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A Christmas tree stood in the corner of the comfortably outfitted living area, boxes of lights and decorations beside it.
The state-of-the-art kitchen, situated at the back of the main living area, was banked by a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows that flooded the small, cozy space with light. Plentiful cabinets, painted a dark slate, and an island that also served as a dining area were a nice counterpoint to the white quartz countertops, bleached wood floors and stainless steel appliances.
Standing there, noting how beautiful her home was, he couldn’t imagine why she would ever want to leave it.
Her son, however, had other things on his mind.
Barely standing still long enough for his mother to wrestle him out of his damp rain jacket, he set his Rudolph and sleigh on the coffee table, next to a soft blue blanket, then headed importantly for the kitchen, where a delicious fresh dough and orange smell emanated. “Come on, Mr. Chance. We cook!”
Braden grabbed a tyke-size navy chef’s apron off the hook, and then handed Chance one, as well—frilly and floral. “Put on!” he demanded.
Molly’s amused expression dared Chance to do so.
Clearly, he noted, she did not think he would. Which just showed how much she knew. “Sure thing, buddy,” Chance agreed drily, pulling the garment over his head. The cloth barely covered his broad chest, and the waist hit him at mid-sternum. Tying it seemed impossible, given the fact he couldn’t find the strings.
Grinning, Molly stepped behind him. “Allow me.”
Her hands brushed his spine as she secured it in place. His body reacted as if they’d kissed. Fortunately, she was too on task to notice. She opened a drawer and pulled out a plain white chef’s apron, that was, as it happened, much more his size.
She tilted her head, her gaze moving over him humorously. “Want to trade?”
Aware this was the first time he’d seen her eyes sparkle so mischievously, he motioned for her to turn so he could tie her apron strings, too. She needed to goof around like this more often. Not be so serious all the time. “Nah, I’m good.”
The three of them took turns washing their hands; then Braden climbed onto the step stool next to the island. “Ready, Mommy?” the tyke asked eagerly.
“Let’s see.” Molly pulled a linen towel away from the top of a large bowl. Inside was a billowy cloud of dough. “I think so.”
She positioned the bowl in front of her son. “Ready to punch it down?”
With a gleeful shout, Braden went to town, pummeling the buttery dough until all the air was released. “What are we making?” Chance asked. It sure smelled good, even at this early stage.
Molly moved close enough he could catch a whiff of her perfume. It was every bit as feminine and enticing and delectable as she was.
“Christmas stollen.” She tilted her head curiously. “Ever had it?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Well, you’re in for a treat.” She turned the dough onto a floured wooden board and divided it into three sections—which she quickly rolled out into long loaves. Wordlessly, she retrieved a bowl of dried cherries, cranberries and almonds, soaking in what appeared to be orange juice, and drained the excess. “Time to sprinkle on the extras.”
Braden—no novice at baking—positioned his fruit and nuts very seriously, dropping them one by one onto the dough. “You, too, Cowboy Chance.”
“Yes, sir,” Chance said, soberly following Braden’s lead. Molly joined in.
When they’d finished, Braden clapped his hands. “I done now, Mommy?”
“Yes. You did a very good job.” She wiped his hands with a clean cloth. “You can go play while I get this ready for the second rise.”
He hurried off to retrieve his Rudolph and sleigh. Then he brought out his toy dump truck to give them a ride.
With Braden playing happily, Chance settled on a stool at the island. “Where did you learn to do this?”
“My mother taught me.” Molly showed him how to knead the dough until it was soft and elastic, and then shape it into loaves. Carefully, he followed her lead. “Her grandparents emigrated here from Germany. Baking was an important part of their holiday tradition, and she passed it on to me, as her mother had to her.”
Remembering his earlier faux pas, he trod carefully. “Where is your mom now?”
Sorrow pinched Molly’s face. “She died of meningitis when I was fourteen. My dad never really got over the loss, and he died in a car accident just before I graduated from high school.”
He wished he had been around to comfort her, but that had been years before he’d moved to Laramie. “That must have been rough.”
“It was.” Molly carefully transferred the loaves onto baking sheets and covered them with linen cloths, the actions of her hands delicate and sure. “But I had a lot of help from the people in the community. The local bank gave me a second mortgage on this house, so I’d have somewhere to live, and enough funds to get by on while I studied construction and interior design at the local community college and did what was necessary to obtain my general contractor’s license.”
His gaze drifted over her. She wore a long-sleeved emerald dress that made the most of her stunning curves, black tights and flats. Her auburn hair was curlier than usual—he supposed it was the rain. “What made you want to pursue that?”
Molly lounged against the counter, her hands braced on either side of her. “Tradition, I guess. My mom taught classes in nutrition and cooking at Laramie High, and she did interior design work on the side, and my dad was a general contractor who did mostly handyman work.”
She paused to rub a spot of flour from her hip. “Following in their footsteps made me feel closer to them. Plus, both my parents had substantial client lists that I initially utilized to get work. So I was able to get on my feet financially a lot faster than I would have otherwise.”
Braden walked into the kitchen. He stepped between them merrily. “Puddles, Mommy?”
Grinning, Molly looked out the window. The rain that had been landing in torrents was now coming down gently. “You want to go outside?”
Braden nodded.
“Then let’s get you suited up.” Molly walked into the mudroom off the garage, then returned with a pair of yellow rain boots, matching slicker and wide-brimmed hat. Braden brimmed with anticipation. “You come, too, Cowboy Chance?”
“We’ll both watch you from the front porch,” Molly promised. “Unless...” She paused to look at Chance. “You have somewhere else you need to be?”
Chapter Three (#u982082ef-b2f2-5b56-a1e1-45ec4787a150)
This was Chance’s opportunity to make a graceful exit.
To his surprise, he wasn’t in a hurry to leave. In fact, he was sort of lamenting the fact that the time would eventually come. “Actually,” Chance admitted good-naturedly, “I was hoping I’d be able to see what the Christmas stollen looks like when it’s finished.”
“Yummy!” Braden declared, rubbing his tummy.
Chance chuckled. The little buckaroo’s enthusiasm was infectious. “You think so?”
Braden nodded magnanimously. “We share. Mommy. Me. You.”
Chance turned to Molly. “Is that okay?” he asked casually, wanting to give her the option of throwing him out—if that was what she wanted.
“You probably should see what you’ve been missing,” she said drily.
He had an inkling. And he wasn’t just thinking about baked goods.
“Outside?” Braden asked again, impatiently.
“Let’s go.” She grabbed a rain jacket for herself, then opened the door. A blast of unexpectedly warm air hit them. No doubt brought in by the front. “I was going to offer you a cup of coffee,” Molly said, looping the jacket over a wicker chair, “but maybe it should be iced tea.”
“Coffee’s fine.” Chance smiled. “Thanks.”
Molly watched her son march down the front steps and out into the light rain. They both grinned as Braden lifted his face to the sky and stuck out his tongue to catch a few raindrops. Fondly, Molly shook her head, then turned back to Chance. “Can you keep an eye on Braden for a minute? He knows not to go outside of the picket fence.”
“No problem.” Chance took the seat she indicated on the front porch. For the next few minutes, he watched Braden investigate everything from the water running out of the gutters to the drops pearling on the leafy green shrubs.
He’d forgotten what it felt like to look at the world with such unvarnished appreciation.
Maybe it was time he remembered...
“Sure you wouldn’t rather be at your mom’s watching football with your brothers?” Molly teased, returning with a tray containing a carafe, two mugs, sugar and cream. She set it on the table between them.
Chance grinned at her son, who was now hopscotching his way through a series of puddles on the front walk.
He turned his attention back to Molly. Her cheeks flushed with happiness, her auburn hair slightly mussed, a smudge of flour across one cheek, she had never looked more beautiful. Or content.
He liked seeing her this way.
“Oh, there’s no football at my mom’s on Thanksgiving.”
Her delicate brow pleated. “Seriously?”
As she neared, he caught the fragrance of her lavender hand soap mingling with the sweet, sexy scent of her hair and skin. Pushing the electric awareness away, Chance sat back in his chair. “She says that’s why DVRs were invented. Social events require socializing properly with each other, not tuning everyone out watching TV.”
Molly handed him a mug of steaming coffee. She wrinkled her nose at him. “Sounds like Lucille.”
Chance watched as she settled in the chair beside his. The hem of her knit dress rode up a little. She crossed her legs at the knee and tugged it down discreetly, but not before he had seen enough of her long slender thighs to make his heart race.
Chance worked to keep his mind on the conversation. “No doubt about it. My mother’s big on etiquette, always has been.”
Molly waved at her son, who was now marching around the perimeter of the inside of the fence. Braden stopped to lift his arms high and turn his face to the slowly clearing sky overhead. “Still, the menu would probably have been better...”
Chance couldn’t recall when he had enjoyed a holiday meal more. “I thought we had a fine meal at the cafeteria. Turkey. All the trimmings. Not to mention choice of dessert.”
She chuckled, holding her mug against the softness of her full lips. “You did have two pieces of pie.”
He watched her blow lightly on her coffee, then take a dainty sip. Shrugged. “Couldn’t make up my mind.”
He was certain about one thing, though.
He wanted to ravish Molly Griffith.
And would...
“Look, Mommy!” Braden shouted. “Rainbow!”
They both turned in the direction he was pointing. Sure enough, there was one arcing across the sky.
“Come here, Mommy! Come see!”
“Just when I wish I had my camera out,” she murmured with a rueful grin, rising to join her son.
Not wanting to intrude, Chance stayed behind to make her wish come true.
* * *
CHANCE LOCKHART WAS full of surprises, Molly thought minutes later, looking at the series of action photos he had taken on his cell phone while she and Braden had admired the burst of colors streaking across the late afternoon sky.
“Thank you for capturing that moment,” Molly said softly when they walked back inside a few minutes later to put the stollen in the oven. Chance had not only gotten several nice shots of her and Braden together—something that rarely happened on the spur of the moment since she had no other family member to do the honor—but he’d also managed to capture a close-up of the wonder on her little boy’s face.
Priceless.
“I thought you would want to remember it. Not every day you see a rainbow on Thanksgiving.”
Not every day she spent a holiday with such a sweet, handsome man. Not that this was a date. Even if it had started to feel like a date.
Molly finished getting Braden out of his rain gear, then showed her little boy the photos Chance had taken on his phone and emailed to her.
“That’s me,” Braden said gleefully. “And Mommy!” He pushed the phone away. “Can we dec’rate tree?”
That had been her original plan.
Chance shrugged his broad shoulders affably. “I’m up for it if you are,” he said.
“You’re really into Christmas, aren’t you?” She hadn’t met many single guys who were.
Or were this kind to her son.
“Hey.” Chance aimed a thumb at the center of his chest. “When the opportunity to be chivalrous presents itself...”
He was on board, Molly thought. Which just went to show how badly she had misjudged the gorgeous cowboy.
By the time the oven timer went off half an hour later, they had the lights strung and on. Half a dozen ornaments later, the fruit-and-nut-studded pastry was cool enough to finish.
Aprons went back on. Although this time Molly made sure that Chance had the larger garment. Together, they all brushed on melted butter, then sprinkled the tops of their masterpieces with granulated sugar.
“And now for the pièce de résistance!” Molly declared triumphantly, showing her son how to use the sifter to cover the pastry with a final snowy-white cover of confectioner’s sugar. She handed the sifter to Chance, watched as he did the same to his and then followed suit.
The three pastries made a lovely, Christmassy sight.
“Eat now?” Braden asked.
Molly grinned. “Let’s taste it.” She cut off a two-inch slice for Braden, a larger one for Chance and a slightly smaller one for herself.
They all bit down on the soft, citrus-flavored nut-and-fruit bread with the sweet and slightly crunchy exterior. “Wow.” Chance’s hazel eyes lit up. “That’s...amazing.”
“Yummy,” Braden agreed.
Molly had to admit, between the three of them they had done a good job. Before she could think, she offered, “Want to take a loaf home with you?”
