Show Me a Family for Christmas : Small-Town Single-Father Cowboy Romance (Cowboy Crossing Romances Book 6)

by Alexa Verde

  “Cold?” He turned up the heat.

  She wanted him to reach for her hands and warm them up instead, but it wasn’t like he could while driving—or would even want to.

  Either way, it wouldn’t help because her cold came from within.

  Chapter Seven

  Gwendolyn’s surprising statement about working as a bodyguard still bothered Conner the next day. He wasn’t sexist, but that didn’t fit this soft-spoken, bashful woman. Or was her act a role like the stranger in town he’d been playing?

  No, he felt she was sincere with him. Unlike him, which gave his conscience a fresh pang.

  Then he went cold. Her profession meant she could be killed. Even if they had a future together—which they didn’t—he could easily lose her like he’d lost so many people in his life already.

  Yet even after her confession, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. His feelings were tangled up worse than the Christmas lights in his attic.

  He stole a glance at Gwendolyn with Danica and Daisy at the table in the Clarks’ mansion where Daisy was invited. One thing was clear: with the adoring way the girls looked at Gwendolyn and the way her face lit up, these children loved her, and she loved them.

  First, they’d all made Christmas art today, which in this family meant more than drawings. Jenna Clark had given them a variety of unique buttons she’d brought from Europe.

  While Conner played video games with the boys, Danica and Daisy had made a snowwoman from pearl buttons glued to a sheet of poster board, then given her eyes from tiny sparkling buttons. They drew a Christmas tree nearby, and more buttons glued to the paper became ornaments. Gwendolyn praised and encouraged them, then brought yarn that turned into snow on the ground and clouds in the sky. And a cat, of course, with two green buttons for his eyes.

  When Conner made a break to bring snacks from the kitchen, he checked on the girls’ art. “Looks beautiful.”

  Daisy beamed. “Thanks, Daddy. It’s a gift for you.”

  His heart swelled at the pride and joy in his daughter’s eyes. And while Danica helped, he had Gwendolyn to thank for it. “I love it.”

  “And I love you, Daddy.” Daisy hugged him, snugging her little face against his side, and he breathed in the sweet scent of her mango shampoo. “Always.”

  “I love you, too, Sweetie Pie.” He’d cherish it forever, as well as that sweet smile. “Always.”

  Once Daisy eased out of his embrace, Danica high-fived her. “Okay, let’s make snowflakes. Boys, you, too.”

  So they did, and a lot of silver and white snowflakes were soon taped to the walls. He worked with the children, helping them and making his own.

  “You’re a skillful snowflake maker.” Gwendolyn winked.

  He chuckled. “Well, that’s something I’ve never been called before.”

  Then Gwendolyn made snowflake costumes for Danica and Daisy. Two of the boys were the stars, literally, and all the children were involved in a short play Gwendolyn had written for them. The children seemed to have a lot of fun as they learned their roles, though they jumbled most of the words.

  Gwendolyn smiled and encouraged them, even when the dance of the snowflakes left a lot to be desired. He found his lips widen in a smile, too, as something warm filled a place in his heart he’d considered shut down since Annika’s death.

  Gwendolyn was a natural with children. He could easily imagine her being a kindergarten teacher. Or a mother, for that matter.

  His heart skipped a beat. Daisy already looked at Gwendolyn with such admiration that it tangled up his heartstrings. How could he explain to his daughter that this was only a temporary arrangement—especially when he didn’t want to believe it himself?

  Gwendolyn’s words took root as his girl’s eyes brightened at the praise. He did have a better part of his wife left than the gallery.

  Daisy was the reason he got up every morning, the reason he breathed. But... was he smothering her with all his attention? Did he become one of those so-called helicopter parents?

  His heart sank. He’d showered Daisy with love and gifts. But where was the line between love and hovering?

  When she ran to him, he hugged her with all the tenderness swelling his heart. “You’re the most beautiful snowflake ever!”

  “Thank you, Daddy. Um, Danica invited us to look at ponies someday. Can we?”

  Wow. Being in that familiar environment... He glanced at Gwendolyn as the sinking sensation in his heart lifted. “Would that be okay with the Clarks?”

  She was grinning as she poured cocoa. “They told me to second Danica’s invitation.”

  “Then sure.” Pangs of conscience needled him again. Gwendolyn was sweeter than the drink she’d brought, and he was deceiving her. But he couldn’t tell her about his connection to the Clarks in front of his daughter. Maybe when they all went to the stable?

  Or was that reluctance inside him a sign he should wait? After all, when he’d tried to help Tara and revealed the family secret, it had ended tragically. Regret sliced him at the image of the necklace he’d given his stepsister.

  That necklace was found on a dead Jane Doe two months after Tara ran away. His stepfather had identified the dead girl as his daughter....

  “Thanks, Daddy.” Daisy smiled, bringing him back from sad memories, and his heart went soft like marshmallows in his cup.

  He had an idea as he looked into those luminous eyes. “What kind of exhibit would you like to have in the gallery?” Then he cringed. What was he doing? She was still too young.

  Daisy didn’t hesitate. “The cats.”

  He swallowed hard. “Cats?”

  Of course, she didn’t know. She was too young that tragic day, and thankfully, she was at home with his mother the evening he’d taken Annika out for their date night. The squeal of tires slashed his eardrums again as Annika swerved to avoid hitting a cat. She’d loved cats. They were going to get Daisy a kitten for her second birthday.

  Another tragedy that could’ve been prevented if he’d acted differently and stayed at home with Annika that day.

  Probably, another reason why he’d clung to Daisy so much. After all, too many people had abandoned him already.

  God had abandoned him, too, or Annika, Tara, and his little brother would still be alive. There were things he couldn’t understand about God.

  There were things he couldn’t understand about that horrible day of the accident, either.

  Gwendolyn walked to them with a tray of cocoa with marshmallows and a stack of Daisy’s favorite apple turnovers. “She probably means the history of cats, right, sweetie?”

  Daisy nodded.

  “There should be a lot of paintings and sculptures with cats. I can help with research,” Gwendolyn said as she placed the tray on a side table.

  “Me, too! I’ll help, too!” Danica screamed, snatching a pastry.

  Having hidden who he was from the family from the beginning pressed on his conscience now. But he couldn’t be too cautious when things concerned his daughter. Yes, if he told it to himself enough times, he could believe it.

  “I love cats.” Daisy’s quiet voice underplayed the louder girl as she eyed the goodies on the tray. Then she looked up. “But I love you more. And you, Miss Gwendolyn. And you, Danica.”

  “Love you, too, sweetie,” Gwendolyn said.

  For a moment, his heart stilled, and breath lodged in his throat. Whaaaat?

  Gwendolyn loved him?

  Oh. She meant his daughter.

  She leaned to him and whispered. “I wanted to ask you. Is it okay if I bring some German treats? Incorporate German traditions? For... for Daisy’s sake.”

  His insides tightened, and the moment stretched.

  Then he drew her closer in a desperate need of human connection, of understanding, of support, even if he’d never admit it to anyone. His blood rushed in his veins at her proximity, the gentle scent of her perfume enveloping him. “That might be a good idea. I thought forgetting the past would make it le
ss painful. It didn’t.”

  “Okay,” she whispered somewhere against his heart.

  His heart made a strange movement in his chest, and he let her go. He kept a secret from her, so he didn’t have the right to hug her. Didn’t have the right to feel the way he was starting to feel.

  As he placed the kiss atop Daisy’s head, breathing in the sweet scent of her mango shampoo that mixed with the scent of cocoa, his chest swelled with an unfamiliar feeling.

  Maybe this was what happiness felt and smelled like.

  Only to disappear after Christmas.

  He should tell Gwendolyn. Now.

  He almost held his breath in preparation.

  Then, as the image of his stepsister flashed in front of his eyes, he remembered why he was so reluctant to reveal who he was. It wasn’t only because of his daughter.

  Tara’s words rang in his ears as if decades hadn’t passed since the last time he’d seen her. After her father had beaten her up again—this time for a broken glass—Conner had made another desperate attempt to help her, asking his mother to talk to his biological father.

  Conner didn’t know what else to do. His stepdad had threatened that, if Conner went to the child protective services, he’d beat Tara to death and it would be all Conner’s fault. His mother had said Conner’s father had refused to help. Somehow, his stepdad had found out about the entire debacle.

  This time, the man used the metal belt buckle to punish Tara for Conner’s snitching and made him watch. When Conner had tried to interfere, he’d received hits on the arms.

  He flinched and rubbed his hands over the sweater as if he felt the scars.

  He’d never forget the salty taste of tears or the look in Tara’s eyes as she’d whispered to him later when he’d tried to soothe her pain with ice packs.

  You only made things worse. You’re a snitch! Nobody is going to help us. Nobody wants us.

  Those words echoed inside him louder than screams, sliced him worse than the metal buckle sliced his skin. Tara had disappeared that night. His stepfather hadn’t tried too hard to find her. As he’d gleefully told Conner, it was all Conner’s fault. Tears had burned Conner’s eyes then, tears he couldn’t allow to spill.

  He’d packed a backpack and left for the streets to look for Tara. He hadn’t found her, but the police had found him and brought him back.

  Minutes stretched into days and then months as he ran away more times to search for her. Then the horrible news came.

  A Jane Doe who might be Tara was found dead. She’d worn the necklace he’d given her. His stepdad had identified her, saying that should be the end of the story.

  And it was.

  The event had woken up his mother from her lethargy, made her realize her son might end up like Tara. Especially when her husband had replaced the punching bag of a daughter with a stepson.

  Conner and his mother had left together, first for the women’s shelter, then for a small apartment as he had started receiving a bigger salary at the ranch. His stepsister’s disappearance had saved him and his mother.

  But it had forever imprinted in his memory—and into his skin—that secrets were often best left untold.

  * * *

  “It’s a German tradition to have a wreath and light four candles in it.” Gwendolyn hoped she was doing this right as she placed candles in the wreath days later. One couldn’t always rely on information found on the internet.

  As Conner lit them with a lighter, Daisy’s eyes went big. “Wow.” She clapped, her braids bouncing. “It’s so pretty.”

  Conner’s gaze was pensive, so Gwendolyn could only hope she wasn’t pushing him too far. Then he looked up at her, his eyes misty. “Thank you for doing this.”

  Oh no.

  Was he fighting tears?

  Despite his words, her heart constricted. The next part should go better.

  The mansion was unusually quiet. The Clark family was out riding horses, except for Vera, who’d traveled to the crime scene while investigating Gwendolyn’s case—Gwendolyn had received the information from Uncle John and had passed it on to her friend. Heather, pregnant, was resting at home.

  Gwendolyn had been told the kitchen was at her disposal when she’d asked for it, and everyone was okay with Conner and his daughter visiting for the evening. Liberty wasn’t just okay, she’d cheered Gwendolyn on.

  First things first.

  Gwendolyn reached for the Advent calendar and handed it to Daisy as she crouched before the girl. “That’s for you.” She explained the calendar’s meaning. “We should’ve started it earlier, but better late than never, right? It’s got lots of chocolate, too.”

  An adorable grin pushed up the girl’s cheeks. “Yay! Thank you, Miss Gwendolyn.” She threw her little hands around Gwendolyn’s neck.

  It tugged on her heartstrings. Children’s hugs, so trusting and sincere, could never get old.

  “Hey, I feel left out!” Conner leaned in for a group hug.

  The pressure around her heart intensified at his intoxicating scent. Hugging him would never get old, either, though in a different way.

  She didn’t know who pulled back first, but she did know she missed his warmth immediately.

  Once the stollen was in the oven, she took off her apron and helped Daisy untie hers. “And now... how about we write a letter to Christkind?”

  Conner raised an eyebrow. “Christ child?”

  She fidgeted with her sweater hem. “Okay, I’m still rusty about German traditions. From what I understood, it’s more like an angel. Christkind comes on the twenty-fourth of December. They even have a parade where a girl wears wings and represents an angel in Germany. And German Christmas market in Chicago has a Christkind every year.”

  Daisy blinked fast. “I wanna be an angel.”

  He brushed flyaway strands of hair back to her braids, and so much love shone in his eyes. “Sweetie Pie, you already are.”

  Once they settled down at the table, the girl scratched her forehead. “I’m not gonna write the letter.”

  O–okay. Gwendolyn gave Conner and Daisy an apologetic glance. “No?”

  Daisy’s head bobbed up and down, and so did her two braids. “Nope. I’m gonna draw it.”

  That was probably because she couldn’t write well yet. Gwendolyn was about to offer her help but then nodded instead. “Let me bring art supplies then.”

  Once she did, Daisy chose colorful crayons. It didn’t take her long to draw but much longer to write a single phrase in big letters.

  Gwendolyn did her best to look away. But curiosity won, and she stole a glance.

  Her heart nearly stopped beating. The drawing depicted a woman with reddish-brown hair, a man with a beard, a girl with two braids, and a white cat the same size as the girl. All of them gathered around a Christmas tree.

  The large wobbly letters stole Gwendolyn’s breath away.

  I WANNA A MOMMY.

  The girl stuffed the drawing into the envelope. “How am I gonna send it to Christkind?”

  Conner brought glue and a few packets with glitter and sprinkles. “We’re supposed to leave the letter on the windowsill. But first, let’s decorate it with sprinkles and glitter to make it attractive.”

  “Sure, Daddy!” Daisy clapped, then did as he said.

  When Gwendolyn caught his gaze, her sad wistfulness reflected there. Could she trust herself to become the kind of mother she’d never had? She’d have no clue where to start. Would he open his heart to love—and risk of pain—enough to want her in his and his daughter’s life after Christmas?

  Then there was the mystery of her father’s death and the suspicious calls she’d begun receiving. Not to mention the fact that she and Conner lived in different parts of the country.

  He touched her hand. “I know what I’d write in the letter.”

  She steeled herself against the way he affected her. Did she take this too far? Did she make this small family a silent promise she wouldn’t be able to fulfill, no matter ho
w much she wanted to?

  No matter how much she wanted to find a home in his broad chest with that snowman sweater, where she’d melt into his strong arms.

  As if reading his mind, he opened his arms for her, and she walked into his embrace. Wow, her heart was never complete like this before.

  “Group hug, Daddy!” Daisy screamed.

  “Of course.” He lifted his daughter up, eliciting a squeal, and hugged them both.

  Gwendolyn was wrong a moment ago. Her heart was even more complete now. She imprinted the image into her memory, to cherish when... Best not to think about that.

  As well as not to think about her mother. But the memories appeared uninvited.

  The first years of her life she could remember, her memories were colored in bright hues. The house was breezy and large, with expensive chandeliers and polished hardwood floors she and her sister had enjoyed sliding on. They had fun playing with their many dolls, inventing stories as they went.

  Her childhood home seemed like a fairytale castle, and she was a princess, a pink dress with the word Princess written in glitter to prove it. Her mother, of course, was the queen. She’d let the nanny bake cakes as often as the girls wanted, so the memory smelled and tasted like Gwendolyn’s favorite white sheet cake with sprinkles. It was Gwendolyn’s job to pour sprinkles, and she’d taken it seriously, so the entire counter was often decorated in them. Okay, part of the floor, too. Her mother had only laughed after telling the nanny to clean it up. Mommy had such a melodic laugh, like jingle bells.

  Her long blonde hair—hair Gwendolyn sadly hadn’t inherited—was often pinned up in an elegant updo, and she loved giving parties. She’d moved among her guests in a shimmering dress like true royalty, her flowery perfume following her with the admiring gazes.

  Mommy looked so happy. But then the world looked much more... bubbly when one looked at it through the flute of champagne.

  While the girls had spent most of the time with the nanny, their mother had often taken them for expensive trips because her daughters deserved it.