Harmony for Christmas (Dansboro Crossing #4)

Chapter 3

three

HARMONY

I just want to point out that for all of Beau’s grumbling, his butt is firmly planted on the couch in front of the television when the next soap opera comes on.

Naturally, he pretends to ignore me when I explain the show’s premise, but his mumbled “ridiculous” doesn’t escape me. When a talk show starts, he firmly turns the TV off plunging us into silence again.

“I have a question,” I say when he stands to poke at the fire.

“Not surprised,” he mumbles under his breath.

“I heard that.” I give him my best scowl. “Any who, when do you decorate for Christmas?” There is absolutely nothing indicating that my favorite holiday is quickly approaching. No lights, no tree, no stockings over the mantle, not even the promise of cookies to be decorated. “Are you one of those psychos who wait until Christmas Eve to put everything up?”

“Are you one of those psychos who leave decorations up year round?”

“No, not yet. I have a strict rule that everything goes up the day after Thanksgiving and comes down the day after the New Year,” I inform him. “I’m not that crazy. Yet.” I grin at him, but he stares back like he’s harboring a serial killer. Finally, he turns and tosses another log on the fire.

“I don’t decorate,” he says with his back to me.

“I’m sorry, what?” Now who’s the serial killer? “Excuse me, I thought I heard you mumble something about not decorating. I must need my hearing checked.” I tug on my ear for emphasis.

He watches me as I stand and take an elaborate turn around the room. “Hmmm…it’s too late for a menorah. Are you a Kwanza person?” I have several friends back in Nashville who celebrate Hanukkah and Kwanza. I’ve participated in both.

“No.” The corner of his mouth lifts slightly. His eyes still track me as I return to the couch.

Why do I like that so much? Usually, a guy watching me that intently just gives me the creeps, and being somewhat famous means that happens a lot. But I find I don’t mind it so much when it’s Beau.

“I used to, when Travis was home. No reason to for just me.”

“I assumed Travis came home every year for Christmas.”

“Not always.” I wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. I’m not surprised anymore by his silence. I’ve resigned myself to pulling every single word out of him.

“Well, he’s coming this year so we should decorate. Besides, I bet Reacher would like a tree. Wouldn’t you?” I say ruffling the dog’s ears. He hasn’t left my side since we sat down. I think it’s starting to irritate Beau. Too bad. I’m not giving up the only friendly thing in this house. “So, where do you keep your tree?”

“Outside. In the ground. Where they belong.”

“Oh.” Maybe I can make some garland to hang at the very least. “Okay. I’ll think on that later. I did promise coffee cake with our afternoon tea. You have tea, don’t you?”

He stomps into the kitchen, opens a cabinet, and pulls out a box. Setting it on the counter, he turns to glare at me. “Fine. Now shoo so I can make the cake. Go on. Go sit in a chair and keep me company.” I make go-away swooshes with my hands.

Beau looks at me with one eyebrow raised, but he moves to slump against the wall at the kitchen table. He leans half against the back of the chair and half against the wall. His long legs are stretched in front of him, and his elbows rest on the table and chair back.

How come when a woman sits like that, she’s being “unladylike,” but it’s fine for a man? He looks casually alpha male. It’s like business casual, but in sexy man speak.

“This is my great, great, grandma’s recipe. Fortunately for you, I have it memorized.” I tap my temple. “It has all the good stuff in it. Back then they didn’t give a hot rat’s ass about carbs.”

“Hot rat’s ass?” I catch a quick glimpse of white teeth before Beau manages to hide his smile. So, he can smile without a hole opening up and swallowing him whole. Miracles never cease.

“The same grandma who said you should never drink water, it’ll rust your pipes.”

“What did she drink instead?”

“Whiskey. What else.”

“I think I like your great, great, grandma.”

“Just wait until you try her coffee cake. She called it a which-what-who. I don’t know why.” I work at mixing the batter with a whisk I found in a drawer. When it’s smooth, I pour it into a pan and add the brown sugar mixture on top. “Now, we just have to wait for it to bake. What can we do for thirty-five minutes?”

His gaze travels down my body and back up before his eyes meet mine. Was that a blush I saw creeping up from under the collar of his shirt? I must be imagining things. Too many soap operas, I’m sure.

“Do you have a deck of cards?” I ask.

“Should.” He moves into the living room and digs around in a cabinet under a wall of bookshelves. Returning to the table, he dumps two decks in front of me. I’ve taken the chair across from where he was sitting.

“Do you know how to play go fish?”

“Or an adult game.” He shuffles the cards and deals them out. “We’ll start with gin rummy.”

“Fine, but you know you want to secretly say ‘go fish.’” I organize my cards. He shakes his head and cuts to see who goes first. I win the cut so I draw a card. Siding it into place, I toss a discard on the table. “Go fish.”

He lets out a big sigh, Oscar-worthy really. Drawing a card, he studies his hand and then squints his eyes at me. Without looking away, he tosses down his discard.

“Fish,” he mumbles. It makes me grin. Somewhere, way deep down, I believe Beau Rayburn has a sense of humor. The game continues back and forth until the buzzer on the stove vibrates.

“Hold that thought.” Jumping out of my chair, I move to the oven. The toothpick I use to check the coffee cake slides out clean proving it’s ready. “Smells so good,” I moan setting the pan on the counter. “Tea?”

“Sure.” He watches as I move around the kitchen. He has a surprisingly large variety of tea selections. I chose an apple spice and set the kettle on one of the burners. Turning the knob, I wait for the click of the igniter, but nothing happens.

“You have to light it,” he says leaning around me. “It’s old.” He pulls a match from a cute little jar behind the stove, strikes it, and lights the burner.

There’s a moment when he’s reaching for the match where his chest brushes against my back. I know it sounds crazy, but in that instance, my body heats to the point of boiling. It’s almost erotic how good his touch feels.

He moves away in a blink, but my body still tingles everywhere he pressed against me. Lord, I’m losing it. I mean, it’s been a long time since I’ve had time to press against a man, but this is ridiculous.

“I should cut…cake?” I mumble.

“Are you asking?” He moves back to his chair at the table. That tiniest of smiles appears again. Probably because his innocent touch has made me twitterpated. That’s what my granny used to call it anyway. She said whenever my dad came to see my mom when she was in high school, she lost all her senses. But I’m not in high school, and we’re not dating.

“No, I’m just letting you know I’m picking up a knife. In case you need to light any more burners suddenly.” I sound more confident this time.

“Or you need to accost half-naked men cooking breakfast?”

“Mr. Rayburn,” I say in mock offense. “I have never accosted a man, half-naked or otherwise, in my life.” His smile lasts a little longer this time. “Now, sir, eat your cake or else.” I plunk a plate with a piece of the coffee cake on it in front of him.

“Or else what? You’ll spank me?” My face flushes bright red. Quickly, I spin around to face the kettle praying that it whistles soon. He chuckles lightly behind me.

The word spank coming out of his mouth in a rough growl has an even stronger effect on my nether regions than the simple touch. Where’s a good hand fan when you need one?

“Beau Rayburn! You are not the nice boy I always heard you were.” I pour the mostly hot water over the tea bags and set the mugs on the table.

“I haven’t been a boy in a long time.” He manages to say it with a smirk before taking a slow bite of cake.

My sophisticated brain wants to push everything on the table to the floor, climb over it into his lap, and ride him like a five-cent horse in front of the drugstore. What my mouth does, however, is make a weird “eep” noise. He chuckles again.

“Did you just laugh?” I ask in fake astonishment. I even press my hand to my breastbone. “Did it hurt? Is the ground going to open up and swallow us?”

He rolls his eyes, and we eat in silence for a while. It’s for the best. I don’t think I can handle Beau’s form of flirting if that was what he was doing.

“Were you flirting with me?” I ask on a whim. You won’t know if you don’t ask.

“No,” he scowls. “That would be…exploitative of me.”

“Jesus, do you read the dictionary in your spare time? Is that what you do for fun?” He looks at me with a raised eyebrow. “I’m just messing with you.” I grin. “Would you like some more?”

“No, thank you,” he says hesitantly. “I’ve got some chores I should be tending to outside.”

“Oh, is that where you keep the Christmas decorations? Outside?” I can hope.

“You’re not going to let this go are you?” He waits for me to answer, but I just stare at him until he rolls his eyes. “Yes, because stacked in boxes outside is the best place for Christmas decorations.”

“They could be in the barn.”

“They’re not in the barn. Nothing but equipment and feed is in the barn. Probably the horses at this point.”

“You have horses?” I ask a little more excited than I should be.

In my defense, what girl doesn’t dream of owning a horse when she’s growing up? I used to think about it all the time, but we lived in the middle of town, and my parents weren’t about to take on the expense of owning a horse. No matter how many books about ponies I read, the answer was always no.

“I have two.”

“Oh my gosh, two. You’re horse rich.”

“I don’t think two makes me horse rich.” The corner of his lips hitches up.

“Well, I have none. So compared to me, you’re rolling in it. Can you ride them?”

“I can,” he answers.

“Will you teach me sometime? There’s a lot of things I want, but learning to ride is at the top of my reasonable wish list.”

“Are there a lot of unreasonable things you wish for?”

“People seem to think so.”

“Like?”

“Now, if I tell you all my secrets, how will I maintain my aura of mystery?”

“Pretty sure, you’re a natural at that. Tell me one.”

“One secret wish? Okay, but then you tell me one of yours.” I wait until he nods. “I would really like to be able to wander outside of my home in just a T-shirt and sweatpants to water my plants without it making social media and then having to learn how my clothing choice makes me look.”

“That one sounds reasonable.”

“Well, apparently not everyone thinks so. Now it’s your turn.” I set my chin on my fist and give him my entire focus. I’ll be amazed if he admits to anything personal. He just doesn’t seem like that guy. I imagine he doesn’t even admit to himself what he would like.

“I—” he starts before falling silent again. I don’t move a muscle. He sighs and starts again. “I would like to date someone who doesn’t want to sleep with me just for the bragging rights of bagging the town recluse.”

Wow. I mean, wow. “Did someone actually do that?”

“Several.” A faint flush creeps up his cheeks. “Never mind,” he murmurs.

“Stay,” I bark leaping to my feet. He freezes, and Reacher drops to his haunches. I dig around in the kitchen drawers until I finally find the one with all the junk that doesn’t make sense anywhere else. Returning to the table, I slap a notepad and pen down in front of him. “I need their names. It’s time they were taught some manners.”

“You’re going to defend my honor?” His face flushes a little redder, but his smile brightens.

“Damn straight. I’ve had a few of those too. Guys who just want to tell their friends that they bagged the newest Nashville star. Not that I see myself as a star,” I’m quick to add. “That’s what the social media folks say.”

His smile turns sweet as he stares back at me. Sweet and sexy, a lethal combination. “I guess I never thought of it happening to men. Makes sense, though. Well, you’re safe with me. Not that I wouldn’t sleep with you, just I wouldn’t brag about it.”

“Thanks?”

“Oh no, I mean, I’m sure it would be brag-worthy, I’m just classier than that. But, I’m positive it’s very brag-a-licious to have sex with you. Oh, Lord.” I cover my face with both hands. “Now I’m making up words to describe our sleeping together. I wish I could just stop talking.”

I do finally stop the word vomit and peek through my hands at him. He’s full-on grinning at me.

“Are you flirting with me?” he asks, throwing my words back from earlier.

“Could be. The jury’s still out.” He laughs, and my body heats at the deep rumble. “If so, how did I do?”

“It was different, but not bad.”

I let my hands flop back to the table. Beau Rayburn has me completely intrigued. The same man who growled and snarled when he wasn’t mute is also sweet and funny.

Why would any woman just want him for bragging rights? I mean, he’s not too shabby in the looks department either. Okay, he’s stupid hot in that lean cowboy kind of way, but I think there’s also more than meets the eye. He has layers to him that beg to be explored.

“Did you just mumble that I have layers?” he asks.

“Did I say that out loud? Hmm, maybe?”

“Like Shrek?”

“You wish. No man can hold up to everyone’s favorite ogre.”

“Fair.” Finally, he pushes out of his chair. “I really should get to those chores before it gets dark.”

Before I can say another word, he’s closing the door to the mudroom with Reacher in tow. Good, maybe I can get myself together before my next need to spew everything in my brain to the very man I find more intriguing than anyone I’ve met in a long time.