A Cowboy's Christmas Carol

by Brenda Harlen

  “She isn’t walking.” She handed him one of the bottles. “She’s out for dinner.”

  “You didn’t mention that when I called,” he noted.

  “I was afraid you’d change your mind about bringing pizza.”

  “You know I’d bring anything you want,” he told her. “You only ever have to ask.”

  “I know,” she agreed. “But I don’t like to ask, because I like to pretend you have better things to do than hang out with your grandmother—especially on a Saturday night.”

  “And I like to let you have your illusions.”

  She smiled, but then her expression turned serious. “Did your girlfriend dump you already?”

  “No, she didn’t dump me, and I didn’t dump her, either,” he said.

  “I didn’t think you’d cut her loose—not before your Yuletide Ghost Tour had finished its run, anyway.”

  He frowned at that. “You think I’ve been seeing Daphne because she owns Happy Hearts?”

  She shrugged. “It’s as good a reason as any.”

  “There are a lot of better reasons,” he said.

  “Such as?”

  “She’s beautiful and smart and kind and...”

  His words trailed off as his grandmother’s lips curved again, smugly this time.

  “Why are you smiling?”

  “Because I’m happy to see that you recognize not just her attributes but your feelings for her.”

  “You played me,” he realized.

  “I’ve known you your whole life,” she reminded him. “And I knew, the first time you mentioned Daphne’s name, that she’d made an impression on you.”

  “She did,” he acknowledged. “And so did her farm.”

  “I checked out her website. She’s got information on all of the animals—and every page has a link to make a donation.”

  “How much did you give?”

  “My money’s my business,” she said.

  He smiled at that. “She’s doing a lot of good,” he acknowledged.

  “So why do you sound troubled?”

  “It’s a long story,” he said. “You might want another beer.”

  She got up and went to the fridge; he shook his head, declining the second bottle that she offered to him.

  “I have to drive home,” he reminded her.

  “Or not,” she said. “There’s a spare bedroom here.”

  “With a single bed.”

  “Your mom and I agreed that we should have a bed if someone needed to stay, but we didn’t want anyone staying for too long.”

  He chuckled. “And that’s why I’ll be going home tonight.”

  Grandma Daisy sat down at the table again. “So tell me about the farm.”

  “Do you remember hearing anything about a fire at Whispering Willows Ranch when you were younger?”

  “Of course. It was big news...and such a horrible tragedy.” She shook her head sadly. “Alice Milton was only twenty-two years old when she perished in the blaze.”

  “Along with her fiancé.”

  His grandmother frowned. “I don’t recall hearing that she’d been engaged. And I definitely would have remembered if more than one person had died in the fire.”

  “Could there have been a cover-up?” he asked.

  “Why would anyone want to cover something like that up?”

  “Maybe because her parents disapproved of the relationship.”

  Grandma Daisy sipped her beer. “Is this a theory or do you have any evidence to back it up?”

  “Nothing that would stand up in a court of law.”

  “Tell me anyway,” she urged.

  So he told her, about the woman he’d heard crying on his first visit to the farm and Daphne’s mention that Alice had been engaged, then his dream about the fire and the flashback or vision or whatever it was that had happened at the elementary school.

  “I can see why your head’s spinning,” Daisy admitted. “That’s a lot to take in.”

  “You don’t think I’m crazy?”

  “I don’t think you’re crazy,” she assured him. “I think there are all kinds of inexplicable things that happen in this world, and that some people are more receptive to seeing and hearing what so many others refuse to acknowledge.”

  “Do you think it’s possible that Henry Milton somehow covered up the fact that Alice wasn’t alone when she died?”

  “I don’t know that he would have been able to do so on his own,” she said. “But the Miltons were a wealthy family. Have you tried to access the fire marshal’s report?”

  “No,” he said. “I’m not sure I want to get involved.”

  “It seems to me that you’re involved, whether you want to be or not. And I suspect that this mystery has created another level of connection with Daphne, and it’s something you can’t control—which is the real reason you’re here with me tonight instead of at Happy Hearts with her.”

  He couldn’t deny it. Instead, he said, “And now it’s time for me to be heading home.”

  “You should be heading over to see your girlfriend,” Grandma Daisy countered.

  “It’s late and morning comes early on the farm.” As he rose from his seat, a flicker of light speared through the narrow gap between the curtains in the living room, indicating that a vehicle had pulled into the driveway. He made his way to the window and pulled back the covering to peek out into the darkness. “Is that Mom coming home?”

  “No, it’s my Uber,” Grandma Daisy said. “I’m going out clubbing with the girls.”

  He laughed. “I wouldn’t be surprised. You have a much more active social life than I do.”

  “A sad truth that says a lot more about your social life than it does about mine,” she told him.

  He watched as the driver of the vehicle got out and came around to the passenger side. The man opened the door and Evan’s mom got out.

  Grandma Daisy yanked the curtain out of his hand and pulled it shut.

  “Are you going to take that leftover pizza home?” she asked, obviously trying to distract him from the fact that his mother had returned home from a date.

  “No. You can have it for lunch tomorrow,” he said, making his way to the kitchen again to grab his coat and exit through the back door.

  “And I’ll enjoy it as much then as I did tonight,” she assured him.

  He kissed her soft cheek. “Thanks for listening, Grandma Daisy.”

  “Always.”

  The easy smile on his face froze when he opened the back door and found his mother in a lip-lock with a stranger.

  Evan cleared his throat. Loudly.

  Wanda jolted, as if she was a teenager caught making out on the porch by a disapproving father—or mother. But Grandma Daisy, Evan saw when he glanced over his shoulder, had already disappeared into the other room again.

  The man who held Evan’s mother in his arms was a little slower than Wanda to react. Even when he turned his head to glance at the source of the interruption, he didn’t release her—or appear the least bit embarrassed.

  His mother drew in a quick breath. “Evan...hi.”

  “Hello,” he said.

  “This is, um, Sean. Sean Donohue,” she clarified. Then, speaking to the man who was still entirely too close for Evan’s liking, she said. “Sean, my son, Evan.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” the man said. “Or maybe I should say meet you again.”

  Evan took the proffered hand, grateful that manners had at least forced the man to let go of Wanda. “We’ve met before?”

  “A long time ago,” the other man said. “When you were playing with building blocks under your mom’s desk.”

  “I’m sorry I don’t remember that,” Evan responded dryly. But he put two and two together. Sean was the Donohue of Dwight & Donohu
e, the law firm where his mother worked.

  “Well, it was a long time ago,” Sean acknowledged with a grin.

  Evan didn’t smile back.

  “Did you want to come in?” Wanda asked Sean.

  “I think it would be better if I didn’t,” he said, obviously sensing the tension between his date and her son. But he took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I’ll call you later.”

  She nodded. “Thanks again for dinner.”

  “It’s always my pleasure.”

  “Always?” Evan echoed when the man had gone.

  “Do you mind if I come in and take my coat off before you start your interrogation?” his mother asked.

  He stepped away from the door, his head still reeling over the discovery of his mother in the arms of a man.

  She unzipped her boots and set them on the mat, then unbelted her coat and hung it by the door.

  She was wearing a dress, he noted. With a skirt that fell just below her knees and clung to curves he didn’t know—didn’t want to know—his mother had. Looking at her now, he was suddenly struck by the fact that she wasn’t an unattractive woman. Though there were some creases around her eyes and faint lines bracketing her mouth, it was difficult to guess her age. Her dark brown hair, cut in an angled bob, was shiny and sleek with no visible signs of gray.

  So maybe he shouldn’t be surprised that she had a boyfriend. And he definitely shouldn’t overreact to the news, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. His mom had always been just that—his mom. And when his dad walked out, upending all their lives, she’d been the one to right things again. She’d been steady and strong, a constant when everything else was changing.

  And now she was changing, and the realization left him feeling a little unsteady.

  Wanda moved past him to fill the kettle, then set it on the stove to boil. “Do you want a cup of tea?”

  He shook his head. “I want to know why you were out for dinner with your boss.”

  “Sean’s not my boss,” she said, taking two mugs from the cupboard and dropping a tea bag into each. “I work for Mr. Dwight.”

  “Is the name Donohue on your paycheck?”

  “I don’t get a check anymore. All our payroll is done by direct deposit.”

  He huffed out a breath. “You’re missing my point.”

  “No, I’m making my own point,” she said, using her don’t-mess-with-your-mother voice. “Which is that my personal relationship with Sean is no one’s business but mine and his.”

  “How can you say that to me?” he demanded. “I’m your son—”

  “Yes, you’re my son,” she acknowledged, as the kettle started to whistle. “And I will always love you with my whole heart, but I don’t need or even want your permission to go out with a man whose company I very much enjoy.”

  “No, you don’t,” he conceded, as she poured hot water into the two mugs. “But you might have at least given me a heads-up that you were involved with someone.”

  And then, without giving her a chance to reply, he walked out.

  * * *

  “Well, that went well,” Dorothea said, accepting the mug of tea that her daughter handed to her.

  Wanda sighed. “Is this the part where you say, ‘I told you so’?”

  “It might have been, but it’s not nearly as satisfying if you know it’s coming,” she remarked.

  “How about if I say you were right? Because you were,” her daughter admitted. “I should have told him.”

  “Why didn’t you?” Dorothea asked.

  “Because I knew he wouldn’t take it well.”

  “You didn’t give him a chance to take it well. He was ambushed by the sight of your boyfriend’s hands on your—”

  “Okay,” Wanda interjected. “We all know where Sean’s hands were.”

  “And Evan’s going to need some time—and possibly therapy—to block that image from his mind,” she said, trying to tease a smile out of her daughter.

  She didn’t succeed.

  “Plus, you know how he gets around the holidays.”

  Now Wanda sighed. “I remember when he used to love the holidays.”

  Dorothea did, too, but Andrew’s decision to walk out on his family only days after Christmas had changed that. Since then, all the signs of the season that others anticipated with so much excitement only made her grandson become sullen and withdrawn.

  “He’ll come around,” she assured her daughter.

  “Do you really think so?”

  “You raised two wonderful children, but even grown-up children sometimes have trouble seeing their mom as anything other than that.”

  “You’re not trying to tell me that you’re dating someone, are you?” Wanda asked.

  Dorothea chuckled. “No. I was lucky enough to have fifty-two wonderful years with the love of my life, so I’ve got fifty-two years of memories to keep me company.”

  Her daughter sighed. “I only ever wanted what you and Dad had. When I married Andrew, I thought we’d be together forever.”

  “No one ever gets married thinking that there might be an expiry date on their vows. Well, except maybe people who marry for money.”

  “If I’d married for money, I might have had at least that to keep me warm at night.”

  “No amount of money can compete with a good man, and your father was the very best,” Dorothea said, her tone a little melancholy.

  “Did you ever love anyone else?” Wanda wondered. “When you were younger, I mean.”

  She shook her head. “No. I met Michael when I was fifteen years old, and that was it for me. There was never a thought of anyone else.”

  “So who’s the man in your sketches?”

  Dorothea reached for the sketchbook that was always close at hand and folded back the cover, thumbing through the pages until she got to the section of pictures her daughter was asking about. She studied the face again, as if that might give her the answer to Wanda’s question, but could only shake her head. “I don’t know.”

  And the not knowing was frustrating for her, because she felt as if she should know him—as if he was a real person and not merely a construct of her imagination.

  “And the woman?”

  She flipped a few more pages, and shook her head again.

  “She looks vaguely familiar to me,” Wanda said. “The man not at all, but the woman... Maybe she’s an actress?”

  “Maybe,” Dorothea allowed.

  “And this place?” her daughter asked, reaching over to turn to the page to reveal a sprawling log-style home that had been sketched with great detail.

  A deep line was etched between Wanda’s brow, a telltale sign that she was worried. No doubt she thought her mother was starting to lose her mind, drawing so many pictures of the same two people and a place that didn’t seem to exist.

  So instead of answering with the truth—that she didn’t have the slightest clue—Dorothea said, “I was just imagining a remote cottage where we might enjoy a summer vacation.”

  And the line between Wanda’s brows smoothed out a little. “A summer vacation would be nice.”

  She turned back a few pages, looking more closely at the sketches. “You’re lucky to have such talent. I sometimes wonder what I’ll do when I retire. It’s not like being a legal secretary has any skills that translate into a hobby.”

  “Hopefully by that time you’ll have grandbabies to play with,” Daisy said.

  Wanda’s sigh was wistful. “I’m afraid to count on it. Evan shows no indication of wanting to settle down, and Vanessa... I have no idea what’s going on in my daughter’s personal life and it’s entirely possible that if she does get married and have babies, they’ll be five hundred miles away.”

  “Billings isn’t five hundred miles away,” Dorothea chided. “Plus, you’ll be retired, so
you’ll have the freedom to visit whenever you want.”

  “I guess that’s true,” her daughter agreed.

  “But you shouldn’t worry about that. Vanessa will be home soon.”

  “For Christmas, you mean?”

  “That, too.”

  “Has Vanessa told you something that she hasn’t told me?”

  “Vanessa hasn’t told me anything. I just got the impression, the last time we talked, that she wasn’t really loving her life in Billings these days.”

  “The job or the boyfriend?”

  “Maybe both.”

  “You’ve always been good at reading people, and understanding them,” Wanda said.

  “I try,” Dorothea said, though the ability had been, at times, as much a curse as a blessing. Because the ability to empathize deeply meant being open to sharing not just happiness but sorrow.

  It was an ability her grandson shared, even if he wasn’t ready to admit it.

  * * *

  Evan knew it was entirely possible that he was overreacting. But as he paced restlessly around his apartment, he could think of one person who was likely to commiserate with him and so he pulled his phone out of his pocket and called her.

  “She has a boyfriend,” he said without preamble when his sister answered.

  “I do, too,” Vanessa told him. “And he’s on his way over, so whatever this is about, please make it quick.”

  “Our mother has a boyfriend,” he clarified.

  “She finally told you, huh?” Instead of sounding horrified, his sister sounded amused.

  “You knew?”

  “I knew,” she confirmed.

  “I can’t believe she told you and not me. And that you didn’t tell me.”

  “She didn’t tell me,” Vanessa said. “I stopped by Dwight & Donohue one day in the summer before Mom and I were going for lunch, and it was obvious from the way they looked at each other.”

  “I don’t want to know,” he decided.

  “But you know the look I’m talking about,” she said, ignoring his remark. “The I’ve-seen-you-naked-and-can’t-wait-to-do-so-again look. And sure, it was a little disconcerting to think that our mother had been naked with a man who wasn’t our father but—”