Chapter Five
THORN
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“DO YOU BELIEVE in love at frost sight?” The sheriff’s mother, Molly Nash, giggles softly at my subtle but playful flirt.
And subtle it is compared to the cowboys around me who are straight up taking this contest way too far with their, I’ll be the milk to your cookies, or are you looking to get fa-la-la-la-laid?
I quickly tip my stetson at the camera and plaster on the sultry smile Flora requested. She snaps shots, capturing Molly’s candid smile. Candid photos have always been Flora’s favorite, and each time I get the ladies laughing before a photo, I also see Flora’s eyes sparkle with joy, unable to hide her delight in catching the moment on camera.
“Great job, Mrs. Nash.” From behind the tripod, Flora smiles encouragingly at the older woman. “You’re a natural.”
“I’ve heard the same thing about your photography. I look forward to the result on Sunday.”
Sunday supper and signatures don’t sound nearly as appealing now. I might skip it altogether.
“Thank you, Mrs. Nash. I hope it’ll be something you can cherish.” Flora’s eyes meet mine, and she quickly glances away, pretending to review the pictures she’s just taken.
Molly squeezes my hand as she steps back. Her sweet, sincere eyes don’t shy away from mine like Flora’s. “Thorn, you’re as delightful as you were all those nights you spent in the cell.”
Her distant memory cracks Flora’s work face for the first time today. Not that she hasn’t been kind and enthusiastic, but nothing like the surprised, quick burst of laughter that fades just as quickly. That laugh is rare as gold, I swear.
Meanwhile, I’m barely holding on to a damn thread here, and it’s only mid-afternoon. Three solid hours remain. I may be here ‘cause I’m a man of my word, but damn, my heart is hurtin,’ my ego is bruised, and I just want to recoil back to the comfort of my ranch.
“Remember the time I taught you to crochet?” Mrs. Nash asks. “You knocked off half a dozen hats for the newborns at the hospital.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And then each time afterward, you’d crochet until my husband released you.”
I chuckle. “I tried my very best to get into trouble to see you.”
She giggles, and her face brightens a shade of pink. “You lil’ southern charmer. You reminded me of your dad at that age. I still see bits of him in you.”
That’s bullshit. I may look like him, but there’s no way in hell we shared anything else.
She pats my hand a final time before walking to the wine-tasting and cookie-decorating area. We’re the last station of the twelve months.
“I didn’t know you crochet.” It’s the first time Flora has initiated a talk with me.
Dani disappeared again, not that Flora needed her. She’s got taking pictures down to a perfect routine.
“That was a long time ago.” I sound gruff.
Shit. Wasn’t I the one who offered professionalism? I gotta wrangle my emotions before they stampede out of control.
I lighten my tone. “Sometimes the cell was better than being at home.”
Our eyes lock, and that familiarity of rare understanding hangs between us. Our struggles and fears had always seemed to resonate with one another. And she’d never dismissed them like my old man. Instead, she listened to every word. She’d understood—or so I thought.
“Like I said, it was a long time ago. Things are different now.”
An uproarious laughter erupts from the station hosting the month of July—my brother’s spot. Whatever dirty little pickup line he’s used has roped laughter from anyone within hearing range—including the three judges perched on the stage.
“Your brother is going to win.” Flora stops beside me, making sure our bodies don’t brush. It’s probably a good thing. The cotton material of her ivory dress is as thin as a whisper in the wind.
“Yeah, he’s a cocky bastard.”
“You know, I know a little secret about the judges.” She sends me a sideways smirk.
I fold my arms over my front. “Spill the tea.”
“They’re not judging the guest’s laughter. They’re judging the photographers.”
I glance back at my brother, who shoots off a second line, generating another round of laughter. “Is that so?”
“It is.”
“Interesting twist.”
“It is.” She’s quiet for a few beats. “Considering we are at an advantage, we could win this friendly competition very well.”
“We could.
“And donate the money to the charity—to the animals.”
“That would be very kind of us.”
“Is it cheating if it’s for a good cause?”
“Wiping that smirk off my brother’s face would be cause enough.”
She pivots on the heel of her cowboy boots and holds out her hand. “You crack the cheesy pickup lines, and I’ll get the judges’ attention.” She shrugs. “They want a reason to watch us anyway.”
“Agreed.” Her small hand disappears in my large grasp. It takes everything inside me not to hold her longer than needed.
Then her eyes light up like it’s Christmas morning. “Wait, I have an idea.”
Twenty minutes later, there’s a lineup waiting beside our station as I strut over wearing Flora’s idea. Deep red velvet Santa pants swish with my every step, and the weight of a big old sack slung over my shoulder. She even had time to deck out my Stetson with a thick red band and fluffy white trim.
The clapping, whistles, and shouts of appreciation sweep through the space. My brother’s attention is pulled away from his latest victim as he scans the growing chaotic scene.
“What in the jingle bells is happening here?” Mayor Thomas meets me at the December station. The corners of his mouth are turned sharply downward. “Where have you been?”
I glance at my outfit. “Wardrobe change.”
“We didn’t schedule wardrobe changes during the photo shoot.” His face flushes a deep crimson. “Look at your lineup.”
I glance over my shoulder and nod at the waiting women. “Afternoon, ladies. Sorry about the wait.”
They wave, giggle, and nudge each other while assuring me the wait was acceptable.
I face the mayor. “They don’t mind the wait.”
“You have slowed the entire production, and the dinner is included in their photo package, which you cowboys accompany. It is precisely at seven tonight. You’ve left little time after cleanup to get ready for supper.”
“Well, then, Mayor, get outta Thorn’s way so we can thin this lineup,” Flora smirks as she loops her arm in his and spins him in the opposite direction, giving him a light shove. “Let’s do this,” she excitedly whispers to me. “Next!” She practically bounces back to her camera.
The next three hours fly by. At one point, Flora loops a string of lights around my legs, promising a whimsical look. The more women I dip, the tighter the lights tangle my legs.
Mayor Thomas was correct, and our station is a good hour late. The other stations have already closed and left for the night. The swag bags, pre-decorated cookies, and glasses of wine were handed out to the ladies in our lineup to speed up the process.
Somehow, the more cheesy pickup lines I throw out, the longer the ladies want to interact until the mayor gives us the keys, shuts off the overhead lights, and tells us we’re the last two volunteers and lock up when our lineup finishes. Surprisingly, we managed to chase away the three judges, but I’m sure we’ll see them at supper.
I clear my throat. “If kisses were snowflakes, I’d send you a blizzard,” I say in my best mysterious tone.
Our last guest’s hearty laughter fills the empty room. “Bless your heart, you cutie patootie.”
Flora escorts the two women out of the ballroom and locks it behind her. “You didn’t have to keep up the cheesy pickup lines after my aunt and the Quylt sisters abandoned us.”
“Why not? She loved it.” I haven’t moved from my spot. “But I am second-guessing this string of lights.” I glance at my legs. “These are quite a tangled mess.” I rub my legs together, but they hardly move.
Flora laughs. “That is your own fault.”
“My fault? How do you figure?”
“You wouldn’t stay in one place. You were by the tree, sitting in the chair, dipping the ladies this way and that.” She stops in front of me. “You turned a little wild that last hour.”
I chuckle. “I reckon I did.”
“It was fun.”
“It was.”
Our gaze holds until she takes a deep breath. “I’ll grab my camera and the keys and turn off the extra lights while you untangle yourself.”
“Sounds good.”
I survey the mess around my legs, and carefully balancing, I bend over and tug at the lights. I deftly work the loops in search of the end. The more I twist and turn, the more the lights mock me. I tug until I sway and teeter, and I swear I’m not further ahead.
“Shit,” I mutter as I scramble to steady myself.
Flora’s warm fingers are around my arms, and electricity jolts through me. “Sit down, and I’ll help you.”
It’s easier said than done. I shuffle awkwardly, throwing in a little hop and slide. I sink into the chair, and the cool material hits me like a refreshing wave.
“Come here, little miss”—I tap my leg—“and tell Santa what you want.”
Her laughter is a soft melody. “Don’t try your cheesy pickup lines on me. They won’t work.” Flora drops to her knees in front of me. The room is pitch black, besides the twinkling lights dancing off her skin.
“Let me help you.” I lean over, and our heads collide with a thud that tingles.
“Ouch.” She covers her forehead.
“Shit, Flora. Are you alright?” I loop my finger under her chin and tip up her head. “Let me see.”
I take her hand from her forehead and brush her hair back for a better look.
“I’m okay. It was just a little bump.”
My thumb skims the pinkish mark on her tender skin. “No lump.”
“I told you, I’m fine.” Her fingers curl around my wrist.
I glance down at her. “I suppose you’ll live.”
The softness of her lips beckon me. The vulnerability in her gaze holds me captive.
“I need to finish untangling you.” Her whisper is soft and sizzling.
A spark of tension hums between us as she resumes her task. I sit back and watch her tackle her way through the lights. A flutter resonates in my chest when she glances up with a little victory.
“Is it just me, or do we light up together like a well-decorated tree?”
She laughs at my line. “I don’t think I’ll be able to handle another cheesy pickup line after this event. Ah-ha!” With a triumphant tug, she frees a section of the lights and stands up. “That’s one set.”
“How many sets are there?”
Her shoulders lift in a slight shrug. “I guess we will find out.”
She leans over my shoulder to drape the strand of lights on the back of the chair. When our eyes lock, she pauses. Our faces hover mere inches apart. The world around us fades in that moment, and it’s just the two of us.
Her lips part. Her breath kisses my skin. A magnetic pull charges the air. I’m afraid to say anything for fear of bursting the moment. I’m afraid to cup her face or touch her mouth. But mostly, I’m afraid of how much I want to do all of the above.
“Why can’t I stay angry at you?” she breathes. “Anger rids whatever this is.”
I want to ask her why she’d ever be mad at me, but I also want my lips over hers. So instead, I ask, “what is this?”
“A mistake.”
“I’m good at making mistakes.”
Her face shifts like I’ve said something wrong.
I reach for my stetson and place it on her head. My hand remains on the back of the hat’s soft felt. I draw her head closer to mine. As my lips brush hers, I whisper, “I’ve always liked how you look wearing my hat.”
She pulls away and blinks. “Stay right here.” I love the mischievous smile playing on her lips.
She twists the strands of lights around one of my wrists and yanks it behind the chair. “Whoa, what are you—”
She pops up on the side and plasters a quick, hard kiss on my lips. “Don’t you trust me?”
Before I respond, she has my other wrist tied and binds my arms behind me. The constructing lights are unforgiving, leaving a sharp sting.
“Listen, Flora. I’m all about kinky play—” My breath hitches when she straddles me. The soft fabric of her dress brushes against my bare skin.
Fuck. What was I saying? Who gives a shit at this point?
“Is that a candy cane in your pocket? Or are you just happy to see me?” Her smile is tantalizing.
“Sweetheart, that’s all you.” My breaths are ragged. “That’s what you do to me.”
Her fingers thread through my hair and stop at the nape of my neck. She grasps a handful and roughly yanks my head back. “You’ve been very naughty.” Her breath is hot against my ear.
Oh shit. I’ve never been so fucking turned on and powerless at the same time.
She digs her fingernails down my torso. I close my eyes, accepting the position of my head as I endure the trail burning down my chest—to the point I may be bleeding. Her teeth clamp on my earlobe and drag across my skin.
“Flora. Fuck.” My senses are heightened.
I try to look at her, but she holds my head firm. Her nibbling continues down my throat. Each bite harder the lower she travels. When she grinds against me, it’s all I do not to come right here and now.
Her mouth is at my ear again. “I want you for your candy cane.”
I don’t give a shit. Fuck me, use me—at this point it doesn’t matter.
And as quickly as she straddled me, she sprang to her feet.
My head tilts down, with a lazy look on my face, ready to finish what we started.
She’s gone.
“Flora?”
I squint through the darkness to see a fleeting shadow walking away.
“Flora?” She continues toward the exit without a word. “Flora, what the fuck?!”
The door slams shut.