A Very Cowboy Christmas

by Kim Redford

  She opened the front door, set her purse on the entry table, and went back outside. She checked the beautiful plant for a note. She couldn’t imagine who’d sent it to her. She found a small gift card, slipped it out of its envelope, and caught her breath in surprise as she read aloud the message.

  “Merry Christmas to the cowgirl of my dreams. xoxo, Dune.”

  She clasped the card to her chest with both hands as tears filled her eyes at his touching gesture. He hadn’t forgotten her that morning as she’d worried at the photo shoot. He’d thought of her first thing, or he couldn’t have gotten the plant delivered that day. And not only had he thought of her, but he’d wanted her to know it.

  She picked up the poinsettia and walked into her home. She carried the plant to her office and set it on her desk. As she ran fingertips across the delicate leaves, she realized that this plant alone could help get her through the daunting tasks ahead, and yet the biggest help of all would be Dune himself—the cowboy of her dreams.

  Chapter 28

  Late the next day, Dune realized that he’d started to want more than his solitary cowboy cabin on Cougar Ranch. He glanced around the large room with attached bathroom. He liked the pine walls, ceiling, and floor as well as the vintage wagon-wheel maple headboard with matching dresser. He also had a comfortable recliner with table and lamp for easy reading or dozing. Sometimes he felt like a kid in the fifties must have felt in a similar room, with the furnishings, the roping-and-riding cowboys bedspread and matching drapes over the two windows that was so typical of the time period, not that it wasn’t still popular on ranches.

  Life had been mostly fine here for months, but not now. After spending so much time with Sydney, he’d started thinking that maybe it was time to grow up and settle down instead of living like a boy who was waiting for life to begin outside his cowboy bedroom—or cabin, as the case might be. At least he wasn’t wearing cowboy motif pj’s to bed. He’d thought he was a fully grown man, but now he recognized that for a long time, he’d been shirking responsibilities that came with sticking to one place.

  If he was honest with himself, he could pinpoint the exact moment when he really started to want more in life. That’d been when he’d realized a cowgirl firefighter needed him, because underneath all her busy activities and commitments, taking care of family, ranch, and community, she was just as alone as him. He’d been alone a lot in his life, but he’d never been lonely. Until now. And that loneliness had one name and one name only: Sydney Steele.

  She was waiting for him at Steele Trap Ranch, because he’d already texted her to make sure she and Storm were home. It hadn’t been easy holding off seeing her or her little chip off the old block, but he hadn’t wanted to shirk his responsibilities on the ranch. He’d done chores that morning, helped B.J. with the horses, and checked the fence line. All was in order, so he was free to leave now. He was more than ready to get on with life, and he was ready to pass on hard-won knowledge such as roping and riding to a new generation. Storm had so much potential in her young life.

  He picked up the Sure-Shot Drive-In ball cap where he’d hung it on a wooden hook by the door, turning it around in his hands as he thought about the Holloways. He’d approved of their drive-in security measures and had said so yesterday. They’d also discussed protection and fire-prevention options for their other properties, since arson appeared to be an ongoing problem for them. He hoped Sheriff Calhoun would catch the arsonist soon, but he wasn’t giving it good odds. For now, extra security was their best bet. He set the cap back on the hook as he set that particular problem from his mind.

  He hoped Sydney liked the poinsettia he’d ordered over the phone from a local flower and gift shop. He wanted to give her so much more, but a pretty Christmas plant would do as a start in the right direction.

  He walked over to the dresser and smiled at the sight of her underwear. He ran fingertips over her lacy green slip and silky red panties. He’d placed them where he could see them from his bed. Now he wanted her bra, maybe in white lace, but first he wanted to see her wear it.

  Like the poinsettia, her lingerie was a step in the right direction, but it wasn’t nearly enough—not for him or for her. They both obviously desired and deserved more in life, hopefully their own family and love and companionship. He squeezed the slip in his fist as he realized what he’d just thought. Love. Had he fallen in love with her? Family. Did he want to join his life with her and her daughter? Companionship. Could they find a way to blend their lives together?

  Christmas. Maybe he was caught up in the time of year that brought miracles followed by a new year that brought hopes and dreams. He might even be running down a zigzag path when he should be walking a straight line. It didn’t matter. He was determined to grasp this special season by the horns and ride it for all it was worth.

  He jerked on his jean jacket with red-plaid lining, set his cowboy hat on his head, and turned on the lamp so there’d be light inside when he returned after dark. He picked up his keys on top of the dresser, stepped outside, and shut the door behind him. Crisp air buffeted his face, carrying the scent of oak and mesquite from ranch house fireplaces taking the chill off a fast-approaching night.

  As he unlocked his dually, he glanced over at the barn. B.J. stood out of the wind in the shadows with a big chaw of tobacco bulging in his cheek. He touched his fingertips to the edge of his hat in recognition, and Dune nodded in return. No doubt the cowboy had already put stable blankets on the horses to keep them warm during the chilly night.

  He got in his pickup and drove out of the ranch. He wasn’t far from Sydney as the crow flies, but it took him a little longer to reach Wildcat Road, turn onto Steele Trap Ranch, and drive up the rutted lane to her farmhouse. He parked beside Celeste, wondering if he’d ever get used to Sydney driving her truck again, since the vintage car fit her so well. But he figured he could get used to anything so long as it had to do with Sydney.

  She already had the outdoor lights on for him, so illumination gleamed softly in the black wrought-iron lamps that lit the way to the house. The bright red-and-green rope light along the farmhouse roofline couldn’t have reminded him more of Christmas cheer. Oddly enough, he felt as if he’d come home right here, right now—and as if the cabin he’d called home for months was already in his past. Sometimes life had a funny way of changing overnight, and this time, he was ready for it.

  He set his felt cowboy hat on the passenger seat, because he wouldn’t need it indoors. He stepped out of his truck, took a deep breath of the cool, clean ranch air, and walked up to the porch. He was about to knock when the door opened to reveal Sydney, looking good as always in a green shirt, faded jeans, and red moccasins.

  “We’ve been waiting for you.” She stepped back and gestured for him to come inside.

  “I had extra chores. Plus, I wanted you to have plenty of time to finish the calendar.”

  “All done and gone.”

  “That’s great.”

  “And Dune, thanks for the poinsettia. It’s beautiful and so perfect for Christmas.”

  “I wanted you to have something special.”

  “It is. Every time I look at it, I think of you.” She gestured inside again. “Come on in out of the cold.”

  He walked past her, noting the blaze in the fireplace, the scent of cinnamon in the air, and the fact that his sock was no longer hanging on the mantel with her family’s fancy stockings. He felt a stab of disappointment that she hadn’t really wanted him to have a stocking on her mantel after all. But that was just plain whiney on his part, so he thrust it aside as unworthy of her or him.

  “Storm’s in the kitchen setting out the gingerbread cookies she made at the Chuckwagon today. She’s excited about you coming to see us.”

  “That’s great.” He started to say more, but he noticed the goat-tying dummy with a rope looped around its neck near the fireplace. “That’s a good-looking dummy
.”

  “Thanks. It’s called Tuffy by the manufacturer.”

  “Fine critter.” He walked over and picked up the dummy, which felt as if it weighed about ten pounds. It was made of smooth black rubber and was in the shape of a goat with pink stitching on its head. It even had ears and a tail. The four legs were bolted onto the body and were mobile so they could be moved and tied with rope. He set it back down and slipped off the rope. He nodded in appreciation at the quality of the leather goat rope braided with nylon in bright pink and red, then he looped it around the dummy’s neck again.

  “We think so.”

  “I’ve seen stripped-down models, but this is the most realistic.”

  “It’s the one she wanted for Christmas last year.”

  “Good rope, too.”

  “Thanks. I want you to see something else.” Sydney stepped over to the fireplace, reached up, and took down one of the stockings. “I hope you don’t mind, but Granny had a fit when she saw what I’d put up on the mantel for you.”

  “I don’t blame her. It didn’t fit with all this other finery.”

  She held out the stocking to him. “Granny made this one with your name on it. I hope you like it.”

  He was shocked—knocked back on his heels kind of shocked. He’d never dreamed anybody in the Steele family would go to this much trouble for him. He turned the red felt stocking over and over in his hands, marveling at the delicate beadwork in bright colors that spelled out his name above Santa in his sleigh pulled by a single red-nosed reindeer. “It’s beautiful. I’m deeply touched that she took time to do this for me when I know how busy your family is during the holidays. Please thank her for me.”

  “I will. But you know Granny. If we’re going to do something, we’d better do it right. And that old sock wasn’t right, no how, no way.” She chuckled as she held out her hand for the stocking. “We’d better put your stocking right back up on the mantel with the others, or we’ll be hearing from her.”

  “Nobody wants trouble with Granny Steele.” He smiled, nodding that he understood about the iron-willed, big-hearted leader of the Steele clan.

  “That’s right.”

  “You’re making this a Christmas for me to remember.” When he gave her back the stocking, he held her hand for a long moment.

  She squeezed his fingers, blinking back tears, then quickly turned away and returned his stocking to its place on the mantel.

  He hoped he hadn’t said anything wrong to bring tears to her eyes, but maybe she was just as touched as him by this holiday. He swallowed against a sudden lump in his throat as he felt the warmth of her family surround him.

  “Come on.” She turned and grabbed his hand. “Let’s try out Storm’s cookies before we put you to work.”

  “It won’t be work. It’ll be a pleasure to show Storm goat-tying tricks.”

  Sydney led him into the kitchen, where Storm looked up from where she was setting a platter of cookies on the table.

  “I made these for you today, Mr. Barrett, seeing as how you’re going to help me with goat tying and all,” Storm said in a soft, shy voice.

  “Please call me Dune. Mr. Barrett would be my dad.”

  She gave him a big smile, then ducked her head as she rearranged the crimson poinsettia napkins. “You enjoy hot apple cider with cinnamon, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I do,” he agreed while silently thinking this wasn’t the vivacious, sassy cowgirl that everybody in Wildcat Bluff had come to know and love. The ATV accident had set her back on her heels more than he’d realized till this very moment. Somehow, she needed to get her self-confidence back, and then she’d surely be right as rain again.

  “Do you want me to pour the cider?” Sydney’s voice sounded strained as she stepped toward her daughter.

  Dune figured Sydney was seeing just what he was seeing in Storm, and it had to worry her plenty.

  “Mommy, I’ll pour.” Storm cast Sydney a sharp look as she flounced over to the stove.

  Sydney glanced at Dune with hurt in her eyes, shaking her head in quiet dismay.

  He squeezed her fingers in sympathy before he put a hand on her back to guide her to the table. “Storm, is there any place in particular you want us to sit?” He figured the best thing he could do was to give Storm as much control of her environment—and the people in it—as possible to help her regain her confidence.

  Storm looked up from where she was ladling cider into colorful red and green mugs. She pointed to the head of the table. “If you wish, you may sit on the end, Mr.—Dune. That way Mommy and I can sit on either side of you. That’d be proper, I think.”

  “That’s just fine,” Sydney quickly agreed as she moved toward the table as if she was walking on eggshells.

  Dune pulled out a chair and seated her, then he walked around the table and pulled out a chair where Storm would sit later. Finally, he sat down, but he wasn’t comfortable. Nobody in the kitchen was at ease. Storm was trying too hard to be a perfect little lady. Sydney was trying even harder to pretend her daughter hadn’t morphed into an unknown quantity. He was the buffer between them, but he wasn’t sure he was cut out for the role. The situation gave him an opportunity to show he could be good father material, or at least that he was willing to try his hand at it. But most of all, he didn’t want either of them to hurt emotionally—he knew too much about that condition—so he’d do whatever he could to ease their pain.

  Storm carefully carried over a red mug brimming with hot cider, but when she set it down in front of Dune, liquid sloshed over the side.

  “Oh no!” Storm cried out, sounding upset. “I made a mess.”

  “It’s okay.” Dune quickly snatched a clump of napkins and sopped up the spilled liquid. “No problem. See, it’s all okay.”

  “Are you sure?” Storm sounded close to tears. “I was careful.”

  “Accidents happen to all of us,” Dune reassured her, realizing she was equating the cider spill with her ATV spill. She probably didn’t trust herself anymore to handle things. “I can’t tell you the number of times I spilled something or other.”

  “Really?” Storm turned big hazel eyes on him.

  “Yep.” He gave her a reassuring smile. “That’s part of life. I’ve taken spills off horses, too.”

  “And four-wheelers?” she asked in a small voice.

  “Been there, done that. I’ve got a metal pin in my foot to prove it.”

  “Does it hurt?” Storm cocked her head at him in interest.

  “Not anymore.” He took a sip of cider to show her that she’d served them just right. “Truth of the matter, taking spills and making messes is all about growing up and learning to get along during the tough times as well as the good times.”

  “I guess,” she said, looking down at his mug, “that this is a tough time for me.”

  “Tell you what.” He stopped what he was going to say and took a deep breath as he glanced at Sydney. Did she want his help? When she gave him an encouraging look, he nodded. “I’ve always valued the tough times, because they teach me things I wouldn’t learn otherwise.”

  “That’s dumb!” Storm said with a frown, then opened her eyes in horror. “I mean, you’re not dumb or anything, but—”

  “That’s okay.” He wanted to take her in his arms and hug her till she knew she was completely safe, but he couldn’t do that yet. “I know it sounds dumb, but a lot of stuff in life sounds dumb that ends up being smart.”

  “How?” She cocked her head as she considered him with her full attention.

  He was getting in deeper and deeper, realizing for the first time just how important and hard a job parenting could be. Maybe everybody had been talking around her accident when she’d do better if they just got it out in the open. At least he hoped that was the case. “For example, take that flier you took off your ATV.”

  She hung her
head and gave a big sigh.

  “Do you realize how well you handled that situation?”

  She looked up at him, eyes big in wonder. “I did?”

  “Sure did,” he said in a firm voice. “You didn’t come away with a pin in your foot, did you?”

  “I came away with hardly a scratch.” She stood straighter as her eyes brightened a bit.

  “See. You did better than me.”

  “I did?”

  “Yep. No doubt about it. You were smart. When that four-wheeler took off on its own—and it can happen—you hung on till you could get off safely.”

  “I did?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “I don’t remember what happened. I was okay one minute, and the next, I was hitting the ground.”

  “Accidents happen fast, so the best thing you can do is be smart and survive in one piece.”

  “I guess I did that, didn’t I?” Storm gave him a tentative smile, then glanced at Sydney. “Mommy, I didn’t know I was smart about it. I thought I’d made a big mistake, and that made me scared to ride.”

  Sydney reached out and hugged Storm, then smiled at her. “You’re a smart and brave girl. I’m proud of you. And I’d trust you on an ATV or the back of a horse any day.”

  “I’m glad, Mommy.” Storm gave a big heartfelt sigh, then swiveled, put her small arms around Dune, and gave him a hug. She stepped back, no longer looking shy or down-at-heart. “I’d better serve up our cider, or it’ll get cold.”

  “And I’m ready for cookies,” Dune added.

  “They’re good. At least, Uncle Slade thinks so.” Storm quickly turned and walked away from the table.

  Dune leaned over and squeezed Sydney’s hand, encouraging her that all would be well now.

  “Thanks,” she said quietly. “Storm needed to hear that, and I think you’re the only one she’d have listened to about her accident.”