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CASSIE
West Kringle is nota true Kringle. At least, not in spirit. I don't even know why the grumpy cowboy still works at the Kringle Christmas Tree Ranch that his parents built. All he does is stomp around here and boss employees around.
There's no Christmas cheer to be had around this cowboy. He spends every holiday season avoiding the crowds that flock to his family's farm. He doesn't help out Ledger and Micah who give customers tours of the place. He doesn't show up at the gift shop and help his mom bag and ship the orders. When he does deign to join the weekly family dinner, he barely says a word to any of us.
No, he's too busy fussing over the trees and harvesting them to mingle with his family. Or he was. His father's recent health scare changed everything.
Now, the annoying man is everywhere I turn. He's usually scowling at me too. Always looking like he walked out of a hot cowboy calendar while he ducks his head under the brim of his Stetson.
He’s outside my workshop right now, banging on the door with his big fist and yelling at me to open up. I know it’s him because he’s announced it like three times and he’s not going away. Why can’t he take a hint?
“It’s too early for this,” I mutter as I pull my face up from my workshop table. It releases me with a sticky popping noise which means I must have fallen asleep working late again last night. I scrub at my stiff cheek and hope there’s no paint on it.
Christmas is my busiest season. It’s when Cassie’s Creations are most in demand. Not only do I sell my toys at the Kringle gift shop but on their website too. Plus, there are the organizations that serve foster kids who can always use extra donations this time of year.
I yell that I’ll be there in a second and reach for my cardigan, slinging it around my curvy body. This workshop used to be an old barn that I’d work out of. Then West caught on and within just a couple of weeks, he had it transformed into a real woodshop for me, complete with a heating system.
I tried to thank him but he just growled at me, “No sense in you freezing your fingers off.”
So, yeah, that’s West. He’s my brother’s best friend and the man that infuriates me even when he’s doing something nice for me.
I nearly trip over Snowball as I make my way toward the door of my shop. She’s the white kitty I adopted from the shelter earlier this year. She hisses at me, but I don’t take it personally. She’s hissed at every single person I’ve brought her around.
“What do you want?” I demand when I open the door and see him standing there. It’s not even seven in the morning and he has the audacity to look hot in his black t-shirt and tight blue jeans.
I think his mouth quirks, but it’s gone too soon for me to tell. I wish he were easier to read. I’ve never been able to figure this man out or why he drives me so crazy. The Kringles adopted me when I was fifteen. Micah had just turned eighteen so he couldn’t legally be adopted. But they took us both in and raised us alongside West, their biological son.
“Coffee,” he grunts the word. He’s a total caveman around me most of the time. But he’ll talk to Micah. I’ve heard them chatter a hundred miles a minute when they’re talking about a car they’re repairing or planning one of their stupid fishing trips with Ledger.
I step back and let him inside the workshop.
The moment he crosses the threshold, he yanks the Stetson off his head. His thick wavy brown hair is starting to streak with silver already. Micah and Ledger tease him about it. They call him an old man. Secretly, I think it looks incredibly sexy. It even matches his beard that’s peppered with gray too.
His brown gaze rakes over the shop, and I don’t like the way I feel so exposed and vulnerable with him looking at my creations. There’s a reason I don’t let most people in here. This is my heart, and I don’t want to share it with anyone.
To distract myself, I thread my way around the seating area in my workshop and toward the coffee machine I keep in the back. I don’t get many visitors other than mom and dad. But I like them to be comfortable when they do visit.
Snowball meows at West. It’s the first time she’s ever made any noise other than a hiss. But why on earth did she choose to bestow that gift to West?
He chuckles when she brushes up against him. I can’t say I blame the girl. I’d like to rub up on him too. He kneels next to her and pulls up his sleeves, revealing the ink from his tattoos. There’s the pink one from his mom’s cancer diagnosis three years ago and the trout that’s a tribute to his late grandfather who took him fishing every summer. Plus, a few more, but I haven’t seen them. I never lie awake at night wondering what they all are or if he has tattoos anywhere else.
“Such a pretty girl,” he murmurs in a soothing tone. He picks her up gently and she comes willingly, snuggling against his chest. Why am I not surprised? My grumpy cat likes the grumpy cowboy.
“You didn’t come all this way for a cup of my coffee,” I tell him as I start the old machine that hisses and hums to life, enveloping my space in the sweet scent of warmed caffeine.
My words have him pulling his attention from inspecting my workspace to inspecting me. His gaze narrows as he takes in my candy cane striped mini dress and matching white leggings. I bought the dress that hugs my curvy figure from Mallory at Sew Cute. “What in the hell are you wearing?”
I wrap my arms around myself and fight the urge to tug the material down my thighs. He’s seen me in less clothes when we’d go down to the river. There’s no reason for him to make a big deal out of this. “What do you care?”
“It makes me hungry.” Something flickers across his face. Shock, surprise, maybe horror. I don’t know. It’s too hard to read West and I’ve spent years making myself crazy as I’ve tried.
“You’ve never had a sweet tooth.” He never touches dessert, never indulges in anything really. He’s wound too tight for that, always has a need to be in control. I’d love to be the one person that slips under his defenses. That makes him lose his control.
An image of the two of us together floats into my mind. Him above me, panting and sweaty. Saying the dirtiest things in that raspy voice of his. Telling me that he owns me now, that he’ll never let me go. It’s silly and I don’t let myself indulge in those fantasies. Ever. That would be a one-way ticket to heartbreak city.
“Not why I’m here,” he grinds out and shakes his head. He lowers Snowball to the ground who makes a mournful sound at the loss of contact with him. Then he starts for the door like he might leave again.