Page 22 of Christmas with Three Cowboys

Everyone’s in their room, snuggling beneath the covers to watch a movie or read a book. It’s snowing heavily outside, and frost flowers are quick to blossom across the windows. The smell of fruits and cloves and cinnamon lingers everywhere, courtesy of the kitchen doors left wide open. The silence comforts me.

Winter is never easy, not because of the heavy labor, for there isn’t much unless we have an emergency to deal with, but because it’s a waiting game. It teaches us to settle down and give the season its time to restart the entire ecosystem. The creek often freezes. The temperatures are too low for us to take the cattle out every day. Hell, if the weather keeps up like this, it will be a while before we’re able to safely let the animals out to stretch their legs.

Some of the decorations are already up—red, green, and gold ribbons adorning the staircase, white snowflakes hanging from the ceiling lamps, and the miniature Nativity scene on the side table in the hallway.

“I see you’ve been busy,” I say to Melissa as I walk into the living room.

She’s struggling with a tangled string of lights, her eyes tired as she looks up at me. “Huh?”

“Thought I’d lend a helping hand.”

“Oh. Yeah. Thanks. I don’t want to mess this up. These lights are so pretty.”

I smile as I sit next to her on the soft carpet, then take over the untangling project. “I remember these,” I mumble, the memories rushing back from a distant past. “Ethan and I found them at a shop near Fort Berry, where we were stationed before they sent us off on our last tour. He liked the oil-lamp shape ofthe lightbulbs.”

“They’re cute. Retro,” Melissa says with a smile.

“You’re exhausted,” I conclude, giving her another glance.

“I just want to finish this, and then I’ll go to bed, I promise.”

I look at the old grandfather clock in the corner. “It’s close to midnight. You do realize Darla won’t mind if you get the rest of it done at any point during the day tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah, but…” She pauses and takes a deep breath, lowering her gaze. “I can’t sleep.”

“Why not? What’s troubling you?”

Melissa thinks about it for a few seconds while I visually retrace her hourglass figure beneath the velvety green jammies that are one size bigger than they should be. A woman like her would look glorious in anything tight. My cock jumps at the thought.

“I get anxiety attacks sometimes. They started in prison. Closed spaces make me jittery.”

“The house is huge. Your room is the largest on the upper floor,” I say. “The warden did mention that we should give you more space if we can. Is this why?”

She nods slowly. “I usually control them. Sometimes I get ahead of the whole thing and stop it from ruining my day. But tonight, I don’t know what happened,” Melissa says. “I finished putting the snowflakes up about an hour ago. I went up to my room thinking precisely what you suggested; that I’d do the rest tomorrow. I put my head down, and I couldn’t breathe. The living room is bigger, so I figured I might as well finish the decorating.”

“What starts the attacks?” I ask, scooting closer to her.

“I’m not sure. Sometimes a simple memory. An unpleasant event. I had a fit the other day after I accidentally locked myself in the pantry,” Melissa scoffs. “All I had to do was jiggle the latch, but I had to freak out for a hot second first.”

“While I’m not a medical professional, I would dare venture a guess and say it has something to do with the absence of freedom.”

“Yeah, pretty much. I’m sorry,” she says, giving me a kick in the guts with that pained look in her eyes.

It breaks whatever strength I had left, giving me no other choice but to intervene and pull her out of the darkness. I move closer, and she stills for a moment.

“Come here,” I say and wrap my arms around her. She feels so soft and warm against my chest, her heart echoing furiously against mine. “Don’t ever apologize for the way you feel, Melissa. Your emotions are yours and yours alone. Nobody can judge you for it.”

“I know. It’s just a force of habit, I guess.”

“We need to teach you some new habits, then,” I reply, a smile stretching my lips.

She melts in my embrace, her gaze almost golden under the rustic chandelier dangling above us. “What new habits?”

“First and foremost, a woman should kiss her man when he takes her in his arms. Here, I’ll show you.”

Melissa doesn’t object. I kiss her. I take possession of her lips with mine and conquer her defenses with remarkable ease. Sheloses her breath as she welcomes me, her tongue eager to play with mine. I taste the apple spice and the slivers of pain in her soul, tightening my hold on her as I deepen the kiss.

A delicate moan escapes her throat, and I quickly understand that there is no turning back from this—whatever this is.

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