Page 18 of Special Delivery Cowboy
"That must be nice. Being that sure of yourself."
"Tinsley." I waited until she looked at me. "That asshole made you question yourself. Made you think you needed to be someone you’re not. You don't. You're perfect exactly as you are."
Her eyes went bright. "You barely know me."
"I know enough. I know you're kind—you let a stranger and his dog into your cabin, offered food and shelter. I know you're strong—you walked away from a bad situation even when it hurt. I know you love to cook and you have a ridiculous laugh and you named a puppy Twinkle because you thought its energy sparkled." I held her gaze. "That’s how your energy is, too. I know any man would be lucky to have you exactly as you are."
She set her wine glass down carefully. Studied me for a long moment. "You're kind of amazing, you know that?"
"Just honest, ma'am."
"TJ—"
A thump on the front porch cut her off.
We both froze.
"What was that?" Tinsley whispered.
Another thump. Then silence.
I stood, moving toward the door. "Stay here."
"Like hell." She was right behind me.
I opened the door, cold air and snow blasting in. On the porch sat a large wicker basket, wrapped with a red bow, dusted with fresh snow. No footprints. No delivery person in sight.
"What the..." I grabbed it and pulled it inside, shutting the door against the storm.
Tinsley plucked a card from the top. "'Since Grayson won't be jingling them anymore! Jingle your own bells, babe. Love, Melody. P.S. There are BELLS.'" She looked at me, face bright red. "Oh my god. I'm going to kill her."
"What's in it?"
She started unwrapping the basket, pulling away tissue paper. Her eyes went wide. "Oh no. Oh no no no."
I peered over her shoulder.
The basket contained: massage oil, candles, chocolate, champagne, what looked like a silk blindfold, literal jingle bells on a string, and—prominently displayed in the center—a fancy vibrator in sleek packaging.
I picked up the vibrator box, examining it with the same attention I'd give a new piece of ranch equipment. "This thing comes with instructions?"
"Put that down!" Tinsley lunged for it.
I held it out of reach, reading the label. "'Ten speeds. Waterproof. Whisper quiet.' Huh. Engineering's come a long way."
"Oh my god, stop."
"Says here it's rechargeable. That's practical." I turned the box over. "Comes with a storage pouch. Nice attention to detail."
She covered her face with her hands. "This is mortifying. My best friend sent me a sex basket. To a cabin where I'm snowed in with a complete stranger. On Christmas Eve."
"What kind of bells?" I asked, deadpan, setting the vibrator back in the basket.
She dropped her hands, staring at me. Then she started laughing—that ridiculous, snorting laugh I'd heard earlier. "You did not just ask that."
"I'm curious. Are they decorative or functional?"
"Oh my god, stop." But she was laughing harder now, tears streaming down her face. "This is so inappropriate."
