Christmas with My Cowboy

by Diana Palmer

  Looking around the white subway tiled bathroom, she loved the layered, colorful red, yellow, and orange tiles that were in a horizontal stripe on each wall. The place was so clean and smelled so good. She had expected very male-colored towels, something in gray or black or brown. But no, there were two fluffy orange towels with bright yellow washcloths. She loved the colors. And she’d never been in a home that Travis lived in. Now she was getting to see another aspect of him, and it was one of cleanliness, and yet he loved color. He wasn’t like most men she’d known, and that was another positive box checked in her desire for him.

  That discovery about color and cleanliness moved her heart. Kass loved color, too. Her restaurant had black and red leather booths, the walls white, the semitransparent white curtains frilly with red velvet hearts polka-dotting them. When she’d taken over the restaurant from her retiring mother, she’d done some remodeling. The windows were enlarged and she had more double-paned ones put in, giving the place a much brighter, lighter look than before.

  The Formica counter at her café was a bright red with brushed steel around the edging. The rainbow color of stools that followed the U-shaped counter were anchored to the polished blond oak floor. She’d brightened up the counter, ordering new Formica the exact same colors as the stools.

  As she continued to examine Tyler’s sense of style, she appreciated the splash of the three strips of color on the tiled wall in front of her. There was so much more to Travis than she’d ever realized.

  Kass glanced into the mirror, seeing the darkness beneath her eyes. Her hair was a mess. She tried to tame it, put it into place with her fingers, and didn’t want to look so disheveled. She wanted to look pretty for Travis, but Kass could see she looked like she’d been in an accident. What must he think of her looking like this? Kass loved playing with her long, black hair that fell down her back. It was slightly wavy, and she often tamed it into a set of pigtails when she worked at her café. Or a ponytail.

  Travis had looked at her hair, and she noticed he liked touching the strands. Each time, she saw pleasure burn in his eyes as he slid a curl between his thumb and index finger. He was a tactile person, her heart whispered to her. Taking a washcloth, Kass washed her face and neck and felt better. Felt prettier. She’d gotten rid of the thin trail of dried red blood down her temple. Even if she didn’t look better, she felt better, and that lifted her spirit.

  Excitement and anxiety threaded through her as she opened the door and stepped out into the hall. She could hear soft bluegrass music in the background, coming from the living room. Travis was in the kitchen, his back to her. She could smell the coffee percolating and it made her smile. Keeping one hand on the smooth cedar wall, she slowly made her way down the hall.

  The cabin was toasty warm and when she glanced into the living room, she saw a big black iron potbellied stove in one corner of it. Travis had built red fire brick behind it on two walls, and the stove stood on the same brick, but they were white in color. For just a moment, she wanted to memorize every part of his home because this place spoke of the man, not the boy who she’d known all her life. It seemed so long ago to Kass.

  Right now, she felt like a child in a candy store, not knowing where to look next. Each piece of furniture, each rug, each lamp, told her something intimate and surprising about Travis that she’d never known before.

  In a way, Kass felt as if she were in one of her dreams with the only man she’d ever loved. And even though he’d made it clear he no longer loved her, she couldn’t help feeling at home in this cabin with him. This was a gift to her. A parting gift, for sure. But at least the next five days would give her a glance into his life as an adult. All she knew was the gangly, awkward, and shy eighteen-year-old who had left her for the Marine Corps. The man who had returned was breathtaking to her. Beautiful in all ways male. Even the timbre of his voice sent waves of longing coursing through her. There was no way to stop the pleasure or sensations that Travis caused her by his mere presence.

  Hesitating, Kass knew she was living on borrowed time with Travis. Once this blizzard passed and the roads were plowed, she would be gone from his life. Forever.

  Not wanting to think about that, Kass swallowed hard, trying not to feel the sharp, cutting sense of abandonment once again. Travis had told her he was no good for her. When she’d asked why, he said he couldn’t explain it, that she wouldn’t understand even if he did tell her. Travis had been hard and gruff with her at that time, unlike now. Here, he was sensitive to her needs, gentle and so caring that it made her ache for what they might have had but now never would.

  In the other corner of the cabin stood a six-foot-tall blue spruce. It was perfectly formed, thick branches, and beautiful but undecorated. Kass wondered why. Maybe she could find out. Maybe they could team up like they did as teenagers, work on a project, have so much fun and laughter doing it. How badly she wanted at least to share that with Travis before she had to walk out of his life for good.

  Chapter Four

  Travis turned, sensing Kass coming across the living room. She had tried to clean up, her black hair, once mussed, now in soft waves around her pale face and shoulders. Each step she took was slow and measured. He could see she still didn’t have her balance back. Kass would reach out and trail her fingers across the back of a chair or the couch, keeping them available should she start to fall.

  Why hadn’t she asked him for help? That hurt, but Travis thought he knew why: He’d made it clear that she wasn’t wanted in his world at all. Was it possible for a heart to hurt so much as it did right now in his chest? Sorrow ate at him. He quickly dried off his hands, dropped the towel on the counter, and walked toward the rectangular hickory dining room table and four chairs that surrounded it.

  “I’ll get there,” Kass promised, grit in her tone, forcing a tight, wan smile.

  “Let me help.” He came to her side, slipping his hand beneath her right elbow. “You should have asked me for help, Kass.”

  She gave him a slanted look. “Hey, after being dumped on the step of the fire department shortly after birth, I got it, Travis.”

  “You’re very independent,” he agreed gently, cutting his steps to half his stride. She leaned into his hand and he felt gratified that even now, Kass trusted him. She should. But he didn’t deserve her trust because he’d broken it too many times already. “And that’s not a bad way for a woman to be today,” he added.

  “You’re right.”

  Reaching the table, he pulled out the chair for her. “Have a seat. I’ll get the coffee in a minute. Do you like cream or sugar?”

  “No, just black, thanks.” She slowly sat down in the chair. “I guess I’m not as spunky feeling as I thought I should be.”

  He helped her slide the chair closer to the table and forced himself to remove his hand from it. “A good night’s sleep will make you feel a lot better tomorrow morning,” he promised, going to the kitchen.

  Kass’s face was pale. Her eyes were still filled with darkness. Her steps had been hesitant and unsure. How much he wanted to hold her, cradle her gently in his arms and allow her to lean on him. Travis knew he could make her feel better. But to what end? To do it after he’d informed her she wasn’t needed in his life any longer would be cruel. And uncaring. No, he had to keep his hands to himself and be the model gentleman to her. That was all.

  As he poured the coffee into two turquoise-colored ceramic mugs, he wanted to spoil her. Care for her. Make her smile. Needing, once again, to hear her laughter. She had a musical laugh and her eyes sparkled at such times. Travis wanted all of that to be shared with him. But he’d seen the shadows in her eyes and sensed that she was trying to be a good guest in this terribly awkward circumstance they found themselves in. Neither of them were comfortable at the moment.

  Coming over to the table, he slid the mug toward her. “Are you hungry? I’m pretty good at making eggs and bacon.”

  She gave him a slight smile and slipped her hands around the large mug. “
No . . . thank you.”

  Sitting down opposite her, Travis fought the need to sit closer to Kass. His heart yearned mightily for her nearness. His head warned of the dangers of such a choice. “I knew this blue norther was coming, so I went over to a rancher’s place nearby and bought beef. Are you up to a New York steak tonight? I could throw some Idaho potatoes into the oven to bake. I’ve even got some sour cream in the fridge.”

  “That all sounds good, Travis, but my stomach is on the fritz.”

  His brows fell. “Nausea?”

  “Um, yes. Sometimes. It comes and goes.”

  “You probably have a mild concussion, Kass. You’d like something lighter to eat, maybe?”

  “Yes, I think so, but I’m not hungry right now, anyway.” She picked up the mug and cautiously sipped the steaming black coffee.

  Travis watched her lips and slid his gaze away from her for a moment. Kass had the most beautiful mouth he’d ever seen on a woman. Her lips were shapely, full, the corners dimpled. What would it be like to kiss her now, not as a young teen girl, but as a woman? He remembered in high school how sloppy and untrained his kisses must have been.

  Setting the mug down, Kass said, “Do you have any canned soup? Maybe chicken soup?”

  He brightened. “Yes, I do. Does that sound good to you now? Or for lunch?”

  “It does. And some saltine crackers? Do you have those?”

  Nodding, he said, “I do.”

  She looked at the clock. It was nearly eleven a.m. “Maybe in an hour or so? I’m not hungry right now, Travis.”

  “Understandable. What were you doing out on 89 with this weather coming in?”

  With a grimace, she said, “I was attending a funeral for a dear friend of mine, Val Thomas. She died in Salt Lake City. I went down two days ago. I knew Val’s whole family, and I wanted to spend some time with them afterward. When I heard a blue norther was coming in, I said goodbye and hoped that I could drive home before it hit.”

  “I’m sorry about your friend.”

  “Val was one of my parent’s waitresses. She quit about three years ago to go back to Salt Lake and take care of her ninety-year-old mother, Tess. They were so very close. When Tess passed six months ago, I went down for her funeral. Val didn’t look good. She’d just buried her mother and afterward, she’d gone to the doctor. She had a brain tumor and he told her she wouldn’t live more than two months. It was an aggressive form of cancer. So she stayed with her family. She had two grown children who were married and with kids there in Salt Lake City. They cared for her while she was in hospice. She managed to live six months. Val had that kind of toughness of spirit, a real fighter. One of her daughters was pregnant at the time, and Val fought to stay alive until the baby was born in the fourth month of her illness. She got to hold her grandbaby, and pictures were taken, which will be priceless to all the family. As it was to Val.”

  “Tough break,” Travis agreed quietly, seeing the grief in Kass’s eyes even now. “I’m really sorry.”

  Her mouth moved into a sad line and she whispered, “Thanks.”

  “So having an accident on the way home was the cherry on the cake?”

  “You could say that. Perfect end to a very bad time.”

  And now Kass was with him, unwanted, released and told never to come back into his life. The self-reproach he felt deepened and widened within him. It was an awful time for Kass. Far worse than he’d imagined. How must she really be feeling about being here with him, of all people?

  Pushing the mug slowly between his hands, he said, “And then you landed here, with me.” Travis forced himself to look up and hold her sad gaze. “Helluva fix, Kass. This can’t be comfortable for you under the circumstances, but I’m going to make every effort to make you feel welcome here. All right?”

  “It’s a hell of a fix, Travis. I feel like a shuttlecock in a badminton game getting whapped back and forth. Only it’s intense and emotional.”

  “And I know how hard that can be.”

  She gave him a sharpened look. “Are you saying that because of your deployments to Afghanistan or about us?”

  Twinging inwardly, Travis knew she had an unerring ability to hit a target dead on. Kass had always been super intuitive, even as a child and teenager. He was not surprised by her bold, accurate question. Kass wasn’t PC about much at all, but that was one of the many things he loved about her. “Yes, about Afghanistan.” He didn’t dare try to start adding an explanation. Travis didn’t know what to expect from Kass in reaction, but he saw her eyes grow sympathetic.

  “Did you hear from town gossip that when I took over the café, I started hiring women military vets as waitresses? There were so many of them who had PTSD, and I wanted to try and help them if I could.” She opened her hands. “They needed support, a friendly ear, and they are the hardest workers, completely reliable, and the most trustworthy group I’ve ever seen. I’m so glad that I did that for them. They’ve made the café a star here in the valley.”

  “No . . . I didn’t know that, Kass. I knew that Steve and Maud Whitcomb at the Wind River Ranch made it a point to hire military vets. That’s why I went to them first when my enlistment was up and I was coming back to the valley. I’d been over at Charlie Becker’s Hay and Feed, and he told me they were hiring military men and women coming back from the wars.”

  “Yes, there’s a huge effort in our valley to hire men and women vets. I thought maybe you knew all about it since you’ve been here for a year.”

  Shrugging, he said, “I don’t go to town unless I have to. I pretty much stay here, create furniture for orders I’ve received, and I live a quiet life. I’m not privy to much gossip. The way I live now is what I need.”

  “Carly, my manager, saw combat in Afghanistan, too. On some nights, when it was slow, we’d sit in the back booth near the kitchen and I’d just let her talk. It seemed to help her, to take a load off her shoulders she was silently carrying. I could always tell when she was wrestling with an anxiety attack or flashback. The ladies who work for me, being vets and all having PTSD in some form or another, look out for one another. They have clued me in on flashbacks, how a smell, a sound, a shadow, or a face could suddenly throw them back into a moment where they were in a life-and-death situation or it was terribly threatening for them.”

  Surprised, Travis sat there digesting her softly spoken admission. He saw the concern in her expression, but even more, that husky voice of hers was like balm to his smarting conscience and guilt. “I didn’t know this . . . I wish I had . . .”

  “My lady vets have taught me a lot over the years,” she confided wryly, sipping her coffee. “They had to get me accustomed to PTSD and what it really meant, and what it was doing to each of them. They all had different symptoms from it. We’d sit down after the café closed, drink coffee, and they’d share. That’s what I like about women: They talk, they open up, and they aren’t afraid to be emotional. It got so that at least every couple of weeks, we’d close the café at quitting time and then we’d gather in the back booths and just talk. I listened a lot, Travis. I had no idea what was going on inside them. They all handled so many awful symptoms with such silence and grace. They seemed so outwardly confident. And they didn’t mess up food orders, they were fast to serve customers, efficient, and my regulars, even the tourists, loved each of them. I just had no idea of the minute-by-minute anxiety or other feelings they carried within them. Or being in crowded circumstances, or the noise getting too loud for them to handle.”

  “All of that will send us into even more anxiety,” he admitted darkly, frowning.

  “They taught me, Travis. I used to have the music playing loudly but they finally fessed up and told me that it put them on edge. That it made them anxious. We discussed it and I decided to do two things. First, I would play classical and semi-classical instrumental music. Secondly, I would keep it only as a soft background. They were grateful. And to my surprise? My customers loved the new type of music. They told me it made them f
eel relaxed. It was a win-win for everyone.” She sighed. “They’re in so much pain all the time. I sometimes wonder if you got shot with a bullet that it would be kinder, faster, quicker to heal up from than the emotional and mental cruelty that PTSD evokes in all of them. There’s no end to their suffering. It galls me, and I wish I could take the horrible feelings they carry out of them forever.”

  Trying not to stare at her or have his mouth drop open, Travis choked up. How badly he’d miscalculated Kass’s ability to comprehend and understand what he lived with daily. It shocked him. “It’s a 24/7/365 ordeal,” he agreed heavily. “And it never goes away.”

  “Well,” Kass said, “Carly told me that there would be what she called ‘windows’ where the anxiety seemed to lessen or sometimes just disappear within her for a little while. She called them ‘rest periods.’ She lived for those hours and sometimes days. They came and went. There was no rhyme or reason for it to come or go, either.”

  Something broke within him. Travis couldn’t say what it was exactly, only that it felt like a dam holding back millions of gallons of water had suddenly burst, and just the pressure relief from it doing so was astounding to him. His whole chest and shoulders felt lighter now, and he was afraid to name the emotion that he now felt: happiness. How long had it been since he’d been happy? He couldn’t name a time when he’d felt like that for the last seven years of his life. Kass had been the only one who had made him happy. He saw her staring at him, puzzlement in her expression. Casting around for something to say, he muttered, “Yeah, it comes and goes.”

  “Does my talking about this make you uncomfortable, Travis?”