Wyoming Winter--A Small-Town Christmas Romance

by Diana Palmer

J.C. thought about that. “I’ll take him some fresh fruit. Colie used to say that he loved it more than anything.”

  Ren smiled. “Peace offering? Not a bad idea.”

  J.C. laughed at the idea of apples making up for all the embarrassment he’d caused the reverend. He might not get in the door. But he was going to try.

  “Delsey made a big pot of soup,” Ren said. “Take him a jar of that, instead of fruit.”

  J.C. smiled. “Okay. Thanks.”

  * * *

  DARBY WAS GOING downhill fast. Colie hired another nurse to take care of the baby, because Darby was now a full-time job for the nurse they had.

  Colie didn’t need telling how bad things were. They were having to give Darby massive doses of narcotic to keep the pain at bay. He slept most of the time. When he woke, Colie was always by his bedside, night and day.

  “I’ll never be able to thank you enough, for all you’ve done for me,” he said in a wispy tone during one of his lucid periods.

  “That works both ways.” She squeezed his hand. It was so thin and cold. “You made life bearable for me.”

  “I’m sorry that I have to leave you,” he said drowsily. “But I’ll be with Mary, you know.” He smiled. “I saw her. She was here last night, sitting by the bed while you caught a couple of hours’ sleep. She smiled at me.” He closed his eyes, barely aware of Colie’s fascinated look. “She’ll come and take me home, when it’s time. I’m not afraid. Not now...”

  Colie had heard all her life that the person who loved you most in life would come to fetch you, when you died. She’d been with her mother when the end came, and her mother had seen her own mother, standing in the doorway, smiling, the day before she died.

  It was a reminder, a sweet reminder, that life went on, even when it seemed that the person you loved was gone forever. There were other stories she remembered from childhood, other people who’d seen long-gone loved ones at the end. It was comforting. She knew how much Darby had loved his wife. It made her happy that he was anticipating a joyful reunion.

  She took time to feed the baby, while the nurse sat with Darby. The other nurse had gone to the pharmacy for things she needed in Darby’s care.

  It had been only five minutes when the nurse entered the room, her face set in hard lines, her eyes red. She’d become fond of Darby while she’d been with them, although she was professional enough not to let a slip of emotion show, normally.

  “Mrs. Howland?” she said softly. She drew in a breath. This was never easy. “He’s gone.”

  Even though she was expecting it, Colie gasped and felt the blood drain out of her face. “But I was just with him...!”

  “I’m so sorry,” the nurse added quietly. “He just took a deep breath and it was over, just that quickly.” She hesitated. “You know that he had a living will, that he stipulated we weren’t to try and bring him back, if...” she added.

  “Yes, I know. It’s all right. Hold the baby, please,” Colie said, getting up. She handed the bottle and Ludie to the nurse and went back into Darby’s bedroom.

  He looked as if he was sleeping, except for the odd tinge of color that seemed to overlay his even features. She sat down beside him on the bed. His face, when she touched it, was still warm.

  “Mary came for you, didn’t she?” she whispered while tears drained from her eyes and ran, salty, into the corners of her mouth. “I’m happy for you, Darby. But I’ll miss you. Thank you. Thank you for all you’ve done for me.”

  She bent and kissed his forehead. It was hard to get up, to leave him. She had to remind herself that this was now just an empty shell. Darby was off somewhere in a meadow, picking wildflowers with Mary, laughing. She kept that picture in her mind as she went back to get the nurse. There would be much to do now.

  * * *

  THE FUNERAL WAS very nice. Darby was a military veteran, so there was an honor guard from the local Veterans of Foreign Wars, and a twenty-one gun salute as well as an American flag draped over the coffin. It was a poignant service to Colie, whose mother’s funeral was still fairly fresh in her mind, despite the years since she’d died.

  Her father had told her once that funerals became harder as people aged, because each new one brought back memories of all the old ones. They piled up in the mind like a nightmare, echoing the pain of past losses. Even when you believed in an afterlife, as he did, it was still rough. He presided over almost every funeral of people in his congregation.

  He was sitting beside Colie now, in the front pew, while another minister, Jake Blair, spoke about Darby and his importance to the community and its people.

  Colie had the baby in her lap. Ludie was very quiet, playing with a baby rattle, not making a sound, as if she understood even at that tender age that she was supposed to be quiet in church. Her pale gray eyes looked up into her mother’s green ones, curiously, watching as Colie cried. She dropped her rattle and reached a tiny hand up toward her mother’s face, as if she sought to comfort her.

  Colie took the little hand and kissed it. Darby had loved Ludie so much. She owed him a debt that she could never repay. Her eyes went back to the casket and she remembered the man inside it with great affection and deep loss.

  * * *

  THEY BURIED HIM on a hill in the Jacobsville cemetery, beside Mary. Colie had already ordered the tombstone, which would be identical to Mary’s, so they’d match. She’d remember to put flowers on both graves, she thought, at every holiday.

  After the memorial service, her father had to go home. Once again, Sari Fiore had organized transportation for Colie’s father, so that he didn’t have the hassle associated with public air travel. The jet was waiting for him at the Jacobsville airport, and Jack Morales was loading his suitcase into the cab as he parted with Colie and Ludie on the front porch.

  “I hate to leave you alone,” he said solemnly.

  “I’m not alone,” Colie told him sadly. “I have Ludie. We’ll come up to visit you at summer vacation,” she added. “I have my old job back at the law firm, so finances aren’t going to be a problem. Darby had paid off the loan on the house, so it’s mine free and clear. I just have to make enough to maintain it,” she said with a smile.

  “He was well-to-do,” her father began.

  “Was, yes,” she replied with a gentle smile. “Cancer is a very expensive disease, and he was years too young for Medicare,” she added. “It took everything he had. I don’t mind, you know that. I never married him for his money.”

  “Everybody knew that. But only we know the real reason,” the reverend added quietly. “It was a noble, kind thing he did for you, giving Ludie a name.”

  “Something J.C. would never have done,” she replied sadly.

  Reverend Thompson didn’t reply immediately. He knew things about J.C. now that he wished he’d known a year ago. He couldn’t tell Colie. It would only hurt her more. “I’ll miss you, sweetheart,” he said, and hugged her tight.

  “I’ll miss you, too.”

  He let her go with a sigh. “I wish your brother had been like you.”

  “Immoral...?” she teased.

  “Stop that. I mean good-hearted and kind and responsible,” he said. “I never see him. Colie, I think he’s mixed up in something very bad.”

  “If he is,” she said suddenly, and emphatically, “don’t you get involved. You have to trust that I know more than I can ever tell anybody. Just pretend you have no idea what he’s doing. Please. For my sake, and Ludie’s!”

  He was surprised at her response. He hadn’t expected that she knew much about Rodney and his habits. Then he remembered what she’d said, about Rod going to see J.C. and telling a lie about the baby.

  “Your brother needs help,” he said.

  “He’ll never get it,” she said back. “He doesn’t think he needs it. We can’t do anything for
him until he realizes that he has a problem and wants to do something about it. I don’t think that will ever happen, Daddy.”

  He searched her green eyes. “Miracles happen every day.”

  “They do, for many people.”

  He smiled sadly. “Sometimes, hope is all we have. Take care of yourself and my granddaughter.”

  “Call me when you get home, so I’ll know you got there okay.”

  He laughed. “I will.” He kissed the baby’s forehead. “Take care of each other. I’ll see you soon, I hope.”

  “Me, too. Have a safe trip.”

  She watched him climb into Jack’s cab and wave. They drove away. She was still watching, tears in her eyes. She’d never felt so alone.

  * * *

  TIME PASSED. Colie and her father talked on Skype at least twice a week. It wasn’t as good as a true visit, but it made up for the distance.

  Meanwhile, unbeknownst to her, the reverend had someone else watching over him.

  It had started unexpectedly. Reverend Jared Thompson had gone to the door one evening just after he’d come home from the hospital to find J.C. Calhoun standing outside with a large bag in his hands.

  The younger man seemed unusually insecure. He handed Jared the bag. “Merrie and Delsey have been in the kitchen making soup. It’s really good. Ren and Merrie thought you might like some, while you’re recovering from surgery.”

  “That’s very kind of them,” Jared said, and smiled. “Thank you for bringing it.”

  “No problem. I was on my way home.”

  He didn’t leave, though. His eyes were on a chessboard in full view of the door. “You play?” he asked abruptly.

  “I do,” the reverend said. “Do you?”

  “I was part of a chess team in my unit, when I was in the service. I still play with Ren.”

  The reverend pursed his lips. “You busy?” he asked.

  J.C. seemed surprised. “Well, no. Not really.”

  “Up to a game?”

  The younger man returned the smile. “If you are. I wouldn’t want to tire you. I heard from Ren what a rough time you had, with the appendicitis.”

  “I’m much better. And I’d enjoy the company.”

  J.C. drew in a worried breath. “Listen, about all that happened...”

  “Come in. I’ll make coffee.”

  J.C. only hesitated for a few seconds. “Okay.”

  * * *

  THEY PLAYED TO a draw twice.

  “You’re very good at this,” the reverend remarked.

  J.C. laughed softly. “My mother taught me. She worked for the government in British Columbia for a time. She was from Ireland. Redheaded and gray-eyed. Smart and kind and loving.” His face set. “My father’s exact opposite.”

  The reverend didn’t speak. He just listened, which made the younger man relax.

  “When I was young, he was driving her to a meeting at my school. He’d been drinking, as usual, but she said they should both go. The car went off the road and she died. They would have taken him to jail, if they could have found him. They couldn’t. He ran. Nobody knew where he was.” His face set in hard lines. “I was put in temporary homes, foster homes.”

  Reverend Thompson still didn’t speak. He cocked his head to one side, just waiting.

  J.C. drew in a long breath, his eyes on the chessboard. “In the second one of those...homes,” he said, “my foster mother decided that I needed a firsthand look at the facts of life. I was twelve. She was repulsive to me. Even if she hadn’t been...” He stopped, swallowed. “So I went to talk to her husband about it. I hoped he’d at least listen to me. Well, he listened.” His face hardened. “He closed the door and locked it, and said that if I didn’t like her, maybe I’d like him.”

  The reverend read between the lines very well. “Dear God,” he said softly. “I’m so sorry.”

  J.C. had never spoken of it. Sympathy was the last thing he’d expected from this kind man, whose life he’d made miserable by his treatment of Colie.

  “When I got away from him, sick and scared, I climbed out my window—he’d locked me in, you see—and I ran until I couldn’t run anymore. I ended up outside a hotel. I was too ashamed to tell anybody what had happened. But I was a kid, and alone. I was panhandling, getting just enough coins to eat and avoiding the police. A mining foreman and his wife were in town for a reunion. They were kind. I told them my parents had just died and I had no place to go.”

  “And?” Jared prompted gently.

  “They lived in the Yukon, several hundred miles from Whitehorse. Far enough away that I thought maybe the authorities wouldn’t come after me. They said they’d take me in. They had no kids and I guess they felt sorry for me,” he said. “I don’t know how he managed, but he got papers for me so that he could take me out of Canada. I lived with them for almost a year. He and his wife were going to adopt me.” He laughed hollowly. “I’d just come home from school. I saw the flames when the bus stopped about a quarter mile from their house. I remember that I threw down my book bag and ran the whole way. I tried to get them out, but the fire was so intense that I couldn’t get near the front door. The firemen were nearby, but it was already too late. A neighbour actually sat on me to keep me from trying to get to them. By then, of course, it was all over, anyway.”

  “Tough luck,” the older man said softly.

  “The firemen told their chief, who did some digging and found out that I’d run away from my former home. I tried to tell him what had happened there, but he said I was exaggerating because I didn’t like the couple I’d lived with.” He fiddled with a chess piece. “He called the authorities and they sent someone to drive me back. But halfway, I told the man I needed to stop at a restroom. He was getting gas when I ran out the back way and hid. It was dark. He couldn’t find me, so he drove off, presumably to get the authorities. But by then, I’d hitched a ride with a couple of loggers. They were going to Juneau by boat. You can’t drive to Juneau,” he added with a faint smile. “Only way in is by air or sea. So I told them my parents were there, that I’d been staying with a cousin and my family thought I was on another boat, but I’d missed it.”

  “So you ended up on your own again,” the reverend said quietly.

  J.C. nodded. It was so easy to talk to the man. He’d never told a soul about any of this.

  “I was on the streets, there, trying to find anything to do that would make me some money. I fell in with a gang,” he added on a short laugh, shaking his head. “They were like me, homeless kids that had been kicked around a lot. They worked for a local crime boss. I became an errand boy. Illegal, but not as bad as killing people or stealing, which I refused to do.”

  “At least, you had a place to stay.”

  “Yes. I lived on the streets until I graduated from high school. I’d managed that in spite of some teasing by the other kids about how stupid it was to go to school every day. I had it down pat—I invented parents, had one of the older kids let me use his internet for report cards and to have my ‘parents’ communicate with my teachers. I knew that without an education, I’d end up like a lot of the street people. I wanted something better than that. The kids I hung around with were ice-cold, some of them, but they were kind. We had a network, and they went to bat for me, making sure the police didn’t find out that I’d run away from foster care. Living on the streets is a tough way to get by,” he added. “If I had any softness left in me by then, the lifestyle beat it out of me. I had American citizenship through my mother, who was a naturalized citizen, and when I graduated, I found a way to get my birth certificate and my mother’s, to prove American citizenship. I had nothing against the Yukon, but I wanted a fresh start. I wound up in Billings, where I joined the police force.”

  This, the reverend hadn’t known. His eyebrows went up.

  �
�I spent two years there,” J.C. continued. “It was a tough job sometimes, but I was used to violence and rough people. I seemed very well suited to the job. But I wanted to see the world, and I didn’t have any money, so I went into the Army.” He laughed. “I seemed to fit in a structured, military environment. But I couldn’t settle in a regular unit. I ended up in spec ops, where I did even better. That’s where I met Ren. I kicked around the world for several years, doing freelance work. I ran into him again when we were both doing jobs overseas in the Army Reserves, and he offered me a job. I was skilled at surveillance, and I’d studied computer programming. So I ended up working on a ranch in Wyoming.”

  “You don’t like women,” the reverend said unexpectedly.

  J.C. winced.

  The reverend just waited.

  “I was grass green about women. When I was in the gang, a lot of the boys had girlfriends, but they were raw things, casual things. My mother had raised me to believe in something more than that. After what happened to me, I was even less interested in that part of life.” He leaned back. “After I enlisted in the Army and got through basic training, I met Cecelia. She was sophisticated, smart, well-to-do. I met her in a nightclub, a rare evening out. She seemed really fascinated with me. She knew one of my buddies. I didn’t realize it at the time, but he knew that I always had money and she was out for anything she could get.”

  He picked up the chess piece and looked at it with eyes that were focused on the past. “I went crazy for her. I bought her expensive presents, took her out almost every night. She was...amazing,” he concluded, not volunteering that she was everything a man could want in bed. “What I didn’t know was that she was a call girl,” he added from between clenched teeth. “I found it out in the worst way. I’d bought a bouquet and I went to her apartment to surprise her, on her birthday. The door was standing half-open, so I walked in.” He laughed hollowly. “She was talking to one of her clients, telling him she had a soldier on the string who was so stupid he didn’t even realize that she sold herself for money. He bought her all sorts of expensive things and he was so besotted that she could make him do anything she liked.”