Her Jolly Cowboy (A Cowboy For Christmas #11)

Chapter one

Holly

I pull my white Range Rover up the snowy drive of Brush Creek Ranch exactly twenty-three minutes ahead of schedule, which is basically a miracle considering Montana apparently thinks road signs aren’t necessary.

The ranch is beautiful. Snow dusting the evergreens, red barns trimmed in white lights that are still glowing faintly in the late-morning sun, a massive wreath on the farmhouse door big enough to walk through. It looks like a holiday movie set.

I kill the engine, grab my planner, and step out in heeled boots that cost more than most people’s rent. The cold hits like a slap, but I refuse to shiver. I am Holly Jameson. I do not shiver.

Frankie, looking radiant, wearing Rhett’s flannel like it’s couture, meets me on the porch before I can knock. She throws her arms around me and squeals.

“You made it! I was scared the pass would close!”

“Not even God himself is messing with this timeline,” I tell her, hugging back. “I have contingencies for avalanches.”

Rhett appears behind her, tall, quiet, and stupidly in love with his fiancée. He tips his hat. “Holly. Good to see you. Luke’s around here somewhere if you need anything moved, lifted, or generally wrangled.”

I arch a brow. “Luke?”

“My little brother,” Rhett says, mouth twitching. “He’s always helpful.”

Frankie snorts. “He’s a walking disaster in Wranglers, but he’s harmless. Mostly.”

I make a note in my planner: Locate Luke. Assess threat level.

We do a quick walk-through of the main house so I can confirm guest-room assignments, catering staging, and the exact placement of the wedding cake. Frankie is giddy, Rhett keeps stealing kisses like he’s afraid she’ll vanish, and everything is perfect.

Until item thirty-seven on my list: inspect the barn.

I’m halfway across the yard, boots crunching, when the devil himself saunters out of the smaller barn.

Dark hair curling under a beat-up Stetson. Flannel rolled to the elbows despite the cold. Shoulders that could block out the sun. And a grin that says he’s already decided I’m the most entertaining thing to happen to this ranch in years.

“Morning, ma’am,” he drawls, voice low and warm enough to melt snow. “You must be the one turning my brother’s wedding into a damn magazine shoot.”

I stop two feet away and look him up and down like I’m pricing livestock. “And you must be Luke. Rhett said you’d be at my disposal.”

His grin widens. “All yours, Boss Lady. Just say the word.”

“Holly Jameson,” I say, offering a hand like we’re civilized humans. “Wedding planner.”

He takes my hand. His palm is warm, rough, and twice the size of mine. He doesn’t shake it, he holds on, thumb brushing my knuckles once like he’s testing the weight of me.

I pull my hand back before I do something stupid like moan. “Can I see the barn now? I need to check sight lines and heater placement.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He falls into step beside me, hands in his pockets, whistling “Jingle Bells” off-key.

The barn is perfect with vaulted beams dripping with pine garland, fairy lights waiting to be hung, and stacks of vintage chairs wrapped in burlap. I can see it finished in my head. I spin slowly, mentally measuring.

Luke leans against a post, arms crossed, watching me like I’m the best show in town.

“Problem?” I ask without turning.

“Just enjoyin’ the view.”

I roll my eyes. “Focus, Carson. We have six days and a blizzard in the forecast.”

He straightens. “Blizzard? Last I checked, it was just a regular snowstorm.”

I pull up the weather app my assistant forced me to download. “Winter storm warning starts tonight. Heavy snow, high winds, and possible whiteout conditions tomorrow. Roads could close.”

Luke whistles low. “Well, shit.”

“Language,” I snap automatically, then wince. “Sorry. Reflex.”

He laughs, the sound rolling through the rafters. “Don’t apologize. I like you bossy.”

Heat crawls up my neck. I ignore it and march toward the side door that leads to the equipment area. “I need to check the backup heaters. If the power goes—” My heel hits a patch of ice.

The world tilts. My planner flies. My latte becomes a sacrificial offering to the snow gods. I’m preparing to hit the ground when strong arms band around my waist, hauling me upright before I can face-plant. My back hits a hard chest; a bearded jaw brushes my temple.

“Easy, Boss Lady,” Luke murmurs, breath warm against my ear. “Ground’s tryin’ to get fresh with you.”

I’m plastered against him from thigh to chest. One of his hands is splayed across my stomach, the other dangerously low on my hip. I can feel every inch of him—warm, solid, and annoyingly calm while my heart is trying to jump out of my chest.

I shove away so fast I almost fall again. “I’m fine.”

“Uh-huh.” He retrieves my planner, brushes snow off it with exaggerated care, and hands it over. “Are you always this graceful?”

“Usually I can stay on my feet,” I mutter, snatching the planner.

He grins like I just paid him the highest compliment.

I stomp, carefully, toward the heaters, mentally reciting the timeline to keep from combusting. Luke follows, still whistling.

We spend the next hour testing outlets and arguing about extension cords. I climb a ladder to check light placement while he stands below holding it steady and definitely staring at my ass. I pretend not to notice.

By noon, the sky has gone purple, and the wind is picking up in sharp gusts. My phone buzzes with alerts: BLIZZARD WARNING UPGRADED. TRAVEL NOT ADVISED AFTER 6 P.M.

I stare at the screen until the words blur.

Luke comes up behind me, close enough that his chest brushes my shoulder blades. “Hey.”

I don’t turn around. “This cannot happen. The florist is coming from Bozeman tomorrow. The cake is supposed to arrive tomorrow. Half the guests are flying into Billings.”

“Holly.” His voice is softer now. “Breathe.”

I spin. “Do you not understand? This wedding has to be perfect. Frankie and Rhett are the best and I promised them.”

“I get it.” He lifts both hands, calm. “But Mother Nature doesn’t give a shit about timelines. We’ll figure it out.”

“We?”

“Me, Rhett, Grandma, the whole damn ranch if we have to. You’re not doing this alone.”

Something warm and dangerous unfurls in my chest. I squash it.

“I need to call the caterer,” I say, already scrolling contacts.

Luke plucks the phone from my hand, gentle but firm. “You need to eat something before you vibrate into another dimension from all the caffeine you’ve consumed. Come on. Grandma’s got chili.”

I open my mouth to argue. My stomach growls loud enough to echo.

He smirks. “That’s what I thought.”

I let him lead me across the yard to the farmhouse. Inside smells like heaven. There’s chili simmering and cornbread baking. Frankie is laughing in the kitchen with Grandma Martha. Rhett is on the phone by the window, voice low and reassuring, calming a panicked guest.

Luke pulls out a chair for me, and I sit.

His grandma sets a steaming bowl in front of me. “Eat, honey. Storm’s comin’ fast. You’ll need your strength.”

Frankie slides into the seat beside me, eyes sparkling. “So? First impressions of the ranch?”

“Beautiful,” I say. “Your future brother-in-law has been helpful.”

Luke drops into the chair across from me, grinning. “She loves me already.”

I kick him under the table. He doesn’t even flinch, just stretches those long legs out until his boot nudges my ankle and stays there.

Rhett ends his call and joins us. “The county just closed the pass. Looks like anyone who’s not here by tonight is stuck till after Christmas.”

Frankie’s face falls. “But the cake—”

“We’ll make a new one,” Grandma says firmly. “Won’t be the first time.”

I stare at my chili like it personally betrayed me.

Luke leans forward, elbows on the table, voice pitched low so only I can hear. “Hey. It’s gonna be okay.”

Our knees are touching now. I don’t move away. Outside, the wind picks up, rattling the windows like it’s trying to get in.

I look at Luke, really look at him. There’s still snow in his dark hair, his green eyes are steady, and that ridiculous half-smile is making my stomach flip.

I pick up my spoon. “Fine,” I say. “But if this wedding isn’t perfect, I’m blaming you.”

He lifts his coffee mug in a mock toast. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”