A Texas Cowboy's Christmas

by Cathy Gillen Thacker

  “I’ll see if I can get the band to play,” Garrett offered.

  The meeting went on for another twenty minutes. Finally, everyone left. Molly walked out with Chance to get the lights and garlands that she planned to go ahead and string on the front porch. She sent him a companionable glance. Strange as it was, just now she’d felt a little like family. Maybe because the Lockharts had gone out of their way to include her.

  “I’ve never seen your mom that rattled.”

  Frowning, Chance carried the stepladder onto the porch. “It’s because she hasn’t seen a lot of those folks since she left Dallas.”

  Molly took the lights out of the packaging. “Sage said some of them had turned their backs on Lucille when the scandal regarding the Lockhart Foundation came to light.”

  The brackets on either side of Chance’s mouth deepened. “Actually,” he reported grimly, snapping his tool belt around his waist, “it was most of the people Mom knew.”

  “That must have been hard.”

  Chance propped the ladder against the roof of the porch and began to climb. “The amazing thing is Mom doesn’t blame them. She says if she had been guilty of withholding funds from the nonprofits the foundation claimed it was helping, they’d be right to dismiss her. Anyway, she’s all about the fresh start, concentrating on what really matters.”

  Molly handed him the end of the strand. “And for her, that’s helping people.”

  He secured it to the newly painted facing. “And taking care of her family.” Having put up as much as he could reach from that vantage point, he climbed back down the ladder.

  Molly tilted her face to his. “What’s important to you?”

  He grabbed her around the waist, tugging her close. “Right now?” He waggled his brows teasingly. “You.”

  Before she could stop him, he had delivered a slow, deep kiss that had her knees ready to buckle, her toes tingling.

  Molly planted her hands on the center of his chest. “Chance,” she reprimanded. “Someone might see.”

  The pleasure they’d experienced faded. His expression became inscrutable once again. “Right.” He nodded, compliant but clearly unhappy, too. “We’re still on the down low...”

  Molly swallowed. She didn’t want to hurt him, but she had to be honest about her needs. “It’s just until I get my business efforts in Dallas off the ground,” she said.

  Chance stepped back, something even more indecipherable in his hazel eyes. “Does that mean I’m uninvited to the preschool program this evening?”

  “No. Braden really wants you there. But I think it might be better if we drove separately, and then met up at my house later for a little after-school program gala for Braden.” She paused. “Does that sound okay?”

  A muscle ticked in his jaw. And for a moment, Molly thought he was going to say, No, it isn’t okay at all. Then the moment passed. He climbed right back up the ladder again. She handed him the next section of the light strand. “What time should I be there?” Chance asked quietly.

  Molly relaxed. “The program starts at seven,” she informed him with a relieved smile. “I’ll save you a seat.” It was going to make Braden so happy, having Chance there. Her, too.

  * * *

  “CHANCE LOCKHART, WHAT are you doing at a preschool program?” Mary Beth Simmons, the local PTA president and resident busybody, demanded.

  Practicing my down low, Chance thought grumpily, then shrugged and mimed total innocence. “I heard it was an event not to be missed.”

  Mary Beth squinted. “Who told you that?”

  First rule of hiding something? Not that he’d had a lot of experience. Be as honest as possible. “Braden Griffith,” he said and watched Mary Beth’s gaze turned speculative. “Molly Griffith and I combined forces on a rush job for my mom, so we’ve been seeing a lot of each other. I’ve gotten to know her son. Cute kid.”

  Mary Beth tilted her head. “There are a lot of cute kids in Laramie, Chance.”

  True enough. He flashed an indulgent smile. “Most of them have a ton of family. Braden doesn’t.” He leaned toward her in a gossipy manner, meant to satisfy her need to be in the know. “And I think, times like this, the little tyke is beginning to notice the difference between his life, and—” Chance nodded at little Ava Monroe, who had her own fan club of McCabes and Monroes in attendance.

  Chastened, Mary Beth straightened. “I see what you mean.”

  “Anyway, since I was invited, I volunteered to make his lack of extended cheerleaders not so obvious for little Braden.”

  Mary Beth laid a hand across her heart. “What a giving thing for you to do,” she said, impressed.

  Chance flashed a humble grin. “’Tis the season...”

  “What was that about?” Molly asked, discreetly texting him as soon as he sat down next to her.

  Aware she smelled like orchids...which meant she was wearing that perfume he liked. And that this was the closest thing to a date—albeit a clandestine one—that they’d ever had, Chance pulled out his phone and texted her back. I was pretending I was dragged here as a Good Samaritan.

  “Oh.” Molly formed the words with her soft lips.

  He leaned down and whispered in her ear, longing for the day when they would have actual dates. And more. “We both know that’s not the case.” He hadn’t been dragged. He’d been elated to be invited.

  Around them, other phones and video cameras were being readied. He lifted a curious brow. Molly explained. “Everyone’s going to record it.”

  “How about I record, and you just watch? I’ll email it to you later. That way you can just enjoy.”

  “Thank you.”

  He stifled a smile and kept looking straight ahead at the stage. “My pleasure.”

  They stopped talking at that point. Nevertheless, they got a lot of curious looks despite their efforts to be casual. Soon the kids marched up onstage, proud as could be, and the program started.

  Chance was glad he was focused on recording. Otherwise someone might have seen the tear that came to his eyes as Braden puffed out his little chest, and belted out “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” and a half-dozen other holiday tunes at the top of his little lungs. That was, when Braden wasn’t grinning and waving at Molly and him.

  When the program came to an end, Chance was on his feet, clapping and whistling and hooting, as proud as any parent there. Everyone else was so caught up in the proud moment that his enthusiasm went unnoticed.

  By all but Molly—and Braden.

  “Cowboy Chance!” Braden cried, hustling down from the stage. “Hey, everybody!” He turned and waved vigorously at his two frequently mentioned best friends. “Come see—Cowboy Chance!”

  Will and Justin got permission from their parents and hightailed it to Braden’s side. “He’s got bulls!” Braden declared loudly.

  Molly realized her son’s vowel sounded more like an a than a u.

  Several horrified adults turned in their direction.

  “Black Angus bucking bulls of the national championship variety,” Molly explained cheerfully to one and all.

  A few parents, apparently not familiar with rodeo terms, looked even more confused.

  “And barns!” Braden yelled blithely, as everyone around them chuckled at his earlier mispronunciation.

  “And lots of other things, as well,” Chance added. “Like bull barns.”

  “And fences!” Braden shouted.

  “And training facilities.”

  “And baby bulls!” Braden repeated his earlier mispronunciation while slinging an index finger in Chance’s direction. A gesture that, thanks to the discrepancy in their heights, ended up pointing a foot below Chance’s waist.

  More chuckles.

  A few of the guys sent sympathetic, dad-to-dad glances Chance’s way.<
br />
  Which would have been funny, Chance thought, as the merry double entendres flying right above the toddler’s heads increased, if not for Molly’s increased embarrassment. Determined to spare them all any more unnecessary attention from the crowd, Chance knelt down so he and the little boy he adored were at eye level. He put his hand on Braden’s shoulder. “Proud of you, buddy,” he said fiercely, meaning it with all his heart. “That was a great job, singing.”

  Chance expected Braden to grin the way he always did when he was praised. He didn’t expect him to look at Chance with equal affection and lift his hands, wordlessly asking to be picked up the way a lot of the other three-year-olds were being picked up for hugs by their dads.

  A lump in his throat, Chance complied.

  Braden hooked his hands around Chance’s neck and hugged him like he never wanted to let go. For the first time in his life, Chance had an inkling, a real inkling of what it would be like to be a father. And not just any father. Braden’s daddy.

  He liked it.

  Almost as much as he liked the idea of one day being Molly’s husband. Wasn’t that a Christmas surprise?

  Chapter Eleven

  “There is no doubt Braden is a very bright little boy,” Worthington Academy’s psychologist, Dr. Mitchard, said when the Skype conference Molly had requested began. “He had no trouble conversing on any subject that interested him. Like bulls.”

  Oh, dear.

  “And Cowboy Chance.”

  Somehow Molly managed to keep a poker face. Even as her heart skipped a beat just hearing Chance’s name.

  “However, when we attempted to get him to focus on the word or number problems presented to him, he refused to speak,” the headmistress told Molly.

  “At all?” Molly could hardly believe it. Yes, her son’s sentences were rudimentary, but Braden always had something to say. In fact, the hardest thing to do was get him to stop talking.

  The psychologist, who had supervised the testing, nodded. “Even when he seemed to know the answer to our inquiries, which I’m sorry to relate, wasn’t all that often, he refused to divulge it to us.”

  “Additionally, he does not have the background of second language, early reading and math, music and art instruction that our accepted students have. Hence, it’s our considered opinion that he’s not ready for such a rigorous academic pre-K curriculum,” Elspeth Pyle said.

  “If you know all that,” Molly said, feeling hurt and confused, “why did you invite us to come all the way to Dallas for an in-depth admissions interview?” Why did you have me drop everything to be there on such short notice?

  The two women exchanged glances.

  The headmistress said, “Because we are always looking to diversify as much as we can, without lowering our high standards, and we don’t currently have anyone in the three-year-old class who has come from a rural environment.”

  “Actually,” Molly said, recognizing an evasion when she heard one, “we live in town.”

  “Well, he talked like he spent an inordinate time on a bull ranch!” the psychologist said.

  “We were confused as to whether he might be living there, instead of the address on the application,” Elspeth Pyle reiterated.

  Chagrined, Molly admitted, “No. We’ve never stayed there.” Much as I might have wished. “Braden’s just visited a few times. He loves all animals, though.” She spun it as best she could. “And he’d never seen any kind of cattle operation in person. So I guess it made a bigger impression on him than I realized.”

  “Perhaps so.” The two administrators exchanged tense smiles. “Do you have any more questions?” Elspeth asked.

  “Just one.” Molly asked with a determined smile. “What are my son’s chances of getting off the wait list?”

  “At this point, not good. Not good at all.”

  * * *

  “WHAT YOU GOT, Cowboy Chance?” Braden asked several hours later when Chance stopped by just before bedtime, gift bag in hand, and scooped him up in his strong arms.

  “A Christmas cowboy?” Braden hoped. He wrapped his arms around Chance’s neck, giving him a happy hug. “Just like you?”

  “I think we might get a couple more people for the village,” Molly said in an effort not to put Chance on the spot. Not that the rugged rancher seemed to mind the request. “They have them at Monroe’s Western Wear in town.”

  Chance set Braden in the middle of the sofa and sat down on one side of him. Molly took the other, watching as Chance opened up the by-now-familiar gift bag. “Let’s see.” Chance pulled out the first rotund figurine.

  “Santa!” Braden clapped his hands.

  “And look.” He plucked out three Black Angus cattle figures.

  “Mommy, daddy and baby bull!” Braden shouted excitedly.

  “Hmm.” Molly played along with the thoughtful gambit as her son kissed his new figures and hugged them to his chest. “Looks like the toy Santa Claus brought you the toy bull family that you wanted.”

  “And—” Chance plucked out a small square of Astroturf, surrounded by fence “—a pasture for them to stay in.”

  Braden turned to her. He seemed to understand in the brief silence that fell that this was a very elaborate consolation prize. So much for the school officials who had deemed him not able to understand enough, Molly thought in vindication.

  “Real...want real...for me,” Braden said emphatically, looking frustrated they still didn’t understand what he was trying to communicate.

  Except they did, Molly thought wistfully, withholding a sigh.

  Solemnly, Chance interjected, “I talked to Santa on the phone about that.”

  Oh, boy, they were in dangerous territory now. Territory they probably should have discussed beforehand. On the other hand, Braden was far more willing to accept what Chance said as gospel than anything his mere mother stated. Probably because Chance cut such a heroic figure. Which was definitely an anomaly around their house...

  Braden stared, wide-eyed. “You call Santa?”

  Chance shifted Braden onto his lap with the ease of a natural daddy. “He was very upset that he couldn’t do this for you, because Santa Claus knows what a very good boy you have been this year, but he said a real bull family would not fit on his sleigh. He only has room to bring you a very special toy present. And you know what I said?”

  Braden considered. Finally, he screwed up his little face into a hopeful expression.

  “I said, that you know that all the toys that Santa brings are so very special, that you will be happy with whatever Santa brings you.”

  * * *

  “WELL, DO YOU think we handled it?” Chance asked Molly after they tucked Braden into bed.

  A sentimental look on her pretty face, Molly paused to admire the Christmas village they had put together over the course of the last weeks. It had a ranch like Chance’s, a bull family, a house that looked like hers, figures that represented her and Braden, and a North Pole with Santa, sleigh and reindeer. The only thing it didn’t have was Chance. As Braden had once again noted. The thing that sucked was that Chance wanted to be represented in the panorama that had come to mean so much to Braden, too.

  What Molly wanted, however, was a lot more tenuous.

  She wanted temporary. He wanted much more. But opinions could change. And he knew how to build on small successes, turn them into more.

  “I think so.” Molly turned and went into the kitchen, where she was preparing Lebkuchen. “I mean, you saw the way his face lit up at the Toy Emporium.”

  The tantalizing smell of fresh-baked German gingerbread cookies filled the space. Chance settled opposite her, predicting softly, “It’ll be a big moment.”

  Molly bent to pipe white icing on each confection. “It will.” She handed him a finished treat to taste. It was, as he
had expected, completely delicious. As was everything she made.

  Molly eyed him closely. A pulse was suddenly throbbing in her throat. “You know, you were such a big part of it, I think we should invite you. But—” she lifted a wary hand “—only if you want to see him when he first lays eyes on it.”

  He circled the counter and took her in his arms, aware how frequent moments like these could be if they joined forces and lived not just in the same county but under the same roof. “Is that an invitation to stay the night?”

  She relaxed into the curve of his body, looking deep into his eyes. “Ah, no. I’m not doing that until I get married. And who knows if that will ever be.”

  But she was talking about it. Mulling over the possibility. A month ago she wouldn’t have even done that.

  He smiled, willing to be patient a little while longer. “Then how will this work?”

  She looked up at him, as if in awe how good it felt to simply hang out this way. “Um...well, we could set the time for your arrival on Christmas morning at 5:00 a.m.” An affectionate twinkle lit her amber gaze. “If he’s not awake yet, we could have stollen and coffee while we wait. Then open presents and have a proper man-size breakfast later.”

  Her excitement was contagious. He kissed her temple. “It’s a date.”

  Smiling, Molly went back to icing cookies.

  Chance lounged against the counter. “By the way, how did the Skype meeting with the Worthington Academy staff go this afternoon?” He wanted to hear that Elspeth Pyle, Dr. Mitchard and the others had been as considerate of Molly’s feelings as they would have been to any of the wealthy parents they dealt with.

  Unfortunately, that did not appear to have been the case. Her expression troubled, Molly briefly related what had been said to her. He couldn’t have disagreed more.

  “They’re wrong about Braden being ready for a more rigorous program,” Chance said fiercely. “I’ve spent time with him. I know he could more than handle whatever they threw at him.”

  Molly grinned. “Watch it. You’re sounding like a proud papa.” As soon as the words were out, she blushed. Averting her glance, she amended hastily, “You know what I mean.”