A Cowboy’s Twinkling Lights Lasso (A Fox Lodge Christmas #4)

Chapter One

FLORA

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“THAT COWBOY DOESN’T need Santa’s sleigh. He could ride me all night long.” My sister’s purr slashes through a chirpy version of Jingle Bells as she ogles a cowboy posing in a sleigh like he’s ready to take off into a snowy night.

It’s fitting, considering the entire Fox Lodge lobby looks like a winter wonderland. The grand entrance is framed in pine garland sprinkled with red berries and faux snow. The twelve reindeer attached to the sleigh stand near a massive stone fireplace twinkling with evergreen garland and fake woodland animals.

I read the rustic arrow signs painted deep red and trimmed with snowflakes until I find The Enchanted Ballroom. “Are you coming to help me set up or staying here to gawk at every cowboy you see?”

“I mean—” She gnaws on her lower lip and stares into the air like she’s debating.

I chuckle and grab her arm, dragging her out of the lobby. “I’m only here because you begged me, so don’t think you’re getting a free ride.”

“Speaking of rides.”

“Not another word,” I hiss as two cowboys strut down the hallway we veer.

“Word.”

“Dani,” I warn.

“Flora.” She flashes a sultry smile. “You two cowboys part of the Christmas calendar fundraiser?”

My sister halts in the hallway, planting her feet firmly. She swings her hands on her hips, making it impossible for them to move forward.

“No, sunshine. We are not.” The one wearing a white Stetson lowers it in a curt nod.

His eyes take in my sister slowly, purposefully from her cowboy boots, up her bare legs, passing her short-shorts, and lingering where the plaid shirt rolls up, exposing her middle. He proceeds to stop at the V neckline dipping into her cleavage, and shamelessly, he undresses her with his eyes.

Mind you, her plaid Christmas colors are a nice touch. I opted for a maxi dress, ridding my sweater and pants for the warmer southern winter.

The other cowboy keeps his distance but also wears a wedding band on his left finger. I can’t help but appreciate his commitment. It’s hard to resist a Rowe. They’re persistent and relentless and damn sexy—except me. I’m none of those things.

“That’s a shame.” She raps her holly motif fingernails on the exposed flesh of her hip. “You could be the perfect December present.”

He chuckles that low, rumbly chuckle cowboys are somehow born with. “You can unwrap me any day of the year.”

He did not just say that.

She takes two long, leisurely steps closer to him and tiptoes, pressing her mouth against his ear. “If you play your cards right, the tree won’t be the only thing with an angel on top tonight.”

The fire in his eyes is unmistakable. “That shade of lipstick would look great on my candy cane.”

Oh, good lord. “Let’s go.” I grab her arm and push between the men. “Excuse us.”

“Meet me ar the bar around ten,” she calls over her shoulder.

“Don’t forget the lipstick.”

“Cowboy, I’m gonna jingle bell rock your world,” she promises.

“Seriously?” I let her go when we arrive at the elevator and repeatedly press the up button.

“I am single, and he’s single—”

“You don’t know that. You two barely had three full sentences between you that didn’t involve knocking boots.”

“Grinch.” She glances over her shoulder and waves at the cowboy, who has slowed his walk to keep his eye on her. “We had chemistry, though.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Keep it up. You’re going to be just like Peggy-Ann. You know that, right?”

I jab the elevator button again. The lodge is swamped, and it’s only Thursday. I can’t even imagine how booming the place will be tomorrow when the women who booked the weekend for the Christmas calendar fundraiser arrive.

The demand for pictures taken with shirtless cowboys to create a custom calendar sold out in less than an hour. One afternoon extended into an entire weekend: Friday and Saturday photo shoots, Sunday supper, and cowboy signatures on their overnight produced calendars.

A lot of strings were pulled for this fundraiser. Mind you, each woman dropped a hefty buck for their calendar, my aunt Peggy-Ann included.

“I’m not married.” My sister rearranges her top to prominently showcase her breasts before turning back to flirt from a distance. “Not that Uncle Elmer cares. He has his own lineup of women from town to town.” She twirls one of her pigtail braids between her fingers seductively for her waiting cowboy.

This is the reason I left Rocky Ridge Creek. Well, one of the reasons. My family is a hot mess I don’t want to be a part of. One aunt is the town flirt—and that’s putting it nicely. Some might call her the town tramp. My other aunt, Rita, is the town’s deputy mayor but drinks like a seasoned barfly. And that’s only two out of eight aunts in and around town. The Rowe women tend to be untamed in these parts—again, except me.

“Uncle Elmer is a prick,” I say. “Don’t think either of them are happy. And don’t follow in their footsteps.”

“I don’t follow in anyone’s footsteps. Thats why I didn’t take up your invitation to move to the city after mom died.”

My chest squeezes at the mention of her. Echoes of regret linger inside me. I should’ve come back for her funeral. I should’ve said goodbye. I should’ve forgiven her.

Like always, I push the feelings deep down and smile at my sister. “There’s so much beyond the confines of this small town. My condo overlooks the ocean, and I work my own hours there.”

Hopefully, not for long. If I get the lead photographer job, I’ll travel the world doing what I love.

“But, are you happy?”

“Yes.”

Why does that feel like a lie? Why does it always feel like I’m chasing something I can’t catch? And is that the blasted Rowe curse? Chasing what you can never catch.

“Are you happy?” I ask her.

“Yes.” There isn’t even an ounce of doubt in her answer. “I’m just glad you agreed to come back.”

I hold up the camera hanging around my neck. “Work calls.”

“Charity work. Only charity could force you back here.”

“Force me?”

“Don’t make me say it.” We both know she’s referring to the funeral.

“Listen, Dani. About moms funeral—”

She holds up her hands. “Nope. We’re not doing this now. You’ve heard of Elf on the Shelf, right? Well, get ready for Cowboy in the Cozy Cabin.”

“We rented a room.”

“You know what I mean. Don’t bring my sexy mood down with your sad sob stories.”

“Alright. Let’s find The Enchanted Ballroom.”

“And find you a cowboy to unwrap.”

“No.”

“We’ll see.”

“We won’t.”

The door chimes open, and a family of five spills into the hallway, children bouncing excitedly. When it clears, I step into the elevator.

Dani leans on the inside of the elevator frame. “Tonight!” she shouts at the cowboy, who now leans against a post, watching her.

“See you there, angel.”

She licks a candy cane in a very inappropriate manner, ignoring the whirring noise of the elevator doors trying to close against her body.

I grab a handful of her shirt and pull her inside before the doors slide shut. “Where did you even get a candy cane?”

“In my back pocket. You want one?” She brandishes a second candy cane.

“Yes.” I pluck it out of her hand and quickly unwrap it. If anything, I’m a sucker for mint candy canes.

“I’m only one of many women who will be ogling these calendar cowboys.” She bites off the tip of her candy cane. “Ogling, touching, rubbing. But unlike those women secretly getting their jollies, I’m doing it straight up. There won’t be any mistaking my intentions.” She grins. “Plus, think about this scenario.”

“Do I have to?”

“If I hook up with valentine cowboy, and when the first of February rolls around, and I flip my calendar and see my hot lay right there, I can rub one out to those glossy muscles I spent an evening touching, sucking, and licking.”

“Don’t be crude.”

“Don’t be a prude.” She pinches my hip. “Women masturbate, and it’s nothing to be ashamed of. Jill off. Double click. Squeak your pink.”

“I didn’t say they don’t. I just think we’re in a public lodge, and you have to respect others who may not be as vocal as you.”

“Prude.”

“I’m not a prude.”

“When’s the last time you had a date with Jill?” My sister has no scruples. She never has. She’s as wild and free and expressive as a teenager sneaking out of the house for a bonfire outside of town.

“I’m not answering that.” On the other hand, I realized at a young age that everyone judges you based on the words that come out of your mouth or the people you hang around. And I learned a long time ago to keep my most precious thoughts locked away from the town gossip and to stay away from the local boys—aka cowboys.

“Last night. Me, Netflix, and Jill.” She winks at me.

“We’re done with this conversation.”

“Not until you tell me the last time you masturbated.”

“No.”

The elevator dings, passing floors.

“Tell me.”

“No.”

Another chime for a passing floor.

“Fess up, Flora.”

“No.”

“I don’t mind extending this conversation all weekend. I haven’t seen you in years. You don’t have a boyfriend, and as far as I know, no friends with benefits or fuck buddy, so I’d like to make sure you’re taking care of all your womanly needs.”

“Good lord, Dani, I masturbated this morning in the shower when I got here!” I don’t mean to yell, but that’s what my prying sister does. She pushes me to my limit, and I explode and look like a lunatic. “And let me tell you, the pressure at this lodge really hits the spot, and I don’t even need to put on a bright shade of lipstick that would look great on a cowboy’s candy cane!”

The door chimes, but not to open. It’s already wide open, and a cowboy dominates the corridor.

“You used the term wrong,” my sister whispers.

I glare at her, silently telling her to shut up.

This cowboy may not be shirtless, but his vast muscles practically tear the material of his T-shirt. And the way his hat tilts just right highlights his chiseled features.

Our eyes meet, even if I don’t want them to. Even if my hand automatically tries to find the button to close the doors in his face.

He wears a crooked smile. The tiniest, sexiest, crooked smile. And he has this twinkle in his eye that stirs my insides and tells me his pressure would really hit my spot.

“Mornin’ ladies.” The low, rich timbre of his voice rumbles an undeniable power. I told you, those cowboys are born with it.

“Mornin’.” I expect my sister to get her full-on flirt going, but her voice remains chill.

“Going up?” His eyes are locked on mine, playful, fun, flirty—all the things I avoid.

My sister steps back and tips her pink Stetson. “Yes, sir.”

I can hear the inappropriate thoughts bouncing around in her head—cause they’re sure bouncing around in my head.

Why couldn’t she just say no?

The thud of his boots echoes. And the way the worn denim hugs his thighs leaves little to the imagination. The elevator shrinks with his arrival, and his arm brushes mine as he shifts in the tight space.

I’m not gonna lie; electricity zaps every spot his bare, rugged arm touches. I blame my reaction on lacking a man’s touch for many years. And the way he half-smirks down at me tells me the brush was quite intentional. And if it was intentional with me, I’m sure it’s intentional with every woman he accidentally bumps into.

He eyes the floor panel. “I guess we’re all headin’ to the same floor.”

“Are you here for the cowboy calendar event?” My sister winks at me behind the cowboy.

“Yes, ma’am. I am.”

Her face scrunches into a look of disgust. “You can call my aunts ma’am, but I ain’t no ma’am.”

I crack a smile. She’s not wrong. She’s the furthest from a ma’am.

“Sunshine, darlin’, sugar, sweetheart.” She continues to list alternative names. “Keep these in mind while you’re flirting.”

“I haven’t flirted”—his eyes take a heated glow that’s hard to ignore—” yet.”

My insides heat into soup.

“You got another candy cane?”

I’d forgotten the partially licked stick in my hand. “No. Just this one.”

“I don’t mind sharing.” He reaches for the candy cane. Our fingers brush briefly. With that playful gleam in his eyes, he gives it a teasing lick. His expression is pure enjoyment as he cherishes the flavor.

“What’s your gig, Flora Rowe from Rocky Ridge Creek High School? Class of school midnight skinny dip pool party at the principal’s ranch.”

“You two know each other?” my sister asks.

Understatement.

Thorn Slater.

Brother of one.

Class of midnight skinny dip pool party at the principal’s ranch. Also, the cowboy who took my virginity that very same night.

Of course, I don’t say any of this, and I feel my sister’s eyes burning on me.

“I don’t recall—”

“You recall.” His assertiveness has me instantly damp between the legs.

I recall every last detail. It didn’t matter that I’d had a couple of drinks that night. It didn’t matter that I was tipsy. Every previous touch, lick, and thrust is embedded in my head. They say your first time is never good, never right, and never leaves a lasting impression. Well, it hadn’t been this cowboy’s first time, and he left a helluva impression on me.

I shake my head. “No. Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Climbing over the principal’s fence to drink and skinny dip in his pool doesn’t ring a bell?”

“Wait, Flora, you were part of that?” Dani doesn’t sound convinced.

I shake my head.

“Bolting when principal McCoy shouted out the window?” Thorn’s deep brown eyes darken, and I’ll bet he’s remembering his hands on my wet ass cheeks as he hoisted me over the fence.

“I’m having a hard time envisioning my sister partaking in this.” Dani crosses her arms.

“Because I didn’t partake in it.” Not intentionally, anyway.

“I very clearly recall splitting from the group and hiding from the sheriff at the old Underwood schoolhouse.” His voice is more profound than I remember. Like smooth whiskey.

“And the sheriff didn’t do a quick scan through the house?” My sister puckers her lips. “Sounds unlikely.”

“He did. He checked every floor, except the secret attic, through the bedroom closet. The secret cozy attic where—”

“Okay, stop!” I raise my hands before he straight up tells my sister we knocked boots. “I do recall a drunken evening where I broke a few laws and did hide from the sheriff.”

My sister gasps again. “You broke the law?”

“Yes. One time.”

Thorn smirks. “I seem to recall you doing a lot of firsts that night.”

I inhale deeply and am grateful when the door opens on our floor.

The hum of excitement surges into our confined space. I can’t get out of the elevator fast enough. I practically trip over my own feet, squeezing by Thorn—and yes, my front brushes against his solid, rock-hard body. Some things definitely get better with age. My tingling nipples agree.

“I was going to marry this girl,” he says to my sister.

I spin around and catch her mouth gaping open. “Pardon me?” she shrieks.

“He wasn’t going to marry me.”

“She stole my heart and then ditched town.”

My sister’s eyes widen in question, silently demanding so much more.

“I did not steal his heart.”

“Well, I think this is the perfect weekend to steal yours.” Thorn strides past me with a wink that gives me all the feels: pulse-quickening, smoldering heat building inside me.

“I like him.” My sister nudges my side before following behind him like a little puppy.

That’s because she doesn’t know him like I do. I liked him too—a lot. But it was all a lie. He’s a liar.

Ughhh.

My cowboy boots weigh me down, and each reluctant step feels like an anchor.

What are the odds that Thorn Slater will end up modeling for the same event I’m photographing? A better question is, what are the chances we are paired together? One in twelve. Those chances are low, so I shouldn’t worry about getting teamed with him. Avoiding Thorn Slater this weekend shouldn’t be an issue.

“Flora Rowe!” Arms wrap around me before I can register who it is, but the puff of white tulle sweeping across my forehead and twig of white beads that almost pokes my eye out is a dead giveaway.

Faye Quylt.

She pulls away and forces my eyes to adjust to the extravagant outfit she’s wearing today—and it is extravagant. A giant red mitten is perched atop her felt wide-brim Kentucky derby hat with swirling white tulle and twigs branching off. Her tea dress is a collage of red mittens and snowflakes. She’s aged from my teen years, but she’s pretty and quirky as ever.

“You’ve grown into a gorgeous young lady. Hasn’t she, Wilma?” She glances over her shoulder at her older sister.

Wilma almost smiles at me. Her lips curl up on one side, but she’s never been one to show emotion. She’s as serious as her crisply ironed western shirt and dark wash jeans.

“It’s lovely to see you, Flora.”

“It’s nice to see you both again. I guess your persistence that I partake in this fundraiser was worth it.”

“It will be sweetie.” Faye squeezes my hands. “We have it all planned out.”

I glance into The Enchanted Ballroom and see preparations have started. Piles of lighting, props, and twelve U-shape photo backdrop walls are constructed strategically from sturdy wooden frames throughout the spacious ballroom. Each is a blank canvas waiting for the photographer’s creativity to unfold.

“I think it’s going to be an amazing event,” I agree with Faye.

“Oh, sweetie.” Faye smiles like she knows a secret. “I’m not talking about the event.”

A bad feeling creeps inside me. I’ve only heard the stories of the matchmaking sisters, but I left before they could be victim to their soulmate games.

“Listen, I hope—”

“Flora!” My Aunt Peggy-Ann pulls me under the archway and into the large event room.

Eyes don’t skip over her. Every element of her outfit screams look at me. From her fitted halter top and animal print capris to the chunky bangles and heels so high I don’t think I could walk in them.

“Get in here. They’re announcing who will be working together at each station. You signed up for December, and I have the keys to the props at town hall.”

“Thanks, Aunt Peggy-Ann.”

“Of course. I had to find a way to weasel my way into the event, and you were my entrance ticket.” At least she’s honest.

At the back of the room, there’s a commotion where my Aunt Rita and Mayor Thomas Banks shuffle through stacks of books and pages scattered on a table. Even councilor Grumpy Wayne sits at the end of the table, puffing an unlit cigar. He’s been on the city council for as long as I can remember. The deep lines etched around his mouth and the sandy texture of his skin are a testament to the countless puffs he’s taken. But the most unique thing about Grumpy Wayne is that he only talks quotes from the John Wayne and his western film rolls, who he believes he was named after.

My aunt navigates us to the main table.

“It was right here.” My Aunt Rita taps her long nails on the table.

“It didn’t just get up and walk away.” Mayor Thomas seems to be as grumpy as Wayne this morning.

“Life is hard. It’s even harder when you’re stupid.” Grumpy Wayne pretends to blow out a puff of smoke.

“It’s here!” Faye waves a bright red hardcover book in the air.

The older woman zips through the room with surprising speed and energy. Wilma follows behind at a more measured but determined pace.

“I must’ve picked it up by accident.” She holds out the book with a pleasant smile.

“Be more alert, Miss Quylt.” Thomas seizes it with a scowl.

“We would like to start by extending our gratitude to all the cowboys who have agreed to donate their weekend to a good cause.” The microphone cracks under Aunt Rita’s voice, and I wonder why she even has it when only a couple dozen of us are present.

Aunt Peggy-Ann jabs her elbow into my side. “Gratitude is right. Look at these incredible specimens.” She’s all but drooling at the dozen cowboys sprinkled between us.

“They’ve not only agreed to pose for the photo shoot, but they’ve offered their assistance building the stations for each month with the coordinating photographer.”

“Wasn’t that nice of them,” my aunt whispers. “I wonder what else they’re offering to do.”

Aunt Rita shoots us a look, and I wish we could shrink to the back, out of sight and hearing range. And I absolutely do not let my gaze wander around the room, avoiding eye contact with a certain cowboy.

After briefly discussing the event and the money raised for the local animal shelter, the mayor begins naming off the pairs. I requested the December photo, knowing my aunt Rita has access to the Christmas parade decorations and that a few historical pieces would create a rustic and memorable backdrop.

I listen to the names announced. Mainly, I listen for that certain sexy cowboy. The one who overheard a very private conversation between me and my sister not fifteen minutes ago. The one who thinks he has me pegged—the one who can bite my ass for being a lying condescending jerk.

The months pass, the photographers giggle, the cowboys grunt, and each skips Thorn. November came and passed, but there is still no Thorn. That’s when I realize Faye didn’t accidentally pick up that book.

“December is my talented niece, Flora Rowe, and she’s paired up with local ranch owner Thorn Slater.”

My eyes land on Thorn, and it’s at that moment that I wish I had never come back to Rocky Ridge Creek.