A Cowboy's Christmas Proposal

by Cathy McDavid

  “I do have a condition,” she said.

  “Absolutely.”

  “You give me space and no more talk about dating. I don’t want to keep being confused by you.”

  What other choice did Owen have but to agree? “Still friends?” He flashed a smile only to immediately sober lest he be accused of employing his sales pitch tactics again.

  “Only friends,” Molly said.

  What else did he expect? He’d brought this on himself and would have to accept the consequences. Didn’t mean he wouldn’t move mountains to try and change things.

  * * *

  OWEN WALKED OUT of the president’s office at the Craft-Right Portable Horse Stalls production plant. He’d felt mostly good about the meeting, though his mind hadn’t always been on it. Molly kept invading his thoughts.

  She wasn’t holding a grudge about the kitten. Rather, she acted as if all was fine between them. Business as usual and nothing but business. Owen had made sure the kids thanked her for letting them keep Pinkie Pie, and she’d graciously accepted their thanks.

  For Owen’s part, he’d given her the space she requested. Not easy for him, it had been a long and difficult eight days. Apparently, a lot easier for her. Molly had appeared mostly unaffected. That, or she hid it well.

  She was the first woman he’d been interested in since his divorce, and he’d gone and blown it.

  In the lobby, he ran into his friend Arnie.

  “How goes it, pal?” He gave Owen’s hand an exuberant shake. “Have the interview yet?”

  “Just came from meeting with Monty.” The man had invited Owen to call him by his first name.

  “And? What’s the good word?”

  “He has two more people he wants me to meet. The head of manufacturing and the chief financial officer.”

  “All right! I don’t know of anyone else who’s made it that far.”

  “Monty said the official start date isn’t until after the first of the year.”

  That would give Owen two to three weeks to work with Arnie before he left in January. If Owen got the job. He wasn’t the only candidate being considered.

  Not pinning all his hopes on Craft-Right, he’d continued job hunting despite it being the holidays. His severance package from Waverly would run out in the next couple of months, and he didn’t want to touch his 401(k) account if possible. Unfortunately, a lot of businesses were slowing down this time of year.

  “I’m sure you’ll get the job,” Arnie stated. “They’d be foolish not to hire you.”

  “Monty gave me a full tour of the plant. It’s quite a place.”

  “I realize I’m prejudiced, but Craft-Right is a top-notch outfit. They treat their employees well.”

  “Glad to hear that.”

  Owen did like the company and had been impressed with the operation. He was a little disappointed with the salary offered, though Monty had assured him once Owen proved his worth, he’d be fairly compensated with bonuses. The benefits were also good, and Monty had reiterated that Owen would spend no more than two days a week on the road.

  He should be thrilled. Pleased at the very least. If he got the job, he’d be able to provide for his kids and have one big dating obstacle removed. Then there was the matter of his pride, which had been taking a beating of late. Owen wasn’t the kind of person who liked being out of work.

  Only he wasn’t thrilled or even pleased about the potential job with Craft-Right and couldn’t put his finger on why.

  “When are you coming back for the follow-up meeting?” Arnie asked.

  “On Friday. At ten thirty.”

  “Great! I’ll be in town then. What do you say we grab some lunch afterward? There’s a bistro down the road with the best salads and brioche you’ve ever tasted.”

  Owen almost burst into laughter. A bistro with salads and brioche? When had his cowboy buddies stopped frequenting steak houses and burger joints for lunch?

  They chatted another minute or two about their Christmas plans. Owen mentioned his uncle’s and Emily’s vow renewal ceremony on New Year’s Day. Owen was leaving the ranch on Christmas but would return New Year’s Day to officiate.

  By then, Arnie was late for a staff meeting. Owen headed outside to his truck, wishing once again he could be more excited about the job. It really was his best opportunity to date.

  During the drive, he thought about the holidays. During one of the few times he and Molly had talked this past week, she’d mentioned there being weddings scheduled every day between Christmas Eve and New Year’s Eve. Obviously several of her meetings with prospective clients had resulted in bookings. But only four weddings were scheduled between now and Christmas Eve.

  It was going to be a long, slow lull. He guessed most people were busy with holiday shopping or cooking or preparing for out-of-town guests.

  His parents certainly were. His mother baked no less than a hundred loaves of various breads to give as gifts. His father, a tinkerer by nature, built handcrafted wooden toys for his grandkids and to donate to charities.

  They’d asked Owen to visit for the holidays. Sadly, he’d turned them down, committed at the ranch through Christmas day and the vow renewal ceremony on New Year’s Day. But he’d promised to send plenty of videos and assured his parents they’d have a fantastic time when they visited in February.

  Mustang Valley was less than twenty miles from Craft-Right. Owen drove through town on his way to the ranch. As he passed now familiar sights and landmarks, it occurred to him again how much he liked it here.

  Even more this past week. Mustang Valley had gone through a transformation. Holiday decorations adorned every storefront window, including the gas station and tire shop. The park in the center of town had become a wonderland of lights and music as preparations for the annual Holly Daze Festival progressed. Silver and gold bells attached to red ribbons hung from street signs.

  The goings-on reminded him a little of his hometown, and a wave of nostalgia for Christmases past washed over him. He remembered going out into the mountains near his grandparents’ home and battling blizzards to cut down a tree, then hauling it home where the whole family participated in decorating it with construction paper ornaments.

  It rarely snowed in this part of Arizona, perhaps once every twenty or thirty years. And then, the flakes melted the instant they touched the ground. During particularly cold winters, snow often gathered on the tops of the nearby McDowell Mountains and remained for weeks. That was as close to snow in the desert as one could get.

  Tourists were arriving daily in droves, loving the fair weather and small town holiday ambiance. The local café had a special breakfast menu for the season that included eggnog pancakes and gingerbread waffles. Owen had taken the kids there yesterday morning, skipping breakfast at the ranch house.

  Not that he’d been getting many invitations to dine with Molly or her sister, and he wasn’t expecting any.

  On impulse, Owen stopped at the bookstore and novelty shop that catered to out-of-towners. He still needed to buy a few more presents for the kids, and the store boasted a small toy section. Parking in the crowded lot, he gave Nora a call and let her know he’d be late. Not a problem, the older woman reported, as only two couples were presently staying at the ranch.

  Owen quickly finished his shopping, adding gifts for the kids to give to Molly, Bridget and Nora.

  Tossing his bags onto the truck’s passenger seat, Owen suddenly remembered he needed more kitten food and drove to the feed store. Pinkie Pie could eat twice her weight in kibble at every meal.

  Yes, his time would be better spent composing an email to Monty at Craft-Right, thanking him for the interview, confirming their Friday meeting and reiterating why he’d be a good fit for the job. Then again, if he emailed Monty too soon, he might appear desperate. Overeager at the least.

  Fred called out a frie
ndly hello when Owen entered the store. “Hey, how goes it?”

  “Can’t complain.”

  The portly store owner wore a Santa hat. All he required was a fluffy white beard to fully play the part. “Looking for something special?”

  “More kitten chow and litter.”

  Fred chuckled. “How’s the little scamp doing?”

  “Fine. Growing like a weed and getting into everything. The trash bin, the lower cupboards, you name it. She’s especially fond of climbing the curtains and hiding behind the sofa. I’m going to have to fork over a lot of cash for repairs. But she has the kids wrapped around her tiny paw and is using the litter box regularly, so I can’t complain too much.”

  “If you’re interested, I hear there’s one left. The runt.”

  Owen groaned. “No, thanks. I’m not entirely sure what I’m going to do with the first one once I leave Sweetheart Ranch.”

  “How soon’s that?” Fred walked out from behind the counter and led Owen to the aisle containing pet food and supplies.

  “My uncle Homer and his blushing bride will be home on the twenty-third. My kids are leaving Christmas morning, their mom is picking them up. I’ll either go home that day or the next.”

  “We’re going to miss you, Owen.”

  “I’m going to miss this place, too.”

  Fred pointed to a shelf. “Right here are the brands I carry. Let me know if you need anything else.”

  At the counter, Owen looked around the store while Fred ran his debit card. He noticed the for-sale sign in the window, partially hidden behind a strand of lights.

  “Any luck finding a buyer for this place?”

  “Naw.” Fred gave his head a dismal shake and passed Owen the keypad device to enter his PIN number. “The real estate market slows this time of year.”

  “I suppose so.”

  “Good news, business in the store is booming. This is the first it’s been empty since I opened this morning. Gotta love the Holly Daze Festival. Tourists figure Mustang Valley is the next best thing to spending Christmas at home.” He presented Owen the sales slip. “By the way, how’s the job hunting going?”

  “Just came from an interview with Craft-Right Portable Horse Stalls.”

  “You getting Arnie’s job? He mentioned he was leaving. Nice guy.”

  “I haven’t been hired yet. I’m going back Friday for a second meeting.”

  Fred rested his forearms on the counter. “Don’t take this wrong, but you don’t sound too enthused.”

  “It’s a good job. A reputable company. I like their business model. There’s potential for advancement.”

  “Just not what you’re looking for.”

  “Would you think I’m completely crazy if I said I’d like to see what else is out there?”

  “Not at all. A person needs to love what they’re doing.” Fred absently adjusted his Santa Claus hat. “That’s why I’ve owned my own business these many years. I understand self-employment isn’t for people who need a regular paycheck and company-paid benefits. But I’ve made a decent living. Enough to comfortably retire. And I’m my own boss.”

  “There’s a lot to be said for that.” But with three young kids, benefits were an important part of any job Owen took. Especially health insurance. Right now, he was paying through the nose.

  “You need a bag?” Fred pointed to the kibble and litter.

  “I’m good.” Owen picked up his purchases.

  “If I don’t see you before, have a merry Christmas.”

  “You, too.” He was about to leave when he spied a stack of brochures on the end of the counter. A picture of Sweetheart Ranch jumped out at him. “What are these?” He set down the bag of kitten chow and picked up a brochure.

  “Molly asked if I’d put those out for her. Some kind of joint promotion between her place, the Poco Dinero Bar and Grill and Powell Ranch. I hear she’s got them all over town.”

  A memory surfaced of her mentioning something either during or after the open house. Owen hadn’t been aware she’d gone so far as to design a brochure and have it printed. That was what he got for royally screwing up and creating friction between them.

  “I’m almost out, thanks to the tourists.” Fred greeted a pair of customers who strolled through the door, returning to his conversation with Owen only after asking if he could help them with anything. They were just browsing. “I imagine you’ll have a steep rise in business. Well, the ranch, not you,” Fred corrected himself. “Seeing as you won’t be here much longer.”

  No Owen wouldn’t. He’d miss experiencing the fruits of Molly’s labor. The thought made him a tad melancholy.

  On the outskirts of town, he drove past a sign advertising the Holly Daze Festival. It was starting tomorrow, and he made a spur-of-the-moment decision to take his kids. They’d been doing reasonably well this past week, behaving more than misbehaving, taking care of Pinkie Pie and performing the chores he’d assigned them. Some with assistance from Owen.

  Mostly, he could use an outing to lift his lagging spirits. He was disliking the idea of leaving Molly and Mustang Valley more and more.

  When he returned to the ranch, he went straight to the house rather than his cabin. Leaving his purchases in the truck, he went inside to search for Molly. He’d use the brochure as an excuse. He was fed up with their cordial but impersonal conversations. Past time to kiss and make up.

  At least, the make-up part. Kissing was out.

  He didn’t have to go far to find her. Recognizing her voice as one of those whooping and hollering from the kitchen, he quickened his pace.

  Molly and Bridget were standing in the center of the room, grabbing each other by the shoulders and jumping up and down. Their matching smiles stretched from ear to ear.

  “You two look happy,” Owen said.

  Molly spun to face him, for once this week her expression completely unguarded. He let himself relish every drop of the radiance she showered on him.

  “I just got a call from Southwest Bride Magazine. Someone on their staff saw the TV news segment from the day of the open house. Their head columnist and a photographer will be here a week from today. They want to include Sweetheart Ranch in their Valentine’s Day feature on the top ten most unique wedding venues in the state! Top ten,” she repeated.

  “Congratulations!” Owen grinned. “Well deserved.”

  Intense emotion must have caused Molly to suffer a memory lapse, for she hurled herself at Owen and hugged him fiercely. Lucky for him she didn’t come to her senses until the kitchen door opened a full thirty seconds later.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “DADDY, DADDY!” Cody led the pack, charging into the kitchen. Right behind him came Marisa, Willa and Nora. “You’re home.”

  Molly flung herself away from Owen as if he’d caught fire. Bad enough she’d forgotten herself and hugged him. Worse, his children had seen them. And Nora. And Bridget.

  She wasn’t the impulsive type and hated to imagine what Owen thought of her. Heat from his solidly built body still lingered, leaving her feeling flushed and mildly disoriented.

  “Hey, you three.” He bent and opened his arms.

  Like well-trained puppies, his children bounded toward him, eagerly accepting his hugs and kisses. Willa latched on to his leg as if he’d been gone for days and not a few hours.

  “Did you get the job?” Cody asked.

  “Not yet.” Owen smiled at his son. “I have another meeting on Friday.”

  “Am I correct in assuming the interview went well?” Nora began peeling outerwear off the children. After adding Owen’s coat, she hung the entire collection on the knotty-pine coatrack by the door.

  Molly decided Nora must have dressed the children today for they wore matching holiday sweatshirts. Or was Owen responsible? He had been working hard on being a more attentive father.
Molly wasn’t blind and had noticed his efforts.

  He answered Nora with a smile that, to Molly, seemed forced. “It did. Pretty well.”

  “We should celebrate.” Bridget clapped her hands, and Willa mimicked her.

  “Let’s wait. I’d rather not jinx anything.”

  “They’d be crazy not to hire you,” Nora said and winked at Molly. “I’d say a second interview deserves a hug.”

  “I... No... The hug was for...” Molly pulled herself together. “Southwest Bride Magazine called. They’re going to interview us and take pictures.” She explained about the ranch being featured in the February edition.

  “One of the top ten wedding venues in the state.” Nora’s placed a hand to her chest. “That’s fantastic. Have you told your grandmother yet?”

  “We just found out. Right before Owen...” Right before Molly had made a complete fool of herself. “I’ll call her now.”

  “Even more reason to celebrate.” Bridget addressed the children. “What shall we have?”

  “S’mores!” Cody hollered.

  “Cupcakes,” Marisa added.

  Willa made an unintelligible sound that might have been spaghetti.

  Molly stepped to the side and dialed her grandmother, who didn’t answer. She and Homer were probably out of range or doing something fun and had turned off their phones.

  After leaving a detailed message, ending with “Call me back as soon as you can,” Molly returned to the group.

  Owen sent her a welcoming smile.

  “Good luck with the second interview,” she said, genuinely pleased for him.

  “Thanks.”

  “How about cookies and milk?” Bridget asked. Receiving a chorus of yeses, she removed a large cookie tin from the counter. “I made these yesterday.” She opened the lid to reveal sugar cookies in the shapes of wreaths, snowmen and Christmas trees, and decorated with glitter and icing. The children went into an instant frenzy.

  “I want one!”

  “Me, too.”

  “I’ll get the milk.” Nora opened the refrigerator door.

  Owen sat the children at the table, reminding them to be polite and not grab. Bridget placed the tin of cookies in the center of the table and plopped down beside Willa. That left two empty chairs, one next to Owen.