A Cowboy Under The Mistletoe. Vicki Lewis Thompson
that’s true.” So she’d remembered his coffee order. Flattering. And he hadn’t imagined that tug of mutual attraction last summer, either. They liked each other. Even better, she’d liked him before the calendar had appeared.
He glanced behind him to see if he was holding up the line. Apparently he was at the end of it. “But today I want one of those Peppermint Pleasure lattes, instead.”
“Festive choice. Whipped cream?”
“No thanks. Don’t want to get too wild and crazy.”
“Your choice, but the whipped cream really makes it sing. We sprinkle candy cane chips on top to give the whipped cream some crunch.”
“Do you like it like that?”
She held his gaze. “Love it.”
Well, now. He suspected they’d moved beyond the subject of peppermint lattes. The room suddenly grew warmer. “Then I guess you’d better lather on the whipped cream and candy cane chips.”
“Good decision. For here or to go?”
“I’ll drink it here.”
The dark-haired girl standing beside Whitney picked up a cup. “So that’s a large Peppermint—”
“That’s okay, Meryl. I’ve got this.” Whitney neatly plucked the cup out of her hand. “Have a seat wherever you can find a space, Ty. I’ll bring it to you.”
“Thanks, but I haven’t paid yet.”
“Oh, right.” Her laugh was slightly breathless. “Meryl, can you please handle that for me?”
“Absolutely.” Meryl stepped to the cash register and took the bill he handed her. “So you’re really the guy on that calendar?”
“’Fraid so.”
“You should be proud of it. That’s an awesome picture, and the calendar’s for a great cause. I’d love to attend that academy, but I’m too old. I just turned twenty.”
“Maybe eventually they’ll open it up to adults.” He pocketed his change and added money to the tip jar. “You’re not the only one who’s expressed an interest. Maybe I should mention it while I’m at the ranch this weekend.”
“I wish you would. Sounds great for kids trying to figure out what they want to do with their lives. But if you could add a special session for those of us who are still trying to figure that out but don’t qualify, agewise, I’ll bet you’d get some takers.”
“Okay, I’ll ask.”
“Thanks. And you’re even cuter in person.” Then she blushed. “Did I just say that out loud?”
He smiled. What a sweetheart. “It’s okay.”
“At least you’re not all stuck-up about being on the calendar. Some guys would be.”
“Yeah, definitely,” said the other girl, who’d been filling the napkin dispenser and the cream pitcher. She looked to be about the same age as Meryl. She stared at him with an adoring expression. “They’d be all I’m so hot.”
“Not my style.” Another customer came up behind him and he moved out of the way. “Guess I’d better find a seat.” He quickly located an unoccupied table.
So this was the effect of media on a guy’s rep. Multiply this by a hundred different sexy impressions, and no wonder movie stars were mobbed. The photographer had created an image of him that didn’t exist, and yet women bought into it.
He didn’t roll out of bed and pull on jeans, boots and a hat before going out to take care of the horses. He hadn’t even done that when he’d lived at Thunder Mountain. Guys might have tackled the morning chores before shaving, assuming they’d had enough of a beard to worry about, but they’d always put on a shirt.
Okay, maybe a few times he’d repaired a fence or shoveled manure without a shirt on. When the job was especially hot and dirty, a cowboy might go bare-chested. But it was the exception to the rule.
Whitney brought over his latte topped with an expert swirl of whipped cream and lightly sprinkled with candy cane bits. “Now isn’t that pretty?”
“Sure is.” He lifted the cup. Cool, soft whipped cream tickled his upper lip as he got a mouthful of...paradise. Coffee, steamed milk and peppermint was a drink fit for the gods.
Licking away the whipped cream, he swept up a few crunchy pieces of candy cane. He closed his eyes and sighed. “Oh, yeah.”
“See what you’ve been missing?”
“Yep.” And he wasn’t talking about the latte. He looked up at her standing beside his table in her tan Rangeland Roasters shirt and a matching skirt that swished around her knees when she walked. In Cheyenne she’d worn slacks like everyone else. Maybe the skirt was another indication that she was the boss around here.
He decided to seize the day and worry about complications later. “Listen, I’m here until Sunday. Is there any time we might get together for...” He paused in confusion. His first move was always a coffee date but Whitney worked in a coffee shop.
She laughed softly. “Coffee?”
“No, I guess not. A different kind of drink, something involving alcohol.” He hesitated. “Unless you’re seeing someone?”
She shook her head. “Nope.”
“Good.” Adrenaline rushed through his system, or maybe it was the caffeine. Either way, his heart beat faster.
“I take it you’re not with Theresa anymore?”
He blinked in surprise. “You know her?”
“Only by the name I wrote on her coffee cup whenever you’d come in together.”
“Good memory. And no, I’m not with Theresa.” He met her gaze. “If I had been, I wouldn’t have asked you out.”
“I figured, but it never hurts to be sure.”
“Absolutely.” He liked her direct approach. “So what’s your schedule? I’m tied up tomorrow, but after that I’m flexible.”
“Tomorrow wouldn’t work for me, either. I’m covering for several of my employees so they can spend Thanksgiving with their families.”
“Then you are the manager.”
“Yeah, it was a terrific opportunity and I grabbed it.”
“Good for you. But I guess you might not be able to take much time off, considering it’s a holiday weekend.” He couldn’t believe how disappointed he was.
“I will be pretty busy, but I scheduled some free time Friday night to decorate my tree. Want to help me?”
“Sure!” His world brightened. “Can I bring takeout for dinner?”
“That would be wonderful. I don’t know if you like Chinese, but—”
“I do. Any special requests?”
“I like almost anything, so you can surprise me.”
“All right.” He couldn’t remember ever making a date so effortlessly.
“I get off at six, so give me a half hour to change clothes and haul out the decorations. Got your phone?”
He pulled it out of his coat pocket and keyed in her number and her address as she gave it to him. “And your last name is?”
“Jones. You can text me your number so I have it in case there’s a problem with staffing Friday night, but I don’t expect one.”
“Doing that right now. And by the way, my last name’s Slater.”
“I know. It’s