Heart of Joy

by Lisa Swinton

  Tatiana linked her elbow with Cache’s. “Sounds great. Lead the way.”

  The trios set off, with Joy trailing at the back.

  Cason kept an eye on her as they made their way down the sidewalk. Joy radiated a wounded-animal aura, and Cason determined to nurse her back to health whether she wanted his help or not.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Joy dipped her fries in ketchup and then popped them into her mouth, letting the salt mix with the tang of the tomato. She listened to the babble of the voices around her. She’d long since tuned out Tatiana and Cache, who were quite cozy by the jukebox, picking out a song for the past twenty minutes.

  Cobalt, Marcy, and Cason were having a discussion about their favorite bands which Cason kept trying to draw her into. Joy wanted to leave, get some space, and find a place in Branson that didn’t display a tree, wreath, or twinkle lights. This small town was full of Christmas cheer. Blech.

  Her food soured in her stomach. Of all the yuletide characters, she identified with the Grinch. If she had her way, she’d hide out in her rented room for the month of December and come out on January second. Avoiding Christmas grew harder each year, as the stores launched the season ever earlier.

  “You okay?” Cason asked.

  Joy snapped back to the present. “Yeah.” She dropped the floppy fries in her hand onto the plate. “I need the restroom.” She slid from her chair and used the restroom. She longed for her hotel room, devoid of holiday decor.

  When she returned to the table, only Cason remained.

  She frowned. “Where did everybody go?”

  Cason slid from his chair and picked up her coat, holding it out for her to put on. “They wanted to walk through Branson Landing to see the shops and lights.”

  She shrugged into the coat and said a polite, “Thanks.” After all, Cason was being nice. She picked up her purse, and her eyes scanned the table. “Where’s the check?”

  “Already taken care of.” Cason put on his coat and cowboy hat.

  “I can pay for my own food.” A sulking tone crept into her voice, her pride injured. She’d worked hard not to have to rely on others since her childhood had been one big charity case.

  “We boys picked up the tab for this meal. You girls will pick up the next one. Marcy and Tatiana agreed.”

  She nodded, her pride restored. “Thanks.”

  He shoved his hands in his jeans pockets. “I said I’d stay to wait for you, and we’d catch up to them in a few minutes.”

  “You should join them. I think I’ll go back to the hotel. You don’t have to miss out on the fun on my account.”

  “My mama would tan my hide if she knew I let a young woman walk around alone in a strange town.”

  She smiled. “I like your mom.”

  “Everyone does.” He grinned.

  They walked to the door, and he held it open for her.

  “Such a gentleman,” she said. Most guys she’d known would let the door smack her in the nose before thinking of holding it.

  “Product of my raising.” He took the lead, and she fell into step next to him.

  “Are all the men in Wyoming so well-mannered?”

  He chuckled and tightened the collar of his coat around his neck. “I can’t speak for the whole male population of the state, but where I’m from—around Cody—we’re all that way.”

  “I’ve never been to Wyoming.”

  “Then you’ve never seen the stars,” he said, casting his gaze up to the sky. “Too many lights in most of the country, including here.”

  She looked up too. Only a few stars were visible. She tripped over a seam in the sidewalk and lost her balance.

  Cason’s gloved hand wrapped around her elbow to steady her. “Careful. The rain made the walkway slick.”

  She couldn’t be sure if she’d felt a tingle go up her arm where he touched her—more likely her imagination.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “Sure.”

  She looked around. “Wait, where are we? This isn’t the way to my hotel.”

  He chuckled. “First of all, you didn’t tell me the name of your hotel, so I couldn’t take you there. And second, you should see the lights. They’re one of the best things about Christmas.” He peered at her from under the brim of his cowboy hat. “You look like you ate a sour pickle.”

  “I’m not a fan of Christmas.” She shrugged. Her words were a gross understatement of her true feelings.

  “I noticed you struggled with the carols at rehearsal.”

  Joy kept silent and hoped the blush in her cheeks would be mistaken for a skin reaction to the cold. She turned her attention to the store windows, immediately recognizing her mistake as the displays were filled with Christmas cheer and enticements to buy gifts. Trees. Lights. Ornaments. Tinsel. Santa. Reindeer. She focused on the ground and pulled her blue scarf tighter around her neck.

  “I’m looking forward to being home for Christmas,” Cason said. “My mama cooks a big family dinner, and we trim the tree on Christmas Eve. The festival dates allowed me to be home for the parade. That’s one of our favorite traditions. There’s carols, floats, food trucks, and more. Every few years, our ranch goes in with the Bar-J ranch and we do a float. Those are always fun. Though my favorite event is our epic snowball fight on Christmas Day. Afterward, we come in to mama’s delicious hot chocolate and homemade cookies.”

  The more Cason spoke of his idyllic holiday experiences, the heavier her heart grew. So many celebratory traditions she’d never been a part of. The hot knife of jealousy twisted in her heart.

  He paused by a stand. “Nuts?”

  “What?” Joy’s head flew up.

  “Do you like roasted nuts or are you more of a popcorn girl?”

  She looked at the menu of nuts on the cart. “I think I’m more of a popcorn girl.”

  “There’s a stand ahead.”

  They walked to the popcorn cart, nerves growing in Joy’s body with each step. She dreaded the question she was certain Cason would ask—why do you hate Christmas?

  “What flavor?” He pulled out his wallet.

  “You pick. I’m not even sure I could eat anything more.” She rubbed her stomach.

  “Doesn’t matter. Eat what you want, I’ll handle the rest.”

  “Um, kettle corn I guess.”

  He paid the man in cash and handed the popcorn bag to Joy.

  The heat of the freshly popped corn seeped through her mittens and warmed her hands. “Thanks.” She pulled a mitten off and put a kernel in her mouth, letting the salt mix with the sweet. “It’s really good. Try some.” She held the bag out to him.

  He slipped off his glove, grabbed a handful of the corn, and stuffed some in his mouth. “Ever seen a dancing fountain?”

  “Excuse me?” she asked around the popcorn in her mouth.

  “This way.” He put his glove back on and threaded her through the crowds of shoppers and sightseers.

  She hurried her steps to match his longer stride. A little curl of brown hair at the nape of his neck peeked out from the collar of his leather jacket, attracting her attention. She’d seen him without his cowboy hat at the diner. All three of the Cowboys had respectfully shed their hats on entering the establishment. As good looking as he was in a cowboy hat, he was even more attractive without. It turned out his brown locks had an auburn hue under the lights.

  He steered them around a metal reindeer—decked with a ball wreath on its neck—and continued forward.

  “What’s the rush?” Her breath fogged in the cold.

  “The shows hit at the top of the hour.”

  They arrived at the fountain in time.

  Joy cringed as a Christmas song blared. The fountains waved, danced, and changed colors in time with the music.

  Cason sang low along with the carol, and she focused on his voice, enjoying the sound of his mellow tones edged with gravel. True cowboy-music-crush material. No wonder girls swooned at the feet of Caldwell’s Cowboys.

 
He turned to her and grinned. “Tell me you didn’t enjoy that.”

  “I admit, the show was pretty cool. But I didn’t have to be here at Christmastime to see the fountain.” She threw some popcorn into her mouth.

  He leaned against the rail. “You mean to tell me you weren’t excited when you got your invitation to the festival?”

  “Of course I was. I wished we were invited at any other time of the year is all.” Irritation prickled her skin.

  “How could you not get behind the small-town Christmas theme in Branson, Missouri?” He threw his arms wide. “Small towns are the best.”

  “I wouldn’t know. I grew up in the slums of Chicago.” She bit her lip, wishing she could take back the words. She hadn’t meant to reveal her origins to him. Only the Belles knew, and she didn’t want to share her backstory with this handsome cowboy she’d met a few hours earlier.

  He frowned, and his brows crinkled. “The Belles’ website says you’re from Atlanta.”

  She crinkled the popcorn bag, which released the aroma of sugar and salty goodness. “We formed our group in Atlanta.” Painful memories wrapped like a vise around her heart.

  Cason raised a hand toward her shoulder but dropped it before touching her. “Orphan?”

  She nodded.

  “Is that why you hate Christmas so much?” he asked, with sadness and sincerity in his gaze.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, willing tears not to form. She thrust the popcorn bag at him and stalked away.

  He easily caught up with her. “Hey.” He gently grabbed her upper arm. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “Not you or anyone else. But everything around me”—she gestured to the store displays and twinkling lights—“is a constant reminder of what I never had.” The tears pooled and fell onto her cheeks when she tried to blink them away. She wiped a mitten over her face and turned to leave, but Cason’s words stopped her.

  “Will you tell me? I’d like to understand what could make a person dislike this season as much as you do. Please.”

  The please was what turned her to face him.

  An earnest sincerity graced his brown eyes, with flecks of green and gold in them. She stood lost in them for a moment. What would it be like to have someone, anyone want to know her the way he wanted to right now? The urge to tell him everything swamped her. Maybe if she shared her pain, she could be rid of it.

  A shopper jostled her, knocking her a little off balance.

  “Come here.” Cason took her hand and tugged her back to the fountain and away from the throng of people.

  She gripped the rail, the cold metal cutting through the yarn of her mittens, grounding her. Joy couldn’t share her story with Cason if she looked at him, so she focused on the water. She didn’t want to see the pity in his eyes.

  “My mother got pregnant with me when she was fourteen,” she said.

  Cason sucked in a sharp breath but didn’t speak.

  “When she was eighteen, her parents kicked us out.”

  In her peripheral vision, Cason clenched a fist.

  “Despite all odds, my mother got her GED and got us on government aid. We spent a bit of time in homeless shelters before we entered subsidized housing.”

  “That must’ve been rough,” he said.

  She shook her head. “You don’t know the half of it. You’ve been privileged with a roof over your head, healthy food on the table, and warm clothes on your back.” Her words were like daggers, cutting and slashing at him—an innocent bystander—making her feel unhappy with her behavior.

  “You’re right. I don’t understand. I’ve been blessed. I’m sorry you weren’t.”

  She held up a hand. “Don’t.” She wanted to put emotional distance between them, but didn’t know how. He was being so kind.

  “And your father?”

  “No idea. Took off the minute he found out my mom was pregnant. His name isn’t even on my birth certificate.”

  Cason hung his head.

  “Mom held two jobs to keep us alive. Christmas was the worst because she’d pick up extra retail work during the holidays. I rarely saw her. I was with sitters when I wasn’t in school or daycare. There wasn’t time or extra money for the tree, the trimmings, the lights.”

  “Santa?”

  She scoffed. “That name was a four-letter word at our house. No presents.”

  “But there are charities who collect gifts for families in your situation,” he protested. “We give to them every year.”

  She shook her head. “We weren’t on any charity list, either by accident or design. I think my mom worried that if we grew used to Christmas with charity toys and then if what little we had fell apart, then a Christmas without toys or clothes would break both of our hearts. So there was no yuletide joy in our home.”

  Cason leaned down on the rail with his hands clasped in front of him. “I can’t imagine the holidays that way.”

  “Oh, there’s more.” The pain clawed at her heart, desperate to get out, to be free.

  “I was born about Christmas time, that’s why I’m named Joy. On my eighteenth birthday, my mother was mugged coming home with my cake. When she hit the ground, her head hit so hard that she died a few hours later in the hospital. I buried her on Christmas Eve. She was thirty-two.” Her tears stuck to her cheeks, half frozen, and she didn’t bother to wipe them away.

  Cason groaned and sank his head into his hands. “No wonder you hate Christmas. That’s more than enough to make anyone a broken-hearted Scrooge.” He looked at her.

  There wasn’t pity in his eyes, only pure sorrow.

  Her heart lurched.

  Without an apology, he swept her into his arms, holding her tight as she silently sobbed into his leather jacket. He offered no empty, meaningless, trite words, only comfort in his muscled arms.

  Joy drew strength from his embrace. No one had hugged her this way since her mother. A friendly hug from Tatiana or Marcy wasn’t the same as what Cason offered her. She’d underestimated his compassion and upbringing.

  “You mom must’ve been a great lady,” he whispered.

  “She was.” She laid her head on his damp jacket and watched the crowds go by, oblivious to her meltdown. She and Cason breathed in and out together.

  The second show started. The high volume startled her, but Cason didn’t release her. She turned her head to watch the display of shooting water and lights as Nat King Cole crooned “The Christmas Song.”

  Held in Cason’s arms, Joy felt a tiny spark of Christmas magic touch her heart for the first time in her life.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Cason toweled off from his shower and got dressed before opening the bathroom door.

  “What’s with you, man?” Cache entered and slapped on some aftershave, as he checked his appearance in the mirror.

  In the hotel room, the three men did an intricate dance of switching places to get ready for the day.

  “Didn’t sleep well.” Cason combed his hair.

  “So I noticed.” Cobalt put on his shoes. “You tossed and turned all night. Are you nervous about our performances?”

  “No.” Cason didn’t get stage fright. Cache cornered that market. Cache was a whiz at one-on-one interaction, but he tended to freeze up when it came to live music, though he was improving with the meditation and visualization exercises his sister had taught him.

  “Girl?” Cache bumped fists with Cobalt. Cache would tease relentlessly until Cason came clean.

  “Yeah,” Cason admitted.

  “We noticed how you snuck off with Joy last night.” Cache wiggled his eyebrows.

  “I didn’t sneak off,” Cason protested. “I wanted to know why she’s so anti-Christmas.”

  “And?” Cobalt asked.

  “I found out, and the truth is horrible. I can’t change her past, but I racked my brain all night about how to help her find Christmas cheer.”

  Cobalt slapped him on the back. “Ever the peacemaker and healer. You’d tend a wounded anima
l even if it bit you when you tried to help.”

  Cason rubbed the back of his left hand, where he’d been scarred by an injured fox. His mama had scolded him good after the stitches were in.

  “Got any ideas?” Cache settled his cowboy hat on his head.

  Cason rubbed his hands over his face. “I’m not even sure it’s possible to erase a lifetime of bad Christmases in a few days.”

  “But you’re still going to try.” Cobalt handed Cason his cowboy hat. “Let us know how we can help.”

  “I noticed her performance was affected yesterday during the carols,” Cache said as they left the hotel room.

  “You picked up on that too?” Cason pressed the call button for the elevator.

  “We all did,” Cobalt said. “She’s got an outstanding voice, but as soon as the Christmas music hit, her vocals disappeared. We need her to get happy about Christmas or it’s going to spoil the concert.”

  Cason nodded.

  The elevator chimed its arrival, and they descended to the lobby.

  “What’s on the docket?” Cason asked their manager as they grabbed a continental breakfast.

  “You have a little free time this morning. I recommend you use the time to catch some of the other acts, then it’s the performers’ hospital service project. Sound check, dinner, blow the audience’s socks off.” He picked up his tray littered with breakfast trash. “I’ll see you boys at the hospital. I’ve got some networking to do.” He flashed them a grin and called over his shoulder, “Don’t be late.”

  The men watched him walk away.

  “Well, at least he’s not the hovering type.” Cache stuffed the breakfast burrito and a slice of bacon into his mouth.

  Cason enjoyed the other performances, and the Cowboys had a chance to shake some hands and exchange compliments before arriving at the hospital. He hoped the service project would have a positive effect on Joy.

  He caught sight of her across the foyer as he slapped on his visitor’s pass.

  Tatiana made a beeline for Cache and had her arm hooked through his before Joy and Marcy had made it halfway to them.

  As Tatiana greeted each of them with a cheery shake of her head, her jingle bell earrings rang. The sound reminded Cason of Bucky’s collar. Bucky was the only ranch dog mama allowed in the house. The rest of the mutts were given the barn for warmth in the cold Wyoming weather.