A Texas Holiday Reunion

by Shannon Taylor Vannatter

  “Okay.”

  Small arms wrapped around his neck. “Thanks, Daddy.”

  She happily left him there, and Colson’s heart sank. Cheyenne needed this. To stop clinging to him. To make friends her age. So why did it hurt him so? She was growing up before his eyes.

  He stood and strolled toward the sanctuary. The long hallway had cleared, but he heard voices. He was sure one of them was Resa’s.

  Colson stopped.

  “... I have to admit, I didn’t think you’d come. But I’m so glad you did.”

  “I’m trying to get my life back on track.” Emmett sounded contrite. “I thought me coming this morning might help.”

  Emmett was here? Colson’s chest tightened. The urge to blast past them, grab Cheyenne and flee welled within him. But then Emmett might see them together. And know? Maybe it was better that she was sitting with her new friend this morning. Maybe God had worked that out for him. Yeah, right, God helping him keep his secret? God loved truth. Guilt pooled hot in Colson’s stomach.

  “Still the fourth row, right side.” A tinge of bitterness edged Emmett’s words.

  “You remembered?”

  “Everything about this place is etched into me.”

  “That’s not a bad thing.”

  “I just remember being dragged here every time the doors were open.”

  “You used to love church.” The sad lilt of her tone tugged at Colson.

  “Maybe if they’d let up a little. Stopped forcing me. Let me come on my own.”

  “You probably wouldn’t have ever darkened the door if they’d done that.”

  “You’re right.” Emmett laughed. “You go on. I’ll be right behind you.”

  Feeling like an eavesdropper, Colson stepped through the foyer just as Resa entered the sanctuary.

  Emmett leaned against the wall to the side of the double doors, eyes closed. Nautical polo shirt, loafers... Pure preppy.

  Had he really turned over a new leaf? Colson hoped so, for Resa’s sake. For Cheyenne’s sake. But if so, why was he hesitant to enter the sanctuary? If Emmett was trying to pull one over on Resa, to take advantage of her, Colson would be there to call him on it.

  Ice-blue eyes opened, issuing a challenge as Emmett straightened. “Stay away from her.”

  “Hard to do since I’m overseeing the ranch.”

  “You better not hurt her again.”

  “Don’t intend to.” Colson shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’m just here to work.”

  “Hurt her again and you answer to me.” Emmett jabbed a thumb at his chest, then slipped through the door, as if he thought Colson might take him up on his challenge.

  Colson wasn’t falling for this upstanding-citizen, hardworking, protective-brother routine. He would keep an eye on Emmett. If anyone had the capacity to hurt Resa, it would be her brother.

  If anyone had the capacity to hurt Cheyenne, it was her biological father.

  * * *

  Members gathered at the altar went back to their seats, the hymn wound down and the pastor offered the closing prayer. Amens echoed and her brother was the first one out of the pew. Just like when they were teenagers. At least he’d come.

  “Hey, wait up.”

  “What?” Emmett stopped, glanced around as if he couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

  “I thought we might do lunch. It’s not every Sunday I get to sit in church with my brother. Let me do one thing and then we’ll go.” Resa searched for Jed. She couldn’t wait to tell him about the jewelry boxes.

  “Um, I never agreed to lunch.”

  “You’re coming.” She spotted her quarry. “Hey, Jed, I’ve got good news and bad news.”

  “Just give it to me straight.” He pulled Marilyn to his side. “Only sold one, huh? Or none?”

  “We sold them all.”

  “All of them?” Marilyn let out a whoop.

  Jed’s smile broadened, but then he frowned. “So what’s the bad news?”

  “We need more. Fast. At the moment I have orders for a dozen.”

  “By doggie’s, I’m not sure I can keep up with that.”

  “You have to,” Resa begged. “I want to take some to the trade show this weekend, too.”

  “We’ll figure something out.” Marilyn patted his shoulder and caught Resa’s gaze. “Can the crafters at Rusticks make boxes?”

  “That’s a great idea.” Emmett butted into the conversation. “Those things sold like hotcakes.”

  “But we wouldn’t want to cut into Jed’s market,” Resa cautioned.

  “He could sell us the design?”

  “Better yet, we could use Jed’s design and take a commission,” Resa mused. “The ones we craft could have stickers that say Designed by Jed Whitlow. But the boxes you make would say Handcrafted by Jed Whitlow—with a bigger price, and you get all of the profits.”

  “Wait a minute.” Emmett glowered.

  “Reckon your folks will be okay with that?”

  “You know they will. And besides, I’m in charge at the moment.” She shot Emmett a look.

  “Sounds like you got yourself a deal.” Jed stuck his hand out. “But when your folks get back, run it by them to make sure, you hear?”

  Resa hugged him instead of shaking hands.

  “Better than any handshake.” Marilyn joined in the embrace. “Let’s celebrate. Y’all join us at OST.”

  “What’s OST?” Emmett frowned.

  “Old Spanish Trail. Remember?” Resa linked arms with him. “You really have been gone too long.”

  “How about you, Colson?” Marilyn looked past Resa.

  She hadn’t even realized he was still around. But there he was, leaning against a pew behind them.

  Colson stiffened. “I’m not sure I can.”

  Because of her? Did he agree they’d been getting along too well, spending too much time together lately?

  “You should come.” Marilyn patted his arm. “Cheyenne would love it. Where is she? I was thinking we could invite Ruby and her folks, too.”

  His gaze cut to Emmett. “Bathroom.”

  “Resa.” Jed shot her a wink. “You coming?”

  Think of an excuse. But she didn’t have any and she couldn’t disappoint Jed. “Sure. But you’re not paying for my meal. In fact, I have a check for you from the open house sales. Along with a list of buyers wanting their engraved plates.”

  “My devious plan worked.” Jed twisted his make-believe mustache. “We’ll hash out who’s buying when we get there. See who wins. You coming, Emmett?”

  “Thanks, but I’ve already got lunch plans.”

  She saw Colson immediately relax. Maybe it was Emmett he didn’t want to spend time with. But why? They’d never been friends, but they weren’t enemies, either.

  She gave Jed a good-natured grin, then headed for her car, but Emmett caught her elbow.

  “Since when do we do business on a handshake, much less a hug? What about a contract and why are you giving away our profit potential?”

  “Most people would require a contract. But not Jed.” She rolled her eyes. “He’s an honorable man. And much of our early profits came from the sweat of his brow. These boxes are his design and we’re not stealing his retirement income from him. His arthritis is bad enough that he could easily get disability, but he wants to earn his living. And I’ll do everything I can to help him do that.”

  “Whatever you say.” A muscle tic started up in Emmett’s jaw. “You’re the one in charge.” He marched out.

  And she wanted to jerk a knot in his tail. She huffed out a harsh breath, then strolled to the lobby. Emmett had more interest in the company these days, but he was entirely too wrapped up in profit. They had plenty of income without stealing from Jed. />
  She shook hands with the pastor and exited.

  Halfway across the parking lot, she heard footfalls catching up with her.

  “Resa. Wait up.” Cheyenne skipped up beside her. “Daddy said we can go to OST. And Ruby might come, too.”

  “I’m so glad you made a new friend.” Had Colson changed his mind because Emmett wasn’t going? “What about Mac and Annette?”

  “Them, too.”

  “Yay!” Resa cheered and got a giggle out of Cheyenne.

  “Can Ruby ride with us, Daddy?”

  “Why don’t you go ask her folks.”

  Cheyenne galloped toward the Millers.

  “That was awesome.” Colson’s gaze was full of...something she couldn’t read. But it threatened to warm her heart.

  “What?”

  “You making that deal with Jed. You could have gotten a lot more out of it. And the way you stood up to Emmett was heroic.”

  “I don’t know about that.” She chuckled. “Jed’s been good to us. We try to return the favor.” What was she doing, pitting herself against her brother? Taking sides with Colson? And why did his approval make her feel so warm inside?

  Chapter Eight

  Colson’s boots made a racket as he crossed the hardwood floor of the restaurant. Cheyenne, his dad and Annette had all ganged up on him to come. So much for nipping things between his daughter and her aunt. For today, anyway.

  The place hadn’t changed a bit. Servers ducked under the enormous elk behind the breakfast bar, which was still lined by saddle-topped stools. The salad bar was housed in a covered wagon, the John Wayne Room’s walls crammed with pictures and memorabilia.

  Resa reached a long table where Jed and Marilyn waited, and settled in a chair. Cheyenne clambered into the one beside her, then patted the other flanking her for Colson.

  “Where’s Ruby?” Resa helped scoot Cheyenne’s chair in.

  “She couldn’t come. They had lunch plans with her grandparents.” Cheyenne’s lips turned down.

  “Maybe she can come next time.”

  An instrumental song started up. It was Annette’s ringtone, “Music Box Dancer.”

  “Excuse me.” She fished around in her purse, dug out her phone. “Hello?” She smiled. “Yes, that’s perfect. I’ll see you both then.” Annette clicked off, turned to Cheyenne. “Guess who’s coming to visit Tuesday?”

  “Who?” The little girl’s forehead scrunched.

  “Ruby. I asked her mom this morning when Ruby could come. She’s gonna bring her over and let her stay with us all day.”

  Cheyenne showed a mixture of joy and worry—a smile followed by another frown. “What for?”

  “To play.”

  “What will we do?”

  “Whatever you want.” Annette reached across the table to squeeze Cheyenne’s hand. “Don’t be shy. You and Ruby liked sitting together at church. You’ll have fun.”

  “Okay.”

  “Isn’t it nice of Annette to arrange this, princess?” Colson winked at her.

  “Thanks, Nette.” But Cheyenne still didn’t sound so sure.

  “You need to make friends your own age instead of being stuck with old codgers like us all the time.” Mac gently tugged her braid.

  “You’re not an old codger, Grandpa. And Nette’s not, too.”

  “Then that must make me a spring chicken.” Colson opened his menu.

  “Look at the tree, Daddy.”

  Decked out with cowboy boot ornaments, red stars and balls, with a rope wound around it instead of garland, topped with a bandana and a cowboy hat, the tree almost reached the ceiling.

  “Can we get a tree and decorate it like that?”

  Daddy failure. He hadn’t even thought about a tree.

  “I can’t believe I didn’t think of that.” Resa closed her menu, set it down. “My parents were so busy getting ready for their cruise, I told them I’d decorate after they left. After lunch, I’ll stop by and dig the tree and ornaments out of the attic. I’m sure we can find a hat, bandana and rope lying around.”

  “But Daddy always cuts a real tree for us. We go out in the woods and find the perfect one.”

  “Then that’s what we’ll do.” Resa patted Cheyenne’s hand.

  “We don’t want to be any trouble.” He tried to concentrate on the menu. “We can use an artificial one this time.”

  “But I’ve never gone out in the woods and picked a real one.” Her wonder was childlike, her eyes sparkling, a look he couldn’t resist. “It sounds fun.”

  “Can we, Daddy?”

  “I guess so, if Resa’s certain she doesn’t mind.”

  She looked at the others around the table. “Anybody else want to come?”

  “I’ve got some sewing to do.” Marilyn sipped her tea.

  “My recliner’s calling me.” Jed set his menu down.

  “Mine, too.” Mac chuckled.

  “I just bought a new book by my favorite author.” Annette rubbed her hands together. “I can’t wait to dive in.”

  “I guess it’s just the three of us then.” Regret tinged her tone, as if she wished she hadn’t gotten so excited about the tree.

  Did she want to put the brakes on things between them, too?

  * * *

  Stomach in knots, the way it always was when Colson was around, Resa traipsed through the woods with him and Cheyenne. She’d imagined Mac and Annette in on the trek when she’d suggested it. Why hadn’t she kept her mouth shut?

  “What about that one?” She pointed at an ash juniper, the Texas version of cedar.

  Cheyenne wrinkled her nose. “Too weird shaped.”

  “It’ll be hard to find a perfect-shaped one around here, since we don’t get much rain except in spring. But we can trim it.”

  “I wanna keep looking until we find the perfect one.”

  “Resa may not have that much time, princess.”

  “Just as long as we get back in time for evening church, I’m good.” Resa squeezed the little girl’s hand. “Wanna walk the log across the river?”

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” Colson eyed the water.

  “It’s not deep here. And it’s not that cold. I wouldn’t suggest it if there was any danger.” When would he ever learn she’d never do anything to harm Cheyenne?

  “Can we, Daddy?”

  “I reckon.” He clasped Cheyenne’s free hand.

  “Here we go.” Resa stepped up on the log.

  Cheyenne followed, then Colson, in single file.

  When they reached the end, Cheyenne squealed. “That was fun, Daddy. Swing me.”

  “Resa will have to help. On three?” His gaze met hers. “One, two, three.”

  They swung Cheyenne up in the air, their laughter mixing with her gleeful giggles. Like a family.

  “Again.”

  They swung her three more times.

  “You’re getting big. And Resa’s arm is probably tired.”

  Piles and piles of tree trunks, logs, branches and roots occupied the clearing, encompassing everything from river-whitened cypress to black walnut.

  Cheyenne grew wide-eyed as they neared the log yard. “What happened to all these trees?”

  “We either grew them for furniture, they died on someone else’s property, a family needed them cut so they could build a house, or they got sick. They’re waiting to be made into furniture. But there’s a nice grove over there.”

  Cheyenne had already spotted it. “There.” She tugged them toward a tree. “I want that one.”

  “I think this will work nicely.” Colson walked in a slow circle around the tree. “It’s nice and tall.”

  “It’s even taller than you.” Cheyenne inspected its he
ight, at least a head above Colson.

  He set down his backpack, pulled out a chain saw. “Cover your ears, princess.”

  “Come sit with me.” Resa tested a log pile, then sat, helping Cheyenne onto her lap.

  “Don’t snakes hide under logs?”

  “It’s about fifty degrees, so they’re way down in the ground. If it gets to be sixty, we’ll be more careful.” She clasped Cheyenne’s hands and clamped them over the child’s ears as the whir of the chain saw started up.

  Colson made quick work cutting the tree, and minutes later, he leaned it against a live oak and strolled over to them. “You know what that means?” His attention was fixed on Cheyenne.

  “Bonfire time. With s’mores.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. We might be under a burn ban,” Resa said. “And I didn’t bring any supplies. But I have snacks back at the house.”

  “I’m not into starting forest fires. I’ve got this.” Colson dug around in his backpack, pulled out a bag of marshmallows, a box of graham crackers and several Hershey chocolate bars, along with matches. And finally, a small camping-style grill and a jug of water. “I do need skewers, though.”

  “There’s a scrap pile at the east corner of the pole yard.”

  “I’m on it.” Colson set the grill down, lit the charcoal, then walked away.

  Minutes later, he returned with three long, slim branches, settled on a log nearby and shaved skewers for each of them. He slid a marshmallow onto each stick and handed them over.

  “Want me to roast yours for you?” Cheyenne asked Resa, scooting out of her lap.

  “Sounds like you’re the pro. But do yours first.”

  While Resa readied the crackers and chocolate, the child kept the marshmallow just out of the fire until it turned a golden brown on all sides. They carefully slid the marshmallow in place and set the s’more on a paper plate to cool, while Cheyenne went back to roasting. Colson poured coffee for them and hot chocolate for Cheyenne from thermoses.

  He’d come prepared, a ritual they obviously shared every Christmas. Only this time, Resa was included. Like a family. But she couldn’t let herself get entangled with Colson. Not when he was leaving. Again.