“I know what she’s doing, Zack. Because I’m the one who’s actually dating her.”
“She’s interviewing for jobs, Connor.” Zack’s voice was impatient. And Connor didn’t have to look over at him to know he’d likely pulled out that granite face of his too. Useful for quelling rowdy rednecks at a glance. “I heard she’s had offers already. And not here in Cold River. You really think you’re going to have a long-distance relationship with a hotel manager in Vail?”
“If I did,” Connor said, very distinctly, “I wouldn’t ask you for a ride. Or for your opinion on it.”
“You work on the Bar K.” As if Connor had missed that, out here in the fields, like he was every day of his life. “That’s not going to change.”
“Thank you for bringing up another thing that isn’t your business,” Connor muttered. “I do work here, yes. You don’t.”
“I’m literally sitting next to you, right now, working.”
“Give me a break,” Connor retorted. With more volume than necessary, probably. “Riding around to assess storm damage because the pass is iced over isn’t the same thing as working here, and you know it. You didn’t want to work here. You and Dad had your thing—”
Zack grunted. “I wouldn’t call it a thing.”
“Because you always think that when it’s you, it’s different.” Connor was gripping the steering wheel way too hard. He forced his fingers to relax. “The point is, you don’t need to worry about Missy. Just like you don’t need to worry about the ranch. Concern yourself more with picking up bad guys and having discussions with high school kids about forest fires or whatever it is you do all day.”
Zack sighed. “You do realize I have deputies, right? A whole department? And that law and order is a real thing?”
“When I want your advice, Zack, you’ll know,” Connor said. Too intensely, sure. But he wasn’t shouting, and that felt like a win. “Because I’ll ask for it.”
They bumped along in a not exactly friendly silence then, while the minutes stretched out between them. And Connor scanned the fields, now hoping for a structural disaster that he could leap out and tend to, because anything was better than this conversation.
“I just want to make sure—” Zack began again when no disasters presented themselves.
“Is your love life up for discussion?” Connor demanded.
Another silence, and Connor wished—again—that they weren’t shut up inside this truck. That he were out there in the elements that he loved so much. Colorado at its best, as dangerous as it was pretty. Cold and snowy on the one hand, but with that bright blue sky up above as if the storm had never happened.
Maybe the truth was he liked women who felt like the land to him. Gorgeous and worth dedicating a life to, but a wise man never turned his back for too long.
“I’m trying to look out for you,” Zack said in a low, almost angry voice—as if Connor were being unreasonable. “It’s not like I went looking for this information. You know as well as I do that Adaline thinks it’s her duty to keep me up to date on every stray bit of gossip she encounters.”
“I appreciate that,” Connor said, though he didn’t. A lot like he’d never appreciated Adaline Sykes, the immovable secretary to three sheriffs so far, because a person who thought their tendency to gossip was a job requirement was always going to be a problem. “And in the unlikely event I need the sheriff, or even my big brother, to sort out my private life, I’ll be sure to let you know. Until then? This is all off-limits.”
“Understood.” Yet Zack was still projecting all that granite at the side of Connor’s face. “But for the record, your girl has job offers as far away as Arizona. And my love life is fine.”
“One more word and I’ll make you walk back to the house, Zack,” Connor threw at him. “I’m not kidding. I don’t care if you disappear into a snowdrift and we don’t find you until spring.”
He must have sounded serious, because Zack actually stayed quiet for the rest of their tour around the snowy fields. Because he was wrong and he knew he was wrong, Connor told himself. It was older-brother nonsense, nothing more. The usual Kittredge family special—digging all around in people’s lives whether they liked it or not.
But alone in his cabin later that evening, with nothing but the bare Christmas tree that stood in the corner and might as well have shouted out Missy’s name, Connor was forced to face some facts.
He had gone and gotten too serious. It had snuck up on him, but here he was, and he didn’t see how he was going to go about changing it.
And there was no reason for someone like Missy to stay in Cold River. She’d always been horrified at the very idea. She wanted the big, wide world. She wanted bustling cities and a sophisticated nightlife and all the things that went with lives lived outside the confines of this valley.
She wanted things Connor couldn’t give her. Things he didn’t want to give anyone, because this was where he belonged. This place was who he was. And he didn’t need Zack to remind him that women who dreamed of cities never lasted long, or well, far out here in the grip of the land where life was about weather and livestock, seasons, hope, and grit. They all knew the broken marriages, the abandoned spouses, the separations and divorces.
Connor wanted no part of any of that.
The snow was kicking up again. The wind knocked around the cabin, howling and carrying on as the longest night of the year wore on.
Just like it would when she was gone, he told himself, gazing out at the dark and the storm. All winter long without her, like every other winter since they’d broken up the first time, and the sooner he resigned himself to it, the better.
7
On the night before Christmas Eve, Connor picked Missy up and took her out early. He instructed her to wear her cold-weather clothes, so she’d wrapped herself up in enough layers to combat whatever Colorado might throw at them.
And was glad she did when he drove her out to one of the newer ranches—or new to her, anyway—tipped his hat at someone who was clearly a friend, and then treated her to an actual sleigh ride.
“If you want to sing Christmas carols, you should,” he told her, snuggled up under a cozy, warm blanket beside her while the prancing horses literally jingled all the way. “I won’t tell anyone if you’re off-key.”
“My singing voice would kill the horses,” she replied, filled up inside with something so bright and giddy it almost hurt. “Not exactly the Christmas miracle anyone’s looking for.”
Connor laughed, his big arm wrapped around her shoulders, and pulled her tighter into his side. And she did her best not to think too much about how easily she fit there, or how much it felt like she belonged.
This was the first Christmas in a long while that she didn’t have to work. The first Christmas in years that she didn’t have to tend to others no matter what she might be feeling inside. Her only duties this year were to buy gifts for her mother and sister, wrap them up, and stash them under the tree in the living room. She could toy with the idea of baking something, stuff herself with Christmas cookies, and chase everything down with hot chocolate by day and spiked eggnog by night.
All of that was a marvel. She was pretty sure that Connor was the miracle.
When the sleigh ride was done, he drove her back into town, took her out to dinner, and made her laugh the way he always did. Laugh and laugh and laugh. Until she really couldn’t tell which part of her was filled with that giddiness and which part of her was made up of laughter.
And after dinner, they walked down Main Street, bundled up against the frigid cold. There had been snowstorms earlier in the week, but tonight the sky was clear. And Cold River was doing its best to outshine the stars far above. There were Christmas lights strung down the length of the street. All the storefronts joined in and the shops stayed open late this time of year, encouraging folks to come spend their money on local gifts and services.
“I forgot all about this,” she told Connor as they walked, easing their wa
y through the throng of people. She was glad she’d worn her toastiest boots, as she remembered too well how the wrong pair of shoes could ruin everything in weather like this. “I don’t think I’ve spent any time on Main Street at Christmas since…”
“Junior year?”
She grinned at him. “Probably.”
“You can depend on Cold River to do it up when Christmas rolls around.” And he was still grinning, but it … changed then. “We all know it’s going to be months of cold and dark. Better shine while we can.”
She’d been ignoring it all evening, but that comment seemed to be just as strange as he seemed. Distant, maybe, even while he’d been making her laugh. And even more now.
“That sounds ominous,” she said. Lightly.
He was Connor, so his grin didn’t dim, but Missy thought she could see a different sort of strain in his gaze then. “Spoken by someone who hasn’t lived through a Cold River winter in a good long while.”
He was still grinning. She had her arm hooked through his. Why was she looking for trouble in the backs of his eyes? Maybe the prickle down the back of her neck was just the cold.
“I can’t argue with that,” she said. “And I can’t say that I miss the winters, either.”
“I don’t blame you.” And again, all the brightness of the town surrounding them seem to call attention to the fact that he was … less bright than usual. But only because she knew him so well. “If I were you, I’d take that job in Arizona. Avoid this altogether.”
Something thudded in her chest, hard and a little bit sickening. Missy was terribly afraid it was her heart.
“Arizona?” She stopped walking outside the bookstore that was still open tonight. Part of her wanted to dive inside, ignore anything that didn’t feel good. Wasn’t that what she’d been doing this whole month? Reveling in Connor. Enjoying all the silly dates that ended in wild kisses but nothing more. Allowing herself something sweet for a change.
How had she lived so long with so little sweetness?
But she could feel that wherever this conversation was going, sweet wasn’t going to be part of it.
Missy wanted to go inside, but she didn’t.
“Did I tell you about that job offer?” she asked. She knew she hadn’t. But she didn’t wait for him to answer. “It’s a lovely resort, actually. And I’ve always felt drawn to Sedona. Or, if I’m honest, I’ve always felt as if I ought to feel drawn to Sedona.”
“You didn’t have to tell me about it,” Connor replied, and this time, she definitely didn’t believe that grin. “Look around. Remember where you are. You don’t have to tell me a story when the whole town is here to do it for you.”
“My dad used to call it the town telepathy.” Missy told herself that there was a deep, shivering thing inside her because she was cold. Because it was cold out here, no matter how many layers she was wearing. Because Colorado took its winters seriously, and she should too. “I never liked it much.”
Connor looked down at her, something too dark in his gaze that she couldn’t understand. Or define. She told herself she didn’t want to. “Now, we know that’s not true. You used it to your advantage.”
But she didn’t want to joke about her teenage shenanigans. She wanted … too many things to name.
She focused on the most immediate one. “Do you want me to go to Arizona?”
And she was kind of horrified when her voice … didn’t exactly crack. But it wasn’t steady, either.
The truth was, Missy had six separate offers for jobs that she was reasonably certain she would enjoy. Each and every one of them. There was that resort in Sedona. Three separate resorts and hotels along Colorado’s famous ski town corridor. One offer from as far away as Cape Cod.
And an offer from the Grand Hotel just down the block, which she was sure had the church ladies in a tizzy.
The old Missy would have already made her decision. It would have come down to the flip of a coin between Cape Cod and Sedona, because neither of those places was Colorado. Missy had always been so firm on getting out of Colorado, no matter what.
The old Missy never would have interviewed at the Grand Hotel in the first place.
And she could tell herself, her mother, and her sister that she was only being practical all she liked. She had.
I’m sure practicality is really the key here, Laurel had said, elbow deep in the Christmas cookie batter. Your sudden potential interest in a job right here in Cold River has nothing whatsoever to do with any cowboys you might know personally.
Missy had taken to delivering fiery speeches in the shower supporting her practical position—that being that she had interviewed at the Grand Hotel but would obviously be going elsewhere. It made sense not to spread herself thin again like she’d be doing if she stayed here and had to juggle family and work. It made sense that she should choose the kind of places that would benefit her career and not let her get sidetracked by some man again—meaning, far away. There were a thousand reasons why she shouldn’t stay in Cold River, and most of them had been the very same concerns she’d had when she was a teenager.
But then again, she’d gotten that offer.
“What do you mean?” Connor asked. Lightly enough, but those dark eyes of his were unreadable. Missy didn’t like that. The Connor she knew was an open book. Always had been. He was that giddy bubble of joy, nothing deeper. Nothing darker.
But even as she thought that, she knew it was a lie. It had been a lie thirteen years ago. Because they’d gotten intimate, sharing that first time with each other, and then they’d practiced quite a bit. And the more they practiced, the more impossible it had been for Missy to imagine life without him.
It had felt so intense, so much deeper than Missy had even known she was capable of feeling. So much so that when she heard he’d been flirting with another girl, she hadn’t waited to see whether or not it was true.
She’d been relieved.
She had stormed down to the cafeteria and broken up with him on the spot.
And now, all these years later, she found herself breathless on a cold street, and in a whole lot deeper than she’d been then.
How had that happened?
“Here’s what I know about you, Missy,” Connor said, and the way he said her name like that broke her heart. She felt it happen, and felt as powerless to control it as she had that day long ago in Cold River High. She’d opened her mouth and yelled all the things she needed to yell to end it, then made herself walk away, her heart in pieces. “You don’t like it here. At the end of the day, this isn’t a place you want to stay. And that’s okay. It’s a big world out there. You should go wherever you need to go.”
It was the kind of generous, openhearted thing she should have cheered upon hearing.
But instead, she felt sick and miserable. She wanted to punch him in the stomach. Or the face, she wasn’t picky, though he was much too good-looking to bruise.
“So what you’re saying is you want me to go. Ten hours away to Arizona.”
“I want you to be happy.” And though she was sure she could hear an edginess in his voice, his expression was clear. Intent but clear. She hated that too. “All you agreed to was a few dates. I know that.”
“A few dates,” she repeated. “Right. Just a few, silly, meaningless dates.”
“You said you’d never been on a proper date,” he said, his voice the kind of rumble that she was terribly afraid would live in her bones forever. “Now you’ve been on a lot of them. I have to say, Missy. I’ve always liked being your first.”
And that fire that was always inside of her seemed to smolder then. Because he did. Because that was the easiest thing between them, that devouring, consuming heat. It had led to all her bad decisions as a teenager. It had scared her enough to make sure she followed each and every one of her dreams, even when they hadn’t all been what she’d imagined they would. And it was still here, all these years later, even though all he did at the end of these dates was kiss her.
“This is the gift. All month long. You’re welcome.”
“And it’s been wonderful. But I feel like the basic promise of all that flirting in bars over the years was that we would revisit what we do best.”
And for a moment, there was so much heat between them, steaming up the windows of the bookshop and deicing the sidewalks, that she was half-surprised he didn’t throw her over his shoulder and make a run for his truck.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he smiled down at her. In a manner that she could only describe as sad, somehow.
It made her heart beat harder and hurt more.
“If I were you, I’d wait and look for this kind of thing in Arizona,” he told her. That smile of his deepened. It made her want to cry. “But me? I’m better as a memory, Missy. Maybe it’s for the best we leave it that way.”
8
Christmas Eve morning was spent in her family’s usual bustle. Missy told herself she was delighted to be back to take part, and she was. More or less, she was. Marianne and Laurel worked together to create endless tins of Christmas cookies, which they then delivered all over the Longhorn Valley.
“Am I crazy?” Missy asked as she and Laurel braved the slippery roads to drive around their little pocket of Cold River. Delivering tins of love to all the neighbors from the list their mother had prepared.
“I’m going to go with yes,” Laurel said from the passenger seat, where she was handling the actual deliveries to doors while Missy drove.
Secret Nights with a Cowboy Page 32