2
IT WASN’T LIKE she didn’t consider what she wore, but on a scale of one to ten she would rate herself maybe a five when it came to how much thought and time she usually put into her attire.
Tonight for some reason, Raine was on the higher end of the scale.
The long red skirt and clingy black blouse looked nice, but were not exactly hamburger-worthy, she decided with a critical eye before she changed into jeans and a teal blue silk sweater. Except it occurred to her that if she dribbled ketchup or spilled even a drop of wine the sweater would be toast and she’d have to toss it—she’d known at the time it was an impractical purchase but had loved it too much not to buy it—so she changed for a third time. Black leggings and a patterned gray sweater dress won the day, comfortable but certainly dressier than she’d usually choose for a night home alone.
Well, she wasn’t going to be alone. She even set the table—which would never have happened on her traditional Christmas Eve—with what she called her December plates, white with tiny candy canes on them. Daisy had seen them when they’d been out shopping when she was six years old and begged, so Raine caved and bought them. Every year when the plates came out, it signaled the holiday season for her daughter and the sentimental value was priceless. Even though she’d been a classic example of a starving artist and had been trying to launch her business at the time, she’d also bought a set of silverware whose handles were etched with reindeer and a sleigh.
It was ironic in a good way to think someone as successful as Mick Branson wanted to meet with her on a professional level and would eat off the dishes that she’d bought when she really couldn’t afford them. Now she was so busy she doubted she could accept whatever it was he wanted to discuss even if she was interested.
Mr. Bojangles wandered past with a feline yawn, headed for his food bowl, but stopping to be petted. It was like a royal decree when a cat of his size demanded to be scratched behind the ears. Raine stroked his head. “What do you think of the table? Fancy enough for a hotshot executive?”
He yawned again, his gold-green eyes reflecting doubt. She said defensively, “Hey, I paid twenty bucks for those dishes.”
His furry face expressed his skepticism that the plates were worth even that. She argued his point. “Daisy loves them.”
He didn’t disagree, just headed off to the kitchen to chomp loudly out of his bowl. His ample backside was normal for his breed, but his love of food didn’t help matters. His vet, Jax Locke, had been diplomatic in suggesting she could maybe curtail the cat treats.
Raine agreed, but Jangles—as she called him face-to-face—was a contender when it came to getting his way. There was not much in the way of compromise on his part.
The snow was beginning to blow a little and she had started a fire in her fireplace with the push of a button. She liked ambiance and watching the flames, but as a single female didn’t want to haul in logs, so she’d had a gas insert put in a few years ago. Bypassing Christmas music, she put on some soft classical in the background, and without the World’s Largest Puppy—Samson—tearing around, the house felt downright serene. Daisy always took him with her to the ranch and he loved running free with the other dogs. The backyard at Raine’s just wasn’t as exciting as herding cattle with Drake and the other hands. Maybe when he got a little older Samson would be content to just bask in the sun. As it stood, he wanted to run amok.
Red, the head ranch hand, called the dog a log-legged galoot. That seemed about right.
When Raine saw the arc of headlights in the big front window and glanced at the fairy tale clock on the mantel, Cinderella’s glass slipper was pointed right at six sharp. Mick Branson was right on time.
She, on the other hand, was perpetually late to everything. Maybe being awake at two in the morning was the only thing they had in common. She opened the door before he knocked and in return got a capricious swirl of snow blowing into the tiny foyer.
“Thanks,” he said as he came in. “The wind is really picking up. A Merry Christmas with all the appropriate special effects.” He studied her as he wiped his boots on the mat inside the door. “It’s nice to see you again.”
“And you as well.” She shut the door, peering through the side panel of glass. “It is coming down out there, isn’t it? So pretty.”
“From safe in here, it’s very pretty,” he said with his all too fleeting smile. “The wine is in this bag, and where do you want my coat?”
She recognized the bag because she’d designed the print on it. The M for Mountain Vineyards was flanked by pine trees and a hawk sat on a branch on one side. “I’ll take your coat, and the kitchen is through that doorway right there. It’s impossible to get lost in this house.”
“It’s charming.” He glanced around as he slipped off his wool coat.
She wasn’t used to men who used the word “charming” in regular conversation, but he did have nice wide shoulders, so she’d cut him some slack. Actually, everything about him was attractive: dark hair, striking dark eyes, and what she’d define as an aristocratic face that spoke of a lineage that was Old World, probably Spain or Portugal. She had an admitted fascination for history, so she’d love to know his story. “I’ll be right back. There’s a corkscrew and glasses on the counter. Go for it.”
He took her at her word, she discovered after she’d deposited his coat on the bed in the spare bedroom—one drawback to her quaint little house was no coat closet—and poured them both a glass of wine.
“Merlot,” he told her as he set the bottle on the counter. “I took Kelly’s advice and bought the wines I like best and didn’t try to match hamburgers.”
“She’s pretty good at that sort of thing.” Raine accepted a glass, looking at him as she did. “I’ve never had a business meeting on Christmas Eve, but you probably have. What’s the protocol? I don’t have a table in a conference room, but we could sit by the fire.”
“I’m not all business, just so you know. Conference tables are overrated, and the fire sounds nice.”
“I thought business was why you were here.”
“Come on, Raine, I think you know that’s not entirely it. I do have something I want to talk to you about, but I just wanted to see you.”
Well, at least he was direct. She liked that, even as the admission surprised her. “The fire it is then.”
She led the way and he followed, and as luck would have it when they passed the tree, Jangles decided on a drive-by attack to defend his territory. Maybe she should have issued a warning, but she was so used to the giant cat’s antics she didn’t think of it, and though obviously startled, Mick managed to not spill his wine even with claws in the hem of his no-doubt expensive slacks. She apologized as the cat unhooked and retreated back into his lair. “By the way, meet my cat, Mr. Bojangles. He has a perimeter staked out around the tree and he guards it. Sorry, I should have warned you.”
“That’s a cat? I would have guessed African lion.”
“You should see the dog the Carson family gifted me. Mace made the mistake of suggesting Daisy help him pick out a puppy. She and that dog fell instantly in love. He’s hers now. I think one day you’ll be able to slap a saddle on that bad boy and ride out on the range. I have a sack of dog food in my pantry so big I need a furniture dolly to carry it in.” In an attempt to be a proper hostess, she asked, “Shall we sit down?”
And get the business part done so we can relax a little. It was, after all, Christmas Eve.
* * *
Mick wasn’t surprised at all by her house. Raine’s taste showed, well...everywhere. It was so different from the elegance of his childhood home, he tried to restrain his smile. No settees, no polished tables, no imported rugs or pricey oil paintings...
There was a poster of wine labels she’d created above the fireplace and the mantel was a hand-hewn log of some kind. A ceramic frog sat on the brick hearth, and there was a rusted antique toy truck on the other side. Her couch was ruby red and suited the dark wood floors, and a coffee table with a distressed finish added an artistic touch. A craftsman glass lamp patterned with butterflies and brilliant flowers adorned a bookshelf. Nothing matched, yet the décor oddly fit together.
He liked it better than his own perfectly decorated house, which he’d hired someone expensive to put together. Raine’s house was comfortable and lived-in; his place might look like it was straight out of a magazine, but it was hardly homey.
“This is nice.”
“This is probably about a tenth of the space of your house, but thank you,” she said drily. “Daisy and I don’t need more. She can get that at the ranch. I’m not really into personal possessions, which is a good thing since she acquired that enormous puppy. Along with my favorite pair of shoes, the rug in the kitchen has been a casualty. I happened to like that rug but I had no idea it was a culinary canine delight. He chewed it to pieces when my back was turned for about eight seconds.”
He had to laugh as he settled next to her on the couch. “Slater mentioned every time Mace went to acquire a pet, someone else in family became latched on to it and he had to try again.”
“It’s like visiting a zoo,” she agreed, also laughing. “The moment the infamous Mrs. Arbuckle-Calder became involved, game over. That woman makes an executive decision over whether or not you might need a pet, and if you are deemed pet-worthy, she’ll pick one out for you and just show up with it and drop it right inside your door. You don’t really get to say yes or no. How do think I ended up with the lion?”
He liked the way she kicked off her black flats and propped her feet on the coffee table, wineglass in hand. A gust of wind hit the rafters, but the fire balanced it nicely. “I wasn’t allowed pets growing up. My mother was opposed to the slightest hint of pet hair in her house, plus my parents traveled a lot, so pets were an inconvenience she didn’t want to suffer.”
Raine furrowed her brow. “No pets?”
“None.”
“Daisy would be desolate without her cat and dog.”
He’d had some moments of desolation, too, but he’d survived.
“Everyone is different. This is what I wanted to talk to you about. I know someone who produces Pixel motion pictures and I mentioned you were a graphic artist. I showed him your work, and he’s interested in talking about it. He’s fairly sure Wyoming is the end of the earth, but he’s willing to come here to meet with you.”
She stared at him. “What?”
Raine had the most beautiful unusual eyes. Not green and not gold, but a starburst mixture of of both colors.
“Pixel. Motion pictures. I—”
“I know what they are,” she interrupted, groaning and briefly closing those eyes. “Oh man, I swore I was going tell you no to anything...but that changes the game.”
“Anything?”
“Stop with the sexual innuendo, I’m processing here. I don’t have the time in my day to add another thing, but I can’t possibly pass that up. I thought you liked me. How could you dangle this in front of me?” She shook her head in disbelief. “I’m not even that qualified. I took some animation classes in college, but that’s it.”
He smiled. “My personal feelings about you aside, from what I’ve been able to see, you’re really talented. I’d never have mentioned your name otherwise. But I’m glad I did, because the producer agrees with me. He thinks you could be a valuable addition to the team.”
Raine glared at him from those vivid hazel eyes. “You knew this would be a graphic artist’s dream. This is a calculated move.”
“Of course I did. Never underestimate me.” He had known. He understood a lot about being driven. Why else would they be exchanging emails at two in the morning?
“What kind of company are we talking about?”
She wasn’t a fool, but he already knew that. “Let’s just say you’d recognize the name.”
She blew out a breath. “I knew you were trouble. I’m so busy right now as it is—”
“All you have to do is think about it and let me know if you want a face-to-face. I’m investing, so I want it to be topnotch. It’s in my financial best interest to help him find the best artist possible.” She opened her mouth again, undoubtedly to protest further, and he held up a hand. “That’s enough business for one night, especially when it’s Christmas Eve. I’m declaring the meeting portion of our evening officially over.”
Raine blinked, then raised a brow. “In that case, I think it’s time for the dinner portion of our evening. I hope you can stand spicy food.” She got to her feet. “Bring the wine, please.”
“I thought we were having hamburgers.” He followed her toward the kitchen, bottle in hand. “But yes, I do like spicy.”
Her kitchen was as interesting as the living room. A row of unmatched antique canisters sat on the polished counter. The appliances were modern but the vintage hutch in the corner held what looked like a beautiful set of old dishes and pink crystal glasses. A mobile made from tarnished silver forks hung over the farmhouse sink—another piece of décor that was quintessentially Raine and suited the room perfectly.
His mother would undoubtedly faint at the sight, but Mick again found himself both charmed and amused.
“Good.” Raine moved efficiently between the refrigerator and the counter as she set down a plate and several containers. “Green chili cheeseburgers are my indulgence on Christmas Eve. Questionably traditional, I know, but I love them.”
He grinned for what felt like the thousandth time that night. “Are you kidding me?” he said incredulously. “I’m from New Mexico. We didn’t move to California until I was fifteen. My aunt and uncle still live in Las Cruces. I have done some self-analyzing to try and figure out if I go to visit them, or just for the food.”
She gave him a surprised look that probably mirrored his own. “Are you serious? My cousin lives in Santa Fe. I love it there. She sends me the chilis every late August or early September and I hoard them like a miser.”
“The real deal? From Hatch? Don’t tease me.”
“Oh yeah.” Raine nodded, no doubt inwardly laughing at his expression. “I roast them myself and freeze them. I would save Daisy and the pets first in a fire, but I might consider going back in for my chilis.”
He’d just gone straight to heaven. “You’ve just given me quite the Christmas present. If I can help, let me know. Otherwise I’ll just stand here and drool.”
She pulled out a cutting board from a side cupboard. “Somehow I suspect your culinary skills are limited to making reservations, but if you can slice an onion, you have a job to do.”
“That I can do.” She was right, he didn’t cook often, but then again, he traveled constantly and home-cooked meals were hard to come by when one wasn’t often home. Maybe that was part of what he liked about Mustang Creek—every aspect of the community felt welcoming and homey. If you walked into an establishment like Bad Billy’s Burger Palace, you’d be greeted by name.
He hadn’t even realized until recently that that appealed to him.
Maybe he was just getting a little restless in his life. Something was missing, and he knew he was in Mustang Creek for Christmas for more than just work.
Standing in Raine’s kitchen, admiring the shapely curves of her body under that silvery sweater, he wondered again what it was about her that had caught his attention. It had served him well in the business world to play hunches and go with his instincts, and his instincts had started humming the instant he’d first laid eyes on her. Raine wasn’t classically beautiful but she was one of those women who, whenever she walked into a room, unconsciously made everyone turn to look. Her vitality was part of the appeal, and since he himself was reserved and self-contained, he’d been fascinated from the start.
“Knife is in the drawer.” She looked up and caught him staring. Wiping her hands on a towel, she looked down as a sudden faint hint of color bloomed in her cheeks. “What?”
“You’re just so—” he cast about for the word “—alive.”
“I hope so, since the alternative is pretty undesirable.” The smile she gave him was quizzical this time.
He wasn’t about to elaborate. “True enough, Ms. McCall.”
“Knife is in the drawer, by the way.”
“You mentioned that.” He tugged open the drawer she indicated and found the object in question. “On the job.”
Mick chopped onions while she dropped the burgers in the grill pan and in less than a minute, his mouth was watering from the tantalizing smell of sizzling meat. Outside, the snow was thickening, draping the trees and the wooden fence out back in a festive wardrobe of white. The whole scene was relaxing in a way he didn’t often allow himself, a respite from the world, and the music softly playing in the background didn’t hurt one bit.
Fire in the hearth, a concerto in the background, a glass of wine, a home-cooked meal and a beautiful woman...
The perfect way to spend Christmas Eve.