How the Devlin Stole Christmas: A Billionaire Cowboy Prequel ~ Those Devilish Devlins Page 3

  “Locke Devlin, you did not just—” Max stopped mid-sentence, jerking her eyes to the sky.

  A tingling sensation ran over my skin and then a growing buzzing noise was our only warning.

  “Inside,” I said. Any cowboy who’d spent time rounding up and pushing cattle on the range had been caught out in bad weather. We both knew a lightning strike was imminent.

  Max had just nodded her agreement when the air around us went static. There was a clap of thunder overhead and then before either of us took a step, the air sizzled and crackled as a bolt of lightning sliced into the old hickory tree. The crack of splintering wood was all I needed to get my ass moving.

  I threw myself at Max just as the tree toppled, wrapping my arms hard around her and taking us both to the ground. Twisting to take the brunt of the fall, I kept us rolling along the rocky ground toward the house, praying I got us out of the way of the fifty-foot tree.

  I only stopped rolling when we hit up against the bottom porch step. Lying on top of Max to shelter her, I whipped my head around to make sure we were clear. The once tall hickory tree lay like a fallen soldier, stretched across the gravel drive. Its top branches had only missed us by a few feet.

  “Shit, Max, are you all right?” My heart pounded in my chest and my breath wheezed raggedly in and out of my lungs, but we were okay. I pressed up on my palms, easing some of my weight off Max.

  “I’m okay. Shaky, but okay. And alive.” She gulped in air, trying to settle her own breath. “Thanks to you.”

  Our gazes locked, only inches apart. The air between us went hot and thick and had nothing to do with the electric storm firing around us. Neither the gusting wind nor the cold freezing rain broke the elemental connection between us.

  You’d think having a near death experience would focus a person on the important things in life. But in that moment, lying on top of Max, legs intertwined, pelvis to pelvis, her hard nipples pressed against my chest—the only thing I could think about was getting Max naked. Which was so wrong.

  Don’t be a dick. You will not get Max naked. Are we clear on this? That’s wrong, wrong, wrong. Here’s an idea: stop being a selfish prick and how about get her out from under your weight and up off the cold, wet ground. Man, you’re an asshole.

  I squeezed my eyes tight, breaking the connection, and pressing my palms into the ground in preparation to get up when I heard Max gasp.

  Opening my eyes to check, she had her head turned toward the fallen tree. My gaze followed hers.

  “Wow,” Max said. “We were darn lucky.”

  The tree had landed right where we’d been standing. It had only missed Max’s truck by a foot. Huh. Max’s truck. I blinked and wiped the water from my eyes. The tree had fallen completely across the driveway, trapping Max’s truck.

  “Your truck’s blocked.”

  “It sure is.” Her lips tilted into a slow smile. “Looks like I’m stuck here.”

  Well, hell.

  6

  Max

  “I’m freezing, dripping wet, and already aching in places I didn’t even know I could, but I’m feeling really, really amazing.” With my teeth chattering, I quickly shed my coat which only helped a little since the front of my shirt and jeans were soaked through too. “Who knew escaping injury and death was better than five espressos?”

  “That’s just the after-effects of the adrenaline.” Locke’s shirt was torn up, caked in dirt, and soaking wet, hugging him like a second skin and delineating each bulging muscle along his arms and chest. He reached behind his neck and ripped the shirt up and off. “You’ll crash soon.”

  “I don’t think so.” The sight of Locke’s bare chest sent my pulse racing.

  “Sorry, but the damn thing is freezing,” he said.

  “Oh, hey. You’re fine.” More than fine. My gaze feasted on his body: acres of sun-golden skin, a light dusting of hair across his pecs, and a stunning set of abs. A body Michelangelo could have carved, hard-earned from years of living the cowboy life. I’d seen a lot of muscled cowboys in my lifetime, yet none affected me the way this one did. “Maybe I should strip off my clothes in the foyer too. I don’t want to drip water all over your house.”

  “Strip? Whoa, no.” Locke’s eyes went wide. “You don’t need to do that. The floors have taken a lot worse. Don’t worry about the water.”

  “Okay.” I pulled at the front of my sweater. The longer I stood in the wet fabric, the more the goose bumps over my skin multiplied and the harder my nipples got. “I do need to get out of these wet clothes.”

  His gaze dropped to my breasts, lingered only a second, before whipping away. “Right. Let’s get you warmed up. You’ll have to use the bathroom in my room. It’s the only bath that gets hot water. I’ll get you some dry clothes.”

  He turned abruptly, heading down the hallway to his bedroom.

  “Oh my gosh, Locke, your back is cut to pieces.”

  “Yeah, well, rolling over gravel will do that. It’s fine.”

  “It won’t be if you don’t get some antibiotic cream on it. You’ll need me to help reach all the cuts. A couple of them look pretty deep.”

  “Seriously, Max, I’m fine.”

  “I guess you can always wait for Dodo’s homemade salve. The stuff that stinks to high-heavens and hurts like a mess of yellow jackets landed on you.”

  “Dodo won’t—”

  “Oh, but she will,” I said, enjoying watching his shoulders stiffen up as we entered his bedroom.

  “Damn, I forgot how dirty you fight. Antibiotic cream it is.” He shook his head once then moved over to a tall dresser, pulling out wool socks before moving to his closet and grabbing out a flannel shirt and a pair of sweatpants. “These will be huge, but at least they’ll be warm.”

  I took the clothes from him, relieved he didn’t have any women’s clothes handy. I hadn’t heard any gossip around town about Locke being involved with a woman, not that that meant he wasn’t. If anyone could keep something a secret it was Locke Devlin. Some cowboys liked to brag about their female conquests. Not the Devlin men. And Locke was the quietest of the three.

  As soon as I closed myself into his bathroom, I slumped against the door. The idea of Locke being in love with another woman made me weak at the knees. While Locke was quiet, he was also pretty direct. If he did have a woman in his life, he’d have told me the second he saw I’d disconnected my truck battery. My heart was sure Locke Devlin was the man for me, but I wouldn’t poach someone else’s man. If he did have a woman, I’d simply have to wait until he realized she wasn’t the one for him and they broke up. Fine. There’d be nothing simple about it, but I’d wait.

  Cross that bridge when you get there, Maxie. I turned on the shower, stripped off my wet clothes, and sniffed Locke’s pine soap and sexy aftershave on the counter while I waited for the water to heat up. The bathroom had definitely been remodeled. The shower was large and sleek with a wide glass door and dark gray subway tile in a herringbone pattern. The sink and toilet must have been specially ordered to fit his six-four height. I managed to find some self-restraint and did not peek in his medicine cabinet. But, man did I want to. A medicine cabinet was even more revealing than a refrigerator.

  Stepping under the spray of water was heavenly. A moan escaped from my lips as the hot water ran over my skin, chasing away the chill and warming deep into my sore muscles. My shoulders and behind felt bruised, but after seeing Locke’s back, I knew he’d protected me as we’d hit the ground and rolled. I tried to keep it short, lathering his pine-scented soap over my body and then letting the warm water (with the amazing massaging head) rinse me off. After shampooing my long hair, I finger combed it under the water, trying to tame some of the tangles before shutting off the water and toweling dry.

  I slid on the black plaid flannel shirt, reveling in its softness. No surprise, it was huge on me with the bottom hem hitting me mid-thigh. I rolled up the sleeves until my hands were free. The sweat pants, though, were a no go. Way too big around
the waist to stay up. So, I put them to the side and slid on the too large but toasty warm socks. Locke had a blow drier in the cabinet under his sink, so I was able to dry my hair and my bikini underwear. Sure, I wanted Locke, but he was going to have to work for it. Assuming I could get him to admit he wanted me too.

  My self-discipline eluded me on my way out of Locke’s room, and I did make a quick detour to peek into his walk-in closet. Not surprising, the man was a neat freak. Other than that, it was a typical cowboy’s closet. Multiple pairs of jeans sat folded and stacked on shelves. Above those were shelves of T-shirts while his flannel and long-sleeved thermal shirts were spaced out on hangers.

  Reaching out, I ran my hand over the row of flannel shirts; they were soft, just like the one against my skin, and scented with the devil’s triangle of laundry soap, fresh air, and Locke.

  There was a gun safe attached to the back wall and a neat line of boots and shoes lined along another. The only thing that seemed out of place was a stack of thick books tucked into a corner. I moved in for a closer look. College text books? Were they Locke’s? My stomach twisted at the thought that they might belong to an old girlfriend.

  Dang it. That’s what I get for being nosey.

  I spun around and exited the bedroom. The last thing I needed was another way to drive myself crazy. I found Locke in the great room, tossing a log onto a roaring fire. He wore a fresh pair of jeans and another thermal shirt, this one forest green.

  “You do know out of sight, out of mind doesn’t work for me?” I quirked an eyebrow when he glanced my way.

  And oh, did he glance. His gaze lingered over my bare legs before meeting mine. “How’s that?”

  “Just because you put a shirt on doesn’t mean I’m going to forget about the cream.” I even knew where his first aid kit was. While he was searching for my keys, I’d been searching for pieces of his life. Any clue as to how much he’d changed. I walked right over to the kitchen cabinet with the first aid kit, grabbed it down, and moved to stand in front of him, hitting him with my best Clint Eastwood “make my day” look.

  He rolled his eyes, but turned, pulling his shirt over his head and off, giving me access to his back. This time when I sucked in a breath, it wasn’t due to his hard body.

  “You really got sliced up, Locke. I’m sorry you got hurt on account of me.” I pulled the tube of cream from the kit, gazing at his back. I decided to start at the top of his shoulders and work my way down. “Here goes.”

  He only released a hiss on the first touch of my fingers, but his shoulders stayed stiff and his muscles tensed under my hands. Memories from three years ago flashed through my head. Memories of my hands stroking along his body. Of his hands and lips gliding and pressing over my sensitive skin. Something in the air changed. Electricity stronger than the lightning bolt charged the air between us. The sound of the crackling fire helped hide my labored breath.

  “Done,” I said, stepping back where I could pull myself together.

  He slid his shirt on and turned around toward me, his eyes glittering in the firelight and a guarded look on his handsome face.

  “So, Christmas Eve together.” The prospect of spending the next few hours with Locke felt like a gift. Precious hours I hoped would remind him of what we’d once meant to each other. “This will be fun.”

  “I’m going to call it a night,” Locke said, steering his gaze away from mine.

  “It’s not even six o’clock.”

  “Guess the whole almost getting pancaked by a tree thing wore me out.” He shrugged and ran a hand around the back of his neck. “Help yourself to anything in the fridge. You can have my bed. It’s nicer. I’ll take the—”

  “No.”

  “I’m sorry, what?” His gaze whipped over to mine, panic in his eyes.

  “I said no. That’s not how this is going to work.” He wanted to buck the saddle and escape. I saw it in his eyes, but I refused to let him do that to me again. “Three years ago, you stole Christmas from me, Locke Devlin. Tonight’s where you pay up.”

  7

  Locke

  I was in trouble here. Deep trouble.

  “Three years ago, you made love to me on Christmas Eve.” Max stepped toward me until she stood two feet away—close enough to touch me—and speared me with her fiery gaze. “But when I woke up Christmas morning, you were gone. Disappeared. You never came back for me. No phone call. No letter. Christmas has never been the same since.”

  Pain hit me in the chest. As sudden and painful as if the tree had landed right on me. Took the breath clean out of me.

  “You. Owe. Me.”—she poked me in the chest with each word—“Cowboy.”

  Hell of it was, she was right. I’d never thought of it from her point of view. I’d been too busy drowning out my own pain. My brothers and I had never had a happy Christmas growing up, but the few I’d had with the O’Conner’s made me realize how special it could be. How special it should be. And guilt socked me in the gut over the fact that I’d taken that from Max. I’d stolen the very thing her family had gifted me… The magic of Christmas.

  “I want it all.” She tilted her jaw up at me, the same determined jaw tilt that warned she had a goal and she’d be damned if she’d give up before getting it. “A tree with decorations, a delicious Christmas Eve meal, Christmas cake in front of the fire, and breakfast on Christmas morning.”

  “Okay.” I’d hated what had happened that Christmas morning myself. Not that I’d go back and undo it if I could. But if doing up Christmas while we were stuck here together would ease some of her pain—and my guilt—then I could do it. “One magical Christmas coming up.”

  “Seriously? What’s the catch?” She blinked up at me, surprised. “I usually have to argue in circles with you before I can get you to see things my way.”

  “Like we already said, people change.” I shrugged, smiling wide at her distrust. Then I cocked my head and pointed up. “You hear that?”

  “I don’t hear anything.” She frowned.

  “Exactly. There’s a break in the storm.” I stepped over to the foyer and grabbed my coat from a peg. “I’ll go get your tree from the line of pines out back. And by tree I mean branch.”

  “I’m not picky, but I’m going to help.”

  “You’re not exactly dressed for it.” My eyes made the dangerous trip down her long, long legs. The memory of her silky skin had me clenching my jaw. “Which reminds me, we need to throw your clothes in the dryer when I get back in.”

  “When we get back in.” Max grabbed the quilt off the back of the leather couch; it was the quilt Dodo had stitched by hand and given me on our first Christmas at the O’Conner Ranch. She slung it over her shoulders, wrapping herself from head to toe. “Ready.”

  “It’s freezing outside,” I said. “That’s hardly going to—”

  “I’ll stay on the back porch shielded from the wind.” Her lips slid into a wide smile. “And if you say ‘Yes, Max.’ to every branch I’d like you to cut, we’ll be inside before anything important freezes.”

  “Still funny, I see.” Anything important. Ha! “Whoa, wait. Every branch?”

  “Ya! Get going,” she said, adding the clicking noise she used with stubborn horses.

  I laughed and headed through the kitchen and out the back door onto the porch, the cold air slapping at me. “You stay here like you promised.”

  “Unlike you, I’ve never broken a promise in my life.”

  That stopped me in my tracks and had me turning around. I’d been poor and beat down for most of my life. Our family a bunch of dysfunctional degenerates who cared more about finding their next fix than taking care of three young boys. I couldn’t afford to promise anyone anything.

  “What promise did I break?” I’d never made any promises. Not to Max. Yeah, there’d been an unspoken promise between us. I wouldn’t have touched her if I hadn’t been serious. But I’d been set straight on that quickly enough.

  “You promised you’d marry me.” She
stared me down across the muted light under the bank of storm clouds. “I remember it clearly. We were in the horse barn.”

  “Oh, hell, Max, you were eight. You went into the stall of an unbroken horse and somehow managed to seat her. It was the only way I could get you off the wild mare’s back before she bucked you off. You could have broken your neck. You sure as heck scared a few years off of your dad’s life.”

  “Yeah, I was a bratty kid.”

  “You weren’t a brat. You just had no fear and wanted to keep up with all the older cowboys.” Which she did. She was a wild spitfire. A glowing flame. More than half the cowboys who met her fell for her.

  “Thank you for saving my life that day.”

  “You’re welcome,” I said, turning back to the shed.

  “But you did break your promise.”

  “Now you’re being bratty,” I called over my shoulder before ducking into the shed and grabbing out the handsaw. I walked to the copse of trees, mostly a mix of pines with a few hickory, oak, and cedar. The wind still gusted, bending the trees and rattling their branches. I moved quickly over to the closest pine tree. “How about this one?”

  “No. Pinyon pines aren’t very pretty,” she called. “Or Christmassy.”

  I moved down two trees, separating out a branch for her to see.

  “What about this one? It’s pine and it’s green. That seems pretty damn Christmassy to me.”

  “No way. Ponderosas smell too citrusy.”

  I gave her a narrow-eyed stare because it sounded like she was messing with me. Like she didn’t really care about my important bits freezing at all.

  “Move to your right, three trees down,” she directed. “You’re getting warmer…”

  “No, I’m really not.” I regretted not taking the time to grab my gloves and hat. And my long underwear. “This one?”