Page 13 of A Cowboy's Twinkling Lights Lasso
Chapter Four
FLORA
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“THE COWBOYS ARE betting on who can deliver the cheesiest Christmas pickup lines to the guests.” My sister passes me a strong black coffee, which I need after my sleepless night. “The winner is chosen based on the laughter response.”
“Who’s judging?” I play along, glancing at the entrance for the gazillionth time, wondering if Thorn will slide in at the last minute or if he has packed up and gone home.
There’s been no sign of him all morning, and I’ve been here since six, stuffing swag bags, adjusting the lighting, moving the set around, and mapping out the best angles. Even his brother arrived a half hour ago, but with fifteen minutes until the doors open and the lineup of women waiting to funnel in, that’s cutting it close.
“Wilma, Faye, and Rita are judging. That’s how I got the inside scoop.” Dani props herself on the stool next to my tripod.
I grin. “There’s an inside scoop, is there?” I set my coffee on the small side table between us to peer through the viewfinder and confirm the framing—again. It’s irritatingly inaccurate without Thorn taking his position.
“Yes. They’re not judging the giggling guests. No, that would be too easy.” Dani digs through a swag bag, which isn’t for her. “They are judging the photographers and assistants.”
Wonderful. Like I need more judgment my way.
“That’s you and me.” She unwraps a cookie and dunks it in her coffee.
“I caught that.”
“Where is Thorn?” Dani’s eyes navigate the room.
“That’s a good question.” Honestly, I’m curious. Is he even on the premises? I hope not.
“I’ll find out. Or I’ll find him. Or both.”
I hope not the latter.
I reposition a couple of the large white ornaments on the vintage Christmas tree flocked in white snow. It was one of the many pieces we dug out of storage.
I step back and appreciate how amazing the set turned out, even if it was a struggle to form complete sentences and directions to a scowling Thorn yesterday. The soft white accents dance against the rustic wood backdrop and Rocky Ridge Creek’s high-back carved Santa chair. The generously padded antique chair is upholstered in crimson velvet with gold trimmings. The local Santa sits on it yearly at the pancake lunch after the holiday parade. The log and stone fireplace, a fixed object on the local float every year, was a challenge to sneak off the float but worth the effort of the multiple cowboys it needed for transport. Plus, the extra hands gave me an excuse to keep my distance from Thorn.
“Ten minutes to go!” Mayor Thomas’ voice resonates through a megaphone. “Everyone to your places. Flora, where is Thorn Slater?”
“I don’t know, Mayor.”
“Thorn Slater, where are you? Get to your station asap! Where is Mr. Slater? Theo, where is your brother?!”
“Like Theo will know. He was too busy shacking up yo know anything about his brother.” Dani strolls back and drops onto Santa’s wingback chair. Her body bunches the chunky knit white blanket resting on the chair’s arm.
“Can you do me a solid?” I ask her. “And fix the blanket like a good little assistant?”
She sticks out her tongue at me.
“Flora, this is Kyle. He’s one of the stand-in cowboys here to switch places during the day for short breaks. He’s going to stand in for Thorn until he gets here.”
My prayers are answered.
“It’s nice to meet you, Flora.” He offers his big, rough hand, and it envelopes mine.
No sparks.
No heat.
No panty melting reaction at all.
