Christmas on the Ranch

by Arlene James

  “Except the jerk left you a legacy of feeling like you’re a failure,” Brett spluttered then looked embarrassed.

  “I’ll survive.” Elizabeth reminded herself she’d done nothing to be ashamed of, then stared directly into his eyes. “I never told Zoey about her father until recently because I didn’t want her to grow up feeling like she’s not enough. But I had to explain why she couldn’t see him.” She inhaled. “There was a point to pouring out my ugly personal details.”

  Brett let go of her hand as if to gather himself in preparation.

  “You can’t live your life managing, Brett. That’s what I did for five years. I managed when I should have acted. Sooner or later managing takes its toll. Sometimes it’s too late.” She leaned forward to touch his jutting chin. “Talk to your dad,” she pleaded. “Discuss it. Together you can find a way to work it out.”

  Brett slowly shook his head. “I can’t.”

  Elizabeth slumped. She desperately wanted Brett to finally fulfill his dream.

  And yet, deep inside, she wanted to beg him to stay in Snowflake, to be here to share things with her, to laugh with Zoey, to comfort and support and—wait a minute! She’d vowed never to risk her heart again. Caution, her brain screamed.

  “The ranch is Dad’s dream, Doc,” Brett explained softly. “Everything he hoped for, planned and gave up his own dreams for. He’ll be crushed if I leave.” He smiled but angst darkened his mesmerizing eyes. “I want to go, but I have to think it through, pray, be certain that having my dream is worth hurting him so deeply.”

  Such compassion for the man who’d raised him moved her.

  “You’ll do the right thing,” she murmured. “But you have to tell Clint soon. It would hurt him terribly if he found out from someone else that you’re thinking of leaving.”

  “I know. I have to decide by December thirty-first.” How could he choose between his father or his future?

  Elizabeth knew Brett as a giver. But now she wanted this kind, gentle man to finally have his own heart’s desire.

  Yet inside her heart pleaded, Please, don’t go, Brett! Not now when our friendship has just begun.

  Friendship? Was that all they shared?

  Chapter Six

  For Brett, the afternoon’s sleigh ride search for Christmas trees seemed part of a wistful daydream. Only it wouldn’t end the way he imagined.

  “The song says, ‘In the meadow we can build a snowman,’” Zoey chanted. She glanced around. “Is this a meadow, CC?”

  “Yep. Carlisle Meadow,” Clint confirmed. “Stop the horses, son. It’s snowman time. Zoey and I will build the bottom. C’mon, kid.” He climbed out then lifted the little girl down while Brett slid his hands around Elizabeth’s narrow waist and did the same. “You two get busy making the snowman’s middle.”

  “Yes, sir!” Brett saluted then whispered, “Dad’s acting like a kid.”

  “It’s good for him, and you.” Elizabeth’s eyes sparkled as she scooped a handful of snow into her gloved hand. “Snowball fight?”

  “Snowman,” he emphasized, dodging the missile. When she scooped up more snow he glowered at her menacingly. “Don’t think I won’t wash your face just because you’re a girl, Doc.”

  “As if you’d get the chance!” But she apparently rethought her intentions and began rolling a snowball on the ground. “How big do you want the middle, Zoey?”

  “Huge!” Zoey’s forehead furrowed as she glared at Clint. “You’re s’posed to help.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He cleared a little spot with his shuffling feet then helped her begin the snowman’s base. “Almost ready for his stomach, Brett. Get busy, boy.”

  “Bossy,” Brett mumbled as he helped Elizabeth roll the second section over. Together they heaved it into place.

  “Heavy.” Doc’s puffed breath formed a white cloud around their heads. The sun reflected from her gold-striped ski suit enhancing the molten glints in her eyes. “Who’s making the head?”

  “All of us.” Zoey tugged at Clint. “We’ll start rolling and when it’s big enough Mommy and Brett can put it on top.”

  “Good idea.” His dad’s smooth tenor voice joined hers in a song about reindeer.

  Brett chuckled when Zoey chided Clint for mixing up the words.

  “She’s quite a girl, Doc,” Brett said with a teasing wink. “Obviously your daughter.”

  “I’m not sure if that was meant as a compliment, but in the spirit of Christmas, I’ll take it as one. I wish your dad was in our choir.” She brushed his arm, directing his attention to Clint laughing at Zoey. Instead Brett’s gaze locked with hers and suddenly everything around him faded.

  This gorgeous woman was beautiful inside and out. He couldn’t help wishing, hoping—for what? A relationship? But he planned to leave. What if he stayed and it didn’t work out? What if he couldn’t be what she wanted and she changed her mind, like Wanda had?

  “What are you staring at?” Doc whispered.

  “Your red nose.” Without questioning his intent, Brett pressed a kiss against it. “Are you frozen?”

  “Not anymore.” Doc took a tiny step back, eyes flaring wide.

  “Are you kissin’ Mommy?” Zoey tugged on his pant leg, her eyes searching the boughs above them. “Is it ’cause that stuff over your heads is missing-toe?”

  “Mistletoe, sweetie.” Elizabeth dipped her head. When she dropped her hand from Brett’s arm it felt like a physical loss—odd since he barely knew her.

  Liar. You know Doc. You’ve never connected with any woman as you have with Elizabeth Kendall.

  “Is it time to put on the snowman’s head, Zoey?” He ignored the sudden burst of inner awareness.

  “Yeah. Me ’n CC been waitin’ for that.” Zoey continued to study Brett. “You look funny.”

  “I’ve always told him that.” Clint winked at Zoey but to Brett’s dismay she stayed with her train of thought.

  “Does kissin’ make you feel funny?” she demanded.

  “Ever got an Eskimo kiss?” Doc’s startled look made Brett’s face heat. But he had to do something to change the subject.

  “No. How?” Zoey asked after a slight hesitation.

  “Like this.” He brushed her nose with his nose. “Does that kiss make you feel funny, Zoey?”

  “Kinda.” She repeated the gesture with Clint then shrugged. “What will we use for eyes and a nose on our snowman, CC?”

  Brett’s sigh of relief caught in his throat at Elizabeth’s knowing grin.

  “It’s all your fault,” he muttered, exasperated by the unruly feelings welling inside him.

  “My fault that you kissed my nose?” She smacked her hands on her hips. “How?”

  “You’re too pretty.” He stepped forward and kissed her again, only this time it wasn’t on the nose.

  “Look, Zoey. They must have found some more missing-toe.” Clint’s barely suppressed mirth sobered Brett like a snow-wash to the face.

  “Let’s get this snowman finished.” He employed the utmost restraint in not hauling Elizabeth into his arms for a repeat kiss despite their audience. “What’re you using for eyes, kiddo?”

  “Acorns,” Zoey announced. “But we need arms.”

  Brett snapped off two twigs and inserted them. “Okay?”

  “I guess. Buttons?” Her green eyes widened when he shook his head, as if surprised that he didn’t carry snowman buttons in his pockets.

  “The red berries on that bush might do.” Elizabeth pointed, avoiding his gaze.

  “Perfect.” Brett retrieved several, which he planted down the front of the snowman.

  “The birds will probably eat ’em,” Clint said, head tilted to one side.

  “You have another idea?” Brett felt desperate to escape Doc and the rush of co
nfusing feelings whirling inside him. Since Clint didn’t respond and Doc simply continued to study him with that enigmatic look she often wore to hide what she was really thinking, he suggested, “Into the sleigh and let’s get back to Christmas tree hunting. Zoey, you sing ‘Jingle Bells.’”

  As they rode through the crisp afternoon, their voices echoing between the tall evergreens, Brett tried to ignore his overawareness of the woman seated next to him, but Doc’s scent, soft and citrusy, brought back her words of this morning. He marveled anew that she’d taken on Snowflake’s choir at all.

  She’d endured so much and yet she still managed to give; to her daughter, her patients, the kids’ choir, his dad. Elizabeth Kendall didn’t wince from life. She took what she was given and made it into something wonderful. The evidence was Zoey, a daughter any parent would be proud of.

  And yet, after this morning, Brett noticed a new reticence in Doc’s manner toward him that made him wonder if she was fighting the same current of attraction that had snagged him in a whirlpool of contradictory feelings.

  Refusing to let anything dampen their sleigh ride, Brett snapped the reins of his dad’s favorite Appaloosas. With Zoey belting out her songs, Clint’s horses, silver garlands around their necks, trotted smartly across the meadow toward the best spruce trees on the Double C.

  Last week Pastor Bill had said God expected His children to have faith in Him to give the answers they needed. Brett had barely two weeks till Christmas. He hoped God would expedite His answer to the twin problems of college and what to do about his growing feelings for lovely Elizabeth Kendall.

  * * *

  Wearied by the fresh air and Zoey’s persistent search for the perfect Christmas tree, Elizabeth gave thanks to finally be seated in front of the Carlisle fireplace. She hugged her knees, content to watch Zoey and Brett make tea.

  “You look sleepy,” Clint said.

  “You have a fantastic voice. Why do you never sing in church, Clint?” Maybe she shouldn’t have asked. She didn’t want anything to ruin this special afternoon.

  “Supposed to make a joyful noise to the Lord. Not a squawk,” he joked.

  “You need practice. Why don’t you and Doc sing a duet?” Brett handed her a minty-scented mug. “Dad had the piano tuned last week.”

  The first time Elizabeth had entered the ranch house she’d glimpsed the old-fashioned upright sitting in the corner. On each return visit to the ranch her fingers had itched to play its ivory keys, knowing this piano maker had a quality of sound unrivaled by most upright pianos.

  “I haven’t played carols in years,” she said hesitantly.

  “You played Handel. You can play carols.” Brett’s faith in her lent confidence.

  “Okay, but everyone sings.” Maybe they would drown out her mistakes.

  Clint barked, “I never said—”

  Unable to deny herself Elizabeth sat and played a series of chords to get a feel for the instrument. The sound was glorious in the high-ceilinged room. “It’s perfectly in tune.”

  “I’m guessing you have true pitch, like Dad?” Brett made a face when she nodded. “Is there anything you don’t do well, Doc?”

  She met his gaze, floundering in the wave of tenderness she felt for this kind man.

  “I’m not good with animals. You’ve got the corner on that skill, Brett.”

  He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t break their stare, either. Not until Zoey demanded, “Are we gonna sing or what?”

  Elizabeth tore her gaze from Brett’s and launched into playing her daughter’s favorite Christmas hymn, “Angels We Have Heard On High.” Turned out Clint’s tenor was a perfect foil for Brett’s baritone on the “Glorias.”

  “Sing your part, Mommy,” Zoey insisted, Mrs. Beasley cuddled in her arms.

  And since her heart felt light and carefree, Elizabeth gave her voice free rein as she reached for the high soprano harmony notes, something she hadn’t done in a very long time. Despite her awareness of Brett at her elbow, she reveled in the lovely words of the old carols telling of God’s gift to the world. Her delight for the Christmas music she’d always adored returned as she played carol after carol, allowing the glorious music to soothe her heart until it felt right to let the last notes die away.

  “Thank you, Elizabeth. I enjoyed that.” Clint sounded introspective as he returned to his seat on the sofa.

  “So did I.” Brett touched her shoulder in a too-fleeting caress. “Thank you for giving us such a wonderful Christmas memory.”

  Elizabeth knew he was thinking of the opportunity he’d been offered and that he and his father might not share another Christmas on the Double C. She rose, surprised to see a tear on his lashes. Unthinking she reached out and lifted it with her fingertip.

  “I haven’t heard him sing like that in years,” he said for her ears alone. “It’s the very best Christmas gift anyone could have given me, Doc.” As she stared into his eyes she thought she could almost hear his inner argument.

  How can I leave him? But how can I give up my dream?

  She desperately wanted to comfort Brett, to ease the torture of having to make such a difficult choice. But the debacle of her marriage made her wary of getting involved. She’d fought hard to rebuild her world, to build a new life, to be all that Zoey needed. Today she’d caught a glimpse of the inner woman she’d once been, wanted to be again.

  How could she risk it all by letting herself care for another man, even one as special as Brett Carlisle? Yet the more she shared special moments like today with him, the more she longed to give in to the yearning to slip into his arms.

  “When can Mrs. Beasley come home with us, Mommy?” Zoey asked.

  Ah, the puppy. Proof positive that Elizabeth hadn’t made as much progress as she thought when she was still haunted by the image of poor Rex in her arms, drawing in his last pained breaths. It was a reminder of everything she would be wise not to forget—that love could quickly turn to something else.

  “Honey, I don’t—”

  “Zoey, let’s make pizza.” Once again it was Brett to the rescue, engaging her daughter in making dinner. He was such a great guy, a sensitive, gentle man you could count on.

  Except she couldn’t count on Brett because he was leaving Snowflake. In her heart Elizabeth knew he wouldn’t be able to refuse his dream and that she didn’t have the strength to survive losing at love again.

  Shaking free of the gloomy thoughts, Elizabeth conferred with Clint about the Christmas Eve program.

  “All great ideas. But can you think of anything we could use as instruments? Like bells or...something?” she asked hopefully. “I think the kids can manage five songs, but even with congregational singing and your readings, it’s not enough.”

  “I had an idea about that.” Brett left Zoey peering into the oven, watching the pizza cook as she cradled the sleeping puppy. “Remember when you got to play those metal triangles as a kid? They kind of sound like bells.”

  “But we don’t have any of those. Do we?” His expression intrigued Elizabeth.

  “I could make them.” Brett described his father’s small forge. “Then every kid could play along, keeping the beat as you played the song.”

  “That would be amazing.” You’re helping me, God, her heart whispered. Yet she was still afraid to let hope take over. What if she failed again? “We need at least thirty triangles and we don’t have much time until Christmas Eve,” she reminded.

  “I made a test sample. Want to hear?” At her wide-eyed nod, he walked to the door, opened a cabinet beside it and removed a shiny metal triangle. “Zoey, come and play this for us.”

  Green eyes huge, Zoey eased Mrs. Beasley onto the floor then walked over. “How do I play it?”

  “Sing a song and tap it as you sing.” Elizabeth snuck a glance at Brett as Zoey launched into “
Silent Night,” her little baton keeping time to the music, filling the room with a happy tinkling.

  “Was that okay?” Zoey asked.

  “Okay?” Brett snatched her into his arms, whirled her around then kissed her cheek. “It was stupendous, fantastic, amazing.” He glanced at Elizabeth. “Wasn’t it?”

  “Stupendous, fantastic, amazing,” she repeated. Maybe, thanks to Brett, she wasn’t going to totally ruin Snowflake’s Christmas Eve kids’ choir. “We just need another twenty-nine.”

  “Is the pizza ready?” Zoey squealed, wiggling free. “Can we eat?”

  They sat at the table, heads bowed, while Clint said Grace. A stray thought fluttered.

  What would it be like to be able to count on Brett all the time? To share every day with him?

  What would life be like when he left Snowflake?

  Oh, Lord, guard my heart.

  Chapter Seven

  “You look tired, Doc.” A week later Brett hid his shock.

  Elizabeth bore dark circles under her eyes. The erect line of her shoulders seemed to bow with weariness. His arms ached to hold her until she regained the persistent courage he’d come to expect in her sparkling gaze.

  But he had no right.

  “I’ve had a few sleepless nights. Why do kids still drink and drive?” She failed to smother a yawn.

  “The Mueller boy.” He nodded. “I heard it was touch and go and that you saved his life.”

  “I did my job. God did the rest.” She glanced around the sanctuary. “It’s Saturday morning. Why aren’t the kids here for practice?”

  “About that—I left you a message yesterday. You didn’t get it? I don’t suppose anyone thought to tell you that today is Snowflake’s annual ice sculpture contest. The kids are competing for some nice prizes.”

  “But what about practice?” The fear in Doc’s hazel eyes touched a nerve deep inside him. She was scared. “Without practice this thing will be a flop.”