My Kind of Christmas (The Christmas Tree Ranch #1)(34)

An overstuffed sofa faced the fireplace, where a cheery blaze crackled on the brick hearth. There were soft cushions, an abundance of green plants, and a wall of shelves filled with well-worn books. The aroma of freshly baked cookies that wafted from the kitchen made his mouth water.

Maggie reappeared with a tray of cookies and milk. “You’re in luck,” she said. “I had to bake chocolate chip cookies for a work party tomorrow. There are plenty left over, and they’re still warm.”

“I can’t stay long,” he said. “I need to get home before the weather gets worse.”

“I won’t keep you,” she said. “But I can’t send you away hungry when we’ve got warm cookies.” She put the tray on the coffee table and moved the cushions to clear a space for him. “Have a seat,” she said. “And help yourself.”

Travis sat and took one cookie, then a second. The cookies and cold milk were delicious, but it was Maggie who stunned him. Warm and rumpled, she looked so tantalizing that it was all he could do to keep his hands off her. He swore silently. This wasn’t why he’d come. And he’d be damned if he was going to let her do that maddening hot and cold number on him again.

But, so help him, there were worse things to do on a blustery night than sit in front of a warm fire, sharing cookies and milk with a gorgeous, sexy woman.

*

Maggie hadn’t expected anybody to show up on her door-step tonight, especially Travis. But now that he was here, she realized how much she’d wanted to see him again.

Her eager gaze took him in—the way his damp hair, in need of a trim, curled over his forehead, the lean, chiseled face and earnest gray eyes. The man was heartbreak on a bun. But she’d learned that being alone and thinking about him all the time was no picnic either. She’d memorized the moment when he’d kissed her, his strong arms crushing her close, his lips like cool velvet on her mouth, the taste of him, the feel of him . . .

Had he come here for a reason, or was he just, as he’d said, stopping by to return her dishes?

“How’s your search for Santa coming along?” he asked, as if just making conversation.

“Are you about to volunteer?” she asked.

“Not on your life. I was just wondering, that’s all.”

“Too bad.” Maggie broke a cookie and dipped half in her milk. “I would have taken you up on it. The Santa suit was so old that it fell apart at the dry cleaner’s, so we’ll have to rent a new one. But so far there’s nobody to fill it.”

And that was literally true. Carrie Mae, who worked in the county clerk’s office, had slipped her the news that Travis and Conner had applied for a license to sell Christmas trees. Once Hank found out that they were going into competition with him, there was no way he would play Santa—especially since his competitors owned the sleigh and horses.

For Maggie, the situation was turning into one massive headache.

“So what’s the backup plan?” he asked. “Do you have one?”

“Not a good one. But the parade’s got to have a Santa. So if I have to, I’ll wear the suit myself.”

His eyes twinkled. “I’d pay good money to see that.”

“Maybe so. But the kids would know the difference. They deserve better. They deserve a real Santa in a real sleigh, like they’ve always had. But I know better than to ask Hank again. Even if he says yes, he’s bound to change his mind when he finds out about the trees—”

She stopped herself, realizing she’d just admitted to knowing his plan. “Sorry,” she said.

“Did you snoop?” He raised an eyebrow, half amused.

“No, for what it’s worth. I was fighting temptation and winning. Then somebody in the county office told me. Hank’s bound to be livid about your competing with him.”

“This is America. Competition is allowed. If he chooses to be mad, that’s his problem.”

“And mine,” Maggie said. “I can’t blame you and Conner for taking advantage of an opportunity. But you’ve just changed Christmas for the whole town.”

“Maybe it’ll be a good change. We’ve got some great plans in the works.” He gazed at Maggie’s downcast face. “I guess I’d better go.” He stood, brushing the crumbs off his jeans. “Thanks for the cookies and milk. Are you going to tell anybody about the trees?”

“I’ve known for days, but I haven’t told a soul, and I don’t intend to. That’s your business.” She rose to see him out. Heaven knows, it wasn’t what she wanted. But things had become awkward, and she could think of no excuse to keep him there.

“Thanks for understanding,” he said. “At least you know why it wouldn’t have done any good for me to square things with Hank.”

“Yes, I know.”

He was reaching for his coat. She checked the impulse to fling herself into his arms and beg him not to leave. Twice he’d taken her in his arms and kissed her. Twice he’d met the wall of her fear—the fear of being hurt again. Travis was a proud man. He would not risk a third rejection.

Please don’t go! The words rushed to her lips, but something held them back. She stood silent and helpless as he shrugged on his coat. “Good night, Maggie, and good luck,” he said, and opened the front door.