Rugged Hearts

by Amanda McIntyre

  She tossed him a side look and went back to her task. “It’s okay, Wyatt. To be honest, I’ve been called worse. There was a time when I would probably have agreed with you. Life has a way of changing your perspective.” She shrugged. “Sometimes for the good and sometimes, well, not so much.”

  Her words struck a chord. “So, for the sake of conversation, what did you think about me when you read my posts?” He focused on a dried patch of dirt on a small truck’s wheel well.

  “The truth?” She faced him.

  Wyatt eyed her, unsure if he really wanted to know, because she’d be straight with him. He knew her well enough to know that much. “Hit me with it.”

  She shrugged. “I thought you sounded lonely. Like you’d been deeply hurt. Nearly everyone I talked to about you cautioned me about the fact you were this loner living out here. I guess I wanted to find out for myself.”

  He focused on the truck and traced his finger over the engraved markings. Her words tumbled in his brain. He wanted to respond, to explain himself, and his past, so she’d understand, but he wasn’t ready yet. He couldn’t rely on his emotions like she seemed to. He switched gears away from deeper issues. “You know what? If we’re going to do this, we might as well go whole hog.”

  She looked up at him in surprise. “Whole what?”

  He grabbed another box he’d found tucked away in the barn. He’d not planned necessarily on resurrecting it, but maybe, just this once, he would. He fished through the contents and pulled the sealed bag containing Jed’s white Santa wig and beard. Quickly donning both, he faced her. “You think I could pull off the Santa thing?” He wanted to get past the awkwardness he sensed and at the same time, wanted to believe that what they’d shared was more than a passing physical attraction.

  She folded her arms over her chest. “I think you could do about anything you set your mind to.”

  “Oh, hold on. The look is not complete.” He went to the foyer and plucked his Stetson from the antler hat rack. “How’s this?” He plopped the hat on his head.

  She chuckled and handed him the beautiful heavy, red velvet jacket after shaking it out. “You might need to gain a few extra pounds. Though I think I like this new buff-Santa look.”

  “Aimee, be a good girl,” he warned. At least for now, he added silently.

  She held up her palm and nodded.

  He crooked his head and signaled her to follow him to the living room, where he stuffed a couple of couch pillows inside the jacket.

  He heard her soft chuckle and then she appeared in front of him with a winter a scarf draped over her shoulder. She began to unbutton his jacket. The pillows dropped to the floor.

  “You suppose Mrs. Claus does after all the toys are delivered?”

  She glanced up at him with a half smile, and then slammed the two pillows into his stomach. “Hold these in place. I’ve never met anyone who could put a sexual spin on Santa before.” Wyatt looked away as she leaned against him to loop the scarf around his waist, creating a cinch to hold the pillows in place. He glanced down, amused by her furrowed brow as she performed the task of making him appear like a real Santa. She had no idea that every time she touched him, he wanted to carry her to his bedroom. He cautioned himself to slow down and savor this time, convincing himself that when they could finally be alone, it would be worth the wait.

  “There, now. Button up.” She stepped away and stuffed her hands in the pockets of his robe. He was beginning to like the look of it on her.

  “I still need my boots, but what do you think?” Strange as it seemed, it felt as though something had broken loose inside of him.

  “Well, I think you make a handsome Santa.” She smiled. Her hair was askew the robe way too big for her, and those red-and-green socks on her feet looked utterly ridiculous. The whole package, he decided, was sexy as hell.

  “Handsome, huh?” He swaggered toward her and backed her to the edge of the couch.

  “Need I remind you,” she quietly cautioned him. “About the children.” She pointed toward the bedrooms.

  He knew of one that was empty.

  He leaned toward her and whispered, “Have you ever kissed Santa?”

  She gave him a droll look. “On the cheek, once. I remember it tasted fuzzy. Not at all pleasant, to my recollection.”

  “Aw, no one should have to live with such a bad memory. Maybe we should work on a new one.” He lowered his head and sought her lips. She giggled softly.

  Wyatt caught a movement from the shadows of the hall and he straightened.

  “Santa? Are you kissing Ms. Worth?”

  Rory stepped from the hall, his gaze never leaving Wyatt. Aimee ducked under his arm and covered her smile.

  Wyatt cleared his throat and brought his voice an octave lower. “Well, young man, she just whispered to me what she wants for Christmas.” He tipped his head and pointed a finger at the small boy. “Now you best run along back to bed, or you may find coal in your stocking on Christmas morning.”

  The little boy turned on his heel and disappeared down the hall. Aimee was close behind him. “See you in a few hours, Saint Wyatt.” Smiling, she too disappeared.

  Alone again, he ambled back to the hearth, sat down, and attempted to get comfortable with the jerry rigging around his middle. How had Jed done this year after year? Tired suddenly, he shrugged from the coat and took the rest of the disguise back to the kitchen. He picked up the clean toys and the costume and placed them high on the pantry shelf where they could get to them later. Shutting off the lights, he sauntered back to the couch and shook out the oversize quilt to cover himself. His frame barely fit the couch, but that wasn’t what kept him awake until the wee hours of the morning. It was the image of what had happened between him and Aimee. Finally, out of sheer exhaustion, he threw his arm over his eyes and drifted into a fitful sleep.

  ***

  A racket akin to the decibels of a rocket launch pulled Wyatt through a long tunnel. When his mind finally cleared, he turned his head and forced open one eye. Based on his blurred vision, it appeared five or so small bodies sat contentedly in front of his too-loud television, eating toast. His brain kicked in as his nose detected the heavenly scent of brewed coffee. He inhaled deep and turned on his side to burrow beneath the quilt. A moment later, he sensed something strange and peeked open one eye to find Rory hunkered down beside the couch, staring at him.

  “Hey, Mr. Kinnison,” he stated in his gruff little voice. “Guess what? It’s morning and it’s still snowing. Did you know it was Christmas Eve? Hey, and did you know that—” His voice dropped to a whisper and he pressed his face so close Wyatt could smell the toast on his breath. “I saw Ms. Worth and Santa last night.” His eyes were round as dinner plates.

  “Really? Did he see you?” Wyatt rubbed his eyes, flopped to his back, and discovered Aimee with what he dearly hoped was a cup of coffee in her hands.

  “That wouldn’t happen to be for me, would it?” He didn’t care if it sounded like a cry for help. But he did admit the idea of having his coffee handed to him by her every morning had his vote. Her took the cup from her with reverence and discovered yet another reason he liked Aimee. A small finger tapped insistently on his shoulder. “Yes, Rory?”

  “He did. Do you want to know what he said?” He glanced up at Aimee with a wide-eyed gaze.

  “Something about coal, I’ll bet.” Wyatt sat up and rested his elbows on his jean-clad knees, trying to play down the incident as best he could. He put the cup down and pushed a hand through his hair, then turned his attention to the surprised boy.

  “Did you see him too?”

  “Rory, here’s a little advice. I’d listen to what Santa said. He has mysterious ways of knowing if you’ve been naughty or nice.” He ruffled the little boy’s hair, grabbed the cup, and took a slow whiff of its savory aroma. Hot, black coffee. It was his solitary vice. He took a sip and his eyes widened from the stark jolt to his system.

  “Is it okay?” Her expression sobered into
a look of concern. “I don’t often make coffee. Someone at school does. I just punted with your coffeepot directions.”

  He mustered his stamina, and took another sip, determined to choke it down without asking for a knife and fork. “No.” He cleared his throat. “It’s fine, just a little hot still.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He glanced up at her worried expression. “Really, it’s how I like my coffee. Hearty. Probably a good thing. I’m going to need all the help I can get today. Have you told them what we talked about?”

  “No. I thought they should hear it from you.”

  “Let me get a shower and then we’ll break the news.” He stood and the room swayed. Probably from the chunks of caffeine sliding through my system.

  A few moments later, Wyatt let the hot shower sluice over his body, which still ached with the residual need Aimee produced in him. He braced his hand against the wall and thought of how the kids would react to a sleigh ride through the woods to find a tree. A smile crept over his face. Jed would have enjoyed the situation.

  “Mr. Kinnison?”

  Wyatt stood upright, grateful his shower curtain was opaque. He scanned the shower to find something to cover himself with, but spied only a wadded up washcloth. He held still. “Uh, yes? Who is it?” he called over the shower rod.

  “Joey.”

  “Scrape-on-his-chin Joey?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What can I do for you, Joey?” He smiled at this strange predicament. Yet another lesson in losing control. He was beginning to understand the fine line parents must walk between control and going with the flow.

  “The girls are in the other bathroom. I need to go.”

  “Go ahea—” Wyatt shrugged as he heard the familiar, steady tinkling sound.

  “Thanks, Mr. Kinnison.” He sounded bright, and much more content.

  “No problem, just don’t—” The sound of the toilet flushing made him wince.

  The door slammed and he hoped no one heard his surprised scream as the cold water sprayed down over his body. He survived the shock, and later as he walked into the kitchen, Aimee turned to him.

  “Was that a scream I heard earlier?” She held back a grin.

  “Probably the cattle. They’ve been known to scream on occasion.” He walked past her, ignoring her curious gaze. “I’m going to hitch up the sleigh. Can you get the kids ready?”

  “I had no idea cattle could scream,” she commented dubiously.

  He turned and tipped his hat. “And they attack pesky schoolteachers, so watch yourself.”

  ***

  The ride through the field was yet another in a long list of out-of-control experiences Aimee planned to add to her journal. The kids, after mild threats of coal in their stockings, listened to her instructions and huddled down under the blankets in the back of the sleigh. She imagined Wyatt’s dad dressed as Santa. What a delight it must have been for the youngsters to see the sight of it drawn with the rugged horses as it pulled into the town square. She glanced at Wyatt’s profile and made a wish that someday he might share some of those stories with her. He tossed her a quick smile, and she had to refrain from slipping her arm through his as they rode through the frosty winter morning. He’d told her he wanted to take them to a spot where he and Jed had years ago planted new trees. They’d be about the perfect size now for a good Christmas tree.

  It was about the third round of “Jingle Bells” when he leaned over and whispered in her ear. “I doubt we have to worry about any wild animals coming within fifty yards’ earshot of that.”

  She smiled, grateful once more to be at ease after what had happened in his kitchen. Sally’s warning tapped her brain more than once in the aftermath, but she felt sure there was more to the unplanned bit of making out than simple lust. Falling asleep, however, had not been as easy, with images of what might have happened had she not placed the kibosh on things. But for now, she had to place the incident aside and deal with her charges.

  They came to a clearing, and Wyatt jumped down.

  “Stay in here until I make sure it’s safe.” He grabbed his rifle from under the seat.

  “Safe?” Aimee glanced around at nothing but snow for miles. Even the tall pines were coated in white. Ahead of them was a grove of younger trees. Frasers, if her nose served her well. “Do you feel there is a problem?”

  He rested his rifle on his shoulder. Dressed in his buckskin jacket and black Stetson, he looked like he’d just walked in from an Old West movie.

  “I spotted some tracks I should check out before we get all the kids down. It’s probably elk, but it could be a bear. They usually don’t come down this close to humans and rarely are aggressive unless they’re hungry or provoked. I just want to make sure we don’t surprise anyone.”

  “Good to know,” Aimee muttered, scanning the woods nervously. “You won’t go too far, right?”

  “Just beyond the clearing a few feet. Sit tight.”

  Aimee watched him tromp through the knee-deep snow. She glanced over her shoulder at the kids huddled together under the blankets. Just to be sure, she did a quick head count and with all present and accounted for she kept a keen eye on Wyatt. Every now and again she caught a glimpse of his black hat through the stark white of the trees. After a few moments, he stepped into the clearing and waved his arm.

  “Okay, bring them on over. Follow my tracks.”

  Still unsure, but safe in the knowledge Wyatt had a gun, she rounded up the kids and paired them together. She took Rory’s hand. They lumbered through the deep snow to where Wyatt waited.

  “I think we have a good one here.” He stood beside a plump Fraser fir that was about his height. “What do you think? Is this a good one?”

  A rousing cheer went up from the children.

  “Okay then, I’ll go get my chain saw and we’ll get this beauty home.” He handed the gun to Aimee.

  She stared at him as though he was certifiable. “Wyatt, paintball is the closest I’ve come to even holding a gun of any sort.”

  His face broke into grin. “You continue to surprise me, Ms. Worth. I didn’t take you for a paintball kinda gal. This is valuable information.”

  “Really? Wyatt, is this necessary?”

  “I wouldn’t have it if it wasn’t. It’s okay, Aimee, you can handle this. The safety is on. It’s right here. If you need to, and you probably won’t, flip this down, aim, and shoot. Got it? Just like paintball.”

  “That’s nothing like in paintball,” she called after him.

  “You’ll be fine. Relax.” He shot the words over his shoulder as he walked toward the sleigh.

  “Hurry,” she rocketed back. “Please,” she added for the benefit of her students. With one eye on the gun and the other on the kids, she prayed he wouldn’t tarry.

  Aimee turned to watch the children, who by now had encircled the tree, reminiscent of A Charlie Brown Christmas. They held hands and giving it their best loud but off-key voices, they sang their rendition of “O Christmas Tree.” This, she thought with warmth in her heart, would be a memory they’d cherish for the rest of their lives. She glanced over at Wyatt, who was a few yards from where they were gathered. He squatted down next to the sleigh, fiddling as men often do, with the chainsaw. Antsy with how quiet it was other than the singing, she scanned the area and shaded her eyes to a temporary crack in the clouds. For the span of a heartbeat, a shaft of brilliant light broke through the gunmetal-gray sky and sprayed a wash of iridescent color over the glistening white field. It had started to snow again. As it did, the flakes were caught in the elusive rays, making them appear as diamonds falling to the earth. She looked back at her students and reached out to touch the tree, just to make sure there were no critters living in its protection. A strong breeze picked up a small bit of snow, swirling it into the air before it dissipated in a sparkling shower.

  Somewhere in her postcard-holiday thoughts, she heard a low sound and thought it was perhaps the wind through the trees. Lowering her
gaze, she checked on Wyatt and her heart stopped. Crouched low, stalking toward Wyatt, was the mountain lion. The next few moments seemed to move in slow motion as she turned and checked to see the kids were occupied. She undid the safety and lifted the rifle to her shoulder and without hesitation walked toward the sleigh. Aimee’s heart thudded. She didn’t want to spook the creature for fear it would charge Wyatt or the kids. Her hands curled around the gun and something protective bubbled up inside her. Behind her, she could hear the kids had started to sing another song. She summoned her courage. This could have been the cat that caused her accident, likely the same one in the area who’d also killed the calf. She took slow, purposeful strides and to her advantage, the lion’s focus was on Wyatt, not her. Sweat trickled down her spine as she came within a few feet of where he calmly worked; blissfully unaware of any danger.

  “Wyatt.” Aimee’s voice croaked out barely past a whisper from the fear in her throat. “Wyatt!” She raised her aim above his head.

  He looked up, saw her, and turned just as the mountain lion broke into a run and leaped at him with a force that knocked him to his back. He shoved at the cat, pushing the chainsaw blade against its neck. “Shoot, Aimee,” he yelled, inciting the cougar.

  Aimee strode toward the pair wrestling on the ground, trying to aim for the big cat and miss Wyatt.

  “Shoot, dammit,” he yelled again and this time Aimee squeezed the trigger. A shot rang out and thrown back by the force, she landed in the snow.