Blue Sky Cowboy Christmas

by Joanne Kennedy

  She sure wasn’t going to find one here. He couldn’t even face his own sisters.

  “You call when you can, okay?” He turned and faced the wall, shutting out the grim-faced Carol, who was standing with her arms crossed, looking sour. “We miss you.”

  “You miss my cooking.” Riley laughed that laugh, and he missed her even more. “Put those sisters of yours to work, okay? Don’t go back to eating peanut-butter toast for dinner like you used to.”

  “I won’t. I think the diner’s opened up. We’ll go out for a good meal.” He turned to face Carol, meeting her eyes with all the rebellion he could muster. “Wish you could join us.”

  “Don’t worry,” Riley said. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay, Bud?”

  “Sure.” His heart felt pinched and painful. Riley always called him “Bud” or “Buddy.” It was a pet name, and she said it fondly, but dozens of times, he’d wanted to tell her to call him Dad instead. He always lost his nerve.

  “Love you.”

  Riley hung up before Ed could respond, which was just as well—because how could he say “Love you, too” in front of Carol? She seemed to think he and Riley were having some kind of torrid affair, which was ridiculous. That would be incest, he wanted to tell her. But the words went unsaid.

  “Now that you’re finally done, I need to talk to you,” Carol said. “I’m concerned about Trevor.”

  “What, because he isn’t up yet? Boy likes his sleep, that’s all,” Ed said.

  He didn’t say the boy was lazy, but he wanted to. At the store, Trevor either skulked around doing nothing or sat in a corner messing with his danged phone.

  “I think he has a fever,” Carol said. “It’s probably the flu. He isn’t himself.”

  “Let him sleep then. I won’t need him today.”

  Not that he didn’t need help. There were paint chips all over the paint counter, and nails and screws were filed in the wrong boxes. A Sawzall somebody’d opened was still out of the box, the Styrofoam inserts abandoned on the floor. He’d asked Trevor to clean it up three times.

  If the boy was sick, it would explain a lot, like the sweaty sheen on his skin, pale under a rash of pimples. His hair was greasy and lank, like a homeless person, and he faced the world with a cynical attitude and a smug smile Ed wanted to smack right off his face.

  Oh dear. That was no way to think. Trevor was his nephew, and if he was sick, he couldn’t help it.

  “You want me to check on him?” he asked his sister.

  “Would you?” She sounded relieved, which surprised him. Normally, she thought he was useless and made sure he knew it.

  He headed upstairs and tapped on the door. This was Riley’s space, and he’d always tried to respect her privacy. She’d given him a tour after she finished renovating it, and it was amazing what she’d done, but they were together enough in the store, and young folks needed time to themselves. But when his second knock went unanswered, he walked in.

  Riley had made the place so homey. She’d haunted the Goodwill in Grigsby and had added pictures on the walls, throw pillows on the sofa, and a whimsical statue of a cowboy on a rustic coffee table. She said it was the nicest place she’d ever lived in, which was sad because it was just an attic apartment, hot in the summer and cold in the winter. The bathroom was tiny, with a cramped shower, and the sofa was a slightly ratty antique she’d picked up off the curb on garbage day. He’d offered to buy her new things, but she loved to find rejected pieces and clean them up. Then she’d act like it was Christmas because she had something new.

  There was no response when he tapped at the bedroom door. Cracking it open, he stuck his head inside and almost backed away. The room smelled like sweat, dirty hair, and something else Ed didn’t want to think about.

  “Trevor? What’s the matter here? You sick?”

  The boy sat up and stretched, grimacing as if something was hurting him.

  “You want me to call a doctor?”

  “No!”

  Well, the boy could talk, but he was shivering uncontrollably. When Ed tried to put a hand on his forehead, he jerked away as if threatened.

  “I don’t do traditional medicine,” the boy said. “Just natural stuff.”

  “Well, okay. What do you need?”

  “Nothing.” The boy looked sullen. “I called my friend. He’s a… He’s a naturopath. He’s coming up from Denver.”

  “All right.” Ed backed away, relieved to shut the door and leave Trevor and his smell behind. Not for the first time, he regretted inviting his sisters for the holidays. Then again, they’d invited themselves. He hadn’t had any say in that, either.

  Well, they’d always been independent. Never needed his help. So they could deal with their boy themselves—though Ed sure wished they wouldn’t do it here.

  Chapter 15

  “You ready?”

  Riley tried to nod, but she was so bundled up, she could barely move. The temperature outside was close to zero, so Griff had insisted she borrow some of Jess’s winter wear. She’d put on tights, long underwear, and leggings beneath her corduroys. On top, she wore a thermal turtleneck, a long-sleeved Under Armour top, and a flannel shirt, plus her puffy coat. Her long scarf was wrapped around her neck three times, and still the tasseled ends trailed loose. All this sartorial splendor was topped with her furry hat, with the earflaps tied under her chin.

  Griff looked at her critically. She realized she was no fashion plate, but she’d figured the cows wouldn’t care. Apparently, he did.

  “Lose the scarf.”

  “It’s warm. I need it.”

  He opened the hall closet and rummaged around until he found a shorter one. “Use this. You get that long one caught on something, you’ll get dragged, or worse. Tuck the ends into your coat.”

  Sighing, she removed her scarf, which Eleanor Carson had knit for her out of something she called “confetti yarn.” The festive colors always made Riley smile, since Mrs. Carson was possibly the least outwardly festive woman she knew. The scarf proved you couldn’t judge people by their faces. There was often another person inside, a sweeter self in hiding from the world.

  Riley put on the shorter scarf, which was both ugly and itchy, and gave Griff a sloppy salute. To her surprise, he burst out laughing. She’d meant the salute ironically, but she didn’t think it was that funny.

  “You salute like that in the service, you’d have to drop and give me ten.”

  She would have done it, but if she dropped, she’d probably bounce with all these clothes on, so she stayed at attention. Grinning, he adjusted her arm and hand, then stepped back, squinting.

  “That’s better. At ease, soldier.”

  She loved this side of Griff—teasing and easygoing, even a bit flirty. Maybe he’d turned a corner. Maybe their little town, the breathtaking country around it, and the pleasure of being a cowboy again would turn him into the man he was before. Yesterday, his face had been haggard, with bags under his eyes, but he’d slept well last night, and it showed. Had she done that?

  Yeah, right. The VA shrinks in Denver couldn’t fix him, but you can.

  “What’s the matter?” Griff was looking at her quizzically. Had she actually been standing there staring at him, frowning? And for how long?

  “Nothing.” She shook her head again, hard, and her hat tilted rakishly over one eye. Griff smiled again as he straightened it. She found herself smiling back, and it was so nice to look into his eyes and see happiness instead of that brooding darkness.

  Suddenly, he bent down, tilted his head to get under the short brim of her hat, and gave her a kiss. Not a sexy kiss or a deep one. But a good one, and on the lips.

  On the lips.

  It lingered just a moment. His mouth was warm and surprisingly soft—something she remembered from that night at the quarry. When he pulled away, she longed to haul him back t
o finish the job.

  “Sorry,” he said. “You just—you just look so danged cute, that’s all.” He turned away, clearly embarrassed.

  Did he mean cute like kid-sister cute or cute like sexy cute? She had no idea. But it didn’t matter, because suddenly he was all business, as if it hadn’t happened. The man was giving her emotional whiplash.

  “I got the flatbed loaded. We’ll drive to the far side of the pasture if we can and feed ’em there.”

  “What?” How could he just carry on as if nothing had happened? The kiss had set off a powerful string of images that had swamped Riley’s rational mind. She imagined him ravenous, then tender, then taking her hand and leading her to the bedroom, where he’d take off her hat, and then the scarf, and then…

  And then five hours later, he might actually make it to your underwear. Which won’t be good, because you’re starting to sweat under all those layers.

  Blinking, she reentered the real world. “Can Bruce come?”

  He thought a moment. “Sure, but he’ll have to stay in the cab.”

  The flatbed was parked in the turnout in front of the barn, and sure enough, the bed was stacked high with square bales of hay and straw.

  “Do you want me to help you dump the straw before we go?” She had to raise her voice to be heard over the wind, which blew the few strands of hair that had fallen out of her hat across her face. She raked them away, but they came back, sticking to her cheeks and mouth. “That’s bedding, right?”

  “Nope. They’ll eat it. It’s not supernutritious, but digesting fiber keeps their blood warm.”

  “Oh. I guess I don’t know much about cows,” she said.

  He grinned. “Cattle.”

  “Yeah, right. Cattle.”

  Bruce leapt onto the bench seat, and Riley hoisted herself up after him, feeling strong and adventurous. She was a woman with a big dog and a hot cowboy, and she was going to feed cattle, not cows, from a flatbed truck. It was something new, and she loved learning new stuff.

  Griff cranked the ignition and off they went, bumping over the frozen ruts in the driveway to stop at the pasture gate. Riley hopped out of the truck without a word and ran to the gate to wrestle with the chain. Once the truck had churned its way through, she swung the gate shut and hooked up the chain again. That was one thing she knew about ranching: always close the gate.

  As she climbed back into the truck, Bruce greeted her as if she’d been gone for a week. Griff waited until she’d fastened her seat belt before bouncing off across the pasture. The drifting snow hid the landscape, and she wondered how he knew where to go.

  Apparently he didn’t, since he cruised right past the cattle, who were huddled by the side of the barn. They watched as the truck rumbled past, their shaggy faces frosted with snow, their pink noses questing the air hopefully.

  “Hey,” Riley said. “They’re over there.”

  “I want to feed closer to the creek,” Griff said. “If I do it up here, they’ll just make a mess, plus we’d have to carry water.”

  Glancing in her side mirror, Riley saw a few cows leave the herd to plod reluctantly after the truck. The others milled around a bit before falling into line.

  “It’s like a parade,” she said, putting an arm around the dog and bouncing happily in her seat.

  “It is, isn’t it?” Glancing over at her, he smiled warmly. She smiled back, though she probably looked a mess. In the brief time she’d spent wrestling with the gate, snowflakes had piled up on her hat, her shoulders, even her eyelashes, and now they were melting and getting drippy. It actually felt good, because her cheeks were hot from the exertion.

  He finally pulled to a stop. “This’ll work. ’Scuse me.”

  He dove toward her side of the truck, and she prepared herself for another kiss, but he was aiming for the glove compartment. She was partly relieved, partly disappointed as he rummaged around among a mass of papers and tools. Bruce managed to give Griff a friendly slurp before he found what he was looking for: a bungee cord.

  “Watch this.” He hooked one end of the cord around the steering wheel, just above the crossbar, then stretched it to clip the other end onto something under the dash.

  “Come on.” He jumped out of the truck, and she did the same, signaling for Bruce to stay. Much of the snow had been blown off this section of the pasture, so it would have been easy to walk if it hadn’t been for the wind, which cut to the bone despite all the layers and forced her to claw at her face to manage her hair.

  Most of the cows retreated as Riley and Griff came around the back of the truck, but one shaggy beast stomped up to Griff and butted him lightly with an arching horn.

  “Look out!” Riley wasn’t afraid of animals, and Heck’s Highland cattle were mostly tame, but their wide horns still made her nervous. She put one foot on the bumper and hopped up onto the back of the truck, out of their reach.

  Griff laughed. “I was thinking you’d need help getting up there.”

  “’Course not.” She grinned down at him. The butting cow was nipping at his pockets now, and Griff casually swiped it away with one arm before hoisting himself up to join her.

  “Dad’s got these guys too tame,” he said, but he was smiling, and she was, too. The hairy cows looked like toys, with long, red hair obscuring their eyes and soft, pink noses.

  Griff stood on the flatbed, fists on his hips, gazing at the land all around them. He was squinting slightly in the sun and had a satisfied expression that reminded Riley of an explorer who’d just conquered new lands. She saw his chest rise on a long, deep breath, and then he smiled.

  Holy cats. The man. The hat. The way he looked out at the land as if he owned it clear to the horizon. She was pretty sure it was the other way around, and the land owned him—or at least his heart.

  He ducked down to shout in her ear so she could hear him over the wind. “I’ll put the truck in low gear, and then I’ll jump out and help you back here. The bungee cord will steer it in a circle, and we’ll pitch the hay out as we go.”

  “You could just drive,” she said. “I can pitch the hay.”

  “Nope.” He flashed her that grin again. “That’s the fun part.”

  Apparently her lower-belly butterflies were immune to the cold, because despite the icy flakes pinging off her face and gusts of wind that tried to knock her from the truck, they were fluttering like mad. She clenched her legs together, trying to make the butterflies stop without acting too weird.

  Naturally, he noticed she was standing like a wounded pigeon and gave her a look of grave concern that made the butterflies swoon.

  “You okay? You need to, you know, go?”

  Riley blushed. “I’m fine.”

  “Okay. Go stand up by the cab and hold on.”

  Scrambling over the bales, she found a spot just behind the cab where she could hold on to the truck’s roof for balance. Hopefully it would go slow, because this was bound to be a bumpy ride.

  “Oh, I almost forgot.” He pulled out two pocket knives. “For the strings.” He leaned over and cut one of the strings that held a bale together, then knotted it into a bundle he tossed into a bucket that hung to one side. “Don’t let any of the strings get loose,” he said. “We don’t want a cow to eat ’em.”

  She took the knife. “Got it.”

  “Great. Get ready, then.”

  He jumped to the ground with the grace of a cowboy dismounting a roping horse, and as he climbed into the truck, Riley was as ready as she’d ever been.

  Ready for anything.

  Chapter 16

  Griff shoved Bruce out of the driver’s seat and slipped the truck into low gear. “No driving, okay?” he said sternly to the dog.

  He rejoined Riley on the flatbed, and the two of them got to work cutting strings, throwing them in the bucket, then separating the flakes of hay and tossing them into the s
now.

  The cattle caught on fast and so did Riley. Her cheeks were pink from the wind, her lashes damp and spiky from the snow, and her crazy muskrat hat was coated with snow and ice, but she was working as hard as any top hand Griff had ever seen. She didn’t need his supervision, but he couldn’t take his eyes off her.

  The truck was going at just the right speed, crunching through the snow in a wide, slow circle. Bruce was sitting up in the driver’s seat, and it was comical to see the truck lumbering across the field with the dog behind the wheel. They hit a low spot once in a while, which made the flatbed rock and forced Griff and Riley to stand spraddle-legged for balance. The first time it hit a gopher hole, Riley let out a little scream, but when he’d grabbed her arm, she’d turned to him, laughing. He wanted to fall off the truck and take her with him.

  They’d land in the snow, together, and he’d kiss her… No.

  He wasn’t ready for a romance—but if he was, he’d want it to be with Riley.

  That explained why he hadn’t been more excited about Fawn Swanson on his sofa. He’d been young and shallow when he’d had that powerful crush on Wynott’s golden girl—so shallow he’d been too busy picturing her naked to think about who she was or what they’d talk about. She was a nice girl, but she’d been too interested in his experiences overseas. It was like she cared more about what he was than who he was. He might be a soldier, but he was still Griff Bailey, the guy she’d ignored all her life.

  Riley was no cheerleader, no golden girl, but she had an inner strength that didn’t match her fragile frame or her ethereal looks. She was stomping around the flatbed like a happy kid, hefting the big bales and tossing hay like she’d been doing it all her life. She had a shine to her that didn’t come from cosmetics or clothes but from her heart.

  He’d pulled himself out of his reverie and bent to their task. He was tossing a bundle of strings in the bucket when something smacked him on the shoulder.

  “Gotcha!”