Christmas Kisses with My Cowboy - Diana Palmer Page 0,62

of stable and happy upbringing every child deserved. She’d dropped out of nursing school and came home to Sweet Plains to make good on her promise—even if that meant occasionally looking like a crazy woman.

He tilted his head down, meeting her gaze, his lips curved into a gentle smile. “It’s just what, Faith?”

Faith stood steady, even though her instinct was to move away. “I don’t like guns. Even toy ones.”

“My mom didn’t either.”

“She sounds like a smart woman,” she said, and he took off his hat. The gesture was meant to put her at ease, but Faith didn’t trust well-practiced body language. Trusting meant letting down her guard and that, when standing down a giant with a weapon, was asking for trouble. So she said, “What happened to you?”

He laughed—and even that was sexy. “You know, most moms would thank me for driving their kid around town.”

So he thought she was a mom. So what? It wasn’t Faith’s responsibility to correct his assumption. A lot of people arrived at the same conclusion. They took one look at Faith’s tiny house on the outskirts of town, her late shifts at the B-Cubed, and early rounds at the hospital, and decided she must have been a teen mom.

In a way, she was. Overnight, nineteen-year-old Faith had gone from a top-of-her-class nursing student to a job-juggling single mom. Pax had barely turned three when their mom, Hope, decided she didn’t have it in her to be a mother anymore.

Faith’s choices? Move home and raise Pax or stay in school and watch him go into the system. It was a no-brainer. Faith chose Pax.

And she would again. Every time.

“I assure you, I’m not like any mom in town.” First there were her rules, which to most seemed over the top, but to her were vital if she wanted to maintain custody. Then there were the mandatory trips to visit Pax’s father at the penitentiary three towns over, the last Saturday of the month like clockwork. And finally, there were whispers and stares that, no matter how hard Faith tried, never seemed to go away.

“I’m starting to get that.” He moved so close that Faith could see little golden specks in his brown eyes. A tiny scar that started at his temple and disappeared into his thick, brown hair.

“Like I said, there won’t be a next time. End of story.” Exactly what she’d told Gina in the diner.

“Angel, this story’s barely begun.” He stepped closer. The electricity crackled between them, and she was certain he was going to kiss her—right there on Main Street. “If you want a sneak peek at chapter one, why don’t we head out of here and grab that cup of cocoa so you can make good on those two thank-yous you owe me.”

She arched a brow. “Two?”

“The tree.” He held up a finger. Then another. “And the ride.”

“Thank you and thank you. But like I said before, I don’t date.”

“Funny, because the way I remember it, wearing a guy’s jacket was a pretty bold ‘he’s with me’ statement. And you still have mine, angel.”

“Only because I forgot to give it back.” She failed to mention that she might have slept in it the night before. Perhaps pressed her nose to the fabric and breathed him in deeply. “And I didn’t know you were staying. Which was why I planned on giving it to Shelby next time I saw her.”

“Good news. I’m staying through the holidays,” he said, and alarm bells went off. “So we can exchange clothes and anything else you had in mind. How about tomorrow?”

“I work.”

“How does Sunday sound then?”

She laughed. “Like a Christmas miracle.” Most Sundays started with baking before the sun rose and ended serving dinner and pie at the diner.

“Good thing miracles are my specialty,” he said, and the low rumble of his voice had her good parts twinkling. “So, Sunday?”

“I’m busy.”

“I didn’t give a specific Sunday, angel.”

He didn’t need to. Noah’s staying in town made her nervous. The way he called her angel had her belly fluttering as if there were six swans a-swimming in there. That he was giving her a look, the same look she’d received from men ever since the day she’d grown boobs in the sixth grade, made her downright furious.

“You’re right,” she said, sweet as honey. “What Sunday are you leaving?”

“Sunday after Christmas.” He rested a forearm on the hood, as if he had not a single doubt that she would bat her eyes and say, “Well then, cowboy,