Christmas Kisses with My Cowboy - Diana Palmer Page 0,51
I call you?” he asked, and she shoved out a breath as if his presence had ruined her entire holiday season.
“Faith.”
That was it. No last name. No further details. The bite in her tone suggested that one word was the beginning and end of their conversation.
Says her.
“So Faith, just Faith. I’m Noah.” He stuck out his hand. “Noah Tucker.”
“Well, Noah Tucker.” She didn’t acknowledge his extended hand. “I hope your decorating skills are better than your recall, because we’ve met. Many times.”
His recall was near perfect. And with a woman who looked like her? She’d be imprinted on the backs of his eyelids.
So when their gazes met, he made sure his skepticism was clear as day.
“Seriously? We had an algebra class together your senior year. I sat behind you,” she said. He had nothing. “You borrowed my notes.”
Noah didn’t remember a whole lot about senior year. He’d been too busy focusing on how many days were left until he could enlist and get out of this hellhole. But he hadn’t been so focused as to miss a pretty girl with big brown eyes and even bigger ornaments.
Even thinking about her ornaments had him itching to inspect them further. And no matter how many times he reminded himself they were concealed beneath the bulk of his jacket, or thought, “Eyes up, idiot, eyes up,” they’d eventually drift south.
Brow arched, she crossed her arms. “I was a freshman. You were a dic . . . uh, stocking stuffer. Still are.”
Noah noticed her eyes were doing a little wandering of their own—from his eyes to his lips, back and forth. He winked, letting her know she’d been caught. “If I was such a . . . stocking stuffer, then why did you lend me your notes, Faith, just Faith?”
That question prompted a guilty grin. “Because you were a senior still taking algebra. I figured someone needed to help you pass or we’d be stuck with you another year.”
“Or maybe you lent me your notes because you had a crush on me. Wait, I remember you,” he said, suddenly placing her. Back then she was a quiet little thing, pretty but young as hell. She’d worked in the tutoring center after school and Noah always got the feeling that school was her way out. “You used to bring me cookies on game days.”
“I brought a lot of people cookies, so don’t think you were special.”
“Good to know.” He grinned and she rolled her eyes. “I probably didn’t thank you back then. I was kind of a stocking stuffer.”
“It’s expected—all men are.”
“You know, some of us learned from our mistakes and grew up.”
She looked unimpressed, as if he needed to work harder. As if she didn’t trust him to be anything other than a disappointment.
“You seem skeptical.” He took an ornament from her fingers and hung it on one of the higher branches. She didn’t bat his hand away, but he could tell she wasn’t someone who played well with others.
“So you’re saying you offered to help me with zero expectations?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And you’re not going to say anything to anyone about this?”
“Trust me, your secret is safe,” he said. “In fact, how about when we’re done here, we grab a coffee?”
“Grab coffee? So what, we can chat about the weather? Catch up?” She looked up at him. “It’s cold and late, and I don’t date. All the catching up we need.”
“Who said anything about a date?” he asked, finding it interesting that her cheeks turned the slightest shade of pink. “What if I was only offering you a chance to thank me for helping with the tree decorating?”
“Thank you for helping with the tree, Noah ‘Let Me Show You My Pistol’ Tucker.” She gathered up her things, including eleven empty twinkle light boxes, a backpack, and a huge purse. “And here I thought you were still that stocking stuffer from high school.” With a grin as sweet as sugar plums, she shoved a box of lights his way. “I hope these don’t take too long to hang. I hear it’s a crime to be merry and bright in front of the sheriff’s station.”
After a “good boy” pat to the arm, she turned on her elfin shoes and headed toward Main Street, still wearing his jacket, and leaving him with a ladder, six strands left to string, and a grin so wide he knew it would still be there come tomorrow.