Rodeo Rancher

by Mary Sullivan

  “Yes, you are.”

  “Don’t humor me,” he snapped.

  She swallowed an exasperated sigh. “I’m not. I mean it. Truly. Your children love you. You love them. Since the moment I arrived, I haven’t doubted it. They are your world. In the short time I’ve been here, I’ve witnessed how devoted you are to them and how well you take care of them.”

  She stepped close and settled her hand on his arm.

  He jerked away from her. “Don’t touch me.” Tone harsh, he continued, “Before you came, we were fine. We got along. There was no crying, no shouting. The children were okay.”

  For a long time, she didn’t say a word while debating how to react. Fight or flight? Fight won. She and her brother had missed so much as children. She couldn’t let that happen to Mick and Lily. She had so much affection for quirky, funny Mick and sweet, gentle Lily already.

  She might have trouble fighting for herself, but not for kids. For the sake of his children, the battle was on.

  “You were not fine,” she asserted. “You had repressed your grief so badly there was nothing bright about this home. There were no lows, true, but there weren’t any highs, either. I’ll bet there’s been more laughter in this house since I arrived than in all of the past two years. Am I right?”

  He turned on her. “No. You’re wrong. It’s been more than two years. Lillian had cancer for a year before she died. There. Are you satisfied? I’ve been repressing my children for three years.”

  She stared, assessing the depth of Michael’s anger, reaching beneath to feel his grief.

  Rigid and terrified, he was running on empty. Any minute now he was going to reach his limit. And that would be a damned shame, because he truly was a good father.

  She had to do something.

  “When I was small,” she began, hoping this wasn’t a mistake, “we had nothing. My parents didn’t care. The only one who gave a hoot about me was Travis. He was a good brother. He was my angel.

  “Then my dad died and a year later so did Mom. Cancer. Just like Lillian, but Mom lasted only a month, not a full year. But then, Mom had never had much fight in her.”

  Michael watched her with his dark, inscrutable gaze.

  She continued. “We were left alone. The difference was that we were older than Mick and Lily. I was twelve and Travis sixteen, not babies like your kids.”

  Travis had been her savior, throughout her childhood and after their deaths. Every child needed a savior.

  “The effect of my parents’ indifference to me and Travis lingers to this day. Your kids need to heal now.”

  What kind of people would Lily and Mick grow up to be? Decent and salt-of-the-earth like their father? Certainly. Repressed and holding everything in, also like their father? Beyond a shadow of a doubt.

  Samantha couldn’t let that happen.

  Things had to be turned around, and quickly.

  “I’m staying another week—”

  “I didn’t invite you to.”

  “—and we’re having Christmas.”

  Michael’s fists were clenched. She wasn’t afraid, certain in her conviction that he wouldn’t hurt her. He glared at her over his shoulder, but he didn’t contradict her.

  The gauntlet had been thrown down. The challenge had been made. Michael could accept or continue to hide away.

  Thunderclouds were less intimidating than what seethed on his brow.

  “Who do you think you are to make assumptions about my kids and my home? What gives you the right to make Christmas?”

  “I’m the person who’s going to save you from yourself.”

  He looked like he might throttle her. When he grasped her arms and pulled her against him, she had a moment of fear. Had she gone too far?

  But he didn’t hurt her. He kissed her, and it was full of fury, unrestrained passion, and so, so much more than Sammy had ever known in a kiss. She leaned into him, tasting his heat and drinking in every drop of his fervor and returning it with her own. More, more, more.

  His heat surrounded her, melting her own remembered grief from childhood.

  She took and took, craving everything, but he pulled away too soon, breathing hard.

  “This isn’t over,” he ground out.

  She wasn’t sure what he meant by this, but said, “No, it isn’t, but now is not the time.”

  Resistance still seethed in his dark eyes, but some of it had been spent in that kiss.

  “Michael, we both know you saved our lives when you let me and my kids stay here, even though you didn’t want us to.”

  He didn’t respond. She forged on. “Let me repay you by making Christmas for the children and for you.”

  He still didn’t speak, but at least he didn’t disagree.

  “It will all turn out right. I promise.” Sure of her decision, she called out to the kids, “Get your snowsuits and boots. We’re going Christmas tree hunting.”

  She searched Michael’s face before pointing a finger at him and saying, “You bring the ax.”

  Returning to the kitchen, she put away the perishables from the grocery bags on the floor and left the rest for later.

  She stopped and touched her lips.

  It had been a long time since she’d been kissed like that, with that much pent-up desire. Not since...well, never.

  She took a moment to compose herself, drawing on every ounce of strength she possessed to set aside her own needs for the sake of the children. They mattered, not her.

  Back in the hallway, she waded into the chaos of twelve children scrambling into boots, snowsuits, hats and mittens.

  “How can only four kids make so much mess?” she wailed, overdoing it for a laugh.

  Mick giggled, his relief that she was making light of things palpable.

  The other two younger children followed his lead, but not Jason. He watched her and Michael, somber and on guard.

  She leaned close and whispered, “Stop worrying.”

  When he didn’t relax, she wrapped her arms around him and lifted him off his feet.

  “Mo-o-o-om,” he protested, but didn’t push her away. She might have only another year or two before he got too cool for hugging, and Samantha planned to get her fill.

  When she put him down, he glanced at Michael, apprehension still lingering.

  Michael approached and Samantha tensed.

  She wasn’t afraid that he would hurt her, but the wrong words could crush her son.

  Michael settled a wide, blunt-fingered hand on Jason’s shoulder.

  “You want to help me cut down the tree?” He didn’t look happy, but his voice was gentle.

  “I can help,” Jason said with a small smile.

  “Okay. Between the two of us, we’ll get ’er done.”

  Michael turned to Samantha, his expression a maelstrom of roiling and unsettled emotions.

  She knew how he felt.

  “Jason and I will head out to the barn and get what we need. You finish with the little ones,” he said, his tone apologetic despite the anger still lurking in his eyes.

  They left and Sammy turned her attention to the children, bringing order to the chaos of too many outdoor clothes.

  When they stepped outside, they found Michael and Jason talking quietly, Michael holding an ax and a length of rope and Jason gripping a second rope attached to a toboggan.

  “A sled,” Colt squealed. “Look, Mom. Can I ride on it?”

  Without waiting for a response, he ran over and threw himself on it, followed by Mick and Lily.

  “I can’t pull it with them on it,” Jason complained, unhappy that his task had been ruined. “They’re too heavy.”

  “I’ll do it.” Sammy tried, but the weight was just too much for her.

  “Here.” Michael handed his rope to Jason. “Carry this.”


  He handed the ax to Samantha. “Trade you.” He relieved her of the toboggan and pulled it out of the yard, making it look easy. “The toboggan will flatten the snow enough for you to walk behind me.”

  Michael set off across a field, breaking through thigh-high snow that hadn’t yet had a chance to harden. Samantha brought up the rear with the ax slung over her shoulder.

  Michael tossed back over his shoulder. “Snow’s too deep for us to go far. We’re only going to that small copse of woods right there.”

  He pulled up at the edge of the field.

  Samantha stared at the trees. “They’re too tall.”

  “These are Colorado spruce. They grow tall. In the woods, though, I’ll find us something smaller.”

  He might have been addressing his comments to her, but he wasn’t meeting her eye. “Jason and I will head into the woods. Can you entertain the kids here?”

  “I can stay with them.”

  What was he feeling? Guilt? Shame? He was a hard man to read.

  The children tumbled into the snow like a litter of kittens.

  Mick showed all of them, including Samantha, how to build a snowman.

  “You’ve done this before,” she commented.

  Mick grinned. “Dad taught us how.”

  So, she’d been right earlier. He was a good father, engaged with his children. They hadn’t had snowball fights, but they’d built snowmen.

  Too bad he couldn’t hide his sadness from them.

  Lily showed Colt how to make a snow angel.

  “I love snow, Mom!”

  Ten minutes later, the sound of chopping echoed in the cold air.

  “Listen.” Samantha clapped her mitten-covered hands. “They found a tree!”

  “Yay!” Colt did a backflip in the snow.

  “Can we watch?” Mick grasped her hand, a look of pleading on his face.

  “I don’t see why not.”

  When the kids started to run in Michael’s footsteps for the woods, she yelled, “Stop!”

  As one, they turned.

  “We have to be careful and go slowly. Until we know exactly where they are and which way the tree is going to fall, we’ll keep our distance and call out. Everyone hold hands.”

  They ventured into the woods single file, with Samantha leading the way.

  Michael’s solid form came into view.

  When Sammy noticed it was Jason wielding the ax, her heart lurched.

  Michael saw her and raised a hand. “He’s good. I showed him what to do. He’s being careful.”

  The man was closed off, performing all of the right functions and saying all of the right things, but a ghost of himself.

  Samantha watched for a few minutes. Jason was being careful. She relaxed. His efforts weren’t getting him far, but it was good to see him try. His young, unformed muscles tired soon and Michael took the ax from him, squeezing his shoulder.

  “You did well. Step back.” When Jason reached the others at the side of the clearing, Michael swung the ax in a powerful arc and put a good-sized dent into the trunk of the tree.

  Another few whacks later, Michael pointed to a spot several feet away. “I want everyone over there.”

  Samantha herded the children over.

  Michael swung.

  “Timber-r-r,” Colt yelled and the tree came down, sending plumes of powdery snow into the air.

  The children whooped and jumped, including Jason, all of his earlier wariness gone. He ran across the clearing and around the fallen tree to throw his arms around Michael’s waist.

  “Awesome!”

  Stunned, Michael held his arms out from his sides. A split second later, he dropped the ax and hugged the boy to him.

  When he said, “We did good,” his voice sounded thick.

  Samantha blinked away the tears blurring her vision, the affection between them hurting and warming at the same time.

  She and her children would be leaving the ranch. Not until after their February Christmas celebration, but they would be leaving.

  They had another week to right a wrong, but in that time Jason would idolize Michael even more.

  What had Samantha done? Sacrificed her son’s future happiness for the sake of Mick and Lily?

  Jason had built an attachment to this rock-solid rancher, and why not? Michael had shown him more attention in a handful of days than his own father had in the past five years.

  Michael was a natural teacher, made to be a father.

  If not for his wife’s death, his relationship with his children would have developed unimpeded by grief and anger.

  He would have been an amazing father to them.

  As it was, the relationship was damaged, but Samantha believed it could be fixed.

  With the rope they’d brought along, Michael showed Jason how to secure the tree to the toboggan.

  The walk back home took a lot longer than the walk over because the little kids had to walk instead of ride.

  By the time they arrived at the house, they were fractious and Sammy carried Lily.

  Michael and Jason shook as much snow from the tree as they could and stood it up in a corner of the back porch.

  “One more thing we have to do, Jason.”

  Jason hung on Michael’s words. “Yeah?”

  “Let’s head to the barn. We’ll dry the ax thoroughly and oil it before we put it away so it won’t rust. I’ll show you how.”

  Once the younger children were out of their clothes, Samantha made hot chocolate and settled them in front of a fire.

  “Sammy, I don’t got marshmallows.”

  “I’m afraid we’re all out, Lily. I forgot to put them on the list. Drink it as it is, okay?”

  “’Kay.”

  Samantha returned to the kitchen to make chocolate for the adults and Jason. When Michael entered the kitchen, smoothing his hair into place after taking off his hat, he found Sammy with her big purse on the counter.

  She handed him a wad of money. “This is for the groceries. The boys and I have eaten you out of house and home.”

  He tucked his hands into his back pockets.

  Samantha frowned. “Please take this.”

  He shook his head. “Y’all are my guests. I won’t take your money.”

  “We’re your unexpected guests and I’ve just forced myself on you for another week.”

  “Yeah. Unexpected, true.” Still those hands stayed in his pockets. His gaze shifted away, wary and tense. “But you aren’t unwelcome. Not completely.”

  He shot out of the room, trailed by Jason with a satisfied smile warming his features.

  Not unwelcome? Her heart warmed. What a shift from just a couple of hours ago. Then she recognized the qualifier. Not completely.

  She didn’t care about his anger or misgivings or...whatever. She was doing the right thing.

  Warmed through, she started cooking.

  They had a simple dinner that night, with an early bedtime, in beds this time now that they didn’t have to sleep in front of the fire.

  In the middle of the night, Samantha awoke to find that Lily had joined her and the boys again.

  She cuddled the girl close and went back to sleep.

  After breakfast, she asked Michael to head back into town with a different kind of shopping list.

  “Okay.”

  “Can I come?” Jason asked.

  “Sure.”

  Again, Michael refused to take her money.

  Sammy put her wallet away. Stubborn man. She had the satisfaction of knowing he would be shocked at some of the items on her list.

  She also knew he would move heaven and earth to find every single one.

  After they left, she gathered the little ones close.

  She wouldn’t use old Christmas ornaments. She
didn’t even bother to look through the house for any. Michael was too fragile for that. He would be devastated to be faced with Christmas the way he and his wife had shared it.

  Samantha had to forge new traditions until Michael was healed enough to accept the old again.

  When Michael and Jason returned, Samantha outlined everything they would be doing to celebrate Christmas in February.

  “Christmas what?” Mick asked.

  “I’m calling it Christmas in February.”

  “I never heard of that.”

  “Me, neither,” said Colt.

  “I made it up,” she responded.

  She turned to Michael. “I’ll need you and Jason to put up the tree today. The rest of us will start on making decorations.”

  Jason followed Michael. Between the two of them, they erected it in the corner.

  On Michael’s large harvest table, she spread an old tablecloth with one hole in it. She’d found it in the bottom of the drawer that held place mats, napkins and good tablecloths.

  She cut out strips of the colored construction paper Michael had picked up for her.

  Setting out pots of glue, she had the children make paper chains.

  After instructing them carefully, she went into the living room to glimpse the tree.

  Michael had chosen well. Even without decorations, it added a festive note to the room, including the odd but refreshing scent of evergreen.

  Rummaging through the bags, she pulled out the strings of small white lights she’d ordered.

  Michael didn’t look happy. In fact, there was pain in the depths of his eyes, but he did everything she asked him to do.

  * * *

  THE WOMAN ASKED a lot of him.

  Michael took the lights from her and unraveled them. He taught Jason how to string them properly, hiding the wires in the branches, but twisting and positioning the lights so they showed to advantage.

  How many times had he done this in his married life?

  Every movement, every remembered motion, evoked Lillian.

  Samantha, this stranger, wanted him to forget his wife, forget that their life together had ever happened and that her death mattered.

  He knew that was unfair, but it was how it felt.

  Michael hated feeling emotions, all except for anger, and that served an essential purpose. Sometimes it was all that kept him putting one foot in front of the other.