Page 17 of Deck the Halls with Cowboys
“In the afternoon. We’ll have the morning to ourselves, and you can open your presents from Santa.”
He picked up the red ribbon again, shooting me a look. “Santa’s presents?”
I nodded, beaming at him.
An hour later, NJ was still playing with Caleb in the living room, and I’d migrated into the kitchen, going over the to-do list for tomorrow while Denver took a shower. My eyes scanned over the endless items on the list, over my rushed, messy handwriting, as a soft sigh left me.
The food had been bought.
Diana was bringing the remaining ribbon for the dining room tree.
Beau and Abbie were bringing said tree over in just a bit.
Mason was bringing the ham.
Harmony had been making desserts all day from her secret recipe stash—a.k.a. Jigs’s stolen recipes.
Mags was bringing what I hoped would be a good attitude.
The twins were just coming for the food.
Jigs was bringing the emotional support for all of us. He’d watched Denver and Mason grow up. He’d had a firsthand look at the pain they’d endured.
“Baby?”
My head shot up, and my stomach dropped.
Denver was leaning against the wall, arms folded over his chest, watching me with a cautious gaze. It was a look I hadn’t seen from him in years. Not since I was working for the pipeline with the sole purpose of getting him to sell Hallow Ranch. I absolutely hated it. His hair was still wet from the shower and he’d donned a fresh outfit. Faded jeans and a navy blue thermal, the color making his eyes appear more menacing.
“Wow, you got down here fast,” I noted, my heart pounding in my ears.
Those menacing eyes dropped down to the list by my hand. The silence stretched out longer than I’d planned. I had everything rehearsed in my head—which the girls thought was absolutely silly. Denver was my soulmate, and I could tell him anything. I had nothing to fear from him.
But I didn’t fear him.
I feared the pain this might cause him.
Swallowing the shards of glass in my throat, I called out his name. “Den?”
“My cowboys have been walking on eggshells around me all week,” he began, now studying the bright green Grinch pen in my hand. “When I walked into the barn this morning, silence chased out the conversation before my boots were on the ground floor.”
“I—”
“My little brother can hardly look me in the eye for longer than five seconds. Doesn’t want to be alone with me,” he continued. I wanted to speak, to explain, but those eyes lifted up to meet mine, and his smoke was all around me then. “I can practically smell the shame oozing off him, Valerie. You care to tell me why my brother is acting like that around me?”
I rose up to my full height, bracing both palms on the butcher block island. “I need to tell you something,” I said, butterflies swarming in my stomach.
He tilted his head back slightly, his eyes narrowing. “Better yet, let’s talk about how I’ve been home for over an hour, and you haven’t given me what I’m owed.”
A kiss.
Every day, without fail, even in the midst of my grief after losing my mom, I always kissed him when he came home. It was routine—no, a ritual—for me now.
“Well, I—”
“Whatever excuse is about to spill from those gorgeous lips will not suffice,” he said, his voice low. “My wife gives me that mouth when I get home. No matter what.” He pushed off the wall, his arms falling to his sides. “You can be completely overjoyed, sad, or even pissed at me for something stupid I did, but you have never not given your husband a kiss. So, I ask, what the fuck has my beautiful wife so entangled that she is scared to come near me?”
“Scared?” I shook my head. “I’m not scared.”
