Montana Cowboy Christmas (Wyatt Brothers of Montana Book 2)

by Jane Porter

  “Yes, it does.” She wiped another tear away. “So why did you—you, of all people—just send me flowers? You knew how close Mom and I were. You knew she was my best friend. Why didn’t you call? Why didn’t you come see me? Sam, my dentist sent me flowers. Surely you cared about me more than my dentist?”

  “I was trying to respect your grief.”

  “Seriously?”

  Maybe now was the time to tell her everything. She should know the truth. He’d promised Shelby he’d wait two years, or when he thought it was appropriate. Was now appropriate? “Yes, seriously,” he answered. “I’m not as insensitive as you think I am.”

  “That’s debatable.”

  “You want to fight with me?” he drawled. “Let’s fight.”

  “Yes.” She swung the door open and stepped out of Scotch’s stall. “Let’s fight. Let’s say all those things we never said before. Let’s get it all out in the open so we know why we’re not together. I definitely think it’s time to clear the air.”

  He followed her out of the stable. Clouds were gathering in the sky, blocking the sun. “I’m listening, babe. Tell me. I’m all ears.”

  “You said you loved me. You said you wanted what’s best for me.”

  “Yes. All true.”

  “Then why let me go?”

  “It’s what you wanted,” he said.

  “No.”

  “Yes. You said you couldn’t be yourself with me. You said I dominated everything and the only way you could be you, was to get away from me.”

  “That’s not what I said.”

  “Pretty much.”

  Tears filled her eyes. “I thought you’d want to discuss it with me. I thought you’d want to resolve the problem with me… not just walk away.”

  “I didn’t walk. You did.”

  “You didn’t fight for me.”

  “And, babe, you didn’t fight for us.” His gaze met hers, hard, steady. “There was an us, you know, and maybe we weren’t perfect, but I’d thought it was good. Really good, actually.”

  The tears trembled on her lashes. Her mouth quivered. “Every rodeo was what was best for you. You rarely asked what was best for me.”

  “I always picked the big money events, and the events that were close to each other. I strategized to make sure we could hit as many events in one weekend as possible. And that wasn’t just for me. That was for you, too.”

  “And yet you’d just announce where we were heading. You never asked me what I wanted.”

  “Then speak up. Tell me you don’t want to go to that event. Tell me which ones you’d rather attend. It’s that easy. I can’t read minds, Ivy, and as much as I loved you, I couldn’t read yours.”

  *

  Ivy had to step back, as Sam’s words, I loved you, made her chest seize with pain.

  It didn’t seem fair that the love had been there, but it just hadn’t been enough. “I loved you, too,” she said quietly, looking out over the frozen pasture. “But we still didn’t work out.”

  “Maybe we took it—and each other—for granted.”

  She glanced at him over her shoulder.

  His broad shoulders shifted. “Just saying you love your horses doesn’t mean they’ll survive. You’ve got to feed and water them, exercise them, get them medical care—”

  “You don’t think I gave our relationship love and care?”

  “I think we both gave up too easily. I think we both failed.” Again his gaze found hers, and held. “You’re right. I should have come after you, and insisted we have one last proper conversation. I blame myself for that. If I’d done that, then maybe our story would be different now.”

  She wanted to get up and pace. It took every bit of control she had to stay where she was, and finish this conversation they’d started. “I should have had that conversation, too. I should have told you what I needed. I just thought you… didn’t care.”

  “Didn’t care? Ivy, I wanted to marry you.”

  Her head jerked up, her gaze locking with his.

  “I was going to propose to you,” he ground out. “I had a ring, but you said you couldn’t be yourself with me, that you wanted to be free. I loved you enough to let you go and be free.”

  Ivy just stared at him, shocked, heartsick. Tears fell, hot, hard. She didn’t even try to wipe them away. Instead she just turned around and walked down the road to Joe and Sophie’s house with his words, set you free, ringing far too loudly in her head.

  *

  Sophie knocked once on Ivy’s door, before opening it slightly to peek inside. “Hey, am I interrupting anything?”

  “No.” Ivy looked up and forced a crooked smile. “Come in.”

  Sophie picked her way around the hat boxes and duffel bag. “What are you doing?” she asked, even as she sat down on the bed, next to Ivy’s open suitcase. “Organizing? Or packing?”

  “Packing.” Ivy wiped her damp face dry. “Or trying, too. Finding it hard to focus, though.”

  “You don’t have to go.” Sophie reached into the suitcase and straightened a pile of T-shirts. “You can take some time and think about where you want to go, and what you want to do.”

  “I had a terrible fight with Sam.”

  “I heard.”

  Ivy gave her a stricken look. “It’s best if I leave, don’t you think?”

  “No.” Sophie shook her head. “Running away doesn’t solve problems. It just prolongs them.”

  “I have loved Sam from the moment I met him but we can’t seem to communicate. We can’t make it work and it breaks my heart still.”

  “I’ve never seen Sam look at anyone the way he looks at you.”

  Ivy sank down on the edge of the bed. “I needed him more than he needed me.”

  “We all have different ways of showing love.”

  “He just keeps it all inside.”

  “And you let it all fly.” Sophie leaned across the open suitcase and gave Ivy a swift, warm hug. “Don’t go. At least not today. Summer and I are going to the Graff for a proper holiday tea. Come with us, please. I’ve made the reservation for the three of us. You, Summer, and me.”

  *

  Holiday tea at the Graff was a decadent experience and a first for Ivy. She and her mom had never done anything like an afternoon tea before, much less a holiday tea, and after her emotional morning with Sam, she hadn’t imagined she’d enjoy tea, but she was wrong. Sitting in a cordoned off section of the hotel’s handsome lobby with the tallest Christmas tree she’d ever seen, she felt like special. Spoiled.

  Ivy loved the little sandwiches and scones with clotted cream and jam, paired with endless cups of fragrant spice tea while Dickens carolers made their way around the room singing lovely carols put her in a festive mood. She hadn’t felt the magic of the Christmas season until now.

  “It just feels good to sit,” Summer Wyatt said with a contented sigh.

  “It does,” Sophie agreed, popping a lemon meringue tartlet into her mouth.

  “Thank you for including me,” Ivy said. “This has been such a treat.”

  “A much-needed treat for you, I think,” Summer answered. “You’ve been working very hard.” Summer cocked her head. “Fighting hard, too, it seems.”

  Ivy fidgeted. “I’m sorry everyone had to hear that. We should have gone somewhere more private.”

  “So what’s the issue?” Summer asked bluntly. “What’s keeping you two from sorting things out?”

  “We’re just so different. We can’t seem to communicate. Every time we try to talk we just end up fighting.”

  Sophie lifted the teapot from the table and refilled Summer’s cup. “Maybe you’re talking about the wrong things,” she said.

  Ivy was baffled. “How can we move forward if we can’t clear up the past?”

  “You’re different people today than you were two years ago,” Summer said. “Maybe you just need to forgive and forget.”

  “Yes, maybe at this point it’s time to move on.” Sophie studied the tier o
f little cakes. “Forgive the change of subject, but will anyone mind if I have this last madeleine?”

  “I’m done,” Summer said, pushing her plate back. “Just tea for me.”

  “And I don’t want it,” Ivy said, frowning, thinking of what Sam’s mother had said a moment ago. “Maybe I could forgive and forget if I just understood why Sam found it so easy to let me go. If you love someone—”

  “You don’t break up and walk away to test someone,” Summer said, raising an eyebrow. “Why would you test love?”

  Ivy blushed. “To make sure it’s true?”

  Summer regarded Ivy for a long moment, expression thoughtful. “Have you ever considered that the reason your relationship failed, was that you were too insecure?”

  The tea, which had been so lovely, turned sour. Ivy put a hand to her lower ribs, stomach churning, matching the pounding in the base of her skull. All of the holiday magic was gone, leaving Ivy feeling naked and ashamed.

  “Maybe it wasn’t that,” Sophie said calmly, filling the strained silence. “Maybe Ivy was confused, and hoped that by breaking up with Sam, she’d get some clarity. Breakups are good for that.”

  “I certainly didn’t mean to lose him,” Ivy admitted. “I knew almost right away I’d made a terrible mistake.”

  “So why didn’t you reach out to him?” Summer asked. “Why not tell him you’d made a mistake… offer an olive branch?”

  Beneath the table Ivy knotted her hands in her lap. “I should have. I’m not sure why I didn’t. I guess I was hurt, and proud.”

  Summer studied Ivy a long moment, her light blue gaze penetrating. “Maybe this is far-fetched, but it strikes me, Ivy Wyckoff, that you’re not as angry with him, as you are with yourself. You have both suffered these past few years because neither of you was willing to face the other and have an honest conversation. I’m not saying the conversation would have changed everything, but at least you wouldn’t still be struggling with something that happened two years ago.”

  Ivy’s head throbbed.

  The drive back to the ranch felt endless. She closed her eyes, and rested her forehead against the cold glass, letting Sophie and Sam’s mom talk about what they would be doing for Christmas dinner.

  Back at the ranch, Ivy slipped away, walking down the driveway to Joe and Sophie’s place. Upstairs in her room, she took off her red dress, and then her bra, before pulling a big flannel shirt on. Ivy turned out the light and climbed into bed.

  Her head hurt. Her heart hurt. Because Summer was right. Ivy should have had a real conversation with Sam instead of hurling insults. She should still have a real conversation. Being angry was about pride and ego, not about love. And she still loved Sam. She would always love Sam. Even though the two of them couldn’t figure out how to communicate.

  *

  Sam stood on the front porch staring down the driveway toward Joe and Sophie’s house. Ivy hadn’t shown up for dinner, and the light was still off in her upstairs bedroom.

  He’d wanted to go check on her but his brothers thought maybe Sam just needed to give Ivy space.

  Sam sought Sophie’s opinion, asking her if it was a bad idea to go check on Sophie.

  “She’s probably feeling pretty banged up,” Sophie answered. “It wasn’t quite the festive tea I’d hoped we’d have.”

  “What happened?” Sam asked.

  “You know how your mom gets sometimes. A little intense, a little focused—”

  “And a little too direct,” Sam concluded, rubbing a hand over his face. “What did she say to her?”

  “Nothing that wasn’t true. I have to commend Ivy. She handled it all very well.” Sophie patted his shoulder. “I wouldn’t drag Ivy to dinner tonight. She probably would be happier being alone instead of having to join everyone here.”

  “What about dinner?”

  “I’ve left some things for her in the kitchen there. She’ll be fine.”

  But dinner was over now and Sam couldn’t relax, couldn’t stop worrying about Ivy. He’d promised Shelby two years ago he’d take care of Ivy, and he hadn’t. He’d done just the opposite, and it wasn’t because he didn’t care, but he’d cared too much. He’d hated seeing Ivy with someone else. He hated the jealousy, hated the envy. Ivy wasn’t supposed to be with Wes. Ivy was supposed to be with him.

  Was that why he’d kept his secret so long? Was that why he’d not told Ivy the things he’d wanted to tell her for the last year?

  He was going to have to tell her, and the longer he waited, the worse the outcome would be.

  Sam walked down the steps of the front porch and headed for Joe and Sophie’s cabin. He knew what everyone was telling him, but he also knew he couldn’t not go to her.

  The front door was unlocked and Sam climbed the stairs. Ivy’s door was closed, the light off. He opened it quietly. He could see a shaft of moonlight on the bed, and then she turned and looked toward him.

  “Sam?” she said, her voice sounded rough, husky.

  “How are you, babe?” he said, stepping in and closing the door gently behind him.

  “I had a headache. Sorry to miss dinner.”

  “You didn’t miss anything. Meat loaf night.”

  She laughed softly. “I’m sure it was great.”

  “How is your head now?” he asked.

  “Still hurts a little, but it’s not as bad.”

  “Want some pain meds? I can go get you some from the house.”

  “Sophie gave me some earlier.”

  “Are you hungry?”

  “No. Tea was so rich. I’m still full.”

  “Heard Mom kind of laid into you during the tea.”

  “She was fine.”

  But Sam could see her face in the dark and her eyes looked so sad that it tore him up on the inside. “Scoot over,” he said.

  She did, and he sat down on the edge of the mattress, and eased off one boot and then the other. Sam stretched out next to her on top of the covers, and wrapped an arm around her. “Is my arm too heavy?” he asked.

  “No, it feels good.” She snugged into his embrace. “You feel good.”

  “I hate fighting with you.”

  “I don’t like it, either.”

  “So about work tomorrow, you’re still planning on it?”

  “I didn’t tell George I wouldn’t be.”

  “So only an act of God will keep you from showing up tomorrow night.”

  She huffed a soft laugh. “Probably. Are you praying for one?”

  “Oh, I’m praying for a lot of things.”

  “Good man.”

  He kissed her temple, inhaling the fresh scent of her shampoo and the smell of her skin. She still felt like his, even after two years apart.

  They fell asleep like that, and sometime during the night, Sam woke up, covered by a downy comforter. He looked over at Ivy who’d turned and was facing him, her lips not far from his. He kissed her lightly, and then closed his eyes, and fell back asleep.

  Chapter Nine

  When Ivy woke up, Sam was gone, but she knew he’d spent the night with her. His spot was still warm and there was an extra comforter on the bed.

  She threw back the covers and went to the window and looked out at a winter wonderland. Snow covered everything, huge white powdery drifts. There was just white in every direction, as far as the eye could see. The fences disappeared, the road and driveway was gone. The roof of the Wyatt cabin showed just how much snow had fallen—the snow had piled up at least two feet—and the snow was still coming down, thick heavy flakes of white.

  It seemed Sam’s prayers worked.

  There would be no way to get down the mountain today. There would be no going to work tonight, not even if she wanted to. The act of God was evident everywhere Ivy turned.

  She showered and dressed, and had a cup of coffee in Sophie and Joe’s kitchen all while watching the snow fall.

  It was beautiful.

  Impossibly beautiful.

  But chores would have to be done,
including taking care of Scotch, and then seeing how she could help in the kitchen. As she finished her coffee, Ivy spotted Sophie emerging from the family cabin, making her way through the swirling snow toward her house.

  Ivy opened the door for her. “You look like Frosty,” she said, kneeling down to help Sophie get her snow boots off.

  “I’ve never seen it come down like this,” Sophie said, hanging her coat up and brushing melting flakes from her cheeks. “It’s supposed to keep snowing all day, too.”

  “What’s everyone doing at the house?” Ivy asked, following Sophie back to the kitchen.

  “It’s just Summer there now. The guys have gone out to check on livestock. Sam, Billy and Tommy saddled up, while Joe and Grandad drove out in one of the four-wheel-drive tractors, carrying out extra hay.” Sophie filled up the kettle and moved it on a burner. “Sam wanted me to tell you that he’s already fed Scotch. So you don’t have to worry about that.”

  “So what can I do to help?” Ivy offered.

  “I was thinking of tackling some holiday baking. I’ve been putting it off all week, but I have tons of butter, eggs, flour and sugar for cookies and fudge. I also bought some big cans of pumpkin if we have time to make pumpkin bread as that’s apparently Grandad’s favorite.”

  “My mom had the best pumpkin bread recipe. She’d make loaves of it every year for neighbors and friends.”

  “Let’s use her recipe.”

  “I don’t have it.”

  “Maybe it’s the one on the back of the Libby’s can?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Let’s get started on the roll-out sugar cookies, because while that dough is chilling, we can bake the pumpkin bread, and when the pumpkin bread is out, we can pop the cookies in the oven.”

  For the next couple of hours they worked side by side, first making the sugar cookies, and then two loaves of pumpkin bread, and then while the bread was baking Ivy made a batch of fudge and Sophie began rolling out the cookies on a floured board before cutting them with a set of red plastic cookie cutters.

  “My mom had a set of cookie cutters just like those,” Ivy said, admiring the stars and trees and angels filling the cookie sheets.