A Texas Holiday Reunion

by Shannon Taylor Vannatter

  But she’d tried that fresh out of college. The windowless office in the back of the store sapped all her creativity. While whinnies, stamping of hooves and the low murmur of ranch hands stoked her productivity.

  She’d just have to pull up her big-girl boots and ignore his presence.

  * * *

  Most people moaned and groaned through Mondays. But Resa saw the first workday of each week as a new opportunity, filled with possibilities. Except today, she had to avoid Colson.

  Nearing the barn, she darted to her office at the side door. A bright sunny morning. Nickers and whinnies, a freshly weaned calf bawling. The smells of hay and animals. No sign of the cowboy.

  Tense muscles relaxed as she unlocked her office door, flipped the light switch and stashed her purse. Another flip of a switch brought to life the Christmas tree and the string of multicolored twinkle lights framing her picture window.

  Blueprints for a massive cowhide-lined desk were where she’d left them on her drafting table. A desk for Colson’s father-in-law. Or would that be former father-in-law now? When the order came in, she’d never imagined Colson would be here. At her ranch. She picked up her pencil, adjusted her T-square ruler and shaded along a few lines.

  A new sound, like a child’s giggle, interrupted her. She looked out the window. A little girl stood on the bottom rail of the fence, wearing boots and a hat almost as big as she was. Not an adult in sight. A daughter of one of the hands? Resa didn’t mind employees bringing their kids to the ranch, but not leaving them alone. A child could get hurt or lost.

  Resa stood, hurried for the back door, pushed it open. And nearly whacked Colson with it.

  “Whoa, what’s your hurry?” He stepped aside.

  “That child. No one’s watching her?”

  “Hello?” He raised his hands, palms up.

  “Oh. Well, you should stick close to her. She’s so little, she could slip through the fence before you could get to her.”

  The little girl paid them no attention, her gaze transfixed on the mare heavy with her colt in the barn lot.

  “But she won’t.” He crossed his arms, leaned against the barn, the sole of one booted foot planted against it like a plywood cowboy silhouette. “She’s been raised on a ranch her entire five years of life. She knows that under no uncertain terms is she supposed to put one toe inside any fence.”

  “Who did she come here with?”

  “Me. She’s my daughter—Cheyenne.”

  Her gaze swung to his.

  A mixture of emotions battled it out in his green eyes—regret maybe. Pride definitely.

  Everything shifted into focus, made sense. Five years old.

  That spring he came to work for her father. Almost six years ago. Realizing he wasn’t as wild as he’d been in high school. Becoming friends. Inviting him to church. Watching him commit his life to Christ. Falling for him. Six weeks of sweet, fairy-tale romance.

  And the next thing she knew he’d gone back to San Antonio without even saying goodbye, and married Felicity Birmingham. His on-again off-again girlfriend since high school. The one he’d told Resa he’d broken up with when he came to work at the ranch that long-ago spring. And maybe he had. But Felicity had obviously been pregnant.

  With his child.

  Chapter Three

  Colson watched her do the math and saw the moment she realized he’d fathered a child out of wedlock. But he hadn’t realized during their brief relationship that he had a pregnant ex-girlfriend waiting in the wings.

  More worrisome than Resa believing he was on shaky moral ground would be if she recognized the truth in Cheyenne’s eyes.

  “Your folks never told you?”

  “We don’t really talk about you.” Resa’s mouth formed a tight line. “I’ve been much too busy to keep up with your life.”

  Of course. “Can you say hello, Cheyenne?” The little girl didn’t budge—nor make a sound. She was back in her shell. He should have known uprooting her might be jarring.

  “Shouldn’t she be in school?”

  “She only turned five last month, so she won’t start kindergarten until next fall. Missing a few weeks of preschool before Christmas break won’t hurt anything.” He’d just reinforced the fact that only a matter of months after he’d romanced Resa, Felicity had given birth to Cheyenne. A child he’d thought was his.

  He saw her swallow hard. A bitter pill?

  “She’s a great kid. Won’t be any trouble.”

  “My only concern is you being distracted by work and her wandering off.”

  Back to business. “She won’t. Dad’s wife agreed to babysit. Annette’s really good with her.” Colson’s gaze went back to Cheyenne. “She’s everything to me.”

  “I can see that.” Resa turned toward the barn. “I better get back to my office.”

  “What time does the store open?”

  “Ten. But my office is here.”

  “Here?” As in at her house? He hadn’t seen that coming.

  “In the barn.” She gestured to the door she’d almost taken him out with.

  “You design furniture for Rusticks—in the barn?” He’d thought it odd when he’d seen the huge picture window on the back of the wood structure.

  She chuckled. “I’m not really the corporate, windowless-office type. I have a conference room at the store where I meet with clients. But I do my drafting and designing here.” Her gaze went past the fence to the horses grazing in the distance, the massive expanse of clear blue sky. “The sounds of the ranch, the smells.” She drew in a deep breath. “I’m inspired here.”

  This wasn’t what he’d signed up for. The reasons he shouldn’t be here just kept stacking up. He’d expected her to be at the store from dawn to dusk. Instead, she’d be right here with a massive window on his world. On his daughter.

  Lord, don’t let her see what I see when I look into Cheyenne’s eyes.

  But did he see the evidence only because he knew the truth? He’d been clueless for several years. Maybe Resa would be, too.

  He’d held on to this secret too long for it all to fall apart now.

  “See ya later.” She opened the barn door, stepped inside.

  Would working in such close proximity stir up his old feelings for her? He’d just have to man up and make sure it didn’t.

  Because no matter how beautiful she was, how vulnerable or how caring, she was a woman. And women couldn’t be trusted.

  Not when she represented a very real and present danger for Cheyenne. And at all costs, he had to protect his daughter.

  “Ready to go inside, princess?” He strode to the fence, sidled up beside her. Baby shampoo and innocence untied the knots in his insides.

  “Un-uh, Daddy.” Dark silky hair tumbled with a decisive shake of her head.

  And hearing her call him Daddy melted him like butter.

  “See how big that mare’s belly is.”

  Huge blue eyes met his—a tinge of fear in their depths. “Is there a baby in there?”

  “There sure is. She should have a foal sometime while we’re here.”

  “I don’t wanna pet it.” Her chin trembled.

  He scooped her up. “You don’t have to. But it’ll be really small, so you might change your mind.”

  “I won’t.” Her arms locked around his neck and she buried her face in his shoulder.

  “It’s up to you, princess.” If only he could take away her fear. Take away her memories. No child should watch her father kill her mother.

  * * *

  The blueprints blurred and Resa’s traitorous gaze bounced up to the window.

  Colson was holding her now. The little girl’s knees were clamped at his waist, arms tight around his shoulders, her face hidden in his neck. He had a child
.

  How had she not known that?

  Because her parents knew how badly he’d hurt her, and his name had been off-limits since she’d learned he’d married Felicity.

  She should have at least said hi to the little girl. But she’d been too shocked to think. And the child had never even looked her way, she’d just focused on the mare. So quiet and withdrawn. Was she shy, or somehow traumatized by her mother’s death?

  Colson kissed the top of his daughter’s head and Resa’s heart did a flip. Why did a cowboy with a little girl make her go all warm and fuzzy?

  Because he wasn’t just any cowboy.

  The Bonanza theme song started up on her cell phone. Mom.

  “Hey. Are you on the boat yet?”

  “About to board.” She sounded happy. “All our guests got home safely?”

  “I haven’t heard any different.”

  “It was so nice seeing everyone. Everything okay there? Emmett’s not giving you trouble?”

  The least of her worries and long gone. “Everything’s fine.” Except Juan’s having surgery. Colson is here to take his place. And he has a daughter y’all never warned me about. But if they knew any of that, they’d be on the first plane back. “Don’t worry. I’ve got this.”

  “I know you do. Your father and I have complete confidence in you.”

  “So, stop worrying about me and have fun. I love you.”

  “I love you. Your father wants to say hi.”

  “Hey, Dad. Go have fun. And don’t call me again.”

  His warm chuckle eased her tense shoulders. “Don’t you want to know when we get on the boat?”

  “Text me pictures. But don’t check in. Everything’s fine here. Enjoy your cruise. I love you. And goodbye.”

  “I love you, Miss Bossypants.”

  “You’re the one who left me in charge.” She ended the call, looked back to the window.

  Deep, rich laughter. Colson held his daughter belly up, tickling her tummy. She writhed and cackled with glee. Okay, maybe she wasn’t so withdrawn, after all. At least not with her father.

  The realization that Cheyenne even existed was still sinking in.

  Maybe tonight, Resa would fix them a meal, make a point to get to know the child and prove to Colson she really was over him.

  * * *

  It was suppertime, but food was the last thing on Colson’s mind. He’d let Cheyenne spend an hour with him this morning to get her acclimated to their temporary home. But his day had stretched long after Annette retrieved her. His heart did triple time as he let himself in the McCalls’ house, the way it always did when he’d been away from his daughter, even if only for a few hours.

  Last night he’d seen that the house was much as he remembered. Large, but not as grand as the McCalls could have afforded. Massive beams, rustic design, a veritable showroom full of Rustick’s furnishings. A lot like his dad’s. He could hear Dad’s voice, Annette’s, and a child’s giggle that warmed him from the inside out.

  Cheyenne lay on the yellow pine floor, her dark curtain of hair framing her face, a frown of concentration there as she colored a princess’s hair pink. Dad and Annette were smiling on from the nailhead log couch.

  Colson plopped down beside Cheyenne.

  “Daddy.” She shrieked, pushed up and barreled into him.

  “How’s my little beauty? Do you like the new digs?”

  “It’s okay.” But she only had eyes for him.

  If he could just bottle these moments...

  “Wanna color?”

  “Can’t wait.”

  She wiggled out of his arms, returned to her coloring book, pointed to the prince next to her page. “You can do him.”

  “What color hair should he have?” He lay flat on his belly beside her.

  “Blue since he’s a boy.”

  “Blue it is.” He grabbed the crayon and went to work. He looked up when he felt his dad’s and Annette’s scrutiny. They were holding hands, both of them grinning at him. Married four years, they were obviously still crazy about each other. “What?”

  “Adorable.” Annette shot him a fond wink.

  “Thanks for helping out with her.”

  “We had fun. I felt like a teacher again. Cheyenne will keep me in practice for subbing again next year.”

  Though Annette clearly loved teaching, she didn’t seem to regret going from full-time to being a substitute when she’d relocated to marry his dad. At first, Colson had been leery of the new woman in Dad’s life. He hadn’t wanted to see his father get hurt again. And his hackles had gone up when Annette had gently suggested Cheyenne needed counseling last year.

  But she’d been right. He’d watched his little girl slowly come out of her shell over the last few months. Annette had been good for Dad. Good for all of them. Colson had sympathized when he’d learned her first husband had cheated on her, left her for another woman. She’d been just as wounded as Dad, so Colson had gotten to know her. Trust her even, which was rare for him.

  “I better do something about supper.” Annette stood.

  “You don’t have to slave over us.” Colson finished the prince’s hair. “I’ll make us sandwiches or something.”

  “Nonsense. Cheyenne needs more than deli meat to grow on.” She headed for the kitchen.

  This hiccup would be rough on all of them. New surroundings for Cheyenne. Her biological family—still in the dark—within a stone’s throw. Dad and Annette uprooting their lives, sharing a house with Colson.

  If his dad only knew the pickle Colson was in. But he’d let Dad down so much in the past. And Dad had never asked much of him. The least he could do was keep the McCall ranch running well during their absence. He’d just have to ignore Resa.

  The doorbell rang.

  “I’ll get it. But it feels funny answering the McCalls’ door.” Dad hurried to the front of the house.

  Colson could hear a feminine voice. He couldn’t make out the words, but he knew it was definitely Resa, making herself hard to ignore. Two sets of footfalls sounded as they made their way back to the great room.

  Colson stiffened. No, Dad, keep her away from Cheyenne.

  Maybe he should have told him the truth. But he knew his dad would want him to tell Resa. And he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t risk losing Cheyenne.

  Colson looked up, shifted his position as his old rodeo injury flared heat through his shoulder.

  “Isn’t this nice.” Dad held a large red pot with hot pads. “Resa brought us chicken and dumplings. And perfect timing, since Annette was just about to rustle us up a meal. I better go head her off.” He continued toward the kitchen.

  “I love to color.” Resa shoved her hands in her pockets. Awkward, but her eyes softened as she watched Cheyenne. There was no judgment or teasing toward him, even though he currently held a crayon labeled cornflower blue.

  Cheyenne’s gaze never left her work; her crayon never stopped moving.

  “We didn’t get to meet this morning. I’m Resa.” She strolled over, then settled across from Cheyenne.

  She glanced up at Resa, her eyes widening because of this new adult invading her space, then focused once again on her picture.

  “I really like the princess’s hair pink.” Resa smiled.

  Seeing Cheyenne’s pale blue eyes didn’t seem to bring any new awareness to Resa.

  Colson relaxed a bit.

  “My teacher always wanted me to make it yellow, or brown, or black,” his daughter murmured. “But I told her pink is for girls.”

  How had Resa gotten her talking? Usually Cheyenne clammed up around anyone she didn’t know.

  “I like the way you think.”

  Cheyenne glanced up at her again.

  “I always wished I had purple ha
ir.” Resa tentatively reached over, twirled a strand of Cheyenne’s hair around her finger.

  “Really?” Cheyenne’s crayon broke. “Uh-oh.” She reached for another pink one. “But pink would be better.”

  “I agree. Maybe we can color together sometime.”

  “Maybe.” Cheyenne’s voice rose an octave. Interested? Or nervous?

  Resa stood. “I’ll let myself out.”

  The right thing to say battled in Colson’s throat. “Sure you don’t wanna stay for supper, since you cooked it?”

  “I appreciate the offer. But I’m good.”

  “Thanks for the dumplings.” Relief ebbed through his stiff muscles. “My favorite.”

  “Yeah, I remember.” She shrugged. “And most kids like them. I didn’t know what Mom left in the fridge or if Annette had a chance to go shopping. So I thought I’d help y’all get settled in.” She scurried for the door. “See you tomorrow.”

  And the next day. And the one after that. He rolled over on his back.

  “Daddy, you’re not finished.”

  “I know, princess. Just resting my shoulder.” She wiggled over to him, buried her head in his chest.

  He’d passed the test. Resa had seen Cheyenne up close and personal. And hadn’t figured out that Emmett was his daughter’s true father.

  Chapter Four

  Christmas lights bordered the entire storefront, casting a glow on Jed. Rustick’s former furniture crafter had his head bent, intent on his work.

  “Morning, Jed.” Resa neared the church pew that had sat outside her family’s store for as long as she could remember. The grizzled man seated there was as much of a fixture as the pew. Wood chips and curls surrounded his feet as he dug his knife into the stock of the cane, forming an intricate pattern.

  He looked up from his work, gave her a wink. “Morning.”

  “Got that cane about finished? I may have it sold.” She adjusted the blueprint tube under her arm.

  “I’m working as fast as these hands will let me.” They were gnarled and twisted with arthritis, but that didn’t stop him.