Crazy Woman Christmas

by Renee Blare

  Chester came to his feet when she opened the door. She stepped over the fresh pile of wood for the fireplace. His crisp barks accompanied her slaps and kicks as she opened the box and reached for a dry pair of gloves. “Hang tight, I’m gonna go take care of the critters.”

  * * *

  “Thank you for coming to the Christmas Eve service. Each year, we gather together on this very special night and celebrate our Savior’s birth.” The pastor’s voice shook the church, echoing from the high ceilings and along the stained glass windows.

  Pete nodded at the couple in front of him as they sat down. Music began to swell from the pipes behind the choir loft, and he put his arm around his wife’s shoulders.

  “We need to be at home.” Angela shied away from his touch.

  Pete gripped her fleeing hand and drew her closer to his side. “Relax, honey. They have my cell phone number. We’re exactly where we need to be.”

  He ran a thumb down her tight jaw and faced the front of the church. His heart ached at the pain in Angie’s eyes. He braced himself against the anger. That’s one thing his wife and daughter had in common…their temper.

  “What if she—?”

  “Enough.” He silenced her hiss with a finger to her lips. Sea-blue eyes glittered at him. Pete brushed the rage and tears aside with a soft kiss. “We’re going to celebrate the birth of our Lord and pray for our daughter.”

  If only she’d open up and talk to him. At home, all she did was sleep or hide in her room. She barely ate a thing yesterday. “Angela, we’d originally planned to attend this service and afterwards, eat dinner here with Bee.”

  Angie didn’t argue but rested against the pew. The snap of her teeth ricocheted down the bench, drawing attention from other church members.

  He gave her knee a gentle squeeze. “Can we do this for her…please?”

  Her tiny nod sent a wave of relief pulsing through him. He closed his eyes. He’d take it. At this moment, he’d take anything. He wanted his wife back, not the angry beast who’d stolen the woman he loved.

  * * *

  Her legs trembled as they plowed through the deep drifts. The barn blurred in the distance but she continued on. At least she hoped it was a barn. The bulky shadow faded in and out with the blowing snow. “Keep going…go…go.”

  Her chant disappeared into her chest as she marched. By the time she reached the barn, her feet were numb and her eyeballs frozen.

  Her cheek muscles barely moved when Bianca groaned. “Ouch. How can people live in a place like this?”

  She yanked on the door and darted into the large but warm building. Almost immediately, her face and hands began to tingle. Her feet followed soon after, and Bianca stomped them on the hard compact floor.

  A soft snort drew her attention, and she met the eyes of a draft horse over one of the stall doors. He blinked lazily at her as Bianca ran her fingers down his wide forehead. “Hello, there.”

  The powerful animal nudged her palm with his nose and she laughed. “Sorry, buddy, I don’t have any treats. Give me a minute, though.”

  She patted his muscular shoulder and moved on to the other stall. Another draft horse lazed close to the outer wall. He didn’t twitch or move…not even when she placed an elbow on the top rail. Unfamiliar with draft horses, Bianca almost opened the door until she noticed a goat sleeping at his feet.

  Neither twitched as her heartbeat pounded in her ears. She cupped her hands to her mouth. The two cuddling creatures brought tears to her eyes. Bianca reached for her cellphone only to remember that it was dead—and in her car. “Oh, bummer. You’d love these two, Dad.”

  Her father would love this. He had a soft spot for horses and their pals.

  Bianca eased away from the stall but stopped when the goat lifted its head. Was he shivering? It was hot as a furnace in the barn. She slid the bolt to the side and opened the door. A large feathered hoof connected with the outer wall.

  “Easy, boy,” she soothed the gigantic monster snorting at her a few feet away. “I’m here to help.”

  Another loud bang echoed through the building. Bianca stepped slowly from the stall. She searched the area for a rake or shovel. “Are you hungry? I bet you are. I would be.”

  Bianca continued to chatter as she peeked in the corners and shadows. Rustles behind her indicated the animals might be interested in her movements. She glanced over her shoulder. “Well, hi there.”

  The black draft horse grunted above the railing. She fought her laughter when he punched at the wood with his chin. “Impatient, bugger, aren’t you? Okay, give me a second.”

  Another pass through the barn, and she located the hay as well as a brood of chickens. After tossing a bit of feed into their pen, she scooped up a pile and threw it between the goat and the black beast. Another scoop landed in the next stall. Another goat materialized from behind the first draft horse and began munching. “Hey, you have a pal too.”

  One last check of the water trough assured her that the animals had everything they needed until she could check on them tonight. “What do you think? Y’all set?”

  Her answer seemed to be crunching and pecking.

  Bundling up in her layers, Bianca braced herself for the wintry onslaught and opened the door. Instead of being tossed about in gale force winds, large fluffy flakes drifted on a slight breeze.

  She’d barely taken a step when a mangled four-wheeler materialized in the storm. The front and right fenders ripped off, the vehicle leaned weakly against the side the barn as if looking for support. Two of the four tires were flat, with one of them shredded beyond repair.

  Bianca approached the poor machine. Her heart stuttered as she fingered the broken headlight and shattered mirror. It appeared as if it’d been rolled, and recently. “Oh, Devon.”

  Chapter Eight

  Devon flexed his fingers and hissed when pins and needles worked their way up his arm. Tugging at the edge of his thick cotton pullover, he sat up and glanced around the quiet house.

  Pistol stopped chewing on his paw and struggled onto his hind legs, but at Devon’s hand signal slumped to the bed. A quick scan revealed a towel-covered dish on the stove, and he shuffled into the kitchen. “Bianca?”

  The burners on the stove were cool to the touch, and upon closer observation, Devon discovered unwashed dishes in the sink. He skirted the island only to find Chester camped out in the mudroom, his nose pressed to the floor.

  He’d almost made it to the washer when the back door flew open. Chester came uncorked, his bark resonating in the small room. Bianca stumbled through the doorway, covered with snow.

  “Bianca!” Devon reached her in three strides. He pushed the frantic dog out of the way, dragging the shivering woman into the kitchen. “Chester, quiet.”

  The border collie whined and followed. He paced a few feet behind them when he drew her to a stop by the sink. Bianca’s layers resembled blocks of ice, and he began to pull them off the small woman. He began with the gloves and worked his way inward, dropping each piece to the tile floor.

  As he unwrapped the scarf, her chattering teeth reverberated throughout the kitchen. Devon flung the woven wool to the floor. “What on earth were you doing? You have no business traipsing around in a blizzard.”

  “Don’t be angry.” Her captivating eyes peered at him through caked eyelashes. “You were so tired. I wanted…needed to help.”

  Her lilting, whispered words quaked with the force of her shivers, and he cradled her icy fingers in his palms. Devon raised them to his lips, blowing softly on her cold skin. “This isn’t Texas, Bee.”

  “I know.” A light twinkled from beneath the frozen glaze of her eyes. “Oh, I know that very well. Come here.”

  Her grip tightened around his palm as she tugged him across the kitchen. Devon sidestepped the puddles on the floor but turned his back to the door. “Wait. I don’t have shoes on.”

  A sniff met his ears. “I want to show you how I know the difference. Come on. You don’t need shoes t
o look out the window.”

  Chester barked at him as if in agreement, or maybe it was to say he was being an idiot. He wasn’t sure. Still, Devon had to admit—he liked this woman. Even if she was taking over his ranch. Bit by bit.

  “Ugh, I told you. I need my boots.” He lifted his heel and grimaced. His pant leg was soaked. And cold!

  “Stop being a baby.” She brushed his mom’s embroidered curtain aside. “See?”

  He stuck his nose to the frosted glass. “What?”

  “What do you mean…what?” Her breath lifted the hair on his neck as she sighed against his shoulder. “I don’t have that view in Texas. Isn’t it gorgeous?”

  Her small hand rested lightly on his arm as they took in the winter wonderland. Large, fluffy flakes poured from a light gray sky. The flood of white added to the peaked drifts carved beneath the surrounding pine trees. With the decline of the powerful winds, low clouds smothered the mountains and channeled in a gentle breeze. The snow swirled in eddies and minute currents close to the house.

  He struggled to view his home from the eyes of a stranger, not the tough eyes of a man raised on this rugged land. Devon touched the glass. The snow-capped fence framed the pasture, as if framing a perfect winter postcard. Perfectly lonely. His hand clenched. “Yes, it is beautiful.”

  “Are you—” Bianca drew away and looked at him. His expression must’ve alerted her to his change in mood because her throat bobbed. “Ummm. Are you still hungry? I can make you something else.”

  “No.” He snapped his fingers. Chester hugged his side as he walked into the other room.

  Bianca trailed behind him and sank into one of the chairs without a sound. Devon arched an eyebrow her way, wincing at the injured expression on her face. Her cheeks flushed a rosy pink.

  Assured that his little Texan wasn’t slow-witted, he shook his head. “You don’t have to wait on me, Bianca. You’re my guest, not my maid.”

  Bianca clasped her hands and brought them to her chin. “No, I guess not, but I’ve been told that I’m a pretty awesome chef. The least I can do while I’m here is cook your meals.”

  “Is that what you call that crepe thing?” He cut her a grin even as she stiffened. “I’m kidding, Bee. It was good. Heck, I didn’t even know what a crepe was until today. And I do appreciate the meal, although it wasn’t necessary. I could’ve fixed it myself.” Devon studied her as his words sunk in. He couldn’t decide if she was angry or not as a glow suffused her skin. Bianca Kolceski was as gorgeous as the land outside his window, and from the looks of it, just as tough. Another section of his rigid heart softened.

  Aqua-blue eyes latched onto him and her head tilted to the side. “Can I ask you a question?”

  He shrugged, wincing when his ribs protested. “I suppose.”

  “It’s Christmas Eve. Why don’t you decorate?”

  Devon ignored the sting of tears. He couldn’t cry, especially not now and definitely not in front of her. He brushed a hand through his hair. An ache spread through his chest. He massaged his sternum and swallowed. “My parents died on Christmas Eve. Celebrating this holiday is hard for me, especially since I still can’t believe they’re really gone.”

  A small sound drew his gaze to Bianca. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears and her hand stroked his forearm. “I can’t imagine losing a parent, much less two. My parents and I—we’ve been estranged for a while now, but I would be devastated if they were gone.”

  Her lips twisted and she pushed her knuckle into the corner of her eye. “Not that I’ve been a daughter they could be proud of.”

  His shoulder throbbed and his ribs ached—from his injury or loss, he couldn’t be sure. “I’m sure you’re a better daughter than I was a son.”

  “Is this a competition?” She gave him a soft smile.

  Devon grinned. “Could be.”

  His gaze volleyed between Bianca and the empty solarium. He’d buried his mother’s decorations in the cellar so they were far from sight and mind.

  * * *

  “Nothing at all?” A woman’s voice climbed above the hubbub of the fellowship hall. “Not even a text?”

  Pete pushed away from the wall only to be stopped by a hand on his arm. He glanced up, startled to find the pastor at his side.

  The older man offered a reassuring smile. “You can’t shield her from reality, Petr. She needs to face it. May as well be today when she’s surrounded by the people who love her.”

  Pete stared at his shoes, but Brother Jason held him in a tight grip. “I’m not doing any such thing, sir. If anything, it’s the exact opposite.”

  “Is that right?” The pastor released him and tugged at his tie. “If you don’t mind my asking, when did you last speak to the authorities in Wyoming?”

  Pete blinked. “Before church. Why?”

  “And did you tell your wife?”

  “No, I didn’t.” He settled back against the wall and crossed his arms. “Why upset her more, Jason?”

  The dark blue blazer of the pastor obliterated the view of his wife when he moved to stand in front of him. Pete met the man’s stern gaze.

  “My friend, how long have we know each other? Thirty, forty years?” Jason’s hand clamped down on his shoulder. “I recall the young, prideful Petr Kolceski from Nova Scotia. The one who struggled to rise above his family’s past.”

  Pete clenched his jaw. “I remember.”

  “Do you remember what you told me regarding that woman over there?” Jason’s gray head bobbed toward his wife sitting with her friends a few feet away. “And your vow to God, with me as your witness, the night before I married you thirty years ago? Or have you forgotten, Petr?”

  “No.” He rested his head against the wall and closed his eyes. He’d promised to never lie to his wife and to never hide anything from her. No matter how bad things may become.

  “I suggest you remind yourself why you said the words, and when you get home tonight, talk to your wife.” His pastor and friend gave his shoulder a tight squeeze. “Angela can’t read your mind. Don’t expect her to. Talk to her.”

  The pastor disappeared, melting into the chattering congregation. Pete stood still and thought on his friend’s words for a moment. Was he hiding things from his wife? Keeping secrets?

  All he wanted—needed—was for Angie to pray for their daughter and not lash out at God. But the truth? He forgotten his wife’s needs in all this. All he’d cared about was his own, and Bianca’s. He dug his thumb into his temple.

  His wife’s tender touch pulled his hand down from his face. “What are you doing? Digging for gold?”

  He caught her fingers and brushed his lips across her knuckles. “No, but I would like to go home. Are you ready?”

  “Whenever you are.” A familiar smile sparkled in her eyes.

  * * *

  Bianca ached at the pain cutting across Devon’s face. She searched for something to say in the sweltering silence, but nothing came to mind. Instead, Mimi jumped in her lap and whimpered. “I can tell that you love your animals, though. Do you get that from your parents?”

  Devon shifted on the couch, rubbing Chester’s back with his bare toe. “When I got news of their death, suddenly, everything in my world seemed trivial in comparison to what was needed here. College…football. I decided to leave my dreams of a football career behind and came home to run the ranch. I don’t regret it for one moment. It was a fork in the road and I chose the right one. But the house is empty without anyone but the dogs to share it with.”

  She nuzzled Mimi and studied him through her tears. “I can understand that.” Bianca sniffed. “I don’t know what it’s like to lose someone, but I admire you, Devon. And you run a beautiful ranch.”

  Misery deepened her mood and Bianca settled into the leather recliner. When melancholy permeated her very being after the breakup with her boss in Seattle, her trip home to her mom and dad ignited a spark of hope. As soon as the weather cleared, she’d be on her way. But now, for some unknown reaso
n, Texas seemed far, far, away and less appealing.

  Mimi licked her cheek and Bianca scratched her furry head. “I don’t need to decorate. That’s not what Christmas is really about, anyway.”

  She cradled the pup under her arm and rose. Bianca stopped by the couch. “Please believe me when I say that I don’t want my presence here to hurt you in any way. And I’m so…so sorry for your loss, Devon.”

  “Thank you.” His silver eyes skimmed over her as she attempted a smile. “Bee?”

  Bianca turned. “Yes?”

  He leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees. Clasping his hands together, he formed a steeple with his fingers. A long silence hung in the air as he stared at the flames in the fireplace. “Why does decorating for Christmas mean so much to you? And don’t tell me it doesn’t. You’re more than disappointed.”

  The mention of Christmas created the usual spread of warmth through her chest. Bianca fought the delight bubbling up at the thought of it. “This is much more than a holiday to me and this year, I finally understand why. When I was a kid, my mom and I always spent the day before Christmas together.” A moment of melancholy crept in and she frowned. “And I’d do everything I could to screw it up. Everything from complaining to shoplifting. But what I didn’t realize at that time was my mom was teaching me God’s love and grace.” She glanced at Devon but he didn’t say a word. Bianca continued, “We’d spend the day shopping for my father and donating at various charities in Dallas. I look back on it now and am amazed at my mother. I guess that’s why for me, Christmas means more than lights and trees and wreaths. I love what this day is and the hope it represents for the world. The decorations are a way I celebrate. It’s how I say thank you for all He’s done for me. For us.”

  Devon didn’t move as he stared at her from his position on the couch. She couldn’t read his expression. Suddenly, he clambered to his feet and hooked her by the arm.

  She gasped and stumbled forward. “What are you doing?”

  “Digging out the decorations,” he muttered as he led her into the kitchen. “Wanna help?”