A Cowboy for Christmas (Mills & Boon Love Inspired Historical) (Wyoming Legacy - Book 5)

by Lacy Williams

  The irony was not lost on him.

  “We were just—” one started.

  “—looking for Daisy,” the other twin finished.

  “You see her anywhere?” Ricky asked.

  Their eyes darted around, starting to look a little wild, like an unbroken colt under his first saddle.

  “No,” one mumbled.

  “You see these horses?” he asked.

  “Y-yes, sir.”

  “You’re spooking them.”

  The boys looked a little bewildered.

  “You know what that means?”

  One of the boys shook free of Ricky’s hold, and the other quickly followed suit. They looked miffed.

  “It means you’re scaring them with your shouting and flailing around. When your new step-pa gets back, do you really want to have to explain how you got his horses excited in the barn, ’specially if one of ’em hurts itself?”

  One of the boys crossed his arms over his chest, belligerent.

  But the other looked slightly chastened.

  “What’s your name?” Ricky asked, going back to his pitchfork.

  “Terrance,” came the quiet reply, with a glance over his shoulder at the second brother, who was peering over the edge of the stall where the black dog lay. “That’s Todd. What’re you doing that for?”

  “Would you like to stand around in your own mess all day?”

  The boy wrinkled his nose in consideration of the question.

  “C’mon, Terry!” the other brother called out. “Maybe she went around the house the other way.”

  Terrance watched Ricky for another moment, almost looking as if he wanted to ask another question, but then followed his brother out the double doors the way they’d come.

  Had Ricky’s distraction earned him any goodwill from the woman he wanted to speak to? He could only hope.

  *

  The cowboy had saved her.

  Oh, it was only from the Twin Terrors, but still...

  She found herself hesitating when she should’ve been kicking up her heels out of the barn. She poked her head above the stall to make sure the twins were really gone.

  Then when her feet should’ve taken her back toward the house, instead she slowly wandered toward him, hand trailing along the side of the stalls. New, freshly spread hay crunched under her boots, sending its sweet smell wafting up to her.

  She still didn’t quite dare look at him.

  “If you’re aiming to take a walk, I’d recommend sneaking down by the pond,” he said, still mucking out the stall and not really paying attention to her.

  His inattention gave her the courage to say, “Thank you.”

  He nodded. She didn’t know if that meant he understood that her thanks was for the advice or for handling the boys.

  It had been such a long time since she’d spoken to someone outside of her family, save the preacher at her father’s wedding days ago. And she’d embarrassed herself in front of this man at the same time. But he didn’t seem affected. He just kept working.

  For the first time in a long time, she wanted to say something. But she didn’t know what. She thought to turn and go back to the house—and perhaps lock the exterior doors to keep the Terrors out—but before she had even moved, something cold and wet burrowed into her hand.

  Gasping, Daisy looked down on a great black beast of a dog. One of three that usually rotated between being out with the flock and living in the barn. This one had been Daisy’s favorite for years.

  “Matilda,” Daisy breathed. Her hand smoothed along the curly hair along the dog’s back—nearly to Daisy’s waist. Her hand paused along the dog’s swollen midsection.

  “You’re...”

  “Getting ready to have pups,” said the man nearby.

  The cowboy had set aside his pitchfork, leaned it against a nearby stall door. He squatted, and Matilda, usually notorious for despising strangers, waddled over and nosed his chest. “You doin’ all right today, old girl?”

  Daisy watched, dumbfounded, as the animal consented to having the fur beneath her chin scratched, even sitting on her haunches.

  “Do you know when?” Daisy glanced at the cowboy.

  His eyes were warm, open and friendly.

  It surprised her.

  Her curiosity about the animal, one who had been Daisy’s companion since just after her mother passed away, propelled her forward. She ducked her chin and scratched the dog’s back, kept her focus there. Matilda was her dog. Not his.

  “Hard to say, exactly, but your uncle thinks maybe within a week or so.”

  And she’d missed the dog’s entire pregnancy. Stuck in her room for five months. Afraid of coming outdoors, of being seen.

  A whicker from nearby brought Daisy’s gaze up to the large head above the next stall door over. “Prince.”

  She stood on wobbly legs.

  The Appaloosa gelding blew a warm puff of air against her cheek. It was natural for her to reach up and rub beneath his forelock. He’d been her horse since her tenth birthday. Often, he seemed to share her thoughts, and now was no exception. He remained still as she allowed her forehead to rest against his nose, breathing in the familiar horse’s scent and just being with an old friend she hadn’t seen since the accident. Remembering how things had been before.

  “Seems like your friends out here have missed you.”

  She looked over at the cowboy’s words. He’d picked up his pitchfork, and again, his attention was diverted. Matilda had lain down and now rested her chin across Daisy’s boot.

  Daisy’s throat burned.

  She’d missed her animal friends, too.

  Prince nibbled the shoulder of her coat, reminding her of his presence. She scratched beneath his chin.

  The last time she’d ridden him, they’d raced across her father’s patch of prairie, warm summer wind blowing through her hair and exhilaration flying high.

  Her cheeks twinged—an unfamiliar feeling. And she realized she was smiling.

  “If you want to ride out, I’ll saddle him for you.”

  The cowboy’s shoulders flexed beneath the worn woolen shirt as he kept working. Belinda was right. He was handsome. Tall, broad-shouldered, blond curls peeking from beneath his Stetson.

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not?” His frank question put her on the defensive.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” she said, turning her empty arm to him.

  He didn’t even look up from the work, irritating man.

  He shrugged. “Seems like your legs do most of the talking in the saddle. You’ve got a hand for the reins.” Now he looked at her, raking her with a glance. “Doesn’t seem to be affecting your balance much.”

  His frank acceptance of her injury was so unexpected, so simple, that it brought immediate tears to her eyes.

  She turned away quickly, dashing at the offending moisture with her wrist.

  “Not today,” she said quickly.

  And she escaped back to the main house without even looking out for her stepbrothers.

  Chapter Three

  “This is going to be harder than I thought,” Ricky said to the dog. Daisy had run off before he could muster an apology for making her cry.

  He took off his hat and ran a hand through his sweat-matted curls. The barn was quiet around him, some animals moving in their stalls, the outside breeze causing the occasional quake or groan from the building.

  Seeing tears in her eyes unmanned him.

  He stuffed his hat back on his head and slapped the heel of one hand against the nearest stall door.

  It didn’t help.

  He’d thought to come here to her pa’s ranch and help her get back on her feet, as it were, and move on.

  But her hurt ran deep. Deeper than he’d wanted to believe.

  His actions of one night had been more far-reaching than he’d intended.

  The guilt was strangling him.

  He rested both hands on top of the stall and lowered his head between his a
rms. The weight was so heavy...

  What if he couldn’t fix things for her? He wasn’t a man to give up, but this task he’d set for himself... It wasn’t going to be easy. If he got involved with her, became her friend... Well, he wasn’t even sure he could do that.

  He didn’t have a good history with women. More like a string of broken hearts left behind.

  “What’s happened? Was that Daisy I saw running back to the house?”

  Ricky looked up to find Ned and Beau leading their mounts into the barn, one of which had a sheep tied across its back.

  Ned’s question held a tone of suspicion. Ricky couldn’t pretend to be working when the pitchfork leaned against the wall and wasn’t in his hands.

  “The twins chased her out here.”

  Ricky didn’t mention his own part in upsetting her. Saw no reason to.

  Ned’s face cleared—a bit—but his eyes remained narrowed on Ricky. “I’ve a mind to give them both a good lickin’,” the older man grumbled. The unspoken challenge was that he could lick Ricky, too, if the cowboy stepped out of line.

  Ricky cleared his throat and stuffed his hat back on.

  “You help Beau with this ewe. She got tangled up in some wire,” Ned said. “I’m going back out to check the back fence where we found her.”

  “Sure thing, boss,” Ricky responded. He met the other young man and saw the reason they’d brought in the ewe. One of her legs had been badly cut, several inches above the hoof.

  “You have to wrestle her down?” he asked the other man.

  Beau just grunted as he started to untie the animal from the saddle.

  “Leave her feet until we can get her doctored, yeah?” Ricky asked.

  The other man nodded.

  He’d grown used to Beau’s quiet nature. Beau sort of reminded him of his older brother Maxwell, who he’d seen only a few times the past few years as Maxwell worked on his education finishing university and medical school.

  Ricky didn’t want to think about home or his brothers. He forced his thoughts to the task before him.

  They worked in companionable silence to get the ewe into one of the stalls. Beau ran off to grab the few things that qualified for a medical kit from the tack room.

  Thinking about his family always upset Ricky. But he had a history of ruining the things he cared about. He’d almost messed up with his brother Edgar’s wife. He’d gotten drunk and thrown in jail for destroying property in a barroom brawl when a couple of bad guys had been on Fran and her sister Emma’s trail. The men tracking them could’ve used the opportunity to snatch the young women and might’ve except for Edgar’s quick thinking and planning. That was when Ricky had known he had to leave. He’d been trying to outrun his past, but that hadn’t worked out. Impossible to outrun something that lives on inside of you.

  He ran one palm over his face, wishing he could wipe away the memories.

  “You all right?” Beau asked, returning to the stall and kneeling over the sheep.

  “Yeah.”

  “Ya sure? Something happen with Daisy?”

  Were his feelings so visible on his face? Although he’d shared some with Beau, he hadn’t told the kid the real reason he was here. He had told Daisy’s pa when he’d hired on, but no one else knew. The older man had been willing to try anything to help his daughter, but had also cautioned Ricky that he would be watching.

  “I came here to...” Ricky couldn’t admit to it. Just as he’d never told his pa, Jonas, the truth about why he’d run away with his brother Davy, back when they were kids.

  Beau had a rudimentary respect for him; Ricky’s pa loved him. He was chicken to change their opinions about him.

  “I guess I’m wondering why things have to be so hard,” he said cryptically. He pressed most of his weight down on the animal as it struggled while Beau applied some stinky-smelling antibiotic and went for a bandage. “I thought I was following the Lord’s will, but...”

  Beau grunted. “I guess the Good Lord told you that what He wanted from you would be easy? Provide a nice, clear path for you?”

  Ricky shot a look at his friend.

  Beau didn’t say anything more. He didn’t have to.

  Ricky got it.

  If he was really following God’s leading, he would finish this task, no matter if it was difficult or not.

  He’d made a promise, not knowing how difficult it would be to fulfill it.

  He wasn’t entirely sure he could do it.

  He’d have to be extra careful to protect Daisy from himself. Not only from his reputation—which was why he’d been steering clear of town—but also from him making any overtures that could be misconstrued as something other than friendship. He knew how easy it was to play with a woman’s emotions and had promised himself he wouldn’t do so again.

  Could he really be just her friend? He would have to try.

  *

  Days after hiding from the twins in the barn, Daisy slipped from the house, struggling to get her coat on one-handed. Heart thundering in her ears, her hair flew wild around her face, blowing in the cold wind, as she crossed the yard. She ran as quickly as she could move without tripping over her own feet.

  How could the sun be shining on such a dreadful day?

  She slipped into the barn, hoping against hope that it would be empty of cowboys, but she was disappointed and stopped in the doorway, the sunlight slanting in behind her and casting her shadow on the dirt-packed floor.

  Ricky White was there, brushing down her Prince, who was tied off to a post and standing placidly. The sharp smell of the animals and manure bit her nose. She brushed her wind-blown hair back out of her face. Some of the horses nearby stamped their feet inside their stalls, clearly agitated by her rushing into the barn as she had.

  But not the cowboy. He looked up, doffed his hat at her. “Morning, miss.”

  Polite, as he’d been during their two previous interactions.

  She didn’t have time for politeness. Not today. “Can you close the barn doors?”

  With the double doors open, she could possibly be spotted from the house.

  He didn’t move from his spot on the opposite side of the horse, didn’t stop the steady brushing motion. “Something chasing you?”

  An apt question.

  “The boys again?” he went on to ask. So calmly that she wanted to...shake him or something.

  “Not them,” she muttered.

  He kept on at his task. As if he was waiting on her to answer.

  “Two of my friends from town have come calling,” she finally said. “They’re coming up the drive in a carriage.”

  His eyebrows went up, disappearing beneath the brim of his hat. But he didn’t say anything.

  And she felt obliged to fill the silence that was rapidly becoming uncomfortable. “I haven’t seen anyone since the accident,” she burst out. “Since I lost my arm.”

  She rushed past him, toward the back corner of the barn, the smell of hay more stale here where there was less activity. Could she hide back here? It was a simple setup, and she could duck into one of the stalls as she had the other day hiding from the twins. Unless the cowboy ratted her out.

  “Seems like a real friend wouldn’t care about your arm.” Ricky said the words placidly, as calm as the horse he was brushing down.

  She gritted her teeth.

  Perhaps not. But she cared.

  She’d missed the birth of her best friend, Ethel’s, baby, although she’d sent a note of apology. She couldn’t bear seeing her friend so happy when all of her own dreams had been shattered with no hope of ever achieving them.

  It might be shallow of her, but she just couldn’t face them yet.

  “Please, can you close the doors?” she asked again, this time her irritation leaking into her voice.

  “I suppose if your friends got tired of you avoiding them—tired enough to drive all the way out here—a closed door might not stop them.”

  He was right.

  What was s
he going to do?

  Panic clawed at her throat. Her skin prickled like tiny bee stings all over her body. Her vision began to darken, turning black at the edges.

  “Hey.”

  She jumped when the cowboy touched her elbow, so near that she smelled leather and horse.

  Coming back to herself, she realized she was clutching her stump of an arm, her injury. Her face flamed, and she jerked her elbow away from his touch. “Don’t—don’t act so familiarly.”

  “Sorry. Sorry.” He backed up several paces, holding his hands in front of him as if in surrender. “I was just trying to make sure you were okay.”

  She wasn’t all right. She would never be all right. Her eyes burned, but she blinked rapidly. Tried to calm her breathing.

  “If your friends care enough to come all the way out here to the ranch, surely it won’t matter what your arm looks like,” he said.

  He was such a man. He didn’t get it.

  She shook her head, emotion clogging her throat, making her unable to speak. She couldn’t.

  “Look...” He sighed. “If you really can’t—if you really need to be away from the house, I’ll saddle this old boy up for you.”

  She’d thought of little else since their conversation in the barn days ago. There were many things she was unable to do thanks to her injury, but his suggestion that she could still ride had stuck with her.

  He seemed to take her silence for agreement, because he went to the small tack room and emerged with a saddle and blanket and began getting the horse ready.

  “Will you...ride with me?” She hated the vulnerable note in her voice but was unable to call the words back.

  He considered her for a long moment. She hated that he saw her weakness. He was no one to her, someone who worked for her father, but in contrast to who she had been before the accident...she hated it.

  “Ned’s expecting me to finish with the horses,” he said, an apologetic tone to his voice. “You sure you don’t want to stay and meet with your friends?”

  Oh, yes. She was certain.

  She lifted her chin. How many times had she ridden this horse? She’d ridden when she was sick and hale, as young as eight years old.

  The horse was a gentleman.