No. That would only upset Ed, and besides, sharing a meal was the best way to get to know people. Folks were usually more polite when they ate, especially women of the Harpies’ generation.
As she circled the table, doling out silverware, she tried to absorb the warmth of the Christmas lights, but their shine seemed brittle now, and the warmth of the fire couldn’t get past the waves of hostility coming from Carol and Diane.
Lighting the red and green candles she’d set in a centerpiece of fresh pine boughs, she squared her shoulders. It might not be what she’d hoped for, but it was Christmas. She’d find the good in these people somehow, and maybe they’d warm to her—at least a little.
Chapter 4
Griff woke to something smelly and wet slapping his face. Reaching out, he patted straw beside him, then palmed a hard skull covered with fur. Running his hand over the bony contours, he remembered.
Dog.
It was Bruce. He was in the barn. It had exploded, right? But everything seemed normal, like nothing had happened. He could see stars winking through the missing shingles in the roof like always, and the horses were munching their hay.
But he couldn’t have imagined that explosion. He wasn’t that crazy.
He glanced over at the closest horse, a pretty Arabian mare. She was pressed against the back wall of her stall, her hide gleaming with sweat. Her nostrils were flared, and her ears were pinned—so something had clearly happened.
Griff sighed. Apparently, he’d happened. From what he could see, he’d imagined the explosion, then fed the horse his imaginary fears.
Closing his eyes, he clenched his fists and let them go. Clenched them and let them go.
Breathe, breathe.
He savored the familiar scent of the barn, let it settle his senses. Took in the sounds of the winter night—the soft breath of the horses, the cooing of mourning doves perched in the rafters.
Oh. Doves in the rafters.
That was what he’d heard. A covey of startled birds had burst from their perches, making a sound like a shotgun blast. Doves tended to do that twenty times a day, because their brains were the size of dried peas.
So was Griff’s, apparently. He knew he was safe here. That was why he’d come. Although the hard work of ranching had been the bane of his adolescence, it allowed for an orderly parade of events. Life marched on, season to season, with predictable rituals he’d known since birth. Disasters were small—a failed crop, a runaway horse, a calf dead in the birthing. That was as bad as it got, and right now, he was fine with that—or should have been.
But if he couldn’t deal with frightened doves, could he deal with anything? Maybe his commander was right. Maybe he was damaged goods.
“Tell you what,” he said to the frightened horse. “This’ll be our secret. You don’t tell what a mess I am, and I’ll try not to scare you again.”
Clearly unconvinced, the animal pressed her haunches into the corner of her stall and rolled her eyes.
Well, that was that. Griff would feed the horses and turn them out, but he’d stay away from any training or riding. Horses saw inside a man, sensed intentions and emotions, and this one had seen the fear in him. He’d passed it on, and who knew how long it would take for her to get over it? Most of his dad’s horses had been abused at one time.
He’d chosen the life of a soldier. He’d never wanted the ranch, not at all, and even if he wasn’t quite the hero he’d hoped to be, even if he feared his own dreams and had come running home to hide, he’d never wanted to be a cowboy.
So what was he supposed to do with the aching sense of loss he felt when the horse backed away?
* * *
Ed Boone stood in the door to the kitchen, hands hanging limply at his sides. Riley didn’t turn and smile, like she usually did, or invite him to help. She just kept scrubbing, her head hanging low over the sink like she needed to polish each plate to gleaming perfection. She was crying, he was sure, but she didn’t want him to know.
Dinner had been a disaster. Carol and Diane had sniffed Riley’s savory stew and refused to eat it because it had alcohol in it. Well, it did, but Riley had explained how the alcohol was all cooked out, leaving only the flavor of the wine. Which was delicious, by the way.
Trevor obviously didn’t have anything against drinking alcohol. That bottle had been a gift from Riley, and Ed had wanted to snatch it right out of the boy’s hand. He was saving it for her wedding day, knowing she’d someday find love and start a family despite her protests. Much as he’d miss her, he’d be glad to see her make her way in the world. It would be something to celebrate.
He guessed most parents and grandparents thought that way, except his sisters, who seemed intent on keeping Trevor close. The way they watched the boy’s every move made Ed nervous, so he couldn’t imagine how Trevor felt. The boy’s parents had died in a car crash when he was barely a teen, but that tragedy was no excuse for his rudeness.
The kid probably got that from Carol and Diane. They’d certainly set a terrible example tonight. They always put on airs, yet their manners at the table had been no better than a farmhand’s. Worse, in fact. Farmhands generally ate what was put in front of them.
That was what Ed had done. He’d even eaten those pearl onions, the ones that reminded him of eyeballs. Yeesh, they felt funny going down—but he’d rather eat eyeballs than hurt Riley’s feelings.
He stood in the door to the kitchen, wringing his hands, longing to apologize but unable to find the words. There was a burning pressure in his chest that had built throughout the night, as if something inside him wanted out. He hoped his heart wouldn’t act up again, but he was sure it would break watching Riley try so hard.
He cleared his throat and she turned quickly, as if she hadn’t known he was there. Her hand flew to her face to dash away tears, splashing soapy water.
“Probably looks like I’m crying, huh?” She gave him a shaky smile. “I got soap in my eyes.”
“You look fine,” he said. “You handled that with real grace, hon. I’m proud of you and ashamed of them.” He sighed and slumped against the cabinets. “They’re difficult. Always were.”
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not.” He picked up a dish towel and began to dry while she washed.
“I didn’t know Trevor was coming, but he can use my second bedroom,” Riley said. “I have it set up as an office, but there’s that daybed.”
“I think they’re hoping he’ll stay a while, though, and Riley, that’s your home. He’s got problems, I guess, and they think it would do him good to stay here.”
“Well, they’re right. You helped me with my problems.”
Ed snorted. “You helped yourself with your problems, hon, and then moved on and fixed mine. Plus you’re the one who made that attic so nice, and they’ve got no right.” He sighed. “The Baileys will be back around Christmas, right?”
“Not sure.” She dumped the contents of the Dutch oven into a plastic storage container and snapped on the lid. “But Griff’s back, so it’s kind of awkward to stay. I mean, there’s plenty of room, but…”
“Griff’s back?” Ed remembered Griff Bailey. He’d been a good boy, hard-working and respectful but quiet. Still, he’d be a man now, so Riley might not feel safe staying there. Ed didn’t know her whole history, but he’d seen her fear when male customers came in angry about some product they’d bought. He didn’t want her to have to deal with Griff, who was a big guy and just returned from the war. So he’d have to… have to…
He didn’t know what he’d do. There was no room at the inn. Or rather, the hardware store.
“I’ll be over there working all the time when I’m not at the store, so I can stay in the office like I used to.” Riley flashed him a smile. “Remember? In the old days, before we really knew each other.”
Ed was ashamed of those old days. Riley
had truly been an angel to him and Ruth, but they’d heard ugly things about her, so she’d slept in the office rather than their home. It had taken them too long to see she deserved their trust and their love.
“I don’t want you there, Riley. I mean, I want you here, but you need a better place to sleep.”
She shrugged. “It’s fine. You know I’ve had worse.”
Now Ed’s eyes were leaking. Riley should live in a castle of gold as far as he was concerned. Back when Ruth’s MS had gotten bad, her care had exhausted him. Riley, a regular at the store, had quietly taken over, first in the store as a volunteer helper, then with Ruth herself, spending nights by her side so he could rest, doing all the private, womanly things that made Ed uneasy.
He owed this girl everything—so why couldn’t he stand up for her? He’d needed to grow a backbone all his life, and if he couldn’t do it for Riley, he was really a lost cause.
“You can’t sleep on that cot,” he said. “They might be the ugly stepsisters, but you’re not Cinderella.”
“You’re right, I’m not.” Riley barked out her funny, hoarse laugh. “Cinderella was a good girl.”
“So are you.”
“Now. But I wasn’t always, and they know that. It’s okay, Ed. The cot is fine.”
“You deserve more.” Tears stood in Ed’s eyes, blurring his vision. “So much more.”
She flashed him a crooked grin. “If I deserve it, I’ll get it. That’s the way the world works.” She sobered and touched his arm. “Oh, no. Are you crying, Ed?”
“No.” He turned away, swiping at his face. “Just soap in my eyes.”
Chapter 5
Griff woke the next morning with a start. He’d been dreaming he was in downtown Wynott when he’d spotted three figures draped in black scuttling along the cracked sidewalks like beetles. They were dashing into doorways, poking their heads out, then racing to the next hiding place.
He’d chased them, making them scamper faster. Finally, he’d caught up with one and put his hand on its black-clad shoulder. The figure spun around, lifting its veil, and he saw—something. He didn’t know what, because he flailed his arms at the sight and struck his hand on the corner of the nightstand. The pain woke him and wiped the image away. He could only remember it was something bad, something wrong. A corpse, or an animal head.
Dammit. He’d been sure home would heal him, but the desert haunted his sleep every night. Even here in the middle of a real-life Christmas card, he could swear he smelled the musty scent of canvas cooked in the sun and heard angry voices arguing in a language he didn’t know. Hell, he could still hear them as if they were right outside. And he couldn’t move his legs.
He jerked upright, listened harder, and let out a dry, mirthless chuckle. Those weren’t hostiles at his window; they were his dad’s tom turkeys, bossing their lady hens around the chicken house. And the weight on his legs? It was Bruce, who’d apparently disobeyed Griff’s orders and hopped up on the bed during the night.
Maybe Griff could solve all his problems by training the dog better and eating those feathered terrorists for Christmas dinner.
Heading downstairs, he shoved a few logs in the woodstove and made coffee. Once he’d taken care of the horses, he fed Bruce and settled down to read for a while. He’d developed a taste for Louis L’Amour paperbacks overseas, and he longed for that author’s Old West, where there were good guys and bad guys, white hats and black. Every western woman was a paragon of virtue, every cowboy her noble defender.
He was thoroughly lost in that world when somebody knocked on the front door.
Riley. She’s back.
He racewalked to the door, tripping on a throw rug and barely catching himself before opening the door. He stared out at the snowy landscape, confused by the white-laced trees. It had been summer in his book.
Plus there was nobody there. That made sense, though, since the door opened into thin air. “Down here,” said a small voice.
He looked down to see Fawn Swanson standing in the snow, looking cute as a bunny in a puffy white parka with fur around the hood. Snowflakes sparkled on her eyelashes as she blinked up at him, smiling sweetly, and she held up an aluminum pan like an offering.
“Hey, Griff.”
Fawn had the kind of wholesome, ranch-raised beauty that had made her Wynott’s golden girl in high school—class president, prom queen, and the top of every cheerleader pyramid. The teenaged Griff had been dazzled by the way her heart-shaped face had lit up when she smiled, and he’d never tired of watching her leap and spin, cheering with the squad on game nights. Football, once a duty demanded by his size and strength, had become a mission once he’d noticed Fawn. But she’d been golden, while Griff, at best, had been bronze.
Oh, he’d had his admirers. Ranch chores had piled the muscle on, and he’d had some success on the rodeo team as well as the gridiron. He’d never had much to say, and he’d worried about boring his dates, but his silence had apparently made him irresistible. That was too bad, because he hadn’t been interested in anyone but the unattainable Fawn. Every date had ended with a chaste kiss and a promise, soon broken, to call.
Fawn hadn’t changed a bit, but apparently, he had—because looking down at her, he didn’t feel anything except a vague, heavy thud of disappointment. Maybe Riley wasn’t coming back. Maybe he’d blown it.
Fawn raised the pan a little higher. “I brought you something.”
He needed to let her in, but it was a long way down. He could go down there and hoist her up, but that would be awkward.
“I hope you like lasagna,” she said.
“Sure.” He bent down for the pan, then pulled his hands away so fast she almost dropped it.
“Is it hot?” he asked.
“No, silly. I’m holding it, aren’t I?”
Her laugh sounded like silver stars tumbling into a pristine mountain lake, but it cut off midtinkle.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I know it was terrible, all your experiences overseas.” Her tone was gentle, like she was talking to a sick person, and her eyebrows angled up in an expression of—what was that?
Pity.
That was the last thing he wanted.
“It wasn’t so bad.” He set his book on the floor and took the dish, then stood there awkwardly. “Well, thanks.”
She looked up at him from under shyly lowered lashes. “Can I come in?”
“Sure.”
He glanced around, wondering how she’d manage. Riley had hoisted herself in and out easily, but he couldn’t expect Fawn to be that tough. Riley was a survivor from the hard-knock life, while Fawn had been pampered to perfection since birth. Her dad was a successful rancher and her mom owned a hair salon with the dreadful name Wynott’s Top-Knots. That was successful, too, despite the name.
“How about the side door?” she asked.
“Yeah. Right.” Darn it, he should have thought of that. For some reason, the simplest things seemed complicated today. It was like thinking through mud.
When he let her in the kitchen door, she looked up, wide-eyed, as if she’d never seen a man before. Silence stretched out while he fished around for words.
Finally, Fawn spoke. “So how are you doing?”
“Fine.”
She fluttered her lashes at him, lips parted breathlessly, as if she expected him to say something important. When he didn’t, she flexed her mouth just the slightest bit, and a shadow of annoyance crossed those crystal-blue eyes. That didn’t surprise him. He’d always come up short in Fawn’s eyes.
Then the shadow of a pout turned into a smile, and he could swear the sun turned up a notch. “I heard about what you did over there.” She wasn’t quite meeting his eyes; she seemed to be looking over his left shoulder.
He turned, following her line of sight, and saw the dishes drying on the counter.
�
�Oh, that wasn’t me. It was Riley.”
“I didn’t mean…oh.” Fawn seemed shocked. “Riley James? Are you and her… Are you…?”
“What? No. She’s here fixing the porch.”
“Oh. Okay. Well, I meant I heard about what you did overseas. Everyone’s talking about how you saved so many lives.”
He swallowed the urge to swear. He’d never intended to pollute his hometown by talking about what had happened, but apparently the word was out. And judging from the shine in Fawn’s pretty eyes, the word wasn’t accurate.
“How did anybody hear about that shit?”
He probably shouldn’t swear at Fawn, but he needed her to stop talking about his experiences. Nothing that happened in Iraq should come to Wynott. Ever.
“You’re a hero,” she said. “It was in the paper and everything.”
“Sorry.” He wondered why he had to repress a desperate urge to shove the former woman of his dreams back out the door and slam it. “Want to come in? Sit down?”
“Sure.”
She followed him into the family room.
“What’s that?” She clutched Griff’s arm and pointed a trembling finger at a shadow beside the woodstove. The shadow had spooky amber eyes.
“That’s just the dog. Riley says he’s harmless.”
“Really?” She huddled close to Griff until they got to the sofa. Sitting down, she patted the cushion beside her and smiled.
There’d been a time when having Fawn Swanson on his sofa would have been the culmination of all his dreams, but right now, sitting beside her made him uncomfortable.
“You’re a hero,” she repeated in a whisper as he sat down.
He stood so fast, she bounced back against the pillows. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he went to the window.
“Griff?” She followed him and set one hand on his arm. “Do you need to talk about it?”
“No. Sorry. I’m fine.”
Blue Sky Cowboy Christmas Page 3
