Montana Christmas Magic

by Casey Dawes

  “And you are?” The woman’s polished tone went along with the well-done, if heavy, makeup and statement jewelry.

  “A friend of Logan’s. He owns the place.”

  “Where is this Logan?”

  Hobo trotted out from the barn and sat down next to Julie. He looked up at the stranger, but there was no welcoming tail wag.

  The woman took a step back.

  “Is he dangerous?”

  “I don’t know.” Julie shrugged. “He’s a stray.”

  “I think I’ll just wait in the cab. If you would, be a dear and go get your young man.”

  Jeez, she hated being patronized.

  She waited until the woman retreated before she moved.

  “Stay,” she said to Hobo, hoping he’d get the hint.

  His eyes never left the truck.

  Julie sauntered to the exercise cabin, taking her time. No skin off her nose if the woman was fuming in her overdone outfit. She peeked in the door; she didn’t want to startle him so that he dropped something on his head—like a weight.

  He was resting between reps. At least that’s what he appeared to be doing. There was the off chance he’d fallen asleep.

  “Logan,” she whispered.

  His eyes snapped open. “You’re back early,” he claimed as he sat up on the bench. “I’d planned to be all showered and ready to sous-chef by the time you got back.”

  No one had offered to help cook before. There was an expectation from too many Montana men that cooking was still women’s work.

  “I finished early,” she explained, hesitating to mention the new arrival. “I wanted to come back and practice sketching Hobo and the mare, if she’ll cooperate.”

  “I can see Hobo helping you out. He’s quite the ham.” Logan looked around. “Have you seen him? He made sure I was here, then went off to do whatever it is dogs think is cool.”

  “He’s guarding your visitor. She’s afraid of him.”

  “What visitor? Damn. What if he hurts her?”

  “Hobo won’t bother her as long as she stays in the truck. I don’t like her. She’s all fake. You’ll see.”

  Logan wiped the sweat from his brow, then shook his head. He looked down at his damp workout clothes. “Not exactly the way to make a good impression.”

  “I told you. You don’t need to make any kind of impression on this one.”

  “Stop it, Julie. This is so unlike you. You’d think you were jealous or something, and I haven’t even seen the woman.”

  She stood stock-still and watched Logan cross the dusty expanse to the truck.

  Jealous? She slowly followed him across the lot.

  “Sorry,” Logan called through the cab window. “My friend here got a little overzealous. What can I help you with?”

  “Are you Logan?” she asked.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said.

  She opened the door a crack and gestured toward Hobo. “Your friend didn’t seem to know if he was vicious. I don’t want to be bitten.”

  “Who, Hobo? She was just joshing you.” Logan glared at Julie, who’d kept her distance.

  “Well, if you say so.” The same well-shaped, high-heel-clad leg emerged from the cab.

  Logan’s gaze never left the limb.

  Men! This is why she didn’t want to get involved. Their attention could be snatched away with a single glimpse.

  Julie grabbed her sketchpad and pencils from the car and turned back to the pasture. Logan could dillydally with the Nevada chick. She had work to do. Somewhere out there was a mare with beautiful lines.

  She found the horse at a fence rail, munching on the grass at the very edge of the pasture. It glanced over at her, nodded, and went back to eating. Julie settled on a nearby boulder and began to sketch, trying different techniques to get the proportions right.

  By the time Logan found her, she’d finally mastered the look she was going for, where the viewer could see the potential for explosive energy pulsing beneath the skin.

  “She’s gone now,” Logan said. “It’s safe.” He handed her the lead. “Probably a good time to bring the horse back, too.”

  Without speaking, she handed her book and pencil box to Logan, took the lead, and got the mare. She started back to the barn, while the horse nuzzled her neck in appreciation.

  She could so fall in love with this animal.

  Unfortunately, the warmth of feeling from her nonhuman companion made tears come to her eyes. The horse belonged to someone else. The man belonged to some other place.

  Once they both left, she’d be alone.

  • • •

  Logan stared at the hunched-over figure leading the horse. What had he done to upset Julie? It couldn’t have been talking to Mattie, the woman from Vegas, could it?

  Was Julie jealous?

  If she was, his effort to keep it casual was failing. She was going to get hurt, and he was to blame. What the crap was he doing messing around with her?

  Shoulders hunched and hands in his pockets, he walked behind the pair, heading toward the house as they turned to the barn.

  He needed a shower ... and some time alone. Somehow he needed to make things right with Julie.

  He was in his bedroom, finishing the change to fresh clothes, when he heard the front door slam.

  “Logan?” Julie called out. “I need to go home. Sorry. You’ll have to find something for dinner on your own. Lefty is put up and fed. See ya.”

  With only one boot on, he hopped into the living room. “Wait! We need to talk about whatever’s bugging you.”

  Julie stopped with her hand on the door. “Nothing’s bugging me. I need to go home, that’s all.” She tossed the words over her shoulder.

  “Can you stop rushing around and sit down? I can’t have a conversation with your back.”

  She let go of the door and sat on the edge of the couch, her gaze never moving from the floor.

  He wanted to sit next to her and pull her close, but it wasn’t what she needed right now.

  Hobo scratched at the door, and Logan let him in. The dog went to Julie and rested his head on her knee.

  “Okay.” He took a deep breath in. “What’s bothering you, for real? Is it something I said? Did?”

  “What did she want?” Julie mumbled as she stroked the dog.

  He sat in the large easy chair and pulled off his one boot, letting it thud to the ground.

  Startled, she looked up.

  She had the most amazing eyes, especially when they were at their most vulnerable, like right now.

  “Mattie claims she owns Lefty,” he said.

  “Then why did she leave her?”

  “Said she ran out of money.”

  “She certainly had enough money to buy bling. She could have afforded horse food.”

  “I agree, but she had papers to prove it.”

  “She’s some kind of Vegas hustler. It must be a forgery.”

  He laughed at the image Julie created, releasing the tension that had been building in his chest since Mattie had arrived.

  “You aren’t going to let her get away with it, are you?”

  “I’m not sure how to stop her. It’s her horse.”

  “But she didn’t care enough.”

  “True.”

  It went against his nature to let a sweet mare like Lefty go to a woman like Mattie. Julie was right—everything about her screamed hustler.

  “I guess I’ll force her to prove it. If she wants to get a lawyer, then let her. I can report how I found her.”

  Julie nodded, a stern look on her face.

  Hobo looked up at her, sensed his mission was complete, and laid down in his favorite corner.

  “Makes sense.” Julie stood back up. “I guess I better get started on dinner.” Julie stood up and headed for the kitchen, stopping at the doorway. “Are you coming? I do need a sous-chef. Those onions are brutal.”

  He laughed. She sure flipped back and forth easily. “Let me get my boots on first.”

&nb
sp; She was already opening cabinets and rattling pans when he got to the kitchen. “I found the knives and cutting board and a good frying pan for the onions, garlic, and sausage, but I’m still looking for a deep pot for the sauce.”

  “Over there.” He pointed to a tall cabinet on the far side of the kitchen. “I’ll get it.”

  “Okay.” She stacked an onion and garlic on a cutting board. “Yours.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he mocked with a grin.

  “Oh, shush.” Her laugh washed over him like a sky of twinkling stars and ignited warmth within him that he hadn’t felt in a long time, if ever.

  What was it with this woman? She brought a light into his life no one ever had, but was as tethered to Montana as a dog leashed to a kennel. He doubted she’d do well in New York, even if he wanted to take her there.

  Too bad. Fall was meant for colorful New England trees, pre-Christmas the decorations in the city, and the actual day meant for sleigh rides in Vermont.

  He wanted to show them to her.

  He sliced through the onions while she browned sausage and opened cans of John Muir tomato products. Soon enough, his eyes were stinging with painful tears. As soon as he was done, he ran his hands through cold water and wiped his eyes with their backs.

  “Told you,” Julie said. “Onions are a killer.”

  He refrained from a rejoinder. If she was happy, he was happy.

  A half-hour later, savory and pungent tomato aromas drifted from the big pot. The pasta water was on, and he’d dug up a bottle of Chianti from one of the back cupboards. She’d plucked some of the blossoms from the field close to the house and stuck them in a mason jar for a little bit of color.

  All they needed was some candlelight, and it would cross the line into romantic.

  He opened a drawer in the bookcase in the living room. Just as he remembered, there was the stack of his uncle’s emergency supply, along with two pewter candlesticks he’d found at a flea market one year when Logan was visiting.

  Julie raised one eyebrow when she saw him place them on the table.

  “Isn’t that a little romantic for friends?” she asked.

  “It’s a precaution. In case the lights go out.”

  She peered out at the summer evening sun still high in the sky. “I don’t think that’s likely to be a problem.”

  “I’m a New Yorker. It pays to be prepared. You’ve never lived until you’ve walked up thirty flights of steps to get to your apartment because the elevator fails.”

  “And I can see how that applies here.” She shook her head before dumping split handfuls of spaghetti into boiling water with a finesse he’d never been able to manage.

  He could watch her do that all day.

  “Say, how about you come to Phillipsburg for July Fourth? They make a big deal of it here. Hokey, but fun. Uncle Willy used to take me. It would be nice to honor him—together—one more time.”

  “Um ... maybe. I have to check the schedule at the chocolate shop.”

  “You’re open on July Fourth?”

  “Uh ... no ... but I usually go to my folks.”

  “Okay.”

  The timer went off for the spaghetti, releasing the awkwardness in the kitchen. Soon Julie was expertly spooning pasta, sauce, and Parmesan cheese onto his uncle’s mixed Fiestaware plates.

  They settled into an easy conversation about childhood escapades, dreams they’d had, and history they’d experienced. The mood grew somber when he talked about the World Trade Towers coming down when he was a boy. She lifted it back up with her first—and only—cheerleading experience.

  By the time they’d finished washing the dinner dishes, they’d broken through another barrier he hadn’t realized was there. Maybe he’d never really had a friend—or at least one like Julie Thompson.

  The only awkward moment came at the end of the evening, when she left to drive back to Missoula. It seemed only natural for him to give her a hug, and maybe a little more, but she slipped away before he could touch her.

  “Think about the Fourth,” he said to her retreating back.

  “I will.” Her reply echoed through the empty landscape.

  Then she was gone.

  • • •

  The next morning, he arose feeling an empty ache that was unfamiliar. He was missing something he didn’t even know he’d lost.

  Well, one thing he wasn’t going to lose was Lefty. He’d get the mare a good home when he left, but Mattie wasn’t it. He doubted she was telling the whole story.

  His phone chirped.

  Mother.

  “Hello, dear,” she cooed. “When are you coming home? I can’t think all that cowboying can be good for your injuries.”

  “I told you, Mom, I can’t leave for six months. That means October. And I’m not cowboying. There aren’t any cattle.” Only a stray dog, a misplaced horse, and a woman who was getting under his skin. “I’m fixing up my buildings and getting ready to sell.”

  “Your buildings?”

  “For now, yep, they are.” And something told him he’d be a fool to let them go.

  “Oh, honey, you’re investing too much. You need that money to establish your coaching business. And what about when you decide to start dating again? You’ll need cash for nice places. The kind of girls you know will expect that type of thing.”

  Not all the girls he knew. In fact, Julie’s easy-going nature and low maintenance were a great deal of her appeal.

  “I’m fine. I can handle my own finances. Tell you what. I’ll keep you posted once a week with a text message. That’ll keep you from worrying. Got to run, now, and I need to hang up while I’m driving.”

  “Don’t you have ...?”

  “I’ll be in touch. Love you.” He shut down his mother’s chatter and turned to Hobo. “I need to go see Sarah. Want to come?”

  The dog barked and sat expectantly at the door.

  He could swear the animal knew everything he said.

  Trees edged the fullness of summer streams and crept up mountains. He took a deep breath and smiled. Good to be alive.

  “Now here’s a man who could use some ice cream,” Sarah said when he walked into Does. She was behind the ice cream counter, scoop at the ready.

  “That sounds like a really good idea. I’ll take the chocolatiest chocolate you’ve got.”

  “Coming right up. We always stocked this for Willy.”

  “Must be good.”

  She handed him a sugar cone topped with the darkest chocolate he’d seen in some time.

  “Perfect.”

  “So tell me, what’s made you resort to chocolate?”

  He told her about Mattie’s claim on the mare and his doubts about her story.

  “Darn,” she said. “I wish I knew something. Willy said something about a surprise he was planning before he had to go back into the hospital, but I don’t think he knew the mare was there. He would have made arrangements for someone to take care of it.”

  Logan nodded. His uncle would never leave an animal to fend for itself. “But I can’t see anyone dropping off a horse and not talking to anyone, either.”

  Sarah shrugged. “You never know about people.”

  She was right about that.

  “Willy went back into the hospital suddenly,” she continued. “We all thought he was doing great. Then he went to Missoula for a checkup, and they admitted him right away. He never came home.”

  Her lower lip quivered.

  She tossed the scoop into the sink so hard it let out a loud clatter. A nearby waitress looked up, but Sarah waved her hand and turned back to Logan.

  “Have you gone through all his papers yet?” she asked.

  “Most of them.”

  “Maybe the answer’s in the ones you haven’t seen.”

  “Could be.”

  “Start there,” she said. “And enjoy the ice cream—I need to get back on the floor.”

  “Thanks, Sarah. I’ll let you know what I find.”

  She nodde
d and walked toward the main restaurant with slow steps.

  Chapter 11

  July Fourth morning promised midsummer heat. Julie had finally agreed to come out and spend the day with him, although he didn’t know whether it was the promise of a parade, barbequed chicken with a few of the people he’d come to know in town, or meeting the gallery owner attending his little cookout that had convinced her.

  Or maybe she was coming just for him.

  Probably too much to hope for.

  He was pleased with what he’d accomplished on the ranch in a relatively short time. All the buildings had been repaired, a new coat of paint adorned the house, and he’d gotten in a roofer to fix the few spots that were looking worn. Everything in the barn was repaired, and the machinery either functioned or was hauled off to a yard. He’d found a couple of young ladies to restore the gardens around the house and some of the outbuildings.

  He’d even found time to fix a few items for the elderly in town.

  Yesterday, he finished extending the back deck and building an overhang for lower baskets and vines. There was plenty of room for a large grill and picnic table, and the floral overhang kept out the worst of the midday sun.

  A swimming pool would be nice.

  Uh-uh. When he got home to his real life, he’d rejoin the gym and swim along with everyone else.

  Dismal.

  Julie’s VW cautiously came up the drive.

  He should get it graded.

  She should drive a more practical car.

  “I picked up some corn at Good Foods,” she said. “And I made some potato salad and brought some beer. Will this be enough for everyone?” She lugged two big cloth bags from her car and handed them to him before grabbing two six-packs of local beer from the trunk.

  She was pretty as a summer picnic in an attractive sundress with blue and yellow flowers, a floppy, flowered hat, and blue-sided cowboy boots that somehow worked with the outfit.

  “I’ll say. I have some friends, but not quite this many.” He grinned.

  “Is Sarah coming?”

  “Said she wouldn’t miss it.”

  “I’m glad. I’d like to get to know her better.”

  He held open the screen door for her and followed her to the kitchen, trying to avoid staring at the sway of her backside in the well-fitted dress.