Page 33 of The Cowboy's Christmas
Chapter Seven
Quinn leaned againstthe wooden shop bench, wiping his hands on a rag as he waited for the oil to drain out of Old Betsy. After having supervised Quinn as he’d mounted the new hydraulics on the larger of the two tractors, Deke suggested some maintenance on the smaller. Quinn was game, wanting to spend as little time as possible back in his hotel room.
He looked up at the sound of the door opening. Savannah came in, closing the door behind her, and he stopped wiping his hands when he saw the expression on her face. Her cheeks were flushed, and it was obvious from the way she’d entered the building that she’d come on a mission, but now that she was in the shop with the door closed behind her, it appeared she might be rethinking it.
“I’m sorry about the Santa thing.” Because he was positive that was why she was here.
She frowned deeply. “Didn’t I tell you that I wasn’t going to do a lot of Christmas stuff?”
“You did. And you also said you were going to try celebrating again this year.”
“When I said that, I didn’t intend on you planning what I was going to do. I wanted to keep it small. On the ranch. I do not want to go to Marietta and mingle with all the happy people.”
His gut twisted at the way she said ‘happy.’
“I screwed up.” He wadded the rag in a ball between his hands. “I was making conversation with the girls. They mentioned the library and I said that I’d seen a sign at the diner saying that Santa would be visiting the library soon.” Then Deke had made a slashing movement across his throat, and Quinn had realized his error. That’s when he discovered that redirecting a conversation with four-year-olds regarding Santa and Christmas was nigh unto impossible. “I thought that was why they were going,” he finished.
“No. I was going to do some Christmas things here on the ranch. Cookies, a few decorations, nothing in town. Nothing that made me relive—”
Her voice cracked.
She drew in a breath, squared her shoulders, then continued, “Relive the times—”
She stopped abruptly, the last word having barely escaped her lips, and blinked hard. “Sorry.”
She half turned, pressing the back of her hand against her cheek, as if she could mechanically stave off tears through pressure and Quinn had to force himself not to move. This was his fault. He’d spoken to the girls without thinking and now Savannah was paying.
“Savannah…”
“I’m fine.” She dropped her hand from her cheek, cleared her throat. “Town is hard during Christmas.” The words came out softy, as if she was afraid of her voice cracking again if she spoke any louder.
“I bet it is.”
Her gaze faltered, dropping to the dusty concrete floor between them. Seconds ticked by and Quinn willed himself to stay still. To not reach for her when everything in him wanted to.
“I’m good,” she finally said, slowly lifting her chin. She had control of herself, but it had been touch-and-go for a moment. “The triggers sometimes come without warning.”
“Town being one.”
She nodded, the sheen of unshed tears in her eyes catching the light. “Matt worked part-time for the city to supplement our income. He was one of the guys who hung all the decorations on the lampposts and stuff like that. He was good with metal and made a bunch of wreaths and other decorations for the city. I…”
Her voice broke again, and Quinn lost the battle. He lifted his hand to lightly stroke the back of his fingers down her cheek. That was when the tears came, escaping from beneath her eyelids, which she’d squeezed shut in a futile effort to stop the flow, rolling down her cheeks. She stepped toward him, blindly seeking comfort, and he pulled her close, bringing a hand up to the back of her head.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured.
“Not your fault,” Savannah mumbled against his coat. He thought she was going to pull back, but then she let out a shuddering sigh before sinking into him. How long had it been since she’d sought comfort? Had she ever?
For a long moment he held her, rocking her against him, and then Quinn shifted his hand, pushing it under her hair to caress the warm skin on the back of her neck. Savannah went still, then eased back to look up at him, her hands still clutching the sides of his coat just above the pockets.
He dropped his hand to the small of her back then her hand came up to curl around the back of his neck, the movement slow and tentative, as if she were feeling her way through the tension building between them. He brought his hands up to cup her face, and she closed her eyes as she lifted her lips.
Quinn met them gently, tasting salt from her tears and then the sweetness that was her. Her breath caught, but she didn’t move away. Instead, her hand came up to push through the short hair at the back of his head, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened.
It was Quinn who ended the kiss, allowing his lips to cling to hers for one final second before he raised his head. Savannah slowly opened her eyes, then lifted a hand to lightly touch her mouth, as if to ascertain that yes, she’d just kissed and been kissed.
He eased back a step, giving her space, and she met his gaze, her lips parting as if she were about to speak. No words came out, and finally she pressed them together again.
“Let it be,” he said and was glad when she nodded.
