Page 6 of Christmas with Three Cowboys

Colton is the first to approach me, a curious twinkle dancing in his blue eyes. He’s wearing a wool sweaters and loose jeans, but they’re not loose enough to hide those linebacker thighs of his. His blonde hair is slightly longer than his brother’s, and he’s one of the few men I’ve seen to look phenomenally good with a short stubble and a mustache, given his bone structure.

“You’re different from what we expected,” he says, his voice causing me to exhale sharply, and try to at least offer a lighthearted laugh. But at the same time, he shakes my hand, and the physical contact is so electrifying, I can barely register my own existence.

“Ms. Avery mentioned that. I’m sorry I’m not a big, bulky tatted-up gang member,” I finally reply.

“That’s okay. I think we prefer you,” Mitch cuts in, half-smiling as he, too, comes closer to shake my hand. “Please, tell us you’re a good cook.”

“I’d like to think I am. I’ve never had any complaints.”

Mitch’s handshake is firm, but the way his thumb lingers over my knuckle while his dark brown eyes seem to pierce through to my soul rattles me.

Mitch is slightly shorter than the other two, but still a head taller than me. He’s bulkier as well. His skin is a tad darker, his black hair short and his massive chest makes my knees quiver discretely. “Welcome to the Avery Ranch, Melissa.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“No sir in this house,” Ethan says. But he doesn’t move from his spot by the fireplace. Clean shaven and stockier than his brother, Ethan has the same devastating blonde hair and blue eyes as his brother. He and Mitch are both in plaid shirts, though I don’t mind the way the fabric clings to their torsos. “You can call us by our first names, and we’ll do the same.”

“Yes, sir. I mean, okay, Ethan.”

Darla gives me another one of her hard looks. “The boys like to have breakfast early in the morning, which means you need to be up at about five to make sure the table’s ready by half past six.”

“That’s fine,” I say.

“Aunt Darla, go easy on the girl,” Colton chuckles softly. “Let her dry off from the rain before you throw her into the kitchen.”

At this point, I think she can throw me pretty much anywhere she wants as long as I get to be around these gorgeous men.Prison isolation seems to have done quite the number on my libido.

The way they look at me spells trouble. There’s an underlying darkness, a hunger I can’t quite place, but it lingers between us, unspoken yet noticeably intense. Perhaps I’m losing my mind. I’m just the convict who will be cooking their meals.

It’s going to be a long two years.

2

Melissa

Colton takes the lead in showing me around while Ethan and Mitch handle the day’s chores with their ranch hands. Darla has errands to run, so I’m left with Colton to teach me the ins and outs of the place. I’m excited, not just because Colton is simply a pleasure to be around, but also because I’m surrounded by hills and the Nebraskan countryside. I’m almost a free woman, and it feels like a dream come true—even though I’m only getting a spoonful of it for the time being.

“How do you like it so far?” Colton asks as we walk across the pasture.

The rain has stopped, and I’ve been given a spare pair of boots, two sizes too big, for this particular segment of the tour, but I’m loving every second of it. “It’s beautiful,” I say. “And it must be a whole lot of work.”

“It is a lot of work, hard work, although in the winter there’s less to do,” he says. “We still let the cattle out for a bit, though. It keeps them healthy and does the same for us. The winters haven’t been as harsh lately anyway. We’ve had entire weeks in December when there were still patches of grass left for them tograze.”

“And it’s just you guys.”

He nods once. I can see the creek ahead; its crystalline water shimmers in the sunlight that peeks through the clouds.

“We hire a few more guys during the summer. If this whole Path to Freedom thing works out for us, we might use the program for that, too,” he replies, then gives me a long, curious look. “I understand you’ve got two years left on your sentence.”

“That’s right.”

It’s not my favorite subject, and Colton can clearly tell, but it doesn’t stop him from probing deeper. I can’t really hold it against him. I am a criminal in the eyes of the law, and they’re taking a huge leap of faith by welcoming me into their home.

“You were a drug dealer?” he asks.

“My sentence was for possession with the intent to distribute.”

“You felt the need to specify that,” Colton smiles. “Why?”

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