The Cowboy's Christmas Surprise

by Marie Ferrarella

  That surprised Holly. She knew that Miss Joan tended to be less blustery with children, but that still didn’t mean that she was a substitute Mary Poppins.

  “You’d watch her?” Holly asked incredulously.

  “Sure. I’ve got to get in more practice babysitting, seeing as how my first grandbaby is almost here,” Miss Joan answered, referring to the baby that Alma, Ray’s sister, and Cash, her stepson, were having. The baby was due at the beginning of January, and as time grew shorter, the woman was becoming increasingly excited.

  “I couldn’t ask you to do that,” Holly protested. “Even on standby.”

  Miss Joan frowned at her. “Unless my hearing’s going, girl—and I’m pretty damn sure that it isn’t, you didn’t ask me to babysit this Friday night. I just offered.” With her hands on her small hips Miss Joan fixed her with a penetrating look. “Okay, you got any other excuses you want shot down?”

  Apparently Miss Joan was not about to take no for an answer. But Holly wasn’t ready to capitulate just yet, either. “I’ve got classes.”

  Miss Joan made a dismissive noise. “Online classes,” she emphasized with a small snort. “That means you can take them the next day. Or on Sunday, if you’re busy making memories Saturday night.” The final comment was punctuated with a lusty chuckle.

  Holly blushed to the roots of her long, straight blond hair. “Miss Joan.” The name was more of a plea than anything else. Though she knew Miss Joan didn’t mean to, the woman was embarrassing her.

  “Lots of ways to make memories,” Miss Joan informed her, brushing aside the obvious meaning behind the previous phrase she’d used. She looked at Holly intently. “Okay, like I said, any other excuses?”

  “Yes, a big one,” Holly answered, unloading the last of the dishes onto the conveyor belt that would snake the dishes through the dishwashing machine against the far wall. “I really don’t know how to dance.” Because she felt it was a shortcoming, she said the words to the wall next to the conveyor belt, rather than to Miss Joan’s face.

  “Well, that’s an easy one to fix,” Miss Joan informed her, brushing the excuse aside as if it was an annoying gnat. “Dancing’s fun. I can teach you. Or my husband, Harry, can. You want someone younger, I’ll ask Cash to show you the finer points,” she said, waiting to hear who Holly wanted to go with.

  Had Miss Joan forgotten that her stepson was in a very unique situation? “Just what he wants to be doing when his wife’s on the verge of having their first baby. Teaching me how to dance,” Holly quipped.

  “Sure, why not?” Miss Joan asked. “I think it’s perfect. It’ll take his mind off worrying about everything for a little while—and it’ll perform a useful service for you.”

  Holly sighed. The woman was like a Hydra monster. No matter how many heads she lopped off, Miss Joan just grew some more and kept coming right back at her.

  “Miss Joan, I appreciate everything you’re trying to do here, I really do,” Holly said emphatically. “But I don’t have time for any dancing lessons, just like I don’t have time to go to Murphy’s and—”

  Out of the blue, Miss Joan gave her a look. The kind of look that made strong men doubt the validity of their cause and rendered frightened young waitresses like Laurie speechless. Holly, however, was made of far sterner stuff than the average person, due to all the responsibility she had shouldered from a very young age.

  So she braced herself and listened, hoping she could offer a successful rebuttal.

  “You like working here at the diner, girl?” Miss Joan finally asked after a sufficient amount of time had gone by.

  Here it comes, Holly thought. “Yes, ma’am, you know that I do.”

  Miss Joan’s expressive eyes narrowed, bringing in her penciled-in eyebrows. “Then if you want to have a job on Monday, you’ll go to Murphy’s with your friends on Friday and you will have fun,” she ordered forcefully.

  “Hey, old woman.” Eduardo, the longtime cook, called to her as he stopped puttering around in his kitchen and came forward. “You cannot just order someone to have fun. It does not work that way, but then, perhaps you have never had any fun yourself so you would not know that.”

  “Maybe you can’t order someone to have fun, but I can,” Miss Joan assured the short-order cook in a voice that said she wasn’t going to brook any sort of rebellion or challenge, especially from him.

  That resolved, Miss Joan turned her attention back to Holly. “So, girl, what’ll it be? You going to Murphy’s on Friday night and coming to work on Monday, or are you staying home, studying and looking for a new job come Monday morning?” Miss Joan asked.

  “You wouldn’t fire me over something like that,” Holly pointed out with some certainty.

  “No,” Miss Joan agreed and let her savor that for approximately two seconds before adding, “I’d fire you over your insubordination.” When Holly looked at her, confusion in her eyes, Miss Joan elaborated. “I told you to do something and you out-and-out refused. That’s pretty sassy if you ask me.” Miss Joan smiled at her, and it was one of the few genuine smiles that seemed to register on the woman’s lips and in her hazel eyes, as well. “In other words, insubordination. So what’ll it be?” she prodded, waiting to hear the answer she wanted to hear.

  Holly sighed. She’d known in her heart it was going to end this way.

  “I’ll go,” she said.

  Miss Joan’s eyes met hers and it almost felt as if the woman was delving into her very soul as she asked in a clear voice, “You’re sure?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I’m sure. I’ll go,” Holly repeated, still not certain how this had all come about now that she looked back at it. “But I won’t dance.” That, to her, was as far as she was willing to concede. She absolutely refused to make a complete fool of herself.

  At least she would be among friends, she consoled herself.

  For the time being, what Miss Joan had heard seemed to be enough, though she shook her head as if despairing over the young woman. “I guess you can lead the filly to the dance floor, but you can’t make her dance. Still, something is better than nothing, I always say.” She patted Holly’s shoulder. “Good girl. Remember to have fun. That’s an order,” she added with a near growl.

  “What did she say?” Laurie asked, venturing forward rather quickly once Miss Joan had made her way to the opposite end of the diner. Laurie looked as if she was dying of curiosity.

  Holly began putting down fresh place settings at each table that was no longer occupied. Rather than helping, Laurie just started to follow her around again, oblivious to her obligations as a waitress who was not on a break.

  “She told me to go out with you, Cyndy and Reta on Friday,” Holly told her.

  Laurie’s eyes all but lit up. They were definitely wider. “Really? How about that? There’s hope for the old girl yet.” Laurie laughed, glancing over her shoulder to where Miss Joan was behind the counter. And then she turned her attention back to Holly. “So you gonna listen?”

  Holly was fairly certain that Miss Joan wouldn’t fire her over something as trivial as this, but if she were honest with herself, she wasn’t a hundred percent sure. Miss Joan had been known to do some very strange things in her time, all because she felt she was right. The very last thing Holly wanted was to challenge the woman.

  Besides, on the outside chance that Miss Joan had meant what she said, she definitely couldn’t afford to lose her job. Granted, there were other jobs in Forever, but she had gotten comfortable in this one. There was the added fact that Miss Joan allowed her to take leftovers home to her mother and Molly.

  It might not seem like a lot to someone else, but she was of a mind that every tiny bit helped. Someday, when she finally got her nursing degree and her courage up to ask Dr. Davenport if he’d hire her as his nurse, she intended to pay Miss Joan back for all the times the older woman had loo
ked the other way and allowed her to bend the rules.

  Like the time that her mother and Molly were both sick and she had to stay home to take care of them. Miss Joan not only allowed her to take the two days off, but she paid her for them as if she was at work. And, on top of that, she’d sent over one of the waitresses with soup for her mother and niece, and food for her because, “If I know her, that fool girl will be so busy taking care of her family, she’ll forget to eat herself.”

  Miss Joan had been right, Holly recalled. She had been so busy caring for the two patients she’d entirely forgotten to eat.

  Miss Joan always covered all the bases, Holly thought with no small amount of affection.

  Her eyes dancing, it was obvious to Holly that Laurie was making even more plans for Friday night. The young waitress looked as if she was ready to go now rather than have to wait until the end of the week.

  “If you don’t have anything to wear,” Laurie suddenly said, turning toward her, “you can borrow something from my closet. We’re about the same size,” she guesstimated, looking Holly up and down. “I’ll be happy to share anything I’ve got.”

  Did Laurie think that she was that poor? “I’ve got a dress,” Holly protested with a touch of indignation she didn’t bother hiding.

  “Oh.” Holly’s response had clearly surprised her. “Okay, then you’re all set,” she said happily. “I’ll come by to pick you up at 7:30 p.m. Friday night.”

  She didn’t want Laurie going out of her way. “Why don’t I just meet you there?” Holly suggested.

  “Because you won’t,” Laurie responded. She looked at her friend. “I know you, Holly, so don’t even go there. I’ll pick you up,” she repeated. “And we’ll have fun,” she promised with feeling. “You’ll see.”

  With all the things she had on her mind, Holly thought, she highly doubted it. But she knew better than to say so.

  So instead, she forced a quick flash of a smile to her lips, then murmured something about having “inventory to do” as she walked away from Laurie and headed toward the tiny back office.

  Chapter Three

  Her time factor down to the wire, Holly stared into the small, narrow closet in her bedroom. She’d been staring into it for a couple of minutes now.

  It wasn’t as if she was trying to decide what to wear, because there was so much to choose from. There wasn’t. She knew every article of clothing that hung there by heart.

  She had exactly one all-purpose dress that she’d worn to her high school graduation, to the funeral of a friend of her mother’s and to a small number of other, lesser occasions. Money was tight. She saw no reason to spend it on something frivolous when there were so many more worthy items that needed to be bought first—like toys that lit up Molly’s eyes and clothes for the girl’s ever-growing little body.

  The all-purpose, A-line, navy blue dress was certainly still in decent condition, but she had to secretly admit that part of her wished she’d taken Laurie up on her offer when the waitress had suggested lending her a dress for this evening.

  The next moment, Holly shrugged the thought away. Murphy’s wasn’t all that well lit anyway, and besides, she was not looking to impress anyone. She was just giving in and going out tonight so that Laurie and Miss Joan would stop saying she needed to get out more and socialize.

  After all, it wasn’t as if she was bored. God knew she had more than enough to keep her busy, and she didn’t feel a lack of anything in her life. She wasn’t looking for a boyfriend or a husband. Her heart definitely wasn’t up for grabs.

  It was already spoken for.

  She’d been in love with Ray for as long as she could remember. That wasn’t going to change, and as long as she felt that way, she wasn’t about to go looking for a boyfriend. She wouldn’t feel right about it. Her heart definitely wouldn’t be in it.

  She’d never been one of those girls who felt she needed a man at her side to complete her. She knew better than that. She had always been her own person, and that person was as busy as any two or three people had a right to be.

  “You know, it doesn’t matter how long you stare into it, nothing new is going to pop up in that closet,” Martha Johnson said as she wheeled herself into her daughter’s small, tidy bedroom.

  “I know, Mom,” Holly acknowledged wearily, still staring into her closet. “I was just wondering if it wouldn’t be better all around if I just stayed home tonight.” She certainly didn’t need to dig for excuses. She had plenty of those. “I’ve got that test to study for and Molly’s just getting over a cold—”

  “At this age, Molly’s always going to be getting over a cold,” Martha pointed out patiently. “And from what I understand, the beauty of taking those courses in the isolating privacy of your own room is that you can take those tests whenever you want—on your own schedule, not the teacher’s or whoever it is that’s hiding on the other side of that monitor. Anyway, you’re going and that’s that.”

  “Mom, what if Molly wakes up—” She got no further. Her mother had raised her hand, calling for silence.

  “So she wakes up. I’ll handle it. Don’t make me feel any more of an invalid than this chair already makes me feel, Holly,” she pleaded. “Besides, you wouldn’t want this dress to go to waste, would you?”

  “What dress?” Holly asked, finally turning around to look at her mother.

  That was when she saw it. What her mother was talking about. There on her lap, encased in a plastic, see-through garment bag, was a dress that gave new meaning to the word beautiful.

  Holly’s mouth dropped open in complete awe—and concern. The dress had to be expensive. She wasn’t about to allow her mother to throw away money on her like that, especially since there wasn’t all that much to toss around. They were still paying off the medical bills associated with the car accident that had put her mother into that wheelchair.

  “Mom, you didn’t—”

  “No, Holly, I didn’t,” Martha quickly assured her daughter.

  Her mother didn’t usually lie to her, yet there was the dress, on her lap. “Then where did that come from?” Holly asked.

  Martha Johnson smiled. “Miss Joan’s husband, Harry, brought it over. He said she told him that this was for you and that you weren’t allowed to give it back or refuse it, otherwise you’re out of a job,” her mother said matter-of-factly. She looked down at the dress that was still on her lap. “If you ask me, this’ll look extremely pretty on you.” And then she looked up to see Holly’s reaction.

  That was not the expression of a woman who was thrilled about getting a new dress.

  Holly was frowning.

  “Oh, Holly, smile. You look as if you are about to be sent to prison, not to enjoy a rare night out. A well-deserved night out, I might add,” Martha insisted. She shook her head, her salt-and-pepper hair moving back and forth from the motion. “Honey, I can’t remember the last time you went out for fun.”

  Neither could she, actually, Holly thought. But that still didn’t make this any easier for her. Holly bit her lower lip. “Mom, I won’t fit in.”

  “You won’t fit in if you wear that old navy blue dress of yours,” Martha pointed out, nodding at the dress that was still hanging in the closet. “In this bright, pretty little thing, you’ll still stand out,” she acknowledged, nodding at the glittery blue-gray dress, “but in a good way. Besides, you’re going out with your friends, aren’t you? That should make it easier for you.”

  She really wasn’t all that close to the girls she was going out with. Not so much that she could really call them her friends.

  Holly raised one shoulder in a helpless gesture. “I’m going out with girls I work with, Mom.”

  “Close enough,” her mother pronounced.

  There was no doubt about it, Holly thought. She was going to feel awkward. She had trouble ble
nding in in situations outside of her comfort zone, at work or home. Anything beyond that was no longer in her zone.

  Martha took her hand between both of hers, a sympathetic look in her eyes. “Honey, the more you hide, the harder it’s going to be on you to come out and mingle with people who aren’t sitting at the counter, giving you their lunch orders.” If Holly could be outgoing in that situation—which she was—then she had it in her to be outgoing in other kinds of situations. She just had to be drawn out. “My friends occasionally drop by the diner and they all tell me that you’re the nicest, most helpful girl there—”

  “Yes, but that’s work,” Holly reminded her. And that was exactly her point. She was fine as long as she could hide behind her job. No one expected any real one-on-one time with her while she was at work.

  Martha was not about to accept defeat. In her own way, she was as stubborn as her daughter. “Then pretend you’re at work tonight—just don’t go behind the bar and start serving drinks,” Martha warned with an understanding smile.

  “Mom, I—” The doorbell rang, interrupting what she was going to say next. Her head swung in the direction of the front door. “Oh, God, that’s Laurie.” She glanced toward her mother. “She said she was going to swing by to pick me up because she didn’t trust me to come to Murphy’s on my own.”

  Martha looked just the slightest bit impressed, as well as surprised. “That Laurie is smarter than she looks.” Maneuvering her wheelchair so that she was closer to her daughter’s double bed, Martha deposited the new dress on it, then announced, “You get ready. I’ll let Laurie in and tell her that you’ll need a few extra minutes. She’ll understand.”

  Holly’s stomach officially tied itself up in a knot. The kind that threatened to cut off her air supply. She pressed her hand against her stomach. “Tell her I’m sick.”

  “Holly Ann Johnson, you know how I feel about lying,” Martha informed her, pretending to look stern.

  “But I think I am coming down with something,” Holly protested. “I feel feverish.”