Christmas with My Cowboy

by Diana Palmer

  Shaking his head, he took a hot drink of coffee. “No, it’s okay.” He’d always felt safe talking to Kass about anything and everything.

  “Then what’s that look on your face? You’re really hard to read when you don’t want people to know how you’re really feeling.”

  Giving her a sour smile, he said, “I’m surprised that you know as much as you do about PTSD. I didn’t realize you were hiring women vets. I’ve never been to your café, so I didn’t know. I think Charlie Becker mentioned it once, but I was so busy because I was caught up in a flashback that it went in one ear and out the other.”

  “Do you get flashbacks, too, Travis?”

  “Yeah, which is why I don’t go into town too often. It makes me feel claustrophobic, Kass. It’s nothing I can control. If I have to go to town, I do, but I’m tense and edgy for days afterward. I have to wind down those feelings that there’s a Taliban sniper hiding around the corner of a building or on a roof, waiting to blow me away.”

  “Oh.” She studied him. “Carly has a problem with tight places. She was in a special black ops unit, a top-secret one that was testing out women in combat. She volunteered for it while she was in the Marine Corps. There’s one place she won’t go in our café, and that’s a very small, darkly lit room. She’ll ask another waitress who doesn’t have that kind of reaction to go in there to get the supplies we need for the cook. They work with one another’s issues, and that kind of teamwork has helped all of them.”

  “I’m sure that helps her a lot. I wish more people were sensitive to our issues.”

  “Is that why I never see you in town, Travis? You can’t handle a town environment?”

  As always, Kass was intelligent and very quick to put puzzle pieces together to see a larger pattern. “Yeah.” He moved uncomfortably. “I lost my best friend in an Afghan village while we were searching for a specific enemy. A Taliban sniper was on another rooftop and killed him. Ever since then I can’t handle a town too well.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she said, reaching out, briefly touching his hand wrapped around the mug. “That makes sense to me now.” And then she rolled her eyes. “I thought the reason you never came into town was because I was working and living there. We’d have run into one another, for sure.”

  More grief plunged through him. “No . . . no, that was never the reason I didn’t go into town often, Kass. My wounds have nothing to do with you.” He saw relief come to her face.

  “I guess, even though we’re not in a relationship with one another,” she said, “I always wanted to always remain friends with you, Travis. I know I didn’t say it at the time you told me that things were finished between us a year ago. I was too upset to think to say to you that if I could, I’d still remain your friend, if you wanted. But I never told you until now.”

  There was fear, anxiety, and need clearly written in her features. Kass would never be able to hide how she felt from him.

  Feeling his throat tighten, it took everything Travis had not to tell her the truth. Instead, he rasped, “We’ll always be friends, Kass. I haven’t been avoiding you. Since coming home I guess I’ve been avoiding life in particular and people in general.” He gestured around the cabin. “This place is like a shell that protects me. Well, that and my furniture studio next door. I feel safe in both places. There’s no noise, just natural sounds, which I need and it calms me. I have two horses to care for, and when there isn’t six feet of snow on the ground, I go riding. And I have my furniture business, which feeds me tranquility and it focuses me.”

  “Wood is natural. It should be soothing. Anything that is from nature is always helpful, Travis.” She gazed around the small, cozy cabin. “I hadn’t thought of this beautiful cabin as a clamshell, but you know, you’re right. There’s a warm feeling in here, not too large or small, and the fire popping and crackling in the stove always makes me happy and relaxed. It must for you, too?”

  Stirring, Travis stood up, his cup empty. “Yes, it does. Do you feel like coming out to see my wood studio?” He was desperate to have her see who he was now, to understand where he was at. Travis didn’t know why, only that he felt driven to show her where he spent most of his time every day. Something deep within him told him that she would understand.

  “I’d love to do that,” Kass said, pushing the chair away. “Thanks for the coffee. It tasted really good. I should find out what kind of beans you use.”

  “It’s local. Charlie Becker sells them.”

  She smiled a little, her fingertips on the table as she rose. “Charlie is always selling lots of little things to folks around here. He’s so necessary to all of us.”

  “Yeah,” he said, coming around the table, sliding his hand beneath her elbow, “Charlie is a permanent fixture around here, plus, he’s just an all-around good person, and so is his wife, Pixie. She makes the best baked goods in the county.”

  Straightening, she stood for a moment. “Oh, Pixie is famous for them! I think the whole town knows when she bakes a fresh batch of cookies or some of her wonderful brownies or cupcakes. Everyone comes over to get some of them over at the feed store.” She gave him a glance. “I’m still a little dizzy, Travis.”

  “Do you want to delay going to the studio? Would you rather lie down for a while or something?”

  “No . . . no . . . just let it pass.” Kass sighed and gave him a wry look. “Tell me how long it will take my poor pea brain to heal and I won’t have this whirling sensation?”

  “Probably be gone by tomorrow morning after a good night’s sleep, Kass.”

  “Good to hear.” She moved with him toward the door. “I can hardly wait to see what you make, Travis. I remember in high school you took every woodworking class available. Your dad taught you carpentry from about nine years old, onward, as I recall.” She smiled up at him. “That hasn’t changed about you at all. Charlie was raving about the furniture you make. And of course, Maud Whitcomb thinks you walk on water. She proudly calls you a master carpenter.”

  Travis opened the door. Outside, the snow was falling heavily now, being whirled around by gusts of wind now and then. There was an enclosed screen porch that protected the area from the elements. He led her down to the end of it, opening a screen door that led to a sheltered passageway. There was a roof over it and the bottom half of it was made of wood slats. The top half was screened in, as well.

  He guided Kass into the studio at the end of the passageway. Opening the wooden door that he’d carved with a mountain scene and a grizzly bear by a stream, he flipped on the lights. Kass had stopped and was running her fingers across his carving, making a sound of pleasure. It made him feel so damned good. He eased her inside the large, rectangular room.

  “Oh,” she said, standing to one side as he came in and shut the door. “You’re busy, Travis!” She smiled, gesturing around the room filled with furniture at different points of construction. “And it smells so good in here!”

  “It’s the different scents from the wood I use,” he said. “Where would you like to start?”

  “Tell me what happens from the beginning. I know Maud said that you get orders from all around the world.”

  “Let’s go to the right, then,” he urged, cupping her elbow, guiding her along the wall where sawhorses sat with different kinds of wood spanning across them. “When the phone rings and I’m at the other end of my studio, it’s a run to pick it up in time to answer it.”

  “It’s a huge place, Travis, but looking at the couches, the stools and chairs you’re making, you need this kind of room.”

  He brought her to a halt at his rolltop desk. “Here, have a seat,” he said, pulling out the oak chair on rollers. “Sit down, and if you’d like I can kind of talk about what’s going on in here?”

  “Sitting is good,” she agreed.

  Travis waited for her to get comfortable, standing to one side. “I get phone orders here.” He gestured to the desk where the black landline phone was placed.

  “Who knows about
you?” she asked, staring up at him.

  “Steve, who is a globally known and an important architect, had one of their major magazines do an article on me. Since that article came out, I have more orders than I can fill.”

  “He helped you build your business, getting the word out, and so you became known sooner than usual.”

  Nodding, Travis rested his fingers lightly on her shoulder for a moment. “Yes, he did and I’m grateful.” He wanted to continue physical contact with Kass, but he forced himself to remove his hand.

  The urge to touch her was a fierce need and drive within him, something that made him feel damn near euphoric when it happened. He saw the subtle change in her expression when he made contact with her shoulder. She liked it, too. But Kass had never been coy about the fact she’d loved him, even when he was gone for so many years. He’d found out from Charlie Becker that she still carried him in her heart. That was the depth of her commitment to him. And it wasn’t something he wanted to root out or destroy. But how could he change their present circumstances? Her understanding of PTSD through her waitresses blew him away, and it planted a seed of hope in his heart, too. Travis was unsure if it could grow or not. He only had five days with Kass to find out more about her and whether that seed could take root or not. A slice of him was serious about trying to reestablish a serious relationship with her. It wasn’t a logical need, it was his heart crying out for her. Could it honestly happen? Travis didn’t think so, and he was afraid to hope because everything else had been torn from him during his combat deployments. He thought hope had been destroyed, but now, he discovered, it had once more, taken up residence in his badly injured heart. War and combat remade everyone who went through it. How could hope really grow and survive in the brutal desert of his PTSD?

  Fighting his internal thoughts, Travis gestured around the room. “I have mostly hardwoods that I work with in here. Some, as you can see, are stacked in the first third of my studio. It’s where I go to choose the wood for the project.”

  “Do people have a favorite wood they want for their furniture?”

  “Yes. My local clients, here in the valley, prefer oak. My East Coast clients like cherry and mahogany, darker, reddish-colored furniture.”

  “It’s an eight-month winter here in Wyoming, and the skies are always dark,” Kass murmured. “Blond oak is light, and Wyoming folks sure don’t have a lot of sunlight in those months. It makes lots of sense people here would want lighter-colored wood.”

  “That’s true,” he said, giving her a look of praise for her insight. “I hadn’t thought of it that way, but you’re right. Also, the folks around here like a softer wood like white pine. Over there I’m doing a set of six chairs for someone in Jackson Hole. All are made of it.”

  “Interesting,” Kass murmured, smiling a little. “Do you get orders from the Midwest?”

  “I do. They like elm, hickory, and some oak.”

  “Do you get overseas orders?”

  “Yes, and they prefer bamboo. It’s a tough wood to work with, and I had to teach myself how to deal with it. Bamboo is one of the most resilient, longest lasting of all woods in the world. Except maybe for ironwood, from the American Southwest, which I find nearly impossible to work with. It’s just too dense and hard to carve.”

  She gave him a soft smile. “You know, when you talk about your woodworking, you relax. I can actually see your shoulders drop, Travis.”

  He felt heat flooding his face. “You never did miss much, Kass. It’s true. I love working with any kind of wood. Just running my hands over a smoothed piece, sanding it, makes me relax.”

  “Do you play music out here on your iPod?”

  He pointed to a radio sitting on top of the desk. “That’s a 1930s wood radio made with a blond oak casing. I bought it at a Goodwill store in Salt Lake City right after I got home.”

  “I heard you playing bluegrass music in your cabin.”

  “Yes, my favorite. I play it out here, too.”

  “So not all noise bothers you?”

  He gazed down at her upturned face. The overhead track lighting brought out the blue highlights within her black hair. She was so beautiful. Clamping down on his desire, he said, “That’s right. I do well with one or two people around, too. If I get in a crowd, I seize up and I have to get out of there. And music, unless it’s too loud, is usually soothing to me. I guess you might say I’m reordering my world around the fact I need quiet and calm.”

  “Carly’s a lot the same way. Now people can actually hold a conversation in my café at normal voice levels.” She grinned. “Everyone likes it that way, I discovered.”

  “Sounds like they’ve been good teachers. Did you mind making those compensations for them, Kass?”

  “Gosh, no! When I turned down the music and bought classical music from Pandora radio from the Internet, they loved it. And my ladies were able to relax, too. Sounds just tensed them up and there was no reason for me not to change the environment for them.”

  How wrong he’d been about Kass and himself. For a moment, Travis let himself long for what he really wanted: to marry Kass, have a life with her. Could it really happen? What about children? There were so many unknowns about being a parent with PTSD, and that scared him to death. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt Kass again. Feeling trapped between what his heart wanted and what his head was screaming at him, he decided to wait some more. “You’ve always been a relaxing person to me, Kass,” he admitted, holding her gaze. “I guess I just never realized how much you knew about PTSD and how it affects all of us.”

  She stared up at him, the silence stretching between them. “And because of that? Does that change anything between us, Travis?”

  Chapter Five

  December 9

  Kass awoke slowly. She was snug and warm in Travis’s bed, but he wasn’t there with her as much as in her dreams last night. The heavy burgundy velvet drapes were closed to keep the heat from escaping through the double-paned windows. She turned her head, seeing the clock read nine a.m. Drowsy, Kass reran all their talks from yesterday. She felt hope for the first time since Travis had come home.

  Rubbing her eyes, she sat up. Travis had given her one of his white T-shirts to wear, plus a pair of his blue-striped pajama bottoms. They hung on her. It was like wearing Travis around her, and she loved that feeling. Her black hair tumbled across her shoulders as she slowly eased out of bed and slipped her feet into a pair of his big, roomy sheepskin-lined slippers.

  Her mind, without coffee to stimulate it, was like a slug. She wondered if the blizzard was still blowing. Keying her hearing, it sounded like wind gusts were still pounding against the outside of the cabin’s windows. She had to get up and take a shower.

  Later, dressed in another of Travis’s dark blue T-shirts, a pair of his thick gray wool socks, and a pair of his jeans with the leg cuffs rolled up to just below her ankles, she made her way through the silent cabin. It was still snowing. She could see the buildup of white stuff on the outside of the windowsills. Peering out the kitchen window, which faced north, she saw the entire landscape covered in white for as far as she could see. Guessing about three feet of new snow had accumulated since her car crash, she was grateful to be inside where it was warm and dry. The snap and pop of wood in the potbellied stove soothed her.

  As she went to make coffee, she saw a scrawled note from Travis. It read, I’m out in my studio. I made coffee earlier, plus an omelet. It’s in the fridge and you can warm it up in the microwave oven. Make yourself at home. I’ll be back in to check on you later. T.

  His thoughtfulness trickled through her as she saw a bright orange ceramic mug sitting nearby. Her stomach growled and she went to the fridge and found the omelet, a combo of sliced mushrooms, cheddar cheese, and chunks of sausage within it. Never had she been happier. She loved Travis. Her feelings for him had never gone away, and now they were throbbing within her like glowing coals that were about to burst into flames. She so badly wanted to forge that conne
ction of being friends with him, if nothing else. Kass didn’t hold out hope for him to change his mind about them, either.

  She decided to stop thinking so much and just warm up her breakfast. With a couple cups of coffee fortifying her, she would be ready for whatever the day would bring.

  Kass had just finished putting the dirty dishes in the dishwasher when Travis walked in from his studio.

  “Hey,” she called. “I’m up and alive.” She instantly saw him smile as he shrugged out of his fleece coat, hanging it up on a nearby wall hook.

  “And you look better. How’s the dizziness?” he asked, walking over to her, retrieving a mug from the cupboard.

  “You know, I didn’t even realize it was gone,” she admitted, standing aside. “You were right—a good night’s sleep was all I needed.”

  Travis poured himself some coffee. “Come and sit with me at the table.”

  She poured herself a third cup and followed him. Travis pulled out her chair and she thanked him, sitting down. He sat at her right elbow. Kass loved the intimacy it established. He was wearing a light blue flannel shirt, had rolled up the sleeves to just below his elbows. The pair of jeans he wore had a slight dusting, here and there, of what she thought might be wood sawdust. “What time did you get up?”

  “Early. I don’t sleep well at night, toss and turn. Usually, I’m up around 0500 . . . I mean five a.m.”

  “Military speak,” she teased, sipping her coffee. The expression on his face with his unshaven, shadowed stubble made him look even sexier to her.

  “Yes, I fall into it regularly,” he warned with a slight hitch of one corner of his mouth. “You work with women vets, so I’ll bet you’re pretty used to our lingo.”

  Nodding, she said, “That and so much more. My ladies have more or less adopted me.” She laughed a little. “They take pity on me that I’m a civilian floundering around in the sea of military language they use like shorthand among one another. Lucky for us, our cooks are both military vets, so I’m the only one left out without a translator.”