A Crawford Family Christmas (Saddle Creek, TX: The Crawfords #7)

Chapter 2 Roe & Callie

roe & callie

Callie

The air smells like cedar and kettle corn.

My face hurts from smiling so big. Shortly after the year when Roe and I got married—well, when all of the Crawford siblings got married—we made a joint decision.

Hayes had secured the family ranch with all the adjoining properties, so we took a chunk of acres that was overgrown and underutilized and began a Christmas tree farm.

It's taken several years, but this year the trees are finally big enough to harvest. So we’re having a grand opening and inviting the entire town out for campfire S’mores, pictures with Santa Claus, horse-drawn sleigh rides (okay, technically it’s a horse-drawn converted flatbed that’s basically a Christmas-themed hay ride), a walk-through light display, arts and crafts, and obviously the Christmas trees.

“Well, I for one can’t wait until we’re home so I can take that beard for a test-drive,” a woman’s voice purrs.

I fold my lips to keep from laughing out loud. But I reveal myself from behind the decorative partition behind Santa’s big red chair.

I clear my throat.

The man—one Abraham Whitmore decked out in his Santa suit—laughs. His wife, Emma, hides her red-cheeked face in her hands. “I am so sorry,” she says.

I laugh. “It’s not a problem. Truly. But maybe tone down the naughty talk until after the kids have come and gone.” I look at my watch. “The gates open in like twenty minutes.”

“Seriously, Callie, I’m mortified,” Emma says.

“Spicy, it’s all good,” Bram says, grabbing his wife’s hand and pulling her into his lap. “Callie’s married.”

“Happily married and a voracious romance novel reader. It’s nothing I haven’t heard before.

Just giving you a time check.” I go to walk off and then turn back.

“And I will admit to knowing a thing or two about a well-placed beard.” I wink and walk away, leaving the happy couple to giggle in my wake.

“Buttons, did I just hear you say what I think I heard?”

My husband, Roe, appears out of practically nowhere. He’s got a hammer hanging from his belt, but there’s nothing but sin in his eyes.

“You might have,” I say.

He pulls me to him. “Woman, you know better than to tempt me when we’re out in public.” He nuzzles at my neck, nibbling and kissing.

“You’ll have to just wait until later tonight,” I tell him.

“And you’ll ride my beard?” he asks, his voice low.

“I’ll ride whatever you want. But for the next few hours, I am the prim and proper Saddle Creek librarian, and you are my devoted husband.”

“I am always your devoted husband. Even when we’re sweaty and naked.”

I smack his rock-hard stomach. “Behave.”

“Can anyone hear me over this thing?” Rory’s voice comes from the walkie-talkie in my hand.

She’s in stereo, since there’s another clipped to Roe’s belt. A chorus of answers sound off, everything from “loud and clear” to “talk to me, Big Daddy.” That last one comes from Johnny. Because of course it does.

“I need to call an emergency meeting at the hot cocoa station,” Rory says. “All Crawfords and Burtons, please.”

I frown at Roe. “Wonder what that’s about?”

“No clue.” He holds his hand out to me, and I clasp it.

Our fingers thread together, and I smile up at him as we walk to the impromptu meeting.

“I love you, Callie Crawford,” he says.

“I love you too.”

Five minutes later, we find the crowd milling around the hot cocoa station. Rory is standing on a step stool, watching everyone approach. She starts counting and frowns.

“Where are Harrison and Birdie?”

“Don’t know. Haven’t seen them in a while,” Hayes says.

“She better not go into labor tonight,” Madison says.

“Aurora, baby, what’s with the meeting?” Hayes asks his wife.

“We don’t have too much time before the gates open,” Roe says.

“Right. Okay. Well, Harrison and Birdie will just miss this.” Rory pauses and looks at all of us. “So it has come to my attention that there is a dirty liar in our midst.”

“What are you talking about?” Quinn asks.

“Well, someone—cough-cough-Amber—told me that she saw a picture of a certain sheriff during a recent visit to Austin,” Rory continues.

“Honestly, Rory,” Amber mutters.

“So tell us, Sheriff, did you really wiggle your booty for bucks at Poseidon’s while you were in college?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Quinn mutters.

“No way!” Johnny says.

“They got you now, babe,” Madison says.

My brother, the sheriff, looks over at me. “Sorry, sis.”

“Caleb, if you think for one moment that I didn’t know how you were paying for school, then you must think I’m blind and stupid.”

“You knew?” he asks.

“The entire time,” I say.

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” he asks.

“No woman wants to discuss with her baby brother the fact that he takes off his clothes for money.”

“It wasn’t all my clothes,” he says.

“He’s definitely got the moves,” Madison says.

“No one needs to know that,” Quinn says.

“I don’t know,” Johnny says. “I kinda want more details.”

“Later, people. Right now we’re about to open,” Roe says. “Stripper Sheriff, keep your clothes on tonight while the children are here.”

“Callie!” Rory says.

“What?”

“You and I are gonna have words as to why you never told me this fun tidbit about your brother.”

I just laugh while Roe and I walk back to our positions.

“Look alive, people,” Quinn says. “This is what we’ve been working towards.”

An hour later, things are in full swing at the Crawford Christmas Tree Farm.

Children shriek with laughter near the ornament-decorating booth, while someone’s tiny purse dog is wearing a single antler like Max from How the Grinch Stole Christmas struts around like he’s an actual reindeer.

A line of people snakes past the “Photos with Santa” sign toward a roped-off patch of trees strung with white lights.

This is chaos. Beautiful, perfect chaos.

“Buttons,” Roe calls over the noise. He’s grinning over at me, looking like a thirst trap in his jeans and flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up. “Did you bribe the elementary school choir with cookies again?”

“I never bribe. I prefer calling it incentivizing.” I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.

He chuckles, the sound low and warm. “Well, it worked—they’re singing ‘Feliz Navidad’ on repeat.”

That makes me smile.

“You running the craft tent or the cocoa stand now?”

“Both. Madison’s running the cashier tent, and Quinn’s trying to keep people from taking selfies with the tractor again.”

Roe grins. “Good luck with that. I told him if he didn’t want kids climbing all over it, he shouldn’t have decorated it with lights.”

The place looks like a Hallmark movie exploded: garlands, hay rides, and twinkle lights on every pine.

“Your grand opening’s a hit,” I say.

“Our grand opening.” He touches my elbow. “This was your idea, remember?”

“My idea was a book club under the trees.”

“Exactly. And look what it turned into.”

I laugh.

A group of kids sprints past, waving candy canes, and Roe’s eyes soften. “Worth every sleepless night.”

He’s right. Seeing him like this—relaxed, laughing, happy—makes all of it worth it.

“You should go take a break,” he says quietly. “Let someone else man the cocoa station.

“I wish Rosie-June was here with us tonight,” I say.

He pulls me into his arms. “Our daughter is going to love this, but you know, tonight would have been twice as hard if we’d let her come. And she would have been miserable.”

“She would end up being miserable, but not until she ate too many marshmallows and the sugar buzz wore off.”

“True story.” He kisses my head. “We have years for all of the younger Crawfords to enjoy this. Then we’ll be able to put them to work.”

“I know you’re right. I just miss her.”

He leans close, voice a rumble only I can hear. “Come with me.”

“Roe—”

“Ten minutes. Promise.”

I follow him down one of the paths that winds through the trees, the noise fading until it’s just the crunch of gravel and the whisper of wind through pine needles. He stops where the branches form a little green tunnel, lights twinkling overhead.

“I strung these yesterday,” he says softly. “Thought you’d like it.”

It’s breathtaking—the way the lights halo the rows of trees, the scent of sap and cedar thick in the air. “It’s beautiful.”

He slides his arms around me from behind, chin brushing my temple. “You’re beautiful.”

“Flatterer.”

“True.”

For a minute, we just stand there, breathing in the quiet. Somewhere back near the barns, Johnny’s intentionally singing something wildly off-key, but out here, it’s just us.

“You did it,” I whisper. “You made a home for everyone here.”

He kisses the spot just below my ear. “Only because you made a home for me first.”

My pulse stumbles when his hand drifts down, resting at my waist. “Roe,” I murmur, half a warning, half in want.

He turns me, eyes dark with heat even in the soft glow. “Just a kiss, Buttons.”

It’s not just a kiss. It never is with him—slow and hungry, tasting like cinnamon and winter air, the kind that melts your bones and steals your breath. My hands find his shoulders, his flannel warm and rough under my fingers, and he groans against my mouth.

When we finally break apart, we’re both smiling.

“Ten minutes are up,” I say.

He traces my lower lip with his thumb. “Worth every second.”