Christmas Cowboy Duet

by Marie Ferrarella

  Mick took a deep breath as if it physically hurt him to be the bearer of this news. “The alternator took a beating and it needs to be replaced.”

  “And you can do that, right?” Whitney asked somewhat apprehensively, watching his face as he answered. If he was lying, she hoped she could tell the difference.

  “Oh, I can do that, sure,” Mick said with enthusiasm. And then his voice fell as he added, “Once I get the parts in.”

  Whitney stared at the thin man. “You don’t have an alternator?” she asked, having no idea what that actually was or what it did.

  “I don’t have that alternator,” Mick explained. “I’m going to have to start calling around to a bunch of suppliers to see if I can find one and then get it sent here.”

  Whitney’s stomach tied itself up in knots. “And how long is that going to take?”

  Mick was nothing if not honest in his answer. “Well, I haven’t started looking for it yet, so it’s hard to tell.”

  “Then what are you doing here?” she asked, feeling the last of her nerves shredding. “Shouldn’t you be calling around, trying to locate one?”

  “Liam said to let him know when we got the car out of the tree, so I came here to tell him that we did,” Mick informed her.

  “Okay, fine, you told him. You told us,” she amended. “I’ll authorize you to do what you have to do to get my car running. I’ll pick it up on my way back.” She was aware of the fact that both men were now looking at her quizzically. Ignoring that, she pushed on. “Meanwhile, I’ll rent one of your loaner cars.”

  “There’s just one little thing wrong with that plan,” Liam interjected.

  Now, in addition to her stomach having tied itself up in one giant knot, it started to sink. This did not sound as if it would turn out well.

  “And that is?” she asked, afraid to put what had just crossed her mind into words.

  “Mick doesn’t have any loaner cars,” Liam said.

  “You’re not serious.” She said the words so low, Liam wasn’t sure if her voice was fading, or if this was the calm before the storm.

  “I’m afraid I am,” Liam replied.

  Her eyes darted toward Mick, who had a sheepish expression on his face as he nodded.

  “Does anyone in this town have a car I can rent?” Whitney asked in exasperation. When Liam shook his head, a growing sense of panic had her asking, “How about the car dealer?”

  To which Liam said, “What car dealer?”

  “You don’t have a car dealer.” It wasn’t a question but a conclusion wreathed in mounting despair. “If there’s no car dealership here, where do you people get your cars?”

  Liam considered her question, then said, “That all depends on what direction we want to go in. There’s a dealer in Pine Ridge—but he doesn’t have cars to rent, either,” he said, guessing where her question was ultimately going.

  Whitney closed her eyes for a moment and sighed. “This is like a nightmare,” she cried.

  Liam had always been able to look on the bright side of things. It was a habit he’d picked up from Brett. His older brother never seemed to be defeated, no matter how bad things might get.

  “It doesn’t have to be,” he told Whitney.

  How could he even say that?

  “Oh, no? Well, what would you call being trapped in a tiny town that isn’t even on some of the maps of this region?”

  His view of Forever was decidedly different than hers obviously was. “An opportunity to kick back for a few days and unwind,” he suggested.

  But Whitney heard only one thing. “A few days?” she echoed, horrified.

  “Think of it as a vacation, honey,” Miss Joan told her, not about to be left out. The woman scrutinized her for a moment. “Speaking of which, when was the last time you took one?”

  Why did these people think they could just invade her life and ask personal questions like this? It wasn’t any of their business. But her sense of survival trumped her feeling of outrage, so she answered the older woman. “I don’t take vacations.”

  “Well, there you go,” Miss Joan concluded with a smart nod of her head. “This is the universe telling you that you need one.”

  “What I need,” Whitney retorted through clenched teeth, her temper just barely contained, “is to have my car running.”

  “And you will,” Mick assured her. “Just gotta get the parts.”

  “Parts?” Whitney echoed, stunned and dismayed. “A minute ago it was just one part, now it’s ‘parts’?” Just what was this con artist’s game?

  “Well, I thought I’d fix that headlight while I was waiting for the alternator,” Mick replied honestly.

  “Why stop there? Why not repaint the car while you’re at it,” Whitney said sarcastically, throwing up her hands in mounting frustration.

  “You want me to?” Mick asked her in all innocent sincerity.

  “I think you should just stick to getting that alternator and fixing the headlight—don’t want some highway patrolman giving her a ticket now, do we?” Miss Joan said to the mechanic, keeping one eye on the young woman Liam had saved. “Go on, Mick,” she urged. “Get started on her car.”

  “Can’t really get started doing much tonight,” he confessed.

  “Then do what you can,” Miss Joan encouraged.

  “Right away, ma’am,” the mechanic promised. He paused to tip his cap to Whitney, and then, the next moment, he was hurrying out the door.

  It occurred to Whitney that this woman had no right to tell the mechanic to do anything that had to do with her car.

  It also occurred to her that if she valued her sanity—as well as other vital parts of herself—she should forego trying to argue the point with Miss Joan and just go along with what the woman said.

  Besides, she had a larger concern at the moment. If she had to stick around this one-horse town, she was going to need somewhere to sleep.

  She directed her question to Liam. “I don’t suppose this place has a motel or, better yet, a hotel around somewhere?” She was hopeful, but at the center, she had an uneasy feeling she knew what the answer would be.

  Which in turn meant that she was going to have to camp out—something that was completely unacceptable to her.

  Beggars can’t be choosers, Whitney.

  “There’s the hotel that’s going up,” Liam said, thinking out loud. “That’s where the cherry picker came from,” he reminded her.

  “Going up,” she echoed. “Doesn’t exactly do me much good without walls.”

  Whitney was doing her best to remain as calm as possible despite the fact that part of her felt as if she was on the brink of a meltdown. For most of the past year, she had been going ninety miles an hour. To come to a skidding halt like this threw her completely off.

  “Oh, it’s got walls,” Liam assured her, then amended, “At least the first floor does.” He tried to remember what Finn had said about the progress being made. “I think there are a handful of completed rooms on the ground floor.”

  The rooms didn’t do her any good if the hotel wasn’t in business yet. “But it’s in the middle of being built, right?”

  “Right.” Liam didn’t see what the problem was for her. “So?”

  For such a good-looking man, he was pitifully slow on the uptake, Whitney thought. She proceeded to spell it out for him.

  “So that means that the hotel is not open for business yet.”

  “No,” he agreed. “At least not to the general public.” He took out his cell phone again and began to tap out a number on the keypad.

  And what was that supposed to mean? She didn’t see where he was going with this distinction.

  “Well, I’m part of the general public,” she pointed out. And that meant that it didn’t matter how many finished
rooms the hotel had, it was still in the process of being built. And that in turn meant that it was not open for business.

  Holding up his hand to push back the unending flow of words that threatened to come out of this woman’s mouth, Liam focused on getting the call he was making to go through. He needed to concentrate in order to word this just right once the person on the other end of the line picked up.

  “You can bunk at my place for as long as you need.”

  The offer came out of the blue, pretty much in the same fashion that Miss Joan had a habit of turning up to take part in various conversations.

  Whitney twisted around to look at the woman. “Excuse me?” she said uncertainly.

  “I’m offering you a place to stay in case Liam’s negotiations break down.” Miss Joan nodded toward Liam, who was clearly talking to someone on the other end of the line.

  Whitney frowned slightly. Had she actually heard the woman correctly?

  “Wait, let me get this straight,” she said to Miss Joan. “You’d actually take me in and let me spend the night in your place?”

  “That’s what I said,” Miss Joan confirmed. “And the night after that if you need to.” Miss Joan smiled tolerantly at the younger woman, the implication clear that at least for the moment, she viewed her to be slightly mentally challenged.

  How could Miss Joan be so casual about inviting her to spend the night—or two—in her house?

  “But you don’t know me,” Whitney pointed out.

  Miss Joan looked entirely unfazed by what she was clearly suggesting. But the older woman played along, just for good measure.

  “You got any Wanted posters out on you?” Miss Joan asked glibly.

  “What? No, of course not,” Whitney declared indignantly after she replayed the woman’s words in her head.

  Miss Joan lifted her shoulders and then let them drop indifferently. “Then that’s all I need to know. For the record,” she added, leaning in so that only Whitney could hear her clearly, “neither do I. So we should get along well enough. As long as you don’t mind snoring. Henry makes enough noise to imitate two buzz saws, flying high.”

  “Henry?” Whitney echoed uncertainly.

  “My husband.” She had married the man over a year ago. As far as she was concerned, they were still on their honeymoon. “He’s got a few quirks, but he’s a good man at bottom.”

  “And he’d be okay with you taking in a stranger and having them stay over in your house?” Whitney asked in disbelief.

  “Sure. Why wouldn’t he?”

  “Because I’m a stranger,” Whitney repeated, stressing the word.

  “A stranger’s a friend whose name you haven’t found out yet,” Miss Joan informed her philosophically. “Offer’s on the table, good for any time if Little Murphy can’t get you a room at the ‘hotel’ that’s going up,” she said, crossing back to the counter.

  Whitney could have sworn the woman was actually sauntering, moving her trim hips provocatively.

  It took her a moment to realize that she was not Miss Joan’s intended prime target audience. That honor belonged to several of the older men sitting at the counter itself. Cowboys, if she was going to judge them by their boots and hats.

  She turned around just in time to see Liam terminate his call and put his cell phone away.

  “I got you a room.”

  There was a layer of apprehension that was pressing down on her and it prevented Whitney from feeling relieved. “At the hotel?”

  “At the hotel,” he confirmed. It was obvious that he was rather pleased with himself.

  “And it has walls?” she asked suspiciously. With these people, she felt that she needed to spell everything out and take nothing for granted.

  He grinned. “It has walls.”

  She had learned a long time ago not to be trusting or to make what seemed like logical assumptions. A person could be easily misled that way. As for being trusting, well, that path just led to general disappointment. That was a lesson she’d learned from her mother—even though that hadn’t been her mother’s intention at the time.

  “Four walls?” she asked.

  “You can count them when we get there,” Liam told her, not bothering to hide his amusement.

  Getting up from the booth, he took out his wallet and extracted several bills.

  She took her cue and felt around for her wallet. She’d put it into the borrowed jeans she had on when she switched clothes.

  “How much is my share?”

  Liam glanced at her. Making her pay her share hadn’t even crossed his mind. That wasn’t the way things were done around here.

  “That’s okay, I covered it.”

  “I pay my own way.”

  He watched her for a long moment, then said glibly, “Good to know. Let’s go.”

  He was leaving the diner. She had no choice but to hurry after him—or be completely stranded.

  “I don’t want to be in your debt,” she protested.

  He stopped for a second to tell her, “There are two kinds of debt—the monetary kind and the emotional kind. While you try to figure out which kind bothers you more, I’ll drive you over to the hotel,” Liam informed her.

  And with that, he placed his hand to the small of her back and proceeded to guide her out of the diner.

  Watching them, Miss Joan smiled to herself. “Looks like another Murphy brother just might be about to bite the dust,” she murmured to her customer as she refilled his empty coffee cup.

  Joe Lone Wolf, the sheriff’s chief deputy, glanced over his shoulder toward the door that was now closing. “Lot of that going around,” he acknowledged quietly just before he took a sip of his coffee.

  Chapter Six

  Liam got out of his truck and made his way around to the passenger side. Whitney had made no move to get out of the vehicle. Instead, she was staring at the building he had parked in front of.

  When he opened her door, there was suspicion in Whitney’s eyes as she turned to him. “This isn’t the hotel.”

  The building he had brought her to was a wide, squat two-story building with the name Murphy’s spelled out in bright green lights.

  “No,” Liam agreed, “it’s not the hotel.”

  This was a bar. Exactly what was this man up to? Her bravado went up several notches. “I thought you said you were taking me to the hotel.”

  “I am and I will,” he assured her. “We just have to stop here first.”

  Whitney still wasn’t budging. Granted the man had saved her life and been nothing but upstanding until this point—but maybe it was all leading up to something. She wasn’t about to let her guard down.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Because,” he said patiently, “this is where the lady who’s in charge of building the hotel is right now.”

  And he thought that since she was bending a few rules for him, the least he could do was show up and thank Connie in person.

  “The hotel is being built by a woman?” Whitney asked in surprise. The frown on her face gave way to a hint of a smile. She had to admit what he’d just said intrigued her.

  “Long story,” Liam told her as he went on to give her the highlights. “Connie Carmichael was part of Carmichael Construction and she—”

  “‘Was’?” Whitney got out of the truck. The name sounded vaguely familiar. “What happened?”

  The entrance to Murphy’s was only a few feet away. “She decided to head up her own company and help renovate and restore sections of this town as well as on the reservation—”

  Whitney stopped before the wide oak door. “You have a reservation?”

  Liam paused. The woman was rapid firing her questions at him, not letting him catch his breath.

  “You know, you might get the
answers to your questions if you just give me enough time to talk,” he pointed out, amused. Was this what it was like in the world she came from—everyone talking, nobody really listening?

  When she continued looking at him expectantly, Liam had no choice but to continue. “Yes, we’ve got a reservation. Three of my best friends live there.”

  Liam pushed open the saloon’s door. A blast of warm air, contrasting sharply with the winter breeze outside, hit them as they entered. A wall of noise accompanied it, enveloping them.

  Being the only place in town to gather, other than Miss Joan’s diner, Murphy’s always did a fair amount of business. The number of patrons varied. Tonight the place was packed to the point that maneuvering around presented a challenge.

  Whitney looked around, trying to take in as much as she could. “Are you related to the Murphy who owns this?” she asked, raising her voice so Liam could hear her.

  “I am the Murphy who owns this. Or at least one of them,” he said. Since, for once, she hadn’t interrupted him, he continued, all the while expertly guiding her to the bar. “The saloon used to belong to my dad, then my uncle Patrick when Dad died. We got it after Uncle Patrick passed away.”

  He had taken hold of her hand and was bringing her over to somewhere. Her curiosity made her follow without protest.

  “‘We’?”

  He looked at her over his shoulder. “My two brothers and me.”

  They seemed to be doing a fair amount of business, she thought, looking around. The place looked like a gold mine waiting to explode.

  “Who runs it?” she asked.

  “We all do.” Then, because he wasn’t giving credit where it was due, Liam added, “But Brett calls the shots. He’s the oldest and he’s the one with the most business sense. C’mon, I’ll introduce you.”

  She really didn’t want to be introduced to anyone. All she wanted was to find a place to spend the night, then be on her way to Laredo in the morning—provided her car was running by then.

  A peripheral movement caught her eye. The next thing she knew, a tall, dark, handsome bartender was working his way over to them.

  “Ah, the prodigal brother returns.” Brett’s easy gaze shifted to take in the woman standing beside his youngest brother. “And I take it that this is the damsel in distress that you rescued.”