Her Christmas Cowboy

by Jessica Clare

  “I appreciate it either way,” she said softly. “I didn’t have anyone else to call.”

  “Where’s your coat?”

  She looked down at her lightweight camel jacket. “I’m wearing it.”

  He shook his head once and pointed at the thermos. “Drunk.”

  “Drunk?”

  “Drink. That.” The expression on his face was hard to tell in the darkness, but he looked . . . flustered?

  Well, that was two of them. Amy unscrewed the lid while he opened her car door and popped the hood. The moment the thermos was open, the hot scent of coffee wafted through the air and she wanted to cry with how wonderful it smelled. How warm.

  Okay, she cried a little. Just a little. She sniffed as she took a sip, and it was sugary and full of cream, just how she liked it, and that made her cry a little more. It was just luck that the coffee was perfect and he was looking at her car and she wasn’t alone.

  For the first time in months, she didn’t feel alone and adrift, and the sensation was overwhelming. More tears came.

  “I’m sorry,” she said as he moved to the front of the car to look at the engine. “I tried to see if something was broken but I didn’t know what I was looking at. I’m trying to be independent and do things on my own, but I couldn’t get it to start when I put the key in again and I tried calling everyone and—”

  He looked up at her. “You’re great.”

  She blinked. “Wh-what?”

  “Doing great,” he managed, voice gruff.

  For some reason, she needed to hear that. “Thank you,” she told him in a small voice and sipped the coffee again. Her tears dried a little and her panic ebbed. “I know we’re strangers but you can’t know how much I appreciate you being here. It means everything to me.”

  He looked up from under the hood of the car, his gaze hidden by the shadows thanks to his hat. For a moment, she wanted to see his face. To see if his eyes were filled with kindness and understanding or scorn. Blake’s face would have been filled with irritation, and he’d have made her feel stupid, like it was her fault for the car breaking down.

  Just thinking about that made her nervous. “I didn’t do anything, you know.”

  “Huh?”

  “To the car. It wasn’t me. I was driving it like normal and it just died.”

  Caleb nodded, his hat bobbing.

  “I didn’t hit anything in the road,” she felt desperate to explain. Like she needed to somehow prove that she wasn’t the screwup here. “And it’s got plenty of gas. I get oil changes on the regular—”

  “It’s fine,” he said. “Quit apologizing.”

  Oh. Okay.

  She clutched at the blanket and drank a ton of the delicious coffee while he poked and prodded at things. He got in the car and tried turning the key once or twice, pumping the gas pedal, and it was on the tip of her tongue to start making excuses again, but she bit them back. He said it was fine. She had to believe him. He just . . . wasn’t the chatty type. That didn’t mean he disliked her. It just meant he wasn’t much of a talker.

  Amy bit her lip as he popped the trunk and got out of the car once more, heading to the back. She followed behind him, a blanket-wrapped, caffeinated lump of helplessness. “I was hitting up an estate sale,” she told him breathlessly, remembering some of the contents of the trunk. “That’s why I’m out late.”

  “Didn’t ask,” he said as he lifted the trunk. He stared at the boxes for a moment, then grabbed a handful of linens and pushed them aside, searching for something.

  Not only did it reveal her vulgar Humping Santa and Mrs. Claus, but it activated them, too. Amy watched in horror as Santa made a creaking noise and started bouncing his pelvis against his jolly wife. Caleb watched it for a moment, then cleared his throat and covered it up again. “Cable?”

  She wanted to die of embarrassment. Did he think she was a pervert now? That she watched a lot of dirty shows on cable and had to fill her house with . . . humping things? What the heck? “No, I don’t watch a lot of cable,” she managed politely. “That’s not why they’re there. I got them to repurpose—”

  “Jumper,” Caleb choked out. “Jumper cable.”

  “Oh.” She thought for a moment. “Um, what do those look like exactly?”

  He made another noise in his throat and then shut the trunk.

  Amy cringed, clutching the thermos, and waited for him to blast into her. To tell her what an idiot and a failure she was for taking up his time.

  A long moment passed. Then another. Was he waiting for her to say something? She bit her lip, uncertain.

  Eventually, he spoke. “Mine are in my brother’s truck. Gonna need to drive you in,” Caleb said, the words slow and measured, almost as if practiced. “Probably the alternator, not the battery, but I can check it in the morning. You need to get home. It’s cold.”

  She was cold. Freezing, actually. Her little boots were like all her clothes—fashionable but not suited for cold, snowy weather, and only the blanket and coffee were keeping her from turning into an ice-cream cone. “What should I do?”

  “Me.” He coughed hard, then stammered. “I meant me. I’ll drive you home.”

  Amy blinked at him. He really did say the strangest things. Shyness? A learning disability? Whatever it was, it wasn’t her business. All she cared was that he was kind. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

  He gestured at her car. “We’ll lock it. I can get a few parts in the morning and try things. Take it to a shop if I can’t get it started.”

  The rush of gratitude that surged through her was overwhelming enough that she felt like crying again. “Are you sure?” Amy asked. “You don’t mind?”

  “Not for you.” He coughed and cleared his throat again. “Not at all,” he said, louder. “Come on.”

  They got into his car. It occurred to her that he was practically a stranger and she was getting into his vehicle without knowing more about him than his name, but . . . what else was she supposed to do? A tow-truck driver and an Uber driver were strangers, too, and Caleb’s assistance was free. So she got in, tucked the blanket around herself once more when the seat belt was on, and gave him her warmest smile.

  He really was the kindest man.

  * * *

  * * *

  Hell, he was messing all of this up.

  Caleb clutched the steering wheel tightly as he drove back to Painted Barrel, trying not to think of all the stupid things that came out of his mouth whenever she was around, but they kept cropping up as ugly reminders that his tongue played a different game than the rest of him.

  You’re great.

  What should I do?

  Me.

  God. She’d think he was an idiot. He was trying to say as little as possible so the beautiful Amy Mckinney wouldn’t realize what a fool he was, but that was proving impossible. He had to talk to her a little, but every time he opened his trap, dumb shit kept coming out. He was going to have to deal with it; that was all.

  He was still more than a little shocked that she sat next to him in his car, quietly sipping coffee and gazing out into the snowy night. Of all the people in Painted Barrel, she’d called him when she needed help, and he wasn’t sure what to make of that. He was grateful, all right, but it was puzzling. At least, it had been puzzling until she’d tearfully admitted she didn’t have anyone else to call. It made him far too happy until it occurred to him that he was a last resort.

  Even so, he’d dropped everything to come and rescue her. A kind, gentle woman like her shouldn’t be alone with no one to depend on. That bothered him. Wasn’t he the most tongue-tied man alive? He’d grown up in the remote wilds of Alaska with no one but his brothers and a few remote neighbors, and yet he’d have had people to call if stranded. It made no sense.

  They pulled into Painted Barrel and he glanced over at her—the only time h
e’d allowed himself to look over at her tonight. She was far too pretty, and it just distracted him. Her long, dark hair was down around her shoulders, making his fingers itch to touch it, and she wore a pair of blue-framed glasses that just made her bright eyes that much brighter. Her nose was red tipped with cold and her cheeks flushed, and she’d had such a sad expression on her face that it made him want to fling her over his shoulder and carry her away from everything.

  Whatever she needed, he’d fix it.

  He’d had crushes in the past before, had thought some women were attractive, but it was nothing like the gut-wrenching, tongue-tying yearning he felt when he looked at her. She was special. Pretty. Smart. Kind. His clever little niece loved her.

  Caleb had always thought he’d work in Painted Barrel for a year and then go back to Alaska, but the moment he saw Amy, his plans changed. Someone like her wouldn’t like living off the grid in the remote wild, and so he decided to stay. His brothers thought he was crazy.

  At least, Jack did. Hank understood, now that he’d fallen in love and married the local hair lady, who was also a nice, pretty sort who wouldn’t live off the grid. Painted Barrel wasn’t such a bad place. It was small and kinda remote, nothing like bustling Casper. And she was here, which made it the only place he wanted to be.

  “Address?” he asked when she remained quiet.

  “I’m the next street over,” she said in a soft voice, pointing. “Just turn right at the bank.”

  He did, and the truck crept along the quiet street. Painted Barrel was a small town, and an old one. Most of the buildings in “town” proper were a hundred years old, and some had weathered the history better than others. When they pulled up to a dilapidated old one-story at the end of the road, he gave her a curious look.

  “That’s me,” she said, her smile bright. “I never thought I’d be so happy to see the place.”

  He knew it was rude to ask but figured he would anyhow. After all, he’d said plenty of dumb shit to her all night and she hadn’t flinched. “This is where you’re living?” He looked at the small place again. It wasn’t more than a couple of rooms, and the boards outside needed a fresh coat of paint something bad. There was a small yard completely covered in snow, and while the neighbors had their sidewalks and driveways neatly tidied, hers were iced over. The windows looked as if they were sagging right out of their frames, and the blinds were old and crooked. The only thing that seemed to match “his” Amy was the festive little wreath on the door.

  “I know,” she said with a grimace. “It’s a dump, isn’t it?”

  “Ah . . .” He rubbed his jaw. How to answer that politely? “It’s a . . .”

  “Dump,” she emphasized again.

  “House,” he managed to say. He’d seen worse, but those had been in the remote Alaskan wilds and . . . actually, no, those places looked better kept up than this.

  “I just have a very small budget,” she admitted as she opened the car door. “And Greg tells me there’s not a lot of rental places around here. I’m on a waiting list to get something better, though.”

  Caleb jumped out of the car and raced around to her side of the truck, his boots skidding on the icy driveway. Did she not know how to salt the damn thing? Or to scrape it clean? Didn’t matter. It wasn’t his business. He helped her out of the car, keeping the thick blanket wrapped around her for warmth, and she didn’t seem to mind his touch on her shoulder, which made his heart thud as if it were the most intimate of caresses.

  “Do you want to come in for a moment?” she asked him, putting her key in the door.

  Did he want to go in? Hell, he never wanted to leave her side. He’d take whatever opportunity he had because he wasn’t sure he’d get another. Caleb just nodded and stepped inside.

  The place was even sadder inside than it was outside. It didn’t make sense, because Amy was always beautiful and kept up in her appearance, but this house was . . . well, it wasn’t good. The few pieces of furniture she had were old and broken or chipped, the sofa was ugly as shit, and he could hear the wind whistling in through one of the windows. From his vantage point, he could see into the kitchen, and old yellowed linoleum matched the equally yellowed and dingy countertops. The entire place looked terrible and dated and smelled like mildew.

  Mildew . . . and poop.

  “Oh no,” Amy moaned behind him, and rushed into the kitchen. “Poor Donner.”

  He followed her in, and to his surprise, there was a dog—as mangy as the damned house—sitting in a corner, tucked next to the pea-green stove. In an opposite corner, the dog had clearly relieved himself, but she wasn’t focused on that. She knelt in front of the animal and stroked its head, ignoring when it snapped at her.

  “Poor baby. You’re scared, aren’t you? I’m sorry. There’s two people here tonight. Here, Caleb, come and let Donner smell your hand so he’s not so scared.” She turned and waved him over expectantly.

  He knelt by the dog, and his estimation of the pretty schoolteacher dropped a notch. This was her dog? It looked like it had been abused and misused for a long damned time. His coat was so knotted and filthy it needed to be shaved, and the cataract-covered eyes were full of fear. This didn’t match his mental image of the schoolteacher. Was he all wrong about her?

  “Donner?” he asked after a moment. “Like . . . the party?”

  Amy turned, her face inches from his as they both squatted by the dog, and there was pure astonishment on her face.

  “Sorry,” he muttered. He wanted to tell her that he liked history. That he read a lot of books and liked to learn about the Old West and things like that. Now she was going to think he was even more of a weirdo than before.

  She just giggled, the sound a little squeaky and rusty, and so adorable that it made him ache. “Like the reindeer.”

  Ah. Okay, that was a smarter guess.

  Amy reached out and gently touched the dog’s head, ever so careful and loving as she rubbed one ear. “I found Donner last night out in the snow. He kept growling but he was hungry, so I brought him in. I think he’s blind. I was going to put up flyers and post online, but there hasn’t been time to do much of anything. And I was supposed to get him some pet food tonight and . . .” She bit her lip, and for a moment, she looked so frustrated that she seemed as if she was ready to start crying again.

  “I’ve got dog food,” he managed.

  “On you?” She looked surprised. “Really?”

  He wanted to slap his forehead. “At home. I can bring some in the morning.” It was the longest sentence he’d managed in a while, and he was pretty proud of it. He rubbed the dog’s muzzle, then got to his feet. “That okay?”

  Amy’s eyes softened. “Of course that’ll be okay. Can I pay you for it?”

  He shook his head and went to the sink to wash his hands. The dog was kind of a mess, and after working in a barn or with livestock all day, you learned to wash your hands often. When he reached for her sink, though, he saw her faucet was dribbling—not just from the tap, but from both knobs, and no amount of twisting made the water turn off. “This is broken.”

  “I know. My landlord . . .” She trailed off. “It’s on the list.”

  Right. Of course she knew it was broken. He washed his hands quickly, then glanced around at the old kitchen. Just like he suspected, there was a bucket tucked surreptitiously in a corner to catch drips. No wonder the place smelled like mildew. Back home in Alaska, if the cabin he’d shared with his brothers had a leaky roof, they all crawled all over the damn thing to get it patched up. You took care of stuff, didn’t let it go to heck. Her landlord hadn’t gotten the memo, though, and the entire place needed a good fixing, in his estimation.

  Caleb couldn’t say that to her, though. It was clear she knew that already. Despite her elegant clothing—thin, warm-weather elegant clothing, he noticed—she had an embarrassed expression on her face. She didn’t like
him seeing this place. Not like this.

  He cleared his throat and held his hand out. “Keys.”

  She pulled them out of her purse and then hesitated. “Why?”

  “Gonna fix you.”

  Amy’s jaw dropped and she gave him a look of concern. “Excuse me?”

  He flushed. He really needed to learn to stop blurting things out before he thought. He composed himself, thinking through the words before stating them slowly. “I am going to fix your car. I need the keys so I can drive it over to the ranch in the morning to take a look at it. If I can’t get it working, I’ll tow it to the garage.”

  “Oh. But . . . if it’s the alternator, isn’t that expensive?” She held the keys out, hesitating. “I don’t know much about cars. And I don’t have much money . . .”

  Caleb held his hand out, waiting.

  Still, she hesitated. “We don’t exactly hand our keys over to strangers in the city, you know.”

  He’d given her a ride home. Even now, she was wearing his blanket around her shoulders. He was in her phone. She’d called him for help . . . but he was a stranger? Amy must have seen something on his face, because she hesitated for only a moment longer before handing her keys over. “Just . . . let me know how much it costs, okay?”

  “I’ll be back at seven.”

  “For what?” Her brows furrowed and she gave him a curious look.

  “I can give you a ride to work, too.”

  “Oh. That’s very kind of you but it’s Friday night. I don’t work again until Monday.”

  “Monday morning, then.”

  He wasn’t being kind. Not really. Caleb managed to nod and then left her house, realizing as he got back into his truck that she’d given him all her keys, even her house keys. Damn, but she was trusting. Someone could take advantage of her if she wasn’t careful and if he wasn’t around. The thought worried him, but he’d just have to talk to her about that.