Soldier Under the Mistletoe

by Lacy Williams

  "Ma-al!" Cash wailed. Then shouted. "Mom!"

  Mallory ignored her brother, swiping the TV remote from the coffee table. "Mom said it was my turn to watch whatever I want." She sent a sly wink in Sam's direction before she flipped the channel. Another movie came on, this one with two dogs and a cat. Talking animals traversing... the Rocky Mountains?

  There was a reason Cash called his sister Mal-Monster.

  "She did not!" Cash reached for the remote, but Mallory held it out of his reach.

  "You love this movie," Mallory teased. "Tell Sam how it's your favorite movie ever."

  Cash growled and pounced on his sister, going for her sides with tickling claws.

  Mallory shrieked and wriggled, but Cash had her pinned to the couch. "Sam, help!"

  She got in a knee to his gut, and Cash grunted. "No way. Sam's on my side. C'mon, man. Hold her arms!"

  Mallory's head bumped his shoulder, and Sam scooted until he was pressed against the arm of the couch.

  The wrestling match continued. In six years of being absorbed into the Trudeau family as Cash's best friend, he'd seen plenty of wrestling matches. Cash didn't always win. Mallory knew just where to pinch her brother to get him to back off—and when to call in Mom for support.

  Sam had never joined in. He was a little afraid of being too rough and accidentally hurting Mallory. She was so much smaller—and a girl. And if he did anything that made the Trudeaus mad at him, he might get invited to leave. And not come back.

  "Mo-om!" Cash hollered. "Mallory's interrupting me and Cash!"

  Maybe Mrs. Trudeau had gone outside, because she didn't come see what was going on.

  Mallory got in another lucky knee and Cash howled. "Ooww!"

  "Ha ha!" Mallory crowed.

  Sam kind of liked it when she whipped up on her big brother.

  And when he felt her slip the remote between his back and the couch cushions, he didn't let on.

  Before the Trudeaus, he'd never seen movies with princesses and fairy tales. They weren't all awful, no matter how much Cash complained.

  Besides, zombies made his stomach ball up like when Dad had his first beer of the night.

  He didn't figure it was cool to say so, though, now that he and Cash were high school freshmen.

  So he'd just let Mallory say it for him, for now.

  Maverick paced the tiny office in the back of the barn. The room couldn't be more than ten by ten and apparently the heating vent was right overhead, because it was sweltering in here.

  A heavy wooden desk that he remembered from years ago was spread with papers. Somebody'd put a small potted fir tree on the edge of the desk closest to the wall, and although it didn't have lights, it was covered in silk balls and hand-cut snowflakes.

  Other than the tree, there were tallies, sale invoices, and who knew what spread across the desk. And almost all of them were covered with Mallory's handwriting.

  Because she was taking over the ranch.

  He'd never in a million years thought that Cash's statement about making a change meant that he'd be abandoning Mallory.

  What about her dreams?

  Maverick knew her well enough to know that if he’d kept arguing with her, she'd have dug in her heels. If she'd made up her mind, he would be hard-pressed to change it.

  But he was used to impossible challenges.

  And he couldn't bear for his friend to throw away her whole life.

  He just needed a way to show her the truth.

  He eyeballed the chipped, faded and stained cabinet hung above the desk in the back corner. Cash's dad had always kept a couple of cans of beans up there. Who knew why? In case he got stuck out here and had to survive? When he and Cash had been teenagers, the labels had already been faded.

  Any chance they were still there?

  They weren't. Inside the cabinet were a box of granola bars, a can of hot chocolate mix, and several bottles of water.

  Mallory really had taken over.

  But maybe this would give him a way to start a conversation.

  He found two mugs behind the box of granola bars and wiped them out with a paper towel before he poured some of the bottled water in them and then nuked them in the microwave on the back desk.

  He mixed up the cocoa and while a memory stirred in his subconscious.

  He must've been thirteen, which would've put Mallory at nine. They'd been caught on the ranch in a thunderstorm with the power out, and Cash's mom had made them hot chocolate over a camp stove. They'd sat around the kitchen table by candlelight, drinking until they had chocolate mustaches.

  And when Cash's mom left the room, Mallory had been quick to scamper to a lower cabinet. She'd returned to the table with a bag of mini marshmallows.

  "Can't have hot chocolate without these," she'd whispered conspiratorially. She'd dropped ten of the things into his cup, and they'd quickly expanded, covering the liquid from edge to edge and making it impossible to drink.

  He'd given it a shot, anyway, because she and Cash were the only people who shared anything with a kid from the wrong side of town.

  Mallory's gap-toothed grin had been worth it.

  He squinted a little, crossing behind the desk and scouring for...

  He opened the desk drawer and grabbed out the half-eaten pack of marshmallows that had been rolled up and tucked in a zipper bag.

  It was a wonder she didn't have mice everywhere. She must have a good barn cat, though he hadn't caught sight of one.

  Before he could pull the bag from its hiding place, his knuckle brushed against something cool and smooth, something out of sight beneath a sheaf of papers.

  Curiosity surged and he changed objectives and pulled a picture frame from the drawer.

  He'd expected a photo of her parents or maybe a favorite horse, but it wasn't either of those.

  It was a framed photo from his high school graduation. He and Cash had been in caps and gowns. So young. She'd run up behind him and jumped on his back like a monkey. He'd been flying high that day. Ready for the freedom that was due to him.

  He'd laughed and given her a piggyback ride, and Cash's mom had caught the moment with the three of them together—him, Cash, and Mallory on his back. He'd been laughing. A moment of joy interrupting a string of awful childhood memories.

  She'd kept this photo of him. A tiny part of his brain niggled that the photo was the three of them.

  But he knew.

  She'd kept it because of the photo of him.

  Hot emotion, even more than what he'd felt when he'd seen Prince again, rose up in his chest.

  He stifled it.

  Nothing had changed.

  She was anchored here, on the Double Cross. Determined to ruin her life.

  His leave was almost up. He was career military.

  And she was Cash's little sister. Cash, who knew just how flawed Maverick was. Who would never agree to let his little sister slum with him.

  Maverick shoved down every little whisper inside that begged him to find a way to belong here.

  He never had, and he never would.

  Mallory jumped when she caught sight of Maverick exiting the tiny hallway that led to both the tack room and her barn office.

  He was carrying two mugs. Steam wafted from the tops.

  "What're you still doing here?" She'd thought he had finally wised up and gone back to the house.

  "I told you I'm not leaving you down here by yourself."

  She drew Prince to a momentary stop, gave the lead rope slack as she approached Maverick. "Is that for me?"

  "Yeah." He handed her the mug. His eyes were hooded, unreadable.

  She drew the mug up without looking at it and had to laugh when a massive float of marshmallows bumped her upper lip.

  "You found my stash." She smiled up at him.

  A corner of his mouth quirked, but he seemed to be too busy scouring her face—for what?—to smile.

  "I remember how you liked it."

  She laughed again. "Yeah,
when I was ten." She took a sip anyway, though the sweetness from the marshmallows threatened to overpower the cocoa itself.

  He took a sip from his mug and then put it on the nearest flat-topped post. He reached out one hand. "Let me have a turn."

  She handed over the lead rope, not because she needed a break but because something had made the light in his eyes darken in the twenty minutes since he'd disappeared into her office.

  Maybe it was impulsive, but before she let go of the lead rope, she rose on tiptoes and brushed a kiss across his stubbled cheek.

  She turned her shoulder before he could remind her about her place in the friend zone.

  She breathed easier when he started walking, Prince in tow, without commenting.

  She couldn't help the way her gaze followed the man. He'd shrugged Cash's work coat off at some point and now looked completely out of place in his tuxedo, walking alongside the horse. She supposed she looked just as foolish in her evening gown and work boots.

  She could hear him talking to the horse, but his words were too low to make out.

  She forced her focus to Prince. His agitation had eased some as she'd walked him. He'd stopped pulling against the lead to try and roll. If the colic were worsening, he would've kept trying to lie down.

  She was optimistic. Prince was Dad's horse. He'd been on the ranch since she was little. She'd ridden him with dad before she could walk. He'd done his working duty as a cutting horse and was now enjoying old age and the occasional amble through the property when she had time. He'd worked hard. He deserved it.

  How many nights had Dad missed sleep over an animal? Too many to count. In some small way, tonight made her feel closer to him.

  She didn't want to see Prince in pain, and she only hoped this colic was a passing thing, an issue from something he'd eaten that would pass and never return.

  Now it was a waiting game. How long until the horse pooped?

  The cocoa was too sweet for her—not the childhood her, but she wasn't ten anymore, and it was about time Maverick noticed—and she traded it for his mug. He had two mini-marshmallows floating in his.

  She considered the man as he walked beside the horse.

  What had put the guarded look in Maverick's eyes?

  She could ask but doubted he would answer. He'd never opened up to her the way he had with Cash. She was younger. And a girl.

  That didn't mean she didn't know things. She'd been a master eavesdropper when she was a kid. She'd once climbed a neighboring tree when Cash and Maverick had been tucked into the tree fort they'd cobbled together in a gully not far from the house. She'd listened for an hour as Cash raged against Maverick's dad, calling him curse words she'd never heard before. Maverick had said barely anything.

  When she'd snuck back to the house, she'd asked her mom what one of the words meant and gotten an earful about the foul language she must have overheard at school.

  When the boys had come in later, she'd seen the bruise darkening Maverick's right cheekbone.

  He hadn't looked her in the eye that day.

  How had he survived a childhood like that and turned into the honorable soldier he was now?

  What would it be like to have Maverick's trust?

  What would it take to earn it?

  In an hour.

  She shook her head a little, laughing at herself. She was so desperate for tonight not to end, for Maverick not to disappear again, that her thoughts continued to run away with her.

  Better to distract herself.

  She'd meant to decorate the barn for Christmas, but with the Cattlemen's Ball, she'd been too busy. Why not now, since she was stuck out here anyway waiting on a horse to poop?

  She went to the tack room and found the giant box of decorations she'd put there last week. Then spent a good five minutes straining to push and pull it by turns along the floor to the main barn area.

  When she finally stood from behind the box, she was huffing and puffing.

  Maverick was approaching, and he couldn't hide the smile twitching across his lips. "Good job, Monster."

  "Thanks"—she panted—"for your help."

  He laughed. "What've you got in there? A robot to keep walking this guy?"

  She shook her head. "Something better."

  She took out the first faux-green wreath and held it up to show him.

  His nose wrinkled comically. "Didn't you have enough decorations up at the house? It looked like Santa threw up in there."

  She considered tossing the wreath at him. "Scrooge. You can never have enough decorations." She bent over the box, pretending to dig through it. "I might even have some fake mistletoe in here." Because she'd never put the real deal out here. It was toxic to animals.

  He groaned. But it sounded like she might've jarred him out of whatever dark place he'd disappeared to a few moments ago.

  She started hanging wreaths on each stall door, adjusting the velvet bows on each one and fluffing the fake greenery.

  "What'd you get your brother for Christmas?" he asked as he passed behind her. He tugged on the ends of her hair but was past before she could swat him.

  Apparently, they weren't going to talk about anything important tonight.

  "New underwear and socks."

  He snort-laughed. "You did not."

  She glanced at him over her shoulder. "Did too. It's what Mom used to get him every year." Her throat clogged at the thought of Mom's precise wrapping and designer bows and how badly Mallory had botched that this year.

  Oh, man.

  And then Maverick was there, drawing her away from the stall door and her pile of decorations on the floor. And into his arms.

  Maverick didn’t know what had come over him.

  Mallory clung to him, in that place between sniffling and all-out crying. Her face was pressed against his chest, and every breath she exhaled was hot through the linen of his shirt.

  "Prince," she protested in a wet murmur, and he heard the unshed tears in her voice.

  Maverick glanced behind him. "He's okay for now." The horse stood placidly in the middle of the aisle.

  "I r-ruined the Thanksgiving turkey," she whispered, voice wobbling.

  He pressed his nose into her hair, allowing the liberty he'd denied himself earlier. Holding Mallory was... everything. "How so?"

  "I had the oven on too high. It came out burnt on the outside and raw inside."

  He breathed out a chuckle. "Did you use a recipe?"

  "No." She sniffled. "I thought I could remember the way Mom cooked it. But I was wrong."

  His smile died. He cupped the back of her head with one hand, holding her close. She still didn't cry.

  He pressed his jaw against her hair, brushed her ear. "You'll remember the important stuff. Like how your mom used to sing when she brushed your hair at night. I saw her do that once, when Cash invited me for a sleepover." Watching Mrs. Trudeau's soft touch had opened an ache inside him, one that would never be filled. He didn't have a mom.

  Her arms around his back, she squeezed him. "You loved them, too."

  He had. When he'd gotten Cash's voicemail from overseas, he'd been blown apart by grief.

  It wasn't the same, he told himself. He wasn't their blood. But he had loved them.

  She moved back slightly. Not out of his hold, but enough that there was a separation between their upper bodies.

  "Is that what you do, when you're deployed? Remember the important stuff?" She said the words to his buttons.

  Because she wasn't looking at him, he could look his fill. Memorize the dark sweep of her lashes against her cheeks. He really wanted to trace the soft line of her lips with his finger. He settled for smoothing her hair back from her face.

  He'd never forget this moment.

  Then she tipped her face up to look at him. Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears.

  "Want to know what I got you for Christmas?"

  She didn't wait for his answer but pressed up on tiptoe, her intention clear.

 
And because he was only human after all, he met her kiss. He tried to keep it light, gentle, because this was Mallory.

  But this was Mallory.

  "Maverick," she whispered against the brush of his lips.

  She tilted her head, her lips slanting beneath his as he captured her mouth, plundered it.

  As he got lost in her.

  He tried to force himself to unlock his arms, loosen his grip on her, but she pressed even closer, and he was in so deep, too deep...

  She was the one who pulled back, because he couldn't seem to her go. There'd been some slight noise that he hadn't registered. Until now.

  Her eyes were soft and dreamy, her lips pink and beestung from his kisses.

  She was sparkling up at him, shining from the inside. "I think…" She glanced over his shoulder, her mouth pursing slightly. "Yes, I think Prince has solved his problem."

  She stepped fully out of his arms and at the loss, he felt cold.

  And smelled manure.

  "That's good, right?" Maverick half-turned away from her and ran one hand down his face, propping the other on his waist.

  He was undone. Kissing Mallory had been perfect... So perfect that he'd forgotten himself completely.

  And that was a problem.

  She didn't seem to notice the sudden tension that gripped him, focused as she was on the horse.

  "I want to take his vitals again," she said absently. "Do you want to check on the visibility? See if it's still snowing?"

  "Sure." She didn't seem to hear him as she led the horse toward the big stall in the back.

  A few minutes in the cold might do him good. Help him regain some equilibrium.

  Outside, the wind had died out some, but snow fell in a deluge of huge, fluffy flakes. It was slightly less dangerous than earlier.

  Is that what you do? Remember the important stuff? He hadn’t answered her question. But he did.

  He thought about her all the time. Until he was sick over her, ached for her.

  He'd never told anyone. And he wouldn't tell her tonight.

  Coming here had been a mistake. Being on the Double Cross had opened old wounds, the grief he'd thought he'd battled and won. That's all this was. A mistake to kiss her, when his emotions were vulnerable and confused.

  If he stayed in the barn with Mallory any longer, he was liable to make another mistake. Kiss her again.