The Cowboy's Christmas Lullaby

by Stella Bagwell

  “A man? You’ve lost your mind over a man?” Paige asked incredulously. “When did this happen? Tell me! Tell me!”

  Finding the container of swabs she’d been searching for, Marcella closed the cabinet and faced the inquisitive nurse.

  “Two weeks ago. He’s the ramrod over the cattle division on the Silver Horn Ranch.”

  “Why are you just now telling me about this?” Paige asked, clearly annoyed that Marcella had kept this important news to herself.

  Marcella wrinkled her nose. “Because I wasn’t going to mention it to you. Period. It’s just a...momentary, one-sided thing. Nothing will come of it. I know it and he knows it. But still, I can’t seem to stop thinking about him. Silly, isn’t it? I never thought I’d ever meet a man who’d make me gaga in the head.”

  Suddenly all smiles, Paige glanced around the dispensary to make sure no one was in earshot. “So when do you plan to see him again?”

  Rolling her eyes, Marcella started out of the small room with Paige trotting right behind her.

  “Tomorrow night. I’m cooking dinner for him.”

  “Wow!” Paige exclaimed. “A family-type date already? You’re working fast, my dear!”

  Marcella groaned. “You don’t understand. It’s for safety reasons. I need the boys as chaperones.”

  Paige’s mouth fell open. “Oh! You mean the cowboy is that much of a wolf? I need to get a look at this guy!”

  “Not him, silly!” she muttered under her breath. “It’s me I’m worried about.”

  Paige laughed out loud. “You? A she-wolf? That’s a good one.”

  “About as good as that one standing over there,” Marcella said, as from the corner of her eye she spotted Dr. Sherman staring at the two nurses. “I think Dr. Do-Good is motioning for you.”

  Paige glanced across the treatment room, which, for once in a blue moon, just happened to be empty of patients at the moment. As soon as she eyed the doctor crooking his finger at her, she muttered through tight lips, “I’d like to tell him exactly what he can do with that finger.”

  “Why don’t you? It might be good for him to see he’s not the only one around here with a temper.”

  “Yeah. Sure, Marcella,” she said drolly. “I’d like to keep my job.”

  “You can always transfer upstairs. Maybe pediatrics? Internal?”

  “Those are sounding better every day,” she said, then hurried off to see what the doctor was demanding next.

  Trying to push the ever-lingering thoughts of Denver from her mind, Marcella carried the swabs over to one of the curtained units and refilled the empty jar on the small work counter. Behind her, she could hear the commotion of a patient being wheeled in by the EMS.

  Thankful for the distraction, she hurried out of the space to assist with the emergency.

  * * *

  On Sunday evening, Denver drove slowly through the residential street, searching for the house number Marcella had given him the night of the Calhoun party. He’d never been in this area of Carson City before, so it all looked new to him. But then Denver wasn’t one to visit a person in their home, he thought wryly. Especially when that person was a woman.

  Since losing Christa, he’d never wanted to get that chummy with a female. And he wasn’t exactly sure why he’d agreed to this type of date with Marcella. The woman wasn’t his sort. She was the kind who wanted and needed a husband. A role he never planned to take on again. Not in this lifetime. But he’d been so charmed by Marcella, he hadn’t been able to refuse her. And after that kiss they’d shared by the fire, she could’ve asked him to go to Mars with her and he would’ve jumped on board the rocket ship.

  Get this through your head, Denver. This will be your first and last date with Marcella. After tonight you’re going to say goodbye and leave it at that. For your sake and for hers.

  Marcella’s house came into view, and as he parked his truck behind her little economy car, he tried to pocket away the words of wisdom going off in his head. Tomorrow he could worry about putting an end to this unexpected interest in Marcella. But for tonight he wasn’t going to think about that. For the next few hours he was going to pretend he was no different from any other man who wanted a wife and family.

  Chapter Five

  Moments later, at the door of the white-and-green bungalow, the sight of Marcella’s cheery smile warmed Denver like a ray of spring sunshine.

  “Hello, Denver. Please come in.”

  She pushed the door wide, and he stepped past her and into a tiny foyer.

  “Did you have any problems finding the place?” she asked as she fastened the door behind them.

  He glanced around to see she was dressed casually in a pair of snug-fitting blue jeans and a yellow sweater that made her red hair appear even more vivid. The clothing clung to her curves, and he couldn’t stop his imagination from trying to picture her with nothing on, except the taste of his kiss.

  Clearing his throat, he said, “No. Your directions were good. But for the weekend, I was surprised at how quiet the neighborhood seemed.”

  “It’s Sunday evening,” she explained. “Most folks around the neighborhood have gone to evening church services.”

  He handed her a plastic sack containing two cartons of ice cream. “For dessert,” he explained. “Vanilla and rocky road.”

  “Oh! How thoughtful. The boys are going to love this. Thank you, Denver.”

  Removing his gray cowboy hat, he raked a hand through the flattened waves while giving her a smile. “You’re welcome. I hope I haven’t kept you and the boys from church services. I could’ve come for dinner on a different night.”

  She took his hat and motioned for him to follow her out of the foyer. “Don’t worry about it. We went to Mass this morning. And anyway, my shifts in the ER are always changing. I never know when my nights will be free.”

  He followed her into the living room, and while she placed his hat on a wall table, he glanced around the cozy space. Furnished with a long couch, two armchairs and a wooden rocker, it was clearly a room that was used for relaxing. In one corner the television was playing, although the volume was turned low, making it impossible to tell what the caped hero on the screen was saying. In a far corner he spotted a big round basket with two cats curled inside. Since their sleep hadn’t been disturbed by his arrival, Denver assumed the felines were accustomed to noise.

  As she noticed him surveying the room, she said, “The boys were watching a movie, but I told them to go wash up,” she explained. “You’re welcome to take a seat in here and catch your breath. I still have things to attend to in the kitchen. Dinner is almost ready.”

  “I’ll go with you to the kitchen. Maybe I can help you finish up,” he suggested.

  “Great. I’d appreciate a helping hand. If you don’t mind. I promise not to ask you to wash any dishes.”

  The impish smile on her face had him grinning back at her. “I’m not too worried about that,” he told her. “I’ll be glad to help.”

  No, Denver thought, as he followed Marcella out of the room, dipping his hands into a sink full of dishwater was the least of his worries. He was more concerned about the sway of her little rounded bottom and the way her long hair tumbled down her back like rippling flames. Everything about her was working on his senses in a wicked way, and he wasn’t at all sure he could resist the temptation.

  The two of them had barely stepped into the kitchen when he heard footsteps racing through the house, and then a pair of voices were calling loudly.

  “Denver!”

  “Denver’s here!”

  Denver turned toward the sound and was immediately tackled by both boys. Laughing, he gathered them close and ruffled the tops of their heads.

  “Hello, guys.” Their eagerness to see him again was definitely a surprise to Denver. And s
o was the feeling of having two pairs of little arms hugging his waist with all their might.

  Marcella turned away from the freezer, where she was finding a place for the ice cream. “Peter! Harry! Let Denver go before you squeeze the air out of him!”

  The boys stepped back but remained close enough to hang on to his arms. Denver looked over their heads and smiled at Marcella. She returned his smile, but he could tell from her expression that she was equally surprised by the boys’ enthusiastic greeting.

  “Aw, Mom, we’re just happy, that’s all,” Harry told her.

  “Yeah,” Peter chimed in. “We didn’t think we’d ever see you again, Denver.”

  Denver hadn’t thought he’d be seeing Marcella and her boys again, either. Now, because of Rafe and Lilly, he was standing here surrounded by the little family and wondering if he’d gotten himself into far more than he’d ever expected.

  “Well, he’s here now,” Marcella spoke up. “So give him some space. In fact, you boys need to set the table while Denver helps me with the glasses and ice.”

  Though both children grumbled a protest, they promptly went to work putting plates and silverware around a small rectangular table made of dark wood. Denver ambled over to the cabinet counter a few steps down from where she was pulling a large dish from the oven.

  “The glasses are in the cabinet to your left,” she told him. “And the ice maker should be full. I made tea to drink. But if you don’t care for it, I have other things.”

  “Tea is fine.” He went to work fetching glasses from the cabinet. “Whatever is in that dish sure smells good.”

  “Lasagna,” she told him. “I hope you like it.”

  From across the room, Harry said, “We told Mom to fix steak. ’Cause that’s what cowboys like to eat. Steak and beans. Right, Denver?”

  Denver smiled to himself as he filled four blue glasses with crushed iced. “That’s what the cook in the bunkhouse says.”

  “But Mom said we had to have hamburger meat tonight,” Peter explained. “’Cause it’s cheaper.”

  Denver couldn’t help but laugh out loud.

  With an embarrassed groan, Marcella shook her head. “Okay, I’ve been ratted out, so I might as well confess,” she said to Denver. “I did go the cheaper route.”

  Still chuckling, he said, “Don’t worry about it, Marcella. The ranch supplies its employees with beef throughout the year. Believe me, I get more steak than I want.”

  She glanced at him. “Really?”

  “Really. And I love lasagna.”

  Her gaze caught his and her lips tilted into a grateful smile. “I’m glad.”

  Denver was glad, too. Glad he’d been brave enough to ask her for a date. To come here tonight and be a part of her family, even if it was for only one evening.

  Moments later, the simple meal was ready to eat and everyone was seated around the table. Marcella had insisted he sit at the end, while she’d taken a seat to his right and the boys sat to his left.

  As Denver looked over the table, he tried not to feel out of place. Especially since all three of them were looking at him as though he belonged in the head chair. Dear heaven, how would it feel if he was actually sitting at the head of the table, looking out at his wife, his children? No. That was for other men to experience. Like the Calhoun brothers. Not Denver.

  “This is fine,” he said to Marcella in a joking voice, “But I’m not Bart Calhoun. I don’t need a special chair.”

  She laughed lightly. “Bart wants to remind everyone that he’s the boss. I don’t believe you’re quite as authoritative as him.”

  “He’s not as old as Bart, either,” Harry added sagely.

  Marcella exchanged an amused look with Denver before she folded her hands and glanced across the table. “Peter, would you like to say grace tonight?”

  “Sure, Mom.”

  Peter bowed his head and everyone followed suit.

  “Dear Lord,” he prayed, “thank you for our food. Even if it is hamburger. Thank you for my mom and my brother. And thank you for letting Denver be with us. Amen.”

  By the time Denver lifted his head, his throat was too tight to say a word. Thankfully, Marcella did it for him.

  “Thank you, Peter. That was very nice,” she said. “Now let’s everybody dig in. And, guys, I want to see salad in your bowls. More than what a little rabbit might eat, too.”

  Once everyone had started to eat, Peter looked over at Denver. “Do you know how to cook stuff like Mom does?”

  “Well, I can cook, but I doubt I can make things as good as she does.”

  Harry frowned at his brother. “He has to know how to cook, dummy. He doesn’t have a wife, so he has to do it himself.”

  “He could eat stuff like bologna and potato chips,” Peter shot back.

  Marcella leveled a stern look at her elder son. “Harry, what have I told you about calling your brother dummy? I don’t want to hear it again. Otherwise, there’ll be no television for you tonight.”

  “I’m sorry,” Harry mumbled sheepishly. “I don’t mean he’s a real dummy. Peter gets it.”

  “Yeah,” Peter added, “like I call Harry an idiot. He ain’t no idiot. I mean, he isn’t an idiot. He’s actually pretty smart.”

  Marcella glanced over at Denver, and he could see she was trying her best not to smile. Denver was finding it very difficult to keep from laughing out loud.

  After plates were filled and everyone began to eat, Marcella asked, “So what’s happening on the ranch now? I imagine at this late date in the year all the calves have been born and the horses have delivered their foals.”

  “That’s right,” he replied. “The big thing now with my job is making sure all the calves are weaned and vaccinated before winter sets in. Weaning puts such a stress on the babies it sometimes causes them to develop shipping fever. So we want them strong and well over that before cold weather hits.”

  “What’s shipping fever?” Peter asked as he scooped up a huge bite of noodle.

  “That’s sort of like when a person gets a really bad cold or the flu,” Denver explained in a way the boy might understand. “When animals get shipping fever, they have to have shots to get well. Like humans sometimes do.”

  “Mom knows how to give shots,” Harry said proudly. “She can make people well.”

  “Yeah,” Peter added. “I bet she could make a calf well, too.”

  “My sons think I’m some sort of super nurse. Except when it comes time for them to take nasty-tasting medicine,” she said with a laugh. “Then they think they know more than me.”

  “I take my medicine like Mom tells me,” Peter spoke up. “Now I don’t have asthma anymore. That makes me happy.”

  Harry reached over and rubbed an affectionate hand over his brother’s head. “Peter can run all he wants to now and he doesn’t get sick. Mom made him all well. She’s pretty special.”

  Denver glanced over to see a blush staining her cheeks. The self-conscious expression made her even more beautiful to Denver. That and the fact that she had to be one of the most giving, loving women he’d ever met.

  “Yes, she’s pretty special,” Denver agreed.

  * * *

  Earlier, before Denver had arrived, Marcella had sat the boys down and given them instructions on how to behave in front of their guest. The main one being not to be jabbering constantly at the dinner table. But their short-term memory had apparently failed. Neither Harry nor Peter had allowed the conversation to lapse for more than ten seconds at a time.

  By the time the meal was over and Marcella had shooed the children out of the kitchen, she let out a long sigh.

  “If your ears are still ringing tomorrow, come by the ER and I’ll have the doctor treat you.”

  “My ears?” he asked curiously as he helped her
clear the dirty dishes from the table. “Have I been saying huh a lot or something?”

  She chuckled and was amazed at how comfortable it felt to talk to him about simple things. During the few dates she’d gone on in the past, she’d worried about every word that had come out of her mouth. But with Denver, she didn’t feel the need to try to make impressive conversation. Something about him made her feel like being herself was all he wanted.

  “No,” she said, “I meant ringing from all that chatter at the dinner table. I’m sorry about that. The boys promised me they’d be quiet. Somehow they must’ve let my instructions slip their minds.”

  Smiling, he shook his head. “I’m glad they did. I can’t remember the last time I’ve laughed so much. I’d forgotten how much fun it is to be their age. They’re good kids, Marcella. You should be very proud. You’ve done a great job with them.”

  She’d been given compliments before, but coming from Denver made it feel far more special. “Thanks. I’ve been blessed.”

  “They obviously adore you. But do they ever talk about wanting a father?” he asked, then quickly added, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked such a personal question. Just forget it.”

  She glanced over as he scraped the leftovers on a plate into one of the salad bowls.

  “Don’t be silly. Your question is perfectly normal. And believe me, it’s a fact I wrestle with quite a lot. I try not to feel guilty because they don’t have a father. But I do. I understand how much they need a man in their lives to guide them—love them. But I’m not the sort of woman to marry just for their sake. I suppose that seems selfish of me, doesn’t it?”

  Without glancing her way, he stacked a pair of glasses onto the scraped plate. “No. Why should you enter a marriage of convenience? You deserve more than that. So do the boys.”

  She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding until now. “Thanks for saying that. Believe me, my mother is constantly reminding me I need to think more of the boys than myself. She’s very good at laying the guilt trip on me.”