Show Me a Family for Christmas : Small-Town Single-Father Cowboy Romance (Cowboy Crossing Romances Book 6)

by Alexa Verde

  A sharp gasp answered her.

  Chapter Five

  Gwendolyn closed her eyes, then reopened them. “I see. He did. Then, once you shot my father, that guy paid you to move out of state and have a better life.”

  Was it so simple and so tragic?

  “No!” Then, in a much quieter voice, Odetta said, “No. Listen, can I please call you on my cell phone?”

  Gwendolyn went cold. She’d made a mistake. She had no proof whatsoever. “Um, okay.” She disconnected.

  Seconds stretched like her taut nerves as she stared at her phone screen. Odetta didn’t have to call, didn’t have to talk to her. So stupid to blurt out her suspicions! She resolved to let Vera do most of the investigating from now on, if not all. Otherwise, Gwendolyn might mess things up instead of finding her closure.

  Finally, the screen lit up with an unknown number.

  This could be a telemarketer, but she hurried to answer. “This is Gwendolyn.”

  “Listen, Ron did ask me to do what you... what you just said.” Odetta’s hushed words tumbled out fast. “But that made me realize what kind of man he was. It was like my eyes... opened. I’d been saving to hire him a better attorney, so I used those funds to move. It’s going to sound stupid, but I was afraid I’d go back to him if... if I stayed.”

  “Why should I believe you?” Tiredness seeped into Gwendolyn’s bones despite it being the beginning of the day.

  “Because it’s the truth. Besides, I was at the diner, working late the day he died. Lots of people can confirm it.”

  “You could still place the call getting him to the location where someone else could shoot him. Besides, why didn’t you tell this to the police?”

  “I... I was afraid of Ron.” Odetta’s voice shook. “I wanted to start my life over with no ties to my past—that meant not getting involved with police reports and testimonies.”

  “Would you be willing to report this to the police now?” Not that it would do much good at this point, but still...

  There was a pause. “My husband... I...”

  A lump formed in Gwendolyn’s throat. “Do you realize that, if you reported this twenty-five years ago, my father could still be alive? Did you consider that Ron might’ve asked someone else after you refused to help?”

  “I... I’m very sorry.” Something soft entered the woman’s voice. “I really am. I was a different person then than I am now. I’ll report it to the police. Honestly. I’ve got to go now. I need to get back to the office.”

  “Just one more thing. Your husband... does he treat you well?” Appearances could be deceitful, and pain could hide behind flashy white smiles, too. Gwendolyn knew it all too well.

  “Yes, he does. He loves me and our children. I learned that love and pain don’t have to go together.” She sighed. “I’m very sorry about your father.”

  “Thank you.” Once the line went dead, Gwendolyn placed the phone onto the nightstand, her mind and muscles weary.

  She called Vera and relayed the conversation.

  “Thanks,” Vera said. “I’ll check Odetta’s alibi. I’ll look at the other two women who visited Ron Amspoker, as well. If he asked her for help, he could do so with others. I’ll let you know what I find out.”

  “Thank you.” Gwendolyn disconnected the call.

  Then she rushed to the bathroom to brush her teeth. Her thoughts whirled like water disappearing into the sink as the mint flavor filled her mouth. She considered calling Uncle John, but then her brush froze in the air.

  All the assignments her father had been receiving had gone to Uncle John after her father’s death. Uncle John had a motive.

  She groaned as she resumed furious brushing. She didn’t know where to turn or who to trust.

  Or maybe she did know. She could trust Vera, and she needed that more than ever. She brushed her hair fast, not bothering with makeup, like always. She needed to talk to her friend as soon as Gwendolyn could feed the children and get them to play a game.

  If she ever wanted to have a future with someone—for some reason, the image of Conner came to mind—she needed to know about her past.

  And why the navy-blue sedan looked so much like her father’s.

  * * *

  In the evening, Gwendolyn stared out the window as Conner drove past the Christmas lights along the quaint small-town streets she’d started to like more than she’d wanted to. She was used to moving from one place to another, trained herself not to get attached. It had been easier that way.

  Then why did Cowboy Crossing feel different?

  Lord, is this the time for me to put down roots?

  Her relationship with the Lord wasn’t ideal. But her father and grandpa had taught her Christian values, and her fragile faith had survived while many other things hadn’t.

  Wouldn’t it be amazing to have a home for Christmas... and for many Christmases to come?

  This seemed like a good place with a caring community. She stole a glance at Conner’s handsome profile, illuminated in the car’s dimness by all the streetlights. Pink and yellow hues made everything look mysterious and fun.

  Her treacherous heart jumped into her throat as he smiled at her. “Beautiful, aren’t they?”

  “Oh yes,” she whispered.

  Then she reminded herself that, just like her, Conner and his precious daughter were passersby here, probably leaving for Houston soon after Christmas. The thought left bitterness in her mouth, and she turned to the lights again, doing her best to soak up holiday cheer.

  She glanced back at Daisy to make sure she was okay. The girl sat there, obviously mesmerized by the lights, her hand pressed to the window as if she were trying to hold onto them.

  Gwendolyn hoped the girl would be more successful than Gwendolyn had been.

  “Look, there’s a herd of deer!” Daisy squealed as she pointed to the left.

  “There sure is, Sweetie Pie.” Then Conner winked at Gwendolyn. “Does this remind you of your childhood?”

  Her stomach clenched. “It’s going to sound horrible, but after my parents divorced, we didn’t celebrate Christmas much. Dad and I moved around a lot. I never knew what town we were going to spend the holidays in.”

  “That’s... sad.”

  Her lips pursed. She wasn’t complaining. Honestly, she wasn’t. She notched her chin up a bit. “It wasn’t bad, really. Most of the time, he did take me to see the town tree in whatever town we were staying in, and he bought me a present every year. A practical one, like a sweater or shoes.”

  He’d sent her sister expensive gifts for Christmas as if he’d needed to buy Vanessa’s affection while he’d already had Gwendolyn’s by that time. She preferred to ignore a twinge of disappointment. She probably would’ve done the same thing.

  “He did his best,” she continued. “It’s not easy to raise a child on your own.”

  Especially after...

  No, better not to remember.

  Conner gave a slow nod. He probably knew it too well.

  Then she brightened as he turned the corner and a Christmas tree with garlands and lights towered into view. “One of my favorite presents was an unusual one for him, a Christmas ornament with our names on it. It was bright and cheerful and... promising, I guess.”

  “I can see that.” His voice softened as if he understood the lonely little girl she used to be better than she did.

  “And then.... He was shot the day before Christmas Eve,” she kept her voice as low as possible so Daisy wouldn’t overhear them.

  “I’m so sorry.” His voice became a whisper, too. “My condolences.”

  Her lungs constricted. “Thank you. The year after he died, I tried to decorate a tree and dropped that ornament. It shattered into sharp shards.” Kind of like her heart. If anyone had tried to win her heart after that, he’d only get cut on sharp edges. “I haven’t put up a Christmas tree ever since.”

  His left hand stayed on the steering wheel, but his right one reached out to her. He took her hand
and held it while he slowed near a yard where snowmen shivered in a circle. “I am sorry to hear that. Would you... would you like it to be different one year?”

  Delightful tingles traveled over her skin from his touch despite the pain. Somehow, breathing became easier. “I... I don’t know.”

  Holiday cheer didn’t seem to exist for her, not when it could too easily turn into tears.

  “I realize the real reason for Christmas, of course. But believing God loved me, especially when I couldn’t understand why He’d taken my father, was difficult.” She tried to keep the bitterness out of her voice. She failed. She’d had little in the sense of family and even less in the sense of friends. Her faith became as fragile as that ornament, and she was desperate not to drop it.

  Longing unraveled her defenses again as a family with three boisterous children spilled into a front yard, laughing, on the way to a car decorated with fir tree branches and red bows. For a long time, she’d told herself her job was enough.

  It wasn’t any longer. She’d love to have a close-knit family like the Clarks, a cozy inviting home like theirs, and...

  And a certain man with a little girl appeared in her imagination. They were sitting on a carpet near a fireplace where three stuffed stockings hung. Beside them, a large tree glowed, its twinkling lights reflecting off the bows of many presents underneath, and Gwendolyn was reading the girl a children’s book with a happy ending.

  He moved his hand away, and she missed its warmth. That was why she’d learned not to get attached—it hurt too much to walk away when the time came. She’d carried her loneliness with her like a turtle carried her shell, a mini mobile home where she could hide anytime needed.

  But right now, it wasn’t about her. She turned to Daisy and said loudly, “How about we go through a drive-through and get hot cocoa with lots of marshmallows? If your father approves, of course.”

  The girl’s face lit up. “Yay!”

  Gwendolyn’s heart shifted. She remembered the last conversation with her father, filled with the promise of the same joy. He’d taken time off for the holidays. She’d looked forward to going to the children’s Christmas play and to the Christmas parade the town held on the twenty-fourth.

  He’d said things were going to be different from now on. They were going to stay in the same place for a while.

  Her fingers tightened around the seat belt as if it was the reason she had sudden difficulty breathing. If only she’d spent the evening with him that day instead of going on a date where the guy had never even showed up. A fresh onslaught of emotion—regret, shame, guilt—blinded her like a ruthless blizzard.

  Conner cleared his throat, pulling her out of her trip down memory lane. “I... I heard that the town needs volunteers for the Christmas drive to distribute gifts to the children from underprivileged families.”

  She tensed. She’d heard it, too. She stared at his profile, waiting.

  He glanced at her, his gaze uncertain. “Daisy surprised me. She said she wanted to be an elf. So you know who volunteered for the role of Santa Claus. Would you... would you like to join us?”

  “Pretty please!” Daisy chimed from the back seat.

  Gwendolyn froze like the reindeer herd in the next front yard. As it was, it was hard to escape the reminders of the day she’d lost her father. Add to that her discomfort around people she didn’t know, and she’d squirm in her seat if the seat belt allowed it. “I... Well, I’m not really a Christmas person.”

  “I understand. But... Maybe this Christmas can be different. If you let it be.”

  With his voice so quiet, she had to strain to hear it against the motor’s low rumble. Yet his words echoed inside her, then—just like the lights outside—illuminated the deep-seated longing. The longing to believe in God with all her heart, not just part of it.

  The longing to believe in herself.

  “Pretty pretty please!” Daisy singsonged again.

  That sincere and naïve plea touched a soft spot. Did the girl long for a mother figure like Gwendolyn once had? Did she sense a kindred spirit in Gwendolyn who could understand her better than other people because they had so much in common?

  A new kind of longing unraveled the tightness in her chest. The longing for a family and a daughter.

  She plastered on a smile for the girl’s sake as she turned back. “I’ll think about it.”

  Daisy sighed. “Danica says when adults say ‘I’ll think about it’ or ‘We’ll see’ that means no.”

  The sadness in the girl’s voice spurred Gwendolyn on. “You know what? I thought about it, and I’m going to join you on the Christmas gift drive.”

  “Yay!” The girl clapped.

  “Thank you,” Conner whispered and glanced at her before turning his attention to the road. “That means a lot to me.” He coughed a little. “I mean, to both of us. Daisy and myself.”

  Her heart fluttered from his words. Daisy looked happier than when she’d met her. She wished she had a friend during her childhood as fun and confident as Danica.

  “I’m glad Daisy and Danica became friends. Children in the Clark family take after the adults. They treat me like a friend instead of an employee, too,” she said.

  For some inexplicable reason, a muscle moved in his jaw. “Gwendolyn, I need to tell you somethi—”

  “Daddy, Miss Gwendolyn, look!” Daisy yelled, pointing at a display of shimmery angels.

  “Yes, Sweetie Pie. They are beautiful,” Conner said.

  Her rib cage constricted. Once Conner and Daisy returned to Houston, then—just like Gwendolyn had to do many times—Daisy would have to say goodbye to people she’d grown to care about. Gwendolyn had lost count of how many times she’d had to do that. She ached thinking of this little girl feeling what she’d felt.

  Lord, please help Daisy. Please guide me on what I need to do to help her, too.

  One couldn’t rewrite the holidays.

  Couldn’t change their past.

  She’d stopped believing in miracles after her father’s death, and something inside her had shut down. Turned out, she still needed that closure, and she needed to figure out the mysterious signs about her father she’d had this Christmas season.

  He’d been her world once. The only way to fill at least part of that gigantic void was to continue on his path. To do what he’d been doing. She’d worn out the clothes and shoes he’d given her and had broken the ornament. But, by becoming a bodyguard, she could keep a part of him with her forever, continue the legacy like the family she worked for now continued theirs.

  One couldn’t outgrow a profession.

  Or... could one?

  Chapter Six

  Gwendolyn’s gut twisted. She’d thought she wasn’t cut out to work with children. Yet she’d enjoyed spending time in Cowboy Crossing with the rambunctious family way more than she’d ever enjoyed any of her bodyguard gigs, even those that had come with stays in luxury hotels complete with spas and Jacuzzis.

  Maybe it had something to do with a certain child whose shyness and need to be loved reminded Gwendolyn of herself at that age.

  And with a man who’d affected her more than she’d wanted. A man who didn’t know who she truly was because keeping that secret was part of her contract. She ached for him to know her and maybe even like her as much as she liked him.

  Unexpected fatigue weighed on her muscles. She loved the Clark family, but she was tired of new contracts, new clients, new gigs. She was used to moving and moving on, but she didn’t want to this time.

  Nothing in her contract prohibited her from telling others about her past, though.

  “I want to tell you something....” he started again as he made a turn.

  She interrupted while she had courage. “Wait... I want to tell you something, too. I used to work for a security company, then in security for a few affluent people. Okay, for a lot of affluent people.” She paused at his sharp breath intake. “I wanted to be like my father.”

  Liberty had told
her she’d become a veterinarian like her mother not only to continue a legacy but also because it made her heart sing.

  Being a bodyguard had never made Gwendolyn’s heart sing. Had she chosen the wrong path all those years ago? If so, could she have a chance to choose a new one?

  “Now, I wonder. Maybe I also did it because it’s easier to follow a path that already exists than to make our own. But that’s not the right way to find ourselves, is it?”

  “No, it’s not,” he said slowly.

  “My dad became my hero.” She sighed. “I guess I also wanted to become someone’s hero.”

  Conner smiled. “Well, based on the way my daughter looks at you, you’re already her hero. And frankly, I think the most heroic thing people can do is to have the courage to do what they love and offer a few acts of kindness along the way.”

  “Don’t be sad.” Daisy’s voice made her look up. “Wanna be my friend?”

  It took Gwendolyn a moment to answer. “I’d love to.” She turned to Conner. “I have very few friends.”

  Why did she say that? Unwanted memories appeared in front of her eyes.

  Moving from school to school because of her father’s jobs had come with risks and not only for him.

  Just like the horse herds her grandpa had worked with, schools often had a hierarchy. And as a new, plump—some popular skinny girls considered her fat—not well-dressed girl with no makeup, Gwendolyn had often found herself at the lowest level of the pecking order.

  She didn’t fit in with any groups. She was okay at math but not brilliant and didn’t have any singing or acting talent so no hope of being accepted by geeks or into some school production. Not athletic enough to be part of the jock crowd. And she certainly didn’t have any necessary qualifications to become popular. She’d been a loner and learned to stay low, blend into the background the best she could. It worked sometimes—but not always.