A Christmas Bride for the Cowboy Read Online Mia Brody

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Romance Tags Authors:

Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 22390 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)

Grumpy cowboy seeks Mrs. Claus. Must love tattoos, beards, and sitting on Santa’s lap.

I’ve been helping out my folks at the Kringle Christmas Tree Ranch my whole life. I’m what my mama calls “not particularly sociable”. That’s a nice way of saying “he’s a grumpy cowboy”.
When a health scare forces my dad to slow down, it’s up to me to step into the big red suit and jolly demeanor. I might be a grouch but I’m not going to disappoint the kids that visit our ranch. Problem is I need a Mrs. Claus and on short notice, there’s only one woman I can think of—my best friend’s little sister.
Cassie is the shy toymaker with a curvy body that I’d love to do dirty things to. This isn’t how I planned for things to go but this holiday season, Santa is playing for keeps.

I’ve been living at the Kringle Christmas Tree Ranch since I was adopted at fifteen. I’m what mama calls “not all that people-y”. That’s a nice way of saying “she’s got social anxiety”.
But I can relax when I’m in my workshop, designing toys for kids. I’m good with kids because I remember what it was like to be a scared, sad one. Maybe that’s why I accept West’s offer to be Mrs. Claus. It doesn’t have anything to do with my crush on him.
As the temperature drops outside, the chemistry between us heats up. Now I’m thinking that I’d like to be the one sitting on Santa’s lap. But what happens when this nice girl decides to do naughty things with her brother’s best friend?

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************



West Kringle is not a true Kringle. At least, not in spirit. I don't even know why the grumpy cowboy still works at the Kringle Christmas Tree Ranch that his parents built. All he does is stomp around here and boss employees around.

There's no Christmas cheer to be had around this cowboy. He spends every holiday season avoiding the crowds that flock to his family's farm. He doesn't help out Ledger and Micah who give customers tours of the place. He doesn't show up at the gift shop and help his mom bag and ship the orders. When he does deign to join the weekly family dinner, he barely says a word to any of us.

No, he's too busy fussing over the trees and harvesting them to mingle with his family. Or he was. His father's recent health scare changed everything.

Now, the annoying man is everywhere I turn. He's usually scowling at me too. Always looking like he walked out of a hot cowboy calendar while he ducks his head under the brim of his Stetson.

He’s outside my workshop right now, banging on the door with his big fist and yelling at me to open up. I know it’s him because he’s announced it like three times and he’s not going away. Why can’t he take a hint?

“It’s too early for this,” I mutter as I pull my face up from my workshop table. It releases me with a sticky popping noise which means I must have fallen asleep working late again last night. I scrub at my stiff cheek and hope there’s no paint on it.

Christmas is my busiest season. It’s when Cassie’s Creations are most in demand. Not only do I sell my toys at the Kringle gift shop but on their website too. Plus, there are the organizations that serve foster kids who can always use extra donations this time of year.

I yell that I’ll be there in a second and reach for my cardigan, slinging it around my curvy body. This workshop used to be an old barn that I’d work out of. Then West caught on and within just a couple of weeks, he had it transformed into a real woodshop for me, complete with a heating system.

I tried to thank him but he just growled at me, “No sense in you freezing your fingers off.”

So, yeah, that’s West. He’s my brother’s best friend and the man that infuriates me even when he’s doing something nice for me.

I nearly trip over Snowball as I make my way toward the door of my shop. She’s the white kitty I adopted from the shelter earlier this year. She hisses at me, but I don’t take it personally. She’s hissed at every single person I’ve brought her around.

“What do you want?” I demand when I open the door and see him standing there. It’s not even seven in the morning and he has the audacity to look hot in his black t-shirt and tight blue jeans.

I think his mouth quirks, but it’s gone too soon for me to tell. I wish he were easier to read. I’ve never been able to figure this man out or why he drives me so crazy. The Kringles adopted me when I was fifteen. Micah had just turned eighteen so he couldn’t legally be adopted. But they took us both in and raised us alongside West, their biological son.

“Coffee,” he grunts the word. He’s a total caveman around me most of the time. But he’ll talk to Micah. I’ve heard them chatter a hundred miles a minute when they’re talking about a car they’re repairing or planning one of their stupid fishing trips with Ledger.

I step back and let him inside the workshop.

The moment he crosses the threshold, he yanks the Stetson off his head. His thick wavy brown hair is starting to streak with silver already. Micah and Ledger tease him about it. They call him an old man. Secretly, I think it looks incredibly sexy. It even matches his beard that’s peppered with gray too.

His brown gaze rakes over the shop, and I don’t like the way I feel so exposed and vulnerable with him looking at my creations. There’s a reason I don’t let most people in here. This is my heart, and I don’t want to share it with anyone.

To distract myself, I thread my way around the seating area in my workshop and toward the coffee machine I keep in the back. I don’t get many visitors other than mom and dad. But I like them to be comfortable when they do visit.

Snowball meows at West. It’s the first time she’s ever made any noise other than a hiss. But why on earth did she choose to bestow that gift to West?

He chuckles when she brushes up against him. I can’t say I blame the girl. I’d like to rub up on him too. He kneels next to her and pulls up his sleeves, revealing the ink from his tattoos. There’s the pink one from his mom’s cancer diagnosis three years ago and the trout that’s a tribute to his late grandfather who took him fishing every summer. Plus, a few more, but I haven’t seen them. I never lie awake at night wondering what they all are or if he has tattoos anywhere else.