Lone Star Christmas by Cathy Gillen Thacker

Author:Cathy Gillen Thacker
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2014-10-14T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

“You look all stressed out,” Nash observed the following afternoon when Callie opened the door. Beautiful, but stressed out. When he’d left her the night before—late—after making love again, she had been glowing with happiness. He’d been pretty darned happy, too. But something had obviously changed between then and now.

“What’s going on?” he asked in concern.

She let out a beleaguered sigh and reached for his hat and coat. “I took a look at my to-do lists for Christmas a while ago. My work one is reducing nicely, but my personal one is still chock-full of stuff I have yet to tackle.”

Nash knew she had scheduled one mother-son activity for every day during the yuletide season. At least it was quiet in the house now—except for the Christmas music playing softly in the background. “What’s on the agenda for Brian this evening?”

Callie hooked her arm in his. “He is supposed to be finger painting pictures for both of his grandparents.”

Leaning down to kiss her, Nash inhaled a whiff of her perfume. “Let me guess. He’s not cooperating?”

Briefly, Callie laid her head on his shoulder. “Actually, the little rascal is overly enthusiastic—when I can get him to follow directions—which hasn’t been all that often.”

She led the way into the playroom adjacent to the kitchen. Brian was standing in front of a child-size easel, a pout of fierce concentration on his face. He was wearing an old adult-size shirt, buttoned up the back. The hem came down past his knees, covering his clothes, and the sleeves were rolled up to just beneath his elbows. A rainbow of colors was splashed all over the paper canvas.

When they walked in, he was focused on the work of art in front of him. The moment he spied Nash, he let out a whoop of pure joy and ran toward him, yelling, “My friend! Here!” at the top of his lungs. Before Callie could intercept him, his hands wrapped around Nash’s knees.

Callie gasped as the paint on her son’s hands transferred to Nash’s pants.

“It’s fine,” he reassured her good-naturedly, his eyes still on her son. It wasn’t often he got such a warm welcome. Was this how dads felt when they came home from work?

Grinning broadly, Nash hefted Brian up into his arms. “How are you, buddy?”

“Good!” Brian transferred even more paint to Nash’s shirt and freshly-shaven jaw before smearing more across the collar.

Nash grinned. “Me, too.”

Callie groaned at the mess. She rushed to pull a clean cloth from a drawer. “I’m so sorry, Nash.”

He wasn’t worried about it.

She dampened the cloth beneath the faucet, then came close enough to wipe her resisting son’s hands. “The paint is washable. So if you bring your clothes to me tomorrow, I’ll launder them for you.”

“Nah. I can do it.” Reluctantly, Nash set the energetic little boy back on the floor. Brian promptly ran back to his easel. “Look!” He grinned, proud as could be of the abstract art. “For you!”

Callie refolded the damp cloth so only a clean square was visible, then went to intercept her son.

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