The Cowboy's Christmas Courtship

by Brenda Minton

  “Gage will push back if they push too hard,” Elizabeth offered.

  “That’s good to know.” Layla started to say Gage helping her would be a temporary hobby. He’d soon move on.

  He’d get in his truck and take off, the way he sometimes did. She’d been at the Convenience Counts convenience store when he filled his truck with gas this summer, bought a few candy bars and a bottle of water before heading out.

  Trish, the owner, had asked where he was going. He’d given her that easy smile and told her wherever the wind took him.

  She’d been jealous, wondering what that would be like, to take off and leave problems and responsibilities behind. She’d tried, years ago. She’d gone to college, thinking she’d graduate and never come back to Dawson. But her parents’ deaths had changed all of that. She’d come home, and she would never leave.

  “Are you okay?” Elizabeth asked as they got closer to the house.

  “I’m fine.”

  They walked up the steps. Gage had waited on the porch for them, pushed the front door open and held it, his gaze remaining on Layla. When they entered the house Elizabeth left her alone with Gage. Somewhere Christmas music played, and a voice joined in, a deep bass voice. Tim Cooper, maybe. She smiled, especially when others joined him.

  “I’m sorry,” Gage whispered close to her ear and she nodded. The smile disappeared.

  “It’s okay.” She shrugged out of her coat and he took it, hanging it with the others on the hall tree at the door.

  From the kitchen she heard the laughter and conversation of his big family. She could smell the roast that Angie Cooper had put in the Crock-Pot. Layla imagined there was more than one. With a family this size, would one roast feed them all?

  “If you’re sure.” And then he kissed her cheek.

  Her cheek?

  He pulled back, and for some reason he looked at her with a kindness that took her by surprise. His hand touched the cheek that he’d kissed and he smiled.

  For a moment she wanted to be someone else, someone more exciting, maybe the type of person he could fall in love with. That woman would be free to take off at a moment’s notice. She wouldn’t have responsibilities or a job at the local feed store.

  But Layla wasn’t that person. She couldn’t leave Dawson at a moment’s notice, and she couldn’t let herself fall in love with Gage Cooper.

  “We should definitely join everyone before they send Granny Myrna to find us.”

  They both laughed, and Layla felt the tension ease away as she thought about Myrna, legendary matchmaker, and kindest soul in town. As they walked down the hall to join his family, she tried to hold on to that moment.

  Lunch with the Coopers kept a person too busy to think. There had been laughter, conversation and too much food. Gage had sat next to her, not really participating in the conversation, but from time to time leaning to say something to Layla, a side note on whatever the family had been discussing.

  Gage finally drove her back home that evening after sundown. She had containers of leftovers that Angie had sent along, so she wouldn’t have to cook that night. She thought more likely that she wouldn’t have to cook for days. She had memories of a perfect afternoon with a family that enjoyed being together, laughing and talking.

  She also had memories of sitting next to Gage as he handled the pair of golden-coated draft horses that pulled the wagon. The rest of the family had piled in the back. She had been pushed onto the bench seat next to Gage, a blanket over her legs and a thermos of hot chocolate in her hands and two cups.

  The ride had lasted two hours, with the family singing carols, until the sky started to turn gray and the temperature dropped. Layla had shivered in the seat next to Gage, and he’d slipped an arm behind her, pulling her close to his side.

  Wonderful memories to cherish.

  Now, several hours later, his truck pulled to a stop in front of her house. She saw lights on in the kitchen. She didn’t think she’d left them on. Her gaze shot to the barn. She would still have to feed.

  “I’ll help you.”

  “What?” She looked at Gage in the dark cab of the truck, his face touched by the glow of the security light near the barn.

  “It’s cold and it’s late. I’ll help you take care of your animals.”

  “Brandon can do it.”

  “Let’s check on Brandon and see how his day went.”

  He said it in a way that worried her. Why would he be concerned about Brandon’s day?

  They walked up to the front door. She heard the television and saw the flicker of light from the screen. Gage reached past her to push the door open. They stepped inside, and Layla stopped when she saw her brother stretched out on the floor.

  “Brandon!” she called out in concern.

  “He’s passed out, not dead.”

  She kneeled next to her brother, feeling the pulse in his neck. He opened his eyes and grinned.

  “You stink.” She moved away from him.

  “I got sick on the porch.”

  “Just when I think you’re going to change.”

  Brandon frowned and closed his eyes. “I’m not going to change. Remember, I’m just like dad.”

  She’d said that to him. She sat back, still on the floor. Strong hands rested on her shoulders. She’d told her brother he had to change or he’d be like their father. The words had been harsh, fueled by her anger.

  “I’m sorry.” She whispered the apology.

  But was it too late? She’d spoken this into existence. She’d planted the seed in her brother, hadn’t she? She’d been so tired when she’d said it. She’d been worn down and she hadn’t known what to do next. She had watched him stagger into the kitchen, just fifteen and drunk, and it had reminded her of their father coming home on a Friday night, his paycheck gone after a trip to the casino, where he’d known that he’d strike it rich.

  He’d had many addictions, their father. Once he’d been a bull rider, then a drinker, and then he’d been a gambler.

  Those were their family traditions. But she wanted something better and lasting for her and Brandon. Faith—that was the one thing she’d worked at giving her brother. A faith based on the greatest Christmas tradition of all.

  “Gage.” Coming out of her trance, she turned to him. “You should go.”

  She wanted to close the door, pull the blinds and pretend they weren’t falling apart, the same way she’d pretended years ago. She’d gone to school, worked hard, smiled and pretended.

  “I’m going to feed.” Gage nudged Brandon with his boot. “Get up. You can help.”

  “I can’t.” Brandon covered his face with his arm.

  “You will.” Gage leaned and grabbed her brother’s arm, pulling him to his feet. “You’re going to get some fresh air, sober up and grow up.”

  “I’m only fifteen. I’m not supposed to be grown-up.” He staggered a little as he got to his feet.

  “Yeah, well, your sister has enough on her plate without you making it worse.”

  “Whatever, man.” Brandon backed up a few steps, then propelled himself to the front door. Layla wanted to cry. She wanted to scream at him.

  She stood and went after him, catching him at the front porch.

  “Brandon, you don’t have to be like him. Like Dad. You don’t have to do this.”

  He glanced back on his way down the steps, his eyes blurry, his smile wavering. He was somewhere between being a boy and a man. What kind of man would he become?

  “No, you were right. I’m just like him.”

  “But I don’t want that for you.” Layla looked past her brother to the other man standing on her front porch, his hazel eyes full of sympathy. She refocused on Brandon. “You should want more for yourself.”

  “I don’t know, Layla. I’m j
ust messed up.” He tumbled down off the porch and would have fallen if Gage hadn’t caught him.

  She watched them head for the barn, her brother and the man who thought he owed her something. What did she do now?

  Chapter Six

  She was sitting at the dining room table with a cup of hot tea when Gage walked through her back door thirty minutes later. Brandon had stomped through five minutes earlier. She had tried to talk to him. He’d waved her off and kept walking.

  Gage stood in the doorway, his hat pushed back, his mouth a grim line of disgust, or anger. She didn’t know which. She pointed to the cup of tea she’d made for him. It was the least she could do.

  At this point she didn’t think she was going to push him out of her life the way she’d planned a few days earlier. He seemed determined to make things right. Whatever that meant.

  He didn’t sit down, just stood there looking around the kitchen at everything but her. After a long minute he sighed and reached for the other chair. He pulled it close to hers and sat. Taking off his hat, he tossed it onto the table and ran a hand through his unruly brown hair.

  “Why haven’t you asked for help?” He leaned back in the chair, watching her with those hazel eyes fringed with dark lashes, maybe seeing more than most people.

  She looked up, blinking fast to clear moisture that skimmed her eyes, blurring her vision. What did she say to that question? Did she tell him about the bruises her mom had hidden, or about cleaning her dad up after a drunken night and not telling anyone? Maybe she should tell him about cleaning hotel rooms at fifteen to keep the lights on. But her family had never talked about those things, not even with each other.

  When she took over as head of the family, she’d kept the tradition of keeping things to herself. People had often asked if she needed anything, if things were going okay, and she always smiled and said everything was fine.

  And they’d allowed her that illusion, even though from time to time a bill was paid anonymously or meat was provided by a neighbor who said they had too much.

  Now, with Gage looking at her so intently, she shut down.

  “Plenty of people have helped us.”

  “Yeah, when you let them.” His hand slipped through his hair again and he shook his head. “Brandon needs help, Layla.”

  “I know.” She brushed at her eyes, felt moisture that she wouldn’t let fall. “I know.”

  “Why don’t you talk to Wyatt Johnson?”

  The pastor of Dawson Community Church. She’d thought about it. First she had to admit that they had a problem. Her dad had tried a twelve-step program once, thinking he might get clean. The problem was she didn’t want people knowing that she wasn’t okay, that she wasn’t handling this. She was hiding the same way an addict hid.

  “I’ll think about it.” She glanced at the clock on the wall in front of her. “It’s late. You should go.”

  He nodded and pushed himself up, using the rickety old table as leverage. It creaked beneath his weight. She stood, because she should follow him to the door. She needed to thank him for helping, even if it was about him more than it was about them.

  They walked through the tiny living room, warm from the fire in the fireplace. She could hear Brandon in his room. At the door, Gage took her coat off the hook and handed it to her. She didn’t ask; she just slipped it on. Without questioning him or herself, she followed Gage outside.

  Cold air brushed her heated cheeks. Layla walked down off the porch and looked up at the clear sky. Christmas was coming.

  Gage’s hand closed over hers. He led her across the yard to his truck. She should pull her hand from his and go back to the house. Alone. But she was so tired of being alone, of shouldering everything on her own.

  She was letting Gage make amends, because he needed it. She was letting him make amends because it had been so long since someone took part of the load from her shoulders.

  At the back of her mind she remembered who he was. Gage hadn’t ever been the responsible Cooper. But his hand was tight on hers, strong, warm. How did a girl pull away from a touch that made her feel safe?

  Safe and Gage. The two didn’t go together.

  They neared his truck, snow flurries falling cold against the warm skin of her face. She felt hot and chilled all at once. She couldn’t get sick, not now, not when she needed her job.

  “If you want, I can talk to Wyatt.” Gage’s voice broke through the wild chain of thoughts rushing through her mind.

  “What?” Oh, Brandon. “Yes. Let me think about it.”

  “Now is the time to get him help.”

  “Gage, thank you, but I’ll take care of it.”

  “Right, of course. Because you like to keep the doors barred and people out of your life.” His eyes narrowed. “I saw once, you know.”

  “Saw what?”

  “A bruise on your cheek. You tried to hide it with makeup. And when our math teacher asked you about it, you said you tripped and hit your cheek on the table.”

  Shame heated her cheeks. She looked away from him, but his fingers touched her chin, turning her to face him.

  “I need to go inside.” She shivered in the cool, damp air.

  “Not before I do this.” He leaned in, and she didn’t dare to breathe, even knowing she couldn’t let him kiss her. She shook her head. He pulled her close and held her. She was tight against his chest, his strong arms around her, his hands on her back.

  “Gage,” she whispered into the warm flannel of his shirt. His heartbeat beneath her ear was steady. He was warm and solid.

  She shouldn’t have stayed in his arms, held against him, but she couldn’t stop the need from rising up inside her, the need to be held. For those few moments she felt safe. Like someone was in this with her. Her heart didn’t care if it was Gage.

  “I’m going to help you, Layla. We’re going to get things settled around here. I won’t go anywhere until we have things fixed up, and Brandon on the right track.” He whispered the words close to her ear, then brushed a kiss across her cheek.

  He wouldn’t go anywhere, until... She needed to pull back. His words were a reminder that he couldn’t be the person she counted on. Just one more moment in his arms. He kissed the top of her head and then she drew back, leaving the warmth of his embrace.

  “I should go.”

  He peered down at her. “Are you sick?”

  “No, why?”

  “You look pale.”

  “It’s winter and I have fair skin. Of course I look pale.”

  He brushed a hand across her cheek. “You feel warm.”

  “I’m fine.”

  The snow fell harder and she pulled her light jacket tight to keep out the chill. It wouldn’t snow long, just enough to be pretty. Gage had pushed his hat down low over his eyes.

  “I really should go.” He reached for the door of his truck. “If you need anything at all, call me.”

  She nodded, but she wouldn’t call him. She didn’t call people. He grinned and shook his head because he knew.

  “Goodbye.” She backed away from him.

  “I mean it, about calling. I know you won’t, but I mean it.”

  She nodded and then headed back to the house. The dog met her on the front porch, wanting inside.

  She reached for the doorknob as Daisy jumped around her, barking at the closed door. Gage’s headlights flashed across the porch as he backed out to turn around. The dog barked again, and Layla walked in the front door.

  Brandon was asleep. She glanced at the clock and shook her head. It was too early, but she let it go. He had school in the morning. She had work.

  She flipped on the hall light and headed for her room, the one bedroom upstairs. It was freezing cold. Sometimes it was so cold that a glass of water would freeze on her bedside table be
fore morning. But she loved the room in the eaves. It had been a part of the original home, back when her ancestors had first settled in Indian Territory, taking advantage of government land, the railroad and the river.

  It had been her sanctuary. It still was.

  She changed quickly and then reached into the closet for her robe. Once again she spotted the notebooks that held her journals. She should read a book, not a journal from years ago. But she grabbed the one on top. Just a quick peek.

  Big mistake. She shook her head as she read entries that detailed her crush on Gage Cooper. Yikes, she had doodled his name and hers. She had recorded prayers. Some for her family, friends and people in Dawson. And one for Gage, that he would love her.

  The journal of Layla Silver, sappy teenager, delusional, hopeless romantic. Back when she’d once believed in fairy tales and happy-ever-afters.

  She tossed the journal back into the dark depths of her closet and grabbed a romance novel off her bookcase. Much better to lose herself in fiction than get lost in the past.

  When she walked downstairs, Brandon was in the kitchen rummaging through the fridge and pulling out Angie Cooper’s leftovers.

  He looked at her, his eyes somber and sheepish. He shrugged. “I’m a jerk.”

  “Yes, you can be.” Why should she disagree? She took the leftovers and started dishing them up on two plates. “But I love you and I worry about you.”

  “I know.” He looked down at the floor. He was a kid. A six-foot-tall kid in worn jeans and a hoodie. He still had acne and his hair always needed to be washed.

  He probably needed hugs, too. When was the last time she’d hugged him? It had been years. She remembered him as a little boy needing their mom. She’d still needed her, too. But she’d done her best. She’d hugged him a lot back then. Mrs. Phelps, his babysitter when Layla worked, had hugged him, too.

  She put her arms around him and held him tight for a long minute. He protested and squirmed.

  “What are you doing?” He tried to move out of her arms.