The key was under the chair, tucked away in a faded ceramic frog, just where her Uncle Haskell said it would be when she talked to him earlier that afternoon. But he hadn’t mentioned leaving the two animals. She’d thank him for that surprise later on when she called him.

She opened the wooden screen door and was about to put the key in the lock when the door swung open. There stood Raylen O’Donnell, all grown up and even sexier than she remembered. Her heart thumped so hard she could feel it pushing against her bra. Her hands shook and her knees went weak, but she took a deep breath, willed her hands to be still, and locked her knees in place.

“If it’s religion you’re sellin’ or anything else, we’re not interested,” Raylen said in a deep Texas drawl. He held a glass of tea in one hand and the door handle in the other, and the expression on his face said he was as shocked as she was. “I wonder why Hooter didn’t bark?”

“Maybe because he knows me,” Liz answered.

She felt the heat of his gaze as he started at her spike heels and traveled all the way to the top of her head. She reached up and tucked several strands of her jet-black hair into a shiny silver clasp.

“You are Raylen, aren’t you?” she asked.

“Yes, I am, and who are you?” he asked.

“I’m Liz, and I now own this place and land,” she said with a flick of her hand to take in more than just the house.

“Liz?” Raylen’s expression changed to one of disbelief.

“Surprise!” she said with a smile. “What are you doing here?”

Could Raylen really be the cowboy Santa was going to leave under her Christmas tree? He’d sure enough been the one she had in mind when she asked for a cowboy. She’d visualized him in tight-fittin’ jeans and boots when she was younger. Lately, she’d changed her vision to nothing but a Santa hat and the boots.

His hair was still a rich, dark brown, almost black until the sunlight lit up the deep chestnut color. His eyes were exactly as she remembered: pale, icy blue rimmed with dark brown lashes. It all added up to a heady combination, enough to make her want to tangle her hands up in all that dark hair and kiss him. She looked up, but there was no mistletoe hanging in the doorway. She’d have to remedy that when she decorated the house for the holiday.

Cowboys have roots, not wings. Don’t get involved with one or you’ll smother to death in a remote backwoods farm or else die of boredom. Her mother’s voice whispered so close to her ear that she turned to make sure Marva Jo Hanson hadn’t followed her to Ringgold, Texas.

Raylen stood to one side and motioned her into the house. “I came to feed and water Hooter and Blister. Haskell asked me to do that until you got here. We met when we were kids, remember?”