“I was almost a teenager by the time we moved here.” He flashed a crooked smile. “Hunting deer had a lot more appeal. And it was a helluva lot quieter at the cabin.”
She laughed, delighted at the thought of a teenage broody Rush Callahan escaping from a houseful of girls.
Then his hand covered hers, large and warm, folding her fingers around the quartz. He lifted it in the glow of the lights, turning it so the facets shimmered. “What’s this?”
“Rose quartz,” she said. “It’s for healing and”—she flushed slightly, aware that she was treading into woo-woo territory—“love.” She picked up the smaller, well-worn stone she always wore around her neck, holding it up for him to see. “My mom gave this to me when I was little to remind me to breathe. Some people think it’s silly, but I swear it helps.”
“It’s not silly,” he said, setting the necklace carefully back on the tray. “Tree’s ready. Time to get our Christmas jammies on and decorate,” he said with a wicked grin.
She bumped his arm with her shoulder. “I knew you were too good to be true.”
“Careful—don’t break it,”Lily called, stepping back as Rush wrestled the enormous fir through the front door. Pine needles rained down on his Stetson, catching on his coat while he cursed under his breath and muscled the tree through the house.
She’d offered to help, but in true Sheriff Callahan form, he’d just given her a look and kept going.
Men. Lily leaned back against the wall, biting back a smile as she admired the view. Broad shoulders, made even broader by his sheepskin coat, narrowed to a trim waist and powerful legs in his dark-gray uniform trousers.
Riggs wanted no part of their nonsense. He’d taken one look at the tree, sighed in his deeply unimpressed manner, and retreated to his bed in the kitchen. He wasn’t as menacing as usual with her, so she counted it as a win.
“Christ,” Rush grunted, giving the tree one last heave into the corner of the living room next to the hearth—exactly where she’d pictured it the moment she first saw his house. “This thing belongs on the village green.”
“Shush,” she said, just as the top of the tree scraped the ceiling beam with a loudshhhkkkkthat made him wince. “Wait until the lights are on. You’ll see.”
The house was quiet when they walked in, the kind of quiet that echoed off bare hardwood floors and half-packed boxes. Lily glanced around and felt a pang—she’d always pictured the farmhouse as warm and full of life, but in reality, it felt stripped of life.
She set her bag near the door, scanning the empty living room. “Do you actually live here or just squat between shifts?”
Rush gave her one of those unreadable looks. “No sense waiting.”
She nodded toward the box she’d packed for him, keeping her voice light. “Well, we’re going to unpack Christmas tonight.”
He dropped to a crouch and wrestled the trunk into the tree stand. It groaned in protest as he tightened the bolts before stepping back to test its balance. Apparently satisfied, he took a utility knife from his duty belt and sliced through the plastic netting holding it together. The tree exploded comically outward in every direction. Rush threw up an arm to protect his face as the thing wobbled precariously, knocking into the mantel before finally settling upright.
“So pretty,” Lily said happily.
“Pretty’s one word for it.” He tugged his Stetson off and tossed it onto the coffee table, followed by his coat,which he hung on a hook by the door. He ran a hand through his hair, scattering a few stray needles and stretching the uniform shirt tight across his shoulders.
When she turned, Rush was leaning in the doorway, one shoulder braced against the frame, a booted foot crossed in front of the other. He looked tired and tense, worn down in a way that made her chest ache, made her want to ease the weight he carried. There was nothing fragile about him. The broad set of his shoulders and the badge on his chest revealed him as every inch the tough, invincible sheriff, and yet the look in his eyes told a different, more vulnerable story.
“You’re safe from the Christmas jammies. They didn’t have your size,” she teased.
He nodded, a faint smile on his lips. “What’s next in this Christmas fantasy of yours?”
“Not exactly the wildest fantasy, but I planned for hot chocolate and popcorn.” She took the ingredients for both out of the box she’d brought and headed toward the kitchen. “Why don’t you make a fire, and I’ll get these started?”
She headed to the kitchen and busied herself with making cocoa and popping the corn in an old-fashioned stovetop popcorn maker she’d found stashed in the cupboard. She added cinnamon and sugar to the melted coconut oil, turning the crank slowly as the popcorn snapped and popped. As far back as she could remember, Annette and the aunts had made popcorn like this. No microwave popcorn for the Harts.
When the last kernel had exploded, she poured it all into a bowl and carried it, along with two steaming mugs of hot chocolate, back to the living room, only to stop short.
The tree glowed now. Strands of mismatched colorful lights wound around the branches, casting the room in a twinkly, jewel-toned hue. Like the tree, the lights weren’t perfect. Somewere bunched in places, stretched too thin in others, but they were on, transforming Rush’s living room with the homey, glowing warmth she’d pictured.
Rush sat sprawled on the couch, eyes heavy lidded as he watched the flames lick up the kindling. Riggs had planted himself at his boots. Master and his most loyal companion.
He’d taken his boots off, leaving him in his uniform, minus his radio, which he’d set on the end table next to him. Weariness carved deeper lines along his face, and scruff shadowed his jaw, but it only made him look rougher, powerfully male, and heartbreakingly human all at once. Her heart squeezed.
“You know,” she said, setting the cocoa and popcorn down and curling onto the couch next to him, “I’ve always loved this house. Even before I knew you lived here.”
Rush rolled his head toward her and waited, his eyes solemn with exhaustion.
