fits Grandma Meg perfectly.

  On the table is a big, squishy package. My stomach slouches in my gut, much like it did when I was a kid. Every Christmas. When I got a gift from Grandma Meg.

  She hands me the present. “Here, I made it for you.”

  After saying a quick prayer for the gift not to be as bad as the one from last Christmas, I rip off the wrapping paper and remove the blue cable-knit sweater. Relief rushes through my lungs. The last sweater she knitted for me had a picture of Thor—my horse, not the god—on the front. Decorated with Christmas ornaments.

  I still wear it with pride…whenever Grandma Meg is around.

  “This looks great. Thanks.” I hug her because I am genuinely happy with the gift, even if it is the middle of June.

  I release her and my gaze lands on the brochure next to the plate of cookies. Frowning, I reach for it. “Skydiving lessons?”

  “Yes. Tilly, Gertrude, and I decided now is a good time to work on our bucket lists.”

  “Bucket list?” I echo, even though I know what the hell it is. “Why does an eighty-year-old woman’s bucket list include skydiving lessons? And more importantly, does Austin know about it?”

  I already know the answer. Do you really think the brochure would be on the table if he did? He would’ve sped back to his sheriff’s office—lights flashing, siren blaring—and shredded it. Several times.

  “No, he doesn’t. And you, TJ Christopher Daniels, won’t be telling him either.” She says it in her I-mean-business voice. The same voice she used when I was ten years old, and she caught me smoking.

  That was the last time I put a cigarette in my mouth.

  Granddad made sure of that.

  “Yes, ma’am.” I might have said it, but I sure as hell didn’t mean it. “But you aren’t seriously thinking of taking skydiving lessons, are you?”

  She lets out a heavy sigh. “Apparently not. The place has an age restriction, and the girls and I exceed it. Just by a little, mind you. So don’t you go thinking that I’m ready to be put out to pasture with the old crows.”

  A laugh erupts from deep in my chest. “I wouldn’t even think about it.”

  “And if they didn’t have the age restriction”—she wags her finger under my nose—“you can guarantee the girls and I would’ve done it, no matter what my grandson said.”

  “Even though you could end up breaking every single bone—or worse yet, die?”

  “But at least I’d go out with a bang. Well, more likely a splat.” She claps her hands, the sound more like a loud slap than a splat.

  “It doesn’t matter if you go out with a bang or a splat or any other way. Neither Austin nor Violet will appreciate you dying before you’re supposed to.”

  “Ha! Maybe our maker has plans for me to go out in style. Have you even thought of that? And as for my grandson, he’s just too protective for his own good…or in this case, for my own good. I can see why he’s that way with his sister. But even then, he has to remember Violet’s a grown woman. A grown woman with a—” Her words come to an abrupt halt, and her mouth forms an O.

  “With a what?”

  She waves her hand, as if swatting a fly with the back of it, and shuffles toward the doorway. “Never mind that. Bert’s gift is collecting dust as we speak.”

  I grab a cookie from the plate and follow her from the kitchen. She walks down the hallway with me trailing behind, chomping on the sweet treat.

  My gaze flicks to the wall covered with photos. Violet’s photos. The photos she took, not the ones she’s in. They’re action shots taken a few years ago, just before the accident that ended my rodeo career. I’m riding Thor as he gallops toward the calf I’m about to lasso.

  Pretending I don’t notice the photo, I enter the guest room. I miss competing almost as much as I miss Violet. It’s hard seeing those photos without feeling like regret has kicked me in the nuts. With spurs on.

  The same piles of unopened boxes that have been here since Grandma Meg moved into the cottage five years ago still crowd the room. There’s also a twin bed with floral bedding and a few antique pieces from the old ranch house.

  Grinning her mother-bear smile, she points to a medium-sized cardboard box on the floor. “It’s in there.”

  I kneel, my bad knee telling me to go to hell. Nothing new there. It’s been that way since the accident. It doesn’t always act up, but after a hard day of work, it’s as grumpy as a bull in a hailstorm.

  I place the sweater on the floor, open the flaps, and peer inside. The pain in my knee is instantly forgotten.

  No.

  Fucking.

  Way.

  “Is this for real?” I remove the old Thor Marvel comics one by one from the box. Yes, I’m a Norse mythology freak—and these comics are responsible for that.

  “Bert knew how much you loved them,” Grandma Meg says.

  “But why wait until I’m thirty?”

  “No idea. Even after being married to him for forty-six years, I didn’t always know what he was thinking. But I do know he was hoping that one day you’d share these comics with your own kids.”

  My laugh comes out as a God-you’re-hilarious snort, and I straighten to my feet. “He definitely got that wrong. There won’t be any kids in my future.”

  Her eyes go wide, crinkles forming across her brow. It’s the early warning signal that I’m in for a lecture: the sweet-grandma-guilt-you-up-the-ass lecture. “How can you say that?”

  Has she asked her own grandson that question lately? He and I are both in the We’re-never-going-to-be-fathers club—new members always welcome.

  “Because I’m not interested in settling down.”

  “And why not? You’re young and virile. What woman wouldn’t want you?”

  “I have a busy ranch to manage. I don’t have time for a girlfriend.” I kneel again next to the box of comics, set the sweater on top of it, and stand, hoisting it all in my arms. I head for the bedroom door.

  “Why?” Grandma Meg says from behind me as I walk down the hallway. “Because it didn’t work out with She Who Shall Not Be Named?”

  I can’t help but grin. It’s a very apt name. My ex-girlfriend and Harry Potter’s nemesis have a lot in common. Although in Katherine’s case, the last I heard, she’s married to some tech whiz in Silicon Valley.

  Killer barks.

  “See—even Killer thinks my single status is a good idea.” I pause at the front door.

  The little white fluff ball barks again.

  “No, what Killer said is, you should sing at the senior center during our next bingo night.”

  “I don’t sing,” I deadpan.

  Grandma Meg rol
ls her eyes like she’s a teenager instead of a senior citizen. “Remember, I’ve known you since you were in diapers, TJ. I know you sing. You have a beautiful singing voice.”

  “That still doesn’t mean I sing.” At least not in public.

  “That’s too bad. Violet always loved it when you sang.”

  I ignore her—while battling the urge to look at Violet’s photo.

  Too bad my heart and cock rule my brain at the most inopportune times.

  Traitors.

  * * *

  Now Available

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  BOOKS IN THE COPPER CREEK SERIES

  Cowboy Most Wanted

  * * *

  A sexy cowboy. Some racy photos. And an accidental hook up—or three—with his best friend’s sister.

  There are four things that rule my world: Norse mythology, Marvel comics, horses, and dirty talk. Not necessarily in that order.

  When my brother signs me up for a new Bachelorette-style reality show centered around a female star looking for love with a cowboy (without my permission, I might add), I don’t have a choice.

  It will be great publicity for the ranch.

  Or at least that’s what I’m promised.

  Never mind that I’m not looking for love—and I’m especially not interested in landing a fiancée.

  What I didn’t figure on is the show's photographer being Violet Brooks. Violet is my best friend's little sister. Did I mention he’s the town sheriff?

  She’s the same woman who left our small Montana town ten years ago and never looked back. The same woman I lusted after when I shouldn’t have. And still do.

  So when the pre-show marketing photo shoot involves channeling my inner underwear model—with Violet as the photographer—I lose my shirt. My pants. And possibly my virtue.

  But it’s worth it.

  As long as we don’t get caught—because if we are, it’s adios to the ranch.

  And as long as my heart doesn’t get toss into the mix. Because what Violet and I have is only temporary while she’s in town.

  Sounds easy enough. Right?

  Cowboy Most Wanted now available

  Once Upon a Cowboy

  * * *

  Cinderella's fairy godmother just turned hot. And male. Very, very male.

  My three priorities in life have always been: the horse ranch I manage with my brothers, my family, and my best friend, Sophie West.

  Sophie is the ranch’s horse trainer—or as we call her, our horse whisper. She’s hot as hell, but mixing business with pleasure never ends well. Been there. Done that. Had it branded on my ass.

  But apparently Sophie’s biological clock is ticking. She’s let it slip that she’s ready to find her soul mate or at least a nice man.

  The first problem? She’s socially awkward around any guy she’s interested in.

  The second problem? If she doesn’t find her true love in town, our ranch could lose the best damn horse trainer around.

  Problem number three? She wants me to be her “fairy godfather” and help her become more confident. We’re talking lessons on kissing and clothing-optional activities so that she can ask out the new vet in town.

  Which is problem number four—and the biggest issue of all. I want to be her Prince Charming.

  But I’m going to have to put my heart on the line to win hers.

  Once Upon a Cowboy is now available!

  Fix Me Up, Cowboy

  Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the sexiest cowboy of them all…

  As a Beverly Hills princess, I might not know the first thing about making my favorite desserts but I do know three things: my seven brothers and male cousins are stiflingly protective, my stepmother is obsessed with the bedroom mirror, and my boyfriend was caught doing the dirty with my best friend.

  Nice, huh?

  After my estranged great aunt dies, I volunteer to go to Copper Creek, Montana to tie up loose ends. The last things I expect to find are a house that needs major renovations and hot cowboy Noah Daniels.

  ***

  For the past year, the restlessness that once drove me from Copper Creek has been threatening a big comeback. But unlike last time, leaving the small town is no longer an option—thanks to my grandfather’s will. I leave and my brothers lose the ranch, their livelihood.

  The solution to the restlessness? Helping hotter-than-hell Kate Snow with her renovations.

  Hanging out with her. The mind-blowing sex with her.

  What I haven’t counted on are her overly protective relatives popping into town to chase away any cowboys sniffing around her.

  I also don’t expect Kate to be sexy with a hammer in hand.

  And what else haven’t I planned for? My heart to be a willing part of the deal—a deal that could result in Kate joining her uncle’s renovation company. In Beverly Hills.

  * * *

  Fix Me Up, Cowboy releases May 2019

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  READ ON FOR AN EXCERPT FROM DECIDEDLY OFF LIMITS

  Kelsey

  * * *

  Quick, name the top ten sounds you never want to hear while in your car—especially when said noise happens on the way to your best friend’s parents’ anniversary party.

  Willing my car to cling to life for a few more feet, I pulled over to the curb. Cars, trucks, and SUVs rushed past, racing to get home for the weekend. The moment I made it to the side of the road, my car abandoned its will to live. The once purring engine took its final purr—well, more like a groan—then I was met with a deafening silence.

  “Fuck.” Because, really, is there a better word?

  I think not.

  The car stuck behind me honked. My poor baby didn’t care if Impatient Guy had somewhere more important to go. She wasn’t going anywhere. I might not have known anything about cars, but even I could tell that much.

  I checked over my shoulder at the busy lane next to me. I could have escaped via the driver’s side—if I didn’t mind risking my life and becoming roadkill.

  Since neither was currently on my daily to-do list, I went with Plan B. I flipped on the hazard lights, stretched my leg over the gearshift, and tried to climb onto the passenger seat. Tall Victorian houses stood sandwiched together along the street. If they were human, they would have been snickering at me.

  The hem of my short dress scooted up my thighs, and that sadly neglected part between my legs accidentally brushed against the gearshift. Naturally, it wasn’t too thrilled that this was the only action it would see. Which was a helluva lot more than it had seen for the past 460 days.

  But who was counting?

  Still awkwardly straddling the gearshift and doing my best not to dry-hump it, I performed a graceful face-plant onto the passenger side. My knee landed on the seat; my face almost smashed into the window. On the bright side the sidewalk was empty of pedestrians. No one had witnessed my moment of humiliation.

  I shifted my body and opened the door. With my skirt still hiked up my thighs, I performed a complex move of climbing out while shimmying the hem back into place. The Russian judge would have given me a 2.5, mostly due to lack of technical skills…and well, grace. But at least this time I didn’t land on my face.

  Why I climbed out of my car was anyone’s guess. To scowl at it, maybe. That was about the extent of my mechanical skills.

  Since Erin—my best friend—and her husband were already at the party, I called AAA and pleaded for them to send someone. Preferably now.

  Apparently, 5:00 p.m. on a Friday afternoon was NOT a good time to need AAA. The soonest they could send someone was in four hours.

  The sun peeked from behind a cloud, reminding me there was indeed always a bright side. The party wasn’t far from here, and AAA would phone me when the cavalry was on the way.

  Now, I just needed to get to the party.

  In rom
ance novels, this was the moment when the hero pulled over and offered to help the heroine. In thrillers, this was the moment when the serial killer pulled over and added another notch in his…well, whatever serial killers added a notch to.

  A familiar black BMW pulled in front of my car and option B would have been favorable at this point. I inwardly groaned as Trent Salway exited his vehicle.

  “Hey Kels, you need help?” Six-foot-plus of dark-haired male hotness in a black business suit walked up to me, and the ache between my legs let out a dreamy sigh. Clearly it hadn’t forgotten how I had been crushing on my best friend’s big brother for as long as I could remember—only for him to see me as nothing more than a little sister. More specifically, his best friend’s little sister.

  Trent’s gaze dropped to my lips and the ache between my legs drifted into its own fantasy land. It’s not what you think, my brain pointed out, always the party pooper. Your lip gloss is probably smeared.

  Unconsciously, I ran the tip of my tongue along my lower lip. Trent’s sexy green eyes darkened, and his Adam’s apple shot up then slid back down.

  His passenger door opened, yanking me out of my lust-filled moment, and a pair of never-ending legs, with shiny red stilettos attached, stepped out. Then in slow motion—or at least it seemed that way in my head—the rest of the body appeared from the car. At the sight of her, my heart clambered out of my chest and crash-landed on the asphalt with a big splat.

  Whoever this woman was, she was the opposite of me. Her black dress clung to her slim body and her auburn hair was swept up in an elegant bun. Her makeup was smoky and made her look like a Hollywood starlet. My ex-fiancé used to call me kitten sexy—a nice way of saying I was cute—but I was nothing compared to this woman.