Wyoming Winter--A Small-Town Christmas Romance

by Diana Palmer

  The reverend winced.

  J.C. managed a smile. “I was naive. I didn’t know anything about women, except that I’d already formed a pretty bad opinion of them. That pretty much burned me out on the idea of a home and a family. From that day forward, I took what was offered and walked away.” He hesitated. “Until Colie came along.” His eyes closed. “Her friend Lucy said that life doesn’t come with a reset button. That’s true. But if it did...” He looked at the reverend with anguish on his face. “I believed a lie. I think I knew better, even then. But she had such a hold on me, and I’d been sold out so much.” His voice trailed away.

  “You never told her any of this,” the older man surmised.

  “None of it,” J.C. agreed. “I didn’t trust her enough.”

  “Where was your father all this time?” the other man asked.

  “I don’t know. I don’t care. He killed my mother.”

  “J.C.,” the reverend said gently, “people always have motivation for the things they do. Some act out of anger, others out of a weakness in character, some as a result of substance abuse. But there’s always a reason.”

  “Mother said he wanted a ranch of his own, but when I came along, he had to work in the mines to make enough to support us. She had a good job with the government, but she had weak lungs and she was sick a lot. He was never the loving father you hear about in stories.” He laughed coldly. “If I got in his way, he’d knock me down. I can’t count the number of times the police came to our door because he’d beat up my mother. I don’t think I ever saw him sober.”

  Reverend Thompson had, by now, a painful portrait of the man his daughter loved. He wished with all his heart that J.C. had come to him years earlier, just to talk. What a load of misery he carried on his broad shoulders.

  “So you decided that there was no such thing as a good marriage.”

  J.C. looked up with a wistful smile. “Or a good woman,” he added. “I only had my mother’s example of what a woman should be. But the kind I encountered were a far cry from her.”

  “My parents were missionaries,” the reverend said. “They married in their teens and lived together for forty years before they died, in a tornado. It was just as well, because I don’t think one could have survived without the other. I had the same sort of marriage. I loved my wife until the day she died, and I still mourn her.”

  J.C. searched his eyes. He was thinking that if he’d had such an upbringing, his own life might have settled into something more conventional than it had.

  “Colie loves you very much,” J.C. said. He drew in a troubled breath. “I wish that I’d made better choices. I never considered what living with me would do to her, or to you.”

  “Actions have consequences,” the older man said simply. “Life is all lessons. We make mistakes, but we learn from them.” He smiled. “Faith teaches us that the greatest gift is forgiveness.” He cocked his head again. “J.C., don’t you think it’s time you forgave yourself?”

  J.C.’s lean hand jerked. He almost dropped the chess piece. He righted it and placed it with deliberate care back on the board. “Excuse me?”

  “It’s something I see often in abused children.” He noted the other man’s surprise. “Oh, yes, it happens in the best of families. I’ve seen far too much of it in my life. One thing the children all have in common is that they blame themselves for what happened to them. They think it’s some evil in themselves that caused it. That’s not true.”

  J.C. didn’t speak. But he was listening, intently.

  “Abusers were, in many cases, themselves abused children. The prisons are full of them, kids who lived in anguish, in secrecy, afraid to tell anyone for fear of not being believed, of making a bad situation worse.”

  “I know the feeling.”

  “Of course you do. The thing you have to understand is that you’re punishing yourself. You have to let go of the past, and go ahead. Looking behind you is never a good option.”

  “Well, unless you’re being shadowed by someone in an enemy uniform carrying an AK-47,” J.C. offered, tongue in cheek.

  The reverend laughed. “I was in the Army Reserves when Desert Storm came up. I went overseas with my unit as a chaplain.” His eyes, green like Colie’s, were full of sadness. “I know the face of war, and its consequences.”

  J.C. nodded. “I was always in the front lines,” he confided. “It never got easy, and all of us were afraid.”

  Reverend Thompson chuckled. “Anybody who tells you he hasn’t felt fear in combat is lying,” he replied. “But courage isn’t the lack of fear—it’s having the guts to act even when you’re most afraid. That’s true heroism.”

  J.C. toyed with the chess piece again. He didn’t look up. “I wish I’d talked to you before.”

  “I wish you had, too, J.C.,” Reverend Thompson said quietly. “Holding resentments inside is like ignoring an infected wound. It only festers and then inflames.”

  “Not a bad analogy.”

  “Thank you, I worked on it for years,” came the amused reply.

  J.C. chuckled.

  “In case you wondered, I never repeat anything I’m told in confidence, even to my family,” he added. “I keep confidences.”

  “I wouldn’t have asked. But, thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” The older man’s eyes twinkled. “Best three out of four?” he added, nodding at the chessboard.

  J.C. chuckled. “Okay. If you’ve got some more black coffee. I’m out.”

  “So am I,” came the laughing reply.

  * * *

  J.C. WAS RELUCTANT to leave. “I wasn’t sure that you’d let me in the door,” he confessed as he stood on the porch. “I’ve done a lot of damage to your reputation.”

  The older man shrugged. “I’ve weathered worse storms. It was Colie who was hurt the most.”

  J.C. winced. “I know.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “It all went wrong in one day,” he added heavily. “I had a set of rings in my pocket when I came home,” he said gruffly. “Emeralds. Green, like her eyes.”

  The reverend’s heart jumped.

  J.C. looked up, recognizing the other man’s surprise. “I was ready to take a chance, even though I still had doubts.” He looked away. “Don’t tell her,” he said huskily. “It would only hurt her more.”

  The reverend was at a loss for words. He didn’t know what to say. Poor Colie! After a minute, he regained his composure.

  He frowned. “Colie said that Rod met you at the airport,” he said unexpectedly.

  J.C. hesitated. He’d damaged Colie. He didn’t want to wound this kind man by speculating on what Rod was into, or why he’d deliberately told a lie about Colie.

  “I see,” the reverend said softly. “You’re trying to protect me. I know how people behave when they use drugs, J.C. I see it all the time when I’m counseling young people at the detention center, many of whom are still under the influence when I’m asked to intervene.”

  J.C. bit his lower lip. “Rod was my friend,” he said.

  “He’s lost his way,” the older man replied sadly. “But I won’t give up on him. One day, he’ll realize that he’s destroying himself. I’ll be there, whenever it is. You never give up on people, whatever they do, and you always forgive.” He smiled. “That’s what religion is all about. Forgiveness. It’s in short supply in the modern world, where a hunger for things has replaced a hunger for faith.”

  “All too true,” J.C. agreed. He still hesitated.

  “I like chess.”

  J.C. smiled. “Me, too.”

  “Next Friday night? If I don’t get called out. I do, sometimes.”

  J.C.’s heart jumped up into his throat. “I’d like that. I don’t have a social life anymore.”

  “Chess is a social life,�
� the other man pointed out. “So, about six? I’ll make chili and corn bread.”

  J.C. chuckled. “I’ll bring a jug of buttermilk.”

  “How in the world did you know that I loved it?”

  “Colie.” J.C.’s high cheekbones flushed. “I’m truly sorry, for what I did to Colie’s reputation and to yours,” he blurted out. “I guess I’d lived in cities for so long that I forgot how clannish small towns are. At least about gossip.”

  “I don’t hold grudges,” the other man pointed out. “Besides,” he added with a twinkle in his eyes, “I don’t know many people who play chess.”

  J.C. chuckled. “Neither do I.”

  “See you next Friday, then.”

  “I’ll be here at six.” He hesitated. “Thanks,” he bit off, without meeting the other man’s eyes. He meant, for listening, but he couldn’t manage that.

  The reverend knew, just the same. “You’re very welcome.”

  J.C. could have kicked himself for all the mistakes he’d made. But it was a new start, with Colie’s father. He couldn’t give up hope that one day, he might get a new start with Colie, as well. And with his little girl.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  REVEREND THOMPSON HAD hoped that Colie might come home after her husband died. But she’d said that she liked living and working in Jacobsville, that she had family and friends there. He knew why she wouldn’t come home. She didn’t trust herself around J.C. and she didn’t want to make things worse for her father. But she was lonely. Ludie made up for a lot. The child was the color in her life now. She lived for her daughter.

  J.C. asked about Colie from time to time. The reverend shared the videos she sent of Ludie, as she grew. It was one of the few things that made J.C. laugh, seeing the child take her first steps, say her first words. Underneath it was a terrible sadness, though. J.C. would never know the child.

  The reverend hadn’t mentioned the Friday night chess games to Colie. He was growing quite fond of J.C., but she never spoke of him. She went on with her job and seemed perfectly happy where she was. One day, he reasoned, she might come home again and make things up with J.C. The man he was coming to know had some wonderful qualities, behind that mask he wore.

  But it had been two years since her husband’s death, and now the reverend went to Texas to see his daughter and granddaughter. Colie was reluctant to come back to Wyoming, especially with Ludie, when everyone remembered how things had been with Colie and J.C. As the child grew, her hair became a riot of red-gold curls and she had pale gray eyes that were a mirror of J.C.’s. It would start gossip all over again, unsettle her father. And Rod was still around with his so-called friend, who would think Colie was coming home to tell people what she knew. She couldn’t risk it. Her father was precious to her. She wouldn’t put his life on the line. Or her daughter’s. J.C. had said that he had regrets, but he’d never mentioned any possibility that he might want to get married even now. Without all the complications, it would still be painful for Colie to be around him, knowing that she’d just eat her heart out with every sight of him. Better to stay in Jacobsville, where she had a good job, relatives and friends.

  * * *

  “YOU’RE PANTING LIKE an underfed steam engine,” J.C. commented during one of their Friday chess matches. “You should see a doctor.”

  The reverend made a face. “It’s pollen,” he commented. “It’s autumn. I always get shortness of breath when the fall flowers come out.”

  J.C. didn’t believe that. He’d been around the reverend for over two years, now. He saw Ludie as she grew, on the videos Colie sent her father. It had been a revelation, how much he enjoyed those simple, poignant glimpses of the child he wasn’t supposed to know was his.

  He’d wanted to go and see Colie, but he had cold feet. He’d caused her too much pain. He wasn’t certain that she could forgive it, and his pride stood up and rattled whenever he thought of lowering it to ask for a second chance. J.C. had never asked for anything in his life.

  He knew why Colie wouldn’t come home. It was for Ludie’s sake, because people would see her and speculate, knowing that Colie had lived with J.C. for several weeks. Perhaps she also thought that J.C. was of the same old mind-set, that he’d never offer commitment. He couldn’t blame her. He’d never given her any reason to think he’d changed. But he had.

  It was pride that kept him from going to Texas and pleading with her to come home. She stayed away out of choice. He could only assume it was because of him. She loved her father and the local law firm would have created a job for her. But she didn’t want to come back. Maybe the possibility of gossip stopped her. More than likely it was the fact that J.C. had managed to kill the love she’d had for him. She didn’t care enough to come back.

  Still, photos and occasional videos were better than nothing. He laughed as they watched a video made four months ago of Ludie scooping up a spoonful of ice cream at her second birthday party and flinging it across the table at a little boy who called her a name. It was one they’d watched several times since Colie had sent it to her father.

  “She’s got a temper,” the reverend chuckled as he watched the video with J.C.

  “Justified, in this case,” J.C. replied. His face had hardened. “I hate having her called a witch. Colie was like that, she saw things that other people didn’t...”

  “Yes, like Tank Kirk’s wife does,” the reverend interrupted. “In any community, there are people with gifts that set them apart from other people.”

  J.C. studied the older man curiously. “Shouldn’t you be disturbed by paranormal things?”

  The reverend just smiled. “Most gifts come from God, my son,” he said simply, noting the effect that last word had on a man who’d barely known his own father, and not in a good way. He and J.C. had become close. “You look at the fruits. If they result in good things, how can that be evil?”

  J.C. drew in a long breath. “I suppose so.” He smiled reminiscently. “My paternal grandmother saw far. My father’s father was a shaman in the Blackfoot nation. I suppose such gifts are taken for granted among native peoples.”

  He was insinuating that Ludie’s gift came from his side of the family. He knew Ludie was his. The reverend had long since realized that, but he didn’t comment on it.

  “Will Colie ever come home, do you think?” J.C. asked after a minute while he concentrated on a chess move.

  “I don’t know, J.C.,” came the sad reply. “People gossip. Even though she was married, most folks around Catelow know that she spent most of her time with you...” His voice trailed off.

  J.C. let out a long breath. “Ludie would suffer for it,” he finished for the reverend. His chiseled mouth curved down. “She’s a beautiful child.” He looked up. “You don’t know how much it’s meant to me, seeing her through the photos and videos. She’s...” He searched for a word past the lump in his throat. “She’s exceptional.”

  “Yes, she is.” He leaned back in his chair. “You never thought about going to Texas and telling my daughter that you know the truth about Ludie?” he asked after a minute, revealing that he knew J.C. had worked that out.

  “I did. I thought about it a lot,” he replied. “But I’ve hurt her too much already. She seems very happy where she is.” He looked up with troubled silver eyes. “I’m a bad risk,” he said suddenly. “I don’t know what a good home life is. I come from a badly broken home. I have trust issues.” He looked down. “It’s helped, having you to talk to,” he confessed. “But the wounds are deep. I’m not...sure,” he said finally, “that I wouldn’t hurt her all over again. I couldn’t bear to do that. Not when she has Ludie to care for.”

  “Ludie is growing up without you,” the reverend said gently.

  J.C. actually winced. Yes, she was, and it hurt him. His child had another man’s name. She didn’t know her real father. She might never
know. “Colie doesn’t want me to know about Ludie.” He looked up in time to see the flash of pain in the older man’s face. “You know that.”

  The reverend leaned forward. His color was high. Odd, that he’d be flushed when the room was so cool. “There’s a reason Colie hasn’t come home, and it has nothing to do with you,” he said suddenly.

  J.C. was interested. He raised both dark eyebrows.

  Reverend Thompson fought to get a breath of air. Odd, how difficult it was to breathe. His chest felt as if someone was sitting on it. He was nauseous, as well. Must be the chili he’d had for supper, he reasoned.

  “Have you seen my son lately?” Reverend Thompson asked suddenly.

  “Rod avoids me,” came the terse reply. “You can probably guess why.”

  “Because you were a policeman,” the older man said. “You still have those sterling ideals of what the law should be, despite your troubles. It’s one of the things I admire about you.”

  J.C. was touched. “Thanks.”

  “My son has learned to live without...scruples,” the other man said heavily. “I know he’s mixed up in something illegal, J.C. He hardly ever comes home now. He only calls at holidays, and then it’s just a terse greeting and nothing more.” His eyes held a faraway look. “He’s never far from that friend of his from Jackson Hole. He hasn’t worked for the hardware store for a long time, but people I know say that he’s driving a new Jaguar and wearing handmade suits. We both know he doesn’t make that kind of money selling tools.”

  J.C. just nodded.

  The reverend put a hand to his chest. “If anything happens to me,” he said quickly, “you have to make sure...that Colie’s safe,” he said urgently, his eyes full of worry. “That Ludie’s safe, as well.”

  J.C. frowned. “What do you know, sir?” he asked respectfully.

  The older man was struggling for breath. “Colie mentioned a case the lawyers at her job are working on. It has ties to a notorious drug lord in Jackson Hole. They’re defending a member of a gang who has ties to it, and...evidence they’ve gathered may expose the man. Their client has a friend who is going to name the dealers and suppliers, turn state’s evidence, to defend the client Colie’s employers are representing. There have already been threats.”