His Christmas Cinderella Read online

  “Give me four weeks. Four weeks and I’ll prove to you that I’m not the guy you think I am.”

  “You’re kidding.” She chuckled, then realized he wasn’t laughing with her. “You can’t seriously think us dating is a good idea.”

  “Why not? Are you worried that you’ll get too attached and fall in love with me?”

  In love? Not a chance. But she was already recklessly attracted to him, so she did have some concerns about letting him get too close. Unfortunately, she’d inherited that Sanchez competitive gene and she’d never been able to back down from a challenge.

  “I’ll give you two weeks.” She took another bite of salad, hoping she wasn’t going to regret this. “Two weeks will be long enough for you to realize that we’re way too different to be together.”

  And not so long that they risked getting their hearts involved. Oh, who was she kidding? She was the only one at risk for that. But that didn’t mean that she wasn’t determined to prove him wrong.

  “Three weeks,” he countered. “That’s long enough for me to convince you that we have a chance.”

  “Fine. Three weeks.” She clinked his glass with her own in agreement. “If you can even last that long.”

  * * *

  MONTANA MAVERICKS:

  What Happened to Beatrix?

  Dear Reader,

  My aunt Lydia, affectionately known as Tia to me and my brothers, was first-generation Mexican American and an amazing cook. All of her recipes were in her head and if I wanted to learn how to make something, I had to sit in the kitchen with her and watch.

  After she passed away, it felt odd making some of her favorite dishes and eventually, I worried that I’d forgotten the recipes. Recently, though, I’ve had more time to spend in the kitchen and have been experimenting again with the food from my childhood. My mom stopped by the other day and saw me making fresh salsa and asked why I was using a blender instead of dicing everything up.

  Proud of myself for adhering to what I thought was a long-standing tradition, I replied, “Because that’s the way Tia used to make it.”

  My mom laughed and said, “She only made it that way because Papa Sal hates onions and she had to blend them up so he wouldn’t know they were there.”

  In His Christmas Cinderella, it was important to me that Camilla’s Mexican American family had their own sense of tradition based on their unique experiences, especially when it came to food. In fact, Camilla’s mom is loosely based on my tia, and Jordan’s response to his first dinner with the Sanchez family is loosely based on my own husband’s first dinner with the Duarte side of my family—lots of opinions and lots of food!

  For more information on my other Harlequin Special Edition books chat with me on Twitter, @christyjeffries. You can also find me on Facebook and Instagram. I’d love to hear from you.

  Enjoy,

  Christy Jeffries

  His Christmas Cinderella

  Christy Jeffries

  Christy Jeffries graduated from the University of California, Irvine, with a degree in criminology, and received her Juris Doctor from California Western School of Law. But drafting court documents and working in law enforcement was merely an apprenticeship for her current career in the dynamic field of mommyhood and romance writing. She lives in Southern California with her patient husband, two energetic sons and one sassy grandmother. Follow her online at christyjeffries.com.

  Books by Christy Jeffries

  Harlequin Special Edition

  Sugar Falls, Idaho

  A Marine for His Mom

  Waking Up Wed

  From Dare to Due Date

  The Matchmaking Twins

  The Makeover Prescription

  A Family Under the Stars

  The Firefighter’s Christmas Reunion

  The SEAL’s Secret Daughter

  American Heroes

  A Proposal for the Officer

  Montana Mavericks: The Lonelyhearts Ranch

  The Maverick’s Christmas to Remember

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com.

  To Lydia Duarte Bustos. You were a strong and talented woman who could do it all and yet you never had a hair out of place. Nobody loved a party or family gathering as much as you. You were the biggest supporter of my mom’s writing career, and I’m so sad that you never got to see me follow in her footsteps. I miss you, Tia!

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from Something About the Season by Allison Leigh

  Chapter One

  In Jordan Taylor’s experience, any party boasting this much wealth and this many business connections in one place—even if it was for a good cause—guaranteed that there would be plenty of beautiful women in attendance, as well. And the Denim and Diamonds gala his father and most recent stepmother were currently hosting promised all of the above.

  Despite the theme, though, there were way more diamonds on display tonight than denim. Earlier today, a crew of workers had erected an enormous tent on the Taylor family’s ranch for the occasion. Florists hauled in loads of arrangements and caterers set up food stations featuring only the finest cuts of Taylor beef while professional musicians tuned their instruments on the temporary stage above the dance floor. Judging by all the laughing, dancing and free-flowing champagne surrounding Jordan, Brittany Brandt Dubois, the professional party planner his father had hired, had more than earned her fees this evening.

  Their friends and neighbors in Bronco Heights, Montana, might think the Taylors were simply raising money for programs to aid the families in need in nearby Bronco Valley. However, Jordan knew the truth. Cornelius Taylor III never missed an opportunity to showcase himself, his business, his ranch or his family. In that exact order.

  Having dug his classic-cut tuxedo out of the back of his closet for the occasion, Jordan leaned against one of the tall blue-linen-draped cocktail tables. He lifted his glass of single malt Scotch in a mock toast to Cornelius and the much younger Jessica holding court in the center of the black tie crowd, then drained the smooth amber liquid and surveyed his options for some female companionship to otherwise distract him this evening.

  Let’s see. Who was here tonight?

  Despite what the society columns and social media posts dubbed him, Jordan had some standards about who he dated. His gaze quickly passed from one young socialite to the next as he found reasons why they wouldn’t interest him. Too young. Too old. Too boring. Too married. Too much drama.

  Unfortunately, he usually had to leave Bronco if he wanted to meet someone he didn’t already know. Or, rather, someone who didn’t know him. Hell, he’d have to leave Montana for that.

  Jordan glanced at the entrance just in time to see his sister, Daphne, hesitate before entering the party. Snagging two champagne flutes from a passing server, he cut a direct path toward her before she could change her mind and make a run for it.

  “The prodigal daughter returns.” He kissed Daphne on the cheek before handing her a crystal stem filled with liquid courage.

  “Don’t go killing the fatted calf on my behalf.” Daphne quickly downed the first glass of bu
bbly, and Jordan handed her the second one. “You know I can’t stand that sort of thing.”

  His chest expanded with defiance and he grinned. “That’s why I spoke to the party planner ahead of time and arranged for a salad bar and a vegetarian station, right over there.”

  When a much younger Daphne first announced to her cattle ranching family that she was a vegetarian, Cornelius Taylor had rolled his eyes and suggested that his youngest daughter was simply going through a stage. When she opened her animal sanctuary instead of going to work in the family business, their father had accused Daphne of turning her back on her Taylor heritage and rejecting everything their ancestors stood for. Having three other uncles and a host of cousins who also took the family legacy seriously, his little sister had truly set herself up against a formidable wall of disapproval. Which made Jordan admire her courage all the more.

  “Thanks.” She offered a weak smile. “But I’m too nervous to eat anything. What did Dad say when you told him I was coming?”

  Jordan knew better than to tell her what Cornelius had actually said. Even though their father was usually all bark and no bite, his harsh words would’ve only deepened the family rift. Their old man showed no signs of budging from his position of being the wronged party—at least in private. That was why Jordan had arranged for Daphne to attend the gala with so many people in attendance. “You know how Dad is with these public events. He’ll be forced to lighten up. Or at least be polite so it doesn’t cause a scene and bring shame to his upstanding position in the community.”

  “God forbid anyone think that the Taylors are anything less than perfect.” Daphne lifted a corner of her mouth in a near smirk. “Luckily, Dad has the Crown Prince of Bronco Heights here tonight as his shining heir apparent.”

  Jordan playfully narrowed his eyes. “Keep it up and I’ll take back that champagne I gave you.”

  Daphne finished off the second glass before wiggling her brows at him. “It’s not like you didn’t earn all those cutesy nicknames. What did that society blogger call you last week? ‘He Who Will Not Be Tamed’?”

  “So I like women.” He crossed his arms on his chest. The narrow cut of the tailored tuxedo jacket uncomfortably bit into his biceps, the ridiculous formal garment proving to be just as restrictive as his family name. “Why is that such a newsworthy topic?”

  “Because you like women. Plural, Jordan. It’s never just one woman. I mean, it is for a week or two, but then you quickly move on to the next one before we even get a chance to learn her name. You know what you are? A serial dater.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing. How do you expect me to settle down with the right lady if I haven’t met her yet?”

  “No need to settle down too soon, son.” Their father clapped a beefy hand on Jordan’s shoulder as he interrupted them. “I wish I would’ve sown my wild oats a little longer before I met your mother. Would’ve saved me a ton in alimony and attorney fees.”

  Jordan clenched his jaw to keep from outwardly cringing. Cornelius almost never mentioned his first wife. Or his second, for that matter. His doing so now wasn’t likely due to any sentiment or nostalgia, though. Their father was trying to demonstrate a common bond between him and his oldest child, which would, in turn, imply how much Daphne wasn’t like him. Luckily, his sister didn’t rise to the bait.

  “Daphne!” Jessica, their stepmother, rushed in and looped her arm through his sister’s. “I’m so glad you could make it. There’s someone I’ve been dying for you to meet.”

  As the two women walked away, Cornelius made a grumbling sound. “Did she ask you for a loan?”

  “Who? Daphne?” Jordan felt a tic forming in his right temple. “No. Why would she need a loan?”

  “For her Hippie Hearts save-the-animals place.”

  “Dad, you know damn right it’s called Happy Hearts. And no, she is doing just fine financially.”

  “Well, you let me know if she’s not. I may not approve of her most recent life choices, but us Taylors still need to always watch out for each other. How do we know her feed supplier or her hired hands aren’t taking advantage of her goody goody nature?”

  And so it began.

  Jordan desperately needed another drink and a serious distraction from the lecture he knew his old man was about to deliver.

  “Could you please get me another Macallan?” Jordan slipped a fifty-dollar bill to a passing server. “In fact, bring me the whole bottle,” he added before his overprotective father started throwing around words like exploitation, gold diggers, and access to family wealth.

  Jordan’s eyes were about to glaze over from the familiar warnings when a vision in gold suddenly commanded his pupils to attention. A brunette in a shimmery sheath of sequins smiled at the person next to her. It might’ve been the deep V-cut of her dress that first caught Jordan’s eye. However, it was those full red lips and dazzling smile that kicked Jordan right in the gut.

  Her hair was slicked back into a long, dark ponytail, and her warm, golden skin was as smooth as polished topaz. Her big brown eyes sparkled as she laughed at whatever the person beside her said. Jordan felt a sudden pull to be the one who made her laugh like that.

  “Who is that woman over there?” He interrupted his father’s long-winded sermon.

  “The one in the gold dress?” Cornelius squinted, too vain to wear the glasses his optometrist had prescribed. Clearly, though, the old man still knew how to spot the most beautiful woman in the crowd. “That’s Jose Balthazar’s daughter. I met her at that international cattle association event in Rio de Janeiro last year. Can’t think of her name off the top of my head, but I had Jessica send an invitation to their North American headquarters.”

  Now Jordan’s interest was truly piqued. Beautiful, wealthy in her own right, and likely a smart businesswoman if she took after her father. As long as she was single, the lady in gold was surely just what he needed to get his mind off his own family drama. The server had impeccable timing, reappearing before the Taylor men with the requested bottle and two crystal glasses balanced perfectly on a silver tray.

  “If you’ll excuse me, I should probably go introduce myself to Miss Balthazar,” Jordan told his father. The empty glasses made a clinking sound as he scooped them up in one hand and grabbed the neck of the bottle in the other. “Keep up with our foreign market interests and all that.”

  “Make sure she has a good time tonight.” His dad couldn’t help but add some unsolicited advice before Jordan could make his getaway. “We need the Balthazars and their shipping partners to open a local office if we want to keep our exporting costs down.”

  The last thing on Jordan’s mind right that second, though, was business.

  * * *

  According to the storybooks, Cinderella had gone to the ball purely out of curiosity. To see how the other half lived. Camilla Sanchez, on the other hand, was at this particular ball tonight for one purpose only. To network with potential investors for the restaurant she’d been carefully planning for the past six years.

  Not that the Denim and Diamonds gala was an actual ball. It was a fundraiser. Albeit a very lavish fundraiser with very wealthy guests who were often considered the royalty of Montana. Camilla certainly wasn’t anyone’s idea of royalty.

  The city of Bronco was made up of two areas. There was Bronco Heights, where the wealthy cattle barons and affluent landowners rubbed elbows at parties like this, displaying their vast riches and sitting on their powerful thrones.

  Then there was Bronco Valley, where Camilla lived.

  As excited as she’d been when her boss and his wife first invited her to attend with them tonight and sit at their table, it had taken less than an hour for Camilla to feel out of place and overwhelmed. Of course, it didn’t help that the bouncer at the entrance had radioed something to one of the other security guards right as he was checking her invitation. Any second now, she expec
ted to get ousted as some sort of imposter who wasn’t actually there to write a hefty donation check or bid on the fancy silent auction items that she couldn’t possibly afford. She was the denim compared to everyone else’s diamonds.

  Smiling politely at Melanie Driscoll, her former manager, Camilla checked the time only to see a row of faux gold bangle bracelets where her watch normally sat. Ugh. Had Cinderella ever wanted to dash out of her ball a few hours early?

  While Camilla’s borrowed ball gown wouldn’t vanish at the stroke of midnight, it was way pricier than what she could afford on her waitress salary. It was also way more revealing than anything she was accustomed to wearing. Looking down, Camilla sucked in a breath and subtly tried to adjust the plunging neckline of her dress. Before she could exhale and lift her head, she noticed the black satin lapels of a tuxedo jacket directly before her.

  “Let me welcome you to the Taylor Ranch.” The very smooth and very masculine voice made her gulp before she could even lift her gaze.

  Jordan Taylor needed no introduction. Not only had she gone to the same high school as him—she’d been several years behind the legendary homecoming king and star wide receiver who still held the school record for most touchdown receptions—Camilla often saw his name and picture in social media posts and local newspaper articles. In fact, anyone who’d lived in Montana the past six months knew who the illustrious Taylors were. Jordan’s most newsworthy nicknames were The Crown Prince of Bronco Heights, Bronco Heights’ Most Eligible Rancher, and He Who Will Not Be Tamed.

  And he was welcoming her to his home and pouring her a glass of...Scotch? Did she even drink Scotch? Well, if she wanted to impress him with her restaurant and possibly bar knowledge, she might as well start now. She accepted one of the two glasses he’d so deftly balanced in his hands as he’d poured straight from a bottle she recognized as very expensive top-shelf liquor.

  Should she introduce herself? That might be weird since he hadn’t offered his own name. Not that he needed to. Smiling to calm her fluttering nerves, she nodded at his bottle service skills. “Clearly, you have experience pouring drinks.”