“But what about you?” Bridget asked. “I need to stay home with you in case you need my help.”
“I can certainly manage for the hour or so you’ll be gone. And some of my church ladies have promised to stop by.”
“When did you tell the preacher all about this?” Maverick asked.
“I got to worryin’ about it last night so I called him while y’all were in here startin’ up that gingerbread. I told him not to worry, that Maverick was here, and he’s good with carpentry work, and that Bridget would help.”
Bridget slid the biscuits in the oven. “Are you going to survive without your weekend pub dates?” she whispered as she put a pan of water on the stove to make oatmeal for Laela.
“The honky-tonks will still be there after Christmas.” He sighed. “And maybe God won’t get real upset with me over drinkin’ a few extra shots if I’ve already done my penance at church through the month.”
“I don’t reckon God gives out hall passes to the honky-tonk for goin’ to church for a whole month,” Iris said.
Bridget giggled. “I’ve never heard it put like that.”
“It’s the truth,” Iris said. “And speakin’ of Christmas, my tree isn’t up yet. Broke my hip before I could get it decorated right after Thanksgiving,” Iris said. “We’re goin’ to get that done this afternoon right after church services.”
Maverick piled the bacon onto a plate. “I hope your tree doesn’t smell like mice. That cat of yours is so lazy that she wouldn’t open her eyes if a mouse curled up under her belly.”
“Don’t be talkin’ about Dolly like that,” Iris told him. “Just cook the bacon and eggs, and…” She stopped and touched her chin with her forefinger. “That reminds me, you will need to take cookies to the nursing home next Saturday. The kids will practice their Christmas carols there, then they’ll pass out Christmas cookies to the old folks. It’s tradition.”
“We’d love to decorate the tree and bake cookies,” Bridget said. “This will be Laela’s first tree. I can’t wait to see her eyes when it’s lit up for the first time.”
“All right then,” Iris said. “I’m going to get my notes and put them on the dining room table on the way back so you’ll have them.”
“I can do that for you,” Bridget said.
“I need to walk a little. Doctor said that sitting too long isn’t good. I’ll be right back.”
Bridget thought about the previous Christmas when she’d helped her nana decorate the Christmas tree. They always put it up on the first Saturday in December and took it down the day after Christmas. Nana had bustled around that day, telling Bridget where to hang the ornaments and teasing her about settling down. One year could sure change everything, she thought.
“I miss Nana this morning. Last year, I helped her decorate for the holidays.” Bridget sighed. “Are you all right with all this church stuff?” she asked Maverick.
“I’m pretty brave, but I don’t argue with Granny.” He grinned. “I just hope that God don’t send a lightning bolt down between the church rafters to strike me dead. Who would have ever thought Maverick Callahan would be teaching Sunday school?”
“I’ll be the one dodging all that lightning right along with you,” she said.
* * *
Bridget paid more attention to her surroundings on the way to church that morning than she had the two times when she’d driven to the grocery store in Daisy. On those days, she’d had Laela with her and had been trying to be very careful—driving on the opposite side of the road from what she was used to was a bit nerve-wracking. The flat land that reached out to touch the sky on the far horizon, the cattle and more cattle but no sheep and very few houses were so different from her Ireland.
The heater in the truck blew the scent of Maverick’s shaving lotion to the backseat, and that brought on a visual of tangled legs and crumpled sheets in her flat. The shirt he’d worn that night was identical to the one he had on now, and if it was the same shirt, she could visualize the streaks of lightning shooting down into the Sunday school room. She couldn’t help but smile when she thought that God wouldn’t take too kindly to him teaching kids about the Bible in the same shirt that he’d worn for a one-night stand.
“And here we are,” Iris said from the front seat.
The church looked to be about the same size as the one that Nana dragged her to every Sunday, but this one was white and the one in Ireland was a little stone church. Maverick parked as close to the front door as he could, left the truck engine running, and hurried around to help Iris. Bridget got out of the truck and was busy with Laela when she heard a groan. She whipped around to see Maverick holding Iris under her arms while the walker slowly rolled away. Running to grab it, Bridget came close to falling when her high-heeled boot slipped on a plastic candy wrapper in the gravel parking lot.
“What happened?” Bridget asked as she pushed the walker back to the truck.
“Damned slick-soled shoes. I should’ve worn my rubber boots even if they do look like crap with this dress. Thank goodness Mav was here to catch me,” Iris said.
“You sure you’re up for this, Granny?” Maverick had a worried expression. “The pews have cushions, but an hour is a long time to sit.”
“Of course, I’m sure!” Iris exclaimed. “It was just a little slip. Now, give me that walker and let’s get going.”
He kept a hold on her arm until she was on the sidewalk, and then he turned her loose. “If you’ll keep a hand on her arm, I’ll park the truck and bring the baby inside with me.”
“Don’t forget Laela’s diaper bag and that small tote with her toys,” Bridget said.
Maverick nodded. “After Sunday school is over, maybe we should sit on the back pew during church so we can get her out quietly if she gets tired.”
“Bullshit!” Iris said. “I’m sitting on the pew where I always sit. Second from the front on the right. If you don’t stop babying me, I’ll send you back to Sunset.”
“Granny, I was talking about Laela getting fussy, not you,” Maverick said.
“Hmmph,” Iris grunted and pushed the walker into the church and down the center aisle.
Bridget had just gotten her seated, her walker folded and propped against the wall beside her, and started out the door when Iris called out, “Your Sunday school room is down the hall, first door on the right.”
“Where would I be finding the nursery?” Bridget asked.
“Last door on the left,” Iris answered.
She met Maverick coming down the hallway with the diaper bag and the tote slung over one shoulder and the baby in his arms. With all Laela’s dark hair, folks might think that the baby did, indeed, belong to him. Bridget took her from him so he could untangle himself from the baggage and said, “The nursery is this way.”
“I’m glad you thought to ask,” Maverick whispered. “I had no idea where it was or where we’re supposed to go for the class we’re teaching.”
“Why are you whispering?” she asked.
“I’m hoping that maybe God won’t realize what I’m doing until it’s too late to zap me,” he answered.
She used her free hand to air-slap him on the arm. “You weren’t this funny in Ireland.”
“No one asked me to teach a Sunday school class over there,” he said.
“Ohhh,” a sweet little gray-haired lady said, “Iris called this morning and said we’d have a baby in the nursery today. She’s beautiful, Maverick. How’d you get a child to look so much like you?”
“Luck, I guess,” he answered.
Bridget raised an eyebrow at him.
“But she’s Bridget’s adopted daughter, and doesn’t biologically belong to either of us,” he said.
“Well, her daddy must’ve been tall, dark, and handsome. By the way, I’m Dorothy, and I keep the nursery. Today it’s just me and this pretty little girl, so I get to spoil her for a couple of hours.” She held out her arms, and Laela went right to her.
“Her name is Laela, and here’s her thing
s,” Bridget said.
“I used to keep Maverick when he was a baby, you know,” Dorothy said. “Always flirting with the ladies, that one.” She laughed. “Y’all go on now. You’ve got a Sunday school class to teach.”
They left the room and noticed several children going into the room before they even arrived. When they got there, Maverick held the door for her, and she pulled the lesson book from her purse.
“Hello,” Maverick said. “Since we’re new here today, I thought maybe we’d all introduce ourselves.”
“I’m Randy,” the smallest of the seven little kids said. “Where’s Miz Iris? We had the preacher for two weeks, and he didn’t bring us cookies.”
“I’m Lily Rose,” a little blond-haired girl said, “and this other girl in our room is Katy. She’s my best friend.”
“Darius,” said a little guy who was evidently of mixed race with his jet-black curly hair and green eyes. “This here”—he pointed beside him—“is Elijah. He’s my brother but he’s kinda shy, and don’t talk much, but he can sure sing.”
“I’m Slade,” the next little boy said. “I’m ten years old, and I get to go to the next class next year when I’m eleven. I read our lesson about forgivin’ others, but I ain’t forgivin’ Bubba Joe Thorn for sayin’ that Elijah is slow. He’s smart enough to keep his mouth shut ’lessen he has something to say.”
“I’m C-C-Colton, and I’m s-s-seven…” a little guy stammered, “…sometimes I stutter, but I c-c-can sing real g-g-good.”
“Well, thank you all for that.” Maverick nodded. “This is Bridget, and I’m Maverick. Miz Iris is my granny, and we’ll be taking over this classroom until she gets well.”
Bridget opened her study booklet to the right page. “We’re supposed to read verses in the Bible today about forgiveness, and then talk about them for a little while before we practice our songs for the Christmas play.” She read a verse from Matthew and then asked what the kids thought about that.
“Well.” Lily Rose sighed. “I guess I can forgive Lisa for not comin’ today. She was supposed to bring back my Barbie doll clothes that she borrowed last Sunday, but I bet she ain’t here because she still wants to keep them.” She stopped for a breath. “But I’ll forgive her if she brings them back next Sunday.”
“You ain’t from Texas, are you?” Slade asked. “You talk like them people from England on the television.”
“I’m from Ireland, a little place called Skibbereen,” Bridget told him.
Bridget shivered when Randy, the youngest child in the room, shoved a finger up his nose. She rushed over to the desk, grabbed a tissue, and handed it to him.
Katy rolled her big brown eyes. “Rannn-dee! You don’t pick your nose in church. God don’t like boogers.”
Randy cleaned his finger on the tissue. “God put them in my nose, so why don’t he like them?”
Katy put her hands in a prayer pose and said, “I forgive him, God, because he’s just a little kid.”
Maverick chuckled under his breath, and reached for the book. “The next verse is in Luke and it says that if we don’t forgive then we won’t be forgiven. What do you think that means?”
“It means that if I don’t tell Darius that I’m not going to whoop him all over the playground for sayin’ that my mama is crazy, then Jesus won’t forgive me, right?” Slade asked.
“That’s right,” Maverick said.
“Anyone else?” Bridget asked. This wasn’t as tough as she’d imagined it would be—it was actually kind of fun, but she wondered why Darius had said that Slade’s mama was crazy.
The thirty minutes went fast with all the kids wanting to express their opinions. Even Elijah opened up a little toward the end of the lesson when he said, “I forgive Bubba. He’s just a bully.”
“All right, I guess it’s time for us to practice singing,” Bridget said. “It looks like we’ll be singing three songs at the Christmas program. The first one is ‘Up on the Housetop.’”
“I like that one.” Elijah grinned and started the group off with the first lines.
He really could sing, and he’d probably be the one who carried the whole group at the program, but what amazed Bridget even more than the child, was Maverick’s deep voice singing with the children.
They sang two more songs and then it was time to march them into the church. Elijah tucked his hand into Bridget’s and said, “I like the way you talk, and you sing pretty.”
“Well, thank you.” She smiled.
“How about me?” Maverick whispered from her other side.
“You have a beautiful singing voice,” Bridget told him. “Did you sing in the choir when you lived here?”
Maverick chuckled. “I didn’t even sing in the bars unless I’d had a lot, and I mean a lot, to drink.”
The minute they were in the sanctuary, the kids all scattered to find their parents. Bridget scanned the church for Iris and found her sitting on the second pew. Holy crap on a cracker! Bridget always sat on the back pew, not right up front so the preacher could look her right in the eye, but she slid into the pew beside Iris. “I thought we were sitting close to the back in case I need to go get Laela.”
“She’ll be fine, and this is where I always sit,” Iris said.
Maverick made his way down the pew to sit beside Bridget. When latecomers arrived, he had to move closer and closer until his shoulder was pressed against hers. Bridget decided that the lightning bolts were invisible but still just as hot as they shot down between them, firing up every desire in her body.
She tried to listen to the sermon. But the preacher mentioned something about teenagers, and her mind wandered back to when she and Deidre were in their teens—the first time they’d gone to a pub together, the special little place in the middle of a stand of trees where they’d thrown down one of Nana’s old quilts and had lain side by side and shared their deepest secrets—and were just starting to find their way in the world.
About halfway through the sermon, someone tapped Bridget on the shoulder. That jerked her back into the real world, and she looked up at Dorothy, with Laela in her arms. “She’s really fussy, so I thought maybe I’d better bring her on in here to you.”
Laela reached for her, and Bridget took the baby from Dorothy.
“Thank you,” Bridget said. “She usually has a nap in the middle of the morning, and she can be pretty clingy at that time.”
“You’re welcome. Maybe next week, she’ll let me rock her,” Dorthy whispered and sat down in the pew behind them. Laela fidgeted and whined, fighting sleep. Bridget tried giving her toys, but she just threw them on the floor.
Maverick startled her when he reached for Laela, but instead of arguing with him, she mouthed, “Thank you.”
Instantly, the baby lay her little head on Maverick’s shoulder, sighed, and closed her eyes. He rocked gently from side to side with her until she was sound asleep. There was something about a big man like Maverick holding a baby that showed a softer side to him than any other man Bridget had ever known. Nana had said that if kids and dogs liked a person, then they were probably good people. But if kids shied away and dogs wanted to bite them, then a smart person would run the other way.
She was startled out of reverie a second time when the preacher asked for Orville Jackson to deliver the benediction. Bridget bowed her head and gave a simple prayer giving thanks that she’d made it through the Sunday school lesson, and that she was finally getting some space away from Maverick, who’d practically turned her into a pile of ashes during the service with all the electricity between them.
People began to stand and stir about when the last amen had been said, but Laela didn’t open her eyes. “I’ll carry her out for you. No need to wake her until it’s absolutely necessary,” Maverick whispered as he picked up the diaper bag with his free hand and put it on his shoulder.
He moved out into the center aisle. Bridget followed him and got Iris’s walker ready. Using the pew to steady her steps, Iris slowly took a coupl
e of steps.
“Well, Iris O’Malley,” said a thin-voiced lady with a gray bun on top of her head. “It’s right good to see you in church this morning.”
Iris turned to see who was talking to her. “Hello, Maudie. It’s good to be here.”
As she was turning back around, her hand slipped on the pew. Bridget grabbed for her. Using his free hand, Maverick tried to catch her, but they both failed. Iris was on the floor, her legs under the pew, her head in the aisle, and her face an ashen color.
“Call an ambulance,” she groaned. “I think I might have messed up my hip, again.”
Several people already had their phones out poking in numbers. One brought a pillow and put it under her head. Iris’s neighbor, Alana, dropped down on her knees right next to Iris and asked, “What happened?”
“I fell right on my hip, and it hurts like holy hell, and I’m not even going to apologize for sayin’ that in church,” Iris said, bluntly.
“Do you have pain anywhere but your hip?” Alana asked.
“No, but it’s hurtin’ like a real bitch,” Iris said through clenched teeth.
Bridget noticed a blood spot on Iris’s skirt and knelt beside her. “I think you’ve busted loose one of the staples.” She could hear the sirens of an ambulance fast approaching.
“Feels like more than one,” Iris moaned.
The paramedics rushed in and everyone moved back to let them through. In minutes they had Iris on a gurney. As they were taking her out, she grabbed Bridget’s hand. “I want you to go with me in the ambulance.”
“Go on,” Maverick said. “Laela and I’ll be right behind you. It’s only three blocks to the hospital.”
Iris hung on to Bridget’s hand the whole way to the ambulance, and took it again when they were inside. “I should’ve listened to my doctor. He wanted me to go to the six weeks of rehab, but I was stubborn. I wanted to be at home, and I thought of you in Ireland with no job and that baby to take care of, so I called and you were willing to help me. This hurts like a son of a bitch. But you have to promise me that you’ll stay at the ranch. Mav needs someone to help him out while I’m in the hospital.”
Christmas with a Cowboy Page 4