A True Cowboy Christmas

by Caitlin Crews

  Hope sniffed over the piles of books on the messy counter that she and her sisters never neatened up entirely because they all preferred a wall between them and the customers. It was a kind of cave in this bookstore that Hope and her two sisters had been running ever since their mother and her sister had decided that all things considered, they’d had enough of Cold River and the state of Colorado. Stella and Helen intended to find themselves in the hills of Santa Fe, they’d told anyone who’d asked and many who hadn’t, and then they’d left the store and the house out back to the next generation.

  And apparently their true selves were truly good and missing because it had been three years so far and counting.

  “Friends do not let friends find out incredibly important personal information in a series of dramatic texts from Rae Trujillo,” Hope said, all accusation and outrage.

  Only about 30 percent feigned, if Abby had to guess.

  “You’re also friends with Rae Trujillo,” she pointed out mildly. “I’ll remind you that in fifth grade, you decided you and Rae were best friends and I was only your second best friend.”

  “Not that you’re holding on to that or anything.” Hope rolled her eyes. “And I demoted her.”

  “Not until seventh grade. Your devotion has been suspect ever since.”

  “My devotion is the foundation of your entire life, and you know it,” Hope shot back. She shook her head. “And now you’ve been standing in my shop for more than five seconds without immediately confessing there’s a Gray Everett situation happening to you. At last.”

  Capricorn Books was one of Abby’s favorite places in the world. As a little girl she’d spent hours here, crawling around the nooks and crannies of a bookstore that was filled with stacks of used books in the back and new ones up front in no particular order, because the Mortimers believed that books found you, not the other way around. It had always been treasure and magic to Abby. That she, Hope, and Rae had grown up hanging around the store together on all those school day afternoons, absolute best friends even through the fifth grade debacle, just made it better.

  It also meant Abby didn’t wait to be asked to come in and make herself comfortable. She moved around behind the counter and took her usual spot in the overstuffed armchair there after dislodging Orion, the ancient, ever-affronted tabby cat. And then she poured out the incredible, unbelievable story of the past day to her friend.

  She even offered her phone with Gray’s contact page open as evidence.

  Hope stared at the entry and the number, then handed the phone back, her eyes wide.

  “I still don’t understand why I’m hearing about this now, instead of three seconds after it happened. Yesterday.”

  Abby blew out a breath. “Because I didn’t believe it was true. I still don’t.”

  “Oh, it’s definitely true.” Hope settled herself on the wide arm of the chair next to Abby, and for a moment, they could have been any age. Seven. Twelve. Seventeen. Always in this same configuration, and often with Rae on the other arm. “Rae said that three separate people came into the Flower Pot and told her that her good friend Abby Douglas was on a coffee date with Gray Everett.” She grinned. “So even if it wasn’t true before, it is now.”

  “That’s what I told him.”

  A customer came in then, bringing in a rush of cold with the jangling bells. Abby stayed where she was while Hope swiftly found the book the man was looking for, acting as she always did, as if there was a Capricorn Books shelving system that made sense. And Abby found herself grinning down at Orion, who was cleaning himself with obvious, murderous umbrage at her feet, as Hope talked the man into two more books besides. Because that was Hope. There was something about her smile that made her impossible to resist—a power she used for both good and evil.

  “What are you going to do?” Hope asked once the customer—one of the tourists Cold River got more and more of these days as overflow from the resort traffic along the I-70 corridor meandered off that well-beaten path into more of the Colorado wilderness—finished thanking her profusely and headed back out onto the street. She settled on the arm of the chair again and angled herself so she could look Abby full in the face.

  “What do you mean, what am I going to do? I can’t…” Abby sighed as her friend stared back at her. “Oh, come on. I can’t marry him.”

  “The first time you told me you were going to marry Gray Everett was in the second grade.”

  “I also wanted to be a princess in the second grade. And an astronaut. Simultaneously, if possible.”

  “Second grade, Abby. And it’s not as if your feelings on him have wavered since.”

  But Abby didn’t think her feelings were the issue. “I don’t know why he wants to get married again, and I really don’t understand why he would pick me. Except the fact I live next door. And am convenient.”

  Conveniently close. Conveniently single. Conveniently so boring that there would certainly be no more scandal attached to the Everett name if she took it.

  And conveniently without anything better to do, which should have offended her the most.

  Hope frowned. “You don’t marry someone because they happen to be located on the same road.”

  “That’s what I keep saying.”

  “Apart from all the reasons that’s true in emotional terms, the man has access to any number of vehicles, including a big old truck. He knows how to drive it. I’ve seen him driving it. It’s not like he’s imprisoned in his house and wants you because you’re the only female he’s laid eyes on in years.”

  “It just doesn’t make any sense.”

  “It makes sense to me.” Hope’s voice was as steady as her gaze. “You’re loyal and steadfast. You’re completely trustworthy. And when you love, it’s forever. I don’t know the inner workings of Gray Everett’s head, but given how his last marriage ended, I’d bet all of those are high on his list of preferences.”

  That scraped at Abby, making her feel like she should jump in and defend Gray when Hope wasn’t exactly attacking him. Down girl, she ordered herself. She stared at the cat fiercely, as if she could figure all this out if she watched Orion angrily lick his fluffy haunch long enough.

  “First of all, even if all that were true, Gray doesn’t know any of that about me because he doesn’t know anything about me, period. And second, you just described a dim-witted Labrador retriever.”

  “Abby.”

  “It’s ridiculous,” Abby burst out, and she could hear the emotion heavy in her voice. She could feel it, threatening the backs of her eyes. “He’s Gray Everett. And I’m … me. How’s that going to look? No one’s going to believe he actually…” She broke off because her throat was so tight, and her face so hot, it actually hurt. She made herself swallow, then push on. “It’s embarrassing.”

  Hope’s expression was flinty. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  But Hope pretending she didn’t understand didn’t make what Abby was saying any less true.

  “Gray Everett belongs with someone like Cristina, not me.”

  “You mean the same Cristina who cheated on him and left him to raise their daughter alone because she couldn’t bear to stay home that night? Or any night?”

  Abby’s cheeks blazed, and she was surprised they weren’t shooting off sparks, igniting all the books and papers around them. “I’m not talking about how she acted. I’m talking about the whole package. He needs someone like her. Or you. Somebody…”

  “Somebody…?”

  Hope’s raised brows were relentless, and some ugly thing inside Abby was almost grateful. Saying it out loud was better. Because no one else would pretend. They would come right out and say it when she wasn’t in the room. That poor girl, they would tut. Just so plain, bless her. Surely it was better for Abby to say it herself. Surely that would take away the power of the whispers that would follow her otherwise.

  “Somebody beautiful,” Abby said, because in the end it was that simple, and it didn’t matte
r if there was too much heat behind her eyes. “People are supposed to marry people like them. They’re supposed to match. Otherwise it looks like … pity. Like I’m trying to be something I’m not.”

  “The only person who doesn’t think you’re beautiful is you,” Hope retorted, her voice as fierce as the light of battle in her gaze.

  That hard, choked knot inside of Abby eased, but only because this was familiar ground. Hope and Rae had been giving her some version of the same pep talk since they’d all decided they liked boys, way back when they didn’t know what liking boys even meant.

  But even then, Abby had understood that Rae was delicate and Hope was magnetic while Abby herself was too tall, too awkward. She couldn’t laugh like Rae and she couldn’t smile like Hope, who both drew people to them effortlessly. She’d decided she was an acquired taste.

  That no one had yet showed the slightest interest in acquiring.

  “I love you for saying that, but you know it’s not true,” Abby said quietly. “For example, somehow, despite this great beauty that you claim everyone sees but me, every single man alive has managed to resist me for the past thirty years.”

  “Men are notorious idiots.” Hope nudged Abby’s leg with hers. “But you wouldn’t know either way because you’ve always been completely unaware that any other men exist.”

  Abby sucked in a breath, horrified at how uneven it still sounded. How unsteady she felt, even here in this sprawling armchair where she’d never been anything but comfortable.

  “We can argue about how secretly beautiful I am some other time,” she managed to say unevenly. “Right now I need you rational. Because I know there’s no way you can sit here and tell me rationally that I should marry a man who’s never really spoken to me before. No matter how long I’ve had a crush on him.”

  Hope shifted on the broad, flat arm of the chair. “You’re the one who keeps telling me there’s no such thing as the Mortimer family curse.”

  “Because there’s no such thing as curses.”

  “And yet here we are. Another generation of eternally lonely Mortimer sisters holed up in this town and running this bookstore. Just like Mama and Aunt Helen before us.”

  “You’re not cursed, Hope.” It was Abby’s turn to nudge her friend for emphasis. “You wish you were, because that would make it a narrative instead of … life.”

  Hope’s eyes narrowed at that, and Abby watched her decide not to argue the point.

  Possibly because it was true.

  “If I’m not cursed, then you’re not the ugly beast you seem to imagine you are,” Hope argued instead. “If I have to accept it, so do you.”

  Abby made a face. “I’m not an ugly beast. I’m … fine.”

  That was the trouble. She was fine. Okay. Plain, she’d always told herself, with an upgrade to decent when she made an effort. The sort of woman who should have been born generations earlier, when capability was more prized out here in these unforgiving hills than an insubstantial prettiness that would fade at the first sign of winter.

  But she wasn’t a pioneer woman. This was the twenty-first century, and no one was ever going to write her a love poem or make grand, romantic gestures to win her favor. There would be no besotted lovers fighting for her hand or even her phone number. She’d given up on that long ago. Until this moment, she would have said she’d accepted it.

  “If you were fine in any real sense of the word, you would have let Tate Bishop ask you out in high school,” Hope said after a moment.

  Abby made no attempt to hide her sigh. “Not Tate Bishop again. How many times can we talk about Tate Bishop in one lifetime? I would argue we’ve already exceeded the maximum by about eight million.”

  “He liked you, Abby. He really liked you.”

  “The only person who thinks about Tate Bishop is you, Hope. I didn’t think about him then. I’m not thinking about him now. I’m not sure Tate Bishop thinks about himself this much.”

  “Tate Bishop is a representative of the whole Abby Douglas story.”

  “There is no Abby Douglas story.”

  Hope looked at her pityingly. “I know. That’s my point.”

  “You have high school Tate in your head. You missed post-high school Tate, the grim march of his bad decisions, and that whole arson situation.”

  “That was never proven.”

  “Hope. If Tate had a single, golden moment, you were the only one who saw it. Then you went off to college. You weren’t around to witness his downward spiral, but I was.”

  “If you’d let him ask you to even one dance in high school, who knows, you could have averted all that spiraling,” Hope argued, as she had before.

  Many, many times.

  “I’m not prepared to take responsibility for Tate Bishop’s life choices,” Abby said with a roll of her eyes. “But it’s becoming apparent that your obsession with him might actually point to a deeper illness.”

  “All I’m saying is, you’ve always been a lot more desirable than you think you are,” Hope said, the laughter that had infused their half-faked squabble fading as she settled back against the chair and kept her gaze steady on Abby. “For some reason—and we both know what that reason is—you decided to be invisible a long time ago. And that’s what you’ve done, ever since.”

  Abby didn’t want to talk about her mother. Much less her friend’s theories about her mother. She’d wasted too many hours of her life that she would never get back talking about Lily, and this wasn’t the time.

  Besides, she already knew what Hope would say. Because she’d said it a thousand times before. That was the comfort and exasperation of very old friends.

  “Maybe that’s true,” she said now, though she didn’t believe it for a second. She just didn’t want to argue about it. “But, Hope, Gray wants me to call him. He wants me to give him an answer. How can I give him an answer when the question is ridiculous?”

  Hope didn’t answer immediately. The phone rang, and she got up to take the call, told the caller the store’s hours, and then replaced the receiver. She took her time leaning back against the counter to face Abby, gazing at her as if she’d never really looked at her before. And Abby did the same in return.

  She couldn’t expect Hope to understand. Hope was beautiful, like her sisters. Tall, effortlessly slim, and always that little bit more polished and put together than everyone else in Cold River. And yet Hope didn’t have the sort of easy, unmistakable beauty that made Abby feel like a lumbering oaf in comparison. The way she had around, say, women like Gray’s Cristina. Hope’s was the sort of beauty that made everyone around her feel beautiful too.

  Damn her.

  “Do you want to marry him?” Hope asked.

  “What kind of marriage can you have with someone who doesn’t know you from a can of paint?”

  “That’s not what I asked you.”

  “There’s a difference between fantasy and reality. They’re not the same thing. I’m not sure that’s bad either. People want things in fantasy that they would never want in real life.”

  “That’s an interesting theory. But still not what I asked you.”

  “I think about marrying him and what that would look like, realistically,” Abby said carefully. She let out a sigh. “What people would say. Oh, Gray Everett took pity on that homely Douglas girl. Or, did you hear that Abby Douglas took advantage of poor, grieving Gray Everett? Those are the two possibilities I keep circling around.”

  Hope actually laughed. “I don’t even know where to begin with that.”

  “Because you know I’m right. That’s how it would happen.”

  “Number one, you’re not homely. Two, I’ve never heard of anybody taking advantage of any Everett, but especially not Gray. Speaking of things that are completely unimaginable. And most important, I don’t know who you think wanders around this town talking about you that way.”

  “Everybody in this town talks about everybody else in this town, and you know it.”

  “I p
ersonally exult in it. But nobody talks about you, Abby. Not like that. You’re not some horror that will be inflicted on the person who marries you.”

  “That doesn’t mean they won’t—”

  “And I can’t help noticing you still haven’t answered the actual question I asked you.”

  Because she couldn’t.

  Because there was only one word that she could say, and she was afraid to say it out loud. Abby was afraid it was written all over her. That it was stamped on her forehead like the tattoo she’d never gotten and right there on her tongue, so close to spilling out every time she opened her mouth that the effort of keeping it in make her feel slightly ill.

  “And I’m not talking about any tediously adult, depressingly realistic discussion about what an egalitarian partnership looks like these days out on a working ranch.” Hope leaned forward, her tone as intense as the look on her face. “I’m asking if you, Abby, in your heart, still want to marry that man the way you did when you were seven.”

  “When I was seven, I thought dreams came true,” Abby replied quietly, before she knew she meant to speak at all. “I thought my mother would come home to stay. I thought my father would hunt me down so he could meet me. I thought both of my grandparents would live forever.”

  Hope reached down and took both of Abby’s hands in hers, startling them both, because they’d never been big touchers. They generally kept it to an odd hug here and there, like when Hope had come back on visits from college, or finally moved home for good.

  But today, Hope took her hands and even squeezed them for emphasis. “We both know it’s a trick question. Because we both know the answer. It’s always been the same answer.”

  “It was never a real question!” Abby protested.

  “And now it is,” Hope retorted. “So I have to ask. What are you going to do with this opportunity to get everything you’ve always said you wanted? Are you going to step aside and let someone else marry him for the wrong reasons because you don’t think he wants you for the right ones?”