Page 25 of Her Candy Cane Cowboy
Ginger blushes and looks out the window.
As I drive, I notice she’s twisting her fingers together. I put my hand over hers. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you won’t miss Christmas with your dad.”
She gives me a tight smile, and I can tell she wants to believe me, but in the face of all the disappointments she’s experienced, I understand why she’s struggling to.
The flight back to Texas is smooth and we land just as the weather begins to worsen.
Ginger’s phone rings the second we’re in my ice-cold truck. “Yes, Dad. I’m fine and headed that way. What? Why?” She looks at me in dismay. “They’re going to close the main road into Coyote Bend soon because they can’t de-ice the road. I won’t reach home in time.” Crestfallen, she returns to her conversation.
I get out of the truck on the pretense I’m cleaning the windshield, but I make a call to Jonas. “You’ve traveled on supply runs in weather like this for your family’s ranch, right?”
“Many times, why? What do you need me to go get?”
“A person.” I tell him the situation with her dad.
“Hell, yeah, I’ll go get your woman’s father. My truck has those beast winter tires that can grip the hell out of the roads. I’ll leave right now. Marshall’s here too. He says he’ll go with me. What Marshall? The fuck are you talking about a dildo for?”
“Tell him that was definitely a good one.” I laugh. “I’ll send you Ginger’s home address.” I quickly text the address she showed me earlier at the community center.
After I return to the truck, she’s quiet. I turn the radio on, and a perky holiday song is playing. I move to turn it off, but she stops me.
“It’s okay. I can listen to this with you.”
“Are you not as upset hearing this kind of music now because you’re with a well-hung, wonderful cowboy?”
“Isn’t bragging grounds for extra coal in your stocking?”
“How is that bragging? I gave you proof.”
She puts her hands to her cheeks and murmurs, “What am I going to do with you.”
“Before or after we get married?”
She doesn’t say anything, but the edge of a smile tugs at the corner of her lips.
A familiar Christmas song starts next, and I belt out the words to it.
“You have a nice singing voice,” she says.
“Because it’s deep. The weight of being well-hung pulls everything lower.”
“Dallas!” She rolls her eyes. “I know you’re trying to lighten things up on my behalf, but I’m okay. I mean, I’m upset and sad, but I’ll be fine.”
She’s clearly putting on an act.
“You don’ have to try to be strong in front of me. You can cry or scream—preferably because I’m fucking the hell out of you, but?—”
“Cowboy, if you don’t behave, you’re going to be the one getting a spanking.”
I laugh and tease, “Darlin’, you’re not strong enough to even hold my dick. How do you think you’re going to best me if we get into a wrestling match over whose ass gets a paddling?”
“Not strong enough to even hold….” She sticks her lower lip out in a pout. “That’s too bad. I was thinking about holding it when I get the chance to suck you off, but you’re right. I’m not strong enough, so that can’t happen.”
Well, shit. She one-upped me. “Uh…I may have miscalculated.”
“You did. You blew your chance to get blown.”
“Wait a second here. Let’s make a deal. You let me spank you and I’ll let you blow me.”
