All I Want for Christmas Is a Cowboy

by Jessica Clare

  She thought of the ugly couch on the ranch, and how easy it had been to curl up and relax on it with a mug of coffee. The multicolored quilts tossed on the furniture. The rag rugs strategically placed on the floors because the dogs liked to get muddy. How cozy and lived in and well loved it all felt despite the rustic decor. Her apartment had none of that, and for a long moment, she stood in the doorway, wondering if she’d somehow wandered into someone else’s place.

  But the key opened this door, and there were her clothes in the closet, so this had to be her apartment. Cass set her suitcase down on the bed, and couldn’t help but notice that her entire apartment was the same size as Eli’s room back at the ranch. She told herself it didn’t matter and that she needed to stop comparing things. She was just going to make herself even more miserable.

  Then she opened her suitcase and saw the sweater on top was covered in white dog hairs from a Frannie petting session, and Cass wanted to cry all over again.

  That night, she lay in bed and stared up at the ceiling. The city seemed noisy after being on the ranch for a few weeks. Down below, she could hear the traffic in the streets. Somewhere up above her, a dog’s feet pounded on the floor, and a neighbor yelled. Even though she had her own space, it felt crowded compared to Wyoming.

  She just had to get used to it again, she told herself. She’d settle in and get back to normal.

  Cass couldn’t sleep, though. Either it was the noise or her own restless mind, but she tossed and turned, and eventually gave up, just staring at the ceiling. She thought about Eli. Last night, she’d been in his arms. They’d curled up in bed together, talking about the day. Talking about just small things, like the number of eggs she’d gotten from the chickens in the last week, to her favorite horse in the stable, to how many cattle he’d run if it was just him. She’d been hopeful last night. She’d felt like she had a future.

  Now she felt like a stranger. Like the real Cass had been left behind in Wyoming and she was forced to live someone else’s life.

  Did Eli miss her? she wondered. Was he sad that she was gone? Heartbroken, like she was? Or would he just get over it and go on with his life? Cass didn’t think she could move on easily . . . or at all. There was a big hollow spot where it felt her heart should be. Part of her hoped that he’d miss her, but that was selfish. She wanted him happy more than she wanted him sad and miserable.

  Cass kind of felt like she had sad and miserable cornered already. No need for both of them to be unhappy. Hot tears slid down her cheeks as she thought of her cowboy. She missed his body, his smile, his scent, his laugh. She missed him. To think that she’d ever thought Eli was stern. Strong, yes. Stern, no. He’d been so gentle and loving with her, so protective. She missed that.

  She missed him.

  Grabbing her phone from her nightstand, she Googled his name, looking for a phone number. When that didn’t work, she looked for a Facebook page. Nothing. Depressed, she flung the phone aside again. Of course Eli didn’t have a Facebook page. She hadn’t seen him use the computer much when she was there. He didn’t like social media, and he said all the people he wanted to talk to were at the ranch. And he’d given her such a heated look that she’d blushed. Now, though, she wished he was a little less of a ranch hermit so she could Facebook stalk him. She had no pictures of him from the time they’d spent together over Christmas. It was such a weird thing to realize. In this day and age, people took pictures of their food, their pets, things they saw on the street . . . and she didn’t have a single picture of the man she loved.

  Because she still loved him. Even knowing what a horrible person she was didn’t stop her from loving Eli and wanting to be the Cass he’d thought she was.

  She swallowed hard and wondered if she should contact Ken. Tell him she was back and confess what she had done. But if she was confessing, shouldn’t she also confess to Rose that she’d slept with her boyfriend? It was an ugly, tangled situation and try as she might, she couldn’t figure out a way to untangle it.

  Cass picked up her phone again eventually, and then texted Rose.

  CASS: I’m back home.

  CASS: New York. I’m in my apartment. At least, I think it’s mine.

  She felt needy and vulnerable. Maybe she needed to have girl talk to get some of these feelings off her chest. That would help, even if her relationship with Rose was . . . troubled over the whole Ken thing. When the three dots flashed on her screen, indicating a text message was incoming, she felt a little less lonely. It might be two in the morning, but Rose was there for her. That was something, at least.

  ROSE: Gr8. Pick up my dry cleaning in the morning, plz.

  Well . . . it was definitely something. Not something good, but something.

  * * *

  • • •

  Days passed and Cass started to settle back into a routine that felt familiar. Memories slowly filtered in as she immersed herself into her daily life.

  She’d expected to be a lot happier with their return. That all the missing pieces would feel filled in and she’d be whole again. She didn’t feel like that at all, though. She just grew more frustrated with her life as it was.

  There wasn’t anything wrong with her life. It just didn’t feel like a great fit for her anymore. When she stopped by the corner bodega and picked up a few snacks, she’d see the cats hanging out in the back, and instead of avoiding them—because Rose was allergic—she’d bend down and try to coax one over to pet it. She didn’t spend much time in her apartment but wandered the streets of New York in her downtime, desperate to do something with herself. Her place was far too quiet, too lonely. So she shopped and went to the park and ran a lot of errands for Rose. She actually didn’t have much spare time because Rose lived two floors up from her and wanted Cass on call at any time, just in case she needed something. So Cass worked ten to twelve hours a day, getting cashew-milk lattes for Rose or picking up clothing or fielding calls from Rose’s agent, whom Rose didn’t want to talk to because she was mad. She got cigarettes for Rose and yelled at Rose’s favorite tailor and managed Rose’s busy schedule. She screened interview questions and fetched makeup brushes. One time, she even went to Rose’s apartment and got Rose a drink from the kitchen because Rose was in the bathtub and didn’t want to get out. It was easier for her to text Cass to come up two floors and do it for her.

  And since it was what she was paid to do, and she had nothing else to do with her time, Cass did it.

  Friendship with Rose—if you could call it that—was odd. They were something more than just employer and employee, and something less than friends. Rose was hot and cold. She was sweet and funny when she wanted something, vivacious when she had an audience, and whiny and petulant when she didn’t get her way. She was lazy and wanted Cass to do all of her errands—even cleaning her refrigerator. Sometimes she just wanted another person to gripe at.

  And when she griped, she tended to snipe at Cass.

  At first, Rose was pleased that Cass was back. She rattled on and on about her vacation in Europe as she sat in hair and makeup for a photo shoot, and Cass sat nearby and listened as she held Rose’s drink. Rose’s only comment about the bright red scar on Cass’s forehead was “ew,” and she then quizzed her makeup artist on what could possibly cover Cass’s “unsightly” wound. Rose didn’t ask how she was feeling. She didn’t ask why she was sad, though she did occasionally scowl if Cass was “giving her a depressing vibe.”

  In addition to being a gofer, Cass needed to be an entertaining one, it seemed.

  And that was fine, too. For a while. She let Rose take the spotlight because Rose obviously needed it. And if she sniped at Cass and told her that she looked like shit and to put tea bags under her eyes to get rid of the dark circles, she endured it. If Rose had a boho scarf for Cass to wear over her forehead the next day because Rose didn’t like looking at her scar, she put it on. If Rose wanted Cass to put on a sweater beca
use Rose wanted it “stretched out” and Cass was bigger, she did it. Rose was a jerk, but not in a malicious way. She was just incredibly self-centered, and after seeing how everyone fawned over her, Cass didn’t blame her. She constantly had people gushing over her, from fans on the street to paparazzi to the makeup artists and hair stylists who wanted to get in good with an in-demand model. Rose’s sniping didn’t bother her, because it didn’t matter.

  None of it mattered.

  The thought that this was her life was becoming more and more depressing by the day. Was this what she had to look forward to for the next who-knew-how-many years? Being told to change out of a brown sweater because it made her look sallow? To stand next to Rose in a photo so she’d look thinner? To have her employer slowly eat away at her confidence with small thoughtless comments and then want Cass to come up to her apartment at eleven at night for girl talk?

  The temporary loss of her memory had made her dissatisfied with her life, it seemed, and she didn’t know how to get that joy back. It was like it had all disappeared the moment she knew she couldn’t have Eli.

  Cass didn’t text Ken, either. As days passed, he would text her every now and then, accusing her of avoiding him or playing hard to get. No matter how demanding his texts got, though, she ignored them. She didn’t know what to say to him. Rose was self-absorbed and kind of a jerk, but she didn’t deserve to have her assistant sleeping with her boyfriend. She had to come clean to Rose, and if Rose fired her, then Cass deserved it. And she had to tell Ken Wallis that whatever they’d had was over, because she didn’t want to be this person.

  She wanted to be Eli’s Cass. Even if she didn’t deserve Eli, she still liked that version of herself better than this one.

  Three days after she’d returned to work, she got a call from her parents.

  “Milan is wonderful,” her mother gushed into Cass’s phone. “I swear I’ve put on ten pounds just from the food here. And the scenery! It’s just divine. I think your father and I are going to stay a few more weeks. We’re retired now, you know? We can do what we want! And right now we want to stay.”

  “You absolutely should,” Cass told them, happy that someone in her life seemed to be content with where they were. And because she couldn’t put it off any longer . . . “So did I tell you guys I was in a car accident over the holidays?”

  Her mother gasped loudly into the phone. “What? Are you okay?” Her voice got muffled, as if she’d put a hand over the receiver. “Honey, Cass was in a car accident. No, I don’t know. I’m asking.”

  “Tell Dad I said hi,” Cass said, amused, and then launched into a brief description of what had happened to her. Or at least, the parts she remembered. She told them about waking up and not remembering who she was, and her mother clucked unhappily. She told them about Eli and how he’d saved her, and how she’d had to stay on Price Ranch over the holidays.

  She avoided the part where she’d slept with Eli. Or the part where she’d fallen in love with him.

  “But you’re okay now? Do we need to come home?” Her mother sounded terribly worried.

  “I’m totally fine, I promise.” It was gratifying to have someone worry over her, at least. “Please don’t come home. I would feel terrible if you cut your vacation short for me. My memory’s mostly back now and I have a scar on my forehead, but other than that, I’m just fine.”

  Her mother exclaimed again. “Well, you should write that nice cowboy a thank-you note, sweetie. It was so thoughtful of him to let you stay at the ranch over the holidays. Your father and I have met the men that live over on that ranch a few times and they’re just the nicest, most polite young men. So definitely write him a thank-you note.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Cass told her drily.

  “Did you make an appointment with your doctor just to check things out?”

  “No, but—”

  “No buts, young lady. You get him to check you out. Your mother says so.”

  She sighed. “All right. I’ll let Rose know I need a few hours off.”

  Her mother snorted with irritation. “Is she still running you ragged and you with a head wound? You know I don’t like that job for you, Cass honey.”

  Cass didn’t like the job much for herself, either. But maybe it was because she was just too fixated on the things she couldn’t have. Things like a peaceful life on a ranch in the mountains . . . and a cowboy in particular.

  * * *

  • • •

  When Old Clyde’s truck pulled up to the ranch, Eli felt a mixture of relief and frustration. Relief because there would be others to handle some of the chores and give him a much-needed break.

  Frustration because it wasn’t Cass.

  He hugged Maria as she returned, then slapped Jordy and Dustin on the back as they grabbed their bags and hopped out of the flatbed. Old Clyde shook his hand and then bent down to give Bandit and Jim extra attention. Everyone looked good, happy, and refreshed.

  It made Eli tired. He didn’t feel happy or refreshed. He felt lonely for the first time in his life, and even the return of his ranch family couldn’t fill the hole that Cass had left.

  “Glad to be home,” Dustin drawled. “Heard we’re due for another whiteout soon. Probably a good thing we already have all the cattle in a close pasture.” He nodded at Eli. “How were things while we were gone?”

  “Fine,” Eli said.

  “Frannie have her pups?” Jordy asked.

  “Yup. Five.”

  Old Clyde lit up and got to his feet. “Can’t wait to get a look at them.” He headed for the house.

  “The smallest one is Cass’s,” Eli called after him. “It’s taken.”

  Maria gave him a sly look. “Cass is the lady friend, yes? Is she not coming out to meet us?”

  “She’s gone.”

  The housekeeper looked surprised. “She is?” When all Eli did was nod, she frowned. “Well, that explains your unhappy expression, mijo. You couldn’t convince her to stay?”

  “Don’t want to talk about it,” Eli told her. He walked away. “Chores to be done.”

  “You want to come inside for coffee?” Maria called after him. “We can catch up. I have pictures from Christmas—”

  “Later,” he told her, and he hated that his voice sounded more abrupt than he meant it. He just . . . needed time by himself to see how the ranch felt with everyone else back and Cass gone.

  So far, he didn’t like it.

  Then again, he didn’t like much with Cass gone. He missed her too damn badly and there was not a thing he could do about it.

  * * *

  • • •

  After Cass had been back in NYC for a week, she decided that she’d delayed things long enough.

  She needed to tell Rose about Ken and how she’d betrayed her. She knew she’d get fired, and she’d deserve it. She’d fooled around behind Rose’s back with her boyfriend, and that made her the worst kind of person. She hated herself for who she’d become, and so whatever punishment Rose meted out, it’d be fair.

  In a way, she wanted to be fired. This life wasn’t satisfying to her. It was lonely and shallow and boring. She no longer enjoyed the hustle and bustle of the city. When she dreamed, she dreamed of a quiet countryside covered in snow. She dreamed of horses and dogs romping in the fields.

  And, okay, she dreamed of Eli.

  If she had a fresh start, maybe she could become the Cass he’d thought she was. It didn’t excuse what she did, but maybe he’d forgive her anyhow . . . eventually. And if he didn’t, she had money saved up in her bank account. The large amount had surprised her at first. Then, it made sense. Rose was so needy and demanding that Cass didn’t have time to spend it on herself. If she shopped, it was for Rose. If she went on a trip, it was because Rose needed company. So the money piled up.

  It was probably enough money to buy a bit of la
nd, Cass figured. Not much, but enough to start, maybe. A nice down payment.

  Provided Eli ever forgave her. Just worrying over it made her queasy.

  So . . . she needed to tell Rose. Rip the Band-Aid off, confess her sins, and get one thing off her plate. She’d lose Rose and her job, but she’d gain some self-respect.

  Cass contemplated when to tell her as she went and got Rose up that morning for another photo shoot. This one was for a big denim brand, and Rose had been stressing over it for days. She’d smoked three packs of cigarettes a day and lived on black coffee and celery, and had bleached her teeth twice last night. She’d also yelled at Cass a lot, but Cass was starting to remember that was part of the job—scapegoat.

  Yet another reason she wouldn’t mind being fired.

  Still, as she woke Rose up, gave her clothes so she could dress, and hurried her into the waiting taxi, she figured today probably wouldn’t be the best day to confess. Rose was already stressed out of her mind. She had a zit coming in on one perfect cheekbone and had wept and railed at the absent makeup artist for not cleaning her brushes (even though Cass was pretty sure she had). Cass murmured sympathy, of course.

  When Rose got to the shoot, she was sweet as sugar to everyone involved, gushing about how much she loved the company and how she’d always worn their jeans. She had a “set” personality that was charming and affectionate, and she worked hard. It was just to Cass that she unloaded. Again, part of the job.

  As Rose stripped down to nothing so they could airbrush makeup on her body, her phone rang. Rose pointed at her purse, in the seat next to Cass.

  Cass dug out the phone and eyed the screen. She swallowed hard. “Ken’s calling.”

  “Tell him I’m in makeup but he’s welcome to come by if he wants to meet for lunch.” She raised one arm over her head and frowned at her pale armpit. “Should we get under here or will it look creased?”