A Cowboy Under the Mistletoe

by Jessica Clare

  “We’ll trust Jordy,” Eli agreed, handing her back the baby and then pressing a kiss to her brow. “Jason can still have the job. But I’ll be watching him closely all the same.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  There was no holiday Sage Cooper loved more than Christmas. It always seemed to bring out the best in everyone. People donated to strangers. They made gifts for one another. They sang songs full of joy and went to parties and spent money they didn’t have just to see a child’s face light up on Christmas. It was the holiday that brought people together the most. She loved it and loved the spirit of community.

  Maybe that’s why she was trying so hard with this particular Christmas—because it’d be her last one with the Painted Barrel community.

  She was going to do her best to make everyone in town enjoy the season to the fullest. Of course, she hadn’t counted on all of the Christmas decorations for the town’s future holiday fest coming in sheets instead of punched out. It was too late to order new ones, so there she was, sitting on her stool behind the counter on her day off and punching snowflake after snowflake out of cardboard.

  Someone had to do it, after all.

  She didn’t really mind. It wasn’t like she had family to go home to, or anyone to buy Christmas presents for. Which was depressing if you stopped to think about it, so she chased the thought out of her mind and went back to dutifully punching snowflakes.

  “I should have known I’d find you here,” called out a cheery voice. “You do realize it’s Saturday?”

  Sage looked up, beaming a smile at her childhood friend (and onetime crush) Greg Wallace. “Oh, I know. But this has to get done and I don’t mind it.”

  “You never do.” Greg sauntered up to the counter in the small office. He picked up a snowflake, studied it, then tossed it back down. “Cute.”

  “Thanks. Where’s Becca?”

  He grinned at her. Once upon a time, that grin made her heart flutter with longing. She’d had the biggest, nastiest crush on Greg ever since she could remember. Her earliest memories of him were in fourth grade, when his braces came off and he beamed a huge, white smile at her. Maybe that was when it started, but it got really bad her senior year of high school, and she’d pretty much been head over heels for him all her adult life. He had pale blond hair and a nice face, but the thing she liked most about him was his personality. She’d dreamed of marrying him. She’d written their paired names in notebooks and composed teenage love letters to him, positive that someday he’d notice her.

  Instead, he’d dated every girl in Painted Barrel but her, and was now engaged to Becca Loftis, the only beautician in their tiny town and the sweetest angel of a human being ever. So how could she be sad about that? She was friends with Becca, friends with Greg, and she was truly happy for them.

  And if Greg and Becca had been engaged for more than five years and Sage occasionally had the thought that maybe he didn’t want to marry Becca, well, that was just wishful thinking. She’d gotten over her crush.

  It didn’t mean that she wasn’t happy to see Greg, though.

  He shrugged and picked up another snowflake, leaning over her counter. “Working on a Saturday morning. Someone had a beauty emergency, and Becca squeezed her in even though we have plans.” He rolled his eyes. “What are you up to?”

  “This.” Sage gestured at the snowflakes spread out in front of her. “The holiday festival is next week, and I can’t wait until the final moment to have everything ready. I’m handling the decorations and flyers today, and then Monday through Wednesday is finalizing food, cleaning the conference room, and then lining up last-minute fixes.” She plucked the snowflake out of his hands before he could bend all the corners. “Don’t touch.”

  “I see we’re all festive.” He eyed her stuffed antlers headband and her light-up reindeer sweater. “I have no idea where you find that stuff, but it’s hideous.”

  She just laughed. She knew it was hideous, but it was attention getting and a conversation starter, and lately Sage had been so lonely that she’d take any conversation she could get. “You know me. I love Christmas. How’s the wedding coming?”

  Greg and Becca were finally going to walk down the aisle two weeks from today.

  “Great,” Greg said, beaming at her. “You’re going to the rehearsal dinner?”

  “I wouldn’t miss it.”

  “You bringing a plus-one?” Before she could answer, he chuckled. “Wait, I forgot who I’m talking to. This is Sage Cooper. She never dates!”

  Her smile froze on her face. “Right. It’ll just be me.”

  She was sure that Greg hadn’t meant to hurt her feelings, but gosh, that comment left a mark. It was well-known around Painted Barrel that she never dated. None of the local boys had ever been interested in Sage. She was the dimpled, cheery little sister to all instead of the gorgeous one they chased after. She went to softball games and played paintball with the rest of them. She went hunting with the guys. She was the first kid to have a PlayStation back when she was growing up, and everyone hung out at her house. She’d always been friends with all the guys, but never more.

  And now at twenty-nine, that hadn’t changed. Even her dating profiles on the four different apps she’d signed up on got no hits. She was man-repellent. They saw her name and ran.

  It was yet another reason to move.

  “Nothing wrong with coming alone,” Greg teased her, that winning smile on his face. “I’ll tell everyone you’re still pining after me.”

  She laughed, because it wasn’t in her nature to pine, and she really, truly was happy for him and Becca. “You do that.”

  Greg chuckled. He watched as she expertly punched another snowflake and then gave her a curious look. “I forgot, this is your last Christmas here in town, huh?”

  “Last one,” she agreed with a cheerful note in her voice. “I’m selling Dad’s ranch in the spring. Most of the livestock are gone, and there’s just cleaning things up to prepare for a move.”

  “Where to?”

  She honestly had no idea. Somewhere with a larger dating pool than Painted Barrel, Wyoming—population 200 or so. Sage shrugged. “Casper, maybe. Or maybe someplace east. I’ve always wanted to see New York City.”

  Greg blanched in horror. “Why? You’d miss the mountains and the fresh air.” He leaned forward on her desk. “You’d miss me.”

  That flirt. She knew he meant nothing by it, so she just gave him a wry smile. “I would miss you. I’d miss all my friends.”

  “Best friends,” he corrected, grinning at her. “Me and Becca both would miss you.”

  Annnd yet another reason to move. Sage only smiled absently at him and went back to work on her decorations. “What are you doing?”

  “Oh, just came by to have some mail metered and stuffed.” He shrugged and pulled out a thick stack. “More marketing pamphlets, you know?”

  She did. He was doing his best to make his real estate business launch, but there wasn’t a lot of housing turnover at this end of Wyoming. She’d helped him with his pamphlets before. “I’m here working late. Just leave them with me.”

  He gave her a grateful look and pushed them across the counter. “You know I appreciate you, Sage.”

  “Oh, I know,” she replied cheerfully. But he didn’t love her. And she was tired of just being everyone’s friend, so she was leaving in the spring, absolutely.

  Greg stayed and chatted for a while, but it was clear he was just killing time while Becca worked late. Once the tiny hairdresser popped her head in the door, Greg gave the counter a cheery thump and then pointed at Sage. “So you’ll get those in the mail for me?”

  “I will, but it’s Saturday. By the time they get picked up it’ll be Monday.”

  “The mail’s running in Casper, I heard. Holiday hours. You think you could take them there before the end of the day so they can be in everyone’s m
ailboxes first thing on Monday instead of later in the week?” He gave her a pleading look. “I’d do it myself, but me and Becca have to work on wedding stuff.”

  Drive all the way to Casper today? She hesitated, but at the look he gave her, she sighed and nodded. “If I head in that direction, I’ll take them.” And she immediately switched to the pamphlets, since she’d need to prioritize them if she was taking them to Casper later today before the post office there closed.

  Greg winked at her and then rushed out the door, murmuring an apology to his fiancée.

  And then Sage was alone with her snowflakes and Greg’s work. She gazed down at a copy of one pamphlet, which was bragging about how he’d sold a nearby farm, and inwardly winced at a typo on the cover. Maybe if she printed up some black stickers, she could cover that extra apostrophe without anyone noticing.

  Greg was lucky he had a friend like her.

  The thought made Sage feel incredibly lonely, though, and she picked up her phone and scrolled through her dating apps. No real hits, just the weird messages she got from old men wanting to exchange nudes. No, thank you. She flipped through app after app, but no, Sage Cooper was just as much man-repellent as she ever was.

  With a sigh, she tossed her phone back down on the counter and picked up Greg’s paperwork. It’d be different in New York City. Probably.

  * * *

  • • •

  It was December, and Jason was sweating.

  He walked along the snowy sidewalk in Painted Barrel, focusing on the quaint buildings that lined the main street of town.

  It had been six years since Afghanistan. He could have sworn he was getting better. But because it was a blustery winter and the town was small, it was quiet out.

  Too quiet.

  No one came out of the souvenir shop across the street, or went into the hotel. The gas station at the far end of the street, the only one in town, was empty. The lights were on, and he could see the clerk reading a magazine behind the counter. Painted Barrel boasted a bar that doubled as the town’s only restaurant, but because it was midafternoon, it was closed. No one was around. It was like the entire town was deserted, despite the festive wreaths that hung on the doors.

  His sweating grew more intense. Jason could feel his heart speeding up, and adrenaline rushed over his body. The sky overhead was bright blue despite the fresh layer of snow on the ground, and it felt . . . open. Too open.

  Open was bad.

  It reminded him of that day that everything happened, when he was visiting a village just outside of Kabul. When a gunman opened fire, killing his buddy and shooting him five times and nearly taking his life.

  Ever since then, quiet spaces bothered him. Small towns bothered him, too.

  Kinda dumb for you to take a job as a cowboy, then. He could hear Kirk’s voice in his head, even though Kirk was dead these last six years. And heck, maybe it was dumb, but Jason really thought he could learn to handle this over time. Even after his PTSD service dog, Truck, passed away, he kept hoping things would change. That he’d have a breakthrough and wake up “normal” again.

  Guess not.

  His sweating increased and the self-preservation instincts kicked in. He needed to find someplace to hide. Anywhere, really. Just needed to get out of the open, and fast. Panting, Jason raced down the sidewalk and tried the first door he came to. Locked. With a low growl of frustration, he sprang to the second one, and when it opened, he flung himself inside.

  A wall of heat hit him, and he skidded on the tile floor, his wet boots unable to find traction. Jason slammed into the wall and stayed there for a moment, trying to calm down. He sunk down low, the urge to crouch and hide overwhelming.

  To take cover.

  Someone cleared their throat. “Hi, can I help you?”

  Jason closed his eyes. He didn’t know where he was at the moment, but he was pretty sure he’d just made a spectacle of himself. And since Painted Barrel was a small town—population about two handfuls—it was sure to be on everyone’s lips in less than a day. That was bad. The last thing he needed was his new employer finding out that Jason suffered from PTSD.

  Great. Just great.

  “Are you . . . here to return a library book?” The voice was kind, quiet. Soft.

  He cracked an eye open, willing his racing pulse to slow down. “I need a moment.”

  “Take all the time you need,” the woman said. “Let me know if I can get you anything.”

  And that was it. She said nothing else.

  Huh. That wasn’t the normal reaction he got when he lost it. People panicked when he did, assuming that because a nearly seven-foot-tall man was freaking out that there was something to freak out over. Because of his height, Jason wasn’t real good at blending in with the crowd, so when he lost control, everyone noticed.

  He was rather thankful that the woman left him alone. He leaned back against the wall and tried to focus, to ground himself in reality. No one was shooting at him. There were no snipers in nearby windows. It was quiet not because people were waiting to attack, but because it was just quiet.

  So he focused on coping mechanisms, wishing again that Truck’s warm, comforting presence was at his side. He forced himself to pay attention to his surroundings. Wood paneling on the walls. Serviceable metal-armed chairs—two of them—across from him. The room itself was small, and off to one side there was a shelf of books that all looked as if they were twenty years old and hard used. There was a computer in a corner, with an uncomfortable-looking chair parked in front of it, and a solitary counter. Behind the counter were rows of what looked like metal mailbox cubbies and a woman.

  A woman in a very ugly Christmas sweater and a headband with stuffed reindeer horns.

  She smiled at him, noticing his attention. “Take your time. You’re not the first person to come in here sweating at the thought of paying your bills.” And she winked, as if that weren’t the most ridiculous thing ever to say.

  He laughed, the sound nervous. “I didn’t come in for a bill.”

  “Library fine, then?” She arched a brow at him.

  Jason found himself laughing again. He took off his baseball cap—wet and cold with dampness—and ran a hand through his military-short hair. “Is that where I am? The library?”

  “You are in the municipal building of Painted Barrel, Wyoming,” she told him in a voice that was somewhat proud, somewhat wry. “We handle the water bills. And the mail. And the library.” She gestured at the sad shelf of books. “And animal control, but I have to warn you that if you’ve got anything bigger than a stray dog, I’m going to need help bringing him in.”

  He stared at the woman in surprise, noticing her appearance—well, beyond the ugly sweater and antlers—for the first time. She was about his age, maybe a few years younger. Pretty, golden-brown hair that hung like a curtain past her shoulders. Round face. Dimples. Gorgeous eyes, gorgeous smile, and a welcome expression.

  He liked her immediately, more so because she hadn’t acted like he was crazy. “Are you the mayor?”

  “I am a municipal clerk,” she admitted, moving to one side and picking up a coffeepot. She poured some coffee into a ceramic mug and then came from behind the counter and approached him, holding it out. As she approached, he noticed that while her sweater was ugly and boxy, her legs were thick but shapely and she had a great, round bottom. She didn’t look like the kind of girls he normally dated, but he liked that she was different. She didn’t look like someone that wanted to go out to the club and drink the night away—she looked like someone that’d be happy curling up on the couch with you.

  And he liked that most of all.

  “What’s your name, municipal clerk?”

  “Sage, like the herb,” she announced, crouching next to him and offering the coffee. “If you don’t like caffeine, I can make a pot of decaf.”

  He took the m
ug and gulped half of it down before he could think about it. He was feeling more normal with every moment that passed, and Sage-like-the-herb was a great distraction. She was pretty, she was sweet, and she apparently had a sense of humor. “You offer everyone coffee when they come in to pay the bills?”

  “In the winter, I have to spike it with something once people hear just how bad the heating bill is.” She winked at him and then got to her feet. “Kidding. I don’t offer to everyone. You just looked like you needed something to drink.” She tilted her head, studying him. “And you must be . . . Jason Clements, right? Jordy’s cousin?”

  Jason stiffened, all the pleasure rushing out of him. “Why, because I came in here with my head all messed up?” His tone was abrasive, accusing. “Is that the rumor around town?”

  Her big, brown eyes widened. “No,” she said softly. “Because you didn’t know who I was. Painted Barrel’s kind of small. We don’t get a lot of newcomers that wander in, especially in winter. One bad snow and the passes close, so we know all of the new people that come around. Jordy said his cousin was coming here to ranch and that you were tall.” Her smile returned, but it was hesitant, tight around the edges.

  He felt like an ass. “Sorry. I’m a little distracted today.” He’d slept in his car last night and he was definitely feeling it this morning.

  “It’s okay.”

  “And I’m a jerk.”

  One of the dimples returned. “You said it, not me.”

  He found himself smiling again. “I, ah . . . have a bit of a phobia about being outdoors when it’s real quiet.” Jason hated to admit it, but he didn’t want her looking at him strangely. He wanted to keep her smiling. “Sometimes it sneaks up on me.”