Page 10 of A Cowboy Christmas

“Yeah, but I don’t have the time to take care of them. And I can’t spare more of my guys to look after them when we’ve got so much going on with the cattle.”

“Well, I’d be happy to feed these little ones anytime.” Sabrina makes the offer sound casual, but thoughts of her coming over regularly to feed the goats is an appealing idea. Maybe I should consider keeping them a little while longer.

“Do you want to see the other babies?” I ask, and once again she lights up.

“You’ve got more?”

At that moment I wonder if I can get an entire shipment of baby farm animals so I can see her smile over and over.

Chapter Seven

Sabrina

“This place is truly incredible,” I tell Booker as I pet the little chicklet's head. I was not expecting this when I came out here. Honestly, I’m not sure what I was expecting. There are so many babies here. I don’t think I’ll ever want to leave. What a dream Snow Pine Ranch is.

When Booker doesn't respond, I turn around to see him watching me. He’s leaning up against one of the stall doors, and although he appears casual, he still dominates all the space around him. Even if he's not in it.

“Maybe we could make it a manger theme. I know you mentioned a tea party." I recall him saying that the first day, and it really stuck in my head. "The tea party would be fun, but a manger is really hard to pass up, and this place is perfect for it.” I set the chicklet back down with the others and watch them waddle around adorably. “The kids would love it.”

He doesn’t utter a word, but his eyes never leave me. I shift on my feet, and I can’t help but wonder if he hates the idea. I might have overstepped. He said he wanted a tea party, and I should be sticking to that. It's his barn, after all, and I shouldn’t tell him what to do. There I go again, getting ahead of myself and making things up in my mind.

“I mean, if you don’t?—”

“Why can’t you do both?” He pushes off the stall door and moves toward me. “I think there is more than enough room.”

He’s right, there is. In the front there’s an open area where we could put tables and chairs.

“Really?” I would love to do that, but it might be too much. Excitement bubbles up inside me, and that hasn't happened in a very long time.

“Why not?” He shrugs like it’s not a big deal.

“’Cause it might cost a lot?”

“Don’t worry about any of that.” Booker reaches out and takes a piece of my hair before wrapping it around his finger. “You plan it. I’ll take care of the rest.”

“Oh, yeah, okay.” Why is he playing with my hair? And why the heck do I find it appealing?

He rubs it between his thumb and forefinger. “It’s even softer than it looks.” He says it more to himself before he lets the piece of hair go.

I stare up at him, not sure how to reply to that. It wasn't a question. "Thanks?" I blurt out, and his lips twitch. When I can elicit a laugh or smile from him, it gives me a small thrill. Even if it wasn't what I was trying to do.

"No need to thank me." Booker throws down some more feed before I follow him out, and he latches the stall door again. "I was going to take you riding."

"We can't?" I’m not able to hide my disappointment. I wanted to try it but I’m also a little bit afraid. Not enough to chicken out, because I think Booker would keep me safe from hurting myself.

"Not today, but we will. I need to get you some better gear, and the wind is cutting tonight." I suck in a breath when he strokes his knuckle down my cheek and then jaw. "You're too delicate." His brows pull together, making me think that might be a bad thing. "It can be rough out here."

"I'm sure," I say as I look him over. Booker is rough on the surface, but I bet if I dug a little deeper, I’d find something different.

"But that's not going to stop me," he adds, shaking his head. "Come to the main house," Booker says before I can ask what he means.

Stop him from what? He always has these one-off lines I don’t know what to do with, and they leave me confused.

His hand goes to my back, guiding me out of the barn, and he presses a button. The doors close shut behind us, and I look at him with a questioning expression. “It keeps predators out and keeps heat in.”

“I’ve always loved this style of porch,” I say when we walk up the stairs to his house and to the front doors.

“How it wraps around?” Booker's hand presses firmer into my back, and a rush of heat courses through me.

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