Christmas with a Cowboy

by Brown, Carolyn

  Iris laid a hand on her shoulder. “I miss Virgie too. We wrote to each other every month, and these past few years, when it got to where it wasn’t so expensive to call, we talked once a week. I knew her well and she wouldn’t want you to be sad like this. Virgie was a fun, upbeat person.”

  Maverick brought in the plates, napkins, and a couple of individually wrapped envelopes of cutlery. “Here you go, ladies.” He handed them to Iris and turned to Bridget. “Are you all right? Have you been crying?”

  “We’re talking about her grandmother and how her death is just now hitting Bridget.” Iris split two scones in half and put them on her plate, then passed the open container over to Wanda. Then she turned her focus back to Bridget. “Your nana was so worried about you, trying to raise a baby by yourself. But she was proud of you. She told me so right before she passed away.”

  Tears rolled down Bridget’s cheeks and dropped onto her shirt. “I just wish I’d had more time with her, and Laela could’ve grown up with her like I did.”

  “So do we all, but the good Lord saw different,” Iris said. “Now I’m going to have a scone, and we’re going to talk about something else. Have y’all been making cookies for Saturday?”

  “Yes, we have.” Bridget dried her eyes and managed a smile.

  But he’s had enough of that loving stuff with his other women while his cookies baked, Bridget thought.

  “That little Elijah sure has a pretty voice for a little kid, don’t he?” Iris asked.

  “Yes, ma’am, he does, and the others sound pretty good too. They should be ready for the Christmas program for sure,” Maverick said.

  “They miss you,” Bridget said.

  “Take cookies every Sunday,” Iris said. “They love treats. Did they do good on their Sunday school lesson?”

  “Lily Rose fussed at Randy for picking his nose.” Bridget laughed.

  “That’s not a new thing.” Iris bit into a scone. “Man, these things take me back to when I was a little girl, runnin’ around with Virgie. Them was the days.”

  “I ain’t never been to Ireland, but I’d be willing to pay for the plane tickets for us both if I could have these every day,” Wanda said.

  Bridget wondered how these two elderly women could strike up such a solid friendship in only a day and a half. Was it easier to be so trusting when a person got older? One thing for sure, Iris was going to go up in smoke when she found out about Retta and Emily.

  “I stayed with Virgie when I visited Ireland last year. If we were ever to come back, would you tell us what hotels are good?” Iris asked.

  “You two are welcome to stay with me. Just give me time to find a place.”

  “That’s so sweet.” Wanda sighed. “Family is special, Iris. Don’t you ever take them for granted.”

  “Trust me, honey, I don’t.” Iris looked up at Maverick.

  He’d propped a hip on the arm of her lift chair and smiled at her. Bridget wondered how he could hide so much from his grandmother, the very person who’d been so good to him. She could have never hidden things from Nana. Maybe Maverick hadn’t told Iris about her great-grandchild and the one on the way for the same reason. He didn’t want her to be disappointed in him.

  Iris poked her on the arm. “Where’s your mind, child? You’re staring off into space like you’re lookin’ at a ghost.”

  “I’m sorry,” Bridget said. “Just woolgathering.”

  “Laela is squirmin’ like a worm in hot ashes. Put her down so she can explore. Me and Wanda want to watch her play,” Iris said.

  Bridget set the baby on the floor, and she immediately headed straight for the door. Quicker than a bolt of lightning, Maverick was on his feet. He closed the door before she reached it and sat down on the floor in front of it. Laela giggled and crawled up in his lap.

  “Ain’t that sweet,” Wanda said.

  Bridget wondered if the baby named Annie loved him like Laela did, if he read her bedtime stories, and if he’d make some excuse to be gone on Christmas Day to be with her. When it was exactly four o’clock, Iris pointed at the clock. “Wanda and I’ve got to go to thirty minutes of therapy now, and then we have supper in the dining hall.”

  “That’s our cue, princess. We need to go home and do evening chores anyway.” Maverick got to his feet. He bent to hug his grandmother and then gathered Laela up into his arms.

  Bridget slung the diaper bag over her shoulder. Last year at this time, she would have been picking up her purse to go to a pub for a pint. She would have had a little money, a small makeup kit, and a hairbrush in the purse, not diapers, small stuffed animals, and wet wipes. A phone call could sure turn a life around. That’s how she’d found out about Deidre’s death. One minute she was playing darts in the pub and the next she got a phone call—Deidre was dead.

  * * *

  Maverick got the baby situated in the car seat, and then handed Bridget the truck keys. “When Granny called this afternoon, she told me to give the keys to her truck to you. I guess this one is yours until she comes home.”

  She shook her head. “You drive. I’ll only use it when it’s absolutely necessary.”

  “Thanks. I really don’t like being a passenger,” he said.

  “Especially when I told you that I like to go fast, right?”

  “Well, there is that.” He helped her inside and then rounded the back end of the vehicle to the driver’s side. “And there’s a baby in the backseat.”

  “Do you think I would ever, ever do anything to harm my child?” Her eyes flashed pure anger toward him.

  “Hey, I was teasing,” he said.

  “Don’t.” She raised a hand. “Just don’t.”

  He started the engine and backed out of the parking lot. “You need to work on getting that bee out of your under britches. Would going by the ice cream store help?”

  “Just drive us back to the ranch. We’ve got ice cream there,” she told him.

  Women! Can’t live with them and Granny would kill me if I threw her out on the side of the road for being so damned stubborn.

  She kept her eyes on whatever was going past the side window at fifty miles an hour, and he focused on the road. Laela talked to herself and the small teddy bear that she favored.

  Too bad that grown-ups couldn’t act like children—they just went with the flow and didn’t let things bother them. He turned off the highway and down a farm road to the lane that took them back to the ranch. He’d barely gotten the engine turned off before Bridget bailed out of the truck, swung open the back door, and took Laela out of her car seat. She flipped the diaper bag over her shoulder and stormed up on the porch.

  Maverick unlocked the door for her, and followed her inside. He went straight for the refrigerator, and got out a beer. Bridget had already gotten both her and Laela’s coats off and hung on the hooks on the coat tree in the foyer. He took his time removing his coat and hat, and then carried the beer to the living room.

  He plopped down on the end of the sofa and took a long drink. When he set the bottle down on the end table, he noticed the red light flickering on the phone showing that there were three messages.

  He started to hit the play button when he realized that he hadn’t offered to get Bridget a beer. Sure, he didn’t like her coldness, but that was no reason for him to be hateful. “Want a beer or a glass of sweet tea?”

  “No, I’ll make myself a cup of hot tea later, but thanks,” she said.

  With a shrug, he hit the button and listened to the digital voice say, “You have two old messages.”

  The first one that played was from Retta and the second from Emily. He tipped up the beer for another drink.

  “Well?” Bridget popped her hands onto her hips. “What have you got to say for yourself? How can you just sit there and not say a word?”

  “Annie likes me. All babies do. Emily doesn’t know if she’s having a girl or a boy. What’s there to say? I’ve already talked to them both since those calls were made.”

  She w
anted to slap him hard enough to rock his jaw. How dare he talk about those two unsuspecting women like that! They probably loved him, and little Annie no doubt missed her daddy.

  It took him a minute to realize what had happened. The two older calls had been made the day before, and Bridget had heard them. She had no idea who Retta and Emily were, so what if she thought those babies were his? After the way both he and Bridget had been so impulsive in Ireland, he didn’t blame her, but it was funny. He chuckled, then laughed, and then roared, his laughter bouncing off the walls.

  “You think it’s funny to deceive your grandmother like that?” she asked.

  Then he remembered the timing mentioned on the machine. The two old messages would have come in about same time Alana was in the barn with him. Bridget must think he was quite the ladies’ man to be seeing Alana, have a baby on the way, and one already born.

  “Why didn’t you just ask me about all this yesterday?” he asked.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about it in Ireland? I wouldn’t have fallen in bed with you if I’d known you were married or engaged or whatever you Yanks do when you have a harem,” she smarted off.

  “I wouldn’t know, darlin’. I’ve never been able to get into even one serious relationship. Sit down here beside me and let me explain about Retta and Emily,” he said.

  “I’d rather stand.” She glared at him.

  “Have it your way. Retta is married to Cade Maguire, and Emily is married to his brother, Justin. They own the ranch next to the one that the Baker brothers, Tag and Hud, bought last summer. Pax and I moved there to help them get it up and running. It’s kind of an extended family between Canyon Creek with the Bakers and Longhorn Canyon with Maguires, since Emily is Tag and Hud’s older sister,” he explained.

  “Oh. My. God.” She sank down on the sofa beside him. “I’m sorry.”

  He reached across the distance separating them and laid a hand on her shoulder. “Apology accepted. If I’d been in your shoes, I might have thought the same thing after that wild night we had in Ireland. We really don’t know each other, Bridget, but I’ve never forgotten that night. There was something between us that I’d never felt before, and it’s still there. So what do you say? Can we start all over and get to know each other?”

  She placed her hand over his. “Hello, I’m Bridget O’Malley. I used to be a party girl, and I did a few things I’m not real proud of. Like one night I gave in to the impulse to go to bed with a stranger, and I did it. Now he probably thinks I have round heels.”

  Maverick pulled his hand free from hers and stuck it out. “Pleased to meet you, Miz O’Malley. At least now I know your last name. It’s very Irish. I’m Maverick Callahan. I used to be more of a party cowboy than I am now, and sometimes I miss the excitement of those days. How about you?”

  She shook his hand and then dropped it. “Oh, yes, I do. I really do, but Laela needs me, and there’s a certain satisfaction about being a parent.”

  “Could I buy you a cup of coffee this evening? Or maybe a cup of tea? I imagine we’ll have to make it at home, but I’d like to get to know you better,” he said.

  Bridget looked down at the baby, who’d pulled herself up to the sofa and then lost her balance and plopped down on her bottom. “Laela’s bedtime is seven thirty, and I don’t have a sitter, but I might let you make me a cup of tea.”

  “I make a mean peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and we could watch a movie right here in the living room,” he suggested.

  “That might be doable,” she agreed with a nod. “But be warned. I don’t usually give out kisses on first dates.”

  “Then, darlin’”—his grin was downright wickedly sexy—“I must be real special.”

  “You might have been when I met you in a pub. But this is now and we’ve just met in your grandmother’s living room. Life changes everyone,” she said.

  “Amen to that,” he said.

  Chapter Eight

  Supper was ready and waiting, and it was past time for Maverick to come inside. Dark clouds covered the sky and a hard north wind shook the tree limbs. Bridget stood in the kitchen window, watching the last few diehard leaves from the pecan tree right outside the window let go, and the wind whipped them around as they tried to reach the ground. A calf bawled in the distance as if he was telling his mama he was afraid of storms. Lightning zipped across the sky. The thunder that followed brought Laela crawling across the floor so fast that the baby was almost a blur.

  Bridget picked her up and held her close to her chest. “It’s just the Irishman dumping the potatoes, lassie. Nothing to be afraid of. We’re in the house, and we’re safe.”

  A movement in her peripheral vision caused her to look out the window again, and there was Ducky, running hell for leather straight to the house. She opened the back door, and he and Dolly both dashed inside and headed for the living room. Laela began to wiggle and whine to get down, so Bridget carried her into the room. The baby pointed at the Christmas tree and jabbered something that only seven-month-old babies could see, and crawled over to it the minute that Bridget put her on the floor.

  “Look but don’t touch,” Bridget told her.

  Laela crawled from the tree to where Ducky was hiding from the thunder and seemed to give him a lecture in her baby language. Then she lay down beside Dolly and rubbed her ears. Bridget raced back to the kitchen window, but there was no Maverick in sight. She couldn’t leave Laela alone in there with the cat and dog. Sure, they were good animals, but even a good pet could only take so much abuse before it snapped and retaliated.

  She’d gone as far as the sofa when her phone pinged. She took it from her hip pocket and sat down. A text from Sean: Are you coming home soon? I might have a renter for my room if you don’t want it.

  She typed: It’ll be at least a month. Don’t hold it for me.

  She got one back immediately: I’ll interview the guy then. Miss you, luv.

  She sent back a heart emoji and put the phone back in her pocket. Those words, miss you, were one of those little things that put tears in her eyes. The house phone rang right beside her, startling her so badly that she was on her feet before she even realized it.

  “Callahan residence.” She wiped her cheeks with her shirtsleeve.

  “Have you been cryin’?” Iris asked.

  “Just a little,” Bridget admitted. “This ugly weather doesn’t help my mood very much.”

  “It’s teatime in Ireland,” Iris said. “Make yourself a cup. The warmth will help a lot. What did you make for supper?”

  “Clam chowder and hot rolls, but Maverick isn’t back from chores yet,” she answered.

  Laela left the cat and crawled over to Bridget. She flashed one of those baby smiles that melted Bridget’s heart.

  “I hear the baby. She’s tryin’ so hard to talk already. She’s goin’ to be a bright one,” Iris said. “What I called for is to tell you that now I’m here in rehab, I’m enjoyin’ it, but I need you to bring me some more clothes. I’m tired of runnin’ around in hospital gowns and no under britches. I’ll be in therapy all morning tomorrow, so you can just put the suitcase on my bed. Bring about a week’s worth of bras, too.”

  “I can do that. Need anything else?”

  Iris laughed and then said, “Wanda says to bring us a couple of really good-lookin’ cowboys. If they look like Sam Elliott, she’ll leave her entire estate to you.”

  “You ladies are quite the pair.” Bridget smiled. “I should’ve thought to bring you some of your own things before now.”

  “Didn’t know if I’d really stay until me and Wanda struck up a friendship. Oh, and stop on the way and get a big bag of those little chocolates. I’d tell you to sneak us in a bottle of wine, but that’s against the rules.” Iris giggled again. “Wanda says that we don’t want to sit in the time-out chair.”

  “I’ll be there in the morning. Call or text me if you think of anything else.” Bridget heard the back door slam. Laela cocked her head to one side and took off
in one of those fast crawls toward the sound.

  “Will do. Bye now,” Iris said.

  Bridget hung up the phone and went straight to the kitchen. Maverick had hung up his coat and hat and was kicking his boots off at the back door. “Honey, I’m home,” he called out.

  With a smile on her face, she asked, “How was your day?”

  “It’s kind of fun to play house, ain’t it?” He grinned.

  “Playing house and really sharing a home are two different things,” she replied. “Looks like it’s going to start raining any minute.”

  “It’s nasty out there, but I’ll take rain over snow and ice any day of the week. It was a bad day for a heifer to deliver a calf. I put them in the barn, but the new mama didn’t want to go, so it took me a while to persuade her.” He picked the baby up and held her close. “I washed up out in the tack room so don’t think I’m holding her with dirty hands.”

  “That’s good, not about the cow but that you washed up. What’s going on with the little baby calf you had out there in the stall?” She stirred the pot of clam chowder with a long wooden spoon.

  “One of our other cows took him right on and is raising him with her little bull calf. You’d think they were twins,” he answered.

  “That’s good,” Bridget said, but she wondered what it would have been like if she and Deidre could have raised their children together. “Supper is ready to put on the table. Since you’ve already washed up, you can put the baby in the high chair while I bring it over from the stove.” She set the basket of hot rolls beside the chowder. “It’s a good day for soup.”

  “Any day is a good one for clam chowder.” He bowed his head and waited for her to get seated before he said a short prayer.

  When he’d said, “Amen,” Bridget pinched off a tiny bit of the bread and blew on it until it was cool enough to put in Laela’s mouth. “I got a text from Sean. He’s got a chance to rent out his spare room. I don’t want to stand in the way of him making money, so I told him to rent it if he can. I should have enough from this job to get a small flat for me and Laela when we get home.”