Second Chance Christmas by Mackenzie McKade

This was gonna be a helluva night.

Two large fans whirling above Lori Dayton did nothing to ease the sultry flush across her skin, or the increase of her pulse. One set of fiery blue eyes across the room was responsible for her sudden reaction and the instant tightening of her nipples. The man she’d dreamed of for the last four years moved determinedly from the entrance, straight across the dance floor, and past the wraparound bar, toward the poolroom situated at the far end of the establishment where she stood. He didn’t speak to her nor did he approach. But he was close—too close.

He had clearly forgotten about her.

She diverted her gaze from his hot glare, choosing instead to study the intricate pattern of the tinsel draping the limbs of the large Christmas tree stuck in the corner. It must have taken hours to separate and lay each silver strand precisely an inch apart.

In the distance, she heard the band begin to warm up and laughter rang. The scent of cigarettes mingled with a variety of perfumes and colognes. A beer bottle or glass crashed to the floor. The loud, brittle sound startled her, making her heart lodge midway in her throat. Normal barroom noises, so why was she nervous?

“C’mon, sis, call your shot,” Mitch, her partner and brother, impatiently encouraged. His eyes were fixed on the table as he chalked his stick. Will and Lance Carter had challenged them to a game of pool. She hadn’t wanted to play, but Mitch never turned down a challenge.

Two local gals had their hungry gazes pinned on Mitch’s muscular six-three frame like it was hunting season, and he was their quarry. They sat at a high-top table across the way, but looked like they wanted to slink across the room and wrap themselves around him. All three of her brothers were babe material—they had golden hair and eyes to match.

Women thought her brothers were hot, but as far as Lori was concerned, no man came close to the raw sensuality Dean Wilcox oozed. When the two gals who had been eyeing Mitch now ogled Dean, Lori realized she wasn’t the only one who thought so.

“Earth to Lori.” Mitch pulled her from her thoughts.

Narrowing her eyes, she sized up the table. Pool stick in one fist, she dragged the other hand along the cool railing, moving slowly in search of the best shot. She fought not to look at Dean, not wanting to let him know he affected her, but she couldn’t help raising her eyes to meet his.

With a condemning stare, he watched her. Only six feet away, he stood with his legs were wedged apart, unyielding arms folded across his broad chest. His stance screamed that if she drew any closer to him he would still be miles away, still be untouchable.

“Eleven ball, corner pocket.” It would be a stretch, but it appeared her best choice. Leaning forward, she lengthened her five-seven frame across the table. With a jerk of her head she tossed her long blonde hair over her shoulder, and then positioned her fingers—

Well fuck. Her eyes were focused on Dean’s zipper, which was directly in line with the corner pocket. The impressive bulge revealed he was erect, hard. The muscles in her throat tightened as she swallowed. She knew that cock, knew its length and girth, the way it felt sliding between her thighs, filling her to—

Her heart began to pound. What’s the matter with me? Lust—nothing more. Remember the man hates you.

To make the situation more uncomfortable, when she leaned farther down, her T-shirt gaped to give him a direct, unhindered view of her bare breasts—helluva time not to wear a bra.

Dean made no attempt to look away. Instead, his eyes darkened. His nostrils flared.

And just like thather concentration flew out the door. Adios! It was gone in a heartbeat.

Once again she found herself thinking of him. Her vaginal muscles clenched as she imagined his strong hands touching her breasts, stroking the ache inside her. Her panties dampened.

She licked her suddenly dry lips, blinked.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen her breasts before. But each time she slipped the stick back and forth between the cradle of her thumb and forefinger, she thought of Dean buried deep and rocking inside her needy core.

With more force than she intended, she thrust her stick forward and struck the cue ball lower than anticipated.

In horror, she watched the spinning white ball raise from the felt, clear the rail, and nail Dean dead center of his groin.

They say cowboys don’t cry…

Evidently, they do if hit squarely in the nuts. Then all bets are off. They crumble like a day-old cookie to their knees. At least that’s what Dean did.

With a gut-wrenching “ugh”, he folded over, cupping his jean-clad crotch. She caught a glimpse of his painful expression as his golden skin tone drained to a pasty white. Like a snowman in the middle of summer, he melted and dropped to his knees. His head followed, bowing low.

“Ouch,” a choir of rowdy cowboys cried in unison, hugging their cocks. Then they began to laugh hysterically at their fallen friend.

Exactly what a man found funny about seeing another man getting his balls crushed Lori would never understand. Perhaps they were simply glad it was Dean and not one of them.

With a grin, Will retrieved the cue ball and positioned it behind the invisible boundary on the table. With ease, he stretched his tall frame over the ocean of green felt, then slid his pool stick through his fingers. “Mitch, your sister’s been back, what—two hours? Already the men in Safford have to watch their gonads.”

Lori restrained the urge to chuck the eight ball at his crotch. Instead, despite the warning in her head, she went to Dean’s side.

Crouched down next to him, she inhaled the warm scent of Old Spice. A tremor visibly shook him. Her hand wavered awkwardly above his shoulder as she fought the need to touch him. “Anything I can do?”

He yanked his head up, tossing back locks of wavy, black hair from his face. Blue eyes watered with the effort it took for him to breathe. “Get away from me,” he growled.

She flinched.

Those were the exact words he had spoken to her the last time she’d seen him. Funny they would be the first ones she heard returning home. With a weighted sigh, she rose to her feet.

So he hadn’t forgiven her. Not quite what she had hoped their reunion would be after all this time.

As she retraced her steps, Lori chastised herself. She should have never accepted her mom’s invitation to come home for Christmas. Four years hadn’t made a dent in Dean’s anger.

Time hadn’t changed her as well. She still loved him more than ever. She crammed her hand in the front pocket of her jeans. The minute he had walked into the bar tonight, Lori went into meltdown. If anything, the man had matured and gotten better-looking. The distance between San Diego, California and Safford, Arizona hadn’t been far enough to chase him from her memory.

With leaden feet, she eased next to her brother. Mitch folded his brawny arm around her shoulders and squeezed.

“I’m going home,” she whispered, choking back tears she swore she wouldn’t shed. Tears that blurred the red, green and blue string of Christmas lights blinking above the bar.

It didn’t look to be a promising holiday.

“Ahhh…sis. Don’t let him ruin your night. It was an accident. It’s Christmas Eve—let’s celebrate.” Mitch leaned down and kissed her forehead.

A tear rolled down her cheek.

“Ignore him,” Mitch said. Her oldest brother was always there when she needed him. But at this moment she needed out of this place. “Visit the ladies’ room and wipe those eyes.” He looked away and watched the balls race across the pool table. The blue number two ball made a beeline for the center pocket and fell. “Damn.” He turned his attention back to her. “When you get back, all this will be forgotten.” He grabbed her nose and shook it like he had done since childhood.

Forgotten? Now didn’t that sound simple?

Betrayal and guilt all washed away by taking a pee and wiping her eyes. Yeah, right. Mitch had quite a sense of humor. Clearly, Dean hadn’t forgotten that rainy day and neither would Lori.

With a duck of her head, she slipped from beneath Mitch’s arm and headed in the direction of the restroom. The Hillside Bar hadn’t changed much. The rustic atmosphere screamed cowboy and there were a lot of them here tonight. She didn’t even make it halfway to the bathroom before one of the men stopped her.

“Hey, pretty lady, how about a dance?” Rusty was a regular, had been since they graduated high school together.

Lori frowned. “Not now.”

Strong fingers curled around her biceps. “Lori, I haven’t held anything as pretty as you in such a long time.” Rusty’s copper gaze made a complete sweep from her boots to her eyes.

A sharp jerk of her arm and she freed herself. “It looks like your luck hasn’t changed, Red.” Red was the nickname she had called him in school because of his beautiful auburn hair.

With a single step forward, he crowded her personal space. “Ahhh… Honey, don’t be that way.”

She really hated being called honey. “Rusty, you’re drunk.”

He crinkled his nose in a way that highlighted the devilment in his eyes. If she was in the market for a cowboy, she would consider the one standing before her. They had been friends in school, even went out a time or two. But it was Dean who had captured her heart.

“And you’re still gorgeous.” He leaned in for a kiss. Someone grabbed his arm and pulled. A surprised grunt left his mouth as he flew backward and landed on his ass.

“Keep your hands off her,” Dean growled, fists balled. His face was still a bit pale, but anger showed clearly in the creases of his forehead.

Rusty jumped to his feet. “What the fuck is your problem?”

Lori wedged herself between them. Ready to… What? Stop two men from fighting?

When pigs fly. She stepped aside.

Rusty glanced from Dean to Lori. He shook his head. “Man, I didn’t know you two were still an item.”

“We’re not,” Lori responded a little too quickly.

“That’s right.” Heat smoldered in Dean’s eyes when they met hers. “We’re not.” He swept by her, brushing against her shoulder as he headed for the bathroom.

Lori couldn’t breathe. What was wrong with her? It was a simple touch.

“You okay, Lori?” Rusty’s concerned gaze searched her face.

Emotion burned behind her eyelids, but she kept her tears from falling. “Yeah.”

“Wanna talk?” he asked. “Or how ‘bout I buy you a beer? We could drink away our troubles together.”

A false smile touched her lips. “Why the hell not? Make it a Long Island iced tea and it’s a deal.”

He grabbed her hand. “C’mon, sweet thang. Let’s find a table.”

Maneuvering around the crowded dance floor, they found a table next to the band and sat. A waitress wearing tight blue jeans, a low-cut sweater, boots and a red and white Santa hat walked up. Rusty gave her their order and she moved off with a sway to her hips.

Lori snatched up the napkin the woman left and wiped her eyes and nose.

Casually, Rusty leaned back in his chair, causing it to tilt on its back legs. “So, Lori, wha’ya been up to?”

She sat on the edge of her seat. The damn man was going to fall he was perched so far back on his own chair. “Nothing much. I run the mixer for a band in San Diego, and I’m going to school.”

“Still sing?”

“A little.” Lori didn’t like the gleam in his eyes as he started to rise. “Rusty, don’t you do it.”

But it was too late. He was already out of his chair and speaking to the lead singer. The man grinned and nodded. Then his voice echoed in the microphone, “We have a special treat for you. One of your own is going to sing for you tonight. Lori Dayton.” He applauded.

She shook her head.

“C’mon, Lori.” Rusty grasped her hand and pulled her resisting form out of the chair. A tight squeal escaped her lips as he picked her up and deposited her on the stage. His light laughter made her grin.

Damn man.

“What would you like to sing?” the band member asked.

“Oh, pick anything country.”

He glanced over his shoulder. “Trisha Yearwood. ‘How Do I Live’?”

Lori froze. Any song, but that one. She started to say something, but the piano player’s fingers fell across the keys and the drummer played the slow beat with his sticks.

A breath filled her lungs. She held it, before releasing it slowly. Then her mouth opened and the words flowed.

It hurt to sing this particular song, because it hit too close to home. Day after day, she had asked herself how she would get through one night after the next without Dean. The days had been long, the nights longer, and lonely. She had learned to live without him. It hadn’t been easy. But she had survived—barely.

And then the song got even more difficult.

As she scanned the crowd, her gaze locked onto Dean’s. He stood by the door—he was leaving, no doubt. His black Stetson was tugged low. His shoulders were rigid, making his six-foot frame seem taller, larger than life at the back of the room.

Clearly he didn’t want to talk to her and she respected that. But if he was going to just stand there, he would hear her true feelings expressed in a song. Once he had enjoyed listening to her sing and loved dancing naked beneath the stars as he held her tight. One more time she would sing just to him.

Everyone in the bar disappeared seconds before the chorus to the song approached. Raw emotions spilled from her mouth. Words from her heart tumbled out. She was unable to hold back the pain that had been trapped inside her for four years. In that space of time she didn’t care if she opened her heart and revealed the truth.

It had been hell living without him.

When she finished singing and the last chord faded, he still hadn’t left the bar. She barely heard the crowd’s applause. His expression was unreadable. Still he continued to stare at her. Eyes turning misty, she broke contact and turned toward the steps leading off the stage. But once again she found herself dragged back to the microphone.

“Let’s sing a duet.” The lead singer grinned ear to ear. “‘Pictures’ by Sheryl Crow and Kid Rock,” he said to his band. Before she could tell him no, the guitarist strummed his instrument and the man next to her began to sing in a low, slow cadence.

Okay. Fine. But this was the last one, even if she had to jump from the stage.

The moment was awkward as the lead singer’s bedroom eyes caressed her. He pretended to croon only for her, a sexy grin on his face. She was lost with what to do with her hands hanging listlessly by her side. It had been a while since she played this flirtatious game for the audience.

Everything was an act.

He dipped his finger beneath her chin, then stroked her cheek. The backup singers sung a measure of oh’s. Their harmony signaled her turn to sing. She stumbled on the first word, but quickly fell into the slow rhythm. Closing her eyes helped her to feel the music, her body moving with a gentle sway.

When her eyes opened, she saw Dean had moved closer. His hat was in his hands. He must have decided to stay.