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

by Lacy Williams

  Ricky had to escape. His feelings toward Daisy—the intense zing of attraction, his pride that she’d saved the dog, her bravery—all of it threatened to overwhelm his good sense. And he really wanted to do something he knew he would regret later.

  Like kiss her.

  He needed to get out of here.

  But he was the one who’d asked Daisy to help and besides that, the dog might need further assistance. In his experience, most canines had a litter of puppies. Maybe four or five. Maybe more.

  They could be here awhile.

  Distance. He needed distance.

  He moved out of the stall, gripping the back of his neck, back teeth clenched as if he was the one in pain, not the dog.

  There wasn’t anywhere to go, just across the aisle, and as he whirled back around, he drew up short. Daisy was right there behind him, eyes flashing.

  “I want—I want you to leave me alone,” she said, voice shaking.

  He gripped the back of his neck even harder, pain radiating down his spine. It didn’t help.

  “I can’t.” He dropped his arm, hand slapping against his thigh.

  “Why not?”

  Too many reasons to list. The first, and most important, was that he couldn’t leave her like this. Upset. He was supposed to be helping her, not making things worse on her.

  Before he could grasp for a response, she advanced on him.

  “I don’t want your pity, cowboy.” Her braid flipped over her shoulder, for a second reminding him of having his hands in her hair. Her hand had moved to her hip naturally and her eyes still flashed at him. His experience with his ma and sisters hinted that he was in trouble with a woman he’d miffed like this. Even if she was beautiful.

  “I don’t pity you,” he argued. It was so much more than that.

  “Oh yeah?” Her eyes went over his shoulder.

  He turned his head to see the invention for helping her get a bridle on her horse. He shook his head, turning back to her. “I don’t pity you,” he repeated.

  “I don’t believe you,” she said. “You’ve been finding ways to help me—”

  “I’m not—” He shook his head. This was not the time to tell her that he’d caused the accident. She was beginning to trust herself, maybe beginning to heal.

  “You feel sorry for me,” she accused.

  “I don’t.”

  She was getting even more riled. Her hand arced through the air, gesticulating with the force of her emotions.

  Snakeskin, she was cute.

  “Just...calm down,” he said. But his words had the opposite effect on her. Her cheeks reddened and her mouth opened, probably to blast him again.

  She stalked away, and he followed, trying to figure out what to say. He’d never had to work this hard when talking to one of the women in his past—probably because he’d never been emotionally involved with any of them. He thought of Daisy as a friend. And that had never happened before.

  This mattered. Daisy mattered.

  She pulled open the barn door and a gust of cold wind blew in, punctuated by swirling snowflakes. The icy air hit his hot cheeks. She drew up short, facing out into the sudden storm.

  “I want to be your friend,” he said quietly.

  Her shoulders deflated slightly at his words. Her hand gripped the door as she stared out into the swirling snow.

  “I like you,” he said, talking to the back of her head. “I genuinely do. Your arm doesn’t bother me, and I don’t feel sorry for you. I do regret that it happened to you.” She would never know how much he meant that.

  He was a little surprised she wasn’t walking off, back up to the house, but she seemed to be listening to him. So he kept talking.

  “I’ve made some mistakes in my past.” He swallowed. “Some of them involved women...and broken promises, and...I don’t want to do that with you. Friendship is all I’ve got to offer.”

  His chest had tightened up as he spoke. He’d never felt this before—this urge to protect her. Even to protect her from the hurt he could inflict.

  She turned to face him, standing stock-still in the doorway with snow swirling around her, some sneaking into the barn around her.

  She examined him closely, for so long that he grew uncomfortable under her scrutiny.

  But finally, she whispered, “I could use a friend.”

  He nodded, swallowing hard, though he couldn’t place the emotion that burned in his throat.

  “Do you want me to walk you back up to the house?” he asked.

  She looked over her shoulder, out into the blowing snow. “It came on fast, didn’t it?”

  It was still early afternoon, but he couldn’t make out the house through the mass of snow.

  “D’you think my family is okay?” she asked, not yet answering his question about whether she wanted to go up to the house.

  “I’m sure they made it to town before the storm hit. If not, they probably holed up with a neighbor.”

  She nodded. Then her brows crinkled as she seemed to come to a decision. “What about Uncle Ned? Is he here?”

  She glanced toward the loft stairs.

  Ricky shook his head. “Ned and Beau were out in the far pasture—Ned thought he’d seen wolf tracks and he wanted to try and find the predator... They probably took shelter in the line shack.”

  The small structure, barely better than a lean-to, was shelter from the elements but not much more. If the storm stopped, they’d be back in the morning.

  Which meant that Ricky and Daisy were effectively alone, whether in the house or barn.

  She smiled tentatively. “Let me check on Matilda again before I go back up to the house.”

  They walked back to the stall where the dog had been resting and found another round black body had joined the first. Both pups were snuggled up to their mama’s belly, maybe nursing. And the poor mama was panting her way through another contraction, although she seemed more animated than she had earlier. Maybe they’d made a difference. He’d like to think so.

  “I think I’ll stay awhile,” Daisy said softly, eyes on the dog.

  *

  They found places on opposite sides of the stall door, close enough they could see if the animal got into trouble again, but far enough away to let nature take its course.

  Daisy was still intensely aware of Ricky, but...relieved somehow to know that he didn’t pity her.

  It was still a little awkward for her. Before the accident, and before the loss of her arm, she’d always been able to talk and flirt with the opposite sex. Perhaps Ricky’s statement that he wanted to be friends should make her feel more comfortable in his presence, but ultimately she was aware that he was a man and she a woman.

  She hated feeling unsure. Hated feeling needy.

  She cast about to find something to talk about.

  “She seems better, don’t you think?” She motioned to the dog.

  He smiled. “Yeah. I think you saved her.”

  The thrill of pride still hadn’t worn off. Daisy had done something to help Matilda. Something that Ricky couldn’t do on his own.

  “Your horse has been taking to the bridle all right. A few more tries, and I think he’ll get it.”

  She looked down the aisle to where Prince’s stall was located, but he must’ve been tucked inside because of the cold weather. She couldn’t see the animal’s head above the wooden barrier.

  “Thank you...for trying, at least.”

  He shifted, as if he was uncomfortable with her thanks. “I’ve never told a woman that before.”

  “That you wanted to be friends?”

  He nodded, and this time she was sure he was blushing.

  She had to wonder about his past life. She’d had callers before, but there had never been anyone serious for her, not someone she’d considered marrying.

  And it sounded as if Ricky had never been serious about anyone, either—but that he’d left some broken hearts behind him. What made a man do that? It should make her wary of him, but inste
ad she found herself curious.

  “This is kinda nice,” he said, leaning his head back against the stall behind him. “At home it seemed like I always drew the short straw and had to go out looking for mama cows in the cold.”

  “I can remember being very small and watching Papa and Uncle Ned flipping a coin because neither of them wanted to go out in a snowstorm. Sometimes Uncle Ned would pretend the coin flipped a certain way so Papa could stay in with the family—with Mama.” And her mother had laughed and kissed Uncle Ned’s cheek and he had blushed...

  “Do you still miss your ma? How did she die?”

  “She caught a fever, and never recovered. The doctor thought her heart simply gave out.” She cleared her throat and the memories away. “Of course, I still miss her. Some times more than others.”

  Like the other night when Audra had challenged her. Or this morning when Daisy hadn’t been able to face going to church.

  She blinked the stinging moisture from her eyes and stared across the barn.

  “D’you think having your ma here would’ve eased things...?” With her arm missing. That’s what he meant.

  She considered a moment. And then a laugh surprised her, bursting from her lips.

  “No. My mama didn’t appreciate cowardice...” And that’s what Daisy had been. Cowardly. Hiding out here.

  Until this cowboy had seen her and started her thinking that maybe she was all right.

  “She would’ve pushed more than Audra,” Daisy concluded. She shivered, imagining going back to church. Back to social events.

  Maybe she could do it slowly. Ease back into a more normal life as her mama would have wanted her to.

  Maybe Ricky was someone she could count on to help her.

  “My adopted ma is like that,” he said quietly, eyes on the rafters above them. “Once she gets something set in her mind, she can be real stubborn.”

  “Do you ever...miss your real mama?”

  “Sure,” he said, and his usual easy manner of speaking was missing. He hesitated. “She was a saloon girl.”

  That statement made Daisy’s head turn toward him. She leaned her cheek against the wood, her face turned toward him but not moving otherwise. “Really?”

  His hat lay across his lap, leaving his blond head bare. He tipped his head back against the stall behind him, looking up into the rafters.

  The moment hung heavy between them. “Yeah. I was pretty much raised in the back room of a bordello. Until she died.”

  “You can’t help where you were born,” she said softly. “Or where you grew up.”

  Some emotion crossed his face, one she couldn’t name.

  “I didn’t realize why people looked down on her until after she’d died,” he said quietly. “And I was put out on my own. Folks painted me with the same brush, didn’t want to help little old orphaned me. Thankfully, Jonas got ahold of me.”

  He smiled when he talked about his pa, even if it was subdued.

  “What do you remember the most about your mama?”

  He glanced at her from the side, as if he wasn’t sure she’d really meant to ask about his saloon-girl mama. He leaned his head back again, and she wasn’t sure if his eyes closed or just narrowed to slits. But he said, “She had the fairest, blondest hair I’d ever seen. Always wore a smile, at least for me. She had a kind spirit, even though she did what she did.”

  “You loved her.”

  His eyes flicked down and to one side, as if maybe he was ashamed of admitting it. “She was my ma,” he said simply.

  “I can understand that.”

  Finally, he turned his head to meet her gaze. His eyes came back up to meet hers, gratefulness in the gray depths. Time seemed to still for the briefest moment.

  And she didn’t know what to do with the connection opening between them.

  “You probably learned lots of ways to sweet-talk a girl, hmm?” she teased, striving for a lighter note to the conversation, which had grown serious.

  His brow wrinkled and he looked away again, shifting so one knee stuck up in the air. “I didn’t learn until too late that flirting and being charming aren’t always good things.”

  His serious, repentant tone suggested he regretted those things.

  Before she could ask, Matilda groaned again and the animal’s movements spurred Daisy to turn back toward the stall.

  “Four pups,” she said in wonder.

  “All thanks to you,” her companion answered.

  She shook her head. She didn’t know about that.

  The air inside the barn had cooled even more and she found herself shivering.

  “Want to head back up to the house?”

  She nodded, but at the barn door they found the snow was almost a wall of white between the house and barn.

  “My stomach’s telling me it’s about supper time.”

  “I didn’t stoke the fire,” she said aloud, a bit self-consciously.

  “We’ll get it straightened out.”

  She’d been in such a rush to get out to the barn, she had only worn her lighter coat and she hadn’t brought a glove. Ricky took a look at her and asked her to wait a minute. He disappeared up into the loft and returned moments later with a scarf and lone glove.

  “This is all I’ve got,” he said apologetically. His kindness in bringing the scarf and glove was more than she’d expected.

  He draped the long, knobby scarf around her neck and drew part of it over her head, bundling everything except her eyes. It was a bit lopsided but it was obvious he cherished it when he said, “My sister made this for me last Christmas.”

  She was conscious of his closeness, his hands at her neck, the scent of cowboy and leather as she breathed him in.

  Then he tucked her hand into a too-large glove, his warm fingers brushing against her wrist. She tried not to feel anything, but a zing skated up her arm anyway. Friends. They were going to be friends.

  He didn’t seem to notice anything amiss as he picked up a coiled rope from beside the door.

  “Give me a minute to tie this off...” His voice trailed off as he opened the door and then held the door between his booted feet while he worked to attach one end of a long rope to the outer door handle.

  “We aren’t that far from the house,” she argued softly.

  “It’s almost a whiteout—” He stuck his head back around the door and she could see his hat was covered in a dusting of snow already, his dark eyelashes matted with white flakes.

  “’Sides, your uncle and pa would kill me if I let something happen to you.”

  She’d lived on this ranch her entire life and never been lost. But when he led her out into the blizzard, she found she was glad of his thoughtfulness. Snow was everywhere around them, swirling and eddying until she had no sense of direction.

  She’d buried her hand in her pocket and he gripped her elbow in his gloved hand.

  Wind buffeted them and snow was already drifting, making traversing the yard between barn and house feel as if they were climbing a mountain instead of just crossing the yard. Her feet dragged against the drifts. Biting winds drove the stinging snowflakes into her cheeks and forehead.

  It was frightening. She hadn’t realized how bad the weather had become when she’d tried to correct him in the barn entry.

  She was thankful now that he’d been protecting her.

  Daisy’s collar flapped open on a gust of wind, but she didn’t dare take her hand out of her pocket to fix it, afraid she’d lose hold of her cowboy in the mix.

  And then he let go of her. For a moment she lost her sense of equilibrium, felt as if she was flying, lost on the wind. Then his arm closed around her shoulders and he drew her into his broad chest, so that she was tucked against him. The connection sheltered her slightly from the bitter wind and allowed her to lean on his strength.

  He squeezed once, and she dared tuck her head into the curve of his shoulder. Some of her fear at being out in the elements like this dissipated.

  Finally, hi
s boot knocked into something. The back steps.

  The snow was so thick that Daisy couldn’t make out the house until they were upon it. Without his rope as protection in case they’d lost direction and passed the house—she hated to think of wandering in the snowstorm until they were too frozen to move. It had been too easy to lose their sense of direction entirely.

  *

  Ricky ushered Daisy inside the kitchen, shutting the door and closing out the howling wind.

  The first thing that hit him was the calm warmth and the scent of stale coffee.

  The quiet inside the house seemed eerie after being out in the swirling, screaming wind. The squall outside made it seem dark, not like the bright winter afternoon it should be.

  He let out a big huff of air and she jumped. She moved away slowly, unraveling the scarf from her neck and setting it on the table. She pressed her hip against the table and used the pressure to slip the glove off. It worked.

  She slowly moved toward the stove and that’s when he figured something might be wrong. He knew it was dangerous for a body to get too cold. Was she hypothermic?

  She was so tenderhearted...if he suggested it, would she get upset at him?

  He glanced at the woodbox and had an idea. “Looks like we were all caught off guard by the storm.”

  He pointed to the woodbox, and she slowly followed his finger to the half-empty box against the wall. Yep. She definitely wasn’t her normal, alert self.

  “I’m going to run out to the woodpile and bring in another armful. Can you stoke the fire?” It wasn’t his favorite task anyway, not with his memories of fire and death.

  He waited until she’d nodded. He hadn’t taken off his coat or gloves when he’d come inside, so he went back out into the storm, following the side of the house around the porch to where the boss kept a nice stack of firewood. Ricky knew because he’d chopped and stacked a cord or more a few weeks back.

  He was chilled again by the time he got inside and out of the storm’s fury.

  Daisy was squatting in front of the stove with its door open, staring into it.

  He let the wood fall into the box; it clattered loudly and she startled with a gasp, looking up at him. Her eyes were vulnerable.

  “What’s a matter?” He didn’t round the counter toward her, just stayed where he was.