Mistletoe Cowboy

by Carolyn Brown

  Toby Keith sang his newest song and then there was five minutes of news, most of it still covering the snow and all the damage it had caused. When that was done, Creed pulled on his coveralls, gloves, and boots and settled his hat just right on his head.

  “See you at dinnertime,” he said.

  “I’m making tortilla soup.”

  He made his way around the piles of clothing and kissed her on the cheek. “That sounds great.”

  The house felt empty with him gone. Even the DJ and the constant noise of Christmas songs from country artists didn’t fill the void. The dryer buzzed telling her that the dog and cat bedding was ready to fold. She laid her brushes to the side and went to the back side of the huge walk-in pantry.

  It needs to be as big as the kitchen. It has to house the freezer, the washer and dryer, and enough food to last a month, my child. It’s our grocery store and our laundry all rolled into one. Grand’s answer to her question when she was a little girl flitted through her memories.

  Would she ever tell her daughter the same thing when she asked why the pantry was the biggest room in the house?

  She pulled the old blankets from the dryer, cleaned enough lint from the filter to make a bonfire, and switched the sheets over from the washing machine. Then she gathered up a load of towels, put them in the washer, and added detergent.

  Noel cold-nosed her hand when she started back out and Sage yelped.

  “You scared me, girl.”

  The dog went to the door and put a paw on the doorknob.

  “It’s cold out there,” Sage said.

  The dog barked and she opened the door. Noel meandered out and headed straight for the barn. Other than her floppy ears blown back against her head, she didn’t act like she even felt the cold. But Sage shivered when the icy wind shot up under her shirt. She quickly shut the door.

  “Creed is tough as nails to work outside in this kind of weather,” she said aloud.

  She carried the laundry basket to the table and folded the two ratty blankets. Grand saved everything until she’d gotten the last drop of good out of it. Sage would have tossed those two blankets years ago, but not Grand. And now they’d come in almighty handy.

  She put them back in the linen closet and worked on her painting again. In the thirty minutes before it was time to switch clothing to the dryer, she could get part of the mistletoe painted.

  When she painted the world disappeared. But that morning was different. She painted the waxy green leaves and white berries, but Creed would not leave her mind.

  Grand had been right about him. He was the perfect cowboy to take over the ranch and Sage was coming to grips with the idea. Still, she felt guilty. She should be fighting harder to get her grandmother to stay and not leave for that godforsaken place in the mountains of Pennsylvania.

  ***

  Creed measured the boards for the floor of the doghouse and added four inches all the way around. When they went into town he’d buy a roll of insulation. That would keep the cold from sneaking in between the boards.

  “I could just buy a couple of decent doghouses, but what’s the fun in that?”

  Besides, you had to get out of the house. One more lonesome tear from Sage’s eye and you’d be calling Ada Presley and telling her to come home on the next flight. You’d declare that you couldn’t live in this desolate hole in the ground, but it wouldn’t be that at all, would it?

  “Shut up,” he demanded out loud.

  He finished nailing the floorboards to the base and fixed the studs to the sides. Noel meandered in, her ears drawn back against the cold wind. She curled up in a pile of loose hay with her head on her paws and watched him.

  “It’s for you and the puppies. I’ll build one for Angel too, so get that sad look off your face. She won’t be taking up permanent abode in the house either.”

  Noel’s tail wagged, scattering loose hay all around her.

  “How’d you talk Sage into letting you out?”

  Noel raised her head and barked her answer.

  “Lied about having to go, did you?”

  He discussed everything with Noel as he worked. He told her how big her house was, how much insulation he planned to put inside, how he’d put the bulb in the attic with a piece of glass between it and the ceiling so the puppies wouldn’t slap at it and get their paws burned. He told her about his new feelings for Sage and how he couldn’t stand to see her cry or know that he was the cause of her unhappiness.

  “I’d planned on fighting with her to the bitter end, but I’m a sucker for tears.” He sighed.

  Noel growled.

  “You don’t think so? Well, that’s comforting that you don’t think I’m a sucker. So what do you think, girl? Will you like your new log cabin or did you want it to look like a white mansion?”

  Noel shut her eyes and went to sleep.

  “Log cabin it is. I’m glad we agree. I’ll get the outside covered and then put the insulation in the walls and cover the inside with quarter-inch plywood. It’ll be a nice home for you and your bluetick hounds.”

  Noel got up and meandered out of the barn as slowly as she’d come in. She looked over her shoulder and gave one more bark but didn’t slow down.

  When she was gone, Creed realized that he couldn’t feel his nose and his fingers had begun to tingle in the bitter cold. He unplugged the circular saw, put it back in the tack room, and left the beginnings of a doghouse sitting right in the middle of the floor.

  ***

  The dryer beeped and Sage laid aside her brushes again. She’d barely made it to the kitchen when she heard scratching on the back door. Noel ambled inside when she opened it and went straight for her bed without stopping to have her ears rubbed.

  “Got cold out there, did it?” Sage asked. “Your babies didn’t even miss you. They slept the whole time you were out.”

  She followed Noel. “See, I told you. I’m a good babysitter. If they would have whined, I would have rocked them back to sleep.”

  The back door opened with force and Creed came in stomping his feet and clapping his hands. “Damn, it’s cold out there.”

  “Weatherman says it’s going down to single digits by night and for us to brace up for another norther. Did you bring all this with you from Ringgold, Texas? We haven’t had a storm like this since I was born and when you arrive, boom! Look what you caused.”

  “No, ma’am. Where I come from, we get excited about two inches of snow. It gets cold but it don’t last forever. And please keep that idea to yourself about me causing this. The other farmers will take me out behind a mesquite thicket and stone me to death if I’m the culprit who caused a blizzard.”

  The dryer beeped again and she started toward the kitchen.

  Creed held up his palms. “Let me. Whatever it is, I’ll get it out and fold it just to get something warm in my hands.”

  She wiggled her eyebrows.

  “Honey, I’d put frostbite on your pretty skin if I touched you right now. You ever lick an old metal ice tray?”

  She nodded.

  “Well, that’s what would happen if I kissed you. We’d be joined at the lips until the spring thaw. Go on back to your painting. I like the way the mistletoe came out. Looks like I could reach right in there and pick it out of the picture.”

  Sage picked up her brushes. It wouldn’t be so bad to be joined at the lips until the spring thaw. If his kisses could set her ablaze in the middle of a Texas norther, what would they create in July or August? Her heart wasn’t in painting, so she cleaned her brush and put her palette in a plastic container with an airtight lid to keep the paints from drying out.

  When he brought the load of towels to the table, she picked up an armful of white clothes—T-shirts, thermal undershirts, and underwear—and carried them into the pantry. She switched a second bunch of towels to the dryer and stuffed the washer full one more time. He had almost finished folding the towels when she got back.

  “You can keep on painting, Sage. I know how to
do laundry. I promise I won’t put red socks in with the white clothes,” he said.

  “I need to think about it for a while, and besides, it’s time to start the tortilla soup. How much did you get done on the doghouse?”

  “Floor is in. Studs are up and the siding is going on. It’ll be a fine log cabin. Noel says she likes it,” Creed said.

  “Is the door going to be a gaping hole?”

  “I’m a better carpenter than that,” Creed answered. “It’ll have one of those doggy doors that they can push in from the outside or out from the inside.”

  “Why are you building it so well? It’s just a doghouse,” she said.

  “Shhh… you’ll hurt her feelings. If she’s going to be thrown out of the big house, she needs to feel like she’s getting a good deal. And besides, we haven’t had an argument yet.”

  “What does us arguing have to do with her house?”

  His eyes twinkled in mischief. “Not a thing.”

  Sage racked her brain for what could be so funny, but not a single thing surfaced.

  “Explain please,” she said.

  “For a kiss. My lips are warmed up and yours look hot.”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressed up close to him, and kissed him right there in the brightly lit kitchen. She nipped at his lower lip and slid her tongue into his mouth. When she could feel the effects pressing against her belly she stepped back.

  “Now explain, please,” she said.

  “When we have our first big argument and I’m relegated to the doghouse I intend to make sure it’s cozy and big enough for me,” he teased without taking his hands from her waist.

  She took a step forward and leaned in for a second kiss. “You are a very smart man, Creed Riley.”

  The kiss sent shock waves down to their toes and warmed the very floor where they stood.

  “Does that mean you’d put me in the doghouse if you got mad?”

  She looked up into his sexy green eyes and said, “And nail the door shut.”

  He led her to the sofa and pulled her down onto his lap. “Maybe we’d better talk about what could bring on such a thing.”

  Her cell phone rang before she could list all the things that would put him in the doghouse. She picked it up from the end table and answered it without leaving his lap.

  “Sure. Can you stay for dinner?”

  Creed shook his head.

  “Tortilla soup. Hey, for Aunt Bill’s Candy, I’ll gladly go Internet shopping with you, kiddo.”

  “April?” he asked when she laid the phone back down.

  “Yes, it was. She’s coming over right after lunch and bringing some of Hilda’s famous Aunt Bill’s Candy. We are going Internet shopping for dresses for the Christmas party.”

  “You’re not wearing my red and black flannel shirt to the party? I’m hurt and so is it. It thought it was your favorite item of clothing.”

  She kissed him on the cheek. “I save that for things more important than parties.”

  She didn’t tell him that she’d hated to put it in the pile with his other dirty shirts because washing it would erase the smell of his shaving lotion. Or that she’d slept in it again the night before.

  Chapter 13

  The enormous grandfather rock formation hid the small family cemetery. The only way to get to it was by four-wheeler, by foot, or that afternoon, by tractor. It was surrounded by a picket fence that could not protect it from the snowstorm and shaded by the big rock so the sun couldn’t melt away any of the drifts.

  Sage found the top of the gate and shoved, but she couldn’t budge it with the drift against the back side.

  “Shovel time,” Creed said behind her. “Which way does it open?”

  “Outward,” she answered.

  It didn’t take long for him to throw the snow to one side, break the ice on the hinge, and open it for her. But it did little good when there was still a drift on the other side.

  “I’ll get the second one. The graves are all the way to the back side of the cemetery and it’ll go faster if we work together,” she said.

  He didn’t even look up and kept slinging snow to one side and then to the other. By the time they had shoveled it away they were both leaning on their shovels and trying to catch their breath.

  “Tell me again why we’re doing this today?” Creed asked.

  “Blame it on the weatherman,” she panted.

  The rock protected them somewhat from the bitter wind but it couldn’t make it warmer. Shoveling dirt or snow was hard work and used a lot of energy as well as plain old elbow grease. Under the coveralls she was warm as toast, but her nose was numb, and even with two pair of socks, her toes were beginning to feel the chill.

  Creed went back to work. “Why is it his fault?”

  “Because he won’t tell us that the temperature is going to rise and melt this off by Monday. I think his wife is going through menopause and has hot flashes all night. He can’t sleep because she’s constantly kicking the covers off or else putting more on, so he is grumpy and takes it out on the whole world. That makes it his fault. And we have to get the snow cleared away so we can put flowers on the graves when we come back from the shopping trip the first of the week.”

  Creed chuckled. “You’ve got an imagination, darlin’. Maybe you should write books rather than paint pictures.”

  She dug the square-nosed shovel into the snow and tossed it to her left. “No thank you. I’ll stick to my pictures.”

  “Do you see another picture out here this morning?” he asked.

  Tombstones of various sizes created different heights and widths of miniature mountains all around her. No one would be interested in buying a picture of a snow-covered cemetery, not even with mistletoe clinging to the tops of the scrub oak trees surrounding it.

  “Well?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “Not a thing.”

  They stuck their shovels into the snow and started walking through the shallow places and the idea started to nag at her. She’d never painted the big rock from the back side. The front of it had given her many paintings, all with life in them. Her grandfather when he was still living, an Indian surveying the land, eagles, and even a howling coyote. Should she paint the other side from the land of those who’d already gone on?

  “Whoa!” she said.

  He stopped. “See something?”

  “No, this is it.” She brushed the top of his tombstone clean. “This is Grandpa’s grave. The valley there is where… well…” she stammered. “Next to the valley is my father’s and then my mother’s.”

  She tried to keep the tears at bay but the dam broke. Thinking about a tombstone sitting there someday with Grand’s full name, date of birth, and death engraved on it was more than she could handle that morning. The tears were scalding hot as they ran down her cold cheeks. She wished that she would have worn her face mask to soak them up and so that Creed wouldn’t see her crying like a baby.

  He pulled her to him, letting her cry on his shoulders. Layers of clothing plus heavy coveralls didn’t keep her from hearing his steady heartbeat. Creed was a good man. He’d do well with the Rockin’ C. And even if he wasn’t a Presley, someday he would claim a spot in the family cemetery.

  The idea of a stone with his name on it brought on more tears. Sobs racked her shoulders and he hugged her even tighter against his body.

  “It’s all right, Sage. It’ll be a long, long time before Miz Ada is in this place. She’s still got too much spit and vinegar in her for God to want her just yet,” he said.

  He’s got that right. Listen to him, Sage. And remember, there will be a Presley on the ranch as long as you don’t leave it. It’s not like I’m forsaking the whole heritage. That’s why I sold it to him so cheap. He’s responsible to keep it running, but it’s your responsibility to make sure there’s Presley blood on the Rockin’ C.

  Grand’s voice was as clear as if she was sitting on Grandpa’s tombstone right beside her, but Sage didn’t open
her eyes and look because she knew she would be disappointed.

  A soft cloth wiped the tears away from her cheeks. His handkerchief was cold but his touch was light. His fingertips grazing her frozen cheeks weren’t blistering hot like usual but comforting.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “You are very welcome, darlin’. Let’s go to the house. You are shivering and it won’t take any time at all to take care of the rest of the job when we bring the flowers out here,” he said.

  Sage didn’t disagree. She wanted to be surrounded by the warmth of a glowing fire, the Christmas tree, and her dogs and cats. She wanted to laugh with Creed and make more cookies. She didn’t want to think about the future or the past.

  Going back to the tractor, she looked up at the big rock and saw her next picture as clear as if it were already completed. She’d never painted the formation using only the wide, furrowed base, but that’s where her next picture started. Not at the top but at the bottom with a tiny little cedar tree that would barely reach her waist and a gray dove sitting in its branches.

  But where is the mistletoe?

  She looked up and a scrub oak had sprouted above the cedar, its branches bending out like naked arms over the cedar tree, and sure enough, there was a single bit of mistletoe nestled in the fork of the branches.

  Creed’s arm was thrown around her shoulders and he stopped so quickly that she felt a small jerk. “Would you look at that? I swear the stuff is everywhere.”

  Her eyes followed his pointing finger and there it was, blown no doubt by the hard wind and stuck in the gate. One little twig of mistletoe. The scene branded itself into her brain, warming her from the inside out. It was symbolic of leaving the past behind and looking forward to the future.

  “Hold up. I’ve got to take a picture to send to my folks. They can’t fathom this much snow. Reckon I should tell them that gate is six feet tall?” he asked.

  Her smile was weak. “It’s bad enough. Don’t exaggerate.”

  The tractor cab wasn’t cozy, but it was a lot warmer than the temperature outside. Her face tingled as the nerve endings thawed, but it still felt stiff where the tears had dried. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d cried like that. Certainly not when either of her previous relationships had ended, and not when she’d gotten Grand’s phone call saying that she’d sold the ranch.