Page 14 of Yuletide Cookies (Christmas Card Cowboys #1)

Chapter Fourteen

The pounding on the front door rattled the panes, sharp as hoofbeats coming hard in the night. In the storeroom, Wyatt jolted awake.

He found his pants by touch and stepped into them. The pounding came again, urgent enough to raise worry. He didn’t bother with a shirt. Whoever was making that racket needed answering more than he needed propriety.

Wyatt yanked open the door to find three women on the stoop, their breath clouding in the frigid air, all talking at once.

They stopped dead at the sight of him, jaws unhinging in unison. The shortest wore a red knit cap with a pompom that bobbed like it had its own opinions. She had brown hair so dark it was almost black.

The auburn-haired one stood tall and polished, her coat expensive-looking even to him, collar turned up against the cold.

The blonde he knew. Fiona, Jamie’s mother.

They all stared at his bare chest. The cold air raised goosebumps, making him aware of every scar the trail had carved into his body.

The bright one recovered first, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Well, good mornin’, cowboy.” She grinned shamelessly, rocking back on her heels. “You must be the mysterious ‘help’ Eliza mentioned.”

Wyatt became painfully aware of his state of undress. In his time, a man might work shirtless in the summer alone on a ranch, but greeting ladies this way bordered on scandalous.

“Morning, ladies.” He crossed his arms, wishing he’d grabbed his shirt, his coat, an apron, anything. “Eliza’s still sleeping. She wore herself out yesterday.”

“I bet,” the short one snickered.

“And you’re here.” The tall one’s voice carried an edge. “Answering her door. Without a shirt. At…” She checked her wristwatch. “Six-thirty in the morning.”

“I sleep in the storeroom.” The words tumbled out defensively. Why did he feel like he’d been caught at something improper? “I heard the pounding, thought we had trouble.”

Fiona cleared her throat, shooting her friends a look. “We came to check on Eliza. She hasn’t answered our texts since the day before yesterday, and now she’s closed up the bakery for good without any notice? What gives?”

Texts. Another mystery of this century.

“She’s bone tired,” he said. “We were up past midnight working on recipes for the showcase.”

“Hmm, is that what we’re calling it now?” The one in the red cap went up on tiptoe, trying to peer past him into the bakery. “Midnight recipes?”

“Pardon?”

The women exchanged glances that made Wyatt feel like he’d missed half the conversation. Women from any era possessed that talent. Whole discussions in lifted eyebrows and pursed lips. His sister Rose had been a master at it. She could dress him down without speaking a word.

He stepped back, widening the opening. “Come in out of the cold. No sense freezing on the stoop.”

They filed past him in a tumble of wool, perfume, and chatter, their voices filling the storefront’s quiet. They made the space feel too small.

The bright one peeled off rainbow-striped mittens and bounced on her toes. “I’m Tessa, by the way. This is Megan.” She pointed to the tall one. “And you’ve met Fiona.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Wyatt said, the formality of his upbringing kicking in despite the strange circumstances.

Tessa tilted her head, studying him like a horse she was considering buying. “So you’re Eliza’s secret weapon. I was picturing some college kid home from school break pretending to be an 1878 cowboy, not…” She waved a hand at his chest, grinning wider. “This whole situation.”

Wyatt crossed his arms tighter, and his muscles bunched. “Just lending a hand through the busy season.”

“Mm-hmm.” Megan’s tone could have frosted windows. “A hand that happens to answer doors half-dressed.”

Fiona gave the others a look that would have stopped a charging bull. “Leave him alone. He’s telling the truth. Eliza’s been running herself into the ground trying to keep this place afloat.”

“That part I believe.” Tessa’s grin disappeared. “She hasn’t closed the bakery since her grandmother’s funeral. So this…” She gestured at the empty display cases and the sign Eliza put in the window yesterday morning. “Is unsettling. But now I see why.”

He pressed a palm to his burning nape and ducked his head. These women had him more flustered than a bull in a china shop. In his time, he knew how to talk to ladies, polite distance, formal courtesy. This casual interrogation while he stood half-naked left him wrong-footed.

Megan wandered toward the empty display case, her gaze like a hawk’s. “Closed on the second-busiest weekend of the year? Tessa’s right. This is more than unsettling. Is Eliza okay?”

Wyatt’s spine stiffened, his protective instinct flaring. “She needed rest. Lord knows she’s earned it.” He glanced at Fiona, seeking an ally. “Where’s Jamie this morning?”

Fiona tugged off her leather gloves, folded them neatly, and slid them into her coat pocket. “My parents are watching him so I could have breakfast with these two troublemakers.”

Wyatt nodded. “He’s a good lad.”

Fiona’s expression softened. “That’s sweet. He talked about you all day yesterday. The cowboy cook, he calls you. You made quite an impression.”

Tessa leaned against the counter. “Speaking of, you should bring Jamie around to see my miniature horses dressed up as reindeer. Although they’re being impossible.

They were supposed to pull a sleigh for the Chamber’s photo op this week.

Instead, Einstein ate the garland, Picasso knocked over the photographer’s tripod, and Darwin laid down in the snow like a sack of potatoes and refused to move.

” She laughed, bright as sleigh bells. “I promised the Chamber reindeer magic, and I’ve got mutiny.

So forgive me if I’m delighted to find at least one plan in this town working out, even if it involves Eliza hiding a gorgeous cowboy. ”

Megan shook her head, but her mouth twitched with suppressed humor.

“The Christmas pageant’s no better. The angels forgot their marks, the shepherds turned their crooks into swords, and the three wise men had a full-blown argument over who got to carry the gold.

Someone’s dad had to separate them.” Her voice dropped, thinning.

“My mother would’ve known how to fix it.

She always did. Mom loved that pageant more than Christmas morning itself. ”

The grief in her voice caught Wyatt off guard. He recognized it. The particular ache of the first holiday without someone.

Fiona offered her own confession. “Jamie has a new obsession. He’s sorting all our Christmas ornaments by color gradient. We have seventeen different shades of red, and they all have to be in perfect spectral order.”

Wyatt absorbed these admissions like weather signs, understanding now what was happening. They weren’t just gossiping. They were women carrying weights and setting them down for a minute where it felt safe. This bakery had always been that kind of place, even in his time.

A creak overhead cut through the talk. Eliza was awake.

Wyatt moved to the stairwell and flicked the light switch so she wouldn’t have to step into shadows.

She appeared at the top of the stairs like something from a dream.

Bathrobe belted tight over flannel pajamas, hair loose and tousled from sleep, falling over her shoulders in waves he wanted to smooth with his fingers.

She blinked at the four of them, still soft with sleep, and his chest squeezed tight enough to hurt.

Her lips parted on a small sound, not quite a word, more surprise than speech. Her eyes found his, widened at his state of undress, and color bloomed across her cheeks.

“Well.” Megan’s eyebrow arched. “Bathrobe for you, no shirt for him. That’s quite the Friday morning arrangement.”

Tessa clapped her hands. “Oh my God, you’ve got that perfect just-been-fu?—”

“Tessa!” Eliza’s voice cracked like a whip. “Do not finish that sentence!”

Her friend dissolved into giggles, pantomiming locking her lips and throwing away the key, though her eyes danced with wicked glee.

Wyatt couldn’t look away from Eliza. Soft and mussed and far too dear, standing there clutching the collar of her robe, and he felt the ground shift under him like creek ice cracking.

Eliza descended the stairs, tugging the belt tighter with each step. “I’m sorry I worried you all. I turned my phone off. I just... I needed a morning to myself.”

“With him?” Tessa said, all sparkle, no malice. “Can’t say I blame you.”

Wyatt’s jaw clenched. Every instinct screamed to step between Eliza and their scrutiny, to shield her from their knowing looks and loaded questions.

But Eliza caught his eye and gave the smallest shake of her head. Let it go.

She squared her shoulders, lifting her chin in that way of hers. “The bakery is closed. We’ll bake at the showcase.” She paused, then added, “One last time.”

The words landed like a hammer on an anvil.

“Eliza, no,” Tessa said.

Eliza’s spine straightened, Maggie’s stubbornness showing through.

“It’s my last hurrah. Foster’s Bakeshop’s final Christmas.

Wyatt and I have been working on Maggie Foster’s Yuletide Cookie.

Her authentic original recipe. We’ll present the cookie at the showcase as Foster’s comes full circle, ending where it began. ”

“Oh, honey.” Fiona pressed a hand to her chest. “I’m so sorry.”

“God, Eliza.” Megan’s eyes misted. “Six generations. It’s the end of an era.”

“Don’t be sad for me.” Eliza lifted her chin higher, though Wyatt caught the tiny tremor in her voice. “I’ve been blessed to carry on the tradition as long as I have. Tomorrow, after the showcase, I’ll have a chance to imagine a different kind of future.”

“With Wyatt?” Tessa asked, the question dropping into the silence like a stone into still water.

Wyatt’s breath caught. His whole body went rigid, every nerve ending focused on Eliza. His heart hammered so hard he feared everyone could hear it.

How would she answer? What would she say about him, about them, about whatever this was burning between them?

Eliza’s gaze flickered to his for just a moment, so brief he might have imagined it, then away. She didn’t meet his eyes again. The silence stretched taut as a new wire fence.

“Who wants coffee and Yuletide cookies?” she asked, her voice bright and hollow as a bell with no clapper.

She hadn’t denied it, but she hadn’t confirmed it either. She’d dismissed it. Dismissed him. Dismissed the possibility of them.

His hopes didn’t just crack. They shattered into pieces too small to put back together.

“I do,” Tessa said, though she shot Eliza a look that promised future interrogation.

“This way.” Eliza ushered everyone toward the kitchen, herding them like recalcitrant sheep. “I’ll put on a fresh pot.”

As the women filed past, chattering again though subdued, Eliza paused beside him.

For one breathless moment, he thought she might explain, might say something to ease the crushing weight in his chest.

Instead, she just touched his arm and murmured, “You should put on a shirt.”

Then she was gone, following her friends into the kitchen, leaving him standing alone in the cold.