Accept it. Stop fighting what is right in front of you and accept it.
“What’s your favorite?” Creed asked.
“Favorite what?”
Part of your sexy body? Your eyes. No, your muscles. Hell, don’t know.
“Christmas carol,” he said when she didn’t answer right away.
“‘O Holy Night,’” she said. “Yours?”
“Well, I like ‘Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer,’ but my favorite is probably ‘Mary, Did You Know?’ That one brings tears to my eyes.”
She reached across the cab and slapped him on the knee. “You had me going there for a while.”
“So do you like the one about Mary?” he asked.
“Yes, I do. It’s one of my top five Christmas favorites. The preacher’s wife usually sings it at the Hanging of the Green ceremony at church.”
She was amazed when the DJ told the time and temperature before he started the next five minutes of songs. It was sixteen degrees and it was after eleven o’clock. They’d been out for more than two hours, and it was almost dinnertime already.
Sage didn’t realize she was so cold until she started toward the house. Her nose felt as if it would fall off if she touched it, and her toes were numb. If Creed got cabin fever any more that day, he could take another tractor ride by himself. And her stomach had set up a growling noise. Every bit of her breakfast had gone to make energy to keep her from freezing plumb to death.
Once inside, she shrugged out of her coat and hung it up. Summers in the canyon might be hot as a barbed wire fence in hell, but by golly, she didn’t have to keep putting on and taking off her coat or coveralls. Well, they could dry out completely because she was going to paint all afternoon and nothing or no one was going to get in her way.
Right after, she threw a couple more sticks of wood on the fire and warmed her fingers enough so that they could hold a brush. A whimper came from the living room and Sage rounded the end of the bar to see if Noel was waiting at the front door. Creed hurriedly hung up his coat, kicked off his boots, and beat her to the Christmas tree. Crazy cowboy! The dog wouldn’t be whining at the Christmas tree if she wanted to go outside.
“Merry Christmas, Sage,” Creed said.
Why in the world would he tell her that right then? It was the tenth of December, fifteen days before Christmas.
He pointed at Noel, who was lying on her blanket wagging her tail.
She’d had the dog more than a week now. How could that be her Christmas present? Creed stepped to one side and she saw the puppies inside the C that Noel made with her body. She squealed and ran across the room, fell down on her knees, and rubbed Noel’s ears.
“Three of them? And they are beautiful,” she whispered. “Look at the little spotted things, Creed. Not a single one looks like her.”
Creed squatted beside her. “They all look just like bluetick hound dogs.”
He picked up one and handed it to her.
She rubbed its head against her cheek. “I don’t know why I fought Grand against a pet.” She held it out from her and studied it: black ears, brown around where its eyes would be when they opened up, a splotchy blaze up across its square black nose. The rest of the white dog was covered with what looked like big blue ticks.
“Hello, Elvis,” she said.
“Elvis?” Creed asked.
“He sang about a blue Christmas. And there ain’t no doubt this little bluetick hound dog is Elvis. Besides, Elvis also sang about a hound dog. Put him back and let’s look at the next one.”
Creed put a second one in her hands and she kissed it on the nose. “It’s a girl and her name is Blue.”
Two big dark spots that looked like black paint had dripped on the pup’s back. Her muzzle was white and covered with a black mask around her eyes. If she’d been a boy, Sage would have named her Zorro. She wiggled and whimpered, so Sage held her close to her chest. She settled right down when she was next to the flannel shirt and Sage sang a few lines of “Blue Christmas” to her.
“She’s sleeping now. Give her back to Noel and let’s take a look at the next one,” Sage said.
Creed handed the runt to Sage.
“Oh, look! It’s so tiny and has hardly any color at all except for the dark-colored ticks all over her.”
Sage held her out and looked at her carefully. “You are Lady Crosby. I bet you grow up to be a better singer than either Reba or Wynonna.”
“Hey, now!” Creed said.
“She will. She’ll make them look like they can’t carry a tune.”
“How did you come up with that name?”
“Bing sang ‘White Christmas,’ remember?”
“And we do have a white Christmas coming up.” Creed nodded.
“That’s right.” Sage laid the puppy close to Noel, who wagged her tail even harder. “That’s why you didn’t want to go with us, isn’t it?”
Then it dawned on Sage.
“You knew, didn’t you? That’s why you took me out to check on things, right?” she asked Creed.
“I did and you are right. You’d have fretted yourself sick about her if you’d known she was knottin’ up with contractions.”
The cowboy just flat-out amazed Sage.
* * *
The puppies were cute right then. But they’d grow up fast, and pretty soon there would be lots of problems and messes everywhere, so his next job would be building a doghouse. He could set it on the front porch and as soon as the cold snap was over, Noel and the puppies would be nice and warm out there. He chuckled softly at his next thought: a cathouse. There was no way Sage would put Angel and the kittens in the barn, so he’d better start designing a cathouse as well as a doghouse.
He visualized miniature log cabins. He could insulate
