All a Cowboy Wants for Christmas

by Anthology

  “William told me he’s been working for you after school,” she said.

  “He said he needed money.”

  “That’s what he told me, too, but his schoolwork is suffering. He’s falling asleep during class.”

  “You think that’s my fault? I send him home every night before dark.”

  Caroline’s gaze jerked to his. “Not after?”

  He bristled. “I just told you—”

  “I’m not doubting you.”

  He barked out a laugh.

  “I didn’t come here to attack you, Smith,” she snapped.

  He arched a brow, clearly not believing her. She tried to think past her irritation at that. Why had William lied to her?

  “Caroline?” The word was pure impatience.

  She moved closer and Smith backed up a step, as if trying to escape her. His shoulders bumped the weathered wood of the barn.

  Was this how things would be between them now? Sadness dragged at her. “Something is going on with him. Something bad.”

  She explained about his poor schoolwork and her conversation with him before trying to see Mrs. Dorsett. “He seemed desperate to keep me from speaking with her.”

  The tightness of Smith’s burnished features slowly gave way to concern. “What do you think is wrong?”

  “At first, I thought it was due to his working out here.”

  “Thanks,” Smith bit out.

  “Which is in addition to his job at Peterson’s livery,” she said evenly. “The problem seems to be at home, but I can’t put my finger on it.”

  “You think there’s something more than him being worried about his ma’s illness?”

  “I don’t know.” She paused. “He’s still wearing last year’s coat.”

  Smith looked baffled.

  “Helen always makes sure he has a winter coat that fits and he’s outgrown this one.”

  “Maybe she’s been too busy to tend to sewing. She takes in laundry this time of year.”

  “Yes, maybe she’s been too busy. Or maybe she’s been sick for a while.” Caroline tried to recall if she had noticed anything amiss before today.

  Admittedly the man in front of her had ruled her thoughts since his return.

  She sighed. “William won’t tell me anything. I thought you might be able to talk to him.”

  Smith frowned.

  “He looks up to you.”

  “If he won’t tell you, he won’t tell me.”

  “I think he might. Smith, there’s no one else.”

  He didn’t speak for a moment, just stared over her shoulder, his breath frosting the air.

  Caroline realized she hadn’t felt the cold until now. She knew it was because of the way Smith stirred her blood.

  “All right,” he said. “I’ll see what I can find out.”

  “I appreciate it. And you’ll get back to me?”

  He leveled a look on her, a muscle ticking in his jaw. It was hardly fair of her to ask him, but she needed to know. Besides, Smith wanted to help William as much as she did.

  “I’ll let you know,” he said grudgingly.

  “Thank you.” She expected the relief that went through her when he agreed, but not the anticipation. Pleasure at the opportunity to see him again. Pleasure?

  That drew her up short. She shouldn’t want to see him again, should only be glad he intended to help her find out about her student.

  Right now, shamefully, she only seemed focused on the way he affected her. Despite the frigid air stinging like needles against her skin, there was a warmth unfurling in her belly. A heat that was due to Smith, plain and simple.

  It was wrong that he still affected her that way. She was engaged! Guilt and alarm hit her at the same time.

  He must have seen something in her face because his eyes narrowed and he limped around her.

  Giving herself a mental shake, she followed. As the two of them reached the front of the barn, he said grudgingly, “Ivy’s coming home. My ma’s having a Christmas shindig.”

  “I’d guess the party is also to welcome you back.”

  “I reckon. The whole town’s invited. It’s on Saturday.”

  She would see him again in two days. Instead of dreading it, Caroline was impatient to see him again. That was wrong.

  “I can’t wait to see your sister. It’s been too long. Since Tom’s funeral.” Caroline smiled. “I’ll be here.”

  “Don’t you mean you and Galloway will be here?” Smith asked in a low, tight voice.

  Heat flushed her body. She’d forgotten about Ethan. “Of course. Both of us.”

  The fierce look on Smith’s face cut her breath. Dragging his bad leg, he moved to her mare and cupped his hands to help her mount. The expression on his face said he was plainly ready to be rid of her.

  Caroline paused in the doorway of the barn. She wanted to scold William, ask why he’d lied, but she would let Smith talk to him first.

  She called a goodbye to the boy and went to her mount, putting one foot in Smith’s large hands. He boosted her up and she seated herself, watching as he walked haltingly back into the barn.

  He’d barely touched her, but her body vibrated with awareness. She had put her feelings aside and his, too, in order to talk to him about the boy.

  She turned her horse and rode away, shaking so hard that her teeth chattered. Not from the cold, but from seeing Smith. And what she had just realized.

  She had really believed she was ready to move on, leave the past behind, but she wasn’t.

  She still loved Smith Jennings and always would.

  Chapter Four

  Smith didn’t go to Caroline’s after getting William home that night. He just couldn’t.

  Seeing her so unexpectedly at the ranch had caught him completely off guard. And left him half-hard and aching. During their excruciating conversation, he had gone between wanting to kiss her and wanting to toss her off the property.

  But the next evening, he forced himself to pay her a visit. He didn’t want her throwing him off balance again. This way, he controlled the time and duration of the visit.

  That seemed to be the extent of his control, though, because when she opened the door and he got a look at her, his whole body went tight.

  The flash of heat, of welcome in her eyes, kept him rooted in place for a long moment. It wasn’t until she said his name that he was able to move. He stepped inside and she closed the door.

  Determined not to let her get to him, he took off his hat. A fire heated the small space, but Smith was plenty warm just from being close to Caroline.

  She wore a cherry-red wool dress with a white collar and cuffs trimmed in red velvet. She looked pretty enough to eat and he wanted a taste.

  The soft familiar whiff of vanilla made him want to put his mouth in the hollow of her throat where he knew the scent was strongest. He pushed the thought away. Just tell her about William and leave, he ordered himself.

  She moved around him, toward the stove. “Would you like some coffee?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Are you sure? It’s awfully cold. It would warm you up for the ride home.”

  He just wanted to get this over with. “No.”

  “All right,” she said quietly. Seeming to finally get the message that he was here for only one reason, she clasped her hands together then unclasped them.

  “Did you learn anything about William’s situation?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “When I rode home with him last night, he said his ma was asleep, that she was real sick. I offered to have Stephen check on her.”

  “But he declined.”

  Smith nodded.

  “He did the same to me,” she said.

  Feeling penned in, too stirred up to stand still, he limped across the room. Trying to escape her gut-twisting fragrance, her warmth.

  He passed the sofa where he’d laid her the other night, the chair positioned close to the stove, and stopped at the corner of the dining table.
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  Appearing anxious, her gaze darted to a spot behind him. He glanced over his shoulder, but saw nothing.

  He shifted his attention back to her. “When I left William a few minutes ago, he said his ma was much better today and had been out.”

  Caroline frowned. “I haven’t seen Helen Dorsett anywhere in town.”

  “I’ll look around before I head home, try to find out if anyone has seen her.”

  “What if no one has?”

  “Well, she has to be around here somewhere, doesn’t she?”

  “I guess so.”

  Smith drummed his fingers on the polished wood. With his other hand, he kept a tight grip on his hat.

  Caroline threw him a nervous look.

  He took in the rocking chair near the stove, the well-used coffeepot. A small shelf on the wall beside the fireplace held a porcelain redbird she’d inherited from her mother.

  It was a moment before he realized there was no Christmas tree. She had always put it in the corner across from the small dining table that sat opposite the chair at the fireplace. There had been no tree in her classroom, either.

  He glanced at her, still standing on the opposite side of the sofa. “You don’t have a tree.”

  “No.” The curt word didn’t invite further questions, though he considered asking just because it was obvious she didn’t want him to.

  She used to love Christmas, especially decorating the tree, draping it with red ribbon and tiny angels made from starched white doilies.

  Several handmade ornaments from her students always adorned the branches. A straw doll, a swan fashioned out of brown paper and colored with chalk, a cluster of jacks strung together to resemble a bell.

  Smith didn’t see any of that, didn’t see anything that hinted at the holiday at all. He looked at the space over the door. Neither was there any sign of the one thing that had always hung there. Her gaze followed his and he knew by the sudden color in her cheeks that she realized he had noticed the empty space. No sense letting his mind go there. He was here about William, not the past he and Caroline shared.

  He shifted his focus back to her. “How did the boy do in school today?”

  “Better.” She glanced behind him again.

  Why did she keep looking back there? Was she on edge about him being here? Afraid he would see something?

  “He stayed awake, though I could tell it was an effort. What could be going on with him, Smith?”

  “I don’t know, but we’ll—I’ll do my part to figure it out.”

  “Thank you.”

  The softness of her voice made him want to move closer to her. He wasn’t going to. “I’d better go.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow at the party.”

  His mouth tightened. Why the hell did she have to remind him of that? “Sure.”

  He started to move and his bad leg cramped. A painful breath-stealing twist of muscle caused him to jerk and he gripped the edge of the table. He cursed as his hat fell to the floor.

  “Smith?” She moved around the sofa and came toward him, concern darkening her green eyes.

  “I’m okay. My bad leg knots up sometimes, especially in the winter.”

  “Is there anything I can do? Something I can get you?”

  “Just need a minute.” Gradually the agony shifted from a stabbing throb to a bone-deep ache. It still hurt like blue blazes, but at least he could walk.

  “Maybe you should sit? Just for a moment?”

  He shook his head. “That just makes it worse.”

  He rubbed it, digging deep into the muscle tissue with his knuckles, trying to work out the knot. Finally he straightened. “There. It’s easing up.”

  She frowned. “Are you sure I can’t do something?”

  That sounded like flat-out trouble. “No, thanks.”

  He bent awkwardly to scoop up his hat. When he did, he bumped the chair behind him. Something thudded to the floor and he looked over his shoulder to see what it was. A faded round hatbox lay on its side, the lid slipping off.

  Caroline made a strangled sound. Smith would’ve looked at her, but he couldn’t move.

  The contents of the box had spilled out. The engagement ring he’d given her spun to a stop next to the chair leg. The silver brush and mirror he’d chosen for her when she received her teacher’s certification skittered under the table. Then there was the mistletoe.

  Bunches and bunches of mistletoe sprigs tied with red ribbon that filled the deep container had scattered on the floor.

  Something sharp shoved up under his ribs. Had she really saved them?

  One look at her stricken, pale face told him she had. Her gaze lifted to his and the memory unfolded between them.

  Two years ago before he’d left on that ill-fated cattle trip in early December, they had been in her doorway kissing under the mistletoe. Tradition held that a man removed one berry each time he kissed a woman beneath the greenery.

  When the last berry was gone, Caroline teasingly insisted there could be no more kissing under that plant.

  “I’ll fix that,” he’d said.

  The next day, he had shown up with an armload of cut mistletoe, telling her that now he could kiss her forever because he didn’t intend to run out of berries ever again.

  She remembered. It was there in her eyes.

  She had laughed and given him a big kiss. After cutting the greenery into separate bundles, she’d tied them with red ribbon, making sure each cluster had several berries.

  From the quantity of now dried-out plants and shriveled white berries, it appeared she had kept every bit of that mistletoe.

  The realization knocked the breath out of him and all he could do was stare.

  He would never forget the way she had looked at him when he had walked through the door with greenery overflowing his arms. Like he could do things no other man could.

  Heady, intoxicating stuff. How many times had he replayed that look while he was in prison? How many cold dark nights had that memory gotten him through?

  The years fell away. Smith saw a softness in her green eyes, the same softness he used to see. Was it only nostalgia? It was more than that for him. It was love, stronger and hotter than he’d felt for her two years ago.

  Before he knew it, she was in front of him. Reaching up to pull his head down to hers, plainly intending to kiss him.

  He almost met her halfway, but something stopped him. Every muscle protesting, he shifted away. She didn’t belong to him any longer. She didn’t want him.

  At his withdrawal, hurt chased across her features. Then in a split second, her face changed. Closed up. Reminding him that things were different now. He’d done the right thing even though it didn’t feel right.

  The moment broken, she rushed around him and knelt to gather the mistletoe and scoop it back into the box.

  Smith stared down at her bowed head, the way the fire played against her silvery-gold hair, the elegant hands he would never feel on him again.

  He didn’t even offer to help. He couldn’t. He just limped to the door and walked out.

  On her porch, cold air searing his lungs, Smith leaned against a painted wood column. His legs wouldn’t work. Nothing worked. Not him. Not her. It was a long while before he could pull in a full breath without pain carving through his chest.

  Back then, she’d said she couldn’t live without him. That had turned out to be a damn lie, hadn’t it?

  It didn’t matter that she’d kept mementos of their time together. What mattered was that she had packed them away. The same way she had packed him away.

  * * *

  Smith’s past with Caroline had tumbled right out in front of him last night and he wished he’d never seen it. He’d been riled up ever since.

  He didn’t want to see her, but thanks to this combination Christmas and “Welcome Home” party, she was right here in his huge front room.

  She stood on the opposite side of the gleaming pine floor with Galloway as they spoke with Glen Peters
on, who owned the livery as well as the restaurant in town.

  Her fair hair was swept up on both sides and left to fall past her shoulders in a cascade of curls. The deep green velvet dress was one of her best, saved for special occasions. Against the rich color, her elegant neck and face were like polished ivory.

  Smith’s gaze traced down the row of buttons on her snug bodice and his grip tightened on the dainty cup his ma had given him earlier. Punch sloshed out, snapping his attention away from Caroline. He surreptitiously dried his wet wrist against the leg of his trousers.

  All of the furniture, including that in the dining area, had been pushed to the side and the center cleared for mingling and the occasional dance.

  A few people whirled around the small space to the lively strains of “Lorena” played by his pa on the fiddle.

  It seemed as if the entire town of Mimosa Springs had come to welcome him home. He kept his distance from Caroline, but he couldn’t stop watching her, which blistered him up good. Now, just as he had last night, he wanted to kiss her.

  When Galloway slipped an arm around her waist, Smith’s jaw clenched so hard he was surprised he didn’t break a tooth.

  He had danced once with his ma and once with his sister, if his hitching step could be called dancing. He had no intention of dancing or anything else with Caroline. There was only so much he could stand and holding her close, breathing in her subtle vanilla scent, was too much.

  Besides, he hadn’t forgotten what had happened between them at her house. Caroline would’ve kissed him last night if he’d let her. Smith had wavered between being glad she hadn’t and cussing for the same reason.

  As much as he enjoyed seeing his friends and his sister, he was ready for the party to be over.

  A small hand slipped through his arm and he looked down to see his petite sister. Ivy’s hair and eyes were the same black as Smith’s, set off tonight against the pale pink of her silk gown.

  He smiled. “You look pretty.”

  “So do you.” She gave him an impish smile before gazing out at the crowd.

  She was nowhere near his six-foot-plus height. She barely reached his shoulder.

  She tugged him down, her voice loud enough for only him to hear over the music. “I finally had a chance to visit with Caroline. I can’t believe she’s engaged.”