A Texas Rescue Christmas

by Caro Carson

  It was what he’d given her when she’d been cold and hopeless.

  She was afraid he still felt alone even after he reached his completion in her arms, so she pulled the covers over his shoulders and tucked herself tightly in with him, as if they shared the warm cocoon of a sleeping bag once more.

  * * *

  “You weren’t supposed to get me anything for Christmas.”

  Rebecca said it at nearly the same time as Trey. They’d agreed to enjoy the holiday without shopping. Neither one of them had cared to leave the ranch in the days since they’d come back from the hospital.

  Rebecca had another reason to avoid shopping. She hadn’t wanted to use her credit card, because somehow, she seemed to be escaping her mother’s attention. It wouldn’t last forever, but she wanted to delay the inevitable for as long as she could.

  But here they were, sitting on the blanket under the tree on Christmas Day, holding gifts for each other. Rebecca was thrilled, because it gave her an excuse to be close to Trey. On the surface, everything seemed to be their usual smiles and friendship, but underneath, there was a distance between them that there hadn’t been before.

  He’d told her this morning that he needed to see to the horses, because he’d told the foreman to give everyone the day off. He’d told her this politely as he’d stood by the bed, already dressed. Then he’d left her there, alone.

  Hours later, he’d returned, given her a quick kiss and headed for the shower. She’d asked him if he needed help soaping up. He’d smiled, but told her to stay and enjoy her newspapers, he’d join her in a minute.

  Maybe she was being too sensitive. Maybe it was unrealistic to expect a man to be so into her, day after day. Maybe this distance was normal.

  Normal or not, the distance hurt. The surprise Christmas gift helped. She let herself hope they would get back to the place they’d been.

  “Open mine first,” she said, cozying up to him in her white satin robe, wishing physical closeness could bridge the gap.

  She’d made him a coupon booklet, although it had turned out less sleek and sophisticated than she’d pictured. She’d included coupons for the free use of mirrors and showers, one for each position they’d explored. It had seemed very naughty and fun when she’d made it, but as he read it, she worried. He meant so much more to her than this.

  The very last coupon said, “A hug and a kiss when you need it most.” Not sex, but closeness. That was what she wanted for him, with him, for her.

  He flipped through the book, that one-sided half-smile on his face. When he finished, to her great surprise, he raised the booklet to his lips and gave it a kiss.

  “It’s like a memory book,” he said. “A chronicle of our time together. Every time I look at it, it will help me to—” He stopped himself. “I’ll think of you.”

  Her heart stopped. Memories?

  Their time was up. The distance he was putting between them made sense now. She closed her eyes and laid her head on his shoulder. “You must need to get back to your company in Oklahoma.”

  There was a long pause. She didn’t lift her head or try to see his face. Her heart felt so heavy, she didn’t want to try to read his expression or guess what he was thinking.

  “Not yet,” he said.

  It was her reprieve. Her heart, pitiful thing that it was, wanted to cry with relief that for a little while longer, he would stay. She would enjoy his warmth, and store up memories, and hope they would keep the cold away after he left.

  It would be like capturing sunshine in a jar, but she would try. She had to try.

  She sat up, dry-eyed, and faced him with a smile. “So, do any of those coupons remind you of anything that looks like it would be particularly jolly on this Christmas Day?”

  He ran his fingers along her jaw lightly, then pulled her in for a soft Christmas kiss.

  “Open your gift,” he said.

  Inside the box was a letter. In black ink dashed on white paper, in wording so formal he could have copied it from a wedding invitation, Trey requested the honor of her presence at a genuine, traditional Christmas dinner, to be served at the River Mack Ranch.

  “It’s cheating,” he confessed, “but when Mrs. MacDowell called to invite us, I knew it was the best way to give you a traditional Christmas. You already know Jamie and his wife—ah, what was her name?”

  “Kendry.”

  “Right. You already know them, so you won’t be among strangers. Do you want to go? We don’t have to, if you don’t want to.”

  Did she want to spend time with him, among his friends, being a part of his life?

  “I do.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Christmas at the River Mack Ranch made Rebecca happy, and that made it worth the effort for Trey. Nothing else would have induced him to accept the invitation. Social events were too fraught with ways for him to humiliate himself.

  Yet, all the possibilities he’d braced himself to face for Rebecca’s sake hadn’t happened. The road between the James Hill and the River Mack was the same as it had been since his childhood. He hadn’t needed to stop and think and check directions. He’d been able to get behind the wheel of his truck and drive his date to the MacDowells’ house, like any man should be able to do.

  Jamie’s older brothers, Quinn and Braden, were closer to Trey’s age, and he knew them better than he knew Jamie. They were here, instantly recognizable, part of the football memories that had been so recently unlocked. If anything, it was Quinn and Rebecca who seemed to have a memory problem. They spent a minute saying how familiar each looked, until they recalled meeting when Rebecca had last visited Patricia. Quinn and Patricia were both with Texas Rescue, that much Trey absorbed.

  He turned to greet Mrs. MacDowell. She looked exactly as Trey remembered her. Since he’d so recently survived Aunt June’s hugging and fussing, Mrs. MacDowell’s was less alarming.

  Trey managed not to blurt any random thoughts, taking a moment before speaking to be sure what he said was appropriate. At dinner, however, with the food and confusion and conversation, it happened. As he watched everyone devouring turkey and gravy, he said, “Rebecca devours newspapers.”

  The awkwardness passed quickly. The beat of surprise from the MacDowells at his end of the table quickly turned into more conversation about the local newspapers and their coverage of the hospital when its CEO had been arrested for embezzling.

  Braden was the new CEO. As the meal went on and information and updates from a decade’s absence rolled in, Trey could feel his brain shutting off. He fought it. For Rebecca, he wouldn’t withdraw and turn into a silent, sullen guest.

  But he could only concentrate on so many things at once. He stopped eating in order to focus on the faces around him. Half the people were familiar, which saved him, because there were also strangers. There was a baby, a newborn who slept while everyone sang her praises, and a toddler who fed himself mashed potatoes with two chubby hands. Not only was Jamie married to what-was-her-name with the ponytail, but Braden was married, as well. Quinn was engaged. Those women were all here, easy enough to talk with since Trey didn’t really need to remember who went with which brother or which baby belonged to whom. They were all MacDowells. That was all he needed to know.

  No math of any kind came up in conversation, so all in all, Trey felt he’d managed to pull off a decent Christmas for Rebecca.

  But he was exhausted, as if he’d taken final exams at school, math and history and literature, one after the other without a break. That kind of tired.

  After dinner, the men pulled him into their father’s old den, because there was a college bowl game on television. It was time for football. Trey dropped into the nearest armchair, too exhausted to drink the beer that Quinn pressed into his hand.

  On television, a player got clobbered, the kind of hit that mad
e everyone wince in sympathy—except Trey. He paid no attention, relieved to be sitting still and letting his mind take a break.

  “You took a hit like that, senior year, against Anderson High,” Braden said to Quinn.

  “That was nothing compared to the one Trey took against Killeen.” Quinn tapped his beer can to Trey’s. “Remember that one? I think it was the only time coach let you sit out one whole play before putting you back in.”

  The MacDowells made all the appropriate manly noises, everyone remembering their tough coach, and glory days.

  “You remember that?” Quinn asked him again.

  Trey forced himself to pay attention. “A game against Killeen?”

  “Yeah, senior year. Went into overtime. C’mon, you remember. You won it with a forty-yard pass to that freshman, the cocky kid, what’s his name?”

  “Zach Bishop.” Trey wanted to say he’d just seen him recently, in the helicopter after the ice storm, but putting together all the right words to tell the story would take too much effort.

  “That’s the one,” Jamie agreed.

  Still, Trey felt better. He’d remembered a name everyone else had forgotten. He was too hard on himself, maybe, when he spoke of someone like Jamie’s wife as what’s-her-name. Quinn, who was a doctor, had just done it himself.

  “It was Bishop who got your brother to volunteer with the fire department,” Quinn said. “They’re working together for Texas Rescue now.”

  “No, my brother’s on his honeymoon.”

  All three MacDowells looked at him instead of the television. Trey knew he’d said something off. He gripped the cold beer can.

  “You remember that game against Killeen?” Jamie asked again, sounding more like a serious doctor than a kid brother. Either was trouble Trey didn’t want.

  “Not really.” Trey kept his gaze on the television. They were strapping the player to a backboard, immobilizing his neck with a foam brace.

  Jamie nodded at the screen and spoke to the group at large. “We don’t let them back in the game anymore. They’ve gotta sit out at least a week of practice, and then they have to see me or their own family doctor for clearance. Coach is pretty pissed at the team doctor for enforcing the new rules.”

  “Let me guess,” Trey said, taking a moment to be sure he was about to say something normal. “The new team doc is named MacDowell. Jamie?”

  “Yep. Coach says he’s in the business of winning championships. I’m in the business of preventing brain injuries. He thinks my first season as team doctor should be the last, but I told him that wasn’t his call to make.”

  Quinn and Braden exchanged a look, brothers ready to defend their own, but Jamie laughed, breaking the tension in the room. “It’s pretty satisfying to see the old man’s face when I pull rank on him.”

  “Well, my wife’s gonna pull rank on me if I hide out here much longer.” Braden left first, but they all returned to the main part of the house, Trey hauling himself out of the armchair last.

  The women were cooing over the babies, and before Trey’s eyes, the men started cooing over the women. That’s how it looked to him. Each man had a woman who smiled when he walked up to her, someone pretty in her Christmas finery to lift her face and accept a kiss on the cheek or lips.

  Then Braden picked up his newborn child. Braden, older than them all in school, the first to make varsity, the first to graduate, the one they’d all looked up to, that Braden looked at that baby, and that baby looked at him, and Trey could’ve seen the love a mile away. Braden was a goner for a baby girl who fit in the palms of his hands, head over heels with no turning back.

  I want that.

  Trey would never have it, because no one had ever strapped him to a backboard and cradled his neck in foam.

  On Christmas Day, in his neighbor’s living room, James Waterson III knew, finally, what was wrong with him. It wasn’t that he was lazy. It wasn’t that he didn’t try hard enough. He was not stupid, and he was not insane.

  He had brain damage.

  The doctors had said he didn’t. The tests had all been normal. Ten years ago, they’d been wrong.

  Millions of players had come through just fine—his own brother had played football without incident—but not Trey. He’d taken that hit, the dangerous kind, and he’d taken it more than once. More than twice. He’d been praised for his toughness and his ability to perform when his ears were ringing and his vision was blurred.

  He stood in the doorway, watched the holiday scene before him and finally understood.

  Then his worst nightmare came true. A young woman came in from the kitchen, cute with brown bangs yet sexy in a red sweater, and Trey thought, Damn, she’s pretty. Who is that? Then recognition exploded in his mind, and he knew Rebecca and everything about her.

  But for one millisecond, he’d lost his memory of her.

  He wouldn’t allow it. Nothing else mattered, not the strangers or the friends. Not the noise and the food. The women’s laughter, the babies’ tears—he cared for none of it. If his brain could only think of one thing at a time, then all of that had to go, because the only thing he absolutely had to be able to hold on to was Rebecca.

  “We’ve got to leave now.” He grabbed her hand and started pulling her to the door.

  “Trey!” She hissed his name quietly, and tugged on his hand.

  He stopped, because she wanted him to stop. She slipped her hand from his, went to pick up her purse and kissed Jamie’s wife on the cheek. She thanked everyone and wished them a merry Christmas, and made a proper exit out of his botched one. Everyone smiled at them as they left.

  Trey drove straight home. When Rebecca asked what the problem was, he couldn’t explain.

  He left the light on in the bedroom, and made love to her while holding her face in his hands. He made her look at him, so he could see her eyes and remember their exact shade of brown. With every stroke, he committed her to his memory. With every roll of his hips, he tried to make her a permanent part of him. He would not lose her. He couldn’t bear to lose her, and he told her so. With his body and with his words.

  He felt clumsy, his brain so tired from the holiday, and he didn’t know if he was saying the right thing.

  “You. It’s you. You’re everything.”

  Afterward, as she sprawled on his chest and he stroked her hair, she said, “I love you.”

  He was afraid to close his eyes and go to sleep, because if she wasn’t there when he woke, he would die.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Trey stabbed the pitchfork into the hay. His brain was still tired from yesterday’s dinner at the MacDowells’, but his body was not. Physically, he felt strong and rested, so he’d left Rebecca in the four-poster bed and come to the barn to work off some energy. The cowboys he’d encountered—his own damned ranch hands, technically—had found work elsewhere on the ranch.

  Trey forked more hay into the stall of an unappreciative horse. The mare picked up on his frustration and showed her disapproved by shaking her mane and blowing air through her soft nose.

  “What are you doing, Waterson?” he muttered under his breath. He stopped and leaned on the pitchfork.

  He was screwing everything up, that’s what he was doing. Last night, tired and emotional, he’d crossed the line from an interlude, a pleasant week or two with the lovely Rebecca Cargill, and taken it to a different level.

  Sex like they’d had last night wasn’t just sex. It was the basis for a different kind of relationship. It was like laying a cornerstone to start a foundation for something big. It was dangerous, because it would make Rebecca think that the cornerstone had been laid for a reason, that it would support something built to last.

  It wouldn’t. It was just a brick, not a building. Their relationship was going nowhere.

  “Brain damage.” It m
ade him sick to his stomach to say the words out loud, so he forced himself to say them, to get used to the feel of them on his tongue. He stabbed the hay again. “Brain damage.”

  Just because those freakish faults had a name and a cause didn’t make them go away. He understood now why he’d let down every person who’d thought he had potential. The knowledge changed nothing. He was still the man who forgot to put water in the coffeepot and who got lost driving to client sites.

  He was going back to Oklahoma, to run his landscaping business in his own brain-damaged way and to enjoy the occasional company of women who didn’t want to get too serious. In the meantime, he needed to keep the proper perspective with Rebecca. They had a great time in bed. Their physical chemistry worked for them, for fun and friendship. He’d help her get set up in her first job and first apartment, and they’d part as friends, better for having known one another.

  There’d been no Christmas miracle. Nothing had changed.

  A piercing wolf whistle split the air in the barn. The horses shied and whinnied. Trey put a calming hand on the nose of the mare next to him and turned to see Rebecca, of course, standing with both hands over her mouth and her eyes wide with alarm.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I didn’t think about the horses. You just look sexy with a pitchfork.”

  It was too damned hard not to smile at Rebecca. Trey let himself grin as he nodded toward the aisle. The horses had gone back to their oats, only a few stamping a hoof to let them know how they felt about the interruption. “They’re fine. They’d appreciate it if you didn’t do that too often.”

  She came up to him, her pink parka unzipped to reveal a tropical blouse, her slacks formfitting. The parka and slacks were her clothes from the cabin, retrieved with the ATVs, washed and fresh now, but they reminded him how close he’d come to losing her once before.

  Keep it light. Friendship. Chemistry. An interlude.

  “Are we all alone in here?” Rebecca asked, running a finger along a stall door, pretending it was an idle question.