Christmas with a Cowboy

by Brown, Carolyn

  “Yes, ma’am.” Maverick stood, and then bent to kiss his grandmother on the cheek. “You still happy bein’ here?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be? They’re taking care of me real good. I have a new friend. She would have come to see y’all, but she was worn plumb out after that last therapy session and needed a nap. The food ain’t bad, and you’re takin’ care of things for me at the ranch,” Iris said. “Now, y’all run along, and maybe I’ll catch forty winks before they come get me for supper.”

  Bridget took the baby from Maverick and let Iris kiss her. “We’ll be back on Monday, then?”

  Iris nodded. “And you’ll have plenty to tell me about the whole weekend. Take pictures so I can see what you’ve done.” She pushed the remote button on her chair to lay it back. “We’ll talk before then.” She closed her eyes.

  When they reached the lobby, Maverick chuckled. “I can hear her snoring already. I vote that we have an early supper at the little diner down on Main Street. It will be dark soon after we eat, and we can drive around town and let Laela see all the pretty Christmas lights.”

  “That sounds like fun,” Bridget said. “I haven’t got to see much of town. Just from the ranch to the grocery store and to the rehab center.”

  “There’s not a lot to see right here, but maybe one day we’ll take a drive down to the canyon and see it,” Maverick said.

  “You mean your ranch that’s five hours from here?” She couldn’t imagine Laela being happy with a drive that long, not even if there were Christmas lights everywhere.

  “That’s Canyon Creek, and it’s out in Sunset, Texas,” he explained. “The canyon I’m talking about is the Palo Duro Canyon, not far from here.”

  “I’d like that,” Bridget said. “So, is this village about the size of Skibbereen?”

  “Possibly, but it’s spread out a little more,” he answered.

  “Well then, my white knight, let’s see it before we go home.” She smiled.

  There was that word, home, again, and this time she’d said it out loud. Was she really beginning to think that the ranch was home? Perhaps it was because it was a house that was available for her and Laela, and she didn’t have even a flat back in Ireland.

  Maverick made a couple of turns, drove a few blocks, and parked in front of a small café on Main Street. Texas towns were laid out so differently from small Irish villages, and there was no public transportation in towns the size of Daisy. No wonder everyone had a car or a truck.

  The café wasn’t so different from an Irish one. There were booths on one side and tables and chairs down the middle. The waitress, a cute little lady in tight jeans and T-shirt advertising the place of business, told them to sit anywhere. Then she looked up and her eyes got big, and her smile got even bigger.

  “Well, I didn’t recognize you with a baby in your arms, Maverick.” The waitress picked up a high chair and followed them to a booth. “When did all this happen?”

  “Mary Jane, meet Bridget O’Malley. Bridget, this is an old friend, Mary Jane. And this little beauty”—he put the baby in the high chair—“is Laela. Bridget came to help Granny out while she’s laid up with that hip. I’m here for the same reason.”

  Bridget didn’t need a road map of the state of Texas to know that Mary Jane was right in the middle of Flirtsville. The expression on her face said that she was relieved to know that Maverick wasn’t a father or in a relationship. Bridget pasted on a fake smile and nodded. “Pleased to meet you.”

  “Likewise. Love your accent. Is that British?”

  “Ireland, County Cork.” The Irish words that were running through Bridget’s mind would have fried the hair right off St. Peter’s head.

  Mary Jane turned back to Maverick. “Will we see you at the Wild Cowboy Saloon tomorrow night?”

  “No, Granny volunteered me to work on Friday and Saturday nights at the church. We have to help get the Christmas program ready.” Maverick hung his black hat on the horseshoe tacked to a post at the end of the booth. Then he sat down.

  Of course, any wild cowboy would have rather been at the Wild Cowboy Saloon than at church working on things for a Christmas program. Bloody damn hell, Bridget would rather be with him, if the truth was told, but Iris made out her paychecks, so she’d do what Iris said.

  “Things don’t get to rockin’ real good until after nine, so come on over after the church stuff. I’ll save you a dance.” She winked. “What can I get y’all to drink?”

  “Sweet tea, please.” Maverick picked up the menu.

  “Coke.” Forget about saying please to the woman.

  You’re bein’ rude. Her nana’s voice popped into her head.

  Bridget ignored her nana’s voice.

  “Be back in a minute.” Mary Jane laid a possessive hand on Maverick’s shoulder and whispered, “I might save you more than a dance.” She headed back toward the kitchen, with an extra swing in her hips.

  Damn it! Bridget couldn’t deny the jealous streak blasting its way through her heart.

  “Old girlfriend?” Bridget could feel the chill in her own voice.

  “Old wannabe, maybe,” he replied. “She’s one of those round-heel gals you talked about. I’m not interested.”

  “So you like the chase as well as the reward at the end?” she asked.

  “Never thought of it, but I suppose you could be right.” He looked over the menu. “What about you? You like to be sweet-talked and romanced?”

  Before she could answer, Mary Jane brought their drinks and whipped an order pad from her apron pocket. “Y’all ready to order?”

  “Chicken fried steak for me.” Maverick handed her his menu.

  “Same as what he ordered, and one extra order of mashed potatoes with gravy,” Bridget said.

  “That’s easy.” Mary Jane tucked a strand of jet-black hair up under her ponytail, and bent to whisper something in Maverick’s ear before she left with the order.

  Maverick’s face turned slightly pink—an almost blush.

  Bridget barely restrained the impulse to stick out her foot to trip Mary Jane.

  “Sorry about that,” he said.

  “Does every woman’s knickers crawl down toward her ankles when she’s around you?” she muttered.

  “She’s actually one of Paxton’s old girlfriends,” he explained in a low voice. “When things didn’t work out between them, she let it be known all over Daisy that she would do whatever it took to get back at him. I guess I’m whatever it takes.”

  “No wonder you moved to another part of this state. You needed new pastures.” Forget that crazy idea of living in Texas. She’d be locked up in a jail cell and poor little Laela would be an orphan if she had to put up with all the Mary Janes in the state.

  “Did you ever need to move?” He finally made eye contact with her.

  “No, I did not.” She took a cracker from a container on the table and put it on the high chair tray. “I’m not a saint. I’ve had a few relationships, none of which lasted very long, but I haven’t completely depleted the pasture in my small village. I was born in Ireland and I’ll die in Ireland.”

  The café started to fill up, and by the time Mary Jane brought their food, she was too busy to flirt with Maverick. That was a good thing, because Bridget was ready to scratch her brown eyes out. Only a real bitch would plot brothers against each other.

  Laela loved the potatoes and green beans, but what she really liked was the ice cream that was served at the end of the meal.

  “Guess she’s got a sweet tooth like Granny,” Maverick said as he fed her small bites.

  “Deidre loved ice cream too. I’d buy a pastry if we had money, but she always, always wanted ice cream,” Bridget said.

  Maverick scraped the last bite out of the cup for Laela. “That’s all of it, sweet baby girl.”

  Bridget wiped the baby’s face, and then slid out of the booth. She slung her purse over her shoulder and picked Laela up from the high chair. Maverick took the ticket to the front counter,
paid the bill, and then took the baby from her. “I’ll take her out to the truck and get her settled.”

  “You think about what I said,” Mary Jane called from a table she was cleaning.

  “Do I even want to know what she whispered to you?” Bridget asked.

  “Probably not, but I’ll tell you anyway. She said if I’d come to the Wild Cowboy Saloon tonight that she’d save me the last dance,” he told her.

  “Does that mean something?”

  “The girl that a cowboy dances last with is usually the one that takes him home with her for the night,” he said, honestly.

  “And I’m sure you’d read the Bible and get ready for Sunday school class, right?” Bridget smarted off.

  Bridget pointed out the sunset there on the horizon. “Those swirling colors remind me of the icing on the Easter cupcakes at the bakery in our village. Sometimes Nana would buy three of them the day before the holiday—one for me, one for Sean, and one for Deidre. We liked them better than the eggs and chocolate bunnies in our baskets. Maybe we should make Christmas cupcakes to take to Sunday school for our class.”

  “The kids would probably love them even more than cookies.” Maverick drove slowly up and down the streets, showing off the decorations. “Our sunset will soon be gone. I missed them Texas sunsets when I was in Ireland. The ones over in the middle of the state aren’t as pretty as these,” Maverick said. “The ones over there are gorgeous but they’re never as big as what we get here.”

  “Well, it is Texas.” She smiled.

  “Yep, it is,” he agreed.

  “Look, Laela.” Bridget undid her seat belt and turned around so she could see Laela’s face.

  The baby laid her little hand on the window like she was trying to touch the pretty multicolored lights.

  “Her eyes are sparkling. I don’t think she’s going to fall asleep on the way home with all this excitement.” Bridget pointed to another house. “Oh, look at that. How do they do that?”

  “There’s a machine in the yard that rotates and makes it look like snowflakes on the house,” he explained.

  “I wish it would snow so much that we could build a big snowman. We’ve only had enough once to build one since I’ve been old enough to remember. Deidre and I rolled up all the snow in Nana’s yard and our neighbors’ yards to make one about two feet tall,” she said.

  “We’ve had snow, but nothing major in years. It would take magic to grant that wish.” Maverick drove slowly through street after street.

  “I thought Texas promised magic and miracles,” Bridget said.

  Maverick laid a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll get in touch with the highest Texas authorities and see what I can do.”

  “That just might get you that kiss you’ve been whining about.”

  He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Cowboys don’t whine, but, honey, if it snows that much, I’ll gladly collect that kiss.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Bridget sent Sean a text and several pictures the next morning as soon as Maverick was out of the house. She was surprised when she didn’t hear anything back until almost five o’clock that evening.

  She answered Sean’s call with, “Did you get the pictures?”

  “It’s almost midnight here, love. I got the pictures, but”—he paused—“well, I was at Kelly’s place, and we were…anyway, you understand.”

  “Oh, I understand all too well,” Bridget said.

  “I think she’s the one,” he answered. “I’m almost ready to burn the famous quilt.”

  “Are you going to tell her about all the women you’ve been with on that quilt?” Bridget asked.

  “Bloody hell, no!” He yelled so loud that she had to hold the phone out from her ear. “And you are going to give me your promise that you will not do some god-awful thing and tell her, or even hint at it.”

  Bridget rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “Save the ceremonial burning until I get home, and we’ll do it together. You bring the gas masks, and I’ll get a bottle of wine for the party.”

  He chuckled. “You’re like the sister I never had.”

  “Yes, I’m that for sure.” She smiled at the very idea of Sean ever settling down.

  “We even talked about kids,” Sean said. “This morning, she told me that she loves the little buggers and wants to have at least five or six.”

  Hearing Sean’s thick Irish accent was like a breath of fresh air to Bridget. She was glad that she had a friend left in her home state that she could talk to, even if it was bantering about his women.

  “If you’re getting all serious, maybe I should be lookin’ around for someone too,” she teased.

  “Not that cowboy.” Sean’s tone turned serious.

  “Why not?” she asked.

  “Because he’s not one of us, Bridget.” His voice was loud enough that she had to hold the phone out from her ear again.

  “Maverick is at least a quarter Irish,” she said.

  “He wasn’t raised here. He doesn’t know our ways,” Sean said flatly.

  “He’s a good man,” she told him.

  “We are fighting for naught, love.” He simmered down. “Kelly is probably not the one, and your cowboy isn’t the right man for you. So let’s make up before I have to go to bed. It’s past me bedtime.”

  “Yeah, right,” Bridget said. “I’ve seen you party until two and known that you took a woman home to rumple the bedsheets for another couple of hours, and then go to work at seven. But good night.”

  “Good night or maybe I should say good evenin’, since it’s only five o’clock in your Texas.” He ended the call before she could answer.

  “My Texas,” she muttered.

  Laela had been crawling across the floor toward the tree, but when she heard Bridget’s voice, she stopped and flipped herself into a sitting position.

  “Sean’s being a bit of a jackass about Maverick. It is a good thing I’m not there,” Bridget said. “Meals don’t take long. Iris isn’t here to need things done for her. Maybe I should be getting out my knitting to be making scarves for Christmas presents.”

  Laela smiled up at her and jabbered something in baby language.

  “Is that English or Irish? I don’t recognize either one,” she said.

  “I think it might be Texas hillbilly,” Maverick said from the doorway. “I can’t imagine you with knitting needles.”

  “I had no choice but to learn,” she told him. “One day Nana came home from the meat market. I was sitting on the stoop with nothing to do. I told her that I was bored. She sat down beside me and said that was too bad, because that meant she got to pick out my husband. When I asked her why, she told me that boring people got bored. That meant I’d have to marry a stupid man who didn’t care if his wife was boring.”

  Maverick’s laughter echoed off the walls. Laela chased after Dolly, who’d come inside with Maverick. “I don’t think that little girl will ever get bored.”

  “Oh, yes, she will. When she’s a teenager and her nails are polished, her hair has been fixed three times that day, and all her friends are away from home, she will get bored,” Bridget told him.

  “Not if she lives on a ranch. There’s always something to do here. She could ride four-wheelers through mud puddles, help gather up cattle to be worked, feed new baby calves, all kinds of things,” he said.

  “Da-da-da-da,” Laela said.

  “Did you hear that? She called me Daddy.” Maverick beamed.

  “The books I’ve read on child care say that most babies say that first, but that they really don’t know what they are saying,” she told him.

  “I don’t believe it. You called me Daddy, didn’t you, princess?” Maverick smothered her face with kisses. “This is the best Christmas present ever.”

  Bridget was stunned. Didn’t he realize that a baby, no matter who was the mother, would blow the bloody hell out of his lifestyle?

  He sat down on the sofa and picked up a book to read to Laela. She pointed to the
big red apple on the first page and jabbered.

  “A is for apple,” Maverick said.

  “Da-da-da,” she said.

  “See there.” Bridget laughed. “Now the apple is her daddy.”

  “You don’t understand baby talk. She’s saying that Daddy is supposed to turn the page to show her that B is for bear,” he argued.

  Bridget heard a scratching at the front door and headed out of the room to let Ducky into the house. She shivered against the blast of cold wind that blew in with him. She was about to close the door when Dolly came across the porch in a big yellow blur and raced into the foyer so fast that she had to jump over Ducky.

  The dog and cat went straight to the rocking chair and curled up beside it. Laela looked even smaller in Maverick’s big strong arms. Every time he turned the page of the book, she pointed and said, “da-da-da,” and he beamed. With the tree in the background, all decked out with ornaments and lights, the scene looked like something on a Christmas card.

  She tiptoed across the room and put one of Iris’s vinyl records on the turntable. Maverick looked up from the book and raised an eyebrow.

  “I thought we would get in the mood for going to the church tonight with a little music,” she said.

  George Strait started singing “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town,” and Laela began to weave back and forth in Maverick’s arms.

  “We bought Granny a CD player, but she’d rather listen to her music on vinyls,” Maverick said.

  “Nana was the same way. I left a box of her records with Sean.” Bridget frowned. If that new woman of his gave her things away because they were taking up too much room she was in for a fight.

  Reba McEntire was next on the record with “Let It Snow.”

  * * *

  Coming home to a woman and a baby after a hard day’s work, a Christmas tree with twinkling lights, and music filling the house—this is the good life, Maverick thought.

  No, it’s not, the voice in his head yelled loudly. The good life is doing what you love and being free as a bird.

  “If you’ll put Laela in her high chair, we can have a sandwich for supper, and I’ll heat Laela up some leftover pie,” Bridget said. “I’m surprised that I’ve gotten used to calling it supper rather than dinner so fast.”