All I Want for Christmas Is a Cowboy

by Jennifer Ryan

  At last, Nate’s yawns were alternating with long eye blinks.

  “Time to get some sleep, young man,” she said, taking up his blanket and spreading it near the fire. “It won’t be all that comfortable on the wood floor, but you’ll be warm.”

  He didn’t protest much, a clear sign he was exhausted. That little body had probably walked miles through the snow that day. After a quick stop outside, where he giggled as he peed a crazy line in the snow, he wrapped up in the blanket, pillowed his head in his arms, and was asleep before Sandy and Doug had even finished scrubbing the pots with the hard soap they’d recently found.

  They took their places near the fire, and Sandy looked at the dwindling stack of logs. “Will we have to look for wood tomorrow?”

  “Maybe, but the wood bin out back is usually kept full. I’ll check it in the morning.”

  “What do you use this cabin for?”

  “Nothing much lately, except emergencies like this,” he said, smiling at her wryly. “But earlier this century, they used it when grazing pasture in the high country. Before pickup trucks, it was a good halfway place on the way home. I’m told a homesteader built it in the late nineteenth century, before eventually selling the land to my great-great-grandfather.”

  She nodded, then hesitated a bit before saying awkwardly, “You asked me earlier if someone would be worrying about me, and I was so preoccupied I never asked the same of you. Not very neighborly of me.”

  “You have a son to focus on, and he should come first. I get it.”

  “Thank you. Not everyone does.” That sounded like an invitation to talk about her ex-husband, which in no way did she wish to do, so she hurried on, “But your family?”

  “Yeah, they’re at the ranch, my mom and dad and my brother. They know I went huntin’. I hope they think I was smart enough to look for shelter. I don’t want to worry my mom none, since my dad isn’t doin’ so well. He has cancer.”

  “Oh, Doug, how terrible.”

  Without thinking about it, she reached to put a hand on his forearm, as she would comfort any friend. To her surprise, he covered her hand with his, and they sat there for a minute, joined together innocently, but powerfully. His palm was warm and tough.

  Then he straightened up and let her hand fall away. “I don’t usually talk about it. Nothin’ can be done, you know, except to make him comfortable. He had a lot of good, happy years with my mom.”

  “But he’s a rancher—it must be hard for him to let others do his work. Bet he’s grateful to have his sons.”

  “For now.”

  She studied him, the set of his teeth, the way a muscle jumped in his jaw. He was having a tough time with something beyond his dad’s illness, but it wasn’t her business to pry.

  And then he looked at her with a searching gaze, and she felt a little helpless about what he wanted from her.

  He sighed and gave a reluctant smile. “You’re a good listener.”

  They kept staring at each other, and their smiles died. To Sandy’s astonishment, she was looking at his mouth, and wondering what his kiss would be like.

  She jumped to her feet. “I’m exhausted. I have no idea how many miles we trudged today in that deep snow. You, too?”

  He grinned and rose slowly. “Yeah, me, too.”

  “Think we’ll get out of here tomorrow?”

  They both glanced at the dark windows as if the night would tell them something. The wind was like a long, low train whistle.

  “I wouldn’t count on it,” Doug admitted. “Even if this storm stops, it’ll be some time before Valentine can dig out enough to start sending out search parties.”

  “ ‘Some time’?” she repeated, her voice rising. “Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. Nate had an awful Christmas last year, and I really want this year to be different.”

  “Was that when his dad left?” Doug asked in a low, sympathetic voice.

  She hugged herself and rubbed her upper arms, chilled now that they’d stepped away from the fire. “Right after Thanksgiving. Nate cried himself to sleep for weeks, and I’d never felt so helpless in my life.” She’d done the same as her son many a night. “I tried to make last Christmas good for him, but he kept wanting to call his dad, tell him about his toys, and Bruce hadn’t left a number yet.”

  “He didn’t even leave you a way to reach him?” he asked in disbelief.

  She shook her head. “His parents were dead, or I would have tried there. We heard from him once, last summer. He was working on an oil rig in Texas. He talked to Nate on the phone, and it was so sad, because Nate sounded wary and resigned rather than happy. Bruce even sent some money. The first and last time,” she added bitterly. Then her eyes widened. “I am so sorry—I can’t believe I’m burdening you with this.”

  To her surprise, he put a hand on her shoulder. “You’ve borne the burden a long time. It’s okay to share it. You have a sister, right? Bet you’re happy to have her.”

  She relaxed and smiled up at him. “I am. We’re very close. We had all these plans to bake Christmas cookies these last couple days; I even made a several batches of dough before setting out this morning. Now Nate won’t even get to participate in that family tradition.” To her mortification, a tear escaped her lashes and slid down her cheek. She wiped it quickly. “My God, I am a wreck. Please ignore me. I’m normally so together.”

  “I don’t think many people would handle your situation better than you, Sandy.”

  And to her surprise, he pulled her into his arms and hugged her, comfortable and easy. She was surrounded by his warmth, inhaled the scent of wood smoke and evergreens in his flannel shirt. She didn’t think about what was right, just let herself relax against him, one vertebra at a time. They stood that way a long time, listening to the wind rattle the old windows.

  Gradually a new tension arose, and she realized he was standing with his hips partly turned away from her, as if he didn’t want her to know . . . that maybe he was turned on. To her surprise, that didn’t make her want to jump away. They were in close proximity, but he had the compassion to want to comfort her and not make her think it was for the wrong reasons.

  And she didn’t think that at all, which only made her own feelings of desire, long dormant, begin to stir within her. She lifted her head from his chest and looked up at him. He was staring down at her, those pewter eyes half closed in a smolder that made her shudder deep inside.

  She felt him reluctantly begin to pull away.

  “Sandy, I’m sorry—” he began.

  She leaned up on her tiptoes, her breasts pressed to his chest. She moved her hands up his neck and into his wavy brown hair. To her relief and exultation, he leaned down to kiss her. It was a soft, gentle kiss, pressing to the curve of her upper lip, the plump bottom, the corners. Her mouth parted on an exhalation of satisfaction and yearning, and he deepened the kiss, parted lips tasting parted lips, until at last their tongues met and savored.

  Sandy didn’t know how long she would have stood safe in his arms, safe and desired and aching for him, as his hands roamed her back but didn’t tread more dangerous territory. He no longer held his hips back, instead pressed against her until she wanted to rub her body languidly against his. She felt like she’d known him months instead of hours. But it was that last thought that made her break the kiss—that, and the fact that her innocent son lay not ten feet away from them.

  “Sandy—” he began, eyes full of concern.

  “If you’re going to apologize, don’t,” she said ruefully. “I started that kiss, not you. And I enjoyed it, a little too much.”

  “Is there such thing as ‘too much’?” He wore a crooked grin, and he reached to gently cup her face.

  “You know there’s ‘too much’—we barely know each other.”

  “I think today counted as a first date, maybe a blind date, but a date nonetheless. We spent enough time together, had a meal. I don’t know about you, but I like to kiss good night on a first date.”

  “I don�
�t remember what that’s like,” she admitted, chuckling softly. “Bruce and I were high school sweethearts, so it’s been a long time since I had a first date.”

  “Then I feel honored.”

  “Honored that we both happened to stagger frozen to the same cabin?”

  He rolled his eyes. “You’re makin’ our first date sound worse and worse. So we almost froze to death—we certainly didn’t come close to starvin’, thanks to me.”

  “Ah, the great hunter providing for his tribe.”

  He grinned. “I like the sound of that.”

  She patted his chest, then moved away. “You go ahead and have your fantasies.”

  “Huntin’s not what I’m havin’ fantasies about.”

  She felt her face heat in a blush, and she couldn’t meet his eyes. “Here’s romance for you,” she said, lifting the roll of toilet paper by the front door. “I’ll be right back.”

  She came back freezing, her hair covered in melting snowflakes, practically dancing to the fire to regain her warmth. “You men have it so easy!”

  He laughed and went outside himself.

  At last they blew out all the candles, set more logs on the fire, and brought their blankets near the hearth. By unspoken agreement, they kept Nate between them, their heads nearest the fire for warmth. Sandy didn’t think she’d be able to sleep at all, remembering that searing kiss and thinking she really had met a man she’d like to date.

  But then her eyes closed and she was out.

  Chapter Four

  DOUG TRIED NOT to awaken Sandy and Nate when he got up in the middle of the night to put more wood on the fire. Then he turned around . . . and just found himself staring at her. Sometime after lying down, she’d let down her ponytail, and her dark hair cushioned her head in waves that gleamed.

  He wasn’t sure he’d ever felt this way so quickly, both fascinated and aroused. Oh, he’d had a high school sweetheart, too, but he was too busy at the ranch for her as they moved into their twenties. She’d wanted to party late hours, to head into Aspen a couple times a week, and he just couldn’t do it, not with a herd of cattle and his parents depending on him.

  But Sandy was a woman with her own responsibilities, and she’d borne more than most on her thin shoulders. Nate was tucked against her now, and they presented almost a united front, mother and son.

  Maybe he was feeling too much, too soon, and should put a stop to it. After all, he might have called their meeting a first date, but was he really free? With his dad dying and his brother questioning his life, Doug would be even busier. Was it fair to date a woman and let her think he’d have the time she deserved to have?

  He lay back down on his side, head pillowed on his arm, and just watched her. It was a long time before he fell back to sleep.

  SANDY CAME AWAKE with a start and thought something was missing. It wasn’t Nate, who was a little heating blanket curled against her. Even Doug still slept, and with the sun shining in the windows, she was able to see his face in profile, the high forehead, the strong nose, the lips that had first been so tender on hers, then so wildly demanding.

  And then it dawned on her what was different—the sun had made an appearance! And there wasn’t a sound outside but the occasional call of a bird. The storm was over just in time for Christmas Eve.

  Quietly she got to her feet and went to the window. The sky was so blue as to rival the Caribbean Sea. Tall, snow-covered pines reached upward, and far across the valley she could see the Sawatch Range like white-bearded old men, and knew the Elk Mountains were the same at her back, as if having a staring contest with their distant brethren.

  She heard a floorboard creak, so she wasn’t startled when Doug spoke softly behind her.

  “I never lose my wonder at the beauty of this place,” he murmured.

  “I know.”

  He put his hands on her shoulders, and they stood quietly for a moment.

  Finally he released her and said, “Let’s see where we stand,” and went to the door.

  He opened it, and to their dismay, snow fell inward, having piled up almost all the way to the top.

  “Oh, no,” she said, knowing any hope of getting away from the cabin today was probably dashed.

  He closed the door. “It’s probably more snowdrift than real depth,” he reminded her. “And maybe the storm barely touched Valentine. You know how different the weather can be at a higher elevation.”

  “Now you’re just trying to make me feel better.” But she smiled at him.

  They looked at each other for a long moment, smiles dying, remembering being held in each other’s arms.

  “Hey, the snow stopped!”

  Sandy was jerked out of the romantic spell by her son’s happy voice. He rushed to the window, nose pressed to the glass, face looking from side to side.

  “There’s a lot of snow,” he said doubtfully, then turned to her. “Mom, are we going to walk through that?”

  “Not yet, honey. It’s just too deep.”

  “But it’s Christmas Eve!” he said, horrified.

  She touched his head. “Now you know Christmas doesn’t depend on a place. It’s being together that matters. I’m sure Santa thinks you’re at home, and will leave your gifts there. They’ll be waiting for you when we get back. But until then,” she said briskly when he continued to frown, “we need to celebrate the holiday right here. We’ve got cans of fruit for breakfast, chili for lunch, and the second rabbit for dinner. We’re so very lucky!”

  His face wasn’t showing it. “But if it’s Christmas Eve, we need our tree.”

  “Honey, the tree is buried. Can’t we look out the window and pretend one of those pretty pine trees is our special Christmas tree?”

  “No! I have a tree, Mom, one I picked out. If I can’t have it at our apartment, why can’t we set it up here?”

  She turned helplessly to Doug, looking for some support, but to her surprise, his expression was impassive, even a little cool. He was putting on his heavy coat.

  “Are you going somewhere?” she asked.

  “To get some wood, and see what’s in the shed around back. There’s probably a shovel. And I know there’s an outhouse somewhere.”

  He put on his Stetson and gloves, then, using his body, pushed through the snow at the door. Sandy and Nate crowded to the window to watch. The snow was easily up to his waist in some areas, and she felt more and more glum. Glancing at her son, she realized his Christmas dreams were dying, and she just couldn’t let that happen. He might have to wait for gifts, but he damn well wasn’t going to wait for anything else.

  “I think you’re right, Nate, we need our Christmas tree on Christmas Eve. Let’s have some breakfast and bring it inside.”

  His face lit up, and he hugged her around the waist.

  “There’s some canned fruit. That sound good?”

  “Sure. Can I put another log on the fire?”

  She hesitated, but she was sure in the old days, kids his age would have done those kinds of chores. “Okay, but I’m going to watch you the first time and teach you how to be careful.”

  Soon they were sitting in front of the fire, eating canned peaches and pears, discussing what they were going to do to prepare for Christmas Eve.

  And Doug still didn’t come back.

  It wasn’t until they dressed up in their snowsuits and went outside that they saw him. He’d found an old shovel and had made a path from the back of the cabin, cleared the front door area, found the outhouse, but hadn’t unburied their Christmas tree. So she and Nate made a game of it, hugging the tree and laughing as the snow fell all around them.

  “What’s going on?” Doug asked.

  He didn’t sound interested so much as faintly . . . wary. She shot a surprised glance at him, to find him studying the tree doubtfully.

  “We’re bringing our tree inside for Christmas!” Nate shouted with glee.

  She expected at least a smile for the boy’s enthusiasm, but Doug glanced at her with a frown.
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  “Are you sure you want to do this? It’ll make a mess melting.”

  Nate looked at her in suspense, as if she’d change her mind.

  About a wet Christmas tree?

  “That’s okay,” she said cheerfully. “We’ll get as much snow off as we can, and I’ll clean up any mess.”

  Doug grimaced. “I know you’d do that. And it’s just a rough old cabin. I didn’t mean . . .”

  And his voice faded as if he didn’t know what he meant—or maybe didn’t know why he was in a bad mood.

  Why was he in a bad mood? It didn’t make sense to her, and it made her pull back a bit. After all, how could a Christmas tree at Christmas be bad?

  “We don’t want to disturb you,” she said. “We’ll take care of this. Nate, go see if there’s a bucket in the shed. Our tree needs water, right?”

  Nate ran around the side of the cabin, and it was a little strange to see him disappearing into almost a tunnel, since the snow on either side was higher than his head. Sandy turned back to the tree and put her gloved hand deep within to grab hold of the trunk. Standing the tree upright, she began to shake it, lifting it up and slamming it down to get rid of most of the snow. Over her shoulder, she watched Doug return to shoveling. Strange.

  By the time Nate returned with a big wooden bucket with a broken handle, they were ready to go inside.

  “Put some snow in the bucket, honey, and we’ll melt it in a pot for the tree to drink.”

  She awkwardly carried the tree inside, and as soon as Nate emptied the snow into the pot, they put the tree in, leaning in a corner of the cabin.

  “Looks like it’s falling over,” Nate said skeptically.

  “It’s crooked, but that can’t be helped, right? Let’s make some plans for decorations.”

  While they began to gather supplies from around the cabin, Doug finally came in, but only for his rifle.

  “Do you mind if I go huntin’?” he asked.

  “But we have the rabbit,” she reminded him, bemused.