Fruitcakes and Other Leftovers & Christmas, Texas Style

by Lori Copeland

  She cornered the two old men in the kitchen as they sorted through the various dishes. “Okay, what’s going on?”

  “It’s Christmas, little gal.”

  “That’s not what I meant. I’ve got this bad feeling that something else is going on. Why are all these people stopping by?”

  “To wish you well. It’s your first Christmas here, and the folks are trying to make you feel at home.”

  “Why are they bringing food?”

  “Ain’t you ever heard of southern hospitality?”

  “But there’s so much.”

  “They’re a generous bunch. Speaking of which, Essie Calico called. She’s got pies. Wants to know if you could run on over and pick them up.”

  “I guess so.” Winnie retrieved her keys and purse and umbrella.

  “And Marge Cranford. She’s about ten minutes down Route 35. Little red house with pink shutters. She’s got cornbread.”

  “Got it.”

  “And Sarah Lawrence over at the fire station has apple butter.”

  By the time Winnie walked out the door, she had a half dozen stops to make. She held her umbrella protectively overhead, but even Birdie was feeling charitable. He didn’t so much as squawk.

  Yep, something was definitely up.

  Three hours later, as she walked a deserted back road—thanks to a flat tire and a suspiciously missing spare tire—she saw Trace’s pickup top the horizon, and knew her instincts had been right.

  “Ezra said you had a flat tire,” he said after he rolled to a stop and climbed out.

  “He should know.” Though she hadn’t yet found a phone. “Can you give me a lift? I had a spare the last time I looked, but now it’s gone.”

  His face drew into a frown. “They set you up.”

  “They set us up, and I think it’s high time we called them on it.” Her gaze met his. “I mean, we can’t go on like this, spending time together and—”

  “—spending the night,” he finished for her.

  She nodded. A conclusion she’d come to as she’d walked the endless back road, her feet aching, her dress too sparse and short to ward off the chilly December air. She’d longed for a sweatshirt and jeans and sneakers, and the truth had hit her as suddenly as a frigid gust of December wind.

  While she could change who she was on the outside, she couldn’t change who she was on the inside. Plain, simple Winnie Becker who liked comfortable clothes and reliable shoes, who enjoyed quiet evenings at home, who dreamt of a hubby and kids and happily ever after.

  She still wanted those things.

  Want. That was the difference. She knew now that she didn’t need a man to be happy. Rather, she wanted one.

  Trace.

  And he wanted his PRCA championship.

  “You’re leaving tomorrow,” she went on, “so you probably have a million things to do, and I’ve got a house to finish decorating. Not to mention, Ann offered me a full-time position starting tomorrow.” And spending more time with him would only make saying goodbye that much harder.

  “So you’re really staying on at the daycare.”

  She nodded. “And you’re really going to Denver.”

  And that meant it was over.

  She forced her gaze from his and tamped down the urge to throw herself into his arms and tell him how she felt. He’d never made any promises and while she’d ruled out “just lust” a long time ago, as far as she knew, Trace didn’t feel any more than the intense chemistry between them. He’d never said the words. Never made any promises.

  “Over,” he said, as if to confirm her thoughts.

  Winnie caught her bottom lip and blinked back a sudden wave of tears. She wasn’t crying. Not over any man. Not even this one.

  “THERE’S YOUR SPARE.” Trace pointed to the tire tied with red and green balloons, propped against her mailbox.

  “What’s going on?” she asked as they rolled to a stop in front of the house. Lights blazed from inside. Cars lined the drive and pushed over onto the shoulder of the road. Music floated out on the chilly December air.

  “Looks like they’re having a party,” Trace said as he steered her into the crowded house.

  “Actually,” Ezra met them at the door and held up his hands to quiet the noise, “we’re having a wedding.”

  The door slammed shut, locked, and Winnie and Trace found themselves staring down the double barrel of a shotgun.

  “Congratulations.” Lacey thrust a bouquet into Winnie’s hands and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

  “Best of luck, buddy.” Shermin slapped Trace on the shoulder and handed him a ring box.

  Winnie’s frantic gaze drank in her surroundings, from the three-tier wedding cake sitting on a nearby table, a basket full of filly birdseed bags, the pile of wedding gifts. A wedding.

  Her wedding.

  To Trace.

  Her gaze swiveled to him. He looked as shocked as she felt as he stared at their surroundings. Then his gaze lit on the shotgun, and the shock faded into anger.

  “Go on and get up there.” Jasper nudged her toward the minister.

  “You, too.” Ezra nudged Trace.

  “Dearly beloved—”

  “Wait!” Winnie whirled. “This is ridiculous. It’s ludicrous. It’s…” Her gaze lit on the shotgun. “It’s coercion—that’s what it is.”

  “We prefer to think of it as a means to an end,” Jasper said. “Don’t make a stink, honey. Just cooperate.”

  “That’s right. You and Trace, here, obviously got something going. You like him. He likes you. What’s the big fuss? You just turn back around there, say I do when the preacher asks you, and we’ll have us a grand reception afterwards.”

  “Okay.”

  Trace’s deep voice brought her whirling around. “What did you say?”

  “I said okay.” His gaze held hers. “Let’s do this.”

  “But this is crazy.”

  “It can’t be any crazier than my life the past week.” His gaze captured hers. “I can’t think, Winnie. I can’t eat. Hell, I can’t take a decent ride anymore. You’re in my head and I can’t get you out no matter how much I try.”

  The admission sent a spurt of joy through her.

  “I don’t know what to do,” he went on. “I can’t go on like this, and I sure as hell can’t go to Colorado.”

  “Because?” I love you. The words were there in her head, her heart, but she had to hear them.

  “Because I can’t concentrate, which means I don’t stand a chance on that bull, so riding in Denver’s useless.”

  That wasn’t exactly what she’d meant. “So if you can’t beat ‘em, join ’em, is that what you’re saying?”

  “Maybe. Hell, I don’t know. That’s the damned trouble. I don’t know anything anymore, except that we’re good together, that I can’t wait to kiss you, to touch you.”

  “That’s lust.”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Nothing, but it isn’t enough foundation for a lifelong commitment. You said so yourself.” What was she saying? She should be shouting, Yes! I do! She loved him, for heaven’s sake, and here he was offering to marry her.

  For the wrong reason.

  She shook her head. “We can’t do this.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you don’t love me.”

  “I know I don’t like being without you. That we fit together. That I like falling asleep with you at night and waking up to you in the morning.”

  “But you don’t love me,” she pressed.

  “Maybe I do.”

  “And maybe you don’t.”

  “Look, Winnie, I…” He shoved a hand through his head. “I know I want you, and I’m ready to do this right here, right now.”

  “Get out,” she said with trembling lips.

  “What?”

  “I said, get out.”

  “But I’m willing to marry you.”

  “Get out!” Tears burned the backs of her eyelids, sending a spur
t of desperation through her. “Now!” She grabbed the basket of birdseed, snatched up a white netted bundle and threw it at him.

  “Now wait—Dammit, Winnie! That hurt!”

  “I said, get out.” She threw one after another, urging him toward the front door along with the rest of the crowd.

  “Lookee here, now,” Ezra dodged a bag. “I got a gun, missy.”

  “Get out!”

  “Now Winnie—” Jasper started, his plea ending in a grunt as a bag of birdseed caught him in the stomach.

  “And take all this stuff with you!”

  Hands snatched up the presents, the cake, the champagne, all while Winnie kept throwing. Eight years of tossing bean bags at the Senior Olympics had finally paid off.

  “Ugh!”

  “Humpf!”

  “Eeek!”

  “Dadblastit!”

  Winnie tossed the last bag of birdseed and sent Jasper scrambling out onto the porch. She slammed the door shut behind him just as the tears started.

  Maybe.

  But maybe wasn’t enough. Winnie Becker had wasted eight years of her life on a man who couldn’t commit to her. And while Trace might be willing to give her his name, he wasn’t willing to give her his heart.

  And she wouldn’t settle for less.

  “DANG IT, LACEY MAE,” Ezra grumbled as he stood out on the front porch along with the other guests and rubbed his sore shoulder. “I told you to go with those little bottles of bubbles.”

  “Birdseed is traditional.”

  “Rice is traditional,” Jasper said.

  “And bad for the birds,” Preacher Wilkins added.

  “Yep,” Missy chimed in. “Birdseed is better.”

  “And pretty darned painful,” Ezra growled. “Little lady’s got quite an arm on her. Trace, did you know your gal could throw like that…” Ezra’s voice faded as the headlights on Trace’s pickup flicked on. The engine grumbled, tires squealed and the pickup faded into the darkness.

  “So what do we do now?” Jasper asked.

  Bea held up the cake. “Anybody up for a wedding?”

  Lacey Mae exchanged glances with Shermin, then their hands slid into the air.

  “Over my dead body,” Spunk growled.

  Ezra hefted the shotgun and grinned. “That can be arranged.”

  “IF THAT’S A BRIBE to get on my good side, it isn’t going to work,” Winnie said when she dragged herself into the kitchen after a sleepless night and spotted the cup of steaming coffee sitting on the table.

  “It ain’t for you,” Ezra said, sliding into his seat and grabbing the cup. “It’s for me.”

  She eyed the old man and noted his tired expression. “Rough night?”

  He nodded. “That Shermin sure knows how to liven up a reception. Never seen such a mild-mannered boy kick up his heels like that.”

  “He was happy.” Jasper set a cup of coffee in front of Winnie and turned pleading eyes on her. “Which is all I ever wanted for you.”

  “No.” Winnie sipped her own coffee. “You wanted it for you.”

  “I…I did, and I was wrong, which is why we’re headed back to Houston today. You’re on your own, honey. Just like you wanted. It’s your life, your choices—”

  “Your funeral,” Ezra cut in.

  “I told you to keep your mouth shut,” Jasper snapped.

  “And I told you I can’t stand by and watch two people make the biggest mistake of their lives.”

  “And I told you it’s not your business.”

  “And I told you it most certainly is…”

  The bickering continued as Winnie headed back to her room, determined to pull herself together and focus on the good rather than the bad. She still had her health. A full-time job. A decent place to live. Both grandpas were butting out and heading back to Houston.

  Yes, life was definitely looking up and she intended to go about her business as if yesterday hadn’t been the worst Christmas of her life. As if she hadn’t blown a fuse and tossed half the town out on their keesters. As if she hadn’t fallen hopelessly, helplessly in love with a man who didn’t love her.

  Ugh. So much for positive thinking.

  “ME AND JASPER are headed back to the Rest Easy, and I thought I’d stop by to say goodbye.”

  Trace turned from the suitcase he’d been packing to see Ezra standing in the doorway of the bunkhouse.

  “I guess you’re really leaving.”

  “It’s the twenty-sixth. I’m due in Denver on the twenty-seventh. Right on schedule.”

  “Then good luck to you, ’cause heaven knows you’re going to need it.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Look at you, boy. You look like you’ve been rode hard and hung out wet. I bet you didn’t sleep at all last night.”

  “I was busy thinking about today.”

  “You’ve been busy trying to forget.”

  “If you’re here to give me the great-grandchildren lecture, forget it.”

  “That’s a damn wonderful speech and if we had the time, I’d give it to you just for sassing me. But since we don’t, I’ll cut right to the chase. You love her.”

  “It’s over.” He stuffed the last of his clothes into the suitcase.

  “Is it?”

  “I asked her to marry me.” He slammed the lid shut. “She said no. That says it’s over to me.”

  “First off, you didn’t ask her to many you. You agreed—under duress, I might add.”

  “You didn’t even have bullets in that shotgun.”

  “I sure as hell did. You just ask Spunk.”

  “Spunk?”

  “It’s a long story. Anyhow, you agreed to many Winnie while standing at the end of a loaded shotgun, and then you proceeded to give her every reason why the two of you should get married, except the one she wanted to hear. You were talking with this,” he tapped his head, “instead of this.” His hand settled over his heart.

  “Is there a point to this? Because if there is, you’ve got about five minutes to get to it before I head out of here.”

  “It ain’t Winnie who’s distracting you. It’s your own stubbornness. You love her, but you don’t want to love her. You ain’t afraid of Winnie hurting your rodeo career, you’re afraid of her hurting you, the way Darla did.”

  “I didn’t love Darla.” The words were out before he could stop them.

  “That’s right, and your ego was bruised just the same when you caught her cheating. You do love Winnie, and so the stakes are higher, ‘cause it ain’t just your pride that’s going to get hurt if you lay your feelings out and she stomps on ’em. It’s your heart.”

  He stared at his grandfather, the truth hanging in the air between them. “How do you know this stuff?”

  “You don’t get to be my age without learning a few choice lessons. I left your Grandma Ginny hanging for a year while I traveled all over the country, team-roping with Handy Andy Jessup. Stupidest thing I ever did. Took me three years to finally win her back, but at least I had the good sense to realize I’d much rather have Ginny keeping me warm at night than Andy’s cold feet rubbing up against me.”

  “I’m glad, but I don’t see how that has anything to do with me and Winnie.”

  “Tell me boy, what is it that makes you climb onto a bull, even after broken bones, bruises and enough hurt to last the average man a lifetime?”

  He shrugged. “The ride.”

  A knowing look lit Ezra’s eyes. “That’s right.” And then he turned and walked away.

  The ride. Those few seconds of being on top of the world. Alive. Really and truly alive. And for that feeling, dozens of cowboys risked their necks time and time again. Risked the pain, the hurt. Because it was worth it. Because life wasn’t about the outcome, the winning or the losing, it was all about the moment. The ride.

  Trace grabbed his suitcase and walked out to his pickup, Ezra’s earlier words echoing in his ears.

  “It ain’t Winnie who’s distracting you. It’s yo
ur own stubbornness. You love her, but you don’t want to…”

  But he did want to.

  The realization hit him as he turned the truck onto the main road, headed away from Nostalgia. Away from Winnie.

  He wanted to love her more than he wanted to take another ride, or win another championship, or breathe his next breath, because the idea of leaving without her hurt worse than his breakup with Dada, worse than a collapsed lung and a few broken ribs, worse than the thought that he might never return to the rodeo circuit again.

  The idea of losing Winnie hurt more than anything he’d ever felt, and for one more moment in her arms, one sweet kiss, one smile, Trace knew he would risk it all.

  Winnie’s image pushed into his head, and for the first time, he didn’t try to push her out. It wasn’t one or the other. Winnie or the rodeo. Trace could have both if he wanted them.

  He didn’t.

  Fishing in his pocket, he retrieved the undies he’d been carrying around since she’d given them to him that night at the fire station. Silk caressed his fingertips as he hauled the truck around and headed toward Nostalgia. The only thing he wanted, the most important thing, was Winnie.

  The question was, did she want him?

  THE ONLY THING Winnie wanted was a great big piece of pie. Or cake. Or a bowl of ice cream. Or anything with a huge fat count and a rush of sugar to cause a tidal wave of guilt that would drown the ache in her chest

  She walked up onto the porch, glanced at Birdie who perched in the opening of his new home: a two-story birdhouse complete with a feeder she’d had Bea install first thing that morning.

  “At least one of us is happy.”

  She opened the door, ready to drown her misery in private. No more sympathetic glances from Ann, or people stopping by the daycare to check on her. No Lacey calling from her honeymoon—

  The thought stumbled to a halt as her gaze lit on the domino game set up on her coffee table. A fire flickered in the fireplace, casting shadows on the two glasses sitting near a jug of apple cider.

  “Oh, no. They’re back.”

  “They? Did you replace me so soon?”

  The deep, slow-as-honey drawl brought her whirling around to see Trace standing in the kitchen doorway, a bowl of M & M’s in his hand.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “This whole thing started with a domino game, so I thought the least we could do would be to finish it. A winner-take-all.”