Longing for a Cowboy Christmas

by Leigh Greenwood

  The emerald gown had been worn to prior dances, but she still loved it. The color enhanced the green of her eyes and brought a soft glow to her complexion.

  The bustle was less generous than the current style, but only the most fashion-conscious woman would notice.

  She applied pomade to her lips for color and dabbed perfume behind her ears.

  Knowing that Nelson waited for her in the parlor, she reached for her purse and gloves. She was still upset with him for leaving the pageant early the other night, but he had apologized.

  He’d also sent his crew to restore the decorations ruined by the wind, so she really had nothing to complain about.

  Nelson was an expert at getting things fixed; he just wasn’t any good at things that couldn’t be manually repaired, like hurt feelings and disappointments. Never would it have occurred to him that she might have needed a sympathetic ear following the disastrous pageant. Or better yet, someone to ply her with hot cocoa and make her laugh. Like Tom.

  She drew in her breath. It wasn’t the first time she’d found herself comparing Nelson to Tom, and she felt bad for doing so. The men were as different as night and day, so there was no fair way of comparing the two. Still comparisons kept popping into her head, and that had her worried.

  Determined not to let anything spoil the evening, she took a deep breath and left the room.

  Nelson greeted her with a smile as she stepped into the parlor and brushed his lips across her forehead. In his dark frock coat and beaver top hat, he looked more like an easterner than a Texan.

  “You look beautiful, as always,” he said.

  Aunt Daisy smiled up from her rocking chair. “I’d say she looks as pretty as a bride.”

  Holly rolled her eyes. Could her aunt be any more obvious?

  Seeming not to notice her aunt’s blatant hint, Nelson extended his elbow. “Ready?”

  Holly slid her arm through his. “Ready,” she murmured.

  As she walked to the door by Nelson’s side, the memory of hot cocoa and a warm, sympathetic smile came to mind. Startled by the vivid picture of soft brown eyes, she glanced over her shoulder at her aunt. Having no idea what Holly was thinking, her aunt stared back with a satisfied look and winked.

  * * *

  Tom slicked his hair back and looked down at his dog. “No, you can’t go with me tonight.”

  Winston lifted his ears and looked up at him with his saddest expression. For added measure, the darn dog whimpered like a small child.

  Normally, such tactics worked, but grim determination kept Tom from caving in. “Beg all you want, but you’re not going with me,” he said. Tonight, when he knocked on Holly’s door, he wanted her full attention. “I’m asking the lady out, and I don’t want you hogging her to yourself.”

  Woof!

  Tom pointed his finger. “Stay.”

  He let himself out of the shop and rattled the door to make sure it was shut tight. Inhaling the cold night air, he shoved his hands in his coat pockets and started across the street. The lamplighter had just finished making his rounds, and Main Street was deserted. It was cold enough to snow, and Tom’s breath left his mouth in white plumes.

  Just as he reached Holly’s street, he heard her voice. Stepping into the shadows of a sycamore tree, he spotted her with Nelson. Even in the dim glow of a gas streetlight, she looked beautiful. Her green gown shimmered, and her red hair looked like a fiery halo. But it was the radiant smile on her face as she looked up at her escort that caused Tom to back away even further, so as not to be seen.

  Nelson helped her into the back of a fancy horse-drawn carriage, hung with gold kerosene lanterns. The vehicle came equipped with its own driver and the finest horse Tom had ever seen.

  Standing in the shadows, he waited until the carriage had pulled away before walking back to Main Street. While walking to Holly’s house, he’d felt like he was flying. Now he felt as if his feet had turned to lead.

  Main Street had suddenly come alive with fancy-dressed couples, and that’s when he remembered something about a Christmas Ball. Of course. That’s where Holly and Nelson were headed. Clamping down on the disappointment that washed over him, he picked up his pace.

  Though he’d left the shop only a few minutes earlier, all apparently was forgiven, as Winston greeted him with wagging tail.

  Tom stooped to pet him and got his face washed. “It’s just you and me tonight, buddy,” he said.

  Lonely, that’s how he felt. As much as he loved his dog, no amount of tail-wagging or doggie kisses could fill the emptiness inside.

  He glanced at his watch. It was only a little after seven o’clock; too early for bed. To pass the time, he cleaned his workbench and organized his orders. He tried not thinking of Holly dancing in the arms of another man, but the memory of her smile and big, green eyes kept popping into his head.

  He pulled out a blank sheet of paper, intent on making a list of supplies he needed to order. Instead, he found himself writing, Dear Santa…

  The next words flowed from his pen without conscious thought, dictated solely by stirrings of a lonely heart.

  All I want for Christmas is to love and be loved by someone. She must have eyes that look like emeralds, hair as red as a summer rose, and a smile that takes the breath away. If by chance her name is Holly, I’d be the happiest man in the world.

  He signed it and reread what he’d written. Feeling foolish, he threw down his pen. The only excuse he could think of for such childlike behavior was that he’d been reading too many letters to Santa. Joe-Joe wasn’t the only one who wouldn’t get his Christmas wish.

  Scrunching the letter, he tossed it aside and pulled out a clean sheet of paper. He then made a list of needed supplies.

  A sudden creaking of the building told him the wind had started up again, and he worried about Holly’s decorations.

  It was almost ten when he decided to call it a night. By then, the wind was blowing up a storm. Just as he was about to undress, the door blew open, and a gust of wind lifted the papers off his desk.

  Winston jumped around, barking, as Tom rushed to shut the door. Bills, orders, and notes were scattered around the shop. His earlier attempt to organize his paperwork had all been for naught.

  First thing tomorrow morning, he would fix that blasted door!

  Nine

  The dance ended promptly at midnight, and Nelson drove Holly home. The wind pulled at her wrap and tugged at the pins holding her hair in place. Cold air nipping at her flesh, she shivered and pulled her mantle closer.

  The blacksmith shop looked dark and deserted as they drove by, but nonetheless made her think of hot cocoa and warm brown eyes. She was also reminded that she had promised Tom to query Nelson about a dog-friendly rental.

  “I wonder if you could help Tom out,” she said. “He’s looking for a place to live.”

  Nelson frowned. “So why does he need my help?”

  “As you might have noticed, he has a dog.”

  “I noticed,” he muttered.

  “I thought perhaps you could offer him a place to stay at one of your properties,” she said.

  “Sorry, but I can’t take on that kind of responsibility. Not after the rabies scare we just had.”

  “But this isn’t just any dog,” Holly said. “He’s friendly and loving and has a sweet disposition.”

  Nelson scoffed. “He didn’t sound all that friendly and loving when I saw him. He looked like he wanted to bite my head off.”

  Holly moistened her lips. There was no denying that Nelson spoke the truth. “I’m sure that once you get to know him better—”

  “I don’t want to get to know him better,” Nelson said, his tone telling her that the discussion was over.

  The driver pulled the carriage up to the front of her house and stopped. “Thank you,” she said, her voice breaking the awk
ward strain that had settled between them.

  Nelson stepped out of the carriage and held out his hand to help her down. He then walked her to the porch. “I had a good time,” he said.

  “I did, too,” she said. A tense silence followed, and she hastened to fill it in. “I better go in. It’s late and—”

  He stopped her with a hand to her arm. “Is something wrong?”

  She looked up at him. “Wrong?”

  “I had the feeling you were avoiding me all week. And tonight, you didn’t seem like yourself.”

  “I just have a lot on my mind. You know, Christmas. Santa.”

  Nelson drew his hand away. “Are you sure that’s all it is? You aren’t still mad because I left the pageant early, are you?”

  “You apologized,” she said.

  “You have to admit, it was pretty awful.”

  She was cold and tired and didn’t want to talk about the pageant. Pulling her arm away, she said, “You don’t have to remind me.”

  “The reason I brought it up is because you’d put the pageant before us. Just like you put everything before us.”

  She studied him. “That’s not true.”

  “Isn’t it? You think granting some kid’s Christmas wish is more important than what you and I have.”

  Stunned that he could so easily discount something that was of prime importance to her, she stared at him. It wasn’t the first time he’d disregarded her feelings, but this time it really stung.

  In the past, she’d made allowances for him. Had even forgiven him for leaving the pageant early. Now she had neither the mind nor the heart to excuse or overlook his lack of understanding.

  “What you and I have,” she said evenly, “is friendship.”

  “Friendship?” he asked, his cold breath looking like icicles in the dark. “Is that all I am to you? A friend?”

  He sounded hurt, but it couldn’t be helped. “I’m just not ready for anything more than that right now,” she said.

  It was too dark to see his expression, but she sensed his withdrawal. “What can I do to help you get ready?” he asked.

  She drew in her breath. Nelson was a brilliant businessman, but he didn’t have a clue how to handle matters of the heart. At least he didn’t offer to have his crew work on the problem, and for that, she was grateful. “Nothing,” she said. “There’s nothing you can do.”

  The damage had been done.

  * * *

  It was still windy the next morning when Tom took Winston for his morning walk. He tried not to think of Holly and how she had looked the previous night.

  The problem was that every red bow and decorated shop window reminded him of her.

  It was crazy. Made no sense. He’d only known her for a short while. Yet, the impression she’d made on him was undeniable. For some reason he couldn’t understand, knowing her had made him even more aware of everything wrong with his life, starting with the fact that he was still without a decent place in which to hang his hat.

  On the way back, he stopped at the butcher shop. Today, the owner included a bone along with the usual scraps. “Are you sure I can’t pay you?” Tom asked. He didn’t want to take advantage of the man’s generosity.

  “Nah,” the butcher said. “Those scraps would only go to waste. Glad to see them put to good use.”

  Tom turned to leave, and that’s when he noticed the little boy Joe-Joe was also in the shop. Winston, seeing someone his own size, wagged his tail and pattered up to him. The boy cried out and ran to his mother.

  Tom pulled Winston back. “He won’t hurt you,” he said. “He’s real friendly and just wants to say hello.”

  His mother tried persuading her son to pet the dog, but the boy would have none of it.

  She shrugged an apology at Tom and turned to place her order over the counter.

  Just as he left the shop, Tom was stopped by a matronly woman. Dressed in a divided skirt and checkered shirt, she peered at him from beneath a black, wide-brimmed hat. “You’re the new smithy, right?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “I’m Mrs. Buttonwood. Welcome to Haywire.”

  A chatty woman, she managed to tell him the history of the town and her life story before he could get another word in edgewise.

  Tom was trying to think how to make his escape when Winston took a sudden leap forward. Whipping the leash out of his hand, the dog bolted toward Joe-Joe, barking.

  The boy cried out in fear and quickly backed away. Before Tom could grab the leash, the overhead sign crashed to the wooden sidewalk, falling where the boy had been standing seconds earlier.

  Winston yelped and veered away from the sign. An instant of stunned silence was followed by pure bedlam. Joe-Joe’s mother ran to her son and pulled him into her arms. Hiding his face in her skirts, the boy clung to her as if to never let go.

  People rushed from the butcher shop, everyone talking at once. Mrs. Buttonwood took it upon herself to describe what had just happened. Passersby stopped and shook their heads.

  One matronly woman tutted. “The boy could have been killed.”

  “The dog saved his life,” Mrs. Buttonwood said.

  Tom grabbed Winston by the leash. Dropping on his haunches, he rubbed his hands through his dog’s fur. He could feel the dog tremble beneath his touch. “Good boy.”

  After calming her son, Joe-Joe’s mother introduced herself to Tom. “I’m Mrs. Adams,” she said.

  “Tom Chandler,” he said, standing.

  “I don’t know how to thank you.” Glancing at the fallen sign, she shuddered. “How did your dog know it would fall?”

  “I don’t rightly know, ma’am. Dogs just know these things.” He looked down at Joe-Joe, whose gaze was focused on Winston. “He’d like for you to pet him. Like I said, he’s real friendly.”

  Joe-Joe shook his head but, with his mother’s encouragement, finally extended a wary hand. Winston licked it, and Joe-Joe drew back.

  “Told you he’s friendly,” Tom said, smiling.

  Mrs. Adams gazed down at her son. “And he kept you safe from the falling sign.”

  Somehow that convinced Joe-Joe to pet Winston a second time, this time without any help. “You kept me safe,” he said to the dog.

  Winston jumped up to lick his face. Tom was about to pull the dog away, when Joe-Joe giggled in delight. Soon boy and dog were all over each other.

  Tom was surprised to see Mrs. Adams wipe away a tear. “You all right?” he asked.

  She nodded. “It’s been a long time since I heard him laugh like that. Not since his father…” She forced a wan smile. “Thank you.”

  “I didn’t do anything,” Tom said. “My furry friend did all the work.”

  Mrs. Adams called to her son. “Come along, Joe-Joe, I have more errands to run.”

  “Ah, Ma. Can’t I stay and play with the dog?”

  “Maybe another time.”

  The boy reluctantly stood, his gaze fixed on Winston. “He saved me.”

  “Yes, yes, he did,” his mother said. She flashed Tom a grateful smile before taking her son by the hand. “Come along now.”

  Watching the boy go, Winston’s tail, ears, and head drooped, and he whined. Looking every bit as sad, Joe-Joe waved back.

  “Come on,” Tom said, tugging on Winston’s leash, but the dog refused to move, and his gaze remained on the boy.

  “Woof!”

  Dogs tend to bark when they want company.

  Tom stared down at his dog with more than a little guilt. Work had taken up most of his time, and he’d failed to give Winston the attention he needed. Even their morning walks had by necessity been cut short so Tom could get back to filling his orders. As much as he hated to admit it, what Winston needed was a playmate.

  Tom swallowed the lump in his throat as he recalled the letter that
had haunted him from the moment he’d first read it.

  Dear Santa, All I want for Christmas is for you to move into my house so that Ma and me will feel safe again.

  “Wait,” he called. Not sure what he was doing, he hurried to catch up to mother and son. Joe-Joe threw his arms around Winston and buried his face in the dog’s soft fur. Winston responded with wagging tail and licking tongue, bringing a look of pure joy to the young boy’s face.

  It was then that Tom knew exactly what he must do. Not just for Joe-Joe’s sake, but for Winston’s, too.

  He pulled Winston away and told him to sit. He needed the boy’s full attention. “Would you like to take my dog home?”

  Joe-Joe’s eyes widened. “You mean I can keep him?”

  “Only if it’s okay with your ma.”

  Joe-Joe gave his mother an anxious look. “Please, Mama, can I? Can I?”

  Mrs. Adams looked like she didn’t know what to say. “Well—”

  Taking that as a yes, Joe-Joe flung his arms around Winston.

  Since Mrs. Adams still looked uncertain, Tom wiggled the package in his hands. “It won’t cost to feed him. The butcher saves him scraps, and he doesn’t charge for them.”

  Mrs. Adams regarded Tom with a puzzled look. “Why would you part with your dog?”

  Tom tossed a nod at the smiling boy. Heck, even Winston was grinning. “Doesn’t look like I have much of a choice,” he said.

  Tom dropped down on one knee and looked Joe-Joe square in the eye. “I just want to make sure you’ll take good care of him. You need to feed him and take him for walks. More than anything, he needs you to keep him safe. Just like he will keep you and your ma safe. Do we have a deal?”

  Joe-Joe’s expression grew solemn, but his arms stayed firmly around Winston’s neck. “Yes, sir.”

  Tom ran his hands through Winston’s fur. The dog, seeming to sense something, gazed up at him. “Do you promise to take care of Joe-Joe and keep him safe?”

  Winston wagged his tail. “Woof!”