Christmas at Home (Spikes & Spurs #5) - Carolyn Brown Page 0,36
He wasn’t calling the shots and she hadn’t lost. She was the winner of the whole war. Her hands went from his hair to his neck, down inside the coverall’s collar. She wiggled out of one glove so she could feel bare skin, and she felt him shiver.
“God that feels good,” he said.
“Mmm,” she purred.
“You are something else, Sage Presley.”
His warm breath in her ear traveled down her body like a lightning bolt, creating heat all the way to the deepest reaches. He nibbled on her earlobe and strung light, sweet kisses to her cheeks, her eyelids, the tip of her nose, and finally back to her mouth.
So she was something else, was she? What did that mean in cowboy language, anyway? She hoped it meant that he was as besotted as she was. And there was that blasted word again. Besotted. The last time she heard anyone use that was when Aunt Essie was telling the story for the nine millionth time about when she met her husband, Richard.
That nagging common sense voice that she hated reminded her that it would be even harder to watch Creed leave and never look back if they had sex. So when his lips left hers and he nuzzled the inside of her neck, she wiggled free. She almost made it out of his reach, but he got her by an ankle and brought her back down beside him, her cheek in the snow.
He stretched out beside her, kissed her one more time, and then sat up, pulling her into his lap. “It’s my day to win, darlin’. Now I’m going to get the tractor, and if another snowball hits me on the way, I’m going to win a helluva lot more.”
Her brown eyes twinkled. “Oh, yeah!”
“Remember what I said: I always tell the truth.”
“Ever had sex in the snow?”
His neck jerked back with a crack and a wicked grin spread across his face, lighting up his eyes. “What did you say?”
“Ever had sex in the snow?” she repeated.
“You offerin’?”
“I’m askin’.”
He shook his head. “Don’t believe I have. You?”
“No, I have not. Well, now that we got that cleared up, I’ll start another snowball for the middle of our snowman. I believe we’ve got enough to build a snow momma and maybe a couple of kids.”
“Darlin’, there’s enough snow to build a whole new town. What shall we call it?”
She laughed. “Mistletoe.”
He raised one dark eyebrow, retrieved his hat from the snow where it had landed when he attacked her, and set her to one side. “Why Mistletoe?”
“You’ve got some stuck to your hat, Creed. Every time you go outside you bring more in the house.”
“All right, then our town of snow people shall be called Mistletoe, Texas.” He laughed, got to his feet, and offered her his hand. “I’ll be back in a few minutes with the tractor.”
He pulled her up like she was a feather. Not many men could do that without a grimace or even a small grunt, but not Creed. She felt like a princess standing there in her mustard-colored overalls, no makeup, and snow in her hair.
* * *
Creed had planned to hop on the tractor, drive it through the snow to the front yard, and use the hay spike on the front to help lift Mr. Snowman’s midsection. But then he saw the scoop shoved up against the back wall of the barn. He grabbed the toolbox, removed the spike, and put it on the short trailer that could be affixed to the back of the tractor. He attached the trailer and put the scoop on the front of the tractor.
Noel hopped up on the seat beside him and he carefully backed out of the big double doors. Using the scoop like a snowplow, he cut a five-foot swath from barn to house, leaving a pathway with a ridge of slightly dingy snow on either side.
Sage shook her head when he got close and put up a palm. When he shut off the engine, she yelled, “Don’t plow all the way up to them! I want them sitting in snow when I take pictures.”
He nodded and hopped down off the tractor seat. Noel chased back and forth on the plowed pathway like a kid with a brand-new toy. Angel sat in the window watching the whole affair and twitching her tail.
“We need to let her out. She’s getting jealous of Noel,” Creed said.
“But she might run away or get buried in the snow and die and the