A Texas Cowboy's Christmas. Cathy Gillen Thacker

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      Chance moved to the fireplace. He ran his big, calloused hand along the new wooden mantel. It was cut out of the same rustic oak as the support beams overhead. “The floors will be repaired where needed and sanded tomorrow.”

      Which took them all the way up to Thanksgiving, she knew. The one day every one of them would have a break from the demanding schedule.

      “You got the tile for the kitchen and the bathrooms, and the paint colors picked out?”

      Trying not to think what he would be doing for the holidays, Molly replied, “Still waiting on final approval from your mom. She wants to see samples in the light here before she decides. But we’ve narrowed it down to a couple of shades for each space.”

      Chance ambled over and switched on several of the portable construction lamps. “The new appliances and light fixtures?”

      Instantly the downstairs became much brighter. “On order.”

      He walked around, inspecting some of the work that had been done. Finding a tiny flaw, he stuck a piece of blue painter’s tape on it. “Kitchen and bath cabinets and countertops?”

      “Will all be delivered in time to meet our schedule.”

      He nodded, as aware as she that one major glitch could throw everything off. Fortunately, thus far anyway, luck had been completely on their side.

      He came toward her.

      Her heartbeat picked up for no reason she could figure. Molly cleared her throat. “Speaking of the holiday... I wanted to talk to you about Thanksgiving.” She moved around restlessly. “I’ve given my crew the day off.”

      Joining her at the hearth, Chance took a foil-wrapped candy from his shirt pocket. “Same here.”

      There was no way, she thought, he could know that was her very favorite. Trying not to salivate over the treat, Molly continued, “But they’ve all agreed to work on Friday.”

      He nodded, ripping open one end. Immediately the smell of dark chocolate and peppermint filled the small space between them.

      “Mine, too.”

      Chance’s cell phone buzzed again, this time with the ringtone “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus.”

      Telling herself that particular choice in no way involved her, either, Molly watched as, once again, he checked the screen and ignored it.

      He held out the partially unwrapped confection. “Want one?” he asked.

      Now she knew he was flirting.

      “I’ve got another...” he teased.

      Hell, yes, she wanted some of his dark chocolate peppermint. But if she started taking candy from him on a whim, who knew what might be next?

      She returned his assessing look and said as innocently as possible, “Thanks, but no.”

      His eyes gleamed.

      “I don’t really like those.”

      His sexy grin widened all the more.

      Then his phone buzzed yet again. With the maddeningly suggestive holiday song...

      Thinking maybe he really should answer that, and would if she weren’t standing right there, Molly picked up her lantern before she ended up doing something really stupid—like kissing the smug look off his face—and headed for the staircase.

      Able to feel the heat of his masculine gaze drifting over her, she tossed the words over her shoulder. “I’ve got to measure the upstairs windows before I go.”

      “Want help?”

      “No!”

      He chuckled, as she had known he would.

      Molly fought back a flush. This was exactly why she had been avoiding him. Luckily she had work to keep her busy. Chance might even be gone before she left.

      She had just finished measuring the first window when she heard a door open, then close. Lucille Lockhart’s lyrical voice echoed through the first floor. “Chance? Why aren’t you picking up? I just got another call from Babs Holcombe. She said she’s been trying to reach you for days!”

      Who the heck is Babs? Not that she should be listening...

      “Been a little busy, Mom,” Chance growled.

      Lucille’s high heels tapped across the wood floors. “You owe her the courtesy of a return call. Or at the very least an email!”

      “After the way things ended with Delia?” Chance scoffed.

      Delia? Molly perked up, edging a little closer despite herself.

      “I admit that wasn’t one of their finer moments,” Lucille conceded reluctantly, “but they’ve both done a lot to support the Lockhart Foundation in the three years since.”

      “Okay,” Chance countered gruffly.

      “Okay you’ll call her,” Lucille pressed, sounding beside herself with irritation, “or okay you won’t?”

      Silence reigned once again.

      Molly could imagine the bullheaded look on Chance’s face. The disapproving moue of his mother. There was a brief murmur of disgruntled talk she couldn’t decipher, then the sound of Lucille leaving. The front door shut. Chance’s heavy footsteps crossed to the center of the house. “You can come down now!” he called cheerfully up the stairs.

      Aghast that he knew she had been eavesdropping, heat flooded her cheeks. Measurements taken, she walked back down, pocketing her pen. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to intrude.”

      He gave her a look that said, “I’ll bet.”

      Falling into step beside her, he accompanied her out onto the front porch. The air had the distinct damp chill of late November. Dark clouds gathered along the horizon, where the sun was setting in streaks of purple and gray.

      “How is Braden doing? Were you able to steer him toward the Leo and Lizzie World Adventure train set?”

      Surprised that Chance recalled the name of the toy, Molly grimaced. “Ah, no. Not yet.”

      Concern etched his ruggedly handsome face. “Meaning you haven’t really tried yet?”

      Molly only wished that were the case. Taking her first real break of the day, she perched on the railing edging the front porch. “Meaning, like with most men, subtlety doesn’t work on Braden. Nor does direct conversation.”

      Chance took a seat opposite her, mesmerizing her with the blatant interest in his eyes. “So he still wants a live baby bull and a momma.”

      “As well as a daddy bull.”

      “Wow.”

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