The Cowboy Who Saved Christmas - Jodi Thomas Page 0,70

laughed out loud at the irony of it. At the crazy culmination of everything this day had ever represented. Death, birth, sadness, stress, and heartbreak, now rounded out with unspeakable joy and the love of a lifetime.

And a daughter I’d never expected, tossing rose petals at our feet.

Bizarre didn’t even begin to cover it.

Now, after their Christmas Eve night tradition of opening a gift, and watching Abigail’s squeals of joy and anticipation at waiting for Santa Claus . . . I was the one waiting.

For Ben.

“Wait for me in our room, love,” he’d said before heading off to tuck Abigail in and read her a story.

I hadn’t even been back to my house since leaving for Mr. Green’s office that morning. It was like living in a dream. I didn’t know how daily life was going to roll out going forward, but we would figure it out.

“Our room,” I’d echoed. “That sounds so . . .”

“Delightful?” he said under his breath, dropping a kiss on my lips. “Decadent?”

“Both,” I said. “Shall we wait for Santa as well?”

He raised an eyebrow. “I’m hoping to get my present early.”

I laughed softly. “I do believe you already opened one under the tree. Plus gained a person.”

“Well, see, there was this chat that my daughter and I had today about secret wishes and how they’d be sparkly or something,” he said.

“Oh?”

“And we were just getting to the crux of that when this woman came over and started yelling at me.”

I clamped my lips together and then grinned. That felt like a year ago. Now, my ranch was safe, new plans were in the works, I could hire back all the old hands to help Malcolm, and my heart—it was soaring for so many reasons.

“I see. How did you handle that?”

“I married her,” he said simply. “So, I’m going off incomplete information, but I’m thinking that the sparkly stuff is still to come tonight,” he said, pulling me to him and kissing me as I giggled. “I want very, very, very much to make love to my wife,” he whispered against my lips. “Sparkles or not.”

Tingles of lightning-hot heat went straight to all things south.

Wife.

God, nothing sounded better. I had been worked up into a frenzy since he’d kissed me into a proposal that morning. Watching him in action today was like an aphrodisiac.

“You know, technically, we could have made that happen while all the people scattered at your command like you were the voice of Zeus,” I said to his already shaking head.

“I said wife,” he clarified, glancing around for little ears. Pulling me to him again, he brushed his mouth against my ear. “I’ve loved you on a rock, in a field, and made you come against a tree,” he whispered, sending shivers of desire down my neck. “The next time I touch you, love of my life, I want you in my bed, calling me your husband.”

Hence . . . now I waited. Staring at his huge four-poster bed.

Because I couldn’t wait to do just that.

When he finally strolled in, boots in hand, latching the lock behind him, my breath caught in my chest. Gone was the black jacket he’d worn to say his vows. Gone was the tie. His shirt was open at the neck, pulled a little loose at the waist—probably from tickling Abigail. His shirtsleeves were unbuttoned and rolled up on his forearms.

More than any of that, it was the expression he wore. A look of pure happiness mixed with a driving carnal need that intensified as his eyes raked my body.

I was dressed in only a dressing robe that Lila had brought over. A long one, made of fine black silk, that I’d found in Houston years ago. My grandmother bought it for me when I’d eyed it longingly at a boutique, probably thinking she was adding to a soon-to-be-needed boudoir.

Well, she did. Just much later, and not to whom she expected.

My hair was down in waves, and the robe was wrapped tightly around me and belted, showing all my curves. It was sinful and decadent, and completely unladylike, and I didn’t care. If I couldn’t show up this way for my husband, what was the point of taking his name?

“You look—stunning,” he said breathily.

“You look too far away,” I said, crossing to him.

I didn’t have a need for etiquette either.

Ben’s hands went into my hair as our mouths met, moaning as I pressed myself against him.

“God, I’ve waited so long for you, my love,” he growled against