Ethan glanced over at Marcy. Fashion sense wasn’t the only difference between her and Sam. Marcy didn’t have a cute little button nose. Or a mouth shaped like a rosebud. Or a slim body with breasts that were… perfect. Two perfect swells that looked great in a red sweater. Or a snug Western shirt. Or a tiny, white drill team uniform.
Ethan’s brow crinkled. What the hell? Where had all those images come from? He could understand the red sweater-he’d just seen her in that today-but the other clothes she hadn’t worn since high school. And while he was puzzling over this, some locked chamber in his brain opened up and a wellspring of images flooded his mind. Images of Sam horseback riding, her cute butt nestled against the saddle and her breasts jiggling in a tight T-shirt. Leaning over the corral fence in a pair of tattered cutoffs. Stretched out in a pile of fresh-cut hay in faded jeans and a snap-down Western shirt that showed just a hint of cleavage.
And once those images ended, his mind filled with others. Sam helping him with the birth of a calf and laughing as the wobbly baby cow took its first steps. Sam eating watermelon and spitting the seeds at him. Sam catching her first fish. Sam helping his mother can pickles. Sam sending his father get-well cards when he’d fallen off the ladder.
Sam.
“See anything you like?”
Marcy’s words made Ethan realize too late that, while he’d been thinking about Sam, he’d been staring at her sister’s abundant breasts. As his face heated, she leaned closer.
“It’s a shame, you know.” She tapped his bottom lip with one long fingernail. “You really are cute, Ethan Miller. And I’ve often wondered about those big feet of yours. But as much as I love men, I can’t bring myself to poach on my sister’s property.” She shook her head. “You would think that with all them good-lookin’ college boys, she’d get over you and move on. But nooo, every time she calls she asks a million and one questions. Is he married? Does he have a girlfriend? Is his hair still as blond? His eyes still as green? Even when I mentioned that there was a distinct possibility that you were gay, she wouldn’t shut up.”
Suddenly Ethan couldn’t get his mouth to work. All he could do was stare at Marcy as his heart thundered in his ears. Sam wasn’t over him?
Completely unaware of his stunned confusion, Marcy took another sip of her drink and continued. “I figure it has to do with all those reruns of Little House on the Prairie she used to watch. She was obsessed with the episodes that featured that awkward, blond farmer dude. She specially liked the one where Half-pint finally gets him to notice she’s a woman by wearing a pair of high-heeled-”
“Boots.” The word slipped out of Ethan’s mouth without much thought, especially considering he’d never watched that particular television show in his life.
Marcy shot a glance over at him. “I was going to say shoes.” Her eyes crinkled like two squashed spiders. “You actually noticed what my sister was wearin’? What color was her sweater?”
If Marcy’s plan was to confuse the hell out of him, she was doing a pretty damned good job. Between the things she’d said about Sam, Little House on the Prairie, and shoes, he didn’t know what they were talking about. Still, he answered the question.
“Macintosh-apple red.”
“And her eyes?” She leaned closer, her face starting to look intense and scary.
He swallowed. “Deep blue like the sky at twilight just after the last rays of the sun flicker out.”
Marcy plopped back on her stool as if she couldn’t quite believe his words. Ethan knew how she felt. He was pretty stunned himself. Which was why he almost fell off the stool when Marcy reached over and grabbed the front of his Western shirt.
“Now, I realize you like to do things nice and slow, Ethan,” she said. “And I’ll be the first to tell you that, on certain occasions, nice and slow works out real good. But this ain’t one of those times. Sam plans on flyin’ out day after tomorrow.” She smiled slyly. “And if Half-pint is going to get her awkward farmer for Christmas, we have no time to lose.”
Chapter Four
“Y’all!” Cindy Lynn’s high-pitched voice came through the bullhorn she held to her mouth, causing most of the costumed folks of Bramble to cover their ears. “Would you stop yammerin’ and get in your positions? And, shepherds, remember, I said ‘sore’ afraid-that means you’re so scared your muscles hurt. So look hurt!”
Sam didn’t have to worry about looking “sore afraid.” Instead, she had to worry about looking like a complete idiot in the sheep costume Rachel Dean had given her. At least she wasn’t the only one. Being that Bramble was a cattle town, the shepherd’s herd was made up of a good twenty townsfolk and a billy goat that was eating the hem of Moses Tate’s wiseman robe as Moses slept in one corner of the stable.
“Good Lord.” Shirlene Dalton sashayed up in a pretty white dress and huge wings, looking more like a voluptuous Victoria Secret model than a member of the heavenly host. “If Cindy Lynn doesn’t put a sock in it, this angel is going to deliver something more than good tidin’s.” She winked at Sam. “Hey, honey, I heard you were back in town and pretty as ever.” She reached out and adjusted the sheep ears on Sam’s white hoodie. “Which is saying something in that getup.”
Sam grinned. She had always liked Shirlene. Of course, everyone liked Shirlene. The woman was not only beautiful. She was sweet and fun-loving. Not to mention filthy rich. At the thought of all her oil money, Sam’s grin faded.
“I was sure sorry to hear about Lyle’s death, Shirlene,” she said.
Shirlene’s smile never even drooped, but her pretty green eyes held a sadness that spoke volumes. “Weren’t we all, honey. Weren’t we all.” She flapped a hand that glittered with diamonds. “But let’s not talk about me. How have you been? I can’t tell you how proud your daddy is of you graduating with honors from that big, fancy school. And I know he’s hoping-as we all are-that you’ll start up your practice right here in Bramble.”
For Sam, opening a practice in Bramble would be like a dream come true. Or half a dream. Her gaze swept over to the stable.
Ethan was there comforting the animals that had been tied to the rails of the wooden structure. He usually wore overalls, but tonight he was dressed in pressed jeans, a Western shirt, and a blue jean jacket. With the black felt hat pulled low on his head, he looked more like a cowboy than a farmer. At least he did until the baby pig popped his head out of the top of the jean jacket. Then Ethan just looked heartbreakingly perfect.
“If you feel that way about Ethan, honey, why’d you stay away so long?”
Sam looked back at Shirlene. Either Shirlene was extremely observant or Sam wasn’t as good as she thought she was at hiding her feelings. Of course, it made no difference now. Tomorrow Sam would be on her way back to New York. The thought caused a lump to form in her throat that not even a hard swallow could remove.
“Maybe because Ethan doesn’t feel the same way,” Sam said as she plucked at the lumpy cotton batting that covered her sweatshirt.
“Then change his mind.”
Sam shook her head. “You don’t know Ethan. He might be sweet, but he’s as stubborn as they come.”
Shirlene snorted. “Believe me, honey. There was no one more stubborn than Lyle Dalton. The man was convinced I was too young for him. And if I’d waited around for him to make the first move, I’d still be waitin’.” Her perfectly plucked eyebrows lifted. “Men don’t know what they want until you show them.”