Blue Sky Cowboy Christmas

by Joanne Kennedy

  Blinking at the hot air blowing in her face, she reached up and shifted the heater vent to one side and noticed a bubble on the dashboard with a Santa inside. He was climbing into a chimney, carrying a sack full of toys, and snow was falling all around him.

  Santa had never visited her. Of course, she’d never lived in a place with a fireplace. Either that, or it was like her mom had said and she wasn’t good enough to make the “nice” list.

  She’d been good this year, though—well, pretty good. As long as Santa didn’t talk to the Harpies, she might make the list, and Griff had a fireplace. Maybe Santa would come to the ranch.

  Wait, what was she thinking? Santa wasn’t real. She was all groggy and mixed up. Like she could have sworn she’d been driving, but now she was slumped in a bucket seat, perched high above the road, leaning against—who was that?

  Glancing up, she saw Griff, his profile outlined against a window rimed with ice. Outside, the sky was deep navy blue, and a rising moon bobbed along in the window.

  Griff looked down at her, his eyes alight with something—something nice. Fondness, she thought. Affection.

  “Hey,” he said softly. Behind him, the dog whined eagerly.

  Bruce.

  What had happened? Last she remembered, she’d been running away from Griff, and she’d left the dog behind. But now here she was, all snuggled up like the man was her new best friend—or something more—and the dog was in the back seat.

  Her stomach flipped over. Maybe she’d been drinking. That would explain her sleepiness, her confusion, and the sudden wave of nausea. It would also explain why she was with Griff when she’d promised herself she’d stay away from him. It hadn’t been easy, but she’d made a firm decision, and she usually hung onto those.

  Funny, she didn’t feel drunk, just sick. And she’d never gotten so drunk she couldn’t remember what she’d done. She’d wanted to sometimes, but no such luck.

  Her stomach turned again, and she tried to sit up. She might not want to be Griff’s girlfriend, but she didn’t want to throw up in his lap, either.

  Bruce thrust his big head between them, twitching his eyebrows to look first at her, then at Griff.

  “She’s okay,” Griff said to the dog. Riley liked the way Griff talked to Bruce like he was human. Like he deserved respect. That was the cowboy part of him, the part that was good with animals.

  “Just rest,” he told Riley. “You’re safe, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Yeah, right. She was safe in Griff’s Jeep, with no memory of how she’d gotten there. Had she slept with him? She hoped not. If she ever slept with Griff Bailey, she planned to pay attention and remember every second. Plus if she had, had Bruce been there? Had he watched? The poor dog would be scarred for life.

  Then again, maybe Bruce could tell her what had happened.

  “Bruce?” she said. “What did I do?”

  “You slid off the road,” Griff said. “Are you okay? Did you hit your head?”

  She forked her fingers into her hair and searched for bruises and bumps. “Don’t think so.” She wrinkled her forehead, struggling to remember. “Where’s my truck?”

  He thumbed back over his shoulder. “Back there. You got stuck in a drift.”

  “Oh.” She felt like she was thinking through molasses, but events were starting to come back to her. “I couldn’t dig out, so I thought I’d wait for someone to come by. I was listening to Christmas songs and singing to stay awake, and then…” She scratched her head. “I guess I fell asleep anyway. I feel weird.”

  “You fell asleep with the car running.”

  “Oh.” Now she understood why he’d come to her rescue. She must have called him. “So I ran out of gas.”

  “Which was a very good thing.”

  “What, so you could come and save me?” She remembered now that Griff hadn’t wanted her to go. He’d made fun of her truck, tried to order her around, and then something had happened, something that scared her. “I know you like playing knight in shining armor, but I could have frozen to death.”

  “That would be one way you could have died.” The man could go from fond to mad in a heartbeat. Those eyebrows came down, his eyes went hard, and all of a sudden, he was a scary guy. A flash of memory startled her—his face flushed, his fist rapping the dashboard—followed by a sense of tremendous loss.

  She remembered now. He’d been so kind to her, so tender. But that man was gone.

  “Your truck was backed up in a drift, with snow blocking the tailpipe,” he said. “If you hadn’t run out of gas, you would have died of carbon monoxide poisoning. Hell, you almost did.”

  Her brain was so foggy that she had to parse each word, figuring out its meaning before moving on to the next one, and by then she’d forgotten what they were talking about.

  A few words caught her attention, though. Like died. And that long one.

  “Carbon monoxide?”

  He glanced down at her and nodded, then reached across and took her hand as if he had the right. She wanted to pull away, but her fingers were freezing. Cupped gently in Griff’s palm, they seemed to be electrified by his warmth.

  “Ow,” she said, puzzled.

  “Hurts, right? You almost got frostbite, too,” he said. “Of course, that wouldn’t have mattered if you’d died. Do you get that?”

  “Oh. Yeah, sure.” He seemed to think he was saying something momentous, but she didn’t really care. “Can I go back to sleep now?”

  “Sure,” he said. “Just promise me you won’t take that death trap out in a blizzard again.”

  “Death trap?”

  “That truck of yours.”

  “Oh. Uh-huh.” She had no intention of following his orders, but she really wanted to go to sleep.

  “I’m taking you back to the ranch, okay? You don’t want Ed’s sisters to see you this way.” He gripped the wheel tighter and glared into the darkness. “They’d probably think you were drunk.”

  “They probably would.”

  Ed’s sisters. Jeez. She’d forgotten all about them. The last thing she needed was for them to see her stagger in hanging all over Griff, so to heck with it. She’d have to stay at the ranch tonight and trust him to behave himself. She had a vague notion that he’d saved her life, so she might as well.

  “All right.”

  “Good.” He pulled his hand away and she almost mewed, but then he reached over and put his arm around her and pulled her close. He was so warm, and then he took her hand again. “Now you can sleep.”

  “Good.” She snuggled down into the velvet darkness again, resting her cheek against his shoulder as he breathed in, out, in, out, so solid and calm. His sweater smelled like a fire in the fireplace and pine boughs on the mantel.

  How could such a grumpy guy smell so much like Christmas?

  * * *

  Griff concentrated fiercely on the road, biting his lower lip until he tasted blood, clutching the steering wheel with one hand while the other held Riley close to keep her warm.

  He had to keep her warm, of course. And he was holding her hand so her fingers wouldn’t freeze. Just because his heart lifted whenever he looked down at her pale, drawn face, that didn’t mean he was taking advantage of her. He hoped.

  Fortunately, driving in winter weather was one of those skills you never forgot, like riding a bike. If he hadn’t had a passenger, it would have been fun. How many nights had he taken the Jeep out in a blizzard when he was a teenager, searching the dirt roads for stranded motorists? Once in a while, some overambitious four-wheeler or foolish tourist would press a ten-dollar bill into his hand for the help, but that wasn’t why he did it. Rescuing people had made him feel good.

  He felt pretty good right now. Riley had shed her ugly fur hat at some point, and her hair smelled like flowers. His mind flooded with thoughts that were sweet
but also wrong, wrong, wrong. Once again, he wasn’t worthy of that sweetness, or her trust.

  He’d done his best to hang on to their night together at the quarry with care, like an image preserved in the crystalline water of a snow globe. The Jeep, pulled up to the far brim of the quarry, the bonfire of the party a distant glow. The moonlight on her face, her hands, her body. The way she’d answered his kiss, hesitant at first, then hard, with unexpected passion. The way she’d trusted him.

  Unfortunately, the memory had been soiled by his time in the desert. The men around him fed off each other’s loneliness and desperation, and their stories focused on sex, not romance. They were each determined to be manlier than the next man and to show no weakness. Those who clung to love were joked, joshed, teased, and ended up joining the others in their coarse, manly, miserable ways. Everyone claimed to be a Casanova in a former life, and nobody admitted to having a heart.

  So he’d found himself thinking less about Riley’s amazing eyes or her sexy voice and more about her scent and her skin. After a while, he’d started fantasizing increasingly X-rated scenes with her in the starring role, even though he’d known deep down he was taking something from her without permission. He’d taken something precious from himself, too, and it would help to pay her back with kindness, friendship, and trust. He might be too broken for a real relationship, but he vowed to help her any way he could.

  He carefully turned into the long ranch drive, holding her so she wouldn’t shift with every bounce of the Jeep. Her warmth set his body on high alert, so he did his best to think about other things to distract himself—cow patties, barbed wire, turkey wattles—the unsexiest things he could think of.

  As he pulled to a stop at the ranch house, the blaze of Molly’s thousand-and-one Christmas lights cast a welcoming golden glow across the snow.

  “Christmas,” Riley muttered in her sleep. “I love Christmas. I decorated at Ed’s. Did you see?”

  He patted her shoulder gently, wishing he could take her there. “Those women aren’t exactly Christmassy people, though, are they?”

  “No.” Her forehead furrowed. “Don’t know what I’m gonna do.”

  Just in that instant, as Griff parked the Jeep, he knew what she should do. He’d keep her here, take care of her. They’d have a real Christmas, just the two of them. He’d have to do some planning. Molly had decorated the house, but there was more to Christmas than that.

  He looked down at the Santa in the still-wobbling snow globe and tried to see hope there and the holiday spirit he’d need if he was going to give Riley the Christmas she deserved. But Santa had one foot in the chimney and one on the roof, as if he couldn’t quite commit, and he was still weighed down with that gigantic pack.

  Griff was going to have to find his hope and holiday spirit in his own heart, and that meant digging deep, because it felt as heavy and full as that bag.

  Chapter 12

  Griff stoked a hearty fire in the fireplace while Riley, a little groggy, shuffled off to call Ed.

  “I’m fine,” he heard her saying. “Just tired, that’s all.”

  He wondered if Ed had noticed the slight drag in her voice left over from the poison she’d inhaled.

  “I’ll be home tomorrow, when the weather clears,” she said.

  After some small talk, she hung up. The dog rose from where he’d been snoozing at her feet and paced behind her to the living room. When she sat in the chair by the woodstove, Bruce lowered himself down beside her. He didn’t seem to want her out of his sight, and Griff felt the same way.

  “You’re going back tomorrow?” Griff asked.

  “Of course,” she said. “I live there.”

  “Right. In your apartment. So Ed’s going to clear his sisters out of there?”

  “Don’t be like that,” she said. “I can’t afford to be mad. I need to like them.”

  “Why?” he asked. “They’re not making any effort to like you. And let me tell you, Riley, it’s not real hard. You’re pretty and smart and sweet. You take care of Ed as if he was your own dad and never ask for anything in return. And here you are with me, even though I know I scare you…”

  She started to protest.

  “No, I know you’re not scared of anything, but I scare everybody. Hell, I scare myself, except when I’m with you. You make me feel almost human.”

  She stared at him, eyes wide with surprise, then melting into pity, and he realized he’d said too much. Frustration always made him dump the contents of his brain on whoever happened to be closest, and judging by Riley’s stunned expression, he’d said something stupid. Shifting uneasily, he waited for her to stop staring and speak.

  “Almost human?” she finally said. “Griff, just how bad do you feel?”

  What? Had he said that?

  The question, her concerned expression, his worry for her, and exhaustion from wading through the snow—it all unmanned him, and he felt the appalling sensation of tears, hot like acid, stinging his eyes. Clenching his fists, he fought against them.

  They could not fall. They could not even exist. Others had suffered far more than he had. He had no right to feel sorry for himself. No right at all.

  “Don’t twist this around,” he said. “We’re talking about those women. I’m trying to tell you to stand up for yourself, and now…”

  Now you’re acting like I’m the weak one.

  His throat closed up, and he couldn’t speak. He had an absurd urge to kneel before her, to rest his head in her lap and let her stroke his hair. He had an even more absurd urge to cry. But that was out of the question.

  Without a word, he got up and left the room.

  * * *

  Riley waited to see if Griff would come back. She hadn’t meant to insult him or anything; she’d just been shocked by what he’d said. Something in his tone had told her the words came from a self-hatred so deep it had scarred his soul.

  She knew what that was like. There’d been a time when she’d felt less than human herself, and the road back from that dark place had been long and hard. It hurt her heart to think of Griff dealing with that after all he’d been through. Then again, she wasn’t sure he was actually dealing with anything, the way he kept to himself and shut everyone out.

  He had a softer side. She’d seen it, back there in the Jeep, along with an unmistakable look of longing—and yet he held himself apart. Even holding a civil conversation was an act of will for him.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, ducking her head and rubbing her forehead, reminding herself it wasn’t her job to fix him. She’d probably just make him mad, and she’d experienced the damage angry men could do. So far, he’d held himself together except for that one explosion in the car, but she needed to be careful.

  Or did she? He’d just saved her life, after all. And while he might think he’d changed so much he was hardly human, she was still pretty sure the cowboy she’d admired all those years ago was still in there—the guy who’d talked to her so long before making his move that night at the quarry. The guy who’d been so concerned with her feelings when they’d made out in the dark, who’d stopped whenever she’d asked him to and made her feel safe enough to let go and find a level of ecstasy she hadn’t known existed.

  She wondered if he realized how much he’d changed her. Knowing she could be that safe with a man, that free, had given her a new kind of hope, and she owed him for that. That was why she’d stayed in touch while he’d been overseas, even though she’d known nothing more could happen between them. He was a Bailey, with a respectable ranch family that went back generations. That kind of guy wasn’t looking for a girl like her—not long-term. But she was pretty sure he could use a friend.

  She and Bruce sat and watched the fire for a while. The glowing embers formed tiny cities beneath the logs, with craggy brimstone buildings under the leaping flames. Orange lights in the fragile towns of ash bl
inked on and off, and then they’d crumble and fall.

  “It looks scary, like a city in hell, doesn’t it, Bruce?”

  The dog sighed and leaned against her legs.

  “So the people who live there escaped the devil, and they’re hiding in the coals. They’re building a new town, a safe one, back there under the log.” She sighed. “But they’re doomed, buddy. That log is gonna fall.”

  She huffed out a laugh. The fireplace was starting to look like the real world to her. Every time a person found a safe space, reality came crashing down like a burning log. The trick was to keep moving and escape before disaster struck.

  Speaking of moving… Where was Griff? She’d heard him going up the stairs, but he hadn’t said good night or anything. Had her question bothered him that much?

  She stood, relieved that her head seemed to have cleared. She felt almost like herself now—a little sleepy, but well enough to brave the stairs.

  “You stay, Bruce.”

  The dog laid his head on his paws and settled down with a soft groan of protest.

  Upstairs, a faint glow emanated from one of the doors—the one that led to Griff’s old bedroom. It was open, just a crack. He’d have closed it if he wanted her to stay out, right?

  Right. But she needed to be careful. Maybe he’d left it open as some kind of clumsy signal. Maybe he’d gotten naked and was waiting for her. Guys did dumb stuff like that, and although he’d been respectful, there’d been a light deep in his eyes she’d recognized.

  She tiptoed quietly into the bedroom to find him curled on his side, the bedside lamp glossing his wide shoulders and sparking off his tousled hair. Without the angry crease between his eyebrows, the implacable line of his mouth, the jut of his jaw, he looked surprisingly different—and if a man could be beautiful, that was Griff. Handsome didn’t cover it. He looked like a sleeping giant born of angels. Like one of the Nephilim, she thought, from the Bible.