A Cowboy Christmas

by Marin Thomas

  Then there was Fletcher. The more time she spent with him in and out of bed, the greater risk to her heart. If she lost him a second time she wasn’t sure her heart would recover. “I’m in the middle of a court case.” The case didn’t go to trial until March, but she had a meeting scheduled for the end of the week.

  “You can use my office to work out of.” He rolled her onto her back and nuzzled her mouth. “Unless you’d planned to spend the holiday with your parents.”

  “They’re visiting my aunt in Virginia.” Darla had been invited along, but she’d begged off using work as an excuse. She hadn’t wanted to explain why she’d broken her engagement with Blake. She coiled a strand of Fletcher’s hair around her finger. “I suppose I could work from the ranch.”

  “Good.” Fletcher’s kiss stole her breath, reminding her again that her heart had never given up on him.

  “We’ll all go to the rodeo in Midland on Saturday.”

  The rodeo Sandi was expected to attend. Darla wouldn’t miss that for the world.

  “GOT GLUE on the bottom of your shoes?” Daniel McFadden asked when he walked into the kitchen.

  Fletcher frowned at the absurd question.

  His father shook his head and chuckled. “You’ve been staring out the window for the past hour.”

  Guilty as charged. “They should have been home an hour ago.” Darla had driven Danny into Midland to shop for a Christmas gift to give Sandi at the rodeo tomorrow. He’d checked in twice with the duo on his cell phone and Darla had assured him they were having a great time at the mall. The background noise during one of the calls made him suspect Darla had taken his son to the arcade.

  “Danny’s had a good week, hasn’t he?” His father poured himself a cup of coffee and sat at the table.

  His son’s improved behavior should have made Fletcher happy, instead he worried the boy was setting himself up for disappointment. After learning he wanted Darla’s help to win his mother back, Fletcher had been tempted to have a heart-to-heart talk with Danny—to try for the hundredth time to explain that Sandi was never coming home.

  There were moments when Fletcher resented being seen as the bad guy. Not long ago Danny had accused him of being mean to Sandi and that’s why she’d run away from the family. Fletcher wanted to defend himself against the charge, but hadn’t, knowing that Danny had lashed out because he was hurting inside.

  Fletcher wished he could spare his son the pain, but in the end Danny would learn the hard way that no matter what he did or said, his mother would never be what he needed her to be. And when that day came, Danny would realize that his father had been, and always would be, there for him.

  “Danny boy sure is trying to impress Darla.”

  “I know.” Fletcher had stood back and watched his son do everything he could to please Darla, even finishing the homework he’d been given to complete during his suspension from school. All because Darla had promised to help Danny try to win his mother back—a mother who’d rejected him.

  “So what’s going on between you and Darla?”

  “I’m not sure, Dad.”

  His father sputtered into his coffee cup.

  “What was that for?”

  “I know one thing for sure—you’re in love with her.”

  “Not now, Dad.” Fletcher wasn’t in the mood to talk about his love life.

  “You never got over that girl. I suspect Sandi knew, too.”

  All those wasted years. Fletcher felt a sense of urgency to make up for lost time with Darla. To make new memories. He knew she had feelings for him—otherwise she wouldn’t have made love with him. But they weren’t the same people they’d been in high school and he worried that Darla wouldn’t give him a chance to prove he’d never let her down again.

  “Do you expect Sandi to show up at the rodeo?”

  “She’d better.” J.T. Riker was slated to compete in the bull riding event and Sandi was never far from the man’s side. Since she’d claimed she couldn’t get away to see her son over the Christmas break, Fletcher had bullied her into agreeing to spend the afternoon with Danny at the rodeo. Danny was under the impression his mother wanted him there.

  Danny loved the rodeo and that irked Fletcher. He and Logan had entered a few rodeos in high school but neither had been any good at the sport. They’d stuck with football and basketball instead. Speaking of Logan, Fletcher owed his friend a call. He’d been so wrapped up in Darla’s visit and handling Danny’s expulsion from school that he’d forgotten to return his friend’s calls.

  You’re making excuses.

  Fearing he’d jinx his relationship with Darla, Fletcher hadn’t wanted to tell Logan that his high school flame had returned to town. Logan would ask if Fletcher intended to take Darla to Junket’s annual Christmas parade tomorrow. He wasn’t ready to show up with Darla and have to answer everyone’s nosy questions about their relationship—mostly because he didn’t have the answers to those questions.

  “J.T.’S THE BEST bull rider in the whole world, right Dad?” Danny glanced at his father.

  Fletcher mumbled something incoherent and buried his face in the rodeo program. Darla could understand why he didn’t want to talk about the bull rider. “Is that what you want to be when you grow up—a bull rider?” she asked Danny.

  Nodding, the boy shoved a handful of popcorn into his mouth. She caught Fletcher’s eye and smiled. “Must be from growing up around all those bulls you raise on the ranch.”

  Another snort. Good grief, what was the matter with Fletcher? Her gaze dropped to the gift bag peeking out from beneath Danny’s seat and she suspected his agitation resulted from worrying over how Sandi would treat Danny today.

  This morning after breakfast she and Danny had carefully wrapped the gift they’d bought for his mother. Danny’s excitement was heartbreaking and Darla prayed Sandi wouldn’t disappoint the boy.

  When the announcer introduced the bullfighters—the cowboys who willingly threw themselves in harm’s way to protect the competitors—Darla focused on the events in the arena and forced her worries to the back of her mind.

  “Be sure to stop by the Resistol Relief Fund booth outside the arena. Your donations provide financial aid to rodeo cowboys whose careers have been put on hold due to injuries sustained during competition,” the announcer said.

  Danny tugged her shirt sleeve. “Miss Darla?” He licked his cherry-stained lips and bit off another piece of the licorice rope Fletcher had bought from a candy vendor.

  She’d told Danny to call her Miss Darla because Ms. Baker made her feel old. “What, honey?” The endearment slipped out, but if Danny noticed he gave no indication.

  “Dad says when I get older I can go to cowboy school and learn how to ride a bull.”

  “How old do you have to be to go to one of those schools?”

  “Twelve.”

  Twelve? That seemed too young.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, we’re about to begin the bull-riding competition at the twenty-third annual HoeDown Rodeo. We Texans claim bull riding as America’s first extreme sport!”

  The arena erupted in applause and cheers.

  “Folks, there’s plenty of excitement ahead. The cowboys are gearing up in the bucking chutes.” Spotlights highlighted the riders taping their gloves to their wrists and rubbing the leather with rosin, a sticky substance for extra gripping power.

  “For those of you watching your first bull-riding event there’s four judges who have fifty points each to award—twenty-five go to the bull and twenty-five go to the rider. The total from each of the judges is added together, then divided by two to get the rider and bull score. A perfect ride is a hundred points.”

  The bullfighters in the arena did a series of gymnastics moves and entertained the crowd for a few minutes before the announcer continued. “Twelve cowboys have entered today’s event and we’re savin’ the best for last—J.T. Riker! Riker’s recent ride in Wyoming a week ago earned him a first place in the standings. He’s tanglin’
with Blood Bath today. That bull’s been known to draw blood from more ’n a few cowboys.”

  Cheers followed.

  “Folks, shift your attention to chute three. Eric Storm’s ridin’ Red Rage. Eric needs a score of 83 or better to reach the finals. Red Rage swings to left. Let’s see if this cowboy hangs on for the full eight seconds.”

  The gate opened and Red Rage exploded from the chute. As the announcer predicted, the auburn-colored bull swung left and kicked his back legs furiously, trying to shed the flank strap. When the bull spun in the opposite direction, the cowboy lost his balance. As he slid sideways, his free hand came in contact with the bull. The buzzer sounded and the bullfighters coaxed Red Rage out of the arena, while the cowboy stumbled to safety.

  “Bad luck for Eric Storm. His free hand touched the bull, which disqualifies his ride. Better luck next time, cowboy.”

  Ten more riders came and went—thank goodness none of them got hurt—Darla didn’t have the stomach for blood nor did she care to see a man hung up on a bull’s horn and flung around like a rag doll.

  “As promised, the final bull ride of the day belongs to J. T. Riker—Midland’s hometown hero!” The Jum-boTron flashed a close-up of the bull rider in chute five. Riker was pure rodeo cowboy. Handsome and rugged—a jagged scar ran along his jaw, adding an aura of danger to his looks. Shaggy, black hair peeked from beneath the cowboy hat.

  Speaking of looks…Fletcher scowled at her. Was he jealous? The idea held some appeal. Never hurt for a man to worry where his woman’s thoughts strayed.

  “Let’s hope J.T. hangs on today and avoids the horns.”

  “Miss Darla.” Danny tapped his finger against her thigh, then pointed to the chute where the cowboy wrapped and unwrapped the bull rope around his left hand. “J.T. doesn’t wear a vest or a helmet, but Dad says I gotta wear one if I’m gonna be a bull rider when I grow up.”

  Before she offered her opinion on the use of protective gear, the chute opened. The bull whipped the cowboy from side to side and Darla feared the man’s spine would snap in two before the ride ended. Eight seconds lasted forever, then the buzzer rang and the bullfighters rushed the bull, while the cowboy loosened his hand from the rope and jumped to safety. J.T. hit the ground and rolled, then launched himself at the arena rails and climbed out of the way of the bull’s horns in the nick of time.

  “Eighty-eight, folks. J. T. Riker’s headin’ home tonight with a little jingle in his pocket.”

  While the crowd applauded and Danny waved his miniature U.S. flag in the air, Fletcher texted on his cell phone. After a moment he glanced her way. “Everything okay?” she asked.

  “Yeah.” He checked his watch. “In five minutes Danny and I need to be out on the concourse.”

  He must have sent Sandi a text message to meet them. Darla considered waiting in her seat for Fletcher to return, but decided she’d go to support Danny, because she knew the boy worried that his mother wouldn’t like the Christmas present he had for her. Fletcher reached beneath his seat for the gift bag. He handed it to Danny, then led the way to an exit. The solemn expression on Fletcher’s face worried Darla as the three waited outside the bathrooms on the main concourse.

  “There’s Mom!” Danny pointed to a group of spectators heading their way.

  Sandi Rutledge strolled toward them, wearing painted-on jeans, a western blouse with fringe that swung across her generous bosom with each step. Her jeans were tucked into red boots. With her long blond hair and heavy makeup she blended right in with the rodeo groupies.

  “Oh, my, gosh.” Sandi stopped in front of them. “Darla Baker?” She motioned to Darla’s hair. “Wow, you cut it all off.” She glanced between Darla and Fletcher, her dark blond eyebrows arching.

  Darla was appalled—not at Sandi’s shallowness, but the fact that she hadn’t greeted her son, who hopped up and down in an attempt to gain his mother’s attention.

  “Look, Mom,” Danny said, holding up the Christmas bag.

  “What’s that?” Sandi hadn’t even hugged her son.

  “I got you a Christmas present.” He thrust the bag at her.

  “Oh, well isn’t that nice.”

  “Aren’t you gonna open it?”

  “Sure.” Sandi dug through the tissue paper and removed the framed twelve-by-sixteen picture.

  “That’s me, Mom. Miss Darla took me to the mall and there was this man who could draw cartoons and he—”

  “Oh, how silly.” Sandi dropped the picture into the gift bag.

  Danny’s chin quivered and Darla had to force herself not to hug the boy. “Don’t you like it?” he asked.

  “Of course.” Sandi glanced at Fletcher, whose hands were balled into fists. “I’m on the road with J.T. all the time now and there’s not much room in his camper.” Sandi held the bag out to her ex. “Will you keep this until…” She smiled at Danny. “Well, until we have a chance to visit again?”

  “Didn’t you get me a Christmas present?” Danny asked his mother.

  Sandi glanced nervously at Fletcher. “Ah…” She looked around. “Be right back.” Leaving the gift bag on the concourse floor she flounced over to a hat booth and selected a boy’s tan cowboy hat. She returned to the group and offered it to Danny. “How’s this for a Christmas present?”

  Danny didn’t smile. “I already got a hat.”

  “Oh, but this one’s special.”

  “It is?”

  “This one will have J.T.’s autograph on it.”

  “Really?” Danny grinned.

  If Fletcher’s jaw tightened any more the bone would splinter and poke through his cheek.

  “Here comes J.T. now.” Sandi shouted his name. “Over here, love!”

  Oh, gross. Darla barely managed to refrain from rolling her eyes.

  The bull rider made his way toward the group, stopping every few feet to sign his name to a T-shirt, a hat or a woman’s bare tummy. “Miss me, darlin’?” He pulled Sandi against him and kissed her.

  Fletcher’s reaction appeared more annoyed than jealous. Any worries that he had feelings for his ex-wife were put to rest with this encounter. “Danny wants to visit with you for a while,” Fletcher said. The two men hadn’t shook hands. As a matter of fact J.T. avoided making eye contact with Fletcher. At least the bull rider had the decency to look a little embarrassed.

  “We’ll be around.” Fletcher grabbed Darla’s hand. They’d taken two steps when Sandi called after them. “Wait!” She flashed a smile at Danny. “Um, I can’t visit with Danny today. J.T. and I are leaving.”

  “Gotta catch another rodeo.” J.T. grinned. “You know how it is for us top contenders.”

  “Dad said you and J.T. would take me to see the bulls,” Danny whined.

  Sandi straightened the boy’s shirt collar. “Maybe next time.”

  “When?” Danny crossed his arms over his skinny chest.

  “I don’t know when, Danny.”

  “But you’re coming home for Christmas, right?”

  “Not this year. J.T.’s got a big rodeo in California next week. But I’ll call you.”

  Danny’s gaze dropped to the floor and Darla felt a surge of anger rush through her at the horrible way Sandi rejected her son. No wonder Fletcher couldn’t stand the woman. Darla settled her hand on Danny’s shoulder not caring that Sandi noticed and smirked.

  “Oh, before I forget. J.T., will you autograph Danny’s hat? It’s his Christmas present.”

  “Sure thing.”

  J.T. reached for the hat, but Danny flung it at the ground. “I don’t wanna dumb hat.” The boy stormed away.

  “Nice going, Sandi,” Fletcher muttered, then took off after Danny.

  Shocked by the exchange, Darla stared.

  “What?” Sandi snapped.

  Darla had no intentions of getting involved in an argument with Sandi. “If you don’t want the picture, then I’ll take it for Fletcher.” She motioned to the bag with the character sketch of Danny inside.

  “Whatever
.” Sandi grabbed the bull rider’s arm and they walked off, swallowed up by another crowd of rodeo groupies.

  Darla found the McFadden males standing in a concession line, Danny clutching Fletcher’s thigh. “Time for lunch?”

  Fletcher grunted and avoided eye contact with her. They ordered hot dogs, onion rings and drinks, then sat at one of the tables along the concourse. Danny ate in silence, swinging his legs beneath the table and staring into space. Fletcher kept his gaze on his food. Darla searched for a way to salvage the day.

  “Hey, Danny,” she said.

  “What?”

  “How would you like to skip the rest of the rodeo and go see the old trucks at the Fire Museum downtown?”

  The boy shrugged.

  “You can sit in the trucks and try on the firemen’s gear. Even slide down the fire pole.”

  “Okay.” Although his response was unenthusiastic, Danny made short work of his meal. “Done,” he announced a few minutes later.

  Amused and thankful the child’s spirit hadn’t been too badly damaged by his mother’s rebuff, Darla said, “As soon as I finish my onion rings.”

  Danny snatched the last onion ring and stuffed it into his mouth. “Okay. You’re done now.” He flashed a sweet ketchup-stained grin.

  Lord, how easy it would be to love this child as if he were her own. No matter that Danny resembled Sandi. He was a part of Fletcher—a man her heart refused to forget.

  “Thanks,” Fletcher said. A whole lot more than gratitude shone in his eyes when he squeezed her hand.

  Chapter Seven

  “Mom’s never coming back, is she?” Danny asked when Fletcher closed the Harry Potter book Saturday night. The rodeo, the trip to the fire museum and a pit stop at an arcade on the way home from Midland had worn the boy out and he hadn’t protested when Fletcher announced his bedtime.

  “No, Danny, your mom’s not going to ever live with us.” A father should be able to protect his son from the emotional pain and hurt of neglect, but he was tired of making excuses for his ex-wife.