A Cowboy's Christmas Proposal

by Cathy McDavid

  They finished loading the hay bales and grain sacks. Owen closed the tailgate and put the rabbit cage in the backseat of his truck. He was thinking Pinkie Pie would hate it.

  “The smartest thing I did was add Western apparel and merchandise.” Fred leaned against the upright handcart. “You’d be surprised how many hats and boots and shirts I sell every week.”

  Owen admired the man. “That was good strategy. You saw a need and filled it.”

  “I could’ve done more these last couple of years. Been getting tired,” Fred admitted.

  “Can I ask how much you want for the store?”

  Fred named the price. “I’m willing to finance the buyer at reasonable terms. Not sure why I can’t generate interest. The economy’s been bouncing back recently in this part of Arizona.”

  “It takes an owner who’s experienced in horses and horse people and with a strong sales background.”

  “Someone like you.” Fred winked at Owen. “This place could be yours. If you have a hankering.”

  “I just might,” Owen heard himself saying.

  Fred grinned. “Why don’t you come back inside and let’s talk. I’ll show you the sales package my broker put together. It includes my financials for the last two years. You can see for yourself how I’ve done. A smart, motivated man like you could do better.”

  They chatted for over two hours. In between customers, Fred not only showed Owen the sales package and financials, he explained the store operation and took him on an in-depth tour. Before Owen left, they phoned Fred’s broker and set a time to meet the next morning—the woman was willing to work on a holiday if it meant writing an offer on the store.

  Owen hadn’t felt this excited since he won his last rodeo championship. He didn’t so much drive back to Sweetheart Ranch as sail. A call to his investment advisor ended with them arranging a meeting on January 2 to review Owen’s financial portfolio. He had enough money for the down payment on the store and the first year’s payments if he liquidated a portion of his retirement account and sold his house.

  With careful budgeting and modest living, the monthly income from the store would cover his expenses. He already had a dozen ideas on how to expand the store and increase revenue. Employer-paid benefits was something he’d unfortunately lose. The trade-off was he’d be happy at his job. Hopefully, Jeanne would be willing to add the kids to her health plan. He thought she would, once he offered to increase his child support payments.

  Was it possible? Could the life Owen had previously wrecked be coming together? His relationship with his kids was improving for sure and potentially his work—if the store purchase came to fruition. The only missing piece was Molly.

  What would she think of having him as a neighbor? He’d find out soon enough. News tended to travel fast in small towns. No doubt him buying Fred’s store would be the topic of conversation at Uncle Homer and Emily’s reception.

  * * *

  THE CHAPEL WAS standing room only for Grandma Em and Homer’s vow renewal ceremony. Twice as many people would be at the reception. Perhaps even three times. The side table in the parlor was already covered in envelopes. The happy couple had insisted they had everything they’d ever need and requested donations be made to the outreach programs at Homer’s church in lieu of gifts.

  Both Molly and Bridget had labored to the point of exhaustion to make every one of Grandma Em’s wishes a reality. Bridget had baked herself into a frenzy, but the results were spectacular. The traditional four-tier wedding cake was topped with a pair of engraved champagne glasses and decorated with live red roses. Molly had personally tied countless miniature silk bows for the guests to wear.

  She was truly ecstatic for her grandmother and Homer. Too bad she couldn’t say the same for herself.

  Unlucky in love once again. Though she and Owen hadn’t progressed to the point of being in love, they’d been headed there, of that Molly was convinced. What other explanation was there for her deep despair since their disagreement?

  She blamed seeing him on a daily basis. Hard to get over someone who was there whenever she turned around.

  Surely things would be different once he left Sweetheart Ranch. She’d moved on fairly easily after her former engagements ended. Then again, she’d wanted to move on. Not so with Owen. She spent most of her waking hours wishing she could go back in time. If he gave her the tiniest indication he was open to a reconciliation, she’d leap on the chance. But he didn’t, and her despair continued to linger.

  While Bridget and Molly’s mother helped Grandma Em with her outfit, Molly and Owen acted as cohosts, greeting guests and trying to find places for them in the crowded chapel. Frequently, their glances connected from across the crowded room. It couldn’t be helped.

  During one exchange, he’d appeared as forlorn as she, and she wondered if he, too, was regretting their decision to call it quits.

  No, she had to stop thinking like that. Owen was her past not her future, and attempting to read more into his expressions than was there would be counterproductive.

  “Grandma’s ready.” Bridget came up behind Molly and squeezed her affectionately. “She asked Nora to walk her down the aisle and Mom to be her matron of honor. You should have been there and seen the three of them crying and hugging.”

  “That’s sweet.” Molly worried about her own ability to keep the tears at bay during the ceremony.

  “The photographer caught it all.”

  They’d decided at the last minute to hire a professional photographer rather than rely on friends to take pictures. It was Molly’s idea. She remembered receiving a wedding album as a bridal shower gift and her joy at the prospect of filling it with pictures. She also recalled acute sadness when she’d returned all the shower gifts after her fiancé had called off the wedding.

  “Owen looks like a kid who just learned Santa Claus isn’t real.”

  “What?” Molly spun to face her sister.

  “He’s a mess.” Bridget evaluated Molly closely. “He’s not the only one. You aren’t exactly kicking up your heels.”

  “I’m hanging in there.”

  “You were wrong to let him go. Or should I say, you let him go for the wrong reasons.”

  “No more armchair psychology, please. Not today.”

  Bridget ignored her. “You’re so darn afraid of being dumped again, you dumped him first.”

  The jolt ripped through Molly from her head to her toes. It was the truth breaking loose from where she’d buried it.

  “I don’t want to make another mistake,” she admitted in a broken voice.

  “Owen’s not a mistake.”

  “You can’t be sure. Look at Mom and Doug.”

  Both Molly and Bridget’s gazes sought out their stepfather who was keeping to himself in a corner and pretty much ignoring everyone there. Every couple of minutes he would check his cell phone.

  “Owen couldn’t be more opposite from Doug.” Bridget rested a hand on Molly’s arm.

  “I’m high maintenance. What if I wind up like Jeanne? She was always making demands on him. That’s one of the reasons their marriage failed.”

  “Again, complete opposites.” Bridget sighed. “Did you ever notice that all the obstacles in front of you and Owen were put there by you?”

  “Being afraid of making another mistake isn’t an excuse.”

  “Oh, baby sister. Don’t let a little thing like fear get in your way.”

  Molly was abruptly recruited to attend to a minor problem with the sound system and went gratefully. Not because she’d rather avoid the uncomfortable conversation with her sister but because today was all about her grandmother and Homer. They deserved her complete attention.

  With a little nudge here and there and a kindly phrased, “Can you move over just a little?” Molly was able to either seat everyone or find them a place to stand behind the p
ews. A small path was left for the wedding party to make their much-anticipated entrance.

  Owen made his way to the altar. He’d donned his usual Western-cut sports jacket. In place of a bolo tie, he’d chosen an old-fashioned black string necktie like those worn by characters in old Westerns. More than one woman commented on his good looks.

  If Molly hadn’t been so determined to stay strong, she’d have melted at the sight of him.

  Minutes before the ceremony was due to begin, Molly and Bridget took their seats in the first pew reserved for the bride’s family. Grandma Em’s younger sister had made the trip as well as two of her cousins and Molly’s aunt and uncle. And, of course, there was Doug. The cabins were filled with out-of-town family and friends. Owen had graciously agreed to let Homer’s best man, a buddy from his army days, sleep on his sofa bed.

  “No worries,” Owen had said, “I’ll be gone tomorrow, and he can have the cabin to himself.”

  Molly forced herself not to think about Owen’s departure as she waited for Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March” to start playing. Fat lot of good it did her, since she couldn’t stop looking at him standing at the altar. At his right waited Homer, wearing a dark blue suit and a huge grin, his best man beside him.

  The first few strands of the familiar melody filled the chapel, and Molly’s mother appeared, holding a small bouquet of festive winter flowers and escorted by Nora’s oldest grandson, who was all of nine. He accompanied her to the altar and then, giggling, scurried over to sit with his family. The photographer floated around the room, taking pictures.

  And then the bride appeared on Nora’s arm. Those who were seated rose to their feet, their expressions tender and warm. Upon reaching the altar, Nora released Grandma Em. Molly’s mother then took Grandma Em’s bouquet so that she could hold hands with Homer. The moment was pure magic.

  Owen smiled at the elated couple and began reciting. “Who gives this woman to be married to this man?”

  The timbre of his voice, Molly noted, was strong and sure, as if he’d been officiating weddings his entire life rather than the last five weeks. All things considered, he’d been a wonderful substitute minister for Homer and wrangler for Big Jim. He’d treated his job at the ranch as if it was the most important one he’d ever held.

  Molly watched transfixed as he talked about the six cornerstones of marriage: commitment, honesty, communication, respect, forgiveness and unconditional love. There was something about his manner and delivery that convinced her he wasn’t just saying the words, he believed them.

  “Marriage is not simply a sacred institution. For many people, it’s the closest, most intimate, most important relationship they will ever have with another person. It deserves no less than our best efforts and our greatest sacrifices, as I know Homer and Emily are willing to give.”

  Owen glanced up, and this time his gaze connected with Molly where it remained, absolutely unwavering. She knew then that he was speaking not only to Homer and Grandma Em but to her, too.

  “As the poet James Kavanaugh said, ‘To love is not to possess, to own or imprison, nor to lose one’s self in another. Love is to join and separate, to walk alone and together, to find a laughing freedom that lonely isolation does not permit. It is finally to be able to be who we really are.’”

  Finally to be able to be who we really are.

  The phrase resonated with Molly. She was impulsive. High maintenance. A little OCD, as Bridget had said. Convinced she was always right. Yet Owen had come to care for her despite her many quirks. He’d let her be who she really was and didn’t want to change her.

  Whatever flaws he possessed, whatever differences they had, weren’t important. Commitment, honesty, communication, respect, forgiveness and unconditional love. The cornerstones of marriage as Owen had recited. Those were what truly mattered.

  When Molly next looked at Owen, he was staring down at the paper in his hands. After that, he launched into the exchange of vows, and her hopes sank. If there had been an opportunity to communicate her revelation to him, she’d missed it.

  With loud and exuberant gusto, Owen pronounced Grandma Em and Homer man and wife. Though it was their second wedding in five weeks, Homer kissed Grandma Em as any newly married man would kiss his beautiful bride.

  Molly watched the two of them through misty eyes. They hadn’t let fear or difficulties prevent them from going after what they wanted.

  She could learn a lot from them.

  Frank Sinatra’s “The Best Is Yet to Come” filled the chapel as Homer and Grandma Em strolled hand in hand back down the aisle. Molly and Bridget joined them and the rest of the wedding party in the foyer to form a short receiving line that included Owen at the end.

  Nora squeezed in between Molly and her mother. Leaning sideways, she said to Molly in a loud whisper, “Did you hear the news? Owen is buying Fred’s feed store. He’s not leaving town after all. Going to live right here.”

  Molly whirled to gape at him, her jaw slack. “Is it true? Are you buying the feed store?”

  “I signed the papers yesterday.”

  “Does this mean—” She couldn’t finish. Couldn’t think.

  Owen formed his hands into the shape of a heart and held them in front of his chest.

  “Oh, my,” Nora crooned. “I do believe the man is taken with you.”

  Molly felt herself throwing doubts aside and rushing headlong toward what could only be love.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  THE PARLOR COULDN’T contain all the people attending Homer and Emily’s reception. As a result, some gathered in the foyer and others in the kitchen. Several brave souls ventured into the cold to stand on the veranda.

  The photographer took both candid and posed pictures. Owen had been asked to join in various shots of the wedding party and their family and friends. He wouldn’t have minded standing next to Molly, but the photographer insisted on putting him to Homer’s right with the Foxworthy clan and Molly to Emily’s left with the O’Malleys.

  He kept trying to get a good look at her and determine if she’d understood the subtle messages he’d conveyed during the ceremony and while in the receiving line. But she was continually snatched away, leaving him more determined than ever to get her alone for just a few minutes. That was all he needed to tell her he’d meant every word he’d spoken during the vow renewal ceremony and would prove it if she let him.

  News of him buying the feed store had spread quickly—every few minutes someone stopped him to wish him well. No one was satisfied with the short version of how he came to buy the store and insisted on details. Owen would politely break away as soon as he could and continue his attempts to locate Molly.

  Where was she? It was as if she’d disappeared.

  Finally, she emerged from the bride’s dressing room with Emily. They must have gone in there to freshen up after the long and involved photo session.

  “Cake and champagne are being served in the parlor,” someone called out.

  Owen was involuntarily swept along by a large group of guests converging on the parlor, his frustration at continually missing Molly mounting.

  Uncle Homer’s best man made a toast once the champagne was served—sparkling cider for those underage. Several people shared amusing stories of Homer and Emily. Cake was cut, more photos taken, and hugs and kisses exchanged.

  Owen had officiated dozens of weddings during his stay at Sweetheart Ranch. None were happier than this one.

  He’d almost given up on ever finding a moment alone with Molly, when he felt a tug on his sports coat sleeve. He sensed her presence before he’d even turned. Discovering her standing so close was like seeing a blazing sun breaking over the horizon at dawn.

  “I was wondering—”

  He grabbed her hand and dragged her along with him before she could finish, navigating their way through the throng. Now that he had her, he wa
sn’t about to let her escape before she heard him out.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “The chapel.” It was the only public room in the house he could think of where they might find a modicum of privacy.

  To his relief, the chapel was empty. No sooner did they sit in the first pew than Owen enveloped both of Molly’s hands in his.

  “I’ve missed this,” he said.

  “Holding hands?”

  “Being with you. And before you start telling me how different we are and that I need to get my life together—”

  “I’m not going to tell you,” she said quietly.

  No? Well, in that case, Owen didn’t beat around the bush. “I know buying the feed store is risky. Working for Craft-Right or a company like them is the safer choice. But I’d hate it.”

  “I agree. You’d have done well at Craft-Right, Owen. You’ll do better owning the feed store.”

  “I think so, too. It’s the kind of business tailor-made for me. And once I sell my house, I’ll find an inexpensive place in town. I want to put as much money into expanding the feed store as I can. Fred had a lot of ideas. I have more.”

  “I’d love to hear about them.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I have a lot of ideas about expanding Sweetheart Ranch. We can swap.”

  “Sure.” He tamped down his disappointment. She was interested only from a business standpoint.

  “Congratulations, Owen. I’m excited for you.”

  “Are you okay with me staying in Mustang Valley? Be honest.”

  She stared at their joined hands. “Actually...”

  He cut her off. “I want another chance. Hear me out before you say no.”

  She nodded. “Okay.”

  “I’ve made a lot of mistakes with you. Ones I regret. It was a learning process. Fortunately, I’m a quick study.”

  “I made mistakes, too. I’ve realized these last few days, or should I say I’ve had it pointed out to me, that I was afraid of being hurt again. I still am.”