A Cowboy Under the Mistletoe

by Jessica Clare

  Cass bit her lip. “You don’t think it’s drugs, do you?”

  “Maybe. Ain’t a lot of things to explain it.”

  His wife looked concerned. “And he’s mixed up with Sage? She’s so sweet and innocent. I don’t know if I like that.” She sat up, drumming her fingers on the table as Eli ate. “You know, after he left on Friday, I called Hannah over at the inn to see if he was staying there. Since he’d run out of here so quickly, right?” She gave a small shake of her head. “He wasn’t. But he claims he met Sage a couple of days ago.”

  “Mmmhmm.” Sage was a nice girl, but it was none of his business if she made bad dating decisions.

  “I don’t like this, honey,” Cass told him, a worried look on her face. She reached across the table and touched his hand. “I don’t want him to take advantage of her if he is a cokehead.”

  “We don’t know if he is,” Eli explained. “I don’t know many cokeheads, but he worked hard today. Harder than Jordy ever did. He’s no stranger to hard work, and I can’t fault him for that. I didn’t have to chase him or explain myself. I didn’t even have to tell him not to scare the cattle. He’s a greenhorn, but he ain’t completely stupid. I just can’t figure him out.” And he shrugged, as if that was that.

  “Hmm. Okay.”

  Suspicious at his wife’s quick acquiescence, Eli looked up from his dinner. “That’s it?”

  Cass gave him what she likely thought was a sneaky glance—except he knew his wife, and knew that she wasn’t very good at such things. “I think I’ll go into town tomorrow and talk to Sage. Fish for some information.”

  He bit back a groan. “Don’t make this into a bigger mess than it is, sweetheart. He gets a week for me to figure him out. If he doesn’t work out, Jordy or no Jordy, we can send him packing.”

  “But then you’ll be working alone over Christmas and I’ll barely see you.” Her face fell. “Or Dustin and Annie will have to cancel their trip to Los Angeles.”

  It wasn’t ideal, any way you looked at it. “We could call Jordy, see what’s up,” he suggested.

  “But if he’s the one that lied about Jason’s past experience . . .” She trailed off.

  “Right.” They wouldn’t know if he was telling the truth or not.

  Cass leaned over and patted his hand. “Don’t you worry about a thing, babe. I’m going to drop by the post office tomorrow and chat with Sage. Maybe I’ll be able to figure out what’s going on.”

  And she had a determined gleam in her eye that told him arguing was futile.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Jason couldn’t decide if it was smarter to drive straight to Sage’s ranch or if he should stop by town. It was getting late—almost seven at night—and the snow was blowing, but he remembered what she’d said about the big house and how lonely it was, and how she practically lived at work just to have something to do. On a hunch, he drove down Painted Barrel’s main street, and sure enough, the Old West–looking building that doubled as the municipal office had a light on. When he parked his truck out front, he could see Sage behind the counter, wearing those reindeer antlers again. Today, she also seemed to be wearing a necklace of Christmas lights, and they flashed merrily against her neck.

  He sat in the truck for a moment. Should he bother her? Or should he leave her alone? Would she think he was an idiot if he showed up all sweaty and messed up in the head?

  But then he thought of her dimples when she smiled, and the memory of that made him get out of his vehicle. He crossed the deserted sidewalk quickly and looked around. The streets were empty, and that made his senses tingle. His mind recalled one time before in Afghanistan when the streets were empty and they should have been filled with people . . .

  Before he knew what he was doing, Jason found himself pulling frantically on the glass door. It was locked, so he hammered a hand on the glass, making the entire frame shake.

  Sage looked up in alarm, her eyes wide, and when she saw him, she rushed out from behind the counter and raced to his side. “Jason, my goodness, are you all right?”

  He pushed inside, careful not to touch her, and then shut the door behind him. With wild eyes, he gazed down the street, but it remained empty and still, no matter how long he stared at it. After a long, long minute, his shoulders relaxed, just a little, and he turned toward her. “Sorry.”

  Her eyes were wide and startled, but she only nodded. “You’re limping. Come sit down.”

  Was he? His bad leg must have been acting up. “I’m all right.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that.” Sage moved behind the counter, and it took everything he had not to check behind it. She pushed a rolling office chair out into the middle of the floor and pointed at it, indicating he should sit. He did, and she bustled past him to close the blinds on the windows. He watched her as she moved, noticing that she was wearing another hideous Christmas sweater—this one of a stuffed Christmas train that moved across the hem of the bright red cable-knit sweater—and that the hem itself brushed against what was a very fine, rounded posterior.

  Well, now.

  He rubbed at his mouth as she turned back toward him, worry in her gaze. Here she was, probably wondering what was going on, and he was ogling her. Man, he was a jerk.

  “Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Tea?”

  Jason frowned up at her. “I figured you’d want an explanation as to why I’m showing up on your doorstep again.”

  “You’re pale and sweating. Something’s troubling you. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. We can just hang out.” And she gave him a gentle smile. “Coffee?”

  “Sounds good. ’Preciate it.” She moved back behind the counter again, and this time he carefully did not look at her rounded, bouncy bottom. That wouldn’t be right of him. “I see you’re wearing another Christmas sweater,” he rasped, his throat dry. “That one’s uglier than the last one.”

  Her laughter filled the quiet office, and hearing it was like a warm blanket. His nerves settled, just a little. “You want to hear a crazy confession?”

  “Sure.”

  “I have a closet full of ugly sweaters. My dad used to buy them for me all the time because he wanted to see how ugly he could get them before I wouldn’t wear them.” She turned and winked at him. “But I like a challenge.”

  “Your dad sounds like a good man.”

  She nodded, her head bent as she poured the coffee. “He was. I miss him every day.”

  “Your mother?”

  “Died when I was two. Pneumonia.” She picked up the mugs and moved toward him. “I don’t have any memories of her, just my father.” The smile she offered him was a little tremulous, and when he took the mug, she crossed an arm over her front and sipped her coffee, falling silent.

  Should he talk? He didn’t know. He drank his coffee in silence as well, aware of the throb of his bad leg, like a pulsing wound. He was very mindful of how sweaty he was, his clothing sticking to his skin and his short hair damp against his scalp. Hell, he was a real mess.

  But she knew that. “Today sucked.”

  “I didn’t think it’d be fun.” Her smile returned, just a little. “But you got through it. Still have a job?”

  “As far as I know.”

  “What’d they have you do?”

  “Ride a horse.” When she gave a little grimace and then nodded, he added, “I didn’t fall off, though.”

  “That’s great!”

  “And we fixed a lot of posts and fencing.”

  She nodded. “Some days, cattle ranching feels like just fixing things that the cows break. Every day will be different, though, and Eli should be able to direct you through most of it. He knows his stuff.”

  “He doesn’t like me.”

  “He doesn’t like anyone but Cass. Not at first. If you haven’t been fired, though, that’s a great sign.” Her dimples c
ame out, her smile wide on her round face as she beamed at him. “I knew you could do it.”

  And just like that, a lot of the awful tension eased out of him. Jason leaned back in the chair, and it rolled a few feet to the side. “God, and I was a mess the entire time. You should have seen it, Sage. It was twenty degrees out, snowflakes everywhere, and I was sweating like a pig because I was so damn anxious at how quiet it was. It was throwing me off, and the more I tried to tell myself that everything was fine, the more my brain wouldn’t shut up. I swear I jumped at every sound, and I checked the barn six times before I mucked out the stalls. I’m exhausted.” He paused, staring down at the mug in his hands. “I don’t know if I can do it.”

  “But you did do it,” she told him quietly. Her voice was full of confidence and pride, as if he’d done something special instead of flop-sweated his way through the day. “And every day, you’ll keep doing it. And every day, it’ll get a bit more familiar and easier. You’ll get used to the quiet, and you’ll get used to the job.”

  Being around her was calming his frayed nerves. Her smiles were soothing, as was her unshakable faith in him. Jason was growing addicted to the sight of her dimpled smile. There was something just so utterly . . . joyous about it. “You should be irritated with me, you know.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you killed yourself all weekend to train me as much as you could, and I still ended up a wreck.” He tapped his foot on the linoleum floor, all nervous energy.

  She shook her head. “You didn’t get fired within an hour, so I count this all a win. I think you did fantastic. You already got through the hardest day.”

  Jason sighed, rubbing his neck. It was sweaty, too. Damn it all, but he really was a mess. “Every day is hard, Sage. Every day. I’m just so tired sometimes.”

  “Maybe you need a service dog?” she suggested in a gentle voice. When he looked up, her cheeks were pink, as if she were embarrassed. “I was doing some reading about post-traumatic stress disorder. Having a service dog can really help, or so I’ve heard. They’re there to pull you out of your head when you start to go to a dark place.”

  A stab of pain knifed through his heart. No, a service dog wouldn’t let him be the mess he was right now. The bad moments still hit now and then, but with Truck at his side, he’d known the animal would never let him down. He knew Truck would be on the lookout for him, and when Truck nudged his hand in that anxious way, he knew to stop what he was doing and focus on grounding exercises. Hell, he couldn’t count the number of times Truck had woken him from his sleep, knowing that he was having nightmares. Truck had been more than a service dog—Truck had been his best friend, his guide, and his rock.

  And he was gone. The pain of his loss still hit him fresh every day, even harder than the buddies he’d lost in Afghanistan.

  “I had a dog,” he found himself saying, and then, to his surprise, Jason found himself telling Sage all about his service dog. He hadn’t talked about Truck since he’d left the vet’s office that horrible day with his arms empty and his heart hollowed out like an apple without a core. He told Sage about what a mess he was when he’d first gotten back from Afghanistan, and when he’d first met Truck, the calm German shepherd hadn’t seemed like the solution. But it only took a day or two for Truck to take over his life, and then they were inseparable and he’d felt normal again. Like he could function like everyone else that wandered happily around this Earth.

  And then last spring, Truck had collapsed during their routine morning jog, and Jason had rushed him to the vet, frantic. Truck had an enlarged heart that had given out, and there was nothing to do except watch him slip away. A piece of Jason had died that day, too.

  It seemed like he’d been spiraling out of control ever since.

  “I know a lot of people say they’re just dogs, but he was everything to me,” Jason told her in a hoarse voice. He stared down at his coffee cup, not wanting to see the pity in her eyes. “He was my best friend, my partner, and my confidant. I miss his doggy breath and his wagging tail and the way he’d stare at me when I ate peanut butter like I was betraying him to even take a bite without sharing it . . .” He shook his head, his throat clogged. When he could speak again, he continued. “More than that, I knew when he was around that things would be normal. He was trained to distract me when my head got to be too much.”

  Sage was silent.

  When he looked up, Jason was surprised to see the sheen of tears in her eyes, her hand at her throat. Why was he surprised, though? Sage was sensitive and kind . . . and she knew what it was to grieve a major loss. “I’m so sorry, Jason.”

  Hearing her say that made him feel a little better, oddly enough. Platitudes couldn’t bring Truck back, but it showed that she wasn’t dismissing him as some idiot that couldn’t get over the death of his dog. “I was a mess right after he died. I lost my job, forgot to pay my bills, and basically lived every day in a puddle of my own sweat.” He grimaced at his current sweaty state. “I didn’t want to get another dog, not so soon after Truck, but I was going crazy so I had to try. Everyone I approached either told me it’d be tens of thousands of dollars and over a year wait.” He spread his free hand. “So I’m trying to earn some money.”

  “Oh, Jason. Is there anything I can do to help?” Her expression was full of sympathy.

  He shifted in the chair, clearing his throat. “Can we . . . not talk about Truck anymore? It’s hard for me.”

  “Of course.”

  “And you’re already helping. Though I wouldn’t mind learning how to ride a horse without bruising my ass.” He shifted in the chair again, and the stupid thing rolled a little closer to the door.

  She giggled. “That happens to everyone. Just remember to loosen up and move with him or you’re going to bruise the heck out of your backside.” Then Sage bit her lip and averted her eyes, her face turning bright red.

  “What?” His curiosity chased away the sadness threatening to overwhelm him. “What is it?” He would have been nervous, except those dimples were out and her cheeks were bright red. Anytime he saw those dimples, he knew things were fine. “Have I got something hanging from my nose?”

  Her nervous laughter filled the air. “You, ah, rolled right under the mistletoe.”

  Jason looked up.

  Sure enough, holiday decorations hung from the yellowed ceiling tiles of the municipal office. Happy snowflakes dangled on bits of string, and glittery red garland crisscrossed and looped over the ceiling in a garish checkerboard pattern. There was a clustered ball of leaves above him, tied off with a red ribbon, and sure enough, it had to be mistletoe.

  What a romantic—if odd—gesture to put in a post office/municipal office. But that was Sage, he supposed. Romantic and dreamy even when life seemed determined to try and beat it out of her. He glanced over in her direction, and she had averted her eyes, biting her lip. The dimples were still there, but she looked so awkward that he didn’t even joke about kissing her.

  He wouldn’t do that to her. She was just being nice to him. She still had her heart set on that dumbass Greg. “Right. Sorry.” He scooted the chair over a few feet and drank the last of his coffee. “Can I have another round?”

  She rushed forward and grabbed the mug from him.

  Jason grimaced to himself—he’d made her uncomfortable. He didn’t deserve her friendship. He especially didn’t deserve to be thinking about what would have happened if he’d moved back under the mistletoe. He got to his feet, heading away from the mistletoe and stretching his leg. “So, ah, did you make Greg his cookies?”

  “What? Oh. No.” She shook her head as she poured another cup of coffee. “He stopped by this morning to see if I had and was disappointed. Gave me a bit of a guilt trip, so I promised I’d do them tonight.” Sage gave him a wry look. “I know he can be a bit of a user sometimes, but he’s been my friend for so long, and I didn’t have anything else to do,
so I figured I might as well.”

  “If you need cookies, Cass made extra and told me to bring them to you.” He gestured back at his truck, out in the parking lot. “I can go get them.”

  Sage returned to his side and handed him a refilled cup. “Cass is sweet. She’s always thinking of me.” Her dimples flashed. “But I don’t know if that’s a good idea. She’s still learning a lot about cooking. And I don’t mind, really. I don’t have anything else to do.” Before he could comment, she snapped her fingers. “Oh! And that reminds me—I brought you a present.” She set her mug down and then raced behind the counter again.

  A present? Really? He was stunned. When did she have time to go out and get him something? And . . . why? But when she set the pair of cowboy boots on the counter, his jaw dropped. They were finely tooled leather, looked expensive, and made him acutely aware of just how soggy his own shoes were. “You got me boots?”

  “Well, every cowboy should have a good pair of boots.” She picked one up by the heel and held it out to him. “And they were actually my father’s. He never had a chance to wear them, because they were going to be a Christmas present. I want you to have them, though.”

  Her father’s? Jason watched Sage, the sad look in her eyes, and shook his head.

  She ignored his hesitation, turning one boot over. “They’re a size thirteen, and I hope that’s all right. My father had big feet, but you’re tall so it might work out. If they’re too small, we can have them stretched, and if they’re too big, Jimmy over at the souvenir shop can put in some inserts that will help until you get your own pair—”

  “Sage,” he murmured, taking the boot gently from her and setting it back down on the counter. “I’m not taking your father’s boots.”

  “But I want you to have them,” she protested, nudging it back toward him. “You’ll trash your sneakers, and the horses might bite your ankles. Plus, they’re just going to waste sitting in a closet. Please take them, Jason. If he can’t have them, I want them to go to you.”