Five hours earlier.

Delaney had to go in there.

But Cash was inside.

She stood outside the ranch's pretentious office with the wide oak desk that she practically had to crawl on top of to dust. A wall of picture frames required extra attention, and the trash can tucked behind the desk was always full, which meant she had to trek it down the hall and outside for disposal.

But none of those annoyances really meant anything.

She didn't mind her job, most of the time. It put food on the table and kept a roof over hers and Evan's heads. Her mom had cleaned houses and the occasional office and taught Delaney that she shouldn't be too proud to clean someone else's toilet.

But when she came face-to-face with someone like Cash Trudeau, she hated her job.

No, that wasn't quite right.

She was ashamed.

Maybe she was too proud to clean toilets.

This is ridiculous.

Mallory Trudeau ran most of the ranch operations and had given Delaney a long and specific list of what needed to be cleaned. The office was on the list. Delaney had to go in there.

Even if being around Cash made her goosebumps sit up and take notice.

It wasn't as if he'd ever noticed her before. Mama had taught her well. Be discreet when the client is home. If possible, work around their location in the house. Apologize for being in their way.

Grovel, if needed.

There was no use for it.

Cash had been in the office all day. It was the last room on her list to clean. It was Christmas Eve, and she'd worked through lunch, barely stopping to shove a turkey-and-cheese sandwich in her pie hole. She needed to get home to Evan. She had gifts—too few—to wrap tonight, and she was already taking advantage of Sierra, who'd offered to babysit on her holiday from work.

She fortified herself with a deep breath—

Only to freeze when Cash strode out of the office.

The hall light was off, and even though the hallway was illuminated by natural light from the bank of windows at one end, the man didn't seem to notice her at all. He was moving the opposite direction, so it made sense.

Still. It pinched a little.

But Mama would be proud.

She slipped into the room, set her bucket of cleaning supplies near the door, and propped the vacuum against the wall. If she worked quickly, she could be out of here before Cash came back. If he came back. Maybe he was getting ready for the event tonight. Maybe he was done.

She used a rag to dust the picture frames. She didn't have time to be distracted by a younger Cash and his sister Mallory with their parents. Or to wonder what the plush carpet would feel like beneath her bare toes.

Keep working until the job is done.

She still missed Mama. More during the holiday season. They'd never had much, but Mama had always made Christmas magical.

That was her job now. She'd do better to focus on finishing her job here at the Double Cross and getting home to Evan.

She'd moved to the desk, lifting stacks of file folders to dust beneath, when movement from the doorway startled her.

"Who"—the stack slid from her fingers at the startling sharp voice—"are you?"

She tried to grab for it, but the stack slipped out of her reach. She watched it tumble in slow motion, scattering papers and folders across the floor at her feet.

"I'm so sorry," she stammered.

"What are you doing in here?" Cash demanded, striding into the room.

"Cleaning," she said as she squatted, reaching for the nearest paper. What a disaster. Papers had escaped from their folders, and she had no idea what order they should be returned to.

"Stop," he ordered. "I'll fix it."

He knelt over the pile from the corner of the desk, effectively blocking her in.

"I'm really sorry." She left off trying to pick up the papers when he gave her a scathing glare.

But she had to try to fix this.

He flipped over a sheet of paper, put it on top of the desk.

"If you tell me what you're looking for,” she said, “I can help set them out."

His frown only grew deeper. He didn't look up from his sorting. "This is confidential correspondence."

It wasn't like she'd asked to sit here and read it.

She shifted, not knowing whether she should attempt to climb over the desk and finish dusting, or keep trying to help. He didn't seem to want her help.

"I think it'd be best if you left," he said. "Does Mallory know you're in here?"

Mallory had sent her!

Delaney stifled the sharp reply that wanted to escape. Be discreet. Apologize. Grovel.

No doubt Mama would be at the groveling stage right now, but dropping the papers had been an accident. Delaney swallowed the defensive words rising in her throat.

"I'm not finished with the room." She made a lame gesture at the overfull trashcan.

He pulled the rest of the pile into his huge hands and stood. "Yes, you are. I've got things to do. And now a mess to clean up."

"So do I," she said under her breath.

His head came up sharply. Uh-oh. Had he heard her?

"I'll be quick,” she said. “You won't even notice I'm here." She put the most conciliatory tone possible in her voice. She clasped her hands in front of her to hide their trembling. This was a disaster.

"No."

Her pulse pounded like a drum in her ears at his curt answer.

"Mr. Trudeau—"

"Get out."

He still wasn't even looking at her, and now her temper sparked. "Sir—"

"Get out. Unless you'd like to be let go."

Her temper fired hotter. "It's Christmas Eve. You'd fire me on Christmas Eve over an accident?"

He turned his back to her, bending over the desk as he continued to sort the papers.

Think about Evan.

Furious tears burned behind her nose. Her mind raced frantically. What would Mama do? Mama would've never lost her temper in the first place. Would never be in this position.

Oh, crap. Crap, crap, crapity crap.

"Sir, I really—" need this job.

"We're done here," he said, his back still to her. "Don't come back."

Just thinking about the humiliating events of the afternoon sparked Delaney's temper anew.

What right did he have to fire her? As far as she was concerned, she’d worked for Mallory.

Plus, she hadn't been doing anything wrong. She'd been following Mallory's orders, for goodness sake!

So what if she'd knocked over a pile of papers. That was fixable. Nothing was ruined.

And the fact that he didn't even remember...!

She could practically feel steam rising out of the top of her head. Thinking about Evan, about her careful plan for the evening, didn't help either.

Cash was just behind her. Pulling in closer, if the tingles up her spine were any indication.

"Who're you looking for?" He was close enough that his words brushed her ear with warm breath. He didn't touch her again.

"Your sister."

Why had she blurted that? The second they ran into Mallory, Cash would discover her true identity.

But a glance over her shoulder showed Cash's eyes narrow before his expression cleared. "Not sure you'll find her tonight. She's a woman on a mission."

What did that mean?

"Maybe I can help you."

I don't need your help.

The words were right on the tip of her tongue, but for some reason she didn't reject his offer outright.

He was still looking at her with blatant interest. Nothing predatory like the sleazy guy from earlier. Just open interest.

And the memory of how cruelly he'd treated her earlier was still bouncing around the inside of her head.

Along with an idea.

A really crazy, far-fetched idea.

He'd made her feel so powerless, so small.

What if she could make him feel the same? Get revenge?

It wasn't a charitable thought.

It wasn't something she'd normally ever consider.

But she was worn out. Exhausted. Angry. And it was Christmas Eve.

She wasn't even sure if she could pull it off. She was already shocked that Cash couldn't see through her flimsy disguise—bangs brushed back into her hair, really?—and she'd never purposely tried to make somebody fall for her.

But as she imagined him pulling her in for a goodnight kiss and then rebuffing him, laughing in his face... an evil, Grinch-like laugh bubbled up from somewhere inside her. She barely contained it.

He deserved it after how he'd treated her.

And she deserved the satisfaction, didn't she? For all the times she'd been invisible.

She'd never tried to be coy before. But she tilted her head and let herself gaze at him as if she were just as interested as he was.

She saw the subtle surprise that widened his eyes and then the warmth that sparked there.

"I'll find Mallory later. Are you going to ask me to dance?"

Cash didn't know the reason for Delaney's abrupt about-face, but a moment later she was in his arms on the dance floor, and he didn’t care what had changed her mind.

She was curved in all the right places, and he felt on fire where his hand touched her waist. He clasped her other hand, resisting the urge to pull her closer. The musical quartet played a mellow version of Silver Bells. His new favorite song.

"I know you didn't grow up in Sawyer Creek," he said. "Where are you from?"

"I grew up in Galveston."

"A beach babe."

Her nose crinkled adorably. "Not really. My family—we didn't have a lot of time to lounge on the beach."

The song changed to something even slower—a rendition of Silent Night—and he used the opportunity to snug her closer in his arms.

She didn't resist.

Her head tilted to one side as she looked up at him. "What was it like, growing up on the Double Cross?"

He didn't even have to think about it. He'd had a movie-perfect childhood and he knew it. "It was great. I learned to ride when I was three. Do you ride?"

She shook her head.

"What? You live in Sawyer Creek and don't ride?"

"I can ride a bike, a motorcycle, even a unicycle," she said proudly. "But I don't know one end of a horse from the other."

He chuckled. "I'd bet you'd figure it out real quick. We should go sometime. Riding."

She shrugged, her attention caught by something across the room. Her glance slid away, over his shoulder for a moment, which allowed him to gaze at her face. She had one freckle by the corner of her mouth. He had the strongest urge to kiss it.

"My dad took my mom horseback riding for their first date," he said.

Her gaze returned to his, a shadow passing behind her eyes.

His stomach tumbled, and he wondered if maybe he shouldn't have brought his parents into the conversation. Some people weren't comfortable talking about them.

He was fine, though. He rarely got caught by an unexpected wave of grief anymore.

"We should go riding sometime," he said again.

A tiny line appeared in the middle of her forehead. "I thought you were moving to Austin."

His surprise must've shown on his face. He'd been keeping the move under his hat—or so he’d thought.

"Mallory," he mumbled. His sister had a big mouth.

Delaney flushed, that delicate skin on her collarbone turning pink. "Don't blame her. I... Sometimes I overhear things. I don't gossip," she said quickly.

Her flush spread faster.

She intrigued him.

He wanted—needed to see her again.

"My plans in Austin aren't a lock," he said as the music ended. It must be the end of a set, because a new song didn't immediately start up.

Around them, couples separated and clapped for the musicians.

He let her go, his hands experiencing a strange feeling of emptiness, a wrongness that traveled all the way up his arms.

Her eyes skittered away. Was she still looking for Mallory? Whatever she needed, he wanted to help her. Then she would be free to focus on him.

It was purely selfish, but he didn't care.

He felt alive again, because of Delaney.

"Yoo-hoo! Ca-ash."

He felt Delaney pull away at the same time someone called for him. He reached out and snagged her hand before she could disappear into the crowd.

This time, she didn't demand he stop touching her, though he could feel tension radiating through her.

He turned to face Mrs. Jefferson and her husband, an older couple who'd been friends with his parents.

"Hello, dear." Mrs. J bussed both his cheeks with a kiss, her cloying perfume settling over him in a cloud. "The light dusting we were supposed to get is turning into a blizzard, so I thought we'd better come say hi and then skedaddle."

The older woman patted his shoulder and moved back so that Mr. J could shake his hand.

He felt Delaney's tension in the clench of her hand. Was the snowstorm worrying her?

He let her go only to shake Jefferson's hand quickly, then reclaimed her hand. Where her fingers had been curled against his before, now her palm was damp and limp.

And he was being rude. He'd get the introductions over and when the couple left, he'd reassure her about the roads. If conditions were bad, she could just stay the night here.

They could talk all night long. Get to know each other. Even take advantage of the mistletoe Mallory had strung strategically throughout the house.

Problem solved.

He felt the corners of his mouth lifting as he inclined his head to her. "Do you guys know Delaney?" He suddenly realized she still hadn't given him her last name. But he also didn't want to make things awkward for her. "Delaney, Mr. and Mrs. Jefferson were friends of my parents."

Mrs. J wore a look of confusion.

"We're acquainted," Delaney said quickly. She tried to tug her hand away, but he didn't let go.

Mrs. J's eagle-eyed gaze honed in on their connected hands. Delaney seemed to shrink under the piercing gaze.

"I didn't realize you were working tonight, dear," Mrs. J said.

"I'm not." Delaney responded tightly. The tension she'd carried when he'd first come upon her in the ballroom returned.

What was going on? Working? Was she a caterer or something?

"I really have to—" Delaney pulled hard enough that it was going to cause a scene if he didn't let her go.

He released her hand.

Felt her slip away even as he stayed rooted in place because of the manners his mama had trained into him.

"Cash, do you know who that is?" Mrs. J asked.

He shrugged. "Some friend of Mallory's."

Mrs. J shook her head slightly. "No, she's—"

"Larry just texted me.” Her husband looked up from his cell phone. “Bridge over the Coon Creek is slick as all get out. We gotta get home."

Mrs. J nodded but looked back to Cash, concern written all over her face. "Talk to Mallory before you dance with that girl again."

What?

He didn't know what was going on, but he didn't let anyone butt into his personal life.

He also wouldn't make a scene. He made himself smile politely, and the couple took their leave.

He spun on his heel, scanning for Delaney.

Who, of course, had disappeared.