She flushed. “It’s not a total smokescreen. I will be making something.”
“It’s called whoopie, sis. But I’m afraid you’ll be getting a late start. That party always runs well after midnight.”
“I know.” She let out a sigh. “And I look forward to it all year. Normally I’d be excited, but after last night?—”
“I get it. Brand-new boinking is more compelling than a party with your nearest and dearest. On the bright side, he’ll probably bring his fiddle. That’ll be a treat.”
“For him, too. He used to play in a band, so sitting in with the Rooty Toots is fun for him. I need to remember that.”
“Don’t worry. He’s likely as impatient with this party routine as you are. I can’t remember if you danced with him at the wedding or not. I can’t picture you two out on the floor, so I think not.”
“Only line dances. Mostly we were on the bandstand.”
“I predict that will change tonight. Just remember to keep it PG.”
“Claudie, for Pete’s sake. Have you ever known me to do otherwise?”
She grinned. “No, but I’ve never known you to forget the Christmas party. We’re in unchartered territory, hermana.”
Chapter Eleven
The rhythmic thud of hoofbeats carried far in the cold stillness of a Montana morning. Cole laid his tools on the tailgate of his truck and stripped off his gloves. Mila could still be a couple of minutes away, but he’d get a kiss out of this visit or know the reason why.
He didn’t want to touch her with cold hands, though, so he shoved them in his jacket pockets and scanned the area. The road, crisscrossed with tire tracks embedded in a thick crust of ice, was empty.
A flash of gold in a thick stand of evergreens told him she’d chosen a trail instead of the road. Stepping through the open gate, he went to meet her.
The narrow path to his left was faint, likely used by wild horses more often than Laughing Creek riders. Mila would know those trails well. Coming this way instead of using the road told him she hadn’t wanted to advertise her morning ride.
Even more telling, she’d worn a suede sheepskin jacket instead of her red parka. She couldn’t do much about her flashy horse, though. All the more reason for him to meet her in the cover of the trees.
He lost track of her after he’d trudged several yards into the forest. Ah. There she was, ducking under the branch of a tall ponderosa as she rode toward him.
She straightened and pulled Sol to a halt. “You came to meet me.”
He kept walking, pushing his hands deep into his pockets. “Figured I stood a better chance of kissing you if we weren’t standing in the middle of the road.”
Her gaze traveled in that direction. “I can’t even see your truck from this spot.”
“Kinda the point.” When he got to her, he took hold of the palomino’s bridle and stroked his velvet neck. “Hey, Sol. How’re you doing, buddy?”
“Where are your gloves?”
He glanced up and tilted his hat back. “Left them on the tailgate. Care to come down from there? Or do you want me to come up?”
Grinning, she looped the reins around the horn and dismounted. “Let’s not confuse Sol.”
“Let’s not.” Reaching for her, he pulled her close.
“Wait. I’ll take off my gloves, too.” She tucked them in her coat pocket and nestled against him. “Hi.”
“Hi, yourself.” One look into those deep brown eyes brought it all back — the taste of her mouth, the feel of her skin, the welcoming heat of her body when he?—
“I thought you were going to kiss me.”
“I am. I’m just…remembering.”
“Me, too.”
