Her dress bore red-and-white plaid with green stripes through the white and had long sleeves and a cute V-neck collar. It fell to her ankles, and she pulled on a non-skid pair of red socks to match.
She glanced in the mirror above her dresser, fluffed her hair out, and slipped on some pink lip gloss before returning to the kitchen.
Tarr now stirred the creamed corn on her stove while Wiggins ate something he’d been gifted. No wonder he liked Tarr best. The cowboy looked over to her, and Briar put one hand on her hip and pushed the other one out.
He abandoned his tasks in the kitchen instantly, his expression growing hungry. “Wow. Look at you.” His smile filled his whole face as he came closer. “This is a gorgeous dress, and you are a beautiful woman.”
He took her face in his hands and kissed her again, and Briar didn’t care what was in any of the packages. Having him here was the greatest gift of all, as she had celebrated the holidays alone for the past few years and she didn’t want to be alone anymore.
Briar had never thought such a thing would ever be true again.
She wrapped her arms around Tarr and slid her hands up into his hair, pressing closer into him as she kissed him deeper. She wanted him to know how she felt without having to use words. Since he was so good at reading her—and he absolutely couldn’t hide his thoughts or feelings—when they broke apart and she looked into his eyes, she knew he had gotten the message.
A tickle of embarrassment ran through her, and she ducked her head, her gaze landing on the plastic grocery sacks he’d brought. “I just need to finish the topping for the apple crumble,” she said. “And I’ll get that in the oven.”
She stepped away from him to do that, and Tarr let her go. He was patient, and kind, and so good-looking, it almost hurt to look at him sometimes.
After a few seconds, he joined her in the kitchen, holding out a square present that had been wrapped in silver paper with navy blue snowflakes on it. “I should have given you this this morning.”
Briar dusted her hands together, though she’d only gotten out a bowl to start making the crumble topping. She smiled as she took the present, noting that it was soft and flimsy and probably held something like a shirt. The paper was thick, and she wondered where he’d gotten it as she ripped it open and found green, flowered fabric inside.
“What is it?” she asked as she pulled it out. Then the ties became apparent, and the front of the apron dropped down.
“I don’t want you to get this pretty dress dirty,” he whispered.
As he took the apron from her, she faced him, feeling like something intimate and important was about to happen. Tarr looped the apron over her head and pulled her hair out so it wouldn’t be stuck to the back of her neck.
Briar stood very still, every cell in her body on fire, as Tarr smoothed down the front of the apron over her dress and then grabbed onto the ties at the waist. His eyes never left hers as he slid his fingers along her waist, his hands moving oh—so—slow, and tied a bow against her lower back.
He stepped away, that powerful gaze now sweeping down to her socked feet and back to her face, his smile absolutely devastating. “There,” he said. “Now you can keep making the crumble.”
Briar looked down at the apron too, finding the fabric thick and big pockets stitched onto the front. She tucked one hand into it, the dark green fabric a contrast to the lighter, flowery main pattern.
“I love this,” she said. “Thank you so much.”
She looked up and met his gaze again, and to her horror, every emotion inside her suddenly wobbled. Tears filled hereyes, and she actually sniffled as she quickly whipped her attention back to the bowl on the counter and then turned her back on him to get a pair of scissors to open the bag of brown sugar that he’d brought.
Tarr, in all his goodness and glory, let her retreat, and he moved into the living room with Wiggins, giving her space to figure out why an apron that had probably cost him twenty dollars had unraveled her completely.
It was more than the apron. She knew it was what the apron represented—that Tarr knew her and understood her, cared about her and liked her.
Briar hadn’t felt liked in years. Not even at the height of her stunt-riding career. Sure, she’d been well-known, but even then, she hadn’t had friends. She’d had people who wanted to use her, including her own parents, so that they could get ahead, they could get the fame and the next booking, or a keynote speech, or a sponsorship.
Briar let the memories stampede through her mind. Instead of corralling them the way she usually did, she let them go. They ran and raced, sometimes close to the wall the way her stunt horse had in a tight circle as she did tricks all across his back and shoulders, and then they simply galloped right out of her life.
She didn’t have to hold them anymore.
They didn’t get to hurt her anymore.
She went through the motions of making the crumble topping, coming back to reality about the time she started sprinkling it over the apples she’d already laid neatly in the casserole dish. She turned and slid that into the still-hot oven, then glanced over to Tarr and Wiggins in the living room.
He’d taken all of his gifts out of the laundry basket and piled them under and around her tree, and he currently lay on the floor, his feet flat against it and his knees up, Wiggins curled right into his side. Tarr had one arm around the dog and wasscrubbing his back leg and hip with one hand and stroking the other along his face as he murmured something—probably Christmas wishes—to Wiggins.
Briar felt herself falling again, and with everything set in the kitchen for now, she joined them in the living room, carefully gathering her skirt at her knees as she got down on the floor with Tarr and Wiggy. She curled into Tarr’s other side as he chuckled, and she giggled when Wiggins licked the back of her hand as she slid it across Tarr’s stomach and between him and the dog.
“Yeah, this is real nice,” Tarr whispered.
“Best Christmas ever,” Briar said, committing this moment to memory so she could relive it any time she wanted to.
