Christmas in Cowboy Country

by Janet Dailey

  Elsie gave her visitors a speaking look that said it all. The conversation was effectively over. Jack sat down and got up again.

  “He has good days and bad days,” his wife murmured when her husband had left the room. “I just wish I had a name for what exactly is wrong.” She paused, collecting herself, holding her head high. “It could be so many things.”

  Annie got the same impression of unshakable dignity. She would add silent courage to that.

  “I’m sorry he didn’t remember you, Nell. He never was too good with names. And now, well . . .” The old lady didn’t finish the sentence.

  “Elsie. You don’t have to explain.”

  “There isn’t anything more I can say. But he’s still my Jack. And he always will be.”

  “I understand,” Nell said finally. “I didn’t know about this. But you don’t have to deal with it alone, Elsie.”

  “I can’t talk about it now.” The old lady seemed to have withdrawn from them, her attention focused on the man moving about in the adjoining rooms. “I think you’d better go, in fact.”

  Nell rose reluctantly and Annie followed her lead. “I hope you can forgive me for not staying in touch,” Nell said.

  Elsie gave her a wry look. “Oh, of course. It’s not entirely your fault. I never called you. And I do hope you’ll come back.”

  “Of course I will.”

  It seemed best not to linger. They were outside in a few minutes.

  “I almost don’t know where to start,” Nell said. “But I’m not going to forget about her. Not with Christmas right around the corner.”

  Annie took the white cardboard box of treats from the front seat and went in the side door of the house. Her mother never would have forgiven her for not bringing something home from her favorite bakery.

  She set the Jelly Jam box down on the pine table in the kitchen and looked around. The winter sun poured through the windows. There was no sign of her mother, other than the immaculate counters and general air of tidiness. Lou Bennett had a place for everything and put everything in its place.

  Tyrell had built the kitchen himself, putting in cabinets and shelves to his wife’s specifications. All of it had been made to last.

  Good storage beat hearts and flowers, her mom liked to say. But her husband made sure to remember those too.

  Some day, some way, Annie was going to have a marriage like theirs. If a couple wasn’t committed to love by deeds and not just words, she didn’t see the point of it.

  “Mom?” she called. “I’m home.”

  A faint hello echoed from somewhere.

  Annie filled the electric kettle with water and looked through the cupboards for tea bags. She made two cups just in case her mother wanted one.

  A few minutes went by before Lou appeared.

  Annie couldn’t actually see her. Her petite mother was invisible behind the lightweight boxes she carried. They were all neatly labeled in her bouncy handwriting.

  Ornaments. Garlands. Tree Topper. There were more. Annie was glad to see her personal favorite in the stack. Glass Birds. They were heirlooms, hand-painted with showy tails, and spindly feet that had to be wound around Christmas tree branches.

  “Is that you?” Annie asked, laughing as she went to her mother and removed the top boxes.

  Lou set the rest of them on the kitchen table. “Seemed like high time I got all these down.”

  “We don’t even have a Christmas tree yet.”

  “Oh, your father will take care of that. I just wanted to make sure nothing’s broken and see if we needed anything new.”

  “I understand there’s a sale on elf-related merchandise at the hobby store.”

  “Is there? Do you have a coupon?”

  “Would I lie to you? Yes to the first question. No to the second. I made you some tea. Let’s look through the boxes.”

  They spent the better part of an hour taking a sentimental inventory before Annie brought up the subject of Mrs. Pearson.

  “Elsie Pearson? Yes, I know who she is,” Lou said absentmindedly. “But I couldn’t say I know her personally.”

  Annie recounted the story from the beginning, including their accidental meeting and subsequent visit with Nell, without adding a word about how vulnerable the old lady had seemed to her. With her dad on the verge of turning seventy, getting old was the last thing he wanted to talk about, and she suspected that her mother thought the same way, even though she was nearly a decade younger than her husband.

  Annie wrapped it up with her thoughts on Shep Connally.

  “Oh. The blowhard from the town meeting.” Her mother held up a glass bird and smoothed its flyaway tail. “I didn’t think too much of him either.”

  “But would you say he’s trying to con her and maybe some of the other old people?”

  “I honestly don’t know, dear.”

  Annie sighed. “I just want to help Mrs. Pearson.”

  Lou set the bird into its niche in the ornament box. “You can’t help people who don’t want to be helped, honey. She has a right to make her own decisions. And I think Nell is going to be better at dealing with the particular problems involved.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “That you’re young yet and you don’t know everything.”

  “I never said I did,” Annie replied indignantly.

  Her mother seemed not to have heard her protest. “Above all, don’t pry. If Mrs. Pearson wants your assistance with something, I’m sure she’ll ask you. It does sound like you made a friend.”

  “I hope so.”

  Annie was quiet for a little while, fiddling with the ornaments. Lou Bennett finally stopped what she was doing long enough to sip her tea.

  “Want me to heat that up for you?”

  “I like it lukewarm.”

  “No, you don’t.” Annie took the cup from her and put it in the microwave, timing it for thirty seconds. She didn’t turn to look at her mother when she asked another question.

  “Mom, are you volunteering at the senior center this year?”

  It wasn’t exactly a center, just a spare room provided gratis at the town hall for seniors to meet in occasionally.

  “Yes. Which reminds me. The president of the Groaners and Grumblers Club left me a message last night.”

  “What did you call them? That’s not nice.”

  “Groaners and Grumblers. That’s what they call themselves,” Lou pointed out. “At least they have a sense of humor. It’s not easy being old.”

  “You’re not there yet, Mom.” Annie took out the reheated cup of tea when the microwave beeped, and brought it over.

  “Says you. I officially qualified as a senior this year.”

  “That bunch thinks you’re fresh out of high school.” Annie picked a mini box of raisins out of the fruit bowl and munched on a few. “So do you think you could keep an ear open? See if they have any shared concerns?”

  “What are you getting at?”

  Annie polished off the raisins. “Like if anyone complains about Shep Connally. Or mentions reverse mortgages. Or anything else relating to real estate that sounds fishy to you.”

  “If there’s going to be an investigation, call the police.”

  “They need evidence.”

  Lou frowned and wiped off an imaginary spot on the counter with a folded dish towel. “Did they ask you to get it?”

  “No. But I might as well start somewhere.”

  “Annie.” Her mother stopped wiping and set aside the dish towel. “I think you’re taking this too seriously. You’re up in arms about something that hasn’t happened and may never happen. I’m sure Nell knows who to contact at social services to help Mrs. Pearson.”

  “She did say she was going to.”

  “Good. I know you mean well, but you can’t take on a situation like that. Besides, you should be spending more time with people your own age.”

  “I am. I called Darla,” Annie said. “We hung out at the ski lodge for a couple of hours.�
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  “When was that?”

  “Several days ago.”

  “That would be my point. ’Tis the season to be jolly.” Lou went and got her purse and pulled out a flyer. “Did you know there’s a dance coming up?”

  “No.” Annie glanced at the flyer her mother set in front of her.

  “The first annual Snow Ball. Doesn’t that sound romantic?” Lou sighed.

  “Not particularly.”

  Her mother read aloud from the flyer. “ ‘Come one, come all, for a night of magic. Enjoy three live bands that will tickle your ears and get your toes tapping with country swing, rockabilly, and your favorite sweet serenades.’ ”

  Annie wasn’t about to admit that it sounded wonderful. “I don’t want my ears tickled.”

  “Sourpuss,” her mother chided. “You don’t have to have a date to attend, you know.”

  “Okay,” Annie said. “Because I can’t get one.”

  “Does that mean you might go?” her mother asked slyly.

  “I’m not promising anything.”

  “It’s next Friday. Come to think of it, Helen Skerrit was going to come over that same night to play cards. She’s bringing her stepson Alan. You know, the genius. Right now he has nothing to do. She said he just got kicked out of graduate school for some reason. Maybe what he needs is love and understanding.”

  Annie knew her mom was teasing her. “Count me out. Isn’t he the one who sleeps all day and only eats corn chips?”

  “Yes. And I’m prepared. There are five jumbo bags in the pantry.”

  Annie laughed at the wicked gleam in her mother’s eye. “You’re awful. All right. I’ll think about the damn dance. I might even go. By myself. Just hide that flyer where Alan will never find it.”

  Lou folded it neatly in half and handed it to her daughter. “It’s all yours. But promise me you’ll go. You might meet someone.”

  Annie made a face. “What if I don’t feel sociable?”

  “Go anyway. You could change your mind.”

  Chapter 11

  Annie was out at the barn, checking the siding in preparation for the first big storm of winter. There hadn’t been much snow so far and it was already December. But it would come.

  Her phone chirped in the pocket of her down vest. Annie took it out and looked at the screen.

  It was a text message from Marshall Stone. Annie tapped the screen.

  Rowdy’s missing. Have u seen him?

  That wasn’t good news. She texted back. No.

  She counted to ten. Against her better judgment, she typed another text. Want to meet up to look for him?

  Sure.

  Annie took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Seeing Marshall Stone again might not be the best idea. But she did care about the dog.

  An hour or so later, they were driving around, looking for a flash of black-and-white fur. Rowdy was nowhere in sight.

  “I let him out this morning and went back to get his leash. So it’s my fault,” Stone admitted. “When I got outside, he was gone. I whistled and whistled, but he didn’t come back. I sure hope he didn’t get hit by a car.”

  “It happens.”

  “I made a couple of calls. No one’s reported a lost dog.” He kept scanning the sides of the road and looking into the distance.

  “If he did get hit and he’s injured, he might stay away from anyone trying to help.”

  “True.”

  “Or maybe his real owner came back for him.”

  Marshall scowled. She guessed he was thinking about the Dumpster and whoever had abandoned the dog there in the first place. “I doubt that,” he muttered.

  There was a distant sound of barking. He listened carefully.

  “Is that him?”

  “I think so.” His expression brightened considerably.

  He kept the windows rolled down as he zeroed in on the barking. Soon enough, they spotted Rowdy, playing ring-toss in an open field with several young women. They looked like college students. Had winter break already begun? Annie guessed that it had.

  “What an operator.” Stone laughed.

  Takes after you. Annie didn’t want to say it. Marshall Stone wasn’t her boyfriend. Just a good-looking guy women noticed. That wasn’t a sin, per se.

  “How am I going to persuade him to go home with me?” he asked as he got out of the truck.

  Annie was irked by the way Stone’s intent gaze moved from his dog to the girls, who squealed and giggled, amused by the antics of the happy-go-lucky stray.

  “Hi there! Is this your dog?”

  It was impossible to tell who’d asked the question.

  “Yes.” Laconic as ever. But Marshall had a huge, annoying grin on his face.

  The girls were all pretty, without a care in the world, a mix of blondes and brunettes, their long hair tousled by the breeze despite their headbands. Annie couldn’t help noticing the expensive ski jackets they wore, new for the season, thinking that she hadn’t been able to afford even closeout items for some time.

  “Do you have any dog treats?” she asked tightly from inside the truck.

  “Look in the glove compartment. I think I stashed some CrunChees in there.”

  Annie pushed the button in the center of the molded door and opened it. There was a plastic bag with a couple of orange-cheese-colored dog biscuits stuffed next to the owner’s manual.

  “Yup. Here.” She handed them over and shut the compartment.

  Apparently Rowdy’s new best friends were thinking along the same lines.

  “Can we give him a snack?” one called, trying unsuccessfully to catch the playful animal. “He looks hungry.”

  “No, he doesn’t,” Annie muttered. Rowdy had filled out fast. She knew perfectly well that the playful young women were more interested in the dog’s owner than the dog.

  Stone opened the driver’s side door without responding to her sarcastic comment. Or maybe he hadn’t heard it.

  “He has you fooled, ladies.” He held up the treat bag. “That dog eats more than I do.”

  Stone grinned again in response to a wave of feminine laughter. Annie scowled.

  Rowdy shook off the snow in his fur and trotted toward the truck.

  “That can’t be true,” one said.

  “He stole half the Thanksgiving turkey right off the counter,” he informed them.

  Annie shot Stone a look. She hadn’t asked him how he’d spent the traditional holiday, figuring at the time that he’d probably zoomed up overnight to Wyoming on the interstate and returned by Sunday.

  “Gosh. He looks so innocent.”

  About as innocent as his ruggedly good-looking master, Annie thought.

  “And he’s so friendly,” someone else said. She was having trouble keeping track, what with all the gushing.

  “We figured he had to belong to someone. But he didn’t have a tag.”

  Again, it was kind of hard to tell which girl had said it. They tended to talk over each other and laugh a lot. Annie saw Marshall bend down and examine the dog.

  “Hmm. Guess he managed to lose that. But it could’ve fallen off.” Rowdy sat before he was asked to and got a CrunChee for his trouble. “Well, thanks for taking care of him.”

  “No problem.” They kept on chattering like happy birds in the sunshine, ignoring Annie, who was still in the truck. Maybe they just didn’t see her, what with the glare off the windshield. Or maybe it was the blinding brilliance of Marshall Stone’s sexy smile.

  She narrowed her gaze when one young woman approached the truck. Oh, please, she thought. She wasn’t in the mood to chat with anyone.

  The girl ran her mittened hand over the gleaming fender. “Ooh, nice truck. Is it new?”

  Masculine pride tinged Stone’s reply. “Yup.”

  The sun went behind a cloud and the reflective glare on the windshield vanished. The girl suddenly saw Annie and stepped back, her mascaraed eyes widening for a second. “Um, hello.”

  Annie managed a thin smile. “Hi.�
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  The other girl effectively dismissed her by addressing her next remark exclusively to Marshall. “I didn’t know you were with someone.”

  He barely glanced sideways at her, to her further annoyance. “That’s Annie. She’s a friend. I’m Marshall Stone.”

  “Oh, okay. Well, I’m Jill.”

  She didn’t offer a last name and he didn’t supply any additional clarification as to who Annie was to him.

  Not really anyone, she thought crossly. There was no other term besides friend for their relationship so far. It was difficult to define and probably didn’t even technically qualify as a relationship, but even so, it seemed to Annie that he could have been more enthusiastic about introducing her.

  Marshall looked a little nervous, as if he’d been caught playing the field. Or maybe a guilty look would be more accurate. She wondered, if she were just a friend and nothing more, if he kissed all his female acquaintances the way he kissed her. She looked out the side window at nothing and sighed inwardly.

  Rowdy jumped in when his master whistled, giving Annie an enthusiastic greeting despite his betrayal.

  “Quit it,” she told him. But she patted him, even though he was getting snow all over the seat. He panted with happy tiredness, letting his tongue loll out as Marshall got back in, leaving the window rolled down to give a final wave.

  More squeals and giggles.

  Now they all seemed to be admiring the truck, egged on by Jill. They probably took Stone for a rich young rancher. They had no way of knowing that he wasn’t from around the area because they weren’t local either.

  A redhead joined the group. Where had she come from? Annie sat bolt upright when the redhead slipped off her jacket. She was wearing a hot pink sweater. Annie thought, uncharitably, that it clashed with her hair, which looked dyed.

  The color of the sweater wasn’t proof of anything. Annie hated herself for jumping to conclusions. There had to be a hundred million pink sweaters in the US, and Colorado could probably lay claim to about ten million of the total. It didn’t mean a damn thing. But she had to admit that the visual connection had jolted her for a second.

  Then she realized that Marshall was waving to that one in particular.

  “What are you doing here?” the redhead called.