Let’s start here. The twelve days of Christmas are actually after the holiday. And my dad, being the great guy he is, and the battalion chief of the fire department, signs up one of his rebellious firefighters for a retreat because of his bad behavior. The guy is a total grouch. But when he misses the bus for the adult redemption camp, Dad sticks the guy with me for twelve days. Alone.

So, on the dozen days some mysterious true love—which I have yet to experience—should be bringing me gifts, like French hens and golden rings, I’m in charge of this firebird on our pear farm. Being the city man he is, he doesn’t have a clue how to can fruit, mend fences, or milk cows.

But he knows how to kiss . . . Not that we should be doing such a thing. Only his silver beard is sexy, and his crooked smile kind of sweet. He has this alpha energy vibrating around his well-honed body but underneath the grumpy exterior is a man lonely for something more in his life, like me. And instead of gifting each other random birds, leaping lords and piping pipers, the gift we give one another is time . . . and our bodies. But what about our hearts? Maybe true love will strike after all. A lot can happen in twelve days.

In a new tradition from L.B. Dunbar comes another holiday hottie certain to heat up your holidays.