Blue Sky Cowboy Christmas

by Joanne Kennedy

  When she reached the store, she glanced left and right to make sure Darrell didn’t have any buddies lurking in the shadows, then unlocked the door. As she flicked on the night light by the counter, she inhaled the store’s nostalgic scent. Fresh-cut lumber, dust, and something else—something old-fashioned and very dear to her. This place was her sanctuary, and she was going to miss it.

  She was kneeling behind the counter, dialing the combination into the safe, when the lights came on. Leaping to her feet, she almost bumped heads with Carol and Diane.

  “What are you doing?” Carol asked.

  “You can see what she’s doing,” Diane said. “She’s stealing from our brother.”

  Carol nodded. “The question is why.”

  “Because she can,” Diane said.

  “To buy drugs, I’ll bet,” said Carol.

  Riley stood, brushing off her elf pants. Glancing from one sister to the other, she noted the expressions on their faces. Distaste, distrust, dislike—they were the Dis Sisters. Or maybe the Dis Sasters.

  She smothered a smile. Ed would like that one.

  “You think this is funny?” Diane asked. “I suppose you thought that disguise would fool us. We know you’re anything but Santa’s helper.”

  “Actually, I am,” Riley said, remembering the kids—the babies, soft and powder-scented as she set them in Griff’s gentle arms, the kids she’d comforted when waiting in line got too hard. “I’ve been his helper all night.”

  “You’ll wipe that smile off your face when we call the police,” Diane said.

  “The marshal? He knows what I’m doing.” Riley turned back to the safe. “Go on and call him.”

  She was making a good show of strength, but while facing Carol and Diane should have been way easier than facing hulking, criminal Darrell, it seemed a lot harder—mostly because she shouldn’t have to fight them. She was on their side, trying to help Trevor, yet they just assumed she was stealing. People like them made her wonder if she’d ever outrun her past.

  As the safe swung open, she turned back to the Harpies, and her anger burst out.

  “You know, I could have robbed Ed blind over the past few years,” she said. “I must have been in and out of this safe a thousand times.” She gave them a phony, wide-eyed look. “Oh, but you don’t know that, because you weren’t here. Not once.” Grabbing the zippered bank bag and the bundle of keys beside it, she stood. “You never visited Ed. Not when his wife died, not when we held her funeral, not when he had his first heart attack.” She set the bag on the counter. “So why are you here now? Because you want the store. You want to steal what he built—not me.” She snorted. “Some family.”

  Unlocking the bag, she pulled out a stack of bills and began to count, slapping them down on the counter with her thumb. Ten—slap. Twenty—slap. Thirty…

  “But I don’t understand.” Carol’s voice quavered, reminding Riley they were old ladies and unlocking her heart—a little. “What are you doing? It’s the middle of the night. We came home to get clothes for Ed, and here you are, taking money.”

  Riley set the bills on the counter and sighed. It probably wasn’t their fault. Something in their lives must have twisted them into all this meanness.

  “In a way, you’re right,” she said. “I am getting money for a drug dealer.”

  “I knew it,” Carol said fiercely.

  Riley kept counting. Sixty—slap. Eighty—slap. One hundred. “I’m paying him because Trevor owes him three hundred dollars. The dealer’s from Denver, but he’s at the Red Dawg now, waiting for the money. He beat Trevor up, and I’m paying him to keep it from happening again.”

  Diane narrowed her eyes. “Don’t you claim that money’s for Trevor,” she said. “Where would he meet a drug dealer? You must have introduced them.”

  “Trust me, Trevor screwed up all by himself.” Riley laughed, sharp and mirthless, but she really wanted to cry, for herself, for Trevor, even for the Harpies, who had so much to learn about the world. “He’s managing a band, and there are always drugs around musicians. Something got ahold of him, that’s all. It doesn’t mean he’s a bad person.”

  She recounted the money, then set the stack on the counter. “If you don’t believe me, just follow me over to the Dawg and see for yourselves.”

  “We have no desire to follow you to a bar.” Diane said the word as if she hadn’t eaten at the Red Dawg just the day before.

  “Well, you should. Tonight’s the Christmas party, and once we get all this straightened out, there’ll be music and stuff.” Riley smiled down at the counter. “Probably not from Trevor’s band, though. But you can ask Ed what’s going on. He’ll tell you.”

  “We know you’re lying,” Diane said. She sounded desperate but triumphant, too. “Ed’s in the hospital. You can’t even keep your lies straight.”

  “No, he’s not. He’s here.” Riley frowned. “You brought him home, right?”

  The bell on the front door jingled, and a tall, spare figure entered, stomping snow off his boots.

  “Ed!” Carol lifted a fluttering hand to her chest, and Riley thought Ed should have brought the EMTs with him.

  “What are you doing here?” Diane asked.

  The old man glared at Carol, then at Diane. He was looking peaked; his hair was straggly and his face lined and tired. Riley’s heart ached. It was Christmas. He shouldn’t be dealing with all this trouble.

  “I had Trevor bring me home,” he said. “Seems there’s some nonsense going on around here I need to take care of.”

  “You don’t have to take care of anything,” Diane said. “If that boy is into drugs, that’s his problem. We’ve given him everything, and this is what we get in return?”

  Riley looked away as a fat, embarrassing tear wobbled past her defenses and splotched onto the stack of bills. She was crying for Ed, who was spending his holiday dealing with a drug-addicted nephew and a couple of Harpies instead of celebrating at the Red Dawg. Or maybe she was crying for the two old ladies, who were so confused and disillusioned by Trevor’s situation. But mostly, she was crying for Trevor. He had the family she’d always wanted, but they weren’t offering anything close to unconditional love. Sure, he’d messed up. And he was kind of a jerk. But the Harpies were ready to abandon him just because he’d made a mistake.

  No wonder he’d turned to drugs. It wasn’t an excuse, of course, any more than Riley herself had had an excuse. But it was a reason, and she understood him better now.

  Swatting her tears away, she shoved the three hundred dollars into her back pocket, scribbled an IOU on a sticky note, and pasted it to the remaining bills. She shoved them back into the bag, locked it back in the safe, then looked up at Carol and Diane.

  They didn’t look like Harpies anymore. They looked like a couple of scared old ladies who’d just had their world turned upside down.

  “Why don’t you come with me?” she asked. “The marshal’s over there, and he can explain what’s going on. Or if you’d rather, I’ll take care of things and bring Trevor back. I think you ought to hear about the situation from him.”

  Carol opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out. Likewise, Diane lifted an admonishing finger, but it slowly dropped to her side as she seemed to realize that for once, she had nothing righteous to say.

  Riley turned and gave Ed a gentle but fierce hug, pressing her cheek to his. He seemed so fragile, like a man made of paper that might crumple at any moment. But he’d been brave, so brave. He’d stood up for her—and she loved him so much.

  “You okay, Buddy?” she whispered.

  “I am now.” He rubbed her back the way he always did, in a soft, comforting circle, and she nearly burst into tears, it was so good to have him back. “You go take care of things, honey. I appreciate it. And bring Trevor back here, okay?”

  “I will,” she promised.

&n
bsp; And she would. Because she’d do anything for Ed Boone while she had the chance. He wasn’t well, and the thought of losing him—her buddy, her hero, her dad—was almost unbearable.

  Chapter 40

  Riley glanced up and down Wynott’s curving Main Street. Snow fell gently from the night sky, but the town was aglow with colored bulbs that bordered awnings, rooflines, and windows. Snowflakes caught the light, glittering like diamonds scattered in the drifts, and the faint sound of Christmas music wafted from the bar. The town’s familiar Christmas decorations glowed from every lamppost, cracked and ancient but familiar and beloved. She’d always seen Wynott as a Wild West Brigadoon, a magical place where nothing bad could happen—but here she was, headed for a standoff between old men armed with shotguns and a hulking drug dealer.

  It won’t ever happen again, she thought fiercely. She’d pay off Darrell and send him on his way. Griff and Matt, along with the Decker Ranch cowboys, would make sure he and the Iron Kings spread the word that this was a law-abiding town.

  The ugliness in the Red Dawg parking lot could not be the first step in the death of yet another small town in the West. In so many others, jobs had dwindled and despair had flowed in, followed inevitably by addiction. The few young folks who stayed turned to drugs that seemed to shield them from hopelessness and shame—until the drugs killed them or ruined their lives.

  That wouldn’t happen to Wynott. It was a community that stood together. She smiled, remembering the absurdity of the standoff over Trevor. He was an outsider who’d brought them nothing but trouble, but he was Ed’s, and that made him family to all of them.

  She’d longed to be family, too, but if Carol and Diane turned their backs on Trevor, he’d need to stay with Ed, and it made sense for him to take her place at the hardware store. That just confirmed her resolution to move on. Ed would be sad, but the Harpies would be happy. So would Fawn.

  How come she couldn’t do that for anyone she liked?

  Whatever happened, she’d be okay, because a hometown wasn’t where you happened to be born. It was the place that formed you and made you who you were. For her, that was Wynott, and the memory of this town would give her a solid place to stand no matter where she went.

  Halfway across the street, she noticed the falling flakes turning from green to yellow to red and back again in the light of the town’s single traffic light. She glanced right, then left. Nobody was watching, so she spread her arms and turned in a slow circle, delighting in the way the falling snow changed colors as it fell through the beams of colored light.

  She’d forgotten she was wearing the elf costume until she tripped and jingled her bells. The realization made her laugh and wonder if anyone was watching. If so, they might believe a little more in the magic of Christmas.

  After one last spin, she hurried down the street and back to the Red Dawg Bar to rescue the kid who was going to ruin her life.

  * * *

  Griff was starting to worry about Riley. Leaving Darrell with Matt, he headed for the edge of the parking lot and peeked around the corner. He could see up and down Main Street, including Boone’s Hardware, and was relieved to see Riley come out the front door. She was still dressed in the elf suit, and the pointy shoes made her walk with long, loping strides that only emphasized her otherworldly charms.

  As she crossed the street, the traffic light changed to green, lighting up her costume so brightly she cast a chartreuse reflection on the icy street. Stopping, she looked up at the falling snow and then turned, slowly, like a ballerina in a wind-up snow globe. He knew she was looking at the snow and the lights, but most of all at Wynott. As the light turned yellow, then red, it looked like the town was being blessed by a genuine Christmas elf.

  Finally, she stopped and trotted toward the Dawg again, so Griff hurried back to Matt and used his newly discovered hand strength to resume possession of Darrell. Matt moved away to wander up and down the rows of trucks and the few cars in the lot. When he got to a turd-brown Buick in the back row, Griff felt Darrell tense.

  Matt meandered back and gave the big man a grin. “That your Buick?”

  The big man jutted out his jaw. “None of your business.”

  “I can always run the plates.” Matt’s tone was pleasant and conversational, as if he was doing the guy a favor.

  Darrell hung his head and kicked at the snow. “Okay,” he said. “It’s mine.”

  “Well, good.” Matt took Darrell’s hands like a dance partner, executed a rapid do-si-do, and snapped a pair of handcuffs on his wrists. “You must have been in a hurry to get your three hunnert dollars, because you left about that much product in plain sight on the passenger seat,” he said. “You’re under arrest, my friend, for that and for assault. We’ll be confiscating your vehicle, too.”

  The big man struggled to wrench his wrists apart as Matt recited a Miranda warning. Griff gave him a shake, and he finally slumped, defeated.

  Matt turned to see the so-called Iron Kings watching wide-eyed from the parking lot. “You there, boys. Is that your van?”

  Leotard Boy’s eyes widened. He nudged Curly, and the two of them dashed toward the battered vehicle. As they piled into the front, the other two Iron Kings, looking anything but royal, raced after them and leapt into the back, slamming the doors behind them.

  They’d almost cleared the lot when the side door slid open and Curly tumbled out. He raced back to the bar, grabbed a guitar, and leapt into the sliding side door of the van with it tucked under his arm machine-gun style as the vehicle careened out of the lot. Sliding on a patch of ice, it nearly hit the side of the building, then spun its wheels and tore off into the night.

  “Hey,” Matt said mildly. “They forgot the rest of their equipment. Guess they’re donating it to the Dawg.” He set a hand on Griff’s shoulder. “Watch our friend Darrell, would you?” he said. “I need to notify dispatch.”

  Griff glanced at their prisoner. Cuffed, he looked somehow diminished, like a sulky child caught red-handed at the cookie jar, but this was the man who’d given Riley that slimy, predatory stare and talked about her being his Christmas present. Again, Griff thought about grabbing the guy’s shackled wrists and slamming him into the ground. He wanted to smash his fist into that sulky, stupid face, beat the guy black and blue. The dark, demon-haunted part of him wanted to kill the guy—and yet the marshal was walking away without a backward glance, confident his prisoner would live.

  Griff waited for the bees to swarm, but instead, Matt’s words rose in his mind. I know who you are. Whatever happened, you’re still that person.

  Apparently, the marshal was right, because the buzzing was really gone. The law would take its course and make Darrell pay, and somehow, that was enough.

  Not long ago, that would have been cause for celebration. With the anger beat, his self-control restored, he could go back to the military. That had been his only goal not too long ago, but now his goal was Riley James—her respect, her love, her heart.

  If only he’d found this peace before he’d gone and blown it by pushing her around. He’d give anything to undo those moments that had brought fear into her eyes, but it was too late to undo the damage he’d done. Still, dealing with Darrell was a good start. And he planned to stick around and keep going.

  He was sure of that now. He’d take the job Matt offered, get his own place. Better yet, he’d move into the forest-service cabin on the ranch’s back forty. His dad had traded some forested land for the place, and Griff had loved to go bird hunting with his granddad there. It sat on a wide sweep of prairie, backed by pine trees that stood out almost black against the golden plains. There were just two rooms, plus a small stable for horses, but he knew a kick-ass contractor who could fix the place up, maybe add on a nice kitchen.

  He’d still be around the ranch. He could mess around with horses in his spare time and be with his family again. He could get to know his new step
mother, even mend things with his dad. Best of all, he’d have the time to redeem himself in Riley’s eyes.

  In the parking lot, the men of Wynott had relaxed. Leaning against their trucks, they talked and laughed softly. Some cradled their long guns in their arms; others rested them in the snow while they talked casually with their neighbors. Occasionally, one would glance over at Griff, see him still holding the drug-dealer prisoner, and nod.

  It would feel good to do this every day. To be a man they depended on. To keep this town safe.

  It was funny how you couldn’t wait to leave a place, and then the loss of it grew and festered until it ached like an abscessed tooth. In the army, he and his men had spent long nights talking about home, and he’d learned most of them fought to defend the places they’d come from—their towns, their families, their way of life. Wynott had hovered in his mind all along, the image of it driving everything he did.

  He looked around at the tacky Christmas decorations, the quiet men at the ready with their guns, the gossipy girls clucking like chickens under the streetlamp. A familiar high-pitched laugh cut through the night, and he noticed Fawn Swanson standing with a few friends in a pool of light cast by a streetlamp. Her pretty eyes kept flicking toward Griff, and she’d toss him a flirty smile now and then, but he didn’t return it.

  Funny how things could change. He would have slayed dragons for one of those smiles when he was a kid, but now he knew they were only skin deep.

  He’d continue to fight for it all—the dusty pickup trucks, the lined faces of the old men, the hopeful spark in the eyes of the kids from Phoenix House, even Fawn Swanson’s all-American beauty. But he’d fight his battles here, where he belonged.

  He’d learned at great cost that he couldn’t save the whole world. But with Riley as a guiding star, maybe he could help save Wynott.