Mistletoe Cowboy: A Cowboy Inspirational Romance

by Lacy Williams

  She gave a soft huff, but nothing else. She'd seen the way his eyes had cut away when his sister-in-law had suggested they go to dinner together. He didn't want to be here, even if he pretended otherwise.

  He held the door open to the small mom-and-pop café, and she ducked inside before he could confuse her more by placing that rogue hand on her back. It was pathetic that she could remember so well how it felt to be tucked under his arm.

  Inside, the place was packed with holiday diners, and Valri felt conspicuous—maybe more so because she knew her date didn't want to be here.

  She turned to him and lifted her chin. "I'm perfectly capable of feeding myself. I don't need you to stay."

  He nodded to a space beyond her. "There's a booth open in the back."

  "I said—"

  "I heard what you said." His eyes met hers for the first time since he'd come into her dad's store. There was a spark of vulnerability or desperation or bleakness in the blue depths that made her breath catch in her chest.

  He took her elbow in his big hand and ushered her forward, winding through the tables.

  Just that one glimpse inside of him, and she followed like a lamb.

  A stupid, stupid lamb.

  She slid into the booth and crossed her arms. Fine, she was here, but she refused to enjoy it. Otherwise, she'd enjoy it too much, and then where would she be? Confused again.

  He surprised her by sitting next to her.

  She opened her mouth to say something—what she didn't know—but her mind stalled out at the press of his thigh against hers. And then, before she could speak through suddenly-parched lips, the waitress was there at his elbow.

  He requested coffee for himself, and she ordered a chicken pot pie.

  And then they were alone again. "Why did you come into the store?"

  "I shouldn't have." He looked at his hands, which were folded on the table in front of him. "I have a hard time saying no to Livy."

  She frowned, the sting of his words hitting home.

  And then as she traced a pattern in the worn tabletop, his hand moved to cover hers in a gentle clasp.

  "I like you," he said. His voice was serious and low. "More than I should."

  Joy whirled through her in a rush.

  "But I don't think we should pursue a dating relationship."

  And there was the bucket of icy water being poured that doused it.

  She jerked her hand out from beneath his, instantly feeling the loss of the contact. She edged into the furthest corner of the booth, putting as much distance between them as she could manage.

  He sighed, then fanned his fingers through his hair.

  "I guess the next thing you'll say is it's not you, it's me," she said, voice shaky. What was she doing here? Hadn't he already broken her heart once? Here, have another shot at it, why don't you?

  "It is me."

  She refused to cry. Refused. It wasn't as if they had known each other very long. Only a few weeks, if she were really counting.

  "You've got your big goals, you've got so much drive, and—"

  "That sounds like a me reason," she forced out.

  "And I can't even see where I'm going. I'm undeclared. Unemployed—I work the family farm part-time, but that doesn't really count." He coughed. "You need… you need to be with someone who can support you, who can be what you need him to be."

  She had been shaking all over. And just like that, the shaking stopped. "I wasn't proposing marriage," she said, her voice getting firmer. "And those sound like excuses to me."

  He looked up sharply at her, his eyes flashing, but she didn't miss the pinprick of fear in their depths.

  "You're scared of something," she said. "Whether it's letting me in or something else…"

  His eyes cut away, and she knew she was on to something. She got a tingling feeling deep in her stomach the same way she did when she figured out a medical issue in one of the patients at the free clinic, when symptoms started falling into place and a diagnosis was close.

  The waitress interrupted, depositing Valri's pot pie and Justin's mug of coffee. She smiled and left, oblivious to the tension that simmered between them.

  Valri opened her mouth, ready to push him for answers, but something outside herself screamed stop!

  And she stopped. Watched him.

  He brought his mug to his lips and sipped. She didn't miss the slight tremble in his hands.

  Whether she'd hit a nerve with her accusation or he simply didn't like conflict, she didn't know.

  But that feeling that she should stop pushing remained, settling deep inside her.

  She used her fork to break the crust of her pot pie and changed the subject. "Are you going to do the extra credit for speech class?"

  His expression revealed a hint of surprise as he set his mug on the table with a clack. "I don't know. I did all right on the first two presentations, and I don't have to pull an A like you're determined to. Are you doing it?"

  "Yes." She had to bring her grade up. But she could only imagine humiliating herself at the improv club in Oklahoma City that the professor had revealed as their extra credit assignment. She couldn't get through a prepared speech in class, so how would she make it through several minutes of improvisation?

  She ate quickly as uncomfortable silence descended on the table. She didn't know what to say to him, how to get him to open up. Or if she should.

  She had no answers, and she was exhausted from a long day working with her family. The store had opened at six, and since then, she'd had a thirty-minute lunch and this, which was not as relaxing as one might think. She was running on fumes.

  So after he'd taken care of the check and stood, she slipped out of the booth and rose to her tiptoes to buss his cheek with a kiss. "Thanks for feeding me. I'll see you next week."

  Only a week and a half of class remained before their final presentation. Ten days to find a way to convince the stubborn cowboy to take a chance on her.

  It wasn't going to happen.

  But she couldn't just give up.

  She was stubborn, too.

  #

  You're scared of something.

  Justin sat on the tailgate of his pickup in the barnyard, his booted feet dangling aimlessly and his head tipped back. The snow had cleared off, leaving the sky bright with stars. He'd meant to look at them but was distracted by the garish lights covering just about every square inch of the barn.

  He'd bet you could see it from space.

  Tonight he really missed the oblivion that a hit of strong pain meds would give him. It wouldn't knock him out, but it would take away the edge that felt like a knife just beneath his skin. It would make him not care about the sparkle of tears that Valri had been unable to hide when they'd been at the restaurant.

  Was she right?

  The screen door snicked closed. He glanced toward the porch but after being exposed to the bright lights of the barn, his vision was spotted, and he couldn't make out who it was. Maddox or Haley. It was past Livy's bedtime.

  Feet crunched on the gravel, and a soft voice greeted him. "Hey." Haley.

  "Hey." He blinked a few times until his vision cleared. She stood next to the tailgate wearing what looked like Maddox's coat, her arms wrapped around her middle.

  "You okay?"

  "Sure," he said, as easily as he could manage. He hoped it was dark enough that she couldn't see his face, but he suspected that with the amount of glowing lights, he was done for.

  "You've been out here awhile."

  And he'd driven around for at least an hour after he'd walked Valri back to her dad's shop.

  He had no answer for the emotional turmoil surging through him.

  "Just thinking." He leaned back on his palms and turned his face up to the sky.

  Maybe she would take the hint and go back inside.

  Of course, this was Haley. When she'd come back into Maddox's life last year, she'd challenged Justin to dig himself out of the mire of depression and drug-induced lis
tlessness that he'd been caught in.

  She might be the only person on the planet more stubborn than he was. And he couldn't remember her ever taking a hint.

  "I'm sorry if pushing you to go out with Valri re-opened some old wounds."

  It hadn't. The wounds had never scabbed over.

  "She seems nice," Haley offered tentatively when he didn't respond. "She seemed like someone who'd be a good match for you."

  He snorted his derision. "Do you know me at all?"

  "You like her." Haley didn't sound surprised. "What's the big deal?"

  "The big deal is I'm no good for her. I'll keep my distance until the end of this class, and we'll go our separate ways."

  "You think you're protecting her."

  He jumped off the tailgate, his boots crunching in the gravel. He'd had enough of Haley's psycho-analyzing for one night.

  But his sister-in-law caught his forearm with her hand. He wanted to jerk away from her comforting touch, but stopped himself. She'd been nothing but a friend to him, even those few times when he'd been in withdrawals and bit her head off. She didn't deserve his rudeness, even though that was his gut reaction.

  "What are you so afraid of?"

  Afraid. It was the same word Valri had used. Was he afraid?

  "If she knew about my past…"—he barely grated the words out—"…about the meds, about the depression, she wouldn't be interested. Her family is clean cut. Nice. She's nice."

  Haley held his gaze, maybe waiting for him to say more. Finally, he had to look away.

  "How do you know what she'll think if you don't tell her?" Haley asked softly.

  He swallowed back the words that wanted to escape. What if it happens again? What if I'm too weak—and I ruin her life?

  He pulled away from Haley's sisterly touch, too much a coward to speak the deep-seated fear, too raw to stick around for her useless encouragement.

  He stalked to the brightly-lit barn and pulled open the heavy door. Maybe throwing pitchforks of dirty hay would exhaust him enough that he could sleep.

  Doubtful.

  Nothing could ease the choking fear, except the knowledge that Valri was safe from him.

  Chapter Eight

  Valri trembled from head to foot as she stood at the back of the comedy club in Oklahoma City. The extra hour and a half drive beyond campus hadn't helped her nervousness at all.

  Only a few of the students taking the class had shown up for the extra-credit assignment, along with their professor, who was handling the mic between students. Less than half the class had needed the extra credit. A few losers like her, and a few nerds who wanted a perfect grade.

  She didn't have any note cards this time. No notes in improv. When she took the stage, the professor would give her a topic. And she had to find something funny to say about it. For three minutes.

  She was nauseously nervous, but she was determined to do this. She had to ace this class. And who cared what her classmates thought about her anyway? Who cared what the scattered crowd thought?

  All that mattered was what the professor thought.

  And then she was out of time to over-analyze, because the professor was saying her name. And that her topic was dating.

  She had no funny stories about dating. Only depressing ones.

  She walked toward the front of the room on wooden legs. As she was passing a small alcove, she saw Justin standing in the shadows, his hands in his pockets. What was he doing here? He didn't need the extra credit.

  He held her gaze, nodding to her without cracking a smile.

  And suddenly she knew exactly what she was going to talk about.

  She took a deep breath and spoke into the microphone. "Good evening." The stupid thing squealed, and she stepped back and winced. The lights were so bright and the rest of the room so dark that she couldn't see anything except vague, shadowy outlines of a few people in the front rows of tables and chairs.

  She adjusted her position in front of the mic and cleared her throat. "H-hello. I'm Valri."

  There was dead silence in the crowd.

  Three minutes, she chanted in her mind. She just had to get through three minutes. It was an eternity.

  "As women, we've all heard some pretty lame reasons why guys didn't want to enter a dating relationship: From, I'm being deported to My goldfish doesn't like you. So… I thought I would talk about the top five excuses that guys give women when they're not that into you."

  There was a ripple of a murmur from the crowd. She didn't know if that was a good sign or not.

  "So here we go. The top five reasons guys give. Number five: I'm not looking for a serious relationship. What does that really mean? Your twenty-six text messages the night after the first date might have scared him off."

  There was a surprised bark of laughter from the back of the room. She squinted but couldn't see anything with the light shining in her eyes.

  She took a deep breath, mind spinning ahead.

  "Number four: I don't want to be exclusive. Translation: You're hot, but not quite hot enough for me to give up the rest of the girls I think are hot, but not quite hot enough."

  Another wave of chuckles passed through the room.

  She took a deep breath. She was really doing this. Her nervousness began to dissipate, and some of the shakiness left her hands.

  She dared to reach up and touch the microphone as she got rolling.

  "Lame excuse number three: I'd have to change my Facebook status. The truth? I don't want anyone to know we're dating. On the other hand, it could be you're dating a guy who hasn't quite figured out how to change his Facebook status. And if the guy can't figure out Facebook, deal with it, honey, you dodged a bullet."

  That one seemed to fall flat, meeting only silence from the room. She cleared her throat and went on.

  "Number two: We have such a great friendship I don't want to ruin it. Ah, being relegated to 'buddy' land." She made air quotes as she spoke. "You know buddy-land, right? That's where you get the privilege of answering his middle-of-the-night phone calls because the bimbo he dumped you for smashed his truck's headlights. Can't you just hear him? 'I just told her I wanted to be friends. How'd I know she was picking out her wedding gown?' And why do guys always do that, run away like little girls? 'Cause they're scared..."

  A ripple of murmurs and laughter spread through the crowd, but she stalled out.

  She hadn't meant to say that bit about being scared. She'd intended to tease Justin, not to poke his wounds. And she certainly hadn't wanted to reveal how much she cared.

  Her voice trembled as she continued. "And the number one reason he'll give why he's not that into you… I've got commitment issues. Sounds about right. Sure, I can cheer on my losing football team for forty years, I can drink the same brand of cola until the second coming, and let's face it, I'd have to be some sort of committed to still be wearing jeans that haven't been popular since the last millennia, but when it comes to you, sweetheart, I've got commitment issues."

  Something shifted inside her, as she forced out the words. A thought that hadn't crystallized until that last punch line. Maybe he's just happy with his life the way it is. And there was no place for her in it.

  She stepped away from the mic amid laughter that rang hollow in her ears.

  #

  Justin stood in the shadows while the audience applauded Valri's performance, his heart hammering.

  I'm in love with her.

  It was a heck of a time to realize that. He'd driven down in his truck, separate from the students who'd been carted down in a campus van. He'd come with some wild idea of supporting her, being here for her, even if she didn't need him or want him here. And maybe he'd lied to himself the whole time, needing to be here for him.

  Seeing her lay it all on the line, facing her fears on the stage, highlighted once again how different she was from him. She had ambition, she chased her dreams, and she wasn't afraid to face the hard things. For her, the hard thing was public speaking, and she'd ac
ed this assignment.

  He was proud of her, even if she had been poking fun at him, trying to make light of a situation that obviously hurt, judging by the catch in her voice.

  There was no way to make things right, not now, not after what he'd kept from her.

  But the urgency that clenched his stomach like a giant fist forced him forward on wooden legs.

  When she would've brushed past his partially-hidden spot in the alcove, he caught her arm. He opened his mouth to tell her… what? That he was sorry? That he was an idiot?

  "I can't do this right now, Justin," she whispered. Her eyes were downcast, but he saw the tremble in her bottom lip.

  "Don't leave," he begged. His voice was shaking as he said it.

  And that earned him a look. Her eyes passed over his face, probably noting the fatigue that came from the past several sleepless nights. Her eyes softened for an infinitesimal moment before she closed her lips tightly and glared at him.

  "Ssh," someone hissed from a nearby chair.

  He jerked his head toward the club entrance.

  She hesitated but finally nodded and followed him through the maze of tables and out into the cold air in the parking lot.

  He faced her, looking down on her bent head. He didn't know if he could force words past the sick in his stomach.

  He expelled a hard breath, which fogged between them. "I had thought of going up on stage and spilling everything—everything that I want to tell you. But what I have to say isn't funny."

  Her gaze lifted to his face, and he shifted his feet, unable to look directly at her. He focused on a darkened building across the street. Made his throat work, when speaking was the last thing he wanted to do.

  "People used to call me a risk taker. It was the nature of the occupation. But I've been a coward compared to you. You're chasing your dreams. Taking risks, like getting up on that stage."

  He stared at the sky, trying to find the words to make her understand. "I thought I'd play football, like my brother, but when I was a teenager, I competed in doubles roping and then got on the back of a bull as a dare. I was good at it. Rodeo was never my plan—I just sort of stumbled into it."

  He could still remember those first exhilarating rides, when it had still been fun, not a demanding career.