A Christmas Cowboy to Keep

by Hebby Roman

  Meeting Tate’s gaze through the pane of glass stopped her mid-kitchen. He tapped the brim of his Stetson, smiled his wicked smile, and raised a questioning brow. Carrie couldn’t move; she was half-dreaming, half-pondering her predicament.

  Behind him, snow fell in a graceful steady stream. She could see him cross his arms, the sleeves of his heavy sheepskin coat crimping slightly, his doeskin gloves covering those strong hands that now held...a bunch of flowers.

  Flowers? Wow.

  She opened the door.

  He stood there and stared at her.

  Carrie stared right back.

  Tate took a step inside, wiped his feet.

  Carrie continued to stand, silent.

  Tate waited.

  In the smallest possible voice, she got out, “Are those for me?”

  Tate removed his hat and hung it on the finial of a chair without taking his gaze from Carrie. “Well, they could be for my grave, but Santa seems to be very much alive.” He held out the bouquet but as Carrie reached for them, he dropped the bunch in the sink and cupped both sides of Carrie’s face, gently walking her backwards to the table.

  “I’m going to kiss you. Have I got your permis—”

  She never let him finish the sentence. Her lips found his as tears started to blossom.

  As Tate took control and the kiss went deeper, Carrie heard the few items on the table hit the floor as she went down, his arm protecting her so she wouldn’t hit her head. Her toes curled and all sensation seemed to be concentrated on that one kiss as she finally gasped for air.

  “This is awkward,” Tate whispered.

  “I have a better idea.”

  Tate pulled back, clasping Carrie so that her legs wrapped around him as he carried her toward the stairs, stopping and leaning against the wall on the way for one more long, deep kiss.

  “Are you seducing me?” He pulled back and studied her, waited for her to be sure before she replied.

  “Most certainly. Oh, gosh, yes.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “Animals don’t give a damn whether it’s Christmas or Kingdom Come, they want to be fed,” was Grayson’s greeting when Carrie showed up five minutes late on Christmas morning. “They don’t know rain, shine, or you’re stuck on the toilet with your insides emptying out—they want feeding. And no snow days, no heat days, no holidays, no vacations.”

  “And Merry Christmas to you, too, Grayson dear. Wonderful to be greeted with those words of wisdom.”

  “Well, get on then. Tim awake yet?”

  “Not when I looked, but let’s get on as you so wisely advised.”

  The only thing that kept Carrie going through the feeding, watering, and other chores was the thought of a blazing fire, a hot toddy, and Tate’s arms around her. That was good enough. And that helped get the chores done in record time.

  It was also in record time that the kitchen looked like a tornado had swept through. Turkey swollen with Carrie’s own recipe for chestnut stuffing, potatoes cut and ready for the roasting pan, green bean bits filling the sink, a crystal bowl of cranberry sauce shimmering on the side, Brussels sprouts waiting to be cut and cleaned, a stack of dishes fresh from the dishwasher, a Yule log out of reach of little hands, and a bag of slivered almonds opened as those little hands now dipped into it.

  “Tim! Not before breakfast, Button.”

  “This is my breakfast. And we’re having that big lunch. And anyway, I can’t wait to see my presents. When can I open them? Did Santa come?”

  “I really don’t know if Santa has come yet, Tim. Think of all the children in the world waiting for him today. It’s a big job and he may be a bit late.”

  “Can I go and look if there’s a pony in the stable?”

  “No, Button, not yet. We’ll go open the presents from Mommy in a moment—”

  “And you can open my present to you. It’s under the tree, too.”

  “Is it?” Carrie rinsed her hands after mixing the green bean salad. “Here, do you want to put the extra almonds on top of the salad for me? Preferably without eating any more?”

  “Sure!” Tim came around from the breakfast bar with the bag of almonds and peered over the edge of the counter. He placed each sliver with care, getting as many as possible onto the top of the salad. He stood back to admire his handiwork as an artist admiring his painting might, then glanced up at his mother for approval.

  “Perfect.” Carrie tapped his nose.

  “So can we open pressies now, can we?”

  “We can open each other’s but not the ones from Tate and Mrs. Schrugge, and not the ones from Grayson. Okay?” The words were greeted with the sound of Tim’s running footsteps as he dashed to the living room and the presents placed under the tree.

  Carrie followed him. “Now don’t destroy everything, Tim. Just our presents. Remember.”

  Tim had already found one and was ripping away the paper. “Wow. A new backpack.” There was a rather half-hearted enthusiasm in his admiration. “Thanks, Mom.” He surveyed the other presents and pulled out one more from Carrie, making short work of removing the wrapping. “Stetson and Co.,” he read with some hesitation. “What’s that?” As he shook open the box and relieved it of its top, his mouth fell open and his eyes became saucers. “Oh, wow! A real cowboy hat. Oh, thanks, Mom!” Tim set it on his head and Carrie knew there would be small chance of removing it before bedtime.

  “Well, don’t I get a kiss and a hug?” she demanded.

  Her son rushed to her and threw his arms around her. “But now you open yours.”

  Carrie squatted down and crossed her legs as her son rummaged around to find his gift to her. With a huge smile lighting his face, he pulled a scroll tied with a knotted ribbon from behind the tree and handed it over to his mom. Carrie unknotted the ribbon and, with all due ceremony, unfurled the cylinder. It was a crayon drawing of Tim on a pony with Carrie standing holding a lead rein, and a cowboy smiling from each corner. Of course, it was all in stick figures but Carrie knew very well who the cowboys were and sniffed back tears as she tried to give Tim a wide smile.

  “Button, that’s the absolute best Christmas present ever. It’s beautiful and I’m going to hang it on the kitchen wall for everyone to see.” In her heart, she knew Tim was going to be all right here in Wyoming, would be happy and make friends, and eventually his New York life would be a vague memory. She tipped back his cowboy hat and gave him a kiss on his forehead.

  “Ewwww.”

  * * *

  “What’s that song?” Grayson plunged his hand into a bowl of nuts and threw them into his mouth. He chewed pensively. “I know: ‘Lady in Red.’ That’s you, Missie. Lady in red.”

  “Oh, leave her alone. She looks absolutely stunning,” Eleanor chided.

  Carrie felt somewhat caught between the two without Tate present. Whatever either one said, the other found something to confront or criticize. She tried to ignore it and continued to place items on the table.

  “When is Tate coming?” Tim’s brow wrinkled while his little face displayed a somewhat suspicious demeanor. “And when is Santa coming?”

  Carrie caught Tate’s mother’s covert glance.

  “Tate told me he had some business to attend to before coming over.” Eleanor obviously tried to sound nonchalant.

  “Well, when is Santa coming?”

  Grayson snickered, then tried to cover his mouth to stop spraying half-chewed nuts as well as turn his laugh into a cough. He almost choked and Carrie patted him on the back. She made several brisk steps to the dining table with a large salad bowl and avoided Tim’s enquiring eyes.

  Just then, someone pounded on the back door and it was accompanied by the jingle of sleigh bells.

  “Well, goodness me, that sounds like Santa!” Carrie pressed her lips together to stop herself from giggling. “Shall we see?” She offered her son her hand.

  “I thought he comes down the chimney.”

  “
Not always, Button.”

  Tim jumped up and down as he sprinted to the door and sprang it open. ‘Santa’ stood in his bright red suit, a fluffy white beard trailing down from his chin, long locks of snow-white hair coming from under his cap, which looked somewhat similar to Carrie’s pompom hat. He wore black boots, which bore a strong resemblance to Tate’s cowboy boots, and a belt with a silver rodeo buckle on it.

  “Ho ho ho!” Behind him stood a black and white pinto pony, the headstall decorated with a Christmas wreath and the more traditional Santa hat balanced on the horse’s head, clipped to his mane. The horse’s patience with this operation was almost as astounding as Tim’s yelp for joy and burst into tears.

  The child couldn’t contain himself.

  Carrie swiped at wet on her face and snuffled as she studied her son.

  Grayson blew his nose.

  Eleanor dabbed at her eyes with a lacey hankie.

  “Well,” was all Santa could get out. “Tiny Tim, are you going to say hello to your friend?”

  “What are you going to call him, Tim?” Grayson rumbled.

  Tim examined Santa very carefully. Then he giggled. “I think I better call him Santa because Santa is really Tate.”

  “Oh dear,” Carrie moaned, as she saw the end of her son’s childhood coming at her like a speeding bullet.

  Tate pulled off his beard and hat. “And I thought I’d got you. Well. You going to try him out, Tim?”

  “He hasn’t got a saddle.”

  “I think we can remedy that if you open the rest of your presents now. With your mom’s permission, of course.”

  * * *

  The present exchange delayed dinner but no one complained. And, of course, it was difficult to get Tim off Santa but Tate soon tired of leading him around the corral and, when snow began to fall once more, Carrie called them in. Tate showed Tim how to brush down Santa, use his hoof pick, give him feed and water, and bed him down with fresh straw. Then he hoisted the boy onto his shoulders and headed inside.

  Every time Carrie gauged the smile on Tim’s face, her heart beat a little faster and another drop of happiness filled her soul.

  Tate plopped Tim down, and the child started to skip off as Tate leaned toward Carrie for a kiss.

  “Well, you crazy old man!” Eleanor’s voice resounded from the living room, freezing the younger couple in place. “You really are about the dumbest old coot on two feet. You still don’t understand, do you?”

  Tim examined Tate’s and Carrie’s faces for signs of distress but the two just stood frozen to their spots. Tate reached out and pulled the boy over.

  “What in tarnation is there to understand, Nell?” Grayson bellowed. “You led him on and then you let him down.”

  “I did no such thing! If Tom misunderstood my feelings then it was his problem. I never had any intention of leaving my husband and it wasn’t Tom I was in love with anyway, you damn fool!”

  “Well, if it wasn’t Tom you were in love with, who the hell was it then? Because you sure as heck weren’t happy those last years.”

  Tate rubbed his forehead. In a soft voice, he said for only Carrie to hear, “I know all this so don’t worry. She’s told me she and Dad had problems.”

  “I don’t think Christmas is the time for this, Grayson.” Eleanor’s voice wobbled with emotion.

  “Well, when is? I’m practically on my deathbed and I’d like to know once and for all what happened between you and Tom.”

  “What happened between me and Tom was nothing, absolutely nothing. He knew very well I wasn’t in love with him, and that, as they say, is that.”

  “Well, who were you in love with then, ’cause you sure as heck weren’t in—”

  “You! You fool, you. I was in love with you!”

  The silence that followed was as still as the snow scene outside. Carrie and Tate exchanged glances, Tate having the merest smile on his face that at last the truth was out.

  “You knew this?” Carrie whispered.

  “Oh, I knew it. It was pretty plain to see—to everyone except Grayson.”

  From the living room, Grayson’s voice came out like an avalanche of stones. “Well that’s a dang fine present to spring on me Christmas Day.”

  * * *

  The post-prandial scene was exactly as Carrie had envisaged it. The adults all had hot toddies either in their hand or nearby. Carrie relaxed against Tate’s broad chest, his arm about her and his chin nestled momentarily on top of her head. The Stetson he had given her for Christmas, with its turquoise concho on a beaded hatband, rested on her lap. Tim was half asleep on Grayson’s lap with Eleanor next to them, Grayson’s arm stretched out on top of the sofa, occasionally patting the woman on the shoulder.

  Carrie felt hugely happy and at peace.

  Tim sat up suddenly and glanced around with groggy eyes while Grayson took the opportunity to take a swig of the toddy.

  As Tim settled back against him, sparks flew from the fire and Eleanor reached out and chucked the boy under the chin. “Did you have a good Christmas, Sweetheart?”

  “The best ever. And I already know what I’m going to ask Santa for, for next Christmas—not my pony, of course, but Santa Claus, the man.”

  Eleanor sat up as if this was the most interesting thing she had heard all day. “Really, Sweetheart? And what is that?”

  “A little brother!”

  For a moment there was a deadly silence, then Grayson let out a rumble of laughter, swiftly followed by Carrie’s cough.

  Tate just smiled and glanced around the room, his gaze settling on Carrie.

  “Ho ho ho,” he whispered. “Ho ho ho.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Stave Three:

  Christmas Yet to Come

  “Well, who’d have thought I’d be getting married at my age?” Grayson flicked a bit of fluff off his new gray suit; his polished boots gleamed from the trouser bottoms. “I’m glad that’s done with.”

  Tate smirked at his new step-father.

  “What do you mean, ‘done with?’ It’s only the beginning!” Eleanor placed her bouquet with care on Carrie’s kitchen table so as not to interfere with the various dishes there. She strolled to the door and perused the dining table. “My daughter-in-law has done an excellent job of combining Christmas Eve decorations with a wedding feast. Where’s Carrie, anyway? What’s keeping your wife, Tate?”

  “What’s keeping her,” Tate responded as he popped a champagne cork and started to pour into waiting glasses, “is what seems to keep her each and every day of her life: primping in the mirror.”

  Tim bounced down the steps and stopped, spotting the two elder adults. “You’re not moving to Florida, are you? Mommy’s parents live there and it’s awful! I want grandparents here.”

  “Well, you’ve got them!” Tate snugged the bottle into ice and swung Tim high in the air. “How do you like that?”

  “I like it very well. But that’s not what I wanted for Christmas.”

  “Oh, right.” Tate set him back down. “Well, you better speak to your mother about that then.” He peered in the fridge and made sure there was enough champagne chilling for the coming guests. “That’s her domain.”

  “What’s my domain?” Carrie’s heels tapped down the steps as she faced everyone.

  Tate whistled. “A new red dress for Christmas, Carole.” He laughed at his own joke.

  Carrie made a face. “It’s Carrie to you, Scrooge.”

  Tate spluttered. “Tim is saying he wanted something more than new grandparents for Christmas.”

  “Oh. And what did you want, Button?” She sauntered over to Tate who bent and pecked her on the cheek. “I don’t recall,” she lied.

  “A little brother! A nice one to play with. And I’ll teach him to ride and he can have Santa when I’m too big.”

  “That’s very generous of you,” Tate noted.

  “Yes. It is. So when do I get him?”

&n
bsp; Grayson rumbled a laugh.

  Eleanor let out a girlish giggle.

  Tate raised an eyebrow and glanced at his wife.

  “Well. If you peep under the tree, you’ll see a cylinder there with your name on it. Bring it in here and we’ll open it a day early.”

  The adults watched as Tim dashed off, scattered presents under the tree in the living room until he found the tube with his name. He studied it in his hands, turning it round and round, then brought it back to Carrie with a quizzical look on his face. “How do I open it?”

  “Here, let me help.” Tate took the tube from Tim’s hands and snapped out the plastic circle at one end. Then he handed the tube back to Tim.

  The boy unfurled the print within and scanned it, not comprehending at all what he was seeing, a black and white picture with a strange shape in the middle and funny squiggly lines. “What’s this?” He held it out.

  Eleanor’s hand flew to her mouth as tears filled her eyes.

  Grayson grumbled a “Well, I’ll be.”

  Tate gave one of his wicked smiles to his step-son. “That’s your baby brother, Tim. He’ll be with you in seven months.”

  “Really? What’s his name, Daddy Tate?”

  “Ah, well, we haven’t quite de—”

  Carrie snickered a bit. “His name is going to be Ben. Short for Ebenezer. Ebenezer Scrooge!”

  Thank you for reading A Christmas Carole by Amazon Best-selling author Andrea Downing. If you’d like to read more of Andrea’s books, you can find them on Amazon and her website.

  The Peppermint Tree

  By Kristy McCaffrey

  Contemporary Western Romance

  Copyright© 2018 K. McCaffrey LLC

  Copyright © 2018 K. McCaffrey LLC

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means now known or hereafter invented, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author, Kristy McCaffrey.