Cowboys Under The Mistletoe: Five Christmas Christian Romance Novellas

by Kristen Ethridge

  COWBOYS UNDER THE MISTLETOE

  Bring Five Cowboys Home for the Holidays with

  New Stories from Best-Selling Christian Romance Authors

  The stories in this collection are copyrighted by their respective authors and permission to publish has been granted to Kristen Ethridge/Laurel Lock Publishing. Copyright © 2017 by Kristen Ethridge/Danica Favorite/Liz Isaacson/Deb Kastner/Jessica Keller

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Scripture taken from the New King James Version®. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

  Scriptures taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com The “NIV” and “New International Version” are trademarks registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by Biblica, Inc.™

  THE COWBOY AND THE CHRISTMAS WISH

  A Port Provident Novella

  By Kristen Ethridge

  To that guy my mom and I once gave the family fruitcake to. I’m really sorry.

  “Instead, speaking the truth in love, we will grow to become in every respect the mature body of him who is the head, that is, Christ.”

  ~Ephesians 4:15 (NIV)

  Chapter One

  “This place is an elf’s worst nightmare.”

  “Sarah.” Elinor Packard glanced away from the steering wheel.

  Sarah crossed her arms, defiantly so. She would not back down from her observation. She tapped the digital display on the dashboard of the car. “You know I’m right. When they sing that it’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas, no one means seventy-six degrees ten days before Santa boards his sleigh. Show me a photo of Santa Claus sweating, and I’ll show you the stuff of bad holiday dreams.”

  Ellie clicked her tongue against her teeth in a dismissive sound. “Santa doesn’t sweat. He glistens.”

  “He would never put up with this nonsense. So why are Mom and Dad? Why couldn’t they just rent a house in Colorado? Why did they have to insist on a beach house for the holidays?”

  “You are a Grinch.” Ellie put on a blinker and turned off Gulfview Boulevard and into a neighborhood. The sign declared this enclave to be Serenity Beach.

  Lies.

  Lies.

  All of it lies.

  Not only did Sarah Murdoch have to spend Christmas under the same roof as her crazy family—she loved them dearly, but they loved to leap before looking and Sarah was anything but a leaper—she was going to turn into a melted snowman while doing it. She felt anything but serene.

  She huffed dramatically. “I am not green, Ellie.”

  Ellie shrugged and pulled into the driveway underneath a two-story white house on stilts, surrounded by expansive wrap-around porches. “A minor detail, Sarah Beth. Everything else seems to fit. Jamie, are you ready to see the house?”

  The back seat remained silent, confirming to Sarah once more that this was a bad idea. Jamie just didn’t handle change well. But considering everything she’d already been through in life, who could blame her?

  They should have stayed home. It wasn’t much cooler in Atlanta, but at least Jamie felt comfortable there. With a million beaches between Atlanta and Texas, Sarah couldn’t fathom why her parents had picked Port Provident, Texas…or why she’d agreed to pack up her daughter and come.

  “Come on, Kiddo. Meema and Pop Pop are already upstairs. Do you want to go say hi?”

  Jamie bit her lip. This morning’s airplane ride across half the country had sent Sarah’s daughter’s anxiety sky high. Sarah worked so hard to keep Jamie’s needs balanced. Routines, sleep, diet—they were all important to Jamie. And unfortunately, all this holiday togetherness would probably prove to be too much for the fragile balance they’d achieved.

  Sarah opened the door to the back seat of the car. She reached in, then leaned across the seat, careful not to touch Jamie as she unbuckled her seatbelt. Even a simple hug, a gesture most parents took for granted, was so often just too much for Jamie. She needed her space. She needed her sensory limits respected.

  Jamie’s eyes dragged toward her mother. They were round with uncertainty.

  “Pop Pop said you can see the waves from the room they picked out for you. Maybe you could just sit in the window and watch?”

  Gently, Jamie nodded.

  Ellie unloaded the suitcases out of the trunk of the rental car. Sarah grabbed the two belonging to her and to Jamie, then walked to the stairs and began to climb. She didn’t look back until she got to the top. Jamie would come if she could do things in her own way, if she felt that she had some choice in the matter.

  Jamie looked down at her feet as she climbed at the stairs, seemingly oblivious to the December sun in the blue sky above or the waves that stretched across the horizon.

  Sarah wheeled the luggage across the deck, feeling the thump-thump of the wheels as they caught on the edges of the wooden deck planks. Ellie reached the door to the beach house first, twisted the knob, and threw it open.

  The throaty bark of Muffet, the labradoodle owned by Ellie and Sarah’s parents, filled the air in holiday greeting, and within seconds, Jerry and Dina Packard’s voices floated out to the deck as well. Suddenly, hugs and barks were everywhere.

  Sarah stole a look back at her daughter.

  Jamie stood at the far corner of the deck rail, clutching her stuffed turtle. Her eyes locked on a man down on the beach. Sarah hadn’t noticed that much intensity in her daughter for the last few days, as the packing for the trip ratcheted up the elementary schooler’s anxiety and caused her to withdraw from the world around her.

  “Mama, look.” The whisper of her three syllables settled gently on top of the mild December breeze. Had Sarah not been looking toward Jamie, she’d never have heard it.

  Jamie raised her hand and pointed. “They have horses here.”

  A man in worn denim and a faded red T-shirt flattened to his torso by the wind in motion stood in their line of sight. He cut across the shoreline atop a horse the color of light butterscotch. Two horses rode slowly behind him. He pointed at a sand dune in the distance and gently aimed the animal toward the hill.

  “Can we?”

  Sarah stopped a few paces behind Jamie. She didn’t want to crowd. “Can we what?”

  “Ride the horses while we’re here.”

  “Oh, those probably belong to someone who lives down here. I’m sure they’re not just for anyone.”

  Jamie shook her head. “I looked it up on my tablet. There’s a horse stable here. That’s Chewie.”

  Sarah felt her throat tighten. Jamie hadn’t said ten words in the last two days. But here she was, talking about a horse like they were old friends. And Jamie h
ad so few friends. It was hard for boisterous eight-year-olds to understand a girl whose brain and body would shut down in an instant if her feelings and senses became overwhelmed.

  And until she came to live with Sarah three years ago, all of Jamie’s life had been overwhelming. Sarah wished that the formality of adoption could have somehow erased all the memories and wiped the slate clean. But some jobs were nothing short of impossible, even with love.

  “When did you look up the horses?” Sarah wanted to keep drawing Jamie out from where she’d retreated.

  “Last night. I couldn’t sleep.”

  Sarah thought she’d noticed a blue glow under the door when she’d gotten up to get a glass of water. She’d dismissed it as the night light. But clearly not. She wanted to kick herself a bit for not checking out her hunch and being there to help soothe her daughter back to her dreams.

  “So, you looked up Port Provident?”

  Jamie nodded. “Yeah, I wanted to know what Texas was like.”

  “And what did you find out?”

  “It’s big.” Jamie smiled. “And they have a lighthouse here. And horses that you can ride on the beach. Can we ride one, Mama?”

  When she smiled, Jamie could light up the whole world. But it didn’t happen often enough for Sarah’s mama-heart. Maybe if she said yes, Sarah would be able to get another smile out of her daughter.

  “We’ll go check it out in the morning.”

  Grant McCray adjusted the black hat atop his head. A breeze decided to blow in off the water today. It felt good. It didn’t feel like Christmas, exactly, but he was a native Texan. Grant had grown used to Decembers not feeling like they were described in the refrains of holiday songs.

  He’d also grown used to early morning silence. It soothed his soul.

  During the spring and summer, the lines at Beachcomber Stables formed early and lasted until the sun began to drift out of the sky. But in the winter, the tourists didn’t usually think about horseback riding first and foremost. Visitors to Port Provident were more interested in the party-like Santas on the Street annual event or the recently-revived Victorian Christmas goings-on. His horses would be participating in the Christmas Day parade, but that was about as close as he would get to holiday events this year.

  Grant kind of liked it that way. He took a deep breath and smelled the salt in the air. Some people preferred pine and cocoa this time of year. But Grant thought salt and sand—and a little horse—smelled perfect, no matter what the date on the calendar said.

  “Do you offer horseback rides here?” A woman’s voice behind him bounced off the roar of the waves.

  Grant turned back toward the edge of the dunes. “Welcome to Beachcomber Stables. How can I help you, ma’am?”

  The dusting of a smile passed across the blonde woman’s lips. The ladies loved the “ma’am.” The number one rule of riding horses for a living and wearing a cowboy hat was always call the ladies ma’am. It was an unbreakable part of the cowboy creed.

  And women who felt special and respected tended to tip better. No sense in denying that fact, either, since the number two rule was to never tell a lie.

  She pointed at a short, skinny young girl next to her. The blonde was fair as a snowflake, but the skin of the young girl was as strong as espresso. Her eyes reminded Grant of the color of the skin on the outside of an almond. They focused sharply on the crest of his black Resistol.

  “My daughter would like to ride a horse if you have availability today.” She squeezed the little girl’s shoulder gently.

  Grant nodded. Time to get to work. “We don’t have any appointments booked this morning. Would you like to go now?”

  The little girl wore a pair of neon-pink closed-toe tennis shoes. They’d do. Grant would just need to make sure her feet were settled well in the stirrups.

  She nodded, just barely enough to make her intentions known.

  Grant reached the edge of the wooden-framed stable area and pointed to a dappled, older gray. “Great. I’d like to introduce you to my friend Master Y.”

  This time, the little girl’s head shifted from side to side. “Chewie,” she said.

  Grant looked at the palomino in the first stall. “Chewie is a great horse, but he’s usually the one that I ride. We go back a long way.”

  The little girl bit her dusky-rose lip. She took a deep breath and held it, then let it out slowly.

  “Is there any way that she could ride Chewie?” She dug in her purse and pulled out a credit card. “I’ll pay extra, if that makes any difference.”

  It wasn’t the first time someone had tried to pay Grant to bend some rule or go back on something he’d said.

  But as Grant’s eyes locked with the almond-brown center of the little girl’s own eyes, he knew it would be the first time he’d ever given in.

  “Does she have any experience riding horses?”

  The woman’s blonde ponytail bounced and strands of hair danced in the Gulf air. “No. This is her first time.”

  Grant shrugged. He couldn’t explain it, but something in the little girl’s eyes tugged at his soul. She didn’t say much and the words she did say were barely above a whisper. Despite being on the beach and next to a stable of horses—two of Grant’s favorite places—the little girl hadn’t even cracked the smallest hint of a smile.

  And Grant wanted to see her smile. There wasn’t much to envy about his life these days, but one of the perks was getting to see little faces light up with delight.

  “Chewie’s a gentle giant. I’m sure they’ll get along well. I’ll ride Master Y. Are you going to ride with us? Luke Skytrotter would be happy to take you out.”

  Grant walked into the equipment area of the stable and pulled out a black child-sized riding helmet, then gave the interior a spritz of disinfectant—he didn’t like to take chances with clients’ safety, whether it was protecting them from a fall or from sharing more than just the helmet.

  Suddenly, a sound like tinkling windchimes cut through the air. The woman pulled a sleek cell phone out of her purse with no hesitation.

  “Mama? Could you come?”

  The woman’s thumb stopped a hair’s breadth above the rectangle on her screen that would connect the call. She hesitated, and Grant felt the stretch of tension in the air. She pursed her lips, then looked down at the glass-and-metal encased technology. Grant could see the color of the screen change as the call stopped ringing.

  “It went to voicemail.” The look on her face seemed similar to the aftermath of sucking on a lemon. “I guess I can call them back in a bit, Jamie.”

  As the phone slid back in her mother’s saddle tan leather purse, Grant saw the little girl’s shoulders slip into a more relaxed station.

  Jamie. The shy little girl’s name was Jamie.

  And somehow, Grant knew they’d be friends. It was her uptight mother he just wasn’t sure about.

  Sarah plodded along at the end of the train of horses. She could clearly see the swing of a palomino’s tail and backside directly in front of her. She just prayed Chewie didn’t decide to make number two a number one priority while they were walking along the seashore.

  And while the gentle sway of riding a horse next to the gentle roll of the surf had all the hallmarks of a charming, calming way to spend the morning, Sarah felt only agitation.

  She wanted to check her cell phone. She needed to listen to that voicemail. But she’d felt the cowboy’s stare on her as she slid her phone back into her purse at Jamie’s request. He’d made his thoughts known without saying a single word.

  He was on Jamie’s side.

  Sarah straightened in the saddle. Well, so was she. And she wasn’t going to let any guy on a horse on the beach judge her for what she had to do. That call was Paul Baker and she knew he was calling to put in an offer on the Pettiway house. The commission off selling that house alone would provide everything Jamie needed for months. It was a golden goose-style commission.

  Sarah pushed herself to be the best real
estate agent in Metro Atlanta because Jamie deserved it. The minute Sarah clutched Jamie in her arms in the orphanage in Haiti, Sarah pledged to her new daughter that things would be different. Jamie had lost her mother to HIV when she was a toddler and no one knew who her father was. She needed a new start, a chance to have things given to her instead of taken away. Sarah felt heavily the responsibility she’d been given to help this child create a fresh start and a new life.

  But bringing that dream to pass wasn’t as simple as wishing on a star or sending a letter to Santa.

  It took all the hard work and grit Sarah possessed inside of her—and maybe even more. But for Jamie, for the child of her heart that she’d always longed for, she’d do anything. She’d work any amount of hours, sell any number of homes, take any number of calls. Jamie deserved her mother’s highest effort.

  The cowboy didn’t know any of that. He just saw a phone. He didn’t see everything it represented.

  Sarah refused to be judged, especially by a man who played with horses all day on the beach. It wasn’t like he had a “real” job. Taking people on horseback rides next to the ocean was basically like being on vacation three-hundred-and-sixty-five days a year.

  On the other hand, Sarah dealt with stress and expectations he’d never understand.

  And she handled it all for Jamie.

  Everything in her life now pointed back to Jamie.

  “You never told me your name.” The hint of a drawl floated on the seashore breeze. It sounded as delicious as a legendary Texan comfort food, like chicken fried steak with gravy.

  Sarah squeezed her legs gently around the horse’s middle, hoping to encourage him to move a little faster so she could catch up to the cowboy and answer without shouting from the back of the line.

  “I’m Jamie. Jamie Murdoch.”

  Sarah felt her whole center of gravity slide right.

  Her daughter had just answered a stranger’s question—without any prodding or repeating. Her voice sounded small, and she kept her head in a straight-forward, locked position. There was no eye contact. There was no thread of confidence or childish enthusiasm in her voice.