Christmas Cowboy

by Claire Adams

  I had watched for the last half an hour as the “intimate” dinner party my father had mentioned turned into a full-blown gathering. Whitney's family and friends were arriving in droves, and I swore I saw the same photographer skulking around my foyer.

  The door had just opened on another cluster of guests, and I glanced up the stairs, wondering if I could escape. There, on the landing just above me, was Kiara.

  Chandelier light caught on her wine-colored dress and shimmered over her as she moved down the stairs. Kiara's face was set with determination, and her youngest stepsister tugged on her arm. They were on a mission, but even that obvious fact did not dim the sudden lightness in my head. Seeing Kiara again was like coming out of a cave into the sunshine.

  I tried to keep my eyes on her face, but the body-skimming dress drew the eye. Kiara's lovely, dark hair was swept up into a knot at her neck, somehow casual and elegant all at the same time. And then there were her legs; Kiara's long, mouth-watering legs peeked out from the soft folds of the skirt with every step.

  "Might want to close your mouth, old man," Darren said. "Or Roger's going to think you're jealous."

  "Roger?"

  I excused myself from the conversation and grabbed my friend's elbow. I felt like I was coming out of a trance, but the edges of my vision blurred again, this time with a red haze.

  Kiara hadn't even touched the bottom step when Roger Dallas swept in and offered her a hand. She took it with a grateful smile and alighted next to him. He immediately tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow and began escorting her across the foyer. Every few feet, people nodded to Roger and beamed at Kiara.

  "They make a beautiful couple," Darren said. "She cleans up good for a homeless girl."

  I punched his shoulder despite the raised eyebrows all around us. "You're not seriously glossing over the reason she was homeless in the first place, are you?"

  Darren rubbed his shoulder and laughed in my face. "No, no. I remember it perfectly. It was the same night you seemed to completely lose your mind. Think there's any coincidence there?"

  "Gentlemen, I suggest you tone down your rough-housing; there's a lady present," my father said. He strolled up with Whitney on his arm. "Thank goodness we have the best hostess in all of New York, otherwise you'd never pull off a simple get-together."

  "Simple?" I barely recognized my own house under all of Whitney's decorations.

  "Italian anti-pasta, a whole room of red-wine tasting, and made to order pizzas, nothing too fancy," Whitney said. "I even hired the chef from your favorite pizza place."

  My stomach tensed up. "How did you know my favorite place?"

  Whitney dismissed my irritation. "It was on your phone. You were there an awful lot the past few days, so I figured the only way to lure you out here was to bring the pizza to your kitchen."

  It was impossible to tell if Whitney was innocent or if her planning had a sinister, jealous tinge. Then Kiara swept by us, and Whitney saw her. Her hand jerked, fingernails almost digging into my father's arm. Clearly, Whitney had expected to see Kiara there, but not in a breathtaking dress, mingling among the guests on Roger's arm.

  She recovered quickly. "Oh, isn't Roger kind? Escorting your poor neighbor around. Isn't construction on her little bungalow finished? I'm so glad that's all done and behind us."

  My father took Whitney's hand and held it out to me. I had to take it and let her wrap herself around my arm. "Yes, that's all done now, along with that odd pizza obsession. You might want to think about how many carbs you eat, Teddy. My metabolism slowed down right around your age."

  "What do you think, darling?" Whitney cooed in my ear. "Aren't you glad to be home?"

  "Sorry, darling," I said with exceeding politeness, "you set me up with all this, and I haven't even gotten you a glass of wine."

  She refused to let go of my arm. "What a great idea."

  I wanted to slip away from her, get around the clumps of party guests, and find Kiara. For a small, intimate gathering, there were enough people to jam up the entire hall and make reaching Kiara impossible. I watched her disappear into the wine-tasting room with Roger, and I had to bite my lip to keep from growling.

  "Perhaps if you are on an Italian food kick, we should honeymoon in Rome," Whitney said.

  I stopped cold in the arched doorway of the ballroom. "You're planning our honeymoon?"

  "Just think of it," she said and gave my arm a squeeze. "Rome, the Amalfi Coast, and then we could take the yacht back."

  She looked around at our position and smiled. We were centered under the arch of the doorway with the ballroom’s line of chandeliers stretching out in front of us. Guests had stopped to admire us, and a small circle of privacy had formed around us. The photographer appeared on the opposite side of the hallway and knelt down to get us framed perfectly.

  "Did you set me up? Again?" I pried her hand off my arm, and the guests around us hushed, waiting for me to drop to one knee. "This is insane."

  "This is inevitable," Whitney said with her smile firmly in place. "For God's sake, Teddy. You're at home with only a few of your family and my family's closest friends. I know you don't like to make a scene and proposing in public just wasn't working for you. This is perfect."

  All eyes were on us, and I dreaded that Kiara was watching, too. I backed away from Whitney and prepared myself for the storm I was about to cause. Her eyes narrowed, angry, and then flew wide open. Across the ballroom, a young woman rushed after Cameron Falcon, flinging her plate of anti-pasta at his retreating back.

  "How can you say that to me? Don't you have a heart?" the woman shrieked.

  "What scene is this?" my father barked, marching up to us.

  I took my chance. "I'll find out."

  I was halfway across the ballroom floor when Kiara took my breath away again. She slipped through the crowd with such ease and speed that I didn't see her until she brushed past me. Then she caught up the still-shrieking young woman and, with surprising power, strong-armed her through the French doors and onto the portico.

  I watched through the window as Kiara wrapped her stepsister in a tight hug. Kiara looked fierce, as protective as a mother bear, and I wondered if Cameron Falcon was going to get torn to shreds.

  If she didn't do it, I would. Madison was clearly heart-broken, her shoulders heaving with ragged sobs. Falcon had led her on and then jilted her in a very cold and public way. He was now across the room consoling his new companion, a suitable young woman whom his family adored.

  "Well, that's just what happens when young women fall in love with the wrong men. Falcon's in line for an enormous corporation and needs someone that understands the kind of money he handles." My father checked his watch. He wanted to get back to the city before the markets opened across the world.

  "Is that what happened with Mom?" I asked.

  Whitney blinked, and she fluttered her hands as if my mother could just be brushed away. "Darling, why don't we go get that glass of wine?"

  "No," I said. "I want my father to answer the question. Is that how you treated my mother? Did you agree with your family that she was unsuitable and send her away?"

  "Teddy, this is not the time," my father said, one eye on his watch again.

  "Oh, this will only take a minute," I snarled. "Let me tell you what I remember. I remember Mom convincing herself and me that we didn't need you. We had each other. She told me every single day that I was just as good as anyone else in the world, no matter how much money I had. I heard that speech every day because of you. Because you decided she wasn't good enough."

  "I loved your mother," he said. "I was going to marry her, but the accident happened."

  "You can't hide behind that anymore. Either you loved my mother and you are now the biggest hypocrite to walk the Earth, or you never cared for her and only intended to marry her to get your hands on an heir."

  "I loved your mother," my father said, but this time his voice was much softer, muffled as he looked down at his shoes.
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  "Just not enough to marry her." I turned to Whitney. "For the last time, find someone else to marry. Not only am I a bastard, but I refuse to follow in my father's footsteps. I will never end up like him, sad and alone."

  Whitney pretended she hadn't heard and drifted away. Within six feet, she was already smiling and laughing with her friends as if nothing had happened. My father tugged down his cuffs and cleared his throat. He even tried to put on a smile just to keep up appearances.

  "Can you really do that?" I asked. "Just pretend like my mother didn't matter to you?"

  My father's eyes took on a hard glint that didn't allow for tears. "I paid for my mistake with your mother."

  "So how can you push me to make exactly the same mistake?" I asked. "How can you look at someone like Madison and not feel any bit of sympathy? Instead, you just plan ambushes for me. These ridiculous set-ups where I'm supposed to propose to Whitney because she's the most suitable choice."

  "Whitney is a fine girl."

  "So is Kiara," I snapped.

  Her name rang between us like a bell. I hadn't intended to say it. I had a whole speech planned about my freedom, finding myself, finding the man that my mother would have wanted me to be. Instead, I had summed up the real rock of my stance just by saying her name.

  I staggered to the wall and leaned against it. Her name had been a wave building up inside me for years and years. Seeing her again on the road to the estate had brought back every moment of my summertime crush, every twinge of admiration I had felt for her, and every longing that I knew, but couldn't pin down with a term. It was all Kiara.

  My father smiled and nodded at guests, but joined me at the wall. He took a long breath before he slumped next to me. "I wish your mother was here," he said.

  "What?" My jaw dropped.

  "She would have raised you with better manners," my father said with a fond smile. "And, she would have known exactly what to say. Your mother was a woman of action, not words, so when she took the time to say something, it really sunk in with you. All I can say is that I'm trying to do what's best for you."

  "A business deal marriage?" I asked, not ready to forgive him.

  My father nodded at Whitney. "That doesn't look like a hardship to anyone else in the world."

  He was right. Whitney was beautiful. She was intelligent, confident, and charitable. When she wasn't feeling constantly thwarted, Whitney had been a good friend.

  "Shit," I said. "I'm no better than Cameron Falcon."

  "You are richer," my father said, sticking an elbow in my ribs.

  I laughed. "And it is my party. If anyone should make a scene, it's me."

  "Just make sure you choose the right one," he said. Then he stood up, adjusted his diamond cufflinks, and hailed one of his colleagues. "Good luck."

  I pushed off the wall, but couldn't even decide which way to go.

  Kiara and her step-sisters were still huddled together on the portico. Whitney was watching me like a hawk from across the ballroom. Half a dozen people tried to strike up conversations before I had gone four feet, and all I could do was give them fuzzy smiles. I couldn't think straight, much less make an important decision.

  The only place I could think to go where I would feel at ease was the kitchen. I realized as I shut the door behind me that I wished Kiara was there with me.

  "Teddy?" a voice asked.

  I turned around and saw Pappy. He was dressed in a fine chef's uniform and holding sway over an impressive amount of food. The smell of his familiar, heavenly pizza dough filled the kitchen, and for a moment, I imagined I was back in Brooklyn running around on shift. Then I realized why he was staring at me with such open shock. He knew who I was, but now he saw it, tuxedo and all.

  "The guests are raving about the food," I said.

  Pappy waved away the compliment. "Simple food comforts everyone."

  I took his advice and picked up a slice of pizza. Kiara's spicy tomato sauce had me sighing happily.

  Pappy raised an eyebrow. "So, you're hiding in here during your own party?"

  "Would you believe me if I said I would rather be back in Brooklyn?"

  "That goes without saying," he laughed. "But, it seems to me if you are hiding in here, then you have some words that need saying yourself."

  "Like what?" I asked around a delectable bite of mozzarella.

  "I've found it doesn't matter much what you say, as long as you say it to the right person."

  I finished my bite with a deep frown. "Is there some sort of certificate they give out to fathers when they pass the obscure and vague advice course?"

  Pappy grinned and slid another pizza into the wide oven in my kitchen. "Why are you hiding?"

  "A man can't enjoy a slice of pizza in his own kitchen?"

  "Not dressed like that."

  I scowled down at my tuxedo. "It's not as nice as it looks, all of this. Every time I'm out there, I feel like it's a battle. And I don't even know what side I'm on anymore."

  Somehow, Pappy understood what I meant. "My mother is from Italy," he said, "and every time I wanted to be more American, I felt like I was hurting her."

  I picked up another slice. "I feel like I'm not even supposed to be here. I fight and fight to fit in, and then realize I wanted to be somewhere else the entire time."

  "Where do you want to be right now?"

  I chewed for a long time, so Pappy poured me a glass of red wine. Then he poured one for himself and raised his glass in a toast.

  "To hiding?" I asked.

  Pappy rolled his eyes. "To moving forward, no matter if it’s the right road or not. Now get out of my kitchen."

  I polished off my slice of pizza and held up my hand in mock surrender. "Fine, kick me out."

  "And Teddy?"

  "Yeah?" I had one hand on the door.

  "Everyone's just trying to fit in."

  I slipped out the door and down the hallway to the dining hall. Sommeliers poured glasses of wine for the guests, and everyone mingled around the great table.

  I spotted Whitney and felt a twist in my gut. She was trying to fit in, too. Only, Whitney's world was like the narrow tip of a pyramid. There were not a lot of people that fit up there with her, and she was constantly having to strike a careful balance. I was supposed to help secure her place, and I kept knocking her off-balance.

  Whitney saw me across the long dining table and raised her wine glass. She made no move to join me, just held my gaze. She needed someone to help hold her up in the thin air of the high society stratosphere, and I knew she was finally realizing I wasn't good enough. She looked away. The snub stung, but I felt a rush of relief. I didn't have to pretend anymore. I didn't have to watch out for ambushes every time I moved.

  It was easier to move through the mingling guests now. Whitney was not trying to steer me, and I had no one I was trying to avoid. Instead, I knew exactly where I was going, and it seemed like the party guests parted to make a clear path for me.

  Kiara was still on the portico when I burst through the French doors, except now she was alone.

  "Where are your stepsisters?"

  Kiara jumped at my sudden question and wrapped her arms around her waist. "Ivy was cold, and Madison, well, she needed to go lay down."

  I shrugged off my tuxedo jacket and slipped it around Kiara's exquisite shoulders. "That Cameron Falcon break her heart?"

  She thanked me for my jacket and walked to the low wall that overlooked the sweeping lawn. "I think he did more than that. He made her believe it was possible, and then, just like that, he decided love wasn't enough."

  "Coward," I said.

  "Really? I would think you, of all people, would know exactly how he feels." She turned to face me. "Would you really give up all this just for some girl you hardly know?"

  "Depends on the girl."

  Kiara tried to wrap herself up again, but I caught her hands and pulled her closer to me. The murmur of the party seemed far away, like the buzzing of bees behind the tall windows o
f the ballroom. The portico was wide, and we were far enough away from the chandelier's blaze that I could see stars above her head.

  "It's no good," she said. "Madison is certain it was love, and she won't let it go."

  "How about you?" I asked. "If you were her, would you give up and let him go?"

  She tried to tug her fingers away from me. "I don't want to talk about love right now."

  "Me neither," I said.

  I gave a gentle tug, one that I thought would only make her smile, but she let herself be pulled closer. Then she tipped up her face. Her lips parted to speak, but not a word came out. Instead, her eyes dropped to my lips, and I felt the inside of my body turn to molten lava.

  I pressed her hands against my waist and then let go of her fingers. Her delicate hands slipped behind me and skimmed up my back. I slipped my fingers inside my tuxedo coat to find the tight waist of her silken dress. There might have been five dozen eyes watching us through the ballroom windows, but Kiara was stronger than the pull of gravity.

  The first kiss was just a brush, softer than a leaf. I thought she would push me away, but her hands flattened against my back and pulled me in tighter. I opened my lips, on a shocked breath, and felt the kiss melt us together. We could have been standing on the surface of Mars for all I knew as she pressed up on her tiptoes and farther into the kiss.

  I clutched her waist, bending her back with the sudden force of my desire. Her body pressed against me, every inch an electric throb, except for one, hard square that suddenly buzzed. My phone rang deep inside my tuxedo jacket, and the incessant buzz did not stop until we both broke from the kiss and stepped back from each other.

  "Here's your phone," Kiara said, digging it out of my pocket and holding it up.

  I glanced at the caller I.D., "Actually, I think it's for you. It's my father's contact at the U.S. Embassy in Afghanistan."

  "What? Hello? This is Kiara Davies." She clutched the phone with two hands. She listened intently and then let out a sharp squeak. "Yes, I understand. Yes, sir. Thank you so much. Thank you!"

  "What did he say?"

  "I don't have my phone on me; it must still be in Pappy's van. I didn't get the email my father sent me." She paced up and down the portico at a rapid pace.