The Cowboy's Christmas Surprise

by Marie Ferrarella

  “I slipped,” she told Miss Joan, deliberately avoiding the older woman’s eyes.

  The latter nodded knowingly. “I can see that,” she commented, her voice pregnant with meaning. “Think the two of you can stay upright long enough to help carry this tree onto the flatbed?” she asked, looking from one to the other.

  “Of course I can,” Holly said with more conviction than she felt.

  Inside, she felt as if she was entirely made of whipped cream.

  “Just lead the way,” Ray told the older woman, his voice sounding very stiff and formal. He didn’t like being embarrassed and Miss Joan had succeeded in doing just that.

  “Oh, I can lead all right,” Miss Joan assured them. “But can you follow?” she asked, her hazel eyes sweeping over them meaningfully.

  “Sure,” Holly said quickly.

  “No problem,” Ray bit off.

  Miss Joan laughed under her breath—none too quietly—as if to say, “We’ll see about that,” but for once she kept the words to herself.

  Cash had backed up the flatbed so that it was as parallel to the felled tree as possible. There was enough space all around the specimen for the men and Holly to adequately surround the tree.

  Miss Joan ordered everyone to squat down and get one arm and shoulder under their section of the Scotch pine. “All right, everyone, put your backs into it!” she instructed.

  The first effort was less than successful, accompanied by a cacophony of grunts and groans. “You call that trying?” she demanded, clearly disappointed with their combined effort. “A bunch of kindergarteners could do better than that.”

  “Maybe we should wait until you bring them in,” one of the men, Gary Walker, grumbled.

  “This isn’t a dialogue, Walker,” Miss Joan snapped. “Unless you want to be the one to tell the kids in Forever why they don’t have a tree this year. No? I didn’t think so. Okay, now let’s see you give it a real try this time,” she ordered, her sharp gaze taking everyone in. “Get in under the branches, wrap your hand around the section of truck next to you and let’s see you do it. On the count of three this time,” she said, then proceeded to do a countdown. “One. Two. Three!”

  This time, the trunk cleared the ground. The tree wavered and looked as if it was going to go back down again, but somehow, between them all, they managed to stabilize it and with a chorus of louder grunts and groans, they finally got the tree loaded onto the flatbed.

  Exhausted, the ten people Miss Joan had selected to be part of her crew leaned against the perimeter of the truck.

  “I don’t know about you, but I just got my Christmas present,” she heard Cash say to someone, viewing the Christmas tree with pure satisfaction, as well as relief because they had managed to get this perfect specimen of a tree onto the flatbed without any incident.

  “Yeah, me, too,” she heard Ray agree softly, but when she looked up, she found that he wasn’t looking at the tree. He was looking at her.

  A very warm shiver danced down her spine.

  Chapter Ten

  Because the crew Miss Joan had brought with her to select this year’s Christmas tree had found the one they wanted to put up in the town square rather quickly, they wound up returning to Forever well before dusk.

  Word spread fast, and the town’s citizens hurried over to the square to pass their own judgment on the Scotch pine.

  As if she was leading a wagon train into the Wild West, Miss Joan brought her own truck to a stop in the center of town, jumped out of the cab and called for a halt of the other vehicles.

  “We got another beauty,” she announced to the sea of faces that surrounded her. A chorus of agreement met her statement.

  Rather than just leave the tree where it was until the following day, Miss Joan decreed that there was enough daylight—and certainly enough willing hands—to get the tree off the flatbed truck and upright in the town square.

  “You picked another winner,” Harry proudly told his bride, planting a quick kiss on her cheek.

  “Save that for later, Harry,” she told him. “Right now, I need harnesses and winches. You know the drill,” she told her husband.

  “Got ’em waiting right behind Mick’s garage,” Harry told her. He summoned a few men to come with him so that they could bring back the required equipment that would help the process of getting the tree upright and secured in the desired position.

  Miss Joan relinquished control of this portion of the operation, allowing her husband to oversee it. Harry happily went to work, employing Cash and a number of the other younger men to get the job done. They worked in harmony, having either done this before or watched it being done year after year.

  Ninety minutes after rolling into town with the giant Scotch pine, this year’s Christmas tree was up, stable and secure—and ready to be decorated.

  Everyone who wanted to, regardless of age, took part in this phase of the event. The only rule was to wait until the lights were put up, which they were in amazingly short order, thanks to the practically military precision instituted by Harry. Beyond that, once the lights were operational, there were no rules to follow other than to have fun.

  There was no end to the number of people who wanted to be part of this segment of the ceremony—because it was such a beloved tradition.

  Looking around the town square, Ray saw not just his father—who happen to be Harry’s best friend and might have been in town for reasons other than the tree decorating ceremony—but his brothers and sister, as well. Granted Alma and Gabe both worked in town, but standing around in the square, waiting to be able to take their turn at adorning the Christmas tree, was not part of their normal job description.

  Just as it wasn’t part of Olivia Santiago’s job description. Besides being the sheriff’s wife, she was also one of the town’s two lawyers, having formed a partnership with Alma’s husband, Cash. Saturdays were either for catching up at the office or trying to cram in seven days of family life into two. But here she was, with everyone else. Right now, it was hard to say who was the more casually dressed, Olivia or her husband, both of whom were usually so carefully and formally attired.

  Ray grinned as he scanned the area. Wearing what looked like their most comfortable clothes, everyone had come out for the occasion that was viewed by many as an unofficial day of celebration.

  “You picked a really pretty tree, Holly.”

  Turning around to the source of the comment, Holly saw that even her mother had come out to join the rest of the town. Or, more accurately, Martha Johnson had been brought out by Ray’s brother Eli. Eli and his wife, Kasey, followed by their two-year-old son, had steered Martha’s wheelchair to the center of town to await the tree’s arrival.

  Martha, although exceedingly independent, appreciated the help since she had her hands full at the moment.

  Holly saw that her niece, Molly, was comfortably seated on her mother’s lap. Seeing Holly, however, the little girl wiggled off her grandmother’s lap and made a mad dash for the woman she considered to be more mother than aunt. What she lacked in height she more than made up for with her boundless energy and enthusiasm.

  “Holly, Holly, Holly!” the little girl cried with enthusiasm as she wrapped her arms around Holly’s legs. “The tree is here!” she declared excitedly.

  “I know, Monkey, I helped bring it in,” Holly told the little girl with a laugh as she scooped her niece up in her arms. “I take it you like it.”

  “Very much,” Molly answered with a sharp, smart nod of her head, sounding for all the world as if she was an old person trapped in a child’s body instead of the age she really was.

  “We’ll leave you in good hands,” Kasey murmured to Martha as Kasey and her husband withdrew along with their son.

  “Thank you!” Martha called after the couple.

  “Mom,
what are you doing here?” Holly asked her mother as soon as she had her attention.

  “Same thing everyone else is doing here—waiting to do my part in decorating the tree. Just because I can’t get up on my tiptoes anymore doesn’t mean I’m ready to be shipped off to the elephant’s graveyard just yet. I’ve still got a chapter or two left in me.”

  “I know that, Mom, I didn’t—” Holly began, only to be interrupted by her niece.

  Older in spirit and mind than she was in actual years, Molly looked at her grandmother, a panicked expression crossing her face as she cried, “Don’t go to the elephant’s graveyard, Grandma. Please don’t go. I don’t want you to,” she pleaded.

  Laughing, Holly kissed the top of her niece’s head. “Nobody’s going anywhere, Monkey. Your grandmother’s going to be around for a very long, long time. Okay?” she asked, looking into Molly’s puckered face.

  The little girl looked as if she was on the verge of crying at any second.

  Then, just like that, the tears vanished.

  Molly bobbed her head up and down with such force, Holly half expected it to pop off her neck. But Molly didn’t even look dizzy.

  Crisis averted, Holly picked up a shiny star ornament laid out on one of the tables that had been brought to the square. There were tables lining two sides of the square so that everyone could have access to the decorations.

  “Okay, Monkey, let’s see how high you can reach,” Holly told her niece, presenting her with the ornament.

  Molly examined the star, then, cocking her head, looked up at the towering tree. “You gonna hold me up?” she asked.

  “That’s cheating,” Holly pretended to protest. Molly’s small face instantly puckered up again and she looked upset.

  “No, it’s not. I’m a little girl. I can’t reach high without you. Please, Holly?” she pleaded.

  “Don’t be a bully, Doll,” Ray told her, joining the three generations that comprised his best friend’s family. He looked down at the little girl. “Would you like me to hold you up, Molly?” he asked.

  Molly had developed a king-size crush on Ray in the past month or so and she smiled from ear to ear at her heartthrob’s suggestion. She put her arms out to him, wiggling to get free.

  “Yes, please,” she agreed with enthusiasm.

  Because he was taller than Holly, Ray could hold the little girl up even higher in his arms—and for longer—than Holly could.

  The latter ability became very necessary because, as it turned out, Molly had trouble making up her mind exactly where she wanted to hang the ornament. After changing her mind a total of three times, she finally settled on a branch.

  Once it was hung and deemed secure on its perch, Ray was allowed to put her down. He did as he was instructed.

  “Typical female, can’t make up her mind,” he said with a laugh.

  “I’m not tip-ick-cal,” Molly protested indignantly. “Grandma says I’m special.”

  “And special you are,” Holly agreed, ruffling the little girl’s hair. Holly turned toward her mother. “Mom, you want to hang up another ornament?” she asked, ready to fetch a second one for her from a nearby table. Her mother had already placed one on a low branch while waiting for Molly to hang hers.

  But Martha demurred. She was here to observe and watch over her granddaughter. “No, I’m fine, dear. I just want to watch everyone else decorate the tree, if you don’t mind,” she said.

  Holly didn’t like her mother hanging back like this. It wasn’t like her. Did that mean that something was wrong? Rather than asking—and receiving a negative answer, as she knew she would since her mother hated complaining—she took another approach.

  “I don’t mind,” Holly told her mother. “But you have to hang at least one more ornament, Mom. Those are the rules, you know that. If you show up, you have to hang up,” Holly said, quoting the rule Miss Joan was said to have made up years ago.

  “Tell you what, Mrs. Johnson. You pick one out and I’ll get you in close so you can hang it up a little higher,” Ray offered cheerfully.

  Martha nodded. “I’d like that, Ray.”

  “You do have a way with the Johnson women,” Holly said to him, lowering her voice to a whisper.

  He flashed a grin her way just as he guided her mother’s wheelchair toward the tables where the decorations were laid out.

  The tree wouldn’t be fully decorated today, not by a long shot. It was never completely decorated within one day’s time, and they were already working with an abbreviated day, but at least they had gotten a good head start on the job.

  The town’s tallest ladders—housed the rest of the year in Silas Malcolm’s barn because it was the closest large space to the town square—had been put up against the tree so that, in addition to stringing up the lights, people could decorate the top portion of the tree.

  Holly stood back and watched as people took turns—in some cases just once, in other cases as many turns as they could squeeze in—using the ladder and dressing the tree until evening finally blanketed the square, robbing it of much-needed light.

  “That’s it for today,” Miss Joan announced as she called a halt. “We’ll get started tomorrow just after first light,” she said, more out of habit than necessity, since the rules were never changed.

  And neither did the ritual that came next.

  “All right, coffee and pie for everyone,” she declared.

  Hooking her arm through her husband’s, she briskly led the way to the diner. The coffee was intended for all the participants who were fifteen and over. Those who had joined in and were younger received glasses of milk to wash down their servings of pie—or cookies, if they preferred.

  “I love this time of year,” Holly confided to her mother as she got behind the wheelchair, ready to push the woman to the diner, which was located only a few blocks away from the town square.

  “So do I,” Martha agreed, but her voice sounded a little weary to Holly. If she had any doubt, her mother’s next words confirmed her thoughts. “Listen, I’m a little tired—and apparently Molly is even more so.” Martha nodded at the little girl who was sleeping curled up on her lap. “We’re going to go home.”

  “Okay,” Holly said without a single word of protest, turning the wheelchair in the opposite direction.

  “No, Holly, by ‘we’ I mean Molly and me, not you,” her mother clarified. “I want you go on to the diner with the others.”

  She had no intention of letting her mother push herself all the way home. “That’s okay, Mom, I—”

  “No, it’s not okay. I insist,” Martha said firmly, cutting in. “And I know what’s running through your mind,” she added. “Don’t you treat me like an invalid. I’m perfectly capable of taking my granddaughter home and putting her to bed. There’s no need for you to cut your evening short just to hover over me,” her mother informed her.

  “Especially if she has help,” Miguel Rodriguez Sr. said, gently edging Holly out of the way as he took over the handles on the back of her mother’s wheelchair.

  Martha twisted around in her chair to look at this new champion she’d attracted. “Miguel, I don’t need your help, either.”

  Ray’s father nodded understandingly. “I know,” he replied in his soft, accented voice. “But perhaps I need to do something gallant and this would be a very nice opportunity. Do not spoil it for me, Martha. Let me pretend to come to your rescue,” he told her. “And this way, you can use both your arms to hold your granddaughter on your lap instead of trying to balance her and keep her from falling off as you go around corners, yes?”

  Martha surrendered with a sigh. “If you insist.”

  “That I do,” Miguel told her, then looked over his shoulder at Holly just before he began to push the wheelchair in the direction of the Johnson house. He winked at Holly, looking at th
at exact moment for all the world like his youngest son, Holly couldn’t help thinking.

  “Go, enjoy yourself a little bit,” he encouraged her. “You do not do that nearly often enough—and you really should.”

  “He’s right, you know,” Ray said, putting his hands on her shoulders and physically turning her toward the diner. “You don’t relax nearly often enough anymore. I can remember you had a lot more fun as a kid.”

  “Kids are supposed to have fun,” Holly pointed out, but she was walking in the direction he’d steered her. “Adults are supposed to work.”

  “Okay, I’ll give you that—in general. But nowhere is it written that work has to be twenty-four hours a day, every single day,” he pointed out. “Even machines wear out like that.”

  Holly stopped walking and turned to face him for a moment. Did he forget?

  “I took today off,” she reminded him.

  “No, you didn’t,” he contradicted. She opened her mouth to protest, but he talked right over her. “You didn’t put in a full day at the diner—but you did work up a sweat,” he pointed out. “That’s work.”

  Holly shrugged away his comment. “There are lots of ways to work up a sweat that don’t have anything to do with work.”

  The way he looked at her told Holly that he had attached a very particular meaning to her words, a meaning that she hadn’t necessarily intended.

  She could feel herself blushing again, damn him.

  “Did you blush this much when we were younger?” Ray asked her teasingly. “I can’t remember, but I don’t think so.”

  Holly deliberately picked up her pace, walking fast so she could get ahead of him and he wouldn’t be able to see her face.

  “Hurry up, slowpoke,” she urged. “Let’s get going before all the pie is gone.”

  “As long as we get to the counter before Big Jim Zucoff claims a spot, we’re okay,” he told her, picking up his pace nonetheless. “That man’ll eat anything that doesn’t eat him first, and I’ve never seen anyone with a bigger sweet tooth than Big Jim.”