Jingle Bell Cowgirl

by Lacy Williams

  Interesting. No Christmas decor. Not one Christmas card on the coffee table. Not one stocking or poinsettia.

  Several pictures lined the mantel above the fireplace and without conscious effort, her feet had taken her closer.

  Ben and a pretty blonde woman in their wedding finery. In contrast to the frown lines he constantly wore when he looked at Lila, his smile was easy and light. And his bride was beautiful.

  There was also a picture of Ben in his late teens sporting a broad belt buckle and holding what must've been a prize-winning saddle. An older man—his dad?—had an arm slung over Ben's shoulder. He'd competed and won in some long-ago rodeo.

  Pushed halfway behind the rodeo photograph, as if someone had put it out of sight on purpose, was another photograph.

  With a guilty look at the front door behind her, she reached out and pulled the framed photo out, just enough that she could see it.

  It was a black and white ultrasound. She tilted her head to one side and the other, trying to see... was that a tiny foot? Was this an unborn baby? Ben's unborn baby?

  She looked toward the room beyond this living area. A kitchen, darkened because she hadn't gone further and turned on the light. Was there a child back there somewhere? Asleep?

  Or had Ben sent his child away?

  She couldn't imagine someone as responsible as he not supporting his flesh and blood, no matter the personal cost.

  The mystery made her cold. And nervous.

  She tugged her coat closer. Caught sight of the TV remote buried underneath one of the magazines on the table. She fumbled it in her hurry to pick it up but managed to turn on the TV mounted to the wall opposite the fireplace.

  The noise helped.

  Until the cowboy came in the door with a burst of cold air.

  * * *

  Something had spooked Lila in the few minutes he'd been at the main house to retrieve the pan of lasagna the housekeeper had left for him. Norma's duties didn't include cooking for him, but she'd done it anyway since Mia had died.

  It was late for supper, and he was starving, so he ignored his fidgeting houseguest—who hadn't even taken her coat off—and the blaring TV for the moment and went into the kitchen, flipping on the light as he went.

  The glare off the yellowing linoleum momentarily blinded him, as usual. Mia had campaigned their entire married life to redo the flooring throughout the cottage. They'd scraped and saved until they could afford it, and then Mia had been hospitalized, and it had been too late.

  He should replace it. But he just squinted against the glare and set the foil-wrapped lasagna pan and a thick binder he'd grabbed from Tom's office on the counter.

  She followed him, leaned one shoulder against the doorjamb. He nodded to the TV visible behind her. "I'm not really into Christmas movies." Mia had been.

  She glanced around in an exaggerated manner. "You don't seem to be into the holiday at all. Even I have a tiny tree in my apartment."

  He turned his back and grabbed two plates from the upper cabinet next to the sink. Thinking about Christmas just hurt too much.

  When Mia died, he'd been forced to come home and take down her boxes of decorations. He'd shoved them in the back of the attic, and there they'd stayed ever since.

  If that made him a Scrooge, then...so be it.

  "You'll shoot your eye out, kid."

  "Hmm?" He glanced over his shoulder, but she'd turned so that her back was to the door and her gaze was on the Christmas movie. He'd hoped she'd turn it off.

  And then the kid got shoved down the slide at Santa's village, and Ben found himself smiling. Even chuckling, just a little.

  Lila glanced over her shoulder, their smiles and gazes connecting.

  She averted her eyes quickly.

  "You don't look very comfortable," he said as he spooned out two healthy portions of the lasagna onto the plates.

  Her eyebrows crunched together.

  "I told you to come inside and make yourself comfortable," he reminded her.

  She looked down at herself. She was still wearing her coat, though her scarf was open at the neck.

  She shrugged. "I guess I was hoping we weren't staying long."

  He gave her a mock glare. "Long enough to talk about what needs talking about."

  But she distracted him by quoting the movie again as she shed her coat and laid it across the back of the couch. She came into the kitchen and located the cutlery drawer.

  Their shoulders bumped in the close space as she stepped past him to set the small nook table where he and Mia had eaten so many meals together.

  He got hung up with both plates of steaming lasagna in hand, staring at those place settings.

  Lila was the first woman who'd come in here since Mia's death, and looking at the silverware set out at exact angles to the table's edge made him intensely aware of it.

  He cleared away the frog of emotion in his throat. "Why don't we eat on the sofa?"

  She took one of the plates of steaming food from him as he scooped up the cutlery from the table.

  Sitting across from her on the sofas was better—he and Mia had always sat side-by-side, sometimes snuggling under an old quilt together. The distance and being face-to-face with Lila helped him separate things in his mind.

  It didn't stop his awareness of her dancing eyes.

  The movie cut to a commercial, a familiar jingle that had played countless times each Christmas season that he could remember.

  And Lila was suddenly singing along.

  She looked at him, raising her brows, daring him to join her.

  No way. He shoved a bite of lasagna in his mouth.

  But he still found himself humming along by the end.

  He didn't mean to let down his guard, but by the time the movie was over, they'd debated pros and cons of fictional Christmas gifts, they'd laughed themselves silly when the Christmas meal got eaten by hound dogs, and she'd even made them both bowls of popcorns and mugs of hot chocolate—the real thing, not the powder mix from a packet.

  He opened his mouth to bring up the ranch and her plans, but something hit his cheek and dropped to his lap.

  Incredulous, he looked down on the kernel of popcorn resting on his jeans pocket.

  "What was that?" he asked. He looked up into her dancing eyes and got totally distracted.

  And another kernel flew across the space between them and hit his nose.

  He raised his brows. "Have we gone back to junior high? Really?"

  Her lashes lowered, covering those expressive eyes. It gave him just enough time to scoop up a handful of corn from his bowl and launch it at her. It showered over her and she squealed.

  And retaliated.

  Five minutes later, his living room was covered in popcorn and he was breathless from laughing so hard.

  "Uncle!" He raised both hands in surrender.

  She watched him with narrowed eyes. Maybe making sure he wasn't going to launch another attack on her, but finally she relaxed enough to sit back on the couch.

  The credits changed on the TV and her eyes cut there. "Oh, I love this one."

  Another Christmas movie. One that had been Mia's favorite. This time the stab of pain didn't burn quite so badly. Maybe dulled by the laughter he'd just shared with Lila.

  When was the last time he'd laughed like that? Allowed himself to fall into someone's eyes, even from across the room?

  He hadn't.

  Being with her like this, with her legs curled beneath her and her walls down, felt like being with a friend.

  And he realized the warmth and laughter Lila brought with her had been sorely missing in his life since Mia's death.

  He still needed to talk with her about her long-term plans for the ranch. And he had to drive her home, but he'd been awake since before dawn, and he found himself drifting off with his head against the back of the couch.

  He woke disoriented in the middle of the night with a crick in his neck as a pair of headlights swept the wall opposite. Someon
e had turned around in the drive.

  He got up, rubbing one hand over his gritty eyes.

  Lila was gone.

  He stumbled into the kitchen to find their plates rinsed and stacked in the bottom of the sink, the silverware lined up neatly on top. Their hot chocolate mugs had also been washed and were lined up next to the sink with their handles at exactly the same angle.

  It seemed kind of OCD for someone as impulsive as Lila was.

  The binder of financial information was gone. In its place was a small origami Christmas tree, standing upright.

  5

  "Spill it, girl."

  Lila finished her massive yawn and sunk down lower into the vinyl booth at the local diner.

  Remembering how Anna had tried to ignore both her and Melody when they'd been hot on the trail of juicy details when she'd been falling for Kelly, Lila had little hope that the avoidance tactic would work.

  "You didn't start without me, did you?" Anna blew her hair out of her face and shoved in next to Lila, even though there was a perfectly good seat on the side of the booth next to Melody.

  "She's pretty clammed up, especially for someone who needed a ride in the middle of the night."

  "It was eleven. Not the middle of the night."

  Melody chuckled. "Felt like it. I was up at five doing inventory for the shop."

  A flare of guilt pinged in Lila's gut. She hadn't meant to stay so long at the Circle A last night.

  She hadn't meant to make friends with Ben, either. She'd meant to distract him from talking about the ranch and had begun goofing off in response to the movie on the television, but then their talk had turned to Christmases past—though they both carefully tiptoed around the issue of his wife's death—and she'd found him funny and engaging. Even when he'd become adorably drowsy and nodded off, she'd felt something inside opening up to him. It had been a long time since she'd spent time with any man without that spring inside her coiling tight.

  She was starting to like him.

  And that was dangerous.

  She had to remember that he wanted something from her, something she wasn't sure she could give. A decision. His last email had said she needed to fish or cut bait. Okay, not those terms exactly, but he'd definitely pushed her.

  A waitress set a cup of coffee in front of Anna, who thanked her with a nod, then refocused her attention on Lila. "So...?"

  "So...nothing. We rescued a horse—a pregnant mare—and he fed me dinner at his place."

  Anna raised her coffee cup to her mouth, and her engagement ring flashed in the morning sunlight streaming through the windows.

  Lila's stomach pitched, and she shoved her half-full cup toward the center of the table. The visible reminder of Anna's upcoming nuptials spun the coil inside her, knowing that she was going to disappoint her friends. They didn't seem to notice.

  "There's something more going on," Melody guessed. She leaned over the table, eyes alight with interest. Her hair had a bright green streak in it today. "You've been avoiding the man since you came back to town."

  "Because he runs my dad's ranch."

  Melody shook her head slightly. "That's not why you're jumpy when he comes around."

  "I'm not jumpy."

  Anna and Melody shared a glance. "She's attracted to him," Melody said.

  She'd never admit to it. But apparently she didn't have to. Her friends had noticed all on their own, and they wouldn't listen even if she tried to deny it. Still...

  "He's overbearing," she said.

  "He's cute," Anna countered.

  He wasn't. He was virile. Rugged. Masculine.

  But if she protested Anna's description, they would never let her forget it.

  "He's still grieving," Lila said.

  Anna and Melody's crazy interest dimmed. Slightly. Anna ran her index finger around the edge of her cup. "You can't grieve forever," she said softly. "Maybe he's ready to move on."

  She'd seen the way he'd reacted when she'd set the table, how he'd rerouted them to the living room. The foreman's house had his wife's stamp all over it, and Ben hadn't changed a thing. Not that she blamed him.

  "He's tied to this town, and I'm not," she said.

  Now Melody looked dumbstruck, though Anna's expression revealed no surprise.

  "You're leaving?" Melody blurted.

  She hadn't made up her mind, but since when did that stop her? She was Miss Impulsive, right?

  "After Christmas."

  Melody shook her head. Her mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.

  The coil in Lila's chest wound tighter. She didn't want to hurt these ladies, her friends, either. She hadn't tried very hard to rebuff them when Melody had included her in their group those first few days she'd been back in town.

  "You've stayed this long," Anna said, voice quiet and grave. "We'd kind of hoped you'd decide to stay for good."

  She didn't do forevers. Didn't deserve them.

  "What about the wedding?" Anna asked.

  That's right. Her friend had asked her to be a bridesmaid in her Valentine's Day wedding. Lila had put off giving an answer.

  "You could come back," Melody whispered, her voice shrinking with the gravity of the situation.

  But Lila shook her head slightly.

  "Was it so bad, being back on the ranch?" Melody asked.

  She kept her eyes on her coffee cup. Cold now. "I couldn't even go inside the big house."

  Even though she wasn't looking, she caught Melody's crinkled brows and the questioning look she sent Anna across the table.

  "Can I tell her?" Anna asked.

  Lila shrugged. "It's public knowledge." But that didn't stop her voice from cracking over the words.

  "I was almost fourteen, so that would've made you...what, twelve?"

  Lila didn't answer. Couldn't.

  "Lila lost her best friend."

  The words were simple. They didn't tell the real story. Lila's fault.

  Those moments, frozen in time in her memories, started playing in a loop. Too bright. Too much.

  Tears stung the back of her throat. "I need to go."

  But Anna didn't budge. Instead, she laid her hand over Lila's on the seat cushion. "It's okay to let us in."

  But it wasn't.

  The counselor at the boarding school her father had sent her to made her sit through several sessions of grief counseling. After her third college boyfriend had broken up with her and called her an ice queen, she'd sought counseling on her own.

  It hadn't helped. Only left her with more questions about herself.

  Maybe they were right. Maybe something had broken in her when Andrea had died. Maybe she couldn't connect.

  But then... every time she was in Ben's presence, she felt too connected. Overwhelmed from the inside out.

  * * *

  It's okay to let us in.

  Thirty-some odd hours later, Lila couldn't get her friends' words out of her head. An afternoon snow squall had come and gone. Dinnertime was near.

  She found herself in the sanctuary of the little Redbud Trails church, searching for wisdom. Huddled on one of the pews with her head bent on her clasped hands, she sent up prayer after prayer.

  But just like most times since the accident, she received no tangible answer.

  Was she supposed to stay? Or go?

  She got up to leave.

  Where the foyer had been dark and quiet when she'd come inside earlier, now the lights were on and a crowd bustled through, greeting each other.

  What was going on?

  "You stalking me, cowgirl?"

  She whirled around at Ben's voice. The cowboy was shedding his coat and hat near the outer doors.

  "I was..." She motioned inanely to the sanctuary, but someone had called out a greeting to him, and he'd nodded his head, distracted. "What's going on?" she asked when his gaze returned to her.

  "It's youth night. C'mon."

  Before she could protest, he'd taken her hand and swept her up in the jostling gr
oup making their way down the hall to the kitchen. The door to the multi-purpose room beyond it was open and bright, and chattering voices spilled out.

  Youth night?

  Ben dragged her into the long commercial kitchen, where a couple of other people were unloading groceries from several brown bags onto a counter. Someone had thrown open the garage-style doors that led to the multi-purpose room beyond. It was crawling with teenagers.

  "Hey, man. Ashley." Ben exchanged a fist bump with another handsome cowboy and threw a nod at the woman behind him.

  The woman had been half-hidden behind the broad cowboy, but when she turned to greet them, Lila took in her proud bearing—military?—and the fact that she only had use of her left arm.

  "I'm Ashley Michaels," she said to Lila with a smile. "This is my husband, Ryan."

  Gold rings flashed in the bright kitchen lights as they both waved a little.

  Lila nodded a greeting but didn't engage the woman in conversation. She would've slipped right back out the door—she didn't have time for this—except for Ben's hand warm at her lower back.

  Somehow she found herself stationed between Ben and Ashley at a prep counter, wielding a chopping knife with a pile of tomatoes growing by the second as Ben washed them in the sink. Apparently they were making a mountain of tacos.

  Ashley wielded a knife of her own, chopping heads of lettuce with a skill that belied her handicap.

  "You don't seem to have any trouble," Lila said, a little admiration in her voice.

  "Just don't offer to open her jars," Ryan said.

  Ashley tossed an aggravated look over her shoulder, but Ryan just winked.

  Obviously Lila was missing some kind of inside joke.

  "How did you get involved in youth night?" she asked Ben.

  "These two lassoed me into it."

  Shouts heralded a new group of arrivals in the giant room.

  Lila's head came up, and she caught sight of a couple of teen girls with features so alike they must have been twins, though their hair and clothes were opposite—one wore jeans, a football jersey and tennis shoes, while the other wore a plaid skirt, a sweater, and leather boots. Behind them—with them?—was Weston Moore. Lila wasn't acquainted with him, but she couldn't help remembering how Melody had been drawn to him last fall. As far as she knew, Melody had never done anything about her interest.