Santa in a Kilt

by Donna Kauffman

  Chey accepted a little stab of guilt for letting the ball drop with her oldest and dearest friend. And tried like hell to ignore the even bigger stab of guilt as she leaned in close to Buttercup. Tory wasn’t the only one Chey hadn’t kept in regular touch with over the years.

  “I bet living in the Blue Ridge mountains is something else,” Tory said wistfully. “Only been out there once, to a show in Asheville, North Carolina. Gorgeous.”

  Chey laughed and swept her arm wide. “Seriously? You live in Sedona. Possibly one of the most breathtaking places I’ve ever seen. I would never tire of this view.” The red rock mesas and jutting buttes, their striated lines showing the layers of the earth that had formed them, stretched out as far as the eye could see. All outlined by a cloudless sky of such rich blue, the stunning contrast simply filled the heart right up.

  “It certainly puts things in perspective,” Tory agreed, taking in a deep breath, then shook her head. “But an eye candy view isn’t everything.”

  “It’s certainly a good place to start.”

  Tory shared Chey’s smile, nodding, but Chey hadn’t missed that brief moment, that flicker in her friend’s beautiful brown eyes. Years had passed since they’d seen one another, but some things were timeless. And reading Tory’s every emotion as it played across her pretty face was one of them.

  “What’s going on, Tory?” Chey asked, kindly, but directly. “Trouble in this desert paradise? I know you said you weren’t able to keep Buttercup here, which was why you contacted me.” She gestured to the expansive and beautifully maintained stables they were standing in. “I’m forever grateful you did, but it doesn’t look like there’s an issue with room. Are they working you too hard? Want too much board for him? I know you’ve had nothing but kind things to say about your employers, but—” She broke off, thinking maybe it wasn’t her place to push. Not that that had ever stopped her before.

  Tory looked as if she was going to shrug off the question, but at the last second, she caught Chey’s eye, and their gazes held. Tory finally lifted a shoulder and let it drop in a helpless sort of half shrug. “The Parmenters—the owners, my bosses—are going to sell this place and move away to help out with their grandchildren. They’re selling the house, the stables, the land. All of it.” Her expression turned a bit bleak. “To developers.”

  Chey’s expression fell. “Oh no. Aw, Tory, I’m so sorry. I know how much you’ve loved working for them.” She might not have been good at keeping in touch, but Tory had. The occasional email, a hand-written letter at Christmas, Tory had kept their connection. Chey knew what was going on in her friend’s life, even if she’d given little more than a cursory overview of her own. “You know they’ll give you the most glowing reference and you have to have contacts built up.” Chey smiled. “Your email and letter writing skills will stand you in good stead where that’s concerned.”

  Tory let out a somewhat watery laugh, then wiped the back of her hand over her cheek. “They’ve already offered to do whatever they can. They are lovely, with huge hearts, and I don’t fault them for wanting to go be with family.” She looked up and down the wide aisle and the row of roomy stalls on both sides. “One winning lottery ticket and I’d buy this place in a blink.” She chuckled and let out a shaky sigh, all at the same time.

  “You’d hate running this whole place.”

  Tory wiggled her eyebrows. “If the win was big enough, I’d hire a majordomo for all that.”

  “Ah. Solid business plan then,” Chey said with s short grin. “My bad.”

  Tory nodded and brushed at her sleeves, as if duly accepting her friend’s mock apology. “Have a little faith.”

  They both laughed then, but it didn’t diminish the sadness Chey saw in Tory’s eyes. Or the weariness. Chey remembered what it had felt like, to find Lavender Blue, to find a new home. A forever home. She’d been tired of traveling, tired of picking up and moving. It had been time. Maybe Tory was feeling the same way.

  On instinct, Chey reached out and took hold of Tory’s upper arm, gave it a light squeeze and let it go. Chey wasn’t much of a toucher, so that might as well have been a bear hug coming from her, and Tory knew it. “You’re going to land on your feet. Why don’t you come east? Blue Hollow Falls will draw you right in.”

  “Lots of ranching in the Blue Ridge mountains, is there?” she said dryly, though she’d clearly been touched by the gesture.

  Chey laughed. “Okay, no. Not like out here, anyway. But there are plenty of horses and riders to go with them. At the moment, I’m the only game in town, where lessons and training are concerned anyway. But as you duly noted, I’m also part owner of a lavender farm and we’re in full swing this year, so my horse side gig is honestly just that.”

  “That’s truly kind of you—”

  “Don’t brush me off, now,” Chey said, a teasing note in her otherwise dead serious offer. “I’m not tossing that out there like a bone to a starving animal. You could get a job in every single state in the union. There is always an opening for someone with your skill, talent, and dedication. I’m not just offering you a chance to find work.” And as Chey spoke the words, she knew the truth of them. “I’m offering you a chance to find a home.” Not giving her friend an opening to say anything, letting the offer sink in, she went straight on. “How many of these mounts are yours?”

  “Two are mine,” Tory said. “Buttercup makes three.”

  “I’m buying him from you, so that makes two.” She lifted a hand when Tory started to argue about the buying part of that statement. “At the very least I’m paying you back what it cost to get him away from the meat grinders.”

  Tory shuddered, but simply nodded.

  “You have a trailer?”

  She nodded. “One horse. Had a two horse, but it fell apart and I haven’t had the chance to upgrade again. I use the Parmenters’ ranch trailer when I need—”

  Chey talked over her. “Fine. I’ll put Buttercup in yours, leave the two horse I hauled here. When the time comes, drive it back east for me and we’ll swap back.” She eyed her friend, wouldn’t let her look away, and stuck out her hand. “Deal?”

  “Chey—”

  “You got no family. I got no family,” Chey baldly stated in a way she wouldn’t have done with anyone else. “Well, that’s not entirely true. You have the Parmenters, who I know have become more than simply employers to you. I have three close friends who are family to me now--we own and run our farm together--and a whole town filled with adopted family.” She smiled. “I’m sure you and the Parmenters will write long lovely letters to each other, and you can visit over the holidays. But in the meantime, you’re a horse trainer in need of a job. And a new home. And I just happen to have one of each I can share.”

  “You came out here for Buttercup,” Tory said, but Chey already saw the hopeful look in her eyes, and the way her shoulders had straightened a bit. Both good signs.

  “Lucky me, then,” Chey said with a smile. “Twofer.” She wiggled her still outstretched hand. “Deal?”

  “I don’t know when it will be,” Tory said. “I promised to stay until they got things completely settled here.”

  Chey just wiggled her fingers. “Stop stalling.”

  Tory rolled her eyes and Chey’s smile split into a wide grin. Now that was the Tory she’d gone up against in the ring. Tory took Chey’s hand in a grip that was unsurprisingly strong and deliberate. “If it will keep you from nagging, sure, I’ll come east and save your sorry ass from being so overwhelmed you can’t even handle a few measly mounts.” Her utterly inelegant sniffle ruined her superior tone when she added, “I don’t know how you’ve managed to get along without me all these years.”

  Tory didn’t let go of Chey’s hand and instead pulled her in for a tight hug. Chey stiffened and Tory just held on tighter. “Thank you,” she whispered in her friend’s ear. “You saved two lives today. I won’t forget this.”

  Chey relented then; hearing the choked gratitude undid something i
nside of her. She’d been in a place even lower than Tory’s in her life, and she knew what a kind hand meant more than most. “Good,” she said gruffly. “I hope you still feel that way after harvest.”

  Tory let Chey go, but immediately slung her arm over Chey’s shoulder as they turned to face Buttercup. “You gonna still feel that way when I farm the hell out of that lavender better than you and take all your students away?”

  Chey hooted. “Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be? We’re not in the show ring any longer, you know.”

  “What, you think I’ve grown soft and complacent over the years? Have you?”

  Chey looked at the horse. "You hear that, Buttercup? Big words. She has no idea, does she?”

  The horse snuffled and ducked his head, as if he was agreeing with Chey. Chey and Tory both laughed. “I have a witness,” Chey said, looking at her friend and grinning. “You’re on.”

  This time around, Chey did keep in touch, albeit not quite as loquaciously as her friend did. Three months had passed since Chey had successfully transported Buttercup back across the country to his new home in Blue Hollow Falls. Spring was edging toward summer in the Virginia mountains she called home.

  Chey folded her arms on the rail and propped her chin on them, watching from under the brim of her hat as Buttercup grazed contentedly in the pasture just beyond the paddock. The old gelding still had a long way to go, but he’d been slowly and steadily putting weight back on; his coat still looked pretty shabby, but it was growing back in; and his mane, though still thin and a bit stringy, had an actual luster to it now. Best of all, the gelding’s eyes, though permanently clouded with age, were alert now, and focused. Buttercup wasn’t a fully healthy horse—that would take a much longer period of time—but he was a happy horse. She’d take it.

  Her gaze shifted from the pasture to the west of the stables and fields they’d dedicated to the horses. Row after row of lavender bushes filled the landscape all the way to the horizon. They were coming to life, buds hinting at the purple hue to come, and the fields were showing signs of green. “Spring is coming. Ready or not,” she whispered, knowing it wouldn’t be long before things would be getting busy. Really, really busy.

  The sound of Foster, one of her rescues, kicking his stall door, drew her from her thoughts and she headed back inside. The old stone stables had come with the farm, as had the stone and wood farm manager’s house that was now her home. In the past two years since the four of them had taken on and launched the Lavender Blue Farm and Tea Room, both structures had undergone sweeping renovations to make them livable and functional once more, after sitting empty and abandoned for many years. Given their age, that would likely be an ongoing, lifelong chore, but one Chey happily took on.

  Vivi lived up in the big farm house, which also served as the tea room and gift shop. Hannah still had her artist’s loft over the large, detached garage, and Avery had what they teasingly referred to as her mad scientist lab set up in her apartment, located in the addition that had been built on to the farmhouse in the middle of the previous century. These days, however, both Hannah and Avery more or less lived with their “better halves” as Vivi called them.

  Chey smiled, thinking that wedding bells weren’t too far off for Hannah and Will, and she couldn’t be happier about that. They would throw one heck of a wedding right there on the farm, with the lavender and the mountains beyond as a stunning backdrop. Even though Avery and Ben hadn’t been together all that long as yet, Chey wouldn’t be too surprised if they followed soon after. Given they were the youngest of the group and might be thinking about starting a family at some point, she doubted they’d wait too long to say their I do’s. Chey reached over the stall door and gave Foster a good rub along his neck. “You’re my better half, eh, Fos?”

  The horse snorted then lowered his nose over the stall door and started rooting at Chey’s pocket. She laughed and dug out the apple she had stuffed in there earlier for this exact reason. She held it while he nibbled off a chunk. “If only men were half as easy as you. Feed ’em, water ’em, put them in at night, and give them an occasional sweet treat? I might put up with one if that were the case.”

  “Question is, would they put up with you?”

  Chey whirled around at the sound of that voice. “Tory?”

  Tory jumped into the aisle and posed with a flourish. “Surprise!”

  “Ah, yeah it is!” Chey said, completely stunned. “How is it you can talk my ear off pretty much every other day but not mention that you packed everything up and headed east?”

  “Well, I kind of took a detour.”

  Chey finished feeding the apple to Foster, then wiped her hand on her pants leg and turned toward her friend. “What detour? Don’t tell me. You found someone else’s horse on the blocks?”

  “Actually, not exactly.” Tory turned to look outside and motioned. She put her hands on her hips and gave whatever or whoever was out there “the look.” No one denied Victoria Fallon when she gave them “the look.”

  “I hate surprises,” Chey said, frowning now. Curiosity and dread filled her in equal measure, though she couldn’t have said why on the latter part. Call it a sixth sense. “Don’t let her bully you,” she called out to whomever or whatever stood outside. “In fact, run, run now.”

  “You were kind enough to come get Buttercup when I couldn’t keep him,” Tory told her. “But he’s not really your responsibility, and I knew you wouldn’t—” She broke off and stamped her foot, pointing to the floor in front of her. “Get on in here. Jesus, the two of you. I swear, if I’d known then what I know now, I’d have knocked sense into both of you years ago.”

  Chey had been walking toward Victoria but she stopped dead in her tracks as a prickle of pure dread—no, make that full-blown panic—raced over the back of her neck and all the way down her spine, immobilizing her on the spot. The dread turned into a sick ball in her gut and she was very afraid she might be sick. Dread, or anticipation? Maybe both. Okay, definitely both. But she didn’t want either of them, thankyouverymuch. “Tory,” Chey said, her voice low and as threatening as it had ever been in her life. “You did not—” She could barely get the words out. “Tell me you did not—”

  “She did.” And if that voice didn’t set Chey so far back on her heels she was surprised it hadn’t planted her ass first on the packed dirt, one look at Wyatt Reed as he stepped into the stables—her stables—sure as hell did.

  “Hey, Cheyenne,” he said, as if an entire lifetime of anger, pain, longing, friendship, and regret hadn’t filled her every waking moment since he’d walked out of her life so many years ago. He held her gaze directly, and she owed him a direct gaze in return. She owed him so much more than that. But meeting his eyes was a start. And it took everything she had to manage even that much.

  He didn’t look angry, or mad, or sad, or...anything, really.

  What he did look was good. So incredibly, terrifyingly damn good.

  ZEBRA BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  “Santa in a Kilt” copyright © 2011 by Donna Kauffman

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  Zebra and the Z logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  eISBN 13: 978-1-4201-4890-9

  eISBN 10: 1-4201-4890-7

 

 

 
yle = " -webkit-filter: grayscale(100%); -moz-filter: grayscale(100%); -o-filter: grayscale(100%); -ms-filter: grayscale(100%); filter: grayscale(100%); " class="sharethis-inline-share-buttons">share