Page 31 of Cowboy SEAL Christmas

She paused. Even knowing it should be an automatic no, there was that foreign part of hertempted. A bad decision with him soundedenticinginstead of wrong. Something she deserved instead of something she should avoid.

But he was drunk.Shewas a little too. That was all that foreign part was. The loss of sense and control, and she’d never let herself give in to that. “N-no.”

He grinned, pulling back, all wolfish in the silvery light of the moon. “Too bad.” Then he was striding…well, stumbling, toward the bunkhouse.

Jack returned with Rasputin and used the rooster to coerce Ron Swanson off the roof. Monica could only watch, thinking a little too hard about that foreign part of herself and how much she wanted to make it a lot less foreign.

Chapter 8

Hangovers were a bitch. Hangovers while women were fluttering around talking about weddings were an extra bitch.

“We need to have as much set up in the barn as we can,” Monica was saying, looking over Becca’s wedding binder while Becca banged around the kitchen. “Then tomorrow everything has to be set up before noon, so we have time to get dressed and ready and take pictures.”

“Do you think we should send one of the boys to pick up the floral arrangements? I’m worried about weather and the roads,” Becca offered.

“I’ll do it,” Gabe piped up, because, God, it would get him out of here and this.

“I’ll call the florist and see if that works for her,” Monica said, making a note in the binder. “But you aren’t worried about the food and cake getting up here?”

“Mom’s church ladies willbuilda road here for that. She’s probably with them now with eighteen hundred backup plans. Besides, the guest list is so small, if we end up having to eat sandwiches and Twinkies, I’ll live.”

The women were banging around louder now. Jack had taken Colin out on a ride, and Rose was still asleep, something about pregnant women getting a pass. But these two were making enough noise for ten men.

Gabe placed his head on the table and tried to cover his ears with his arms, while Alex groaned. “Why aren’t you hungover?” Alex asked his soon-to-be bride.

“Iamhungover,” Becca replied. “I’m just tougher than you.”

“Of that I have no doubt,” Gabe muttered. “Can’t I just get out of here and get those flowers?” The inside of a truck would be quiet. No banging. No chattering.

“This’ll help,” Becca offered, sliding a plate full of eggs and toast in front of him.

Gabe smiled up at her. “You sure you don’t want to marry me?”

“Sorry, Hannibal doesn’t like you.”

“How do you know? I’ve never seen this mysterious cat you claim to have.”

“That’s how I know,” Becca replied happily. She set another plate in front of Alex before going back to the toaster and adding more bread. “Why doesn’t Monica call the florist, and if they give the okay, you two can head out there?”

“Two?” Gabe said, jerking his head toward Becca and immediately regretting it as his stomach roiled.

“I need someone there who knows what the flowers are supposed to look like. And if you’re going to transport them all, it’s probably a two-person job.”

Gabe wanted to withdraw his offer, but he knew what that would look like, so he focused on eating. Becca and Monica blah-blah-blahed while he and Alex sluggishly ate their breakfast.

In the end, the florist gave the okay, so Gabe spent the remainder of the day dreading the car ride to get the flowers with Monica.

At least there was work to do, even if it was wedding-prep work. The small number of guests would be seated in the barn on a variety of chairs and benches they were pulling from the house. There’d be rented portable heaters, decorations, and then a reception in the same spot.

That afternoon, Gabe had been given sweeping duty, though it was currently giving his shoulder a hell of an ache. Still, he wasn’t about to admit that. Jack was scrubbing down chairs, and Alex was alternating between washing windows and hanging more Christmas lights up around them. Rose was inside, putting together a playlist for the reception, and Becca was apparently practicing with Ron Swanson for his flower goat duties.

Flower. Goat.

Sometimes Gabe couldn’t help but wonder if Revival Ranch was some weird dream world that only existed in his head.

He swept the pile of straw bits and dirt into the industrial-size dustpan, then headed for the trash bin outside. It was nice and cold out here. Inside was some mix between too cold to take off a coat and too warm to leave one on. Besides, it was quiet out here instead of the low strains of music Jack had cruelly insisted they put on.

Most of the hangover had receded after lunch, but he still wasn’t one hundred percent. So he gave himself a moment to cool off, look at the gray sky and heavy winter around him, and breathe.

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