Page 1 of Cowboy Stolen Kiss for Christmas

CHAPTER 1: HERE FOR YOU

February

Ames Carson drummed his fingers on the checkout counter of Pinetop’s most popular coffee bistro, wondering why it was taking so long to pour two simple cups of coffee. Unless, of course, the barista had run outside to grow and harvest the coffee beans first.

With a huff of impatience, he leaned farther over the counter, trying to figure out exactly what was happening inside the order preparation area at the Gingerbread House. The place was forever hopping with business — morning, noon, and night. But he’d been waiting a good ten minutes already.

And ten minutes felt like an eternity when a guy had a rented sleigh and a paid driver waiting outside.

If his spur-of-the-moment coffee stop took much longer, he’d be running late to his “not a date” with his “just a friend”, Laura Lee, which would kind of defeat the whole purpose of their outing. He’d been trying without success for months to nudge their friendship toward something more. Inviting her on a Friday evening sleigh ride was his first attempt at a big gesture. According to the movies, girls liked big gestures. She’d said yes, so he was in the process of jumping the next big hurdle — gathering the perfect refreshments.

After breaking up with her fiancé a little over a year ago, Laura was still piecing her trampled heart back together. She deserved an evening that said you come first with me. An evening custom designed to pamper her with all of her favorite things. An evening that said I’m gonna be here for you, no matter what.

Ames fully intended to be the guy who ultimately convinced her to give love a second chance. That is, assuming the barista in front of him finished brewing their order before his two-hour sleigh ride reservation ended.

As she fiddled with countless knobs on a complicated-looking beverage machine, she shot a laughing glance over her shoulder. “Rela-a-ax. I’m almost finished.” She looked college age, not that there were any colleges located in the tiny tourist town.

“Sorry.” He shifted from one cowboy boot to the next. “It’s just taking longer than I expected.” A lot longer. He’d ordered coffee, for pity’s sake, not a five-course meal.

“For two espressos with a shot of frothy hot cream that looks like it snowed on top?” The look the barista tossed his way had a little less warmth than before. Her dark ponytail was tied back in one of those food safety nets, so it slid forward against her shoulder like a fat beaver tail as she continued to work.

Ames nodded awkwardly. “Yeah, that sounds like what she wants.” He’d written down word for word what Laura’s younger sister, Lucy, had colorfully described as Laura’s favorite beverage on the planet.

“When was the last time you steamed milk?” The young barista twirled his way, holding a silver wand over a small silver pitcher. The handle was pinched between her thumb and forefinger. A motor whirred and steam rose as she held the wand.

“Uh…never, I guess.” How hard could it be to boil milk, though? He wondered if she’d dashed from the room when he wasn’t looking to milk a cow in addition to growing the coffee beans.

She gave a snort of derision as she meticulously poured the bubbling white froth into the two cardboard cups in front of her. Though it was well past Christmas, the cups were still embossed with a holiday theme — a pale blue background shimmering with metallic white and silver snowflakes. The Gingerbread House logo was emblazoned in silver letters across the lids she snapped on the cups.

With a tight smile, she slid them across the counter to Ames. “Here you go. Two espressos mixed as fast as humanly possible.”

“Thanks.” To apologize for his impatience, he dropped a twenty-dollar bill on the counter before lifting the cups. One of the lids immediately popped off. “Uh-oh!” He abruptly set the cups back on the counter. It was a delicate balancing act to keep from sloshing the hot coffee over the rim.

The barista, who was in the act of eagerly reaching for the tip, paused in consternation to watch him wrestle with the lid. No matter how hard he tried, he was unable to get it snapped back on.

“Let me try.” In a tone one might use with a toddler, she proceeded to take over his wrestling match with the lid. It proved to be a stubborn lid. She finally gave a sigh of defeat and tossed it in the trashcan.

“Think we got a defective lid.” With a dramatic eye roll, she pulled a fresh one off a nearby stack and expertly popped it into place. Her relief was palpable as she slid the espressos back in his direction. “First lid replacement is always on the house.”

The first one? “Thanks.” He really hoped she was joking, because he needed these lids to last through a couple-hour sleigh ride.

“Merry Friday and happy almost weekend,” she trilled after him as he moved toward the rear exit.

He nodded instead of answering. By now, he should’ve been accustomed to all the creative holiday greetings floating around Pinetop, but he wasn’t. Though he was currently living three-quarters of the year in a town that celebrated the holidays year round, he remained a firm believer that Christmas trees and mistletoe were for December. Not January, February, or March through November.

It was kind of ironic that he was putting so much effort into landing a date with a woman who wore an elf costume to work each day.

He used his shoulder to push open the door and stepped outside with a coffee cup fisted in each hand. His sleigh driver, Flash Billings, glanced up from his team of draft horses as he tromped back to the bright red sleigh waiting on the snowy strip behind the building. Mr. Billings was the town postmaster by day and tour guide by night.

“‘Bout time you showed back up. Almost sent in a search party after you.” The twinkle in his eyes brightened his grizzled appearance. Though he was often hired to dress as Santa for the holiday events around town, he looked more like Rumpelstiltskin when he was out of costume. He didn’t have an extra ounce on his wiry frame, and his white beard was more of a long drizzle. It hung nearly to the waist of his insulated denim coat. His cheeks and nose were every bit as red as Santa’s, though, making Ames feel guilty for making the older fella wait so long in the winter breeze.

“Hey, I’m really sorry about the wait. Here. Take one of these.” On impulse, he held out one of the freshly made espressos.

“No, siree!” Mr. Billings gave a vehement head shake. “Appreciate the offer, but I’ve got my own brew to keep me warm — made just the I way like it.” He gave another energetic head shake. “Black with no frills.”

Black was how Ames preferred his coffee, too, but he was open to trying new things — especially things that might stand a chance of impressing Laura Lee. He climbed into the sleigh, tickled to pieces about the fresh blanket of snow that had fallen last night. Until he’d rolled out of bed this morning, he wasn’t sure there’d be enough accumulation for a sleigh ride today. Now that they were in the second week of February, the end of winter was looming.

The slopes and ridges behind Main Street, however, were filled with more than enough snow for the sleigh runners to glide over. A few kids were lugging sleds up one of the hills. Their parents probably owned or rented one of the shops nearby.

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