Page 8 of Texas Christmas

It was probably a bad idea going to stay at Peter’s house, but something about his family made me twitchy. Mrs. Jeffers was nice, don’t get me wrong, but she was also nosy as hell. She’d been badgering me like a trained interrogator the entire time we were drinking our hot chocolate. I’d come close to breaking a few times.

The one question I did answer was my relationship status. I wanted Peter to know I was unattached in case we decided to act on the strong attraction simmering between us. I’d seen him watching me when he thought I wouldn’t notice. He was definitely interested.

He’d been a bit grumpy when we started the day, but as he warmed up to me, I could see the grumpiness was likely a protective measure. Or maybe not. At his parents’ house his mother had gone on at length about how Peter reminded her of one of those grouchy mountain men she read about in romance books.

His surliness faded as soon as we left his parents’ house.

“I’m about a five minute walk this way,” he said, pointing to the north.

I zipped up my too-thin coat over a sweater that Peter’s mother had loaned me, and pulled on a knit hat she’d also shared. It helped some, but the wind was still bitingly cold. As a Texan, I was not used to this kind of cold. I subtly moved closer to Peter, using his bulk to block some of the wind. If he noticed, he didn’t say anything.

The ground was turning slippery from the snow, and after the third time I skidded on the Nikes I was wearing, Peter took my hand. My hand was bare and cold, and he tugged it into his coat pocket to warm me up. I didn’t mind that at all. There was something akin to an electrical sensation traveling between our skin at every point of contact.

“Here we go.”

Peter’s house was adorable, a two-story bungalow with a wraparound porch where I could easily imagine us sitting in the morning drinking coffee.

As soon as the thought entered my head, I ruthlessly pushed it away. I don’t know what was wrong with me, daydreaming like some kind of a romantic schoolgirl. I was a forty-five year old veterinarian. I’d learned years ago not to rely on anyone but myself. And I’d given up on my fantasy of a knight in shining armor somewhere around my fifth foster home.

We headed up the porch and Peter pushed the front door open. Following his lead, I removed my shoes and left them on the mat by the front door.

“Let me just get the fire going then I’ll show you around.”

“Do you need help?” I offered.

“No, just make yourself at home.”

I wandered around the open concept space, noting the comfortable couch facing the fireplace, the overstuffed chairs arranged by the front window, and the small dining table set up in the area between the kitchen and living room. It wasn’t anything fancy, but it was clean and comfortable, and I loved it immediately.

When I completed my circuit I saw Peter squatting in front of the fire, biceps bulging as he arranged the heavy logs on the grate. The position made his jeans stretch tight over his muscular ass. My throat grew dry.

Once the fire was going, Peter led me upstairs, showing me the guest room and the shared bathroom. The bedroom was plain but comfortable, but the bathroom was fancier, with a huge shower, black and white subway tile, and a double sink vanity.

Returning to the bedroom, I dropped the bag of clothes that I’d gotten from Mrs. Jeffers onto the bed.

“Is it okay if I take a shower?” I asked Peter. “I’m freezing.”

“Go right ahead. There are towels in the cabinet, soap, and shampoo in the shower. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

I pulled up my hair and took a quick shower, trying not to fantasize about my host downstairs. I put on a pair of yoga pants and tee shirt that Mrs. Jeffers had given me, pulling the sweater over the ensemble, and adding a pair of thick wool socks. It wasn’t the most glamorous outfit, but it was warm and that was all I cared about right now.

When I got back downstairs, Peter was standing in front of the fireplace, staring pensively into the fire.

“Thanks again for letting me crash here,” I told him. “It was nice of your parents to offer me to stay at their house, but honestly, I felt a little awkward.”

He nodded. “Yeah, sometimes Mama is a little...much. She means well but you might as well know, she’s likely planning our wedding right now.”

I burst out laughing. “Yeah, I picked up on that matchmaker vibe for sure.”

He gestured at the couch, and I sat down. Peter went to the kitchen, returning with bottles of water for each of us before joining me.

“So, tell me about yourself Dr. Southerland.”

“You first.”

Over the years, I’d become a master of not disclosing a lot about myself. When people heard my story, they either tended to judge me or pity me, and I couldn’t stand the thought of Peter doing either of those things.

“There’s not much to tell,” he said pensively. “I grew up here on the ranch, and other than when I went to college, I’ve lived here all my life.”