Christmas on the Ranch

by Arlene James

  “Mary and her family were killed in a car accident last summer.” Brett hadn’t wanted to tell her. Not yet. “Vida was the only one who’d take it on and she had to leave, so...” He deliberately didn’t finish.

  “Why don’t you do it?” Clint’s sarcastic tone and glare would have quelled most women. Doc wasn’t most women.

  “Mommy has a magnifience voice,” Zoey offered in a very adult tone.

  “Magnificent,” Brett corrected, covering his amusement as Doc’s cheeks flushed a lovely crimson.

  “If my mommy wasn’t a doctor, she’d be a singer, right, Mommy?”

  “If—maybe.” Elizabeth suddenly looked sad.

  “If ifs and buts were candy and nuts, we’d all have a Merry Christmas,” Zoey recited then returned to sipping her tea.

  Clint’s burst of laughter echoed to the rafters. “You’re a funny kid, Zoey.” Admiration filled his father’s voice.

  Brett bit his lip. For the first time in eons his dad’s focus wasn’t on himself. Was this little girl with her unabashed spirit the answer to his prayers?

  Or was that answer Zoey’s mom?

  Elizabeth Kendall was certainly an answer to someone’s prayers. But not Brett’s. Expensively elegant and sophisticated, the lovely doctor would have nothing in common with a rough rancher.

  Nothing at all.

  Which sure was a pity, even though Brett didn’t intend to be a rancher for much longer.

  * * *

  Since she’d met him Elizabeth had struggled to get Brett Carlisle off her mind. Despite extended hours during a minor flu epidemic at the nursing home, drawing up a strict treatment plan for a high-risk pregnancy of twins for a forty-two-year-old mother who refused to let anyone but Elizabeth treat her and arranging an emergency life flight for an injured employee from a nearby ski hill, she failed.

  The cowboy wouldn’t be dismissed.

  Finally she decided to direct the children’s Christmas choir. It wasn’t because she was bored. It had to do with the town’s loss of a director and Snowflake’s sense of community.

  But mostly she’d decided to do it because of Brett’s faith in her. Someone else told you that. Someone who put you down and made you feel valueless. He was wrong, Doc.

  Was James wrong? Elizabeth desperately wanted to prove he was and thereby forever be rid of the legacy of her ex-husband’s denigrating remarks, which still had the power to make her feel useless, unworthy, unacceptable. And she also wanted to do it for that young Brett who’d found himself because of a caring choir director. Most of all Elizabeth clung to the hope that once more directing a choir would forever silence her own inner voices of ineptitude.

  “Pastor Bill says you’re directing the Christmas program, Doc. Congratulations. You’ll be amazing.” Brett slammed his truck door shut and offered his arm to help her navigate the slippery church parking lot. “We’ve had a foot of snow this week. Don’t you have any boots?”

  “These are my boots.” She pulled up a pant leg to show him the knee-high boots she’d ordered from Pete’s Five and Dime. “They’re not exactly as described.”

  “Very nice. Gutsy and easy to look at. Like you.” His voice sounded squeaky. Since he seemed in a rush to get her across the parking lot, Elizabeth didn’t have time to puzzle out why.

  “Thank you.” She drew her arm from his when they reached the foyer, half wishing he hadn’t hurried their few moments together.

  “Where’s Zoey?” He glanced behind her as if he expected her daughter to pop out.

  “She came earlier with Mrs. House. She looks after Zoey for me.” Elizabeth undid her jacket. She caught her breath when Brett’s hand rested fleetingly on her shoulder before he slid it off. Had he noticed his effect on her? “Thank you again.”

  “Welcome.” His attention focused on her coat. “Is this lambskin?”

  “I think so.” She frowned. “Why?”

  “I sell wool from my Merino sheep to a place in Billings. They make stuff out of it, mostly mitts and scarves. I wonder if they ever thought of making coats like this?” He hung it up carefully then studied her. “You look lovely,” he said quietly. “You always do. Elegant and beautiful.”

  “Elegant in jeans and a sweater?” She glanced at herself then shrugged. “Thank you for the third time.” As the racket of rowdy children in the gathering room penetrated she made a face. “I hope I don’t mess this up. About fifty people have told me that this Christmas Eve thing is a huge deal. I don’t even know what we’re performing.”

  “You haven’t checked over Vida’s plan?” Brett’s concerned look initiated a tidal wave of worry.

  “I haven’t had time. The pastor left the material here but I was tied up with a case most of last night, so I couldn’t get it.” Her determination wavered. “Don’t you think I can do it?”

  “Of course you can do it. Everybody knows Handel’s Messiah. Even a hick like me.” Brett grinned at her as if it was a sure thing but Elizabeth’s breath caught in her throat as she stared at him in horror.

  “You’re telling me Vida intended for these kids to sing the Messiah?” she squeaked, aghast.

  “Not all of it,” he assured her. “Just parts.”

  Because that was so much easier. “Which parts?” she whispered.

  “Uh, the Hallelujah chorus and a couple of other bits. Simple stuff.”

  Simple? Handel? Elizabeth gulped.

  “You’ll be great, Doc.” Brett reached out and squeezed her arm. “Excuse me now. I have to check out what Ernie’s doing with the stable setup we’re building. Hope he’s not using the table saw or we might need you professionally.” He winked. “Just teasing.”

  Elizabeth watched him leave, feeling as if her lifeboat went with him and she was stranded on a barren island where Handel played in a fog. She found her way to a pew and sank onto it.

  Lord, I came to Snowflake to change and grow, to learn to trust You to help me be the person You want. But...the Messiah? For kids? In less than a month?

  What was she thinking?

  I am the Lord, the God of every person on the earth. Nothing is impossible for Me.

  The verse from Jeremiah echoed in her head. She’d read it every day this week to instill God’s word in her heart. This message was trust Him to do as He promised.

  Elizabeth struggled with trusting God, with leaving James and the past behind. James’s criticisms were the reason she’d quit singing, quit playing, quit everything to do with her beloved music after that last Christmas fiasco. She wanted to quit now, too, but if she did how could she face Brett?

  Elizabeth rose slowly. She wouldn’t have to quit. After tonight Brett and the pastor would be desperate to find someone else to lead the kids’ choir.

  Funny how thoughts of Brett made her heart race.

  “Doc?” Suddenly there he was, standing in front of her.

  Elizabeth’s heart went skittering. “Did you come back to help me?”

  “Uh, no. I just answered the phone and need to pass on a message.” His expression said it wasn’t a happy message.

  She held her breath.

  “Ms. Purvis, the church pianist? She fell on ice coming out of her house.” Avoiding her gaze he hurried on. “Apparently she’s broken her wrist. She won’t be playing tonight.”

  “Or anytime soon. Who’s her substitute?” The answer spread across the rancher’s sun-tanned face. “There is no pianist,” she guessed.

  “Remember one thing, Doc.” Brett threw an arm around her shoulders and led her toward the kids.

  “What’s that?” Why did the weight of his arm comfort her?

  “Nothing’s impossible for God.” His arm tightened in a squeeze then let go.

  “Right. You don’t by chance play piano, do you?”

  “Sorr
y.” Brett shook his head. “I’m a cowboy, which means I can play the guitar, though not well and mostly by ear. But you can do this, Doc.”

  Elizabeth figured his encouraging grin could sustain her for...oh, maybe a minute. About as long as it would take before everybody in Snowflake found out that their newest doctor was a failure.

  Why had she let Brett’s hunky rancher’s charm sweet-talk her into this?

  Chapter Four

  Tuesday afternoon Brett arrived at church well before practice time hoping for exactly this—an encounter with the town’s loveliest doctor.

  What he hadn’t expected was a private performance. For the past half hour he’d sat astounded as Elizabeth brought Handel’s music alive. She played beautifully, though Brett knew, because the music had been his dad’s favorite since he was a kid, that she skipped some parts.

  He clapped effusively when she finished.

  Elizabeth leaned over to switch off a machine on the floor beside her. “Hi.”

  “You recorded that?” Brett figured he’d never tire of the way her silver gilt hair framed her face and those gentle forest-toned eyes. Her dark green turtleneck perfectly mirrored her irises.

  “The kids need music to know where to come in. So I made a recording.” She leaned to stretch her back. “I hope it works because the last practice was a disaster.”

  “The first one always is. I’ve been praying for you and the kids,” he said quietly.

  “Thank you, Brett. All prayers appreciated.” She rose and gathered her things, pink tingeing her cheeks. “I better prepare.”

  “You’ll do a wonderful job.” Not sure why he knew that, Brett had an inner certainty that Elizabeth never gave less than her best to anything. “I’ll be working in the back hall. Call me if I can help.”

  “Thank you.” She began laying out her music on the choir director’s stand while the kids took their places. “Today we’re going to try three songs with music,” she told them. Turning a bit, she noted him still standing there and offered a wobbly smile.

  Brett gave a thumbs-up. He left the sanctuary, stopped just beyond to listen, then winced before finding Ernie. Later the pastor joined them and turned on a speaker that transmitted the sounds from the sanctuary so they could hear.

  “The kids are better, aren’t they?” Brett said cheerfully.

  “Than what?” Pastor Bill frowned.

  “Maybe the music’s too hard.” He heard Elizabeth call a break.

  “We need faith and prayer.” A furrow of concern lined the pastor’s forehead.

  Brett followed the scent of fresh coffee to the kitchen, where Elizabeth sat staring at a wall, her face grim.

  “Hey, Doc. Your kids are doing great.”

  “Forget it, Brett.” She looked defeated. “The music is glorious. But adult choirs practice Handel for months. I don’t see how Vida expected these kids to master it in a few weeks.”

  She sounded so...defeated. His heart ached for her. He’d pressured her to do this. God? Can You help us?

  “What will you do?”

  “I don’t know. Some of Vida’s choices don’t fit a children’s choir. The annunciation part is very technical but it’s such a big part of the Christmas story that I can’t cut it.” She frowned at him. “I warned you I’d mess this up.”

  “You’re not messing up. We’re problem-solving.” He silently prayed for ideas. “What if someone recited parts interspersed by a few select choir numbers?”

  “It would be a much shorter concert than Vida planned.” Her smile faded. “I wouldn’t know who to ask.”

  “I would.” He chuckled at her surprise. “When I was a kid Dad sang every note of the Messiah every year.” Brett exhaled. “The difficulty will be persuading him to help.”

  Was it stupid to propose Clint? Maybe, but Brett suggested it for the kids. Okay, for Doc, too. Because he wanted her to succeed and he wanted his last Christmas here to be filled with memories he could treasure. Once he left Snowflake, there was no guarantee he’d ever live here again. He needed memories of the life he’d give up.

  “Your dad?” Elizabeth studied him then sifted through her music. Snatching his pen she began scribbling on the back of a bulletin. When she lifted her head, her big eyes met his in a flare of hope. “It might work.”

  “You’ll make it work, Doc.” Seeing Ernie waiting in the doorway, Brett finished his coffee then retrieved his pen. “Gotta go.”

  “What are you building?”

  “The backdrop of a stable. Vida wanted it.” He double-checked. “Will you?”

  “I’m not exactly sure what we’ll need, but if this choir happens, a stable will certainly be part of it.” She smiled. “Brett?”

  “Yes?” He rose, soaking in her beauty.

  “Keep praying, will you?” she whispered. “I’m not sure I’m up to this.”

  “You are, Elizabeth,” he assured her in a low voice. “You’re strong. As a doctor and a single mother you’ve had to be. But also, you’re a child of God. You are more than a conqueror in Christ.”

  Brett returned to his work in a prayerful attitude. He had an inner certainty that Doc would succeed. What he wasn’t sure of was his dad’s cooperation, especially after he learned that Brett wanted to accept the offer of a scholarship to veterinary college. What stopped him was thinking about what his departure would do to Clint and the ranch.

  “I need Your leading,” he silently begged.

  It was the first time since Wanda had walked out that Brett had straight up asked God for something for himself. He wanted to grab his chance at college. Becoming a veterinarian was his dream. But right now he had to focus on helping Doc succeed because he sensed she needed this accomplishment to erase the past.

  Funny how important Doc’s success was becoming to him. Almost as important as finally achieving his own dream.

  * * *

  “Are we going to Brett’s house so I can see Mrs. Beasley?” Zoey asked from the back seat the following evening.

  “You can visit her but I have another reason for going.” To Elizabeth’s dismay Mrs. Beasley was all Zoey talked about. “Be on your best behavior.”

  “I promise. Do you think Brett and his daddy will like our cookies?”

  “I’m sure they will.” As she pulled into the ranch yard lit only by a light on a pole Elizabeth thought how a few Christmas lights would enhance the log house. She inhaled for courage as her vocal coach had taught her years ago then realized Zoey was already heading for the house. “Wait!”

  Too late. Her daughter was being welcomed inside by the tall, lean cowboy who constantly occupied Elizabeth’s brain. Why did Brett fascinate her so?

  “Zoey and I brought some Christmas cookies to share.” Quashing her silly delight at seeing Brett again, she stepped inside and smiled at Clint, who lay sprawled across the sofa. “And to ask for your help.”

  Okay, God. This is me trusting You.

  “With what?” Clint glowered at her suspiciously. His expression softened when Zoey plopped down beside him, Mrs. Beasley on her lap.

  “With the Christmas choir.” Brett’s nod gave her courage. Elizabeth spread her plan on the coffee table in front of his dad. “The only way I can think of to make the kids’ choir work is if you help me.”

  She ignored his spluttering and launched into her plan, begging, pleading and finally using guilt as a motivator. But Clint’s stubborn expression and Brett’s pursed lips showed her appeal wasn’t working.

  Feeling like a failure, Elizabeth finally closed the folder and rose.

  “Then this Christmas pageant will be a write-off, Clint Carlisle. Because of you.”

  He straightened, his expression thunderous. Oddly enough Brett smiled and tucked his chin into his chest, hands folded in his lap. What in the— />
  “Me?” Clint burst to his feet, eyes glinting. “I suppose you’ll blab that all over town and then we’ll have a repeat of the gossip we endured the last time a woman came here!”

  Wanda. Elizabeth detested the comparison.

  “I would never gossip about you or anyone else,” she promised. “Though I did mention to the pastor that I was going to ask you to help the children.”

  Brett nodded in a way Elizabeth assumed meant keep going. She noticed his twitching lips just before he put his hand over his mouth and gave a feeble cough.

  “Pastor Bill will spread it—” Clint stopped when the phone rang. He frowned when Brett handed the receiver to him. “Who’s this?...Well, Bill, I don’t know who told you that...Of course I know the Messiah but...Yes, but...But...I have to go!”

  Seconds later a second caller was dismissed just as abruptly. And then a third. Clint’s face was beet-red.

  “All over town,” he snarled, slamming down the phone.

  “Mommy says you shouldn’t talk to people on the phone when you’re mad.” Zoey looked up from the puppy, her face puzzled. “Why are you mad, CC?”

  “CC?” Clint stared at her. “Why do you call me that?”

  “’Cause that’s what’s on your truck. Isn’t it your name?” When he didn’t answer, Zoey shrugged.

  Brett’s hand completely covered his face now, except for those expressive chocolate eyes, which studied Elizabeth with admiration or...?

  “I think you should help my mommy make Christmas nice for everybody in Snowflake.” Zoey’s voice broke the room’s tension.

  “Oh, you do.” Clint toned down his annoyance as he faced Zoey. “Why?”

  “’Cause Christmas is a happy time but sometimes people don’t feel happy so it’s other people’s job to help them get happy.” She shrugged, her curls shimmering in the light of the flickering fire. “That’s what Mrs. Beasley does for me.”

  Her sweet words and the tender kiss she pressed against the puppy’s nose made Elizabeth wince. That puppy was a problem. She glanced at Brett then wished she hadn’t because his gaze sent an electric current rippling up her spine.