Page 37 of Cowboy Friend Zone for Christmas

“I’d like to place another order, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure. Whatever you need.” Angel paused in the middle of the hallway and pivoted back in his direction.

Nash briefly described Noelle’s request for a meal for Shelly that would contain no sugar. “I know it’s a tall request. I’ll pay whatever it takes to make it happen.”

Angel made a scoffing sound and tapped his hands into a time-out T. “Consider it part of your signing bonus.”

“I’m not trying to wrangle an extra favor,” Nash protested. He didn’t believe in taking advantage of folks like that.

Angel’s eyebrows went up. “I run a restaurant, in case you’ve forgotten, and the Bear Mountain Ranch crew are personal friends.” He met Nash’s gaze levelly. “Just like you are. So let me do this. Please.”

Nash didn’t have it in him to say no to that brand of kindness. “I’m truly grateful.” He pressed a hand to his chest.

“My catering staff will have that dessert for Noelle when they arrive at the ranch. It’s best when it’s served fresh and the sauce is still warm.”

Catering staff? Confused, Nash took a step in his direction, hands up. “Listen, I wouldn’t dream of putting you guys to that kind of trouble. Just let me know when the food is ready, and I’ll come pick it up.”

“Let me guess,” Angel drawled, folding his arms. “You’re going to toss it on the seat of your pickup truck and cowboy it out to the ranch yourself.”

“Absolutely.” Nash nodded fervently. “It’ll be no trouble at all.”

“Over my dead body.” Angel was still smiling, but his voice had grown steely. “I have a reputation to maintain here at Castellano’s. We’ll have everything set up at noon in the main reception area at Bear Mountain Ranch. All you need to do is show up and take credit for the idea.”

“Good gravy! As if!” Nash had every intention of making sure all credit went to Angel and his impressive staff. He had a sneaking suspicion that the dinner theater owner might actually roll up his sleeves and prepare the meal himself. He was just that kind of person.

Within moments, he was back in his truck, heading for Santa’s Toy Factory. It came as no surprise to find Flint and Ames remaining on the showroom floor, still flirting with the Lee sisters. Flint was perched on a stool beside Lucy, who was sketching at her easel, while Ames and Laura were helping two children pile wooden blocks in the discovery zone corner. The chubby little boy they were squatting beside looked like he was two or three years old. His sister couldn’t be more than five. Their parents were standing nearby, snapping photos with their cell phones. The handles of countless shopping bags were looped around their arms — some from Santa’s Toy Factory and some from other shops in town. It was a typical day in Pinetop, where families on vacation made beautiful memories together.

The sight didn’t sting as much as it usually did. It was hard not to feel part of something when he’d just agreed to stay in town another month. Plus, Angel had called him both brother and friend during their meeting.

As anxious as Nash was to share his latest news about the Dude Ranch Central show with his brothers, he was in no hurry to interrupt their morning. For the first time in days, they didn’t look bored or restless. On the contrary, they looked at peace with their lot in life. Lucy was chuckling at something Flint said as he pointed at the bottom right corner of her drawing. He was probably cracking jokes non-stop as usual. She didn’t seem to mind, though.

Nash couldn’t help thinking about Laura’s comment over breakfast about how they were newbies in town like him and his brothers. It was strangely comforting to find out that the Carsons weren’t the only ones who felt like fish out of water here.

He strolled closer to the long, glassed-in back of the store where the real magic took place. It was a well-ventilated workspace that kept the dust and wood chips from coating all the lovely toys for sale on the other side of the glass. He found Mr. and Mrs. Lee hunched over a workbench, puttering with a fascinating array of tools. Nash would’ve been hard put to name most of them. His experience with woodworking was pretty basic — hammers, saws, nails, and pliers.

Like their daughters, the Lees were dressed like elves. Mr. Lee had on green overalls with red suspenders over a red-and-white striped shirt. The silver at his temples looked authentic. So did the glasses on the end of his nose. He was peering intently through them as he painstakingly carved the block of wood in front of him into a nutcracker.

His wife was decorating a finished nutcracker on his left. Nash watched for a few minutes as she dressed the wooden figurine in a red-and-white checkered shirt. She placed a tan work apron over it and glued a set of miniature tools into the pockets — first a wrench, then a measuring stick. Next, she drilled a tiny hole in the nutcracker’s right hand, dusted it off, and applied a dot of glue to the opening. She slid the handle of an itty bitty hammer into the hole and blew on it a few times, presumably to help the glue dry faster.

Ames joined him moments later. “You gonna share what that visit to Angel Castellano’s office was all about?”

Nash raised his eyebrows at him. “Is there a tracker installed on my truck that I don’t know about?”

“Nope.” Ames popped the P loudly. “But you’ve never turned off the GPS locater on your cell phone. As long as it’s on, I’ll always know what you’re up to, bro.”

“I’ve got nothing to hide.” Nash’s gaze returned to the nutcracker Mrs. Lee was still decorating. He watched as she glued a set of red spectacles on his face and a red velvet hat on his head.

“Santa,” he and Ames declared in unison. They gave each other a high five for no particular reason. Though she never looked up, Nash was pretty sure he saw Mrs. Lee’s lips twitch.

Ames snorted. “All the Christmas cheer floating around town made me want to puke at first, but it’s starting to grow on me.”

Nash shot him an amused look. “Just don’t start jingling when you walk. I will hogtie you and bodily remove the bells,” he warned. “Then I’ll force-feed them to you.”

Ames guffawed. “Now that you mention it, they do sell men’s socks with bells sewn on them down at the?—”

“Don’t you dare.” Nash knew Ames was only kidding, but he had no interest in even joking about wearing musical socks. “So, here’s the deal. Angel is drawing up a contract to extend us another month here. You, me, and Flint will discuss the details over dinner. I won’t sign unless all three of us agree. I know you and Flint gave up a lot to come to Pinetop with me, and I’ll respect whatever you decide.”

Ames nodded soberly. “I don’t consider it a sacrifice to keep our family together. You know that.”

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