A Cowboy Under The Mistletoe. Vicki Lewis Thompson

3

      WHITNEY HAD GIVEN herself very little time to get ready, which was just as well. All day she’d been telling herself this date was no big deal. But as she quickly changed out of her uniform into jeans and a white cable-knit sweater, she admitted to being nervous. Her heart raced every time she thought about Ty appearing outside her door.

      She’d straightened her small apartment before leaving for work and she’d pulled out the box of tree ornaments. The fragrant Scotch pine she’d bought early this morning was medium-sized, a little over six feet, but that was plenty big enough for her living room. It looked great tucked in the corner.

      A futon doubled as a couch because she’d wanted extra sleeping space when her friends or her folks visited. Besides the futon, the living room furniture included two end tables, two lamps and a bookcase that held her TV. Oh, and the rocker from her mother, who believed every home should have one.

      Other than that, she owned a small kitchen table and matching chairs, a queen-sized bed and a dresser. Decorating wasn’t her thing and she was grateful that Rangeland Roasters had a template for each holiday. Her boss Ginny shipped the materials and Whitney let her staff go crazy.

      The one exception to her lack of interest in decorating was her Christmas tree. Her mom had faithfully bought dated ornaments every year since Whitney and Selena had been born. Selena’s sixteen ornaments were packed away in her parents’ basement, but Whitney had all twenty-seven of hers, including the newest one her mother had mailed last week.

      Whitney’s box of decorations included two strands of lights plus the glass icicles and snowflakes she’d added a couple of years ago. She used wired red-and-gold ribbon instead of a garland and was still debating her options for a tree topper. Her parents had a lovely star, but she favored angels. She hadn’t found one she liked, so for now she used a small teddy bear she’d had since she was four.

      Five minutes before Ty was due to arrive, she thought about what they’d drink with their Chinese food. A good hostess would have a couple of bottles of wine available, or a six-pack of beer. What if he liked soda? She didn’t have any of that, either. Mostly she had...coffee.

      Apparently she’d stumbled into the right profession because she loved coffee—caffeinated, decaffeinated and flavored. She had an espresso machine and a professional-grade blender that could mix up an iced coffee drink that would melt in your mouth.

      She knew Ty liked coffee, but it didn’t seem like the right choice for Chinese food. What, then? Well, she sometimes drank tea when she ate at a Chinese restaurant, but mostly she considered it a weak version of coffee and not worth the bother. Consequently she didn’t stock it at home.

      About the time she’d decided water was her only option, her intercom buzzed. Showtime. Anticipation jacked up her pulse rate as she walked to the intercom and opened the connection. “Ty?”

      “Yep.”

      The sound of his deep baritone made her quiver. “Come on up. Second floor, number two-oh-four.”

      “Got it.”

      A manly voice for a manly man. She buzzed him in before opening her apartment door and stepping into the hall. His boots sounded on the stairs and then he came down the hallway toward her. He held a bulging plastic bag in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other.

      But she was more interested in the man than what he’d brought for dinner. He wore his shearling coat, snug jeans and a brown Stetson dampened by melting snow. She couldn’t remember opening her door to a more appealing sight.

      His gray gaze warmed as it met hers. “I’ve never seen you dressed in anything but a Rangeland Roasters uniform. You look different.”

      “That uniform isn’t exactly the height of fashion.”

      “No, but...you do it justice.”

      “Thanks.” She tingled with awareness. If she’d imagined this might be a platonic evening spent in casual conversation, he’d just changed the game. Then again, she’d never believed their date would be casual and platonic.

      She stepped back from the door. “Come in. And thanks for bringing wine. I had no idea what we’d drink with dinner.”

      “Tea is traditional, but I wasn’t in the mood for tea.” He brought the chill of a cold Wyoming night with him as he walked in, along with the exotic scents of Asian spices, a whiff of pine-scented aftershave and a crackle of electricity.

      She hadn’t realized how he filled a space until he stood in her living room. She’d hosted a couple of her girlfriends since she’d moved here, and her folks had visited twice, but the apartment hadn’t felt truly small until Ty Slater stepped inside. She wasn’t complaining. He was the most exciting guest she’d ever had.

      “Nice tree. Smells great.”

      “Doesn’t it? That’s Christmas to me.”

      “Agreed.” His smile flashed. “It isn’t Christmas until there’s a tree in the living room. How do you want to do this? We could eat while decorating, or eat first and then decorate, or vice versa. Your call.”

      “I’m starving and we don’t want the food to get cold, so let’s eat first.”

      “Works for me.” He lifted the plastic bag and the wine bottle. “Where to?”

      “All I have is the kitchen table.”

      “Hey, that’s all I have, too. My apartment is about the size of yours. In fact, I have that same futon. Did you get yours in Cheyenne?”

      “Uh-huh.” She led the way into her tiny kitchen. “From that furniture store that’s always running sales.”

      “That’s the one.” He set the bag and wine on her small round table.

      “Did your salesman have a Santa Claus beard?”

      “Yep, same guy.” He took off his coat and hung it over the back of one of the chairs. The movement stirred up the scent of whatever soap he’d used, something lemony.

      Whitney took a deep breath. Having this man around was aromatherapy for a condition she hadn’t realized she had. She hadn’t intentionally cut dating out of her life. It had come with the new job.

      “I found out he plays Santa for the kids who are in the hospital over Christmas,” Ty said.

      Looking at him standing in her kitchen, his broad shoulders emphasized by the yoked style of his cream-colored Western shirt, she felt as if Santa had brought her an early present. “That’s awesome!”

      “I thought so. Made me feel good about buying the futon from him.” He removed his hat. “Can I just put this on the counter? It needs to dry off a little.”

      “Sure. Anywhere.” She would love to mess with his hair and get rid of the hat-brim crease.

      “You don’t have a lot of stuff sitting around.” He laid his hat on the counter brim side up, cowboy-style. Then he finger-combed his damp hair, leaving it tousled and sexy looking.

      “Just the espresso machine.”

      “I’d expect that. I meant you don’t have a lot of doodads and whatchamacallits. Very streamlined. I like it.”

      “Thanks.” Her list of things she liked about him was growing longer by the minute. “My mother thinks my apartment’s stark, but I call it uncluttered.”

      “Less to move when you’re cleaning.”

      “Exactly! And it’s not like I spend a lot of time here, so I don’t want to waste money buying a bunch of things I’ll never use. My mom brought wineglasses when she and my dad came to visit in October, only to discover I didn’t have a wine opener. I just buy screw-top.”

      Ty laughed, picked up