Page 27 of Moody's Grumpy Holiday
Hudson licked his upper lip, his eyes still crinkled with humor. “True, but I’m not going home for Christmas. Thanksgiving was my last hoorah.”
“But you like Christmas. I’m rather certain you said so.”
“I do.”
“Oh…bad memories?” I guessed, cocking my head curiously.
“Not at all. I just want to get an early start on the next chapter.”
“Commendable.”
“Thanks. Don’t get me wrong. Part of me hates the pitying looks I still get and constantly having to reassure everyone I’m doing well.”
I regarded him thoughtfully. “I see. I know a thing or two about hiding out. You can stay.”
“I’m not hiding out,” Hudson scoffed, adjusting the volume during a commercial for baby shampoo. “I’m taking a month-long hiatus and spending a little time with my new friend, the only guy who might be less enthusiastic about the holidays than me this year. Scratch that. I love Christmas, and being here gives me a chance to enjoy the season without my mom repeating over and over that I’ll find the right person someday. Not gonna happen.”
“You don’t want to fall in love again?”
“Pardon my French, but…fuck, no. I’m a thousand times more likely to fall in lust”—he paused to wink at me—“than love.”
“Hmm. Well, me too.” I nodded briskly, then stared at the television. “Bah humbug.”
Hudson snickered. “Bah humbug.”
I wasn’t sure how long he stayed. Another hour…maybe two? I drifted in and out of sleep, sipping tea and watching shows my dad had introduced me to years ago.
And you know, it was a perfectly pleasant afternoon.
In December.
8
MOODY
Hudson returned the following afternoon with Vicki’s turkey chili and fresh cornbread. He’d texted his intentions, so I’d expected him. However, I hadn’t expected the lurch in my chest at the sight of the cowboy filling my doorway with that sexy hat, a saucy grin, and a lunch bag. My body’s involuntary response annoyed the heck out of me.
“You again,” I deadpanned.
“Me again.”
I held the door open and invited him in.
He came again the next day with a container of Vicki’s semi-famous Irish stew and soda bread. And the day after with her chicken tortilla soup and jalapeño rolls. I snapped and snarled that he shouldn’t stay, but I was secretly happy when he shooed me out of the way, pointed at the sofa, and told me to beat it.
We watched TV, I grumbled, he chuckled, and eventually…we talked. Well, Hudson talked. He told me about growing up on a ranch; his first horse, Maggie; the first time he milked a cow; the enormous spider webs that reappeared every summer in the barn which they now referred to as Charlotte’s Barn…because hello,Charlotte’s Web.
He was annoyingly charming and as much as I hated to admit it, I looked forward to our afternoon visits.
I liked the cowboy. I liked the deep timbre of his voice and his teasing smile. And I supposed I liked that he was stubbornly interested in me in spite of the fact that I’d given him every reason to steer far, far away.
By the end of the week, I was beginning to feel like myself. I’d promised Vicki I’d obey the doctor’s orders and not dive back into work as if nothing had happened.
“Ease into it, honey,” she’d cajoled. “There’s no sense working yourself silly. You have Katie and Stella to help, and I’m right next door if they need anything. Recuperate and enjoy your cowboy beau. By the way, I’m going to want the unabridged story on that one.”
“He’s not my beau, and there is no story,” I’d huffed.
“Well, then make one.”