Blue Sky Cowboy Christmas

by Joanne Kennedy

  He’d wanted to tell them it wasn’t a family business. He’d started Boone’s Hardware himself, with money saved from a stint in the navy plus Ruth’s small inheritance. The two of them had lived on beans and rice in the early years, putting every dollar they earned back into the business. They’d started out with one room, selling feed and some essential ranching equipment, then expanded gradually, buying the current building after five hard years of sacrifice.

  Now that his sisters were upstairs and he was alone with his thoughts, his anger rose. His sisters had contributed nothing to the store. Nothing. If Riley hadn’t come along after Ruth got sick, there wouldn’t be any store. He would have gone broke paying for nursing care.

  And the things they’d said about Riley—well, it literally made his heart hurt. They wanted her gone so Trevor could step in. They didn’t understand that she’d earned her place. If anything, he owed her.

  He downed another gulp of whiskey and coughed. He wasn’t used to the way it burned, but when the heat rose to his head, it felt good. A little more, and he might be able to say some of these thoughts out loud.

  Carol bustled in from the hallway. She bustled everywhere, which was strange because she didn’t seem to accomplish anything. She just bustled hither and yon, making everybody nervous.

  “What are you doing?” she asked. “Why are you sitting here in the dark?”

  Ed sighed, and that hurt, too. “Just thinking.”

  “Good.” She sat down and tucked her legs under her, and for a moment, he saw the girl she’d been. “There’s a lot to think about, but I can help. Do you want me to go up and get that book? It really is good.”

  She’d talked about nothing but “that book” at dinner. Apparently it had tear-out forms for creating partnerships.

  “Getting everything in place now will make the transition easier when you…” She had the decency to blush. “Well, you know. You’re not getting any younger.”

  Ed stared at her over the rim of his glass. He’d tried to put a happy face on things for Riley, but he was starting to realize he couldn’t stand his sisters. He and Ruth had been thrilled to move away from Wisconsin, and now he remembered why. Carol and Diane had interfered constantly, offering advice, harassing Ruth about every little thing.

  “Riley’s my partner,” he said now. “She’s earned it.”

  “Trevor’s your grandnephew.”

  “I realize that, and if he works hard, he might earn a share, too. But so far…” He splayed his hands rather than say the words. Surely Carol had noticed the boy had been useless.

  Taking a Kleenex from her pocket, she dabbed at her eyes. “Oh, Ed. You have to make allowances. His parents are gone, and we’re all he has. The rug was pulled out from under him when they died.”

  Carol’s only daughter and her husband had been killed in an accident with a drunk driver. It was a tragedy, especially for the boy. Carol had taken over parenting him, but she’d been grieving the loss of her daughter and was hardly capable of helping a young boy deal with such a great loss.

  “He’s not feeling well or he’d be helping more,” she said.

  Ed sat up. “Not feeling so hot myself.” He gasped as something squeezed in his chest, stealing his breath. His whole left side hurt—his arm, his chest…

  “Are you all right?” Carol hopped up and slapped him on the back.

  “It’s not… Stop hitting me! I’m…I’m not choking,” he managed to squeeze out. “Heart attack. Again. Call 911.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake.” She headed to the kitchen, clearly more annoyed than concerned.

  A half hour later, he was strapped to a gurney, bouncing over the uneven sidewalk on his way to an ambulance. He wasn’t aware of the passage of time, only a dark spell before waking into a world of frightening whiteness. Snow whiteness would have been fine, but this was hospital whiteness—white walls, white sheets, white everything. The smell of disinfectant stung his nose, reminding him of the long hours he’d spent in the Grigsby hospital when Ruth was dying.

  “Well, look who’s awake!” A busy blond in what appeared to be pajamas decorated with dancing snowmen bopped into the room and began fussing with his sheets. “I just need to take your vitals, Mr. Boone. How are you?”

  Ed didn’t much want to talk, and he was pretty sure he needed to hold onto his vitals. But when he turned his head away to stare out the window, he realized he had questions. There were tall buildings, parking lots, and industrial-looking factories as far as he could see. This wasn’t Grigsby.

  “Where the he—heck am I?” Obviously, he wasn’t himself. He’d almost cursed in the presence of a lady. “This isn’t Grigsby.”

  “You’re in Loveland.” She laughed. “Guess you missed all the excitement. You were life-flighted in. Don’t you remember?”

  He shook his head, which seemed to scramble his brain and make him tired again.

  “I’ll bet that was some helicopter ride, with the snow and all.”

  Ed twisted the sheet between his hands and stared out the window. He felt old and scared and alone. “Did somebody call Riley?”

  “Is that your sister? She’s here with you. She just went downstairs to get something to eat. She’ll be so thrilled to see you’re awake.”

  “Riley’s my—my friend.” He was betraying her. He used to call her his daughter, but with his sisters around, he didn’t dare. “Somebody needs to call her.”

  “Well, your sister’s devoted to you. I’m sure she’ll call anyone you want. She’s been just beside herself with worry.”

  Ed remembered a conversation about partnerships and transitions and figured his sisters would probably stay devoted as long as it took for him to sign those handy tear-out pages in their precious book. He hoped they didn’t nose around the office back at the store and find the will he and Ruth had made up. That had come from a book, too, and it left everything to Riley.

  “I need to call her. Riley, I mean.”

  The nurse was fiddling with an IV bag that hung above his bed. “Now, you just leave that to us. I’ll let your sister know. What was your friend’s name? O’Reilly?”

  Ed managed to croak out a no before something swept over him, a sweet, all-encompassing sleepiness that fogged his mind and smothered all his worries, sending him off to dreamland.

  But there were voices. He managed to open his eyes a crack. The nurse was talking to someone—a woman. Tall. Brunette.

  Diane.

  He tried to speak but only croaked. Lifting one hand, he waved it feebly in the air. The woman turned.

  “What do you want?”

  The voice was harsh, the tone abrupt. Definitely Diane.

  “Riley.” Ed could barely speak, his lips were so dry.

  “Water,” he said.

  “Here.” Diane grabbed a mug from the table beside his bed. It had a bendy plastic straw in it, and he managed to drink a few sips while half the water in the mug dribbled down the front of his—not his shirt, that wasn’t his shirt. He was wearing one of those hospital gowns. The loose kind that flapped around and let your heinie hang out.

  “We haven’t seen your Riley in days,” Diane said. “I suppose she’s busy with that Gruff man, out on that ranch. Trevor’s been handling the store all by himself.”

  Ed felt suddenly dizzy as a monitor across the room began to beep frantically. The nurse came back and fussed around him, pulling a pillow out from under his head, easing him down on the bed.

  “Now, Mr. Boone, don’t get yourself all upset.” The nurse shot a slitty-eyed look at Diane. “Don’t you upset him,” she said. “He’s very fragile.”

  Fragile. He sighed. Why did he inspire all the wrong adjectives? Fragile. Kind. Nice. Just this once, he wished he could be tough. Tough enough to overcome this sleepiness, find out what had happened, and make sure Riley knew where he was. He wanted to s
ee her, but she’d say the store needed her more. She was responsible like that.

  But Diane said she hadn’t been there.

  “Did you call her? Tell her what happened?” His words sounded muffled in his head, and he wondered if Diane could even understand him.

  “Oh, I’m sure she knows,” Diane said. “But we haven’t heard from her.” She pursed her lips. “You’d think she’d at least want to send condolences.”

  “Condolences?” He tried to sit up on his elbows, but his head seemed to weigh more than his old bowling ball—the one he couldn’t lift anymore. “Am I dying?”

  “No, you silly man. You just had a heart attack.” Diane said. “All this drama, and this Riley, Riley, Riley. You need to calm down.”

  Riley, Riley, Riley. It echoed in his head, Diane’s voice saying Riley’s name, echoing until the sound had no meaning. He tried to speak, but the white walls, white lights, and white sheets blended together into a cold and empty nothingness, and he slept.

  Chapter 27

  As Griff bounced the Jeep down the highway to the diner, he hoped Riley understood why he had to go. If he begged off, Fawn would set the whole town buzzing about how damaged he was. Despite all the research she’d done, she didn’t seem to understand a thing about him.

  Riley, on the other hand, accepted him as a work in progress. She didn’t complain when he forgot to shave and shower, and she didn’t demand that he come to the table for those delicious dinners she cooked. Obviously, she knew how much the video game helped him—how much he needed to practice every scenario, to save his virtual soldiers over and over.

  And when night came, he didn’t have to say a word. They went upstairs and straight to heaven every night. He hadn’t had a nightmare since.

  He should probably show her more appreciation, though. Now that he thought about it, the relationship seemed a bit one-sided, and Riley had been kind of quiet lately.

  At the diner, he found Matt and Fawn seated in a corner booth. They looked good together. He’d have to mention that to Matt. If Matt made a move on Fawn, Griff wouldn’t have to be psychoanalyzed anymore. Surely the marshal would be hero enough for her.

  There was the usual handshaking and backslapping before Matt slid onto the bench across from Fawn. Griff tried to do a subtle do-si-do so he wouldn’t end up sitting with her, but Matt was wily. Evidently the make-a-move-on-Fawn thing hadn’t occurred to him yet.

  Griff wasn’t hungry, but when he ordered two eggs and toast, Fawn made a tsking sound, called the waitress back, and ordered him biscuits and gravy, a cinnamon roll, and a side of bacon.

  “You need your strength,” she said.

  Her blue eyes shined, and he reminded himself that she meant well, so he gave her a smile, pretending he actually enjoyed eating in public and talking to people. In truth, he had no idea how he’d choke down the eggs and toast. He thought about raking the whole mess into his lap and hiding it in his napkin, like a kid who hated broccoli.

  Shoot, he was a grown man. Why couldn’t he just say his appetite was gone?

  Because they need to believe you’re okay. He needed a lot of people to believe that, including the U.S. Army, so when the food arrived, he shoveled a few bites into his mouth. Finally, he put down his fork to search for a topic of conversation.

  “So how do you like being marshal?” he finally said.

  Matt greeted the question with a smile and a glance at Fawn that made Griff wonder if he’d stepped into some kind of trap.

  “It’s a good feeling,” Matt said. “Remember when you made up your mind to enlist? You were talking about how you wanted to make a difference, serve your community.”

  “My country,” Griff growled. When he’d left, his community had seemed like the dullest, slowest-moving place on earth.

  “Wynott’s part of that, remember?” Matt said.

  “Yeah,” Griff admitted. “A big part for me. I didn’t realize that then.”

  It was funny—he’d enlisted to get away from Wynott, only to discover that for him and many of his men, preserving the innocence of the Podunk hometowns they came from was their reason for fighting. They kept evil at bay so folks could believe in the essential goodness of the world the way kids believed in Santa Claus. From what they’d seen overseas, it was about as real.

  “There’s more action here than you’d expect,” Matt said. “Right now’s a crucial time. Opiates, meth labs—all that’s starting to come to Carson County, plus Springtime Acres keeps me busy.”

  “I thought Shane and Lindsey Lockhart bought the trailer park.”

  “They did, and it’s a lot better than it used to be. They hired Ozzie Wells to manage it, and he keeps folks in line, but there are still a lot of domestic calls there, drunk and disorderlies—that kind of stuff.”

  Griff gave a noncommittal grunt. Matt looked down and cleared his throat.

  Here it comes, whatever it is.

  “I finally got the funds from the county to add another squad car, and I need a deputy.” Griff’s old friend met his eyes with a frank and friendly look. “I can’t think of anyone I’d rather put in the job.”

  He paused as if to let that sink in for a while.

  It sank in all right. Lots of things were sinking—Griff’s heart, his mood, everything.

  Because to his surprise, the offer sounded good, but it could never happen. For one thing, Griff needed to go back to the military and redeem himself. He wasn’t sure how he’d do that. He couldn’t change the mistakes he’d made.

  And even if he’d wanted to take the job, it was impossible. His commanding officer didn’t feel he could trust Griff in a combat situation. What would he say about letting him loose with a sidearm among innocent civilians?

  “Sorry. Can’t,” he said. “I’ll be going back to my unit as soon as I can.”

  He wasn’t really lying. It might be true. He hadn’t freaked out in days, but that was because of Riley, and he doubted the army would let him bring her along. He pictured her decked out in fatigues, giving that sloppy salute, and smiled.

  Fawn smiled back, assuming he’d meant that look for her. “Matt, you know Griff has issues, but he doesn’t want to talk about them. And that’s his choice.”

  “I just wondered what the situation was,” Matt said sharply. He seemed to be getting annoyed with Fawn’s constant pity party for Griff, too. “We could make the job temporary.”

  Griff shifted in his seat, feeling trapped. In a way, the job would be perfect for him. His unit had been a police unit, guarding troops, upholding the law. But he had no idea how to even start rehabbing his traitorous mind. Give him an enemy combatant or a village full of hostiles, and he knew exactly what to do, but he was powerless against his own mind.

  “Just think about it,” Matt said. “You could use all your military skills in the job.”

  Griff grinned. “We don’t get much experience driving around eating doughnuts.”

  Matt punched him on the arm. Fawn laughed, and this time, Griff did smile at her. He’d made a joke, cut the tension. He was getting better.

  “Seriously, thanks,” he said. “It would be great to protect and serve with you and all that, but I’m just on a break.”

  Matt shifted uncomfortably and fooled with his french fries. “You told me when you left your enlistment was up before Christmas.”

  He was right. Griff would have to reenlist before he could go back, and his application was in limbo, pending a clean bill of health from the shrink at Walter Reed.

  “Yeah, well, I’m planning to re-up.”

  Fawn and Matt were looking at him as if he had two heads.

  “What?” Griff set his fists on the table and looked from one to the other. “You two act like I’m lying or something.”

  “It’s just… We heard what happened, that’s all,” Matt said. “I don’t see how somebody
could go back after that.”

  They hadn’t heard what happened. Nobody had, and he supposed he was grateful for that. He was even more grateful when Fawn changed the subject.

  “I’m just glad you’ll be here for the Red Dawg Christmas party,” she said. “You can’t miss that.”

  He didn’t want to talk about that, either, even though he’d loved that party as a kid. Ranchers from far-flung homesteads mingled with the folks from town, enjoying the one day they could get together without calves to brand or stock to move. The folks from the trailer park came, too, and one of the ranchers would dress up as Santa Claus in a moth-eaten costume with a cheesy cotton beard taped to his face. The kids would gather round, wide-eyed with rapt belief. Griff had figured out the truth about Santa by age six, but he’d let the other kids have their illusions.

  Come to think of it, that might have been the first time he’d felt like he was outside the circle looking in. Jaded by age seven, he’d made himself responsible for guarding his friends’ innocence. Which was ridiculous and kind of sad.

  Still, the party was a big deal. Maybe Riley would go with him. They could sit together and watch everybody else get drunk and celebrate. It would be like that night at the quarry—the two of them on the outside, looking in, but looking in together.

  “I thought we’d go together,” Fawn said.

  “Um, we’ll have to see,” Griff said.

  “Oh, good,” she said as if she hadn’t heard him. “Remember we have to bring a toy. There are lots of kids in Springtime Acres this year, and a couple of the ranchers had their crops fail with that hailstorm last summer. There’s a real need.”

  Griff remembered the kids who poured in from the trailer park for the party—kids who got free lunch, who never had quite the right clothes, who acted out and cursed and kept secrets about what happened at home. They never stuck around Wynott for long; their dads worked the oil fields, and they moved before they could really settle in. But when Santa showed up, their eyes would shine with happiness and hope.