Her Christmas Cowboy (The Wyoming Cowboy #5) - Jessica Clare Page 0,98

made it clear that she was done with him, and he was leaving. She’d won.

She felt like celebrating. How long had she wanted to stand up for herself? How long had she dreamed of putting him in his place like he did to her all the time? Even when she’d divorced him, she’d snuck out and left, because it was too hard to confront him and stand up for herself. But she had today. She felt like a new person.

She turned to Caleb, smiling. “He left.”

He rubbed his jaw, scratching at his beard, and for a moment, he looked uncomfortable. “Was that okay?” he asked. “What I did?”

“Tossing him off the porch?” Amy asked. When he nodded, she chuckled. “It was perfect. We make a great team.”

Caleb grinned. “That we do.”

* * *

* * *

Hours later, they emerged from the bedroom and curled up in front of the fire to snuggle in blankets and exchange Christmas presents. She moved Donner’s bed next to the fireplace to share in the warmth, and the old dog was currently snoring, sprawled and content.

Even though it had happened earlier that day, Amy was still giddy with the knowledge that she’d handled Blake. She’d taken care of things. She hadn’t let him bully her into submission. And she’d thrown in that line about the lawyer to make him sweat. She had no doubt that he was deliberately maneuvering not to pay her the money she was owed, all to make her desperate. Maybe she’d lawyer up in the New Year—surely someone would take her on—or maybe she wouldn’t. The important thing was that Blake was going to sweat about it, and that was enough of a Christmas present for her.

Caleb sank down to the floor with two mugs of hot cocoa, topped with thick whipped cream, leftovers from one of their baking dates. She took her mug from him and sighed with contentment. “This might be my favorite Christmas ever.”

“Really? You haven’t even opened your presents yet.” He smiled at her over his mug, so handsome it made her heart squeeze.

“It’s not about presents,” she confessed. “It’s about being happy. I don’t think I’ve ever been happier.” She looked around her small house, at the ramshackle furniture and the cold-frosted windows. Was it a little run-down? Sure. But it was her place. She could decorate however she wanted. She could pull out every bit of furniture and replace it all with yoga mats. She could hang beads from the ceiling and paint the walls a ridiculous shade of medicinal pink, all because she simply wanted to. It was her life.

The possibilities felt endless.

Not that she’d do any of those things, of course. But the knowledge that she could do whatever she wanted, dress however she wanted, and act however she wanted? It was thrilling. That was the best present, she realized. It wasn’t anything that came wrapped in a gift box, but a sense of independence. It was knowing that you could make your choices and the person at your side would support you and want the best for you.

Looking at Caleb, she knew he was that person. He’d support her dreams. If she wanted to give up teaching and make soaps in the basement, he’d support that. If she wanted to teach for the next fifty years, he’d support that, too, because he just wanted her to be happy and fulfilled. The thought made her giddy with joy.

“If it’s not about presents, then I guess we don’t need to open them . . . ?” He pointed at the box under the tree with her name on it.

“Well, maybe it’s about presents a little,” Amy teased back. There were four gifts with his name on them under her tree, too—three books and the bookends. She hoped it was enough. Money was tight—money was always tight.

Caleb picked up the large box with her name on it and handed it over to her.

A curious smile spread across her face and she took the present from him, then began to unwrap it. An all-too-familiar label stared back at her from the front of the box. “Louboutins? You got me a pair of Louboutins?”

He shrugged. “A place a few cities over had some in, and I recognized the red sole. You’re always wearing fancy shoes, so I thought I’d get you a pair.”

A horrified giggle escaped her throat, and she pulled the familiar black sparkly shoes out. She’d put them on consignment a few weeks ago .