Western Christmas Wishes

by Brenda Minton

“The girls help out a lot with the boys. Plus, years of managing high-maintenance musicians on the road prepared my dad for handling kids. Who knew?”

  “God did.” Belle grinned as she sat on the ground next to Finn, Sawyer in her lap. “He prepares for us when we don’t even know we’re going to need it.”

  Selena smiled. “I always dreamed of a house full of kids. Before we got married I used to tease Xavier that I wanted enough for a basketball team.”

  Belle’s smile dimmed as she hugged the two boys closer. Selena hated seeing the light turn to sadness at the mention of her brother. “Don’t be sad. He was doing what he loved, and he did give me three of the cutest boys ever. It’s Christmas. Only joyous thoughts. He’d want you to be happy.”

  “He’d want you to be happy, too.” Both women watched as Finn kissed a sleepy goat on its nose. He was singing a lullaby. Belle smiled and stood. “So, no more gloom. All good cheer from here on out. This will be the best Christmas ever. Starting with the best Christmas cards ever.”

  Running from her, Sawyer tripped over his own boot and flopped headfirst into the hay. He glanced at Selena, waiting to see her reaction. With a big smile she reassured him it was fine. Giggling, he got up and went after the goats again.

  Chasing him, Belle laughed as she swept him up and tickled him. “Your daddy would be so proud of you and your brothers.”

  “Daddy!” Sawyer clapped.

  Selena’s heart melted a little at the thought they would never meet him, but they would be surrounded by the people who had loved him and whom he had loved.

  As if reading her thoughts, Belle kissed Sawyer’s cheek. “We’ll make sure your little guys know what a hero their daddy was.”

  “Dada, Dada!” Now all three boys chimed in.

  Her father joined them and together they got the boys’ paraphernalia into the Suburban. Her nieces chatted nonstop as all six kids were buckled in. Oliver was asleep before they had finished.

  “Are you sure about this? I can go with you,” she offered again. “There are several people that stayed to help clean.”

  “No, no. We’re good,” her father said. “The girls will help with the boys. Besides, you know they’ll be out before we leave the ranch road. You stay and hang out with the grown-ups. Have some fun. You act like an old lady. Buelita has more of a social life than you do, and she’s ninety-three.”

  “I have a social life. I’m very busy.”

  “No, you work a lot. It’s not the same. Jesse asked me about you again.”

  She sighed. “He’s a pastor. That’s his job.”

  “He’s the youth pastor, and he likes you. He stayed to help clean up tonight. Be nice. Say hi.”

  Knowing she wouldn’t win this argument, she kissed him. “Love you. I’ll be home soon.”

  He shook his head as if she was a lost cause. “Not too soon.”

  She rolled her eyes, then moved to the steps and watched as the taillights disappeared down the long ranch road.

  Everyone seemed to be ready for her to move on. Smiling, she crossed her arms against the cold and stood amid the blinking lights. Christmas lights always made everything better.

  The velvet night sky was full of God’s points of light. Darkness could not coexist with light, so she had to keep the light burning bright for her family. The De La Rosas had had their fair share of darkness growing up. This Christmas was for them also, the happily-ever-after they all deserved.

  As she was halfway up the steps, headlights swept across the porch, and Selena stopped and turned. Who could be coming so late? For a second, her heart kicked up a beat. What if something had happened to her father and the kids?

  No, there hadn’t been enough time for them to even get off the ranch. It had to be a wedding guest who forgot something.

  * * *

  The sheriff put his SUV in Park behind a row of vehicles parked along the driveway. “I forgot about the wedding.” His deep Texas drawl was slow, as if he was speaking to a scared child. “Elijah and Jazmine remarried. It should be over by now and it looks like just a few cars are still here. Sorry, Xavier. I can take you back to town.”

  Xavier. Xavier De La Rosa. The name still sounded foreign. After more than two years of being a hostage called Pedro Sandoval he was having a tough time adjusting. They said it had been a mistaken identity, but recalibrating wasn’t coming easy. He blinked. Everything was out of focus.

  He’d be insulted by the sheriff’s tone if he didn’t feel like a lost six-year-old who didn’t know his mom’s real name. Then it hit him. Cicia. That had been his mother’s name, but she was gone. She had died before he was in high school. A wave of fresh grief hit him.

  The long porch invited him to come closer. This was his family ranch, and yet there was a scared kid inside him afraid to go into the unknown. There were secrets waiting. The only person he remembered at all was his sister, Belle.

  No, that wasn’t right. The sheriff said the woman was his cousin. He closed his eyes. Why did he think of her as his sister?

  Three deep breaths refocused the blurred images darting in his brain. The scared little boy inside him wanted to run. But that house held the answers he needed to piece his life together.

  “Xavier?” Sheriff Cantu’s voice broke into his thoughts.

  “No.” His hand went to the door handle. “We’re here. It’s better that I meet everyone at once.”

  Without waiting for the man next to him, he stepped out of the car. He would face his problems head-on. The quicker he gathered the information he needed, the faster he could return to Colombia. Why? He didn’t know. That’s what he hoped to learn here. He wanted answers and sitting here was not going to get him anywhere.

  White Christmas lights wrapped every tree trunk and hung from the branches. More lights trailed along the fence going to the house. Wreaths with giant red bows hung on the posts. Even the surrounding barn was straight out of a winter wonderland storybook.

  The roof to the single-story ranch house was outlined with blinking blue, green and red lights. White bulbs hanging like icicles dripped from the eaves.

  The pressure throbbed against his skull. Frowning, he tugged his gaze away from the decorations. He hadn’t had a headache in two weeks.

  It wasn’t even Thanksgiving for a few more days, but the place screamed Christmas already. So, this family of his loved the holidays. That would be about right for the way his life was going.

  A new piece of information popped up. He discovered something about the man he used to be. Xavier De La Rosa wanted nothing to do with the Christmas season.

  A woman in a long gown stood on the steps of the deep porch. His throat went dry as muscles tightened around his airway. “Belle?” He managed one word before the ability to talk left him again. Something wasn’t right.

  The sheriff caught up with him at the bottom of the steps. “Wait up, Xavier.” The man placed a hand on his shoulder.

  He stopped, but he kept his gaze on the woman silhouetted by the porch light. She was a tiny bit of curvy femininity. Not Belle.

  Her hand went to the heavy post as she moved forward. For a moment the lights showcased her face, highlighting the curves and flawless skin, but then his sight went sideways. Narrowing his eyes, he refocused, but it didn’t help.

  “Xavier? Is that you? You’re...” The shock in her voice was clear even though she spoke low. “You’re alive.”

  His thoughts whirled. Her voice and the large eyes belonged somewhere in his brain, but he couldn’t link her up to any useful memories. Stuck between confusion and euphoria, he wasn’t sure what to do. There was one thing he did know. “You’re not my sister.”

  She gasped. “No.”

  Great. He could hear the hurt in that simple word. This was someone he should know, but he couldn’t make out the details of her face.

  “Xavier.” In slow
motion her petite form started crumpling.

  He rushed forward to catch her before she hit the edge of the porch. One hand held her arm as the other went to support her back. He eased her down and sat next to her, the strange woman leaning against him.

  A heavy beat pounded against his skull and his vision blurred to the point he had to close his eyes and hold the sickness at bay. But she was so warm and fit perfectly in his arms. There was a rightness he hadn’t experienced since the morning he woke up for the ambush.

  Who is she?

  Her free hand pressed against his chest, over his heart. The touch was affectionate and solid, even though she trembled. Should he leave?

  No. For that moment she was in his arms, it was right. He was finally where he belonged. He knew that voice.

  Under his palm, her ribs were expanding and retracting in short, hard pants. She didn’t lose consciousness, but he worried she was going into shock.

  The sheriff crouched in front of them, his hands taking the small hands of the woman that belonged to Xavier. He shook his head. Where had that come from?

  “Breathe, Selena.” Cantu’s voice was low and steady. “I’m so sorry about this. He arrived at the station and wanted to come out to the ranch. I thought it would be easier to get everything straightened out with Belle first, then have her tell you. He has memory loss and doesn’t—”

  “It is you.” Wonder coated each of her words. Warm fingers touched his face. At first, he pulled back, but then he allowed her to explore him. Her slender fingers pushed his hair back, then went to his shoulder. Tears slipped from her eyes, her touch slowly trailed down his arm, as if making sure he was real.

  He held still. She knew him. The soft sounds of surprise mixed with short bursts of nervous laughter.

  Sheriff Cantu cleared his throat.

  “Xavier, this is Selena.” Cantu stayed in front of her, his hand on her knee, but his gaze stayed trained on Xavier. “She’s your wife.”

  His gaze darted to the sheriff, then back to her even though he couldn’t make out any details. “Wife?” Had he been able to get the word out?

  She shook her head, as if trying to clear it. “I don’t understand. The security company you worked for told us you were dead.”

  “I.D. had been switched between Xavier and a Colombian named Sandoval. The rebel thought he was Sandoval and he didn’t know who he was.” Cantu placed his hand on her shoulder. “Is Elijah still here? Damian?”

  The names shot through Xavier’s head. Pressure was building. These were people he should know. “My brothers?”

  The sheriff stood. His knees popped.

  Large eyes full of confusion, searching his face. “Elijah is your cousin.” She said then lifted her face to the other man. “He already left for his honeymoon. Damian doesn’t do crowds or people in any form. He left for his cabin hours ago.” Her body shifted, and she leaned closer to him. Honey and wildflowers soothed him. Her warm breath caressed his ear. “Damian is your younger brother. He’s back from the Middle East.”

  Her grip around his wrist tightened, holding him in place. Feeling trapped, he wanted to jerk away from her and run, but he knew she was just holding on to him out of fear and shock. He was free to walk if he wanted, he reminded himself. He was free.

  “You don’t remember them either?”

  He shook his head, unable to form any words yet.

  “Elijah and you were so close. More like brothers. He was your best friend and business partner. Your father had guardianship of him and Belle. You grew up together.” A desperate edge lined each word.

  Cantu made his way up the steps. “Belle’s inside?”

  “Yes, with a few others.” Her gaze stayed linked with Xavier’s and her hand went back to his face. “You’re here. Right in front of me. How did this happen? Why were we told you were dead?”

  His hand rolled into a fist under her hold. Xavier fought the urge to push his forehead against his palm. He didn’t know these people. But he couldn’t allow himself to show any weakness. His jaw gritted, he stared straight ahead.

  “Let me get Belle and send everyone else home.” Two steps later, the sheriff stopped. “What about the ki—”

  “My dad took all the kids to my house. We were about to clean up. Belle’s in the backyard,” she replied, her voice sounding stronger.

  When the door opened and closed behind the sheriff, he was alone with a wife he didn’t remember. Shifting, he pulled out of her reach. If he had any chance of controlling his ability to speak and think, he needed space.

  Leaning against the post opposite of her, he looked out into the night, past the lights and into the darkness. In the silence, he could make out the waves hitting the distant shore.

  Homesickness was a sucker punch to his gut. It almost knocked him back. Until this moment he hadn’t realized how much he had missed the ocean. “The ranch? Does it go to the Gulf?”

  She got to her feet but didn’t move toward him. “Yes. There’s over a mile of coastline. About half is sandy beaches, the other half rocky. How do you not remember?”

  “We were ambushed. I was unconscious for a few days. When I came to, I had no memory. I woke up in a hidden camp.” His voice was raw and low.

  “The rebel group?” She moved closer.

  Turning, he tried to study her face. He nodded, and pain shot up his neck, going straight to his eyes.

  “None of that matters right now. You’re home. It’s a miracle.” A soft laugh floated in the air. “I don’t use that word lightly. But I don’t know what else to call it when a man returns home from the dead.” Her mouth turned up at the corners. “At Christmastime, no less. My eyes say you’re here, but it doesn’t seem real.” She cupped his face, her thumb smoothing over his cheekbone.

  Giving in to the pain, he lowered his body to the steps, dropped his head in his hands. He closed his eyes, but the torturous Christmas joy drove through his lids with each pulse.

  Following him, she sat at his side. Her gentle touch was warm on his shoulder. “What’s wrong? Can I help?”

  He stiffened against the desire to lean into her. “Lights.”

  Coldness set in as soon as she pulled away. “Oh. Of course. I’m so sorry.” And with that she was gone.

  Alone, he rubbed hard against his scalp, pushing the pain away. It was stronger than him. He heard the door open, and immediately the lights went dead.

  The peaceful light of the moon was a welcome relief and he took in a deep breath. The door closed, and her soft footsteps stopped right behind him. His gaze stayed focused on his boots.

  “Is that better?” Her voice was as soft as a summer shower washing away the heat and grime.

  He nodded when all he really wanted to do was beg her to hold him. He might not have clear memories of her, but she was somewhere inside him. The need to be close to her had him wanting to share his fears and concerns.

  He didn’t share with anyone.

  Despite his best efforts to keep her at a distance, she settled in next to him. One more inch and she could rest her head on his shoulder. His gut tightened. “We’ve done this before. Sat on the steps and looked at the stars. You’d rest your head on my shoulder.” The memory was like an old photograph, without any sense of time or reason.

  One move and she had her head resting on him, her hand flat against his heart. “You remember.”

  He hated the hushed excitement in the soft voice.

  “No. More like a feeling of déjà vu.”

  The smell of honey and wildflowers surrounded him in the quietness of the night. The scent made him want to bury himself in her hair and hide, but he didn’t. The scent was so familiar. More so than his own name. He snorted at the irony of that.

  “What is it?” she asked him.

  He reached out and touched a strand of hair falling along the side of her face in
a long, lazy curl. The rest of her hair, dark and thick, sat in some sort of fancy twist on the top of her head. “I know your scent. Summer Sunshine.” He closed his eyes and groaned.

  Before the last word was out, he wanted to pull it all back. “That sounded kind of creepy.”

  “How do you not know me, but you know the name of my shampoo and lotion?”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe smell has its own memory bank?”

  “It’s from a local farm. I’ve worn it since high school. No matter where you were, each Christmas I’d get a basket full of the soaps, shampoos and lotions, even laundry pods and candles from you.”

  “I haven’t been...” The words stopped. Not a single found it to his lips. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth.

  She waited but then must have realized he couldn’t speak.

  “No.” She sighed. “I was debating whether to go and buy it myself. It would mean you were really gone. But you must have set it up on an annual thing because I received a box in the mail. The first year I cried like a baby.” She sat up and pulled her knees up to her chest. “Receiving the gift was strangely like losing you all over again.”

  Unshed tears were in her voice, but she wasn’t crying. He wanted to make it right but didn’t have a clue how to go about doing that.

  With a sigh and her face turned to his, she touched the corner of his eye, tracing the scar that went to his jaw. “What do you remember?”

  He searched his memory, trying to pull up something, anything, that might make her smile, but it was still blank. “I’m sorry. Until they extracted me from the camp, I thought I was someone else. My brain is a scrambled mess of false information.”

  She stood and walked to the other side of the steps, gripping the railing. He readied his body to catch her if she fell again. To his relief, she settled in one of the rocking chairs.

  “You know my scent, but you don’t know who I am?” she repeated.

  Xavier didn’t say a word. Instead, he studied the night sky. In her voice there was so much hurt. Hurt he had caused. “Now that I’m home, the doctors say I have a good chance of recovering most of my memories. And with therapy, my eyesight could be healed.”