A Cowboy Under My Christmas Tree Read Free

it, and the shade flew up again.
    This time she was nowhere in sight. Disappointed, he glanced at the framework under construction in the confined space, not able to figure out what it was going to be. The carpenters ignored him.
    The college kid was climbing a ladder positioned between the framework and a hanging backdrop painted with a snow scene that hung from a rod.
    Sam shook his head. One sneaker had come untied.
    Three steps up, he tripped on the shoelace and fell sideways off the ladder, clutching wildly at the paper backdrop. The light dowel it hung from detached from the rigging, and the torn backdrop rippled down over his head as he thudded to the floor. A stream of swear words issued from under the paper as the kid fought free.
    The woman in shorts scrambled back into the window space and tried to help the kid before one of the burly guys intervened to lift him. An elderly lady stopped to see what Sam was looking at.
    “Oh, my,” she said in a reedy voice, peering through the glass. “I think that poor boy sprained his ankle, don’t you? He can’t put his weight on it.”
    “Ah—I really don’t know, ma’am.”
    Sam moved to one side, not wanting to get caught staring a second time, and the elderly lady moved on.
    A few minutes later, the burly carpenter assisted the kid out the door, holding onto the skinny arm around his shoulders. “Take it easy, Josh. Go slow,” the man advised.
    The kid leaned on him and hopped on one foot. They made it to the curb, where Josh looked anxiously at the oncoming traffic.
    “Close enough. Mom oughta be here soon,” he muttered, then cursed loudly. “I never knew a sprain could hurt so much.”
    “Get an X-ray,” the carpenter advised.
    Josh nodded, then winced in pain. “Just my luck. Nicole was nice enough to hire me and now this.”
    Sam made a mental note of the name, assuming that it belonged to the dark-haired goddess in shorts and workboots. The kid cursed again, distracting him.
    “The ladder went over just like that,” he groaned. “Now you guys are gonna be shorthanded.”
    “I think we can manage without you,” the carpenter said dryly. A car pulled over and honked. “That your mom?”
    “Yeah.”
    The two of them walked and hopped, respectively, off the curb as a motherly woman got out and opened the passenger side door, fussing over her son until he was settled and they drove away.
    The burly carpenter went back into the boutique. The door was still open. Sam looked at his watch. He still had time.
    Inside, a discussion quickly escalated into an argument when another female voice took over, shrill and tense. He caught some of it.
    Four-week selling season. No time to waste. She could be sued. Whose idea was it to hire an inexperienced kid? And so on.
    That had to be the boutique owner. She could be the woman Josh had mentioned, but Sam doubted it. She didn’t sound nice enough to hire an inexperienced kid, for one thing. He could hear the one he thought was Nicole reply when she could get a word in, and the deeper voices of the men.
    He got the gist of the argument and picked up a few additional details. Nicole was an independent contractor, and she paid her men out of her own pocket. The Christmas job would go to another crew if they couldn’t get it done by Saturday. She needed all-around help, someone who could fix or rig just about anything.
    That would be me, he thought.
    A few seconds later, a very thin woman wrapped up in a ruffled thing stormed out, pulling a monogrammed suitcase behind her.
    He checked. No letter N. Definitely not Nicole.
    Her high heels clicked on the pavement as she blasted past Sam without seeing him, teetering on the curb and waving.
    “Taxi!” she screamed, attracting a few stares. “Taxi!”
    One swerved in her direction, ignoring the honks of other cars, and pulled up.
    She jammed the handle of the rolling suitcase down and jerked the door open, slamming it shut when she and the suitcase were squared