“This is ridiculous.” She glared at herself in the dressing room/trailer’s mirror, where her reflection glared right back. “It’s just a kiss.”
She stuck her tongue out at herself because that’s what she would have done if she had to come up with a response to that statement.
Jack was driving her as crazy as Scrooge on Christmas Eve. She was talking to herself, darn it! This had to stop.
“It will stop. I will make it stop,” she repeated her mantra as she clasped the green skirt around her waist and shimmied into the matching vest. If real elves dressed this way, it was no wonder they stayed at the North Pole.
She made her way, in her pointy-toed shoes, to the makeup trailer to collect her ears and apply the proper liner swoop.
To her complete and total horror, Jack lounged on the couch. His long, jean-clad legs stretched across the floor, and his cowboy hat was on the arm of the sofa. He wore a plaid flannel shirt open at the collar and a white tee underneath. A two-day beard adorned his jaw, and she closed her hand tightly to keep from brushing her palm across it.
Heaven help her weak knees. She had a thing for scruffy cowboys.
Yeah, clean-cut was the way to go for Sunday morning church, but by Saturday night, they could look all sorts of rough and tumble.
She’d like to tumble with him.
“Hi!” Chirped Raelynn.
Natasha’s head whipped toward the makeup chair where the child star had her eyes tightly close. Bruno dusted her cheeks to make them rosy.
Oh, were there other people here? She hadn’t noticed.
“You gonna let all the hot air out?” Bruno snapped.
She lunged through the door and slammed it shut behind her. There was no other way to close a trailer door. They did not shut gracefully.
“Hi… everyone,” she added lamely, doing her best not to look at Jack.
On the other hand, he hadn’t taken his eyes off her. She felt him drinking her in like she was the only cup of cocoa in a ten-mile radius—and she had whipped cream on top.
And this was while she wore striped tights!
Imagine what she could do with a pair of jeans and cowboy boots. Yeah, baby.
A wiggly little doubt crept in that Jack treated all the ladies like they were delicious. There was no reason to believe the rumors true, primarily since they’d come from a woman who used to date him.
The doubt wouldn’t go away, though. Perhaps because she wasn’t anything to write home about, the girl who was too predictable, too dull, and too small-town for her ex-boyfriend.
“Jack,” Raelynn said his name like she’d been trying to get his attention for ten minutes. Maybe she had been; it wasn’t like Natasha could see, hear or pay attention to anyone else in the room when Jack was there. He took up the whole space—and then turned on the heat.
She fanned her face. “It’s warm in here.”
Bruno lifted an eyebrow at her, silently asking if she could get herself under control or if he and Raelynn should step out so she could be alone with the wrangler. Her cheeks blossomed red, and she glanced away.
‘What’s up, buttercup?” Jack replied.
“I will not write Santa a letter,” she informed him.
He grabbed at his chest as if she’d delivered a fatal blow. “Say it ain’t so, Raelynn. Santa thrives on letters. You’ll break her heart.”
Natasha blinked. Had he saidher?
Raelynn giggled. Bruno tapped her shoulder. “You’re all done, beautiful.”
“Thank you, Bruno.” She said politely before hopping out of the chair. “I hope I didn’t break your heart.”
“Never.” Bruno gave her a fist bump.
