“What do you care anyway?” she burst out, coming closer, her cheeks reddening.
He held up one hand before him. The bad one, the ugly red scar covering the back of his hand visible until his skin met his shirtsleeve.
Seeing it seemed to stall her. He quickly tucked it back behind his waist. He didn’t want her to remember that night, even if she didn’t know about his part in it.
“If you pity me—”
“I don’t,” he interrupted. And he really didn’t. His regret was so much deeper... Tied up in regrets about the things he’d done after his mother died, all those young women he’d hurt...but mostly about causing the accident.
“If you want to go cut some pine boughs, I’ll hitch up the sleigh. We can get a tree, as well.”
He put his gloves back on without waiting for an affirmative answer. He figured she wouldn’t have brought it up if she didn’t want to go.
It took only a few minutes to hitch two of the horses up to the sleigh. The animals stamped their impatience into the snowy ground, blowing puffs of steamy air and bobbing their heads, while Daisy hesitated in the doorway.
“If you don’t feel sorry for me, then why are you helping me?” she finally asked, eyes appraising.
He couldn’t tell her the real reason. Not yet.
“Your pa told me and the boys to take care of you and Belinda and the twins. I’m just doing my job.”
She scrutinized him for moments longer but finally seemed to accept his answer.
*
Daisy was really doing this. Getting into the sleigh behind two of the draft horses and with a cowboy at her side. He bundled her in a lap blanket. The heavy coat and scarf she’d managed to get into would help keep her warm.
But she was tired of feeling helpless. How long had it been since she’d bundled into a sleigh and gone somewhere, even on her papa’s property?
And the cowboy was right. This was something she could do. She needed to find her feet if she was to have a hope of standing up to Audra when the other woman arrived home, ready to be the mistress of the house.
She directed him toward the grove of firs on the other side of her father’s property and he turned the horses that way. The clink and jingle of their harnesses and the swish of the runners were comforting sounds.
She breathed in deeply of the crisp winter air. With snow covering the landscape, everything was fresh and new.
“Beautiful, ain’t it?”
“Mmm-hmm,” she agreed.
“You didn’t want to go to church with your sister and the boys?”
She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. It wasn’t his business. “You didn’t attend, either.”
It might be her imagination, but there appeared to be red creeping up his neck. It sparked her curiosity. Back in the barn, she’d found that talking to him wasn’t as hard as it had been that first day, at Papa’s wedding.
“What?” she asked, giving in to her curiosity.
He squinted beneath the brim of his hat, his eyes focused in front of the horses. “I was just thinking that my ma would have my hide if she knew I was skipping Sunday worship.”
Perhaps it was too dangerous to ask why he had. She chose the safer route of questioning instead.
“Where do you hail from?”
“Little town called Bear Creek. East of the Laramie Mountains, about thirty miles from Cheyenne.”
Silence lagged between them. She’d had several young men come calling, and never had she felt as awkward as she did in this moment. A glance at the cowboy beside her didn’t reveal that he felt any such thing. He seemed content, watching the landscape and his attention on the horses.
She coughed. “Does your family raise sheep, as well?”
“Cattle,” came his steady response. “One of my older brothers breeds horses.”
Aha. Here was a conversational thread she could follow. “You said there were eight of you altogether?”
It couldn’t be much longer to the pine grove. She didn’t remember the trip ever taking this long when she and Belinda had come with Papa. She was intensely aware of the man beside her, his warmth, his height and the breadth of his shoulders.
“Eleven now, including my pa’s natural kids. Eight brothers. And two sisters.”
He must’ve read the shock in her expression because he chuckled. “You think the twins are troublesome? You should meet my brothers. And Breanna—our sister—isn’t much better.”
His expression drifted far away, one corner of his mouth quirked up in a soft smile.
“You must miss them,” she said. “Will you go home for Christmas?”
His expression darkened, closed off. “No.”
There was a finality to the word that aroused her curiosity. It would be impolite to ask. But she couldn’t help wondering why he would choose to stay away from his family.
They were silent for a time.
When she couldn’t stand it any longer, she asked, “Did you and your brothers play pranks on each other, like the twins do?” She couldn’t imagine what he would’ve been like at that age. He was such a contradiction now. Helpful. But challenging her.
“Hmm.” She didn’t know if his hum was agreement or what. “My pa would say they need direction. A job to do.”
“What do you think?” she asked, honestly wanting to know. She didn’t know how to deal with her new stepbrothers.
“I think my pa is usually right.”
His simple words touched her. He sounded as if he respected the man. She wanted to ask more, but wasn’t sure she dared.
She looked up and out and realized they were coming up to the grove. Joy raced through her, but she tried to temper it. Even though she was here to help, she wouldn’t be able to do things as she had in the past.
Ricky reined in the horses and hopped out, boots sinking into the snow that had drifted more here than it would have in the open fields. She expected him to walk around the sleigh and help her out, but he had his back turned as he scanned the trees before them.
A little miffed, Daisy threw off the lap blanket and gripped the side of the sleigh, carefully steadying herself as her own boots also sank into the snow.
He turned and bent to remove the small ax and handsaw he’d put beneath their feet on the floorboards of the sleigh.
“All right?” he asked, finally glancing up at her.
Temper sparking to cover the uncertainty she felt, she gritted her teeth and nodded. What choice did she have?
*
Daisy looked like a newborn foal on wobbly legs as she walked around the back of the sleigh to join him.
Where she’d been confident on the horse’s back days ago, now she picked her way gingerly through the snow, which was only inches deep, keeping a grip on the back of the sleigh.
Her tentativeness made his gut contract, a reminder of why he was really out here: to help her find her confidence again.
The cold winter air felt sharper on his side where she’d been tucked in beside him.
And then he noticed her ungloved hand. He moved forward and met her behind the sleigh, allowing the ax and saw to drop, head down, and lean against the conveyance. “Don’t you have a mitten or something?” His guilt made the words a bit sharper than he had intended.
She glared up at him. “Of course I do.” She pulled a red one from the pocket of her coat. “But I couldn’t get it on by myself.”
He snatched it from her fingers. “You’ll give yourself frostbite, and then your pa will have my hide...”
Of course it was no worse than he deserved.
He couldn’t get a good grasp on the small bit of yarn with his own gloves on, so he shucked them and stuffed them into his coat pocket. His big paw still fumbled with the small mitten until he got two fingers into it and held it open, all the while conscious of the crown of her head just inches from his chin as she stood directly in front of him.
“Won’t hurt ya none to ask for help,” he grumbled beneath his breath, the
words puffing into a white cloud in the space between them.
“Do you like asking for help?” she asked, blue eyes sparking up at him.
And he found himself grinning down at her. “Not particularly.”
Her tiny hand slid between his fingers and into the mitten. She looked down, and he worried she would see the scarring on his hand, so he stuffed his hands back into his gloves and picked up the ax. He motioned toward the trees. “How many branches do you want? And which tree?”
She followed slightly behind as they walked amid the snow-covered trees.
She chose a four-foot tree, and he set about chopping it down, allowing his frustration with himself to fuel each stroke of the ax to release some of the tension that coiled him too tight.
He knelt to examine the cut and make sure it was going to fall the way he wanted it, and as his shoulder brushed against the tree’s lower branches, snow slid down the back of his coat beneath the brim of his hat.
He jumped at the icy sensation against his neck.
Daisy laughed.
He looked over his shoulder to find her attempting to stifle her smile behind the red mitten.
And her giggle gave him an idea.
He pretended to lean closer to the tree, resting on one hand. He used the hand on the ground to scoop up a handful of snow. He didn’t take time to pack it, it was really too fine to pack together anyway, but turned and launched it at her, showering her in the fine white powder.
She gasped, releasing a puff of white breath.
He froze, afraid he’d made her mad.
But her lips set in determination and she knelt to scoop a handful of her own.
A snowball fight ensued.
He allowed her to get in several strikes, the small balls pelting against the shoulders of his coat, before he chucked a fist-sized snowball that hit her directly in the stomach.
She huffed out a startled breath. Then growled and knelt to scoop more snow. He bent to find some of his own, but she advanced on him too quickly and knocked off his hat, pressing a handful of wet snow into his hair.
The move surprised and startled him into falling on his rump, further chilling him.
He mock-glared up at her; her eyes popped bright against the blue sky behind her. She shrieked and darted behind the tree. He scrambled to get off the ground and chased her.
She’d forgotten about her tentativeness, forgotten to be careful as she darted between the trees, often ducking to scoop up more snow and lob it at him.
He thought to sneak around a tree and surprise her, but it was him who was surprised when she came behind him and dumped a branch’s load of snow on his bare head.
“Truce!” he cried, putting both hands up before himself. He was freezing. His hands were cold and wet, and shivers were snaking down his spine from the flakes that had snuck down the collar of his shirt. His hat remained where it had fallen, next to her Christmas tree.
But his heart was pounding, hammering against the inside of his sternum with each beat.
Her cheeks were rosy and her eyes were sparkling. If she had been one of the young women he’d met before, he would have pulled her into his embrace and maybe even kissed her.
But she wasn’t one of those young women.
And he wasn’t the same man he’d been before, either.
The merriment faded between them, leaving an awkward silence as he scratched the back of his head.
“I suppose your beau doesn’t stand a chance in a snowball fight against you.” He blurted the first thing he could think of to put a bit of distance between them.
“I don’t have a beau,” she said quickly, sharply.
He knew that.
She turned away, her arm coming around her midsection. Of course he’d said just the wrong thing—but he’d never tried to distance himself from a girl he’d liked before. What could he say to lighten the sting he’d delivered?
“Well, you’d better give a future suitor fair warning before you pick a fight with him.”
She began stomping back toward the sleigh, struggling in a snowdrift, her movements jerky and uncoordinated, in contrast to the ease with which she’d been jumping and darting through the snow moments ago. She sent him a scathing look over her shoulder. “Just what kind of man do you imagine would want to come courting someone like me?”
“Any kind who takes a good look at your pretty face.” The words were out before he’d really thought about them, an immediate response to her self-deprecating statement.
But this time she didn’t look over her shoulder to reprimand him for the familiar, almost flirting words.
She was quiet, too quiet, as he finished knocking down the tree and worked at tying it off behind the sleigh.
He hadn’t meant to blunder like that. He’d been afraid of the thoughts whirling through his head. He was attracted to her and not because of his guilt or the situation. She was a beautiful young woman.
How could he make this right now?
Chapter Five
Perhaps Daisy had been a bit overzealous choosing the boughs to decorate the ranch house, because when the greenery was stacked at their feet and beside her on the bench seat, she found herself uncomfortably close to the cowboy beside her. Their exertions playing in the snow had warmed them both, and she was intensely aware of the smell of his soap and something uniquely him even over the sharp pine scent.
But she was even more aware of her empty coat sleeve between them as the sleigh jostled to a start and her shoulder bumped his arm.
She leaned as far away as she could, until her opposite shoulder pressed into the fragrant boughs piled on the seat beside her. “S-sorry.”
He looked pointedly at the space between them. “It doesn’t bother me.”
But his statement was belied by his white-knuckled grip on the reins.
She set her back teeth and fixed her eyes on the horizon. The sooner they arrived back at the ranch house, the sooner she could be away from him. For moments, the swish of the sleigh runners against the snow was the only sound.
“Look.” He sighed. “I’m sorry if I offended you back there. You are easy on the eyes—”
She shook her head, denying his claim. The overhead sun felt as if it burned her cheeks. Or maybe the burn came from inside.
She knew exactly what she looked like. She’d spent far too many hours before a looking glass, her eyes tracking over the missing arm time and again.
“Are you calling me a liar?” His voice remained low but now had a dangerous tone to it.
She looked off into the far distance, not wanting him to see how hurtful it was to think of, even now that she’d had months to get used to it. All the warmth and camaraderie she’d felt moments ago, playing in the snow with him, had faded to the cold that seemed to constantly surround her.
He reached across and touched her mittened hand where it lay fisted in her lap, shocking her into looking at him.
“You are beautiful,” he said, quietly, seriously. His gaze was straightforward, and she found she could almost believe him.
She wanted to believe him.
But she didn’t dare.
She blinked the sudden moisture pooling in her eyes and cut her head in the other direction. She squeezed her eyes closed tightly, hoping to stave off further tears.
He was silent again. She focused on the sounds of the wind in her ears, the slight jingle of the horses’ harnesses.
Finally he said, “When you find the right man, he ain’t going to mind that you’re missing an arm. Everybody’s got something about themselves they don’t like.”
She looked at him, brows raised with disbelief. A little surprised that he would say—and believe—such a romantic-sounding statement.
“Even me,” he said levelly.
“What?” she demanded. Perhaps it was rude and presumptive to ask, but her injury was out there for him to see and she wanted recompense.
He hesitated for so long that she thought he wouldn’t answer. Until he
said quietly, “I’ve done some things in my past I’m not proud of.”
For a moment, it seemed he would say more. But he didn’t.
The shadows behind his eyes, the ones she’d noticed before, touched her heart. She wasn’t the only one with regrets. There was something deeper in the cowboy’s life, as well. Whatever it was, was it the thing that kept him from his family?
They rode the rest of the way in silence, fraught with tension that remained.
He helped her haul the boughs into the front hallway, then told her he’d return when he’d fastened cross boards to the tree’s trunk. She watched from the kitchen window as he pulled the tree across the yard and into the barn.
There was something about the enigmatic cowboy. Not just his physical presence, though she could hardly ignore it. She’d seen his strength in each chop of the ax today. But there was also something beneath the surface. Were they kindred spirits? Had he suffered the same crushing pain she had?
She didn’t know. She did know she was drawn to him.
But she imagined that he was attracted to her. Even if he was, she couldn’t entertain thoughts of being a wife, a mother. She would be dependent on others for the rest of her life. As evidenced by the mitten. She couldn’t perform the simplest tasks.
The cowboy was kind, but she should discourage any further time together.
And she would, when he brought her tree back. She passed through the downstairs, gathering the twins’ things to take to their room, and grumbling beneath her breath when she had to take multiple trips because she had only one working arm.
When she was finished cleaning up their mess, she tucked the fragrant boughs between the spokes on the banister and draped several across the mantel in the parlor.
She held on to her emotions all the way up until she found her mother’s red velvet ribbons tucked in a box in one corner of an upstairs closet. When she opened the box, the smell of her mother’s rose water brought the prick of hot tears to her eyes.
She sat down right there, half in and half out of the closet, hugging her knees close to her chest and trying to stifle the tears—constant tears. Why did things have to be so hard? She wanted her mother.
But Mama wasn’t here. And after a while, Daisy made herself stand up and bring the box downstairs. She wound the ribbons through the branches she’d already placed, thinking of her mother as she did so.
A Cowboy for Christmas (Mills & Boon Love Inspired Historical) (Wyoming Legacy - Book 5) Page 5
