The Christmas Charade: A Texas Romantic Comedy

By Lu Ann Long

Dillie Price has put off college for far too long, but caring for Granny had been worth the sacrifice. Now Granny is sporting angel wings, and Dillie is determined to keep two promises she made to her beloved grandmother: (1) Get a college degree, and (2) Save herself for the One. That's right . . . No hanky-panky before marriage!

Holding fast, Dillie is going to college and working at Holiday Helpers as an event decorator. But when sexy Texas rancher Jack Rogan walks into Holiday Helpers one day, and she literally throws herself into the handsome cowboy's arms, Dillie knows she's in trouble.

Jack's family home is being threatened by his ex-girlfriend's father, who owns the lien on Daybreak Ranch. If Jack doesn't marry the man's daughter, he will foreclose. When the underhanded millionaire shows up at Daybreak for an answer, Jack decides to pull off a big Christmas charade. 

When Dillie arrives at the ranch to decorate, Jack asks her to be his fiancée for the day. Keeping Granny Promise Number Two seems impossible when that day turns into several, especially when Dillie gets a glimpse of Jack's hanky-panky-worthy bare chest.

As the charade continues, Jack realizes he's made a huge mistake.

Dillie is fantasizing about breaking her promise to Granny!

The millionaire isn't buying the engagement.

And... things at Daybreak are about to get interesting.

• Language: English
• Publisher: L&M Multimedia, LLC
• Release date: Dec 18, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201851804

Lu Ann Long

          Hello, and THANK YOU for reading Revenge & Remdemption! I love writing thrilling suspense novels and, on a lighter note... romantic comedies! If you like a fun story and a good laugh, check out my 'A Texas Romantic Comedy' books. Please drop me a note at [e-mail]. I'd love to hear from you! And remember... your review matters. Reviews help other readers wondering about this book make a decision. Also, your reviews help my books get noticed. Please take a moment to leave a review.             THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! 

Book preview

Chapter One

W here on earth am I ? Dillie asked the giant boxes of Christmas decorations filling every available space in her car. The boxes didn’t answer, even though Dillie’s voice was hitched with fear and she desperately needed someone to tell her everything was going to be okay.

Every dirt road she turned her Granny’s Bonneville onto looked the same—lined with mesquite trees and barbed wire fences. She was supposed to be at Jack Rogan’s ranch by now, but her cell phone had flatlined twenty miles back—no GPS to guide her through the South Texas maze.

Fear pushed her thoughts toward backtracking, going home, but she squelched that idea, remembering her boss’ parting words: Screw this up and you’re history!

Turning around was not an option. She would be out of a job by morning, and keeping this job was the only thing standing between her and a college degree. A degree that had been put off due to Granny’s illness.

She forged onward.

Peering out the side window into the night, Dillie tried to spot a roadside sign, a landmark, anything hinting to her whereabouts, but vast darkness met her eyes. She didn’t know blackness had a feel, but it did, and it was lonely.

Looking back to the road, she saw something white up ahead. She was coming up on it fast. What the heck? It’s a . . . it’s a . . . cow! A big, white, non-moving, standing-right-in-the-middle-of-the-road cow.

Dillie slammed on the brakes. It only took a second to realize she’d made a mistake. The car whipped to the right and started sliding into the unknown. White-knuckled, she gripped the steering wheel and fought to control the vehicle, but it did no good. For all the turning she was doing, the Bonneville didn’t obey.

Locking her arms at the elbows, she feared the worst as the car continued to slide. Outside, caliche spewed from beneath the Bonneville’s tires, spraying the undercarriage, sounding like machine gun fire hitting the framework.

Knowing one of the steep ditches flanking the road had her name on it, she prayed, Please don’t let me wreck. Then suddenly, the car came to a jarring stop. The decoration boxes shook and the glass ornaments inside clinked together.

When her head and stomach stopped spinning, she glanced through the side window. The white cow stood staring at her, looking rather bored as dust from the road swirled around the beast. She frowned at the cow. The cow frowned back.

Dillie sighed, shook her head, and then craned her neck to see over the hood of the car. The headlights revealed nothing but space. After sending up a prayer of thanks that the ditch hadn’t claimed the Bonneville, she turned to look at the cow again.

It was gone.

"Oh, now you move. Great. Thanks a lot. I hope someone has you for dinner!"

Frustration gathered in her temples and pounded out an angry rhythm. Her shoulders and neck ached from clutching the steering wheel. Pushing the car door open, she stuck one leg out before the seatbelt yanked her back inside. Her easily ignited temper flared and she stomped at the ground with her extended foot. She wasn’t paying attention when the heavy metal car door swung back and closed on her shin.

Fudge!

Quickly, she unbuckled herself, threw the safety belt aside, slapped at the door to give it a little what for—"Close on my shin, will ya!"—and tumbled from of the car.

Rubbing the golf ball-sized bump forming on her shin, she limped her way to the front of the car where the headlights burned into the darkness. Staring into a steep four-foot drop, her heart sank.

Chilled, she gathered herself in a hug and chafed her bare arms for warmth. The temperature had dropped considerably since she’d left San Antonio. Confirming that observation, an icy wind gust slapped her across the face, then another clouted her on the back of the head. Reality set in. She might be stranded—in the cold—on this deserted road—in the middle of nowhere—alone. She hadn’t seen a house or a car for miles.

She needed to turn the long, old-fashioned Bonneville straight on this narrow road. Could she? The car stretched across the road—she couldn’t even walk around it.

Think. Think! But the only thing that came to mind was that she needed to decide what to do now—her toes were starting to tingle with numbness. She hadn’t prepared for the unexpected cold front. Her sockless loafers were useless against the near-freezing temperature.

Propelled into motion by the cold, she rushed toward the rear of the car to see whether she could turn the vehicle around. Loose gravel, where the Bonneville had skidded to a stop, moved beneath her feet and she tripped. Her legs were no longer under her control. One went north, while the other went south. Stumbling forward, she reached out and grabbed for a safe hold on the open car door, but her palms flattened against the cold metal and slammed the door shut. Momentum sent her to the ground.

She hit the gravelly surface on hands and knees. Jagged rocks pressed into her palms and the skin on her left hand ripped open. The pain jarred her, but she reached up and yanked on the car door handle.

It didn’t budge.

She yanked again.

It still didn’t open.

No! Dillie’s tortured cry pierced the night and echoed back, reminding her she was alone. She must have hit the lock when she was fighting with the door earlier. She pulled herself up to eye-level with the window and squeezed her eyes shut. Please, oh please, don’t let them all be locked.

She opened her eyes.

All the doors were locked.

Dillie pressed her forehead to the cool windowpane of the Bonneville, knowing even though both front windows were open just a sliver, she’d never be able to squeeze a hand inside to unlock the door.

No, she whispered on a heavy sigh. Turning, she flattened her back against the car door and slid to the ground. Defeat made her lips tremble and her eyes sting with mounting tears.

Her heart, now beating a manic pace, was the only thing keeping her warm as the icy cold of the winter night crept into her. Frustration flooded her and she threw her head back and wailed into the black abyss.

Why me? Haven’t I had my share? When is enough, enough? I’m not a bad person. Why me . . . Her voice trailed off as she slumped forward. Bringing her knees up, she rested her head on them. Tears ran warm down her frozen cheeks. Then, all at once, she smelled the scent of rain in the brisk, cold wind, and the wailing started all over again. "Oh God, no! I’m going to die out here and that stupid cow is going to have me for dinner."

As the first raindrops started to fall, Dillie cried harder. The droplets were like tiny ice bombs exploding on her skin. A stinger hit her on the cheek, another targeted her eye. She was about to go off the deep end and crawl under the car for shelter when she heard something.

Even over the roaring wind, the sporadic pitter-patter of rain, and her sobbing, the rumbling sound of a car motor reached her ears. Careful of her scraped hand, she stood up and wiped tears and rain from her eyes.

The sound was getting louder.

Staring into the night, she waited for it.

Come on. Come on. Dancing in place, she tried to warm her legs now aching with cold. There! She saw headlights as the vehicle rounded a curve hidden by a clump of trees. The car was coming toward her. She clenched her hands against her chest. She was saved. She wouldn’t freeze to death or be cow chow.

Wait a minute!

The car wasn’t slowing down as it neared. Blinding headlights were coming at her. Couldn’t the driver see the Bonneville in the road? This wasn’t fair. She’d escaped frostbite and death by animal buffet, but now she was going to die anyway?

Just when she thought it was time to run for her life, the car—which turned out to be a truck—came to a gravel-scattering halt. A dust cloud rose and danced in the bright headlights, but a surging wind quickly swept it away.

The driver’s door opened. A tall figure got out of the truck. A man. Wide shoulders. Heavy footsteps. Dillie’s heart pounded against her rib cage and a part of her was glad to be on the opposite side of the car from the stranger. Everything she’d ever learned about self-defense was being culled from her brain bank, drained on the spot. No! She needed that information. Then, with three long strides, the man was standing by the Bonneville and her brain stopped working altogether.

I figured it was you, he said.

Chapter Two

Six hours earlier . . .

Employment is part of your scholarship requirements, Ms. Price.

Mr. Simms’s condescending tone sharpened the edges of Dillie’s raw nerves. Simms had said the same thing three times. I get it. I get it. I get it! Employment is part of my scholarship requirements. She fought to keep her tongue civil and push her words out pleasantly when she said, Of course, Mr. Simms, I totally understand. I’m working hard to stay employed at this new job. If Alberta Baker, CEO, CFO, and COB of Holiday Helpers—that last one stood for Callous Old Bitty, as Dillie’s Granny used to say—knew she was on the phone talking personal affairs, Dillie would be fired posthaste. Glancing at the stockroom where she could hear Alberta clunking around inside, she tried to hurry the conversation along. So, you see, I really must go.

The Tuition Police ignored her urgent tone. This is your last chance, Ms. Price. You’ve used up all your Get Out of Jail Free cards. The next step is to revoke your scholarship, and I’m assuming you do not want that to happen.

Of course not. I can explain about those other jobs. Dillie bit her bottom lip and squeezed her eyes shut long enough to swallow the not-so-nice words trying to escape her mouth.

This scholarship meant more to her than anything. She’d promised her Granny, the amazing woman who had raised her, two things on her deathbed: that Dillie would graduate college, and that she’d wait for the one . . . that meant staying a virgin until married. Having recently celebrated her twenty-fifth birthday, both promises were getting harder to keep.

No need to explain. Being fired from Chicken-Cluck-Cluck of all places is explanation enough.

There were circumstances, Dillie cried. It wasn’t her fault the floor was greasy and a bucket of slaw ended up on a man’s head. She glanced at the storage room, hoping Alberta would stay inside a few minutes longer.

Just remember, Simms said, you’re one screwup away from losing your scholarship. Then, without another word, the man hung up on her.

Dillie huffed at the cell phone and slammed it face down onto the counter. Infuriated, she flung her arm out to the side. Son of a mother trucker! The back of her hand connected with a small wooden clock sitting on the countertop and sent the antique object flying.

No!

Time slowed to a painful pace as Dillie flailed her arms in an attempt to grab the clock and save it from damage, but the timepiece hit the floor with a thud and a crack. Her heart stopped and she wasn’t sure it was going to restart. She stared in horror at the broken clock. Beneath the cracked glass, time was suspended at a quarter past three.

A second later, Alberta entered the front room, arms full of faux greenery. Snatching up the clock, Dillie slipped it beneath the counter before the scowling woman could see.

Peeking around the holly leaves and tinsel, Alberta’s beady rodentlike eyes bored into Dillie. What was that noise?

Dillie tucked her hand behind her back, crossed her fingers, and lied. Nothing. She didn’t lie often, but when she did, the childhood habit manifested.

Listen, Lilly, Alberta said in her no-nonsense voice.

Alphabetically, since her employment, Dillie had been called everything from Billy to Jilly, skipping, of course, Dillie. And now Lilly had been added to the list.

It’s Dillie, she corrected for the umpteenth time.

Toss me that box, Alberta said, ignoring her.

Instead, Dillie brought the box to her, anxious not to have any more mishaps that might get her fired.

I have to make a delivery downtown, her boss continued, as she dropped the holly into the box Dillie supplied. If anyone comes in, find out what they want done. We’re booked tight, but I might be able to swing something before Christmas Eve. After all, a buck’s a buck. I should be back before closing. Alberta surveyed the room. Where’s the clock?

Umm. Trying not to look guilty, Dilled shrugged, and looked around the room.

Oh, never mind. Alberta picked up the box of greenery and shot Dillie a challenging look with her sharp gray eyes. Goodbye, Millie.

Afraid she might finally blow her stack and tell the obnoxious woman that she was pretty sure this name game was exactly that, and just plain rude, Dillie didn’t say a word.

As soon as Alberta’s car was out of sight, Dillie hurried behind the counter and retrieved the broken clock. Luckily, the repair shop was only two doors down.

She snatched up her purse, but halfway to the door the latch sprang open and the contents spilled out. Key chain, chewing gum, aspirin bottle, a tampon, and several loose coins clattered to the floor.

Well, crap! Dillie set the clock on the counter and then hit the floor on hands and knees. Grumbling as she worked her way to the front door, she scooped up her belongings. The last object was in her hand when the door buzzer sounded. Still on all fours, she lifted her head and froze.

He was a cowboy. Tall. Lean. Sun bronzed. Rough looking as if he’d just returned from a long trail ride where he had been deprived of food and sex. The set of his jaw and the temper in his penetrating blue eyes said he was hungry for both.

Granny had raised Dillie on old cowboy movies and real country singers. This guy was a mixture of John Wayne, the greatest cowboy actor ever, and Country Music legend, George Strait. He was John Wayne George Strait! Rugged. Sexy. Dreamy.

Dillie peered up at the man, craning her neck to take in the whole tall, captivating sight of him. He was absolutely gorgeous from the top of his worn black Stetson to the toes of his work-scuffed boots.

His blue-jean clad legs were muscular, coming together in a taut bulge of zipper. She couldn’t help but think about what was being held back by the row of metal teeth straining against itself. Thoughts like that might jeopardize the promise she’d made to her Granny—but Heaven help her—she wanted to look at that zipper and have those thoughts.

Trying to save herself, she looked up. The cowboy’s sharp blue gaze pierced her brain and all she could think of was how lost she could get in those eyes. Eyes slightly wrinkled at the sides, or crinkling from...laughter? He was laughing at her?

She followed the man’s gaze as it traveled the length of her arm. Heaven have mercy, she was holding a tampon! Not any ole tampon, either.