Page 49 of My Secret Santa Dallas

He paused. “I suppose the most important thing would be Christmas.”

Relief washed through me. “I’ll be back on Christmas Eve then.”

I knew he wasn’t happy, but I didn’t want to leave the town yet. “We’ll see you then.”

Dallas had kept quiet all this time, and when I hung up, he smiled at me. “You’re sticking around, then.”

“Yeah,” I said. “You’re stuck with me a little while longer.”

Dallas wrapped an arm around me, pulling me into a warm embrace. “So, cranberry jelly or cranberry sauce?”

Chapter Fourteen

Dallas

Warrick and Zara made it home the very night before Thanksgiving, damn near midnight, tired and drawn out as hell. They went to bed, and I didn’t expect to see them before Thanksgiving dinner.

I woke up to the smell of ham and turkey with cornbread dressing filling the room. I knew that was half of the dinner we’d get that evening, but before I left to go down and see what I could help with, I stayed in bed, trying to figure out what the fuck I was doing with Blair.

Whenever I considered what we were doing, this dangerous path we were heading down, my heart felt like it was punching my ribcage, trying to break free.

I’d prided myself on self-discipline, on my ability to keep my emotions and urges in check, but beneath my controlled façade, I was roiling with emotion. Blair was like me, holding in her feelings, but they had slipped out a time or two.

She was whip-smart, loyal, and fierce. Thinking of how she had gone toe-to-toe with me, held her own in our business sparring, how sweet and understanding she was in those nights alone, and God, how sexy and feisty she was in bed, made me know, if I wasn’t already falling in love with her, I was damn sure on the way.

Sighing, I got off the bed, showered and dressed, took the stairs, and headed down, craving something hot. To my surprise, Eva was there with Marie, and the two were like whirlwinds in the room.

“Erm,” I asked. “Coffee?”

Someone—I couldn’t tell who, as they were all moving like whirling dervishes by this point—pointed to the pot. I got a cup and gazed at the mounds of food around. There were beef ribs seasoned on a tray, chicken seasoned in bowls, and bowls of more cornbread batter. I saw the green bean, beet and potato salad fixings, and pie shells with crusts were out. On the long table, jars of fruit were laid out; I counted apples and strawberries, and there were pumpkins. They had a long way ahead of them.

“Is there anything I can help with?” I asked.

“You can start setting up the porch table,” Marie said. “The main table and the fold-out tables for the food.”

“Ten-four,” I said, hustling out of the room to the storeroom outside and heaving two three-foot fold-out tables, one over my shoulder and the other under my arm. I was heading to the porch when Isaac and Santos headed my way.

“Need a hand?” Isaac asked.

“Yep,” I replied, handing one over. “Isaac, get the third one. From the looks of it in the kitchen, I think we’re going to need it.”

“Marie taking out all the stops, eh,” Santos grinned. “I cannot wait.”

Half an hour later, we had the tables set up, and the main table shifted a little to give space for whoever would take the trays out. When we went inside to get some drinks and coffee, Connie was also inside, dicing and cutting with a frenzy that alarmed me. She wielded that knife with deadly precision.

Marie had us running errands all day, grabbing extra supplies from Hank’s store, changing the table setup on the porch three times, setting those tables, and running to the Silver Spur for a keg of cider Jake O’Hara had for us. By the time it was done, and I went to shower and change for dinner, Blair was down there, doing the finishing touches with the other girls.

The table groaned with the twelve-pound turkey, brisket, baked ham, and grilled salmon filet. Salads, mashed potatoes, grilled corn on the cob, baked macaroni, and cheese were on the other tables. The last table held separate trays of steaming pies and cobbler.

“Whoo, baby,” Frankie whistled. “Marie, you outdid yourself this time.”

“I know,” she smiled when he reached over to kiss her cheek. “And this is only half. The rest is cooling for storage as I am off next week, and you cannot cook to save your life.”

“I can make scrambled eggs,” Isaac offered sheepishly.

The warm ripple of laughter from his comment heralded Warrick’s arrival. He didn’t look the worse for wear, so I hoped he was okay. “Hello everyone,” he said. “My mouth was watering from the living room. Marie, have I doubled your bonus this year?”

“You have.”

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