A Very Cowboy Christmas

by Kim Redford

  She sat down and gestured around her with one hand as if to encompass Steele Trap Ranch. “I understand that lifestyle. It’s not easy to get away.”

  “Yeah. I can see that now.”

  “Good for them.”

  “I hope they’re having a fine ole time.” He looked down into his mug, then back at her. “Thanks.”

  “For what?”

  “You saved me from being at loose ends here and having to explain why I’m still a rolling stone to my relatives there.”

  “Glad I could be of help.” She felt warmed by his words.

  “Families.” He took a swallow of cider. “Can’t live with them.”

  “Can’t live without them,” she finished the old adage. “Now that you’ve brought it up, a cruise isn’t a bad idea. Mom and Granny deserve a getaway. Tickets would make a great Christmas gift for them, don’t you think?”

  He nodded in agreement as he set his mug on the hearth.

  “I’ll talk to Slade about it. We never know what to get them. I think he’ll jump at the chance.”

  “They can catch a ship out of Houston or Galveston, so it’s not that far away.”

  She clapped her hands together. “I’m excited. This is so perfect for after the holidays when they’re worn out and need complete relaxation.”

  He gave her a slow smile, looking a little bit mischievous. “You know, Valentine’s Day is coming up in a couple of months.”

  “I don’t think that’s quite right for them.”

  “Not them. I was thinking about us.”

  “You and me? A cruise?” She felt surprise then heat rush through her at the realization that he was thinking long term—intimately long term. Suddenly, she wasn’t sure she was ready for such a big change in her life. She grabbed her mug and took a slug, swallowed wrong, and coughed to ease the tickle.

  “Are you okay?” he asked in concern.

  She nodded, trying to get past the lump in her throat.

  “Now tell me, are you really surprised at my suggestion after our time together?” he asked in a voice gone deep and husky.

  “I—yes, I suppose so.”

  “What do you think about it?” He leaned toward her, reducing the space between them.

  “The cruise?”

  “That. And us.”

  “I think…” she started to say, then abruptly set down her mug and stood up. “I think Slade forgot to turn on the Christmas tree lights.” She walked away from Dune as quickly as possible, needing distance to help her think straight.

  She knelt beside the tree, reached behind it, and plugged in the lights. She smiled in pleasure at the vintage ornaments. She’d managed to snag delicate glass balls in all shapes, sizes, and colors. Storm and Slade had helped her string red and green tinsel round and round the tall cedar tree and drape it with long, silver icicles. Colorful packages already nestled around the base with names for everyone in her family.

  Now she wished she had a present for Dune since he was staying in Wildcat Bluff this Christmas. He’d probably been invited by the Duval family to be with them, but now she wanted him here. She felt a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. Had she been living in fear? After Emery, had she been afraid to open her heart, or her life, to a man again? If she’d been bucked off a horse, she’d have gathered her courage and gotten back on again.

  She stood up and whirled around to look at Dune. He was watching the dwindling fire and turning his mug round and round in his hands. Had she offended him or made him feel rejected? She hadn’t meant any of those emotions. She’d simply been caught in her own stuck emotions, afraid—like Storm—to get back on an ATV, a horse, or even life.

  “Would you care to spend Christmas here with us?” She sounded a little unsure at the suggestion, heard it in her voice, and cleared her throat. “I mean, now that I know you’re here alone, I wouldn’t want—”

  “You don’t need to take pity on me.” He set down his mug with a sharp click and stood up in one motion. He took several steps toward the front door, jerked it open, and looked at her. “Kent and I are old friends. I’ll enjoy being with his family for Christmas, or I can go down to the Hill Country.”

  She felt flooded with shame. She’d hurt him and rejected him all in one fell swoop. He deserved better. And he obviously had enough self-respect to leave where he thought he wasn’t wanted anymore. She reached out to him, wanting to say something but unable to articulate words in her embarrassment.

  He glanced at her open hand, shook his head in reply, and walked out into the night.

  She couldn’t believe he was leaving just like that. And he wouldn’t be back, not a cowboy with pride. He was taking with him the memory of a slow, sultry dance to “Unchained Melody,” and he was also taking with him the possibility of a future that included slow dances, hot kisses, and Valentine cruises.

  How could she let him go? Would she actually let fear get in her way of reaching out and grasping happiness when it was offered to her? He’d made it clear from the first—so many months ago—that he was interested in her. She’d repeatedly rejected him, unable to imagine moving emotionally onward in life. Now he’d left no doubt that he wasn’t just interested in her, but he could come to love her, along with her daughter, who desperately needed a father figure, particularly now that she was afraid of life.

  Sydney had thought she’d been strong and brave after losing Emery, but now she relooked at her actions and realized she’d simply been afraid of life. To keep herself safe, she’d walled off her heart behind a smart mouth and busy life. She had her daughter, her family, her friends to fill her days with love. What more could she want? She gave a sharp, hard laugh with no humor in the sound. It’d taken a strong, determined man like Dune to help her see the light of day.

  Only now it was too late. And yet, was it? She hurried to the open door and felt the chill of night envelop her, or was it fear of what she was about to do? She stepped onto the porch and stopped in the soft lighting as she looked toward his pickup.

  He opened the driver door, paused, and glanced up—as if for one last glimpse—with no expression on his rugged features except stoic acceptance of his fate.

  She raced down the stairs, feeling completely vulnerable in the face of his withdrawal. She stopped a few feet from him and held out her hand again.

  “Dune, I need you.”

  Chapter 18

  Dune didn’t move, no matter that Sydney was standing there and reaching out to him. She might think she wanted him this time, but did she really mean it? Did she even know? A guy gets bucked off the same horse one too many times, and he either wises up or ends up with busted bones. About now, he felt decidedly busted up.

  Still, it was Christmas, and miracles did happen now and again. But he shouldn’t count on a magical blessing with Sydney Steele. She was nothing if not true to her name of steel. Only one question remained—when push came to shove, did she break or did she bend? He didn’t want her broken, and he sure as hell didn’t want to be the cause of breakage. And yet, could he walk away from her?

  “I apologize,” Sydney said in a tight voice. “I’m not usually so insensitive. It’s just that you keep catching me by surprise.”

  He continued to stand still and quiet, having learned long ago to be patient with skittish critters. He’d let her say her piece, then he’d either stay or he’d go. He wasn’t sure which would be best for both of them, or if best was even an option anymore. He didn’t want to leave, never that—not with his blood running hot. But sometimes the best part of valor was to leave the field to fight another day.

  And say what you will, he now realized he’d been in a battle with Sydney from day one. Bottom line, she might never be willing or able to leave the memory of her husband behind to start a new life. She didn’t know it, but she was helping him come to terms with the loss of Vonda. He’d mourned and beat
en himself up over his inability to save his girlfriend long enough. He wanted to move on with life, and he hoped he might be able to do it with Sydney.

  But was he a fool to care? Was he simply asking for heartache? Was he one ride away from another broken bone—only this time, it’d be a broken heart that might never heal?

  “I wish you’d say something.” She took another step toward him, but his big dually squatted between them like a giant boulder blocking their path.

  “Is there anything left to say?” He finally broke his silence as he grasped the side of his door, knowing he should throw himself inside and drive away if he wanted to come out of this confrontation unscathed.

  “Will you spend Christmas with us?”

  “No more commitments,” he said, feeling as if he had to drag the words out of his depths. “I won’t go back on my word. I volunteered to help you and Storm, and I will.” He didn’t say it, but he wondered how he could be with Sydney so much and not spontaneously combust. He’d thought they were finally on the same page, but now he couldn’t count on it.

  She put her hands on her hips. “I won’t hold you to your word. There. You can drive right out of here and run all the way back to the Hill Country.”

  “If I did, it wouldn’t be running.” He felt anger override every other feeling at the idea that she’d think he’d run from anything.

  She raised her arms, clenched her fists, and let her hands drop back to her sides. “I’ll admit something if you will.”

  “What?”

  “Agree first.”

  “I’m not agreeing to something I don’t know anything about.”

  “Then I’m not telling you.”

  He sighed, feeling exasperation join his anger. “Are you trying to drive me away?”

  “I’m afraid.” She ducked her head, looked down, and then back up at him, tears shining in her eyes. “I think you are, too.”

  “I’ve never been—” He stopped his words, knowing if he continued, he’d be lying to her and to himself. Truth of the matter, he’d been afraid many times—on the back of a horse, in the blazing inferno of a fire, at an emergency room waiting to learn if a victim lived or died.

  “Storm is afraid now, too,” she said in an even smaller voice, as if she were shrinking to escape her terror.

  That did it. Somehow, she knew how to rip through all his carefully constructed barriers and grasp his beating heart to hold in the palm of her hand. He took a deep breath to win back some semblance of control.

  “I think I’ve been afraid,” she continued in the same small voice, “since I learned about Emery. Now I can see that the news ripped open my world, and everything spilled out to get blown away by the wind.”

  He gripped his pickup’s doorframe with both hands, not wanting to hear her words, because they were echoing what he’d thrust so deep down inside.

  “I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t mourn. I couldn’t admit fear. I didn’t do any of those things, because I had a daughter to raise and keep safe.”

  “You’re lucky. Storm needs you night and day.”

  “Yes, it’s true,” she said, sounding sad and wistful and lonely.

  “Nobody’s needed me, wanted me, or called my name in the middle of the night since—” He hesitated, wanting to stuff the words back into the dark depths of his soul.

  “Since?” She cocked her head to one side as if trying to see him in a different light.

  “You’re right.” He swallowed hard, knowing he was going to open up, knowing he was going to allow himself to be vulnerable, knowing he couldn’t resist what had been building between them for so long. He closed his door, moved to the side, and put the palms of his hands on the cold metal of his truck’s hood. He didn’t walk around his pickup, because he needed that last semblance of barrier between them.

  “I am?” On the other side of the truck, she stood tall, slim, and achingly vulnerable.

  “I’m afraid, too.”

  She clasped her arms around her waist, hugging herself the way she wanted to hug him.

  “I lost someone I cared about, just like you.”

  “You have my deepest sympathy. I know words don’t help a lot, but—”

  “Yes, they do.” He leaned toward her, still keeping the truck between them as a wedge against his crumbling barriers. “Vonda. She was smart, talented, and full of life. And she was a damn good firefighter.”

  “What happened?”

  “I’ll never know. She ran back into a fire when we were all pulling out. I went back and tried to save her.” He looked down at his hands, thinking how worthless they’d been at the time. “Couldn’t. Too late.”

  “Do you blame yourself?”

  “I try not to.” He leaned farther across the hood, suddenly wanting to get closer to Sydney but still feeling too vulnerable to touch her.

  “It’s hard, isn’t it? Survivor’s guilt, they say. We’re alive, and they’re gone forever.” She hesitated, hugging herself harder. “Are we—do you think?—afraid to let them go and move on with our lives?”

  At her words, he felt a click in his mind, as if she’d had the right key to insert and twist to unlock his deepest emotions. He felt flooded with despair, regret, loss, envy, and pain, so much so that he staggered against the truck. He leaned against it, so that his pickup took all of his weight as the negative feelings he’d thought long gone weighed him down like cast iron.

  “And yet we can’t stay in one place forever, can we?”

  Again, he felt her words click in his mind, flinging open a window so that crisp, fresh, fragrant air drove out the stale, dank, and fetid. Suddenly, he felt light as a feather—almost carefree—and full of hope, happiness, and love.

  Maybe Sydney was his Christmas miracle. He straightened up, no longer requiring a barrier between them. She’d said she needed him. Well, he needed her, too.

  “Can we?” she asked, flinging wide her arms.

  “It’s time to move on.” He walked around his truck, one foot in front of the other, with a determination he hadn’t felt in a long time.

  “I don’t mean necessarily together.” She stepped back, as if feeling the power of his intent. “But maybe we can help each other find a new way to live.”

  “I don’t want to go on without you.” He stopped in front of her, watching as red and green Christmas lights—symbolizing hope and joy and renewal—splashed across her face, but he kept his hands at his sides. He didn’t want to spook her with a touch, not when their trust was so raw and fragile. “If you tell me to go, I’ll go. If you tell me to spend Christmas with you, I’ll spend it with you.”

  “Oh.” She put her hand over her mouth, as if to hold back a riot of emotion-filled words.

  He slowly reached out, gently pulled her fingers away from her lips, and placed the softest kiss possible in the palm of her hand. “Go? Stay?”

  She flung her arms around his neck. “Stay, of course.”

  He wrapped her tightly in his arms, molding her to the long length of his body as he gave thanks for second chances. And then he noticed she was leaning against him as if to take the weight off her feet. He should’ve noticed before now. She was probably in pain. Still, she hadn’t complained or gone back to the house. She’d remained for him. He quickly lifted her into his arms.

  “Dune?”

  “You’ve been on your feet way too long. Let’s go inside.”

  She didn’t say anything. Maybe they’d both said too much already. Instead, she laid her head against his chest and nestled against him. He needed no other answer. Somehow, they were going to muddle through their individual hurts and come out stronger together or stronger apart—like the old adage said, if you survived your wounds, you came out stronger at the broken places.

  He took long strides to the house, up the stairs, through the open entry, and kicked the door shut
behind him. Finally, they were alone together without the specter of past loves haunting them. Everything in the house felt different, as if welcoming him instead of excluding him. He looked past the decorations to feel the heart of a home that had been lived in and loved in for generations. He recognized and welcomed the feeling, because he’d grown up in something very similar with his own family.

  He gently set her down on the sofa with her feet on the floor. He knelt before her, unlaced her shoes, and slipped them off her feet. He was glad to see she wore protective thick, padded cotton socks that reached up past her ankles. He started to remove one, but she stayed his hand. He glanced up at her face in question.

  She gave him a soft look so different than her usual expression—a look filled with exquisite tenderness. “Let me.” She slipped off both socks, tossed one to the floor, then stood up and carried the other one to the fireplace.

  He couldn’t see what she was doing, since her back was to him, so he simply sat down on the sofa to watch and wait, feeling endless patience now that they had reached this point.

  After a bit, she turned back, gave him a mischievous glance, then stepped aside and gestured upward with one hand in the way of a model demonstrating a favorite product.

  He looked up where her fingers led his eyes to the fireplace mantel. At the end of the row of colorful, fancy stockings hung a single white sock.

  “We can do better later,” she said, smiling, “but for now, that’s your Christmas stocking. Welcome to the Steele family holidays.”

  Touched beyond all reason, he simply nodded in acknowledgment of her great gift to him. “Thanks. You couldn’t do better.”

  She chortled out loud, shaking her head in denial. “I do believe I can do way better than a dirty, smelly old athletic sock.”

  He stood up, experiencing an emotion so strong that his chest felt too full to expand. He walked over to her, where she stood like a beautiful Christmas ornament in front of the row of embroidered stockings and the red and orange flames crackling in the fireplace with the scent of cinnamon and cedar in the air. “You leave me breathless.”