A Cowboy for Christmas

by Rachel Lee

  His words pierced her like a shaft through her heart. She clearly wasn’t the only one with trust issues. Yet this attack seemed to prove out her own doubts. She couldn’t trust him. How had she trusted him far enough to let him make love to her?

  “Rory, stop.”

  “Stop what? I made love to you. It was something special, I thought, but now here you are curling up inside yourself again. The things that are running across your face tell me I didn’t make you happy. So what’s missing, Abby? What do you want from me?”

  “How dare you!” In an instant she erupted, shoving back from the table. “I’m not for sale and you can take your damn job and shove it. I quit!”

  She stormed out of the kitchen, wondering how the hell she was going to get out of here in the midst of a worsening storm. Well, she could hide out in her apartment until it cleared. Even he couldn’t be messed up enough to tell her to leave in a blizzard, and even if he was she didn’t have to listen.

  She slammed her door and for the first time she locked it.

  Only then did fury give way to tears. What had just happened? She’d been wrestling with her own demons and suddenly his had emerged in the most ugly way possible.

  Oh, they both had demons, and the less time they spent together, the better.

  Burying her face in her pillow, she sobbed her heart out.

  No man could be trusted. No man.

  Chapter Seven

  The storm worsened through the rest of the afternoon. Rory sat at the piano, hammering the keys, wondering what devil had taken hold of him to talk to Abby that way. He played out anger and rage that he seldom gave expression to, while the renewed storm battered the world.

  Not enough sleep. Lousy excuse. Twenty years of discovering that his worth largely rested in a talent that was a gift, a lot of hard work and what he could do for other people. He liked doing for other people, but he sure as hell didn’t like knowing that’s all they wanted him for.

  Stella was a case in point. But Abby wasn’t like that, damn it. How had that all come surging out of him? The way she had looked, the anguish on her face, and the worst of it was that there was no way to take back angry words. No way at all.

  He’d destroyed whatever little trust she’d started to feel for him, and he didn’t even know why.

  He pounded the keys harder, abusing a beautiful instrument, trying to get to his innermost core. Hell, wasn’t that what he’d come out here to do? He was finding, however, that the boy he’d been was gone, replaced by a man he didn’t always like.

  Right now, he didn’t like himself at all. What had gotten into him? A woman who looked worried and frightened? She had every right, given what had happened to her, given who he was and her presumption that sooner or later he’d go back to his old life. A realistic presumption, one he couldn’t blame her for.

  But that meant she was struggling with herself, struggling with the trust she had offered him in his bed earlier, struggling with the fact that there were no promises, no future, no nothing except some great lovemaking.

  Nor were either of them in a position to consider anything else. Damn, he was glad Regina wasn’t here. He didn’t want her to see this ugly side of him.

  So why had he erupted? Other than too little sleep, what about watching Abby pull back into her shell had disturbed him that much? The feeling that his own trust had once again been betrayed? Or the feeling that he hadn’t won hers? God, he’d said words to her he hadn’t even said to Stella, and she was the one who should have heard them.

  He hated himself.

  How had he let himself become so cynical? So hideous? So untrusting? And why? Sure there had been a lot of groupies, but those women had understood the rules. Stella had been a different game, actually winning his love before she threw it on the trash heap once she’d gotten the career push she wanted. Maybe he was more like Abby than he’d even realized.

  And if that was the case, he sure as hell should have been more understanding.

  His fingers froze on the keys. Was he running scared? The question stuttered in his mind then steadied and remained predominant. Was he?

  If so, from what?

  He wanted to beat his head on something to shake it loose, reorder it, find the basis for his unforgivable attack on Abby. For a fact she’d never trust him now, nor would he deserve it.

  He needed his head examined. Somehow something in him had gotten twisted out of all reason. Stella? The loss of his daughter? The looming custody battle? Was he trying to paint everyone with Stella’s colors?

  Was he afraid?

  He didn’t like being afraid. Fear wasn’t a huge factor in his nature. Little scared him, and he liked it that way. All his life he’d trusted himself to deal with whatever came along. But if it was fear, fear of what? Another Stella? Hell, she couldn’t possibly have a clone, and Abby couldn’t possibly be anything like her.

  Damn, he was messed up.

  But now he’d messed up someone else, especially unforgivable since he’d been trying to gain her trust and pry her out of her shell. Then he’d gone and shoved her right back in again.

  He couldn’t believe himself.

  He also knew something else. The longer he let this lie between them, the deeper her hurt would grow. Bad enough that he’d demanded to know what she wanted from him. Worse to let her keep thinking he’d meant to hurt her that way. She’d jumped up and said she wasn’t for sale. God, that he’d even implied that...

  Unable to stand himself another moment, he went to her room and knocked on the door. No answer. He waited, then knocked louder. “Abby?”

  “Go away.”

  Well, at least she was still breathing. He pressed his forehead to the door, filled with so much self-disgust and anger he wondered if he should even attempt this now. But once again he could almost feel the pain hardening, becoming permanent. He couldn’t leave her like this.

  “Abby, I need to talk to you.”

  Suddenly the door flew open and she glared at him from puffy eyes. “I think you talked enough.”

  “I wasn’t even talking to you!” The words ripped out of him, torn from a knot of misery that seldom left him anymore.

  “I didn’t see anyone else in that room.” She sounded hoarse, from crying he guessed.

  “Oh, there were other people there. Stella for one.”

  Her chin jutted a bit. “Yeah? Why take it out on me?”

  “I shouldn’t have,” he admitted quietly. “I was wrong. Overtired, on edge from this custody thing...but that’s no excuse.” Then he said the most humbling words of all. “I was afraid.”

  Something in her face changed. She didn’t answer for what felt like an eternity. “So am I.”

  “I know, which makes what I did even worse. It was unforgivable. I am so sorry. I’ll leave you alone now.”

  But as he turned away, he felt her touch his arm tentatively. He squeezed his eyes shut as another wave of anguish poured through him. That she should be tentative in her touch after their lovemaking made his chest feel like it was caving in. God, what had he done?

  “Abby?” he said hoarsely, hardly daring to let a splinter of hope enter his private hell.

  “Let’s talk,” she said, her voice choked and tight.

  He turned back to her, slowly. “Are you sure?”

  “Give me a minute, I just got out of the shower.”

  So he went to the kitchen, a room that had begun to feel less sterile as they had filled it with memories of the three of them having dinner together,
with Regina’s happy chatter. With some kind of misbegotten hope where there probably was none.

  The coffee had turned bitter, so he made a fresh pot. They hadn’t eaten since breakfast, not even the Danish he had put out just before the blowup. He tested it with a finger and decided it hadn’t gone stale. Then he waited.

  She appeared finally, clad in lemon-yellow sweats and socks. Her hair was still damp, and pulled back into a pony tail. She sat across from him after getting some coffee.

  He regarded her from eyes that seemed to burn, that felt heavy with unshed emotions. Hollow. He felt almost hollowed out except for the river of pain and frustration that filled his every corner. He was caught in a web of his own making, with no way to get out. From Regina, to Stella, to his career, to Abby, he felt wrapped in wires of steel he couldn’t break.

  “You need some sleep,” she finally said.

  “Yeah. Only I’m not gonna get it. I just smashed something that I never wanted to smash.”

  “I’ve heard worse.”

  He felt like erupting all over again. Closing his hands so tightly around his mug, he was surprised it didn’t shatter, he answered, “I know. Damn it, I know. That’s what makes me lower than a slug. You didn’t deserve that.”

  “Neither of us deserves a lot of things. The same could be said about most people.” She sighed. “You hurt me and I’m not going to pretend you didn’t. But given the last couple of days...”

  “Oh, I’m not taking that excuse. I don’t deserve it.”

  She looked down and didn’t answer for a minute. When she raised her gaze, she met his directly. “I was thinking, once I’d calmed down, that past relationships cloud new ones.”

  “How so?”

  “I was sitting here thinking about Porter, about my own crippling fears—and I’ll be honest, Rory, they’d been crippling me for a while—and struggling against them when you...blew up. None of what you were seeing on my face had anything to do with you.”

  He cussed quietly. “Big misread.”

  “And then you retorted. Maybe not because of anything I’d done, but because of things you were used to from the past. We all carry those hot buttons with us.”

  “I already told you I was reacting to Stella and...other things.”

  “Exactly.”

  He ran his fingers through his hair and jumped up. “Well, doesn’t that create one hopeful future.”

  “Maybe it does once you recognize what’s going on.” She rose, too. “You must need dinner.”

  “You quit,” he reminded her.

  “I just got rehired. But quitting gave me so much satisfaction.”

  He almost gaped at her, and then a weary chuckle escaped him. “You are one amazing woman, Abby Jason.”

  “You make a fan club of one.”

  “No.” He reached for her, taking her by the shoulders. “Don’t keep telling yourself that lie. You’re remarkable in so many ways, even if you can’t see it.” Then, realizing he’d touched her without permission, he quickly dropped his hands. “Dinner can wait. Please. The kind of empty I’m running on won’t be filled by food.”

  She hesitated, then resumed her seat. “At least eat some Danish.”

  He grabbed a thick piece and put it on one of the dessert plates that had been waiting since hours ago. He eschewed the fork and simply took a big bite before setting it down. “Okay?”

  “Better.” She took a much smaller piece for herself. “I don’t want Regina to come back to this tension. We have some work to do.”

  Thinking about his daughter in the midst of all this? His heart cracked a little, and he felt touched beyond words. Remarkable didn’t even begin to cut it with Abby. Stella wouldn’t have given a darn. “Maybe I’ve been hanging around with the wrong people,” he remarked.

  “I know I was, obviously.” She glanced toward the darkening window. “I could almost swear this storm is getting worse.”

  “Maybe. The one inside the house is getting a little better, I hope.”

  Her gaze trailed back to him. “Maybe. I guess we get to spend some time being our own therapists.”

  “How do you want to do that?”

  “By parsing out exactly what is goading us. What we’re afraid of, what hurt us, what’s worrying us. We don’t have to do it together. We can go to separate corners and make private lists if you want.”

  God, he wanted to hug her. “I think it might do us both good to know what devils the other one is dealing with. You’ve told me about Porter, I’ve told you a little about Stella, but that doesn’t exactly cover the hot buttons they left behind. Not all of them.”

  “I guess not.” She nibbled at her Danish while he finished his and took another slab.

  “We can’t just go back to being employer and employee,” he remarked. “Not after today. We crossed some lines...and I don’t regret it. But now, I guess now we need to find a way to be friends.”

  “That requires trust,” she said quietly. “I don’t think either of us is feeling a whole lot of that.”

  He couldn’t deny it, but his stomach sank as he accepted the truth of it. Two distrusting souls might find the whole friendship thing beyond reach. Was he going to allow that? But how could he change it?

  He’d been trying and had blown it all to hell. How could he be sure he wouldn’t do it again? Equally, how could she be sure he wouldn’t lash out again?

  The problem appeared insurmountable.

  * * *

  Rory finally dozed off on the living room couch. For some reason he didn’t want to go to bed, although Abby could sort of understand that, given that only a few hours ago they’d made love there. Maybe she should go change out the sheets, remove the memories and scents of the time they had spent there.

  Erase herself from his bedroom.

  For some reason, that made her spine stiffen. No way. If he was having regrets about it now, he could change his own darn sheets.

  The night was deepening, though it was not yet late. Wind still howled, creating the unusual possibility that school might be cancelled tomorrow. She figured she could count on both hands the number of times that had happened in her life here. Sometimes ranch kids missed school, but actually shutting down? Almost never.

  She wondered if she was going to sit there all night watching Rory sleep, or staring at the laptop screen that had long since decided to take its own nap. She could go to her room and do something, but for some reason she couldn’t make herself do it.

  What had happened earlier had been ugly, but she could understand it. He was reacting to Stella. She’d been sitting there thinking about Porter. Were the two of them to be forever imprisoned in dead relationships?

  And Rory had additional concerns. She had watched the anger and frustration when he realized Stella was making false claims to regain custody of Regina, and if there was one thing she knew for certain now, it was that Rory loved his daughter. Truly loved her. Clearly this was a man who, once he’d given his heart, didn’t take it back easily. Stella had thrown him away, just as Porter had thrown her away.

  Maybe she should be more understanding.

  No, she wasn’t going to endure another attack like that. He clearly regretted it, but she wasn’t going to become a stand-in for Stella. She had enough on her own plate to deal with.

  But she could still understand. The last couple of days had been incredibly hard for him.

  She dozed off, too, finally, really relaxing for the first time
in hours. Sleep carried her to a place where she found herself in a beautiful gown staring at her reflection in the mirror. “See?” said a voice. “You’re beautiful.”

  She awakened reluctantly to a bump on her knee and looked around the computer to see the dog. Time for walking and feeding. Probably well past.

  She set the computer on the side table and rose. His tail wagged a couple of times and he gave her a grin. Really fickle, she thought with amusement.

  She stepped out back with him into the storm and realized it was indeed getting worse. Colder, too. Even inside her jacket, she felt chilled.

  Rally wasted no time and darted back inside with evident relief. In the kitchen she filled his bowl as she had seen Regina and Rory do so many times, and replaced his water. Missing Regina hadn’t killed the dog’s appetite at all.

  She heard a light step and turned to see Rory standing just inside the kitchen, stretching until she heard pops. “Ah, that felt good,” he remarked and headed for the coffee.

  “It’s probably stale.”

  “I’ve had worse. Did you get any sleep?”

  “I dozed some.”

  “Good. Feeling any better?”

  She didn’t know exactly how to answer that. She’d forgiven his outburst, but forgiving wasn’t the same as forgetting.

  “I’ll leave you alone,” he said quietly and returned to the living room with his coffee.

  She stood with the dog in the kitchen and realized this couldn’t continue. She’d go nuts from the strain if he was always avoiding her, and honestly, she didn’t want to avoid him. He’d apologized. She’d be more careful. If he did it again, that would be it. But in the meantime...

  She headed back to the living room. His guitar stood propped against the couch, near where he sat. She took her usual chair and waited. For what she didn’t exactly know.

  He was leaning back, legs loosely crossed, hands folded on his flat belly, eyes closed. After a moment they opened. “Are you afraid of me?” he asked bluntly.