“I’ll be sure the boxes are moved to the dining room, and the room is ready for Wanda before you get there,” Bridget said.
* * *
Maverick could have kissed Bridget right there in front of his grandmother and even God. She hadn’t hesitated a single moment about staying on longer than Christmas, and extra work with another elderly woman didn’t faze her.
“Now that we’ve got the ranch business settled,” Iris said, “I want to thank you both for agreeing to this. I was frantic when Buster called me. I can’t run that place by myself. It’s goin’ downhill with me and Buster both workin’ as hard as our old bodies will let us. So it’s a relief to know that worry is over. Since it is, I want Bridget to go down to room twenty-two and help Wanda come up here. She’s been a little unsteady today even with her walker.”
“I could do that,” Maverick offered.
“I want Bridget to do it.” Iris turned to face him. “You can tell me about what all you’ve gotten done. I know you’ve been working hard, and I want details.”
“Room twenty-two.” Bridget repeated the number and started to pick the baby up, but Iris shook her head. “We can watch Laela. You can’t hold her and help Wanda too.” When she was out of the room, Iris turned to Maverick. “Well?”
“I started in the tack room, and then I walked the fence line. It’ll take until spring to make the repairs that need doin’.” He took a sniff of the air. “You smell that?”
“Laela’s diaper needs changing.”
“Can’t we wait until Bridget gets back?” Maverick could build a fence, hang drywall, or put a roof on a barn. Hell, he could build a barn from the ground up and round up cattle on a four-wheeler or a horse, but he’d never changed a diaper before.
“Surely you’re not afraid of a diaper if you can run a ranch,” Iris told him. “I’ll walk you through this first one. After that, you’re on your own. Get the changing pad out of the diaper bag and put it on the bed.”
Maverick followed his grandmother’s instructions and then laid Laela on the pad. She immediately flipped over and took off crawling toward the pillow on the bed. He got a hold on her before she got very far and situated her on the pad again.
“Now you unsnap the legs of her britches,” Iris told him. “You might do well to give her a toy to keep her entertained.”
Maverick handed the baby her favorite stuffed giraffe.
“Now pull up her britches to about waist level and pull the tabs holding the diaper on her body,” Iris said.
“Holy shit!” he exclaimed.
“I wouldn’t call it holy since we’re not in church, but it is definitely shit. I could smell it all the way across the room. Now, get the wet wipes and get her all cleaned up. From where I’m sittin’, it looks like about a ten-wipe job. When you’re done, tuck them all inside the diaper, roll it up, and use the tabs to close it,” Iris said. “Bridget keeps little bag things in the outside pocket to put those in. You can tie it off and put it in the trash can over there once you have gotten a fresh diaper on her.”
Maverick had never had a good gag reflex, but he managed to get through the procedure with only watering eyes and a twitching nose.
“Last step,” Iris said. “Take a diaper from the bag, open it up, and reverse the process.”
Before he could get Laela’s clean diaper from the bag, the baby had flipped over a second time, and with her little romper flopping along behind her, she was about to crawl right off the edge of the bed when Maverick caught her.
“You got a live wire there.” Iris laughed. “Paxton was like that. I learned to hold him down with one hand and change him with the other one.”
“When do they get potty trained?” Maverick finally got the job done.
Iris laughed. “When I was a young mother, we figured about a year or eighteen months. Nowadays, they wait until they’re a little older.”
Laela twisted around, sat on her butt in the middle of the bed, and held up her little arms for Maverick to hold her. He picked her up, and then she wanted back on the floor. He set her down and she began emptying the diaper bag, tossing diapers to the side. Finally, she found another stuffed animal and hugged it tightly. Maverick put everything back and zipped the top, then took the bag with the dirty diaper to the trash can.
“Looks like you’ve got a daughter—whether you fathered her or not,” Iris said. “I also wanted to talk to you about Bridget going back to Ireland. I can see that you’ve got a thing for her, and you need to use the time you’ve got to show her how you feel.”
“I can’t force her to stay here,” Maverick answered.
“No, you can’t,” Iris said. “But you can love her so much that she’d be as miserable as you are if she leaves.”
“I don’t want her to be unhappy.” That was the truth, but he still wasn’t sure about all this commitment stuff. After that horrible hangover he was sure he didn’t want to be drunk anymore, though.
“I don’t know what happened in Ireland, and you don’t have to tell me, but I’m not blind or deaf. I know you saw her there because I saw that picture on your phone. You can’t live in the past, and people change in a year, but you could start new and build something even better,” Iris said.
Maverick couldn’t believe his granny had known all along. But at the same time, he wasn’t a bit surprised Mam knew everything. “I hope so,” he whispered and nodded toward the door. “I hear them coming.”
Wanda pushed her walker into the room. “That sweet baby gets prettier every time I see her. I could just take her home with me when I get out of this joint, and love those little chubby cheeks every day.”
Bridget came in behind Wanda. “You folks already spoil her.”
Maverick got up from his chair and gave it to the lady with the walker.
Iris poked a button on her chair and a voice asked if she needed help. “This is Iris Callahan, and we need another chair in here.”
“Be there in just a minute,” the voice answered.
“I changed a diaper,” Maverick bragged.
“I’ll give you a little gold star for your cowboy hat tomorrow.” Bridget grinned.
“I’ll wear it with pride. It was a messy diaper too.”
“Oh, yeah?” Bridget clapped her hands. “That earns you two shiny stars.”
Iris laughed so hard that she snorted, and then Wanda got tickled and passed gas. That brought on more giggles between them. Finally, Iris pointed at a tissue box on her bedside table and Bridget handed it to her.
Iris wiped her eyes and passed the box over to Wanda. “Getting old is a bitch except when you can laugh so hard that you snort or fart, and don’t even care.”
“Amen,” Wanda said as she wiped her eyes. “I wish we could just move in here together. I haven’t had a friend like you in years.”
Maverick winked at Bridget, but his thoughts were a lot like Wanda’s. She and Iris had formed a friendship, and the old gal was going to be lost without her new friend. If Bridget went back to Ireland, his life was going to be empty. He’d bought a little time by getting her to agree to stay a few more weeks, or maybe even until spring. Even though the idea still scared him more than a little bit, what he wanted was a lifetime.
Chapter Seventeen
Maverick had been watching Bridget, not the clock, so he was surprised when Wanda said that she had to get back to her room.
“Got my last little therapy session coming up in half an hour,” she said.
“I’ll walk back with you,” Bridget said.
“Thanks again for letting me come to your room and visit with the kids.” Wanda got to her feet and put both hands on her walker. “Watching that baby girl play is better than any show on television, and it soothes the soul.”
“Does, don’t it?” Iris smiled. “See you at the supper table. I hear we’re having fried chicken tonight.”
“I’m sure it won’t be anything like what either one of us could make, but I’m lookin’ forward to it. Bye now.
” Wanda pushed out into the hallway with Bridget right behind her.
Maverick waited until they were out of hearing before he said, “What did Grandpa do to make you want to leave Ireland and move here?” Maverick asked.
Iris smiled so sweetly that Maverick could almost see her going back in time. “It wasn’t anything big or what you might think is romantic. One night we danced until the pub closed, and when we went home, we were sitting on the front porch swing. He picked up my feet, put them in his lap, unbuckled my shoes, and gave me a foot massage. He had brought me a bouquet of wildflowers tied with a purple ribbon the day before, because he knew that I loved that color. Those sweet moments were what let me know what kind of man he was, and I was willing to leave everything to have more of them.”
“Don’t hardly seem like enough,” Maverick said.
“Before you go further, you need to ask yourself. Do you love Bridget or Laela?”
“Can it be both?” Maverick asked.
“Yep, it can, but it better be Bridget first. Laela will grow up and leave home. Then it’ll be you and Bridget, so you better love her the most,” Iris answered.
“I think I loved Bridget from the moment I met her,” Maverick admitted. “I wonder if it was hard for Grandpa to say those three words I love you. I just can’t get them to come out of my mouth.”
Iris patted him on the knee. “Thomas’s voice shook the first he said them to me. But it got easier with time. Those were the very last words he said to me, just before he took his last breath. His voice didn’t quiver a bit then. Don’t go letting a good thing slip out of your fingers because you were too afraid to spit out the words.”
“I’ll try, but the time has to be right,” Maverick said.
Bridget came through the door, talking and gathering up Laela’s toys at the same time. “That Wanda is a sweetheart. She reminds me so much of Nana. I’m not surprised that you struck up such a friendship, Iris. She’s so looking forward to coming to the ranch for Christmas. I should put candy in the room where she will be staying, and pretty flowers in a vase. I saw some roses at the food store, or maybe daisies would be better.”
“She’ll love anything that you do for her,” Iris said.
Maverick got the baby ready to take out in the cold weather and gave his grandmother a kiss on the forehead, but on the way to the truck his mind kept circling around to what she’d told him about his grandfather. Evidently, he’d gotten a healthy dose of Thomas Callahan’s DNA, because just the thought of saying those three magic words to a woman left him tongue-tied.
“Want to get supper in town since we’re already here?” he asked.
“Two nights in one week?” Bridget raised an eyebrow. “Iris will think I am falling down on my job.”
“I was thinking maybe we’d hit the pizza buffet before we go home. I’ll still have time for evening feeding before it gets too dark,” he said.
“Sounds great to me. Laela and I love pizza. Is this a date?” she asked.
“Depends on whether there’s a good-night kiss when I walk you to your bedroom door.” He hoped that smile on her face meant she was looking forward to that kiss.
He got everyone settled into the truck and drove them to the restaurant. The waitress showed them to one of the last booths in the place. The place was packed and noisy, but to Maverick it was a special time. He felt like he was sitting there with his little family, and he liked the feeling.
* * *
The skies were still gray and the air held the threat of snow when they got home that evening. Maverick slipped into a pair of coveralls and headed straight back out to do his chores. “Okay, Grandpa,” he muttered, “what kind of advice would you give me about doing the right thing to make Bridget want to stay in Texas?”
Romance. His grandfather’s voice was loud in his head. Women like to be noticed and not taken for granted. I’m not talking about hot kisses and romps between the sheets.
Sweet-talking and romps between the sheets were about the extent of Maverick’s romancing abilities. Grandpa had given Granny a foot massage and brought her wildflowers. The massage he could do, but it was the dead of winter in Texas. It would be months yet before wildflowers were in bloom. Maverick did have one thing available right in his hip pocket that his grandpa hadn’t had—technology. When he got back to the tack room he pulled out his smart phone and typed in: romantic things to do for your girlfriend. An article with nineteen items came up immediately. The little narrative at the beginning of the list was exactly what Iris had told him. Big romantic gestures were okay, but women liked the little things so much better.
The first suggestion was to cook something for her. “I wonder if she likes omelets,” Maverick asked himself.
The next one was about calling or texting her spontaneously.
“Better work on that one.” He’d never remember all of the things listed so he brought down a pencil and an old yellowed notebook from the first shelf above the worktable. It was the same notebook that his grandfather had used to keep track of how many bales of hay he’d used and how many were left. It seemed fitting somehow. He could mark off what he’d tried, like Grandpa had marked off the hay bales.
Another suggestion was: Go back to the basics. Take her on a date. He could do that. Only if he was being truthful, the basics for them started in Bridget’s flat.
Complimenting her when she has changed something about her appearance, like her hair, or when she’s wearing a new dress shows her that you’re paying attention to her. And don’t just tell her about her looks. Compliment her on her accomplishments, also.
When he finished reading and jotting down notes on all nineteen items, he had three pages covered on the notepad. The one that he decided to start on that very night was hand-writing her a letter. It turned out to be more difficult than he thought, and he tore up three pages. Then he decided to simply begin and let it flow straight from his heart.
Dear Bridget,
You said that we should talk to each other. Talking about my feelings and hopes isn’t easy for me. I’ve actually been afraid to talk about them, because for one thing it seemed useless, and another it seemed a bit sissy. But you said that you and Sean talked about everything while you were working with him. I get tongue-tied when I try to say anything out loud to you, but if Sean can talk to you about emotions and feelings, then I should be able to at least write them down.
I grew up with a mother who didn’t want me, and my father died when I was young. A therapist would probably say that was the beginning of my wild ways, and maybe he would be right. But that’s no excuse because Granny and Grandpa were amazing parents. Grandpa knew that I needed to spread my wings, so he was the one who talked Granny into letting me work on another ranch.
I’m writing a history lesson, not my feelings. A sure sign that I’m skirting around the issue…
All right, here goes. When I walked into your pub a year ago, and caught a glimpse of you behind the bar, my heart almost boomed right out of my chest. I thought love at first sight was a big crock of bull crap, but for the first time I felt something besides lust. It felt like Fate.
When he stopped writing he had four pages, front and back, and he’d quite literally poured out his heart and soul. Written on paper that was probably a decade old, the letter sure didn’t look very romantic to him. He looked around for an envelope but couldn’t find one. He finally just folded it, tucked it into the inside pocket of his work coat, left the tack room, and drove back to the house.
He was already on the porch when he thought about what he had just done. Tough cowboys didn’t write love letters. Bridget would think he was an idiot. She’d laugh in his face and catch the next flight back to Ireland rather than wait until after the holidays. The door opened and there was Bridget, in the same jeans and green sweater she’d worn when they’d gone to see Iris earlier in the evening.
“Hey, I thought I heard Ducky on the porch,” she said. “I just put Laela down for the night. It was a litt
le early, but she was fussing and rubbing her eyes.”
Maverick slipped out of his coveralls and hung them on a hook, took a deep breath, and brought out the letter before he lost his courage. “Mail call.”
She took the folded pages from his hand. “What is this? I just made a pot of fresh tea. We can have a cup and maybe a biscuit…I mean, a cookie.”
“It’s a letter. I didn’t have an envelope.” He couldn’t look her in the eye.
“A real letter from you?” Her eyes widened in shock. “Why?”
“Because sometimes it’s easier to write feelings than it is to say them.” He poured two cups of hot tea and carried them to the living room. “I’m a rough old cowboy. I’m not eloquent like educated men. I stumble and stutter when it comes to a serious relationship, but dating is a new thing for me. You can read it when you have time.”
Bridget followed right behind him, sat down on one end of the sofa, and handed him the television remote. “Find something to watch while I read your letter. I cannot believe you wrote to me. This is just the most romantic thing any man has ever done for me. No matter what it says, I will cherish it forever.”
“You might want to read it before you say that.” He set one cup of tea on the end table beside her and put his on the one at the other end of the sofa. Then he sat down and waited. He didn’t turn on the television but rather watched her expressions as she read the letter. She’d make a great poker player, he thought, because her face revealed nothing.
When she finished reading, she picked up her cup of tea and took a sip. She lowered the letter to her lap and sat for several minutes, staring at the opposite wall, her expression still unreadable. Finally, she turned to face him. Her big green eyes were swimming in unshed tears. “That was beautiful. Words cannot tell you how much it means to me for you to pour out your feelings like this.” She raised the pages and held them against her heart. “We have always had this physical attraction, but this”—she blinked back the tears—“this comes from your soul, and I love that you wrote it all down so I can read it over and over.” She laid the letter on the coffee table and scooted down to his end of the sofa.
Christmas with a Cowboy Page 18