Blue Sky Cowboy Christmas

by Joanne Kennedy

  As Bruce took the opportunity to lollop up the stairs and park himself in Riley’s lap, Griff’s usual grim expression relaxed. He might have even smiled. She thought about getting up so she could fall down again, because he sure looked good smiling.

  He put out a hand to help her up, but she ignored it, just like she had back on the sidewalk in town. He seemed to think she needed a protector, but she’d been taking care of herself since she was thirteen.

  Maybe that’s why you need one. Or deserve one.

  Yeah, right. Men were never protectors. Not in the long run. They always used you in the end. And while Griff Bailey still seemed like a good guy despite his freaking mood disorder or whatever, he was still a man. She preferred Bruce.

  “Sorry,” Griff said. “I was just going to ask you…”

  “It’s okay. I needed to come in anyway.” She stood, brushing off her pants. “It’s, like, ten degrees out. Can’t believe you’re making me work.”

  “You didn’t have to work. I could have used the side door, no problem.”

  She frowned. “Then why have I been slaving away in the cold for three hours?”

  “I just wanted to get you away from those women,” he said. “And the ‘only heir.’” He glared as if their presence was her fault. “I thought you were Ed’s heir. That’s what everybody else thinks, too.”

  “Well, everybody’s wrong. Ed’s got a real family. And he’s done enough for me.”

  Mumbling something under his breath, Griff turned away.

  Riley hated it when people mumbled. “If you have something to say, say it.”

  “All right, I will,” Griff said. “I don’t think Ed’s come close to doing enough for you. Everyone knows Ruth would have ended up in a nursing home if you hadn’t helped out, and he would have lost that store to medical bills. So I don’t know why’s he letting those women treat you like…”

  “You know what? Stop right there.” Her temperature rising, she flapped off her gloves and unzipped her coat. “I helped Ed and Ruth because it was the right thing to do and because I love them like family. Not so I’d inherit anything. That’s ridiculous—not to mention none of your business.”

  He just stood there, looking even more fierce and immovable. He’d stepped way over the line, shoving his big nose in her business, and she wished she dared to shove him away. See how he liked landing on his butt.

  Not that he had a big nose. It was a strong nose, sure, but not big. He had a nice profile. Strong, and kind of chiseled…

  Oh, stop it. He’s good-looking. Get over it.

  As if he’d read her mind, he let one side of his mouth quirk up in an almost smile. His temper seemed to smooth out along with his expression.

  “You want something hot to drink? I made hot chocolate.”

  “Really?” Darn it, she loved hot chocolate.

  “With mini-marshmallows,” he said. “Pink ones.”

  “Oh, no.” She let her coat fall to the floor. “How’d you know I love those?”

  “I saw Cap’n Crunch and Lucky Charms boxes in the dumpster.”

  Her heart warmed. She could almost forgive him for being so good-looking and so danged nosy.

  Almost.

  Chapter 8

  Walking into the kitchen, Riley almost tripped over the grocery bags strewn across the linoleum.

  “You don’t mess around when you shop,” she said.

  “I was hungry. And I don’t want to have to go back.” Griff grabbed a few cans and began stocking the pantry cabinet. “Couple of my dad’s friends were there. Smacking me on the back, going on about… Well. Nothing.” He shook his head, grimacing.

  She cocked her head, trying to figure out what he wasn’t saying, because he was suddenly very busy, grabbing mugs out of a cupboard, nodding toward some boxes on the counter. “I got you Frosted Flakes for breakfast tomorrow. They actually have corn in ’em, so they’re healthier than that other crap. And you drink two percent milk, right?”

  “Right. But I’m not staying here, remember? Do you eat Frosted Flakes?”

  “No, so you’ll have to stay and help.” He frowned, and she could have sworn the light dimmed. “You can’t go back there.”

  “I can go wherever I want.”

  “Yeah, right. Except your own apartment.”

  A tornado rose in her chest, spinning hard, scraping up emotions she didn’t even know were there—anger, embarrassment, hurt—and making them hotter, stronger. Hurt was right on top, twirling hard and fast, because Griff was right.

  The Harpies had taken over her apartment, and they were probably going through her stuff as they spoke, looking for dirt. They wouldn’t find anything—her life these days was blissfully dull—so they’d probably make something up because they wanted her out. They’d get what they wanted, of course, because sadly, their greed was stronger than Ed’s love.

  All that stuff she’d told Ed about getting what she deserved was total hogwash. You got what you worked for, if you were lucky. If you weren’t… Well, you got this. People moving into your space, shoving you out into the street. It had happened before.

  “I can’t stay here,” she said, thinking aloud. “I barely know you.”

  Griff looked hurt, which was fine with her. Maybe now he’d stop bringing up what he remembered and making her all squirmy inside.

  She wasn’t about to tell him how clearly she recalled that night in his Jeep, how a random whiff of woodsmoke or sweet pine would bring back the soft light in his eyes, that surprising tenderness. There was a hollow just below his shoulder where his skin was soft as a baby’s, and his hands had been surprisingly gentle when he’d cupped her head and kissed her. He’d met her eyes with something in his own she’d never seen before. It hadn’t been lust or triumph or the need that drove most men. It had looked strangely like reverence—or at least respect. And it had made her heart go soft in a way it never had before.

  Stop it. It was a long time ago. He’s changed.

  Leaning on the counter, he looked down at her, and she realized that even standing still, doing nothing, he was the dominant force in any room. And she flat out, no kidding, absolutely refused to be dominated.

  “Seriously,” she said, jutting her chin and meeting his eyes with a challenge. “I’m leaving.”

  * * *

  Griff poured a rich brown stream of cocoa from a saucepan into a pair of mugs and added a heap of mini-marshmallows to Riley’s. She pushed the mug away, watching with hungry eyes as the marshmallows wobbled on the swaying liquid. She looked tired, too, and he wondered how much sleep she’d gotten, holed up in Ed’s office on a cot. The thought of it made him burn inside.

  “Look, you can stay here. I promise you’re safe.” He spread his arms to show how harmless he was, but the sudden motion made her cringe, so he dropped his hands to his sides and shoved them in his pockets. “I know better than to start anything, honestly. I’m not fit for any woman right now, and I plan to keep to myself. Just pretend I’m not here.”

  Reaching for the mug, watching him like a wary animal, she took a tentative sip.

  “You can’t go out in this weather anyway.” He nodded toward the window. The rising wind lifted filmy, white snow ghosts from the new-fallen powder and waltzed them across the yard in looping circles. Two whirled around her truck, which was already hubcap-deep in a drift. “And you can’t sleep on a cot.”

  She shot him a glare that would have been a lot more effective without a pink, sticky marshmallow mustache. It would also have been more effective without the fear in her eyes—the fear of a cornered animal. He suddenly realized he’d been barking orders, scaring her.

  “I can sleep anywhere I want.” She slid off the barstool a little too fast and took a single staggering step before she grabbed the counter, going pale. He reached to steady her, then dropped his hand and did his best to s
often his tone.

  “Did you eat lunch? Or any of the breakfast you made?”

  She shook her head, closing her eyes for a moment. He moved toward her, ready to grab her shoulders if she fell, but she skittered backward, and he realized he’d made another move that must have looked threatening to her. Bruce rose and stood beside her, letting out a growl so low it sounded like distant thunder.

  “Sorry.” Griff held his hands up, palms out, like a criminal under arrest. “Just let me get you some lunch. Something more than cocoa.”

  “No, I’m fine.” She seemed to rally, color returning to her face. “I just…I just have to go before the storm gets any worse.”

  Before he could think how to stop her, she’d made it to the foyer, shrugged into her coat, and jammed the hat on her head.

  By the time he caught up to her, she’d already climbed into her truck.

  “Seriously, Riley.” He bent and leaned one arm on the truck’s roof. “You can’t go out in this in that.”

  “What, because it’s not a Ford? I’m so sick of hearing that. There’s nothing wrong with Chevy trucks.”

  She had to know that wasn’t what he’d meant. “I don’t care what make it is. It’s two-wheel drive, has the clearance of an LA lowrider, and all four tires are bald. Plus it’s so rusty your feet are liable to fall right through the floorboards. What year is that thing, anyway?”

  “1972.” Riley patted the cracked dashboard. “It’s a classic. There aren’t many of these babies around anymore.”

  “Yeah, because they all slid into ditches and rusted away.”

  Sticking her nose in the air, she turned the key. The car growled like a mama bear, then growled again.

  Rawrrrr, rawrrr, rawrrr.

  Jamming the key in harder, she shoved the accelerator to the floor and cussed a blue streak that surprised him even as he smothered a smile. Maybe she’d stay after all.

  “I need a jump,” she said. “Can you pull your Jeep up?”

  He wanted to say no, because what if the truck stalled somewhere on the long, lonely road to Wynott? But she was gripping the steering wheel and shaking it as if she could somehow bring the truck to life through force of will. There was a wild light in her eyes that made him realize she’d feel trapped if he refused to help. She liked to play tough, but he scared her.

  As he slouched off to get the Jeep, he thought about pretending to screw up so she couldn’t leave, but a woman who knew more than he did about power tools could probably use jumper cables, too. If he wanted her to trust him, he needed to be honest. She wasn’t stupid. But she was definitely scared.

  Not that she’d ever admit it.

  * * *

  Yanking the hood release, Riley hopped out of the driver’s seat and tramped through the snow to struggle with the latch. Once she got the hood up, she stared down into the Chevy LUV’s ancient innards, wincing at the crystalline crust on the battery. She could hardly see the terminals.

  Griff’s Jeep roared up behind her, making her jump and hit her head on the hood. She’d had the truck forever, but she’d never gotten used to the way the engine compartment opened from the front.

  “Ow.”

  She rubbed her head as Griff connected the cables to the Jeep’s battery and handed her the other end.

  “Thanks.” Standing on tiptoe, she stared down at the Chevy’s crusty battery, searching for the plus and minus terminals. She thought about asking Griff, but if he helped her jump the truck, she might go all Blanche DuBois and accept the rest of the help he’d offered, including staying at the ranch.

  She probably should. There was plenty of room, and it would save her from further enraging the Harpies, inconveniencing the Only Heir, and traumatizing the dog, who had his nose pressed to the front window up at the house. He was watching her with sorrowful eyes as drool ran down the glass.

  But although she knew Griff was a decent person and she believed he wouldn’t hurt her, there was something in the depths of his eyes that reminded her of something from her past. Something bad. Something that told her to run, fast and far.

  Chapter 9

  Griff reached past Riley and used an old screwdriver to chip some of the corrosion off her battery.

  “Thanks.” She swallowed hard, unnerved by his nearness.

  “You might try pouring a can of Coke over that battery.” His breath tickled her ear. “It eats off the rust.”

  “Seriously?” Riley felt sort of sick thinking of the Coke she drank every morning. If it could clean off that mess, what must it be doing to her empty innards? No wonder she didn’t feel good.

  “Seriously,” he said. “But don’t worry about it. You should just stay.”

  She turned away, but his gloved hands were gripping the raised hood on one side and the edge of the truck on the other. She was trapped, and he was very, very close. Too close.

  So why did she have this wild urge to get closer still? Looking up at his face, she saw… What was that? It didn’t really look like anger. It looked like… Was that fear? Maybe he wasn’t asking her to stay for her sake. Maybe he didn’t want to be alone.

  “Riley?” His voice was husky, almost a whisper.

  “What?” Her heart was beating jackrabbit fast. Her earlier dizziness returned, along with the butterflies—darn those butterflies.

  “You can’t go.”

  Did he mean You can’t go as in I need you to stay? Or did he mean You can’t go as in Your truck won’t make it home? Or was it You can’t go as in You shouldn’t be sleeping on a cot in Ed’s office?

  She scanned his face for clues, but all she could see was his jaw set hard, his eyes inky and unwavering. His body, inches from her own, wasn’t yielding, either—but hers was. Everything inside her was warming, pulsing, yearning. Her body, her mind, her heart—they were all beginning to transform, to shape themselves a new way, making room for this man.

  Geez, what was she, a teenager or just an idiot? Griff Bailey was trouble. Even he knew it. What had he said?

  I’m not fit for any woman right now.

  He was right. There was a good man in there somewhere behind the grim set of his mouth, his clipped, barked orders, and all those waves of testosterone, but it would take a while to dig him out from under the layers of pain she saw in his eyes. And who knew what might happen along the way? Damaged people did hurtful things.

  “I-I have to go. I’m sorry. Ed can’t run the store with just that…just that kid.”

  “Yeah, the Only Heir isn’t exactly prime material.”

  He was agreeing, right? So why didn’t he move? His gaze melted, but he still had her trapped. Didn’t he realize how oddly intimate it felt? If she breathed too hard, her chest would touch his—and boy, she wanted to breathe hard.

  He looked down at her mouth, and her foolish heart squirmed while her sensible self was whipped away by the wind that spun playfully around them, ruffling his hair and dunking snowflakes down the back of her collar.

  She shivered, and he tensed in response. Maybe he did realize how intimate this felt. Maybe he wanted it that way. Was he going to kiss her?

  Heat flared in his eyes, but then he shook his head. She thought she saw something like regret cross his face as he pushed away from the Chevy LUV.

  “I’ll start the Jeep.”

  She slipped back into her truck and waited. As the Jeep roared to life, she turned her key again, but though the engine made a few promising noises, it still wouldn’t start. She tried again and then again. Finally, he slid down out of the Jeep and came to her door.

  “Move over.”

  She didn’t know why he’d have any more luck starting it than she did, but she obeyed, then immediately regretted it. Her truck was small; Griff was not. The man ruled a room just by standing still. In a truck cab, he took up all the air and left her gasping.

  The but
terflies weren’t gasping, though. They were fluttering like fine ladies at a soiree. She squeezed her thighs together, but they wouldn’t stop.

  He cranked the key.

  Rrrr, rrrr, rrrr.

  “Shoot,” he muttered and tried again.

  Rrrr, rrrr, rrrr.

  “Dammit.” He spit the word out, harsh and sudden, and smacked the dash with his hand.

  The truck might not have jumped, but Riley did, inside and out. She had the passenger-side door open before she had time to think and one foot in the snow, poised to run. But where the hell would she go? She was trapped.

  She pulled her foot back in.

  Stay quiet. Stay quiet. Don’t draw his attention.

  She glanced at his face, hoping for a hint. Should she joke him out of his anger? Or would that just make him madder? She could try being pliant, obedient, but then she’d end up staying here with this angry, explosive man.

  The fear wasn’t the worst part, though. Beneath it ran a river of sorrow for the man who’d treated her with such tenderness, the only man she’d dared to fantasize about. He’d gone off to save the world, to do the right thing, and been hurt in a way that had made him somebody she feared.

  As he turned the key one more time, she braced herself—but wonder of wonders, the engine caught and roared to life. She hadn’t realized she was holding her breath until it whooshed out of her in one long, shaky sigh.

  “Better let it run awhile,” he said. “The battery… Riley?” He was looking down at her, concerned.

  She struggled to think of something spunky to say, but she was shaking so hard she couldn’t even think.

  “Riley, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I was… I was worried about the truck, that’s all.”

  He stared at her a moment and then seemed to collapse in on himself, as if his anger was draining away.

  “Oh God, Riley, I’m sorry. I just… I lost my temper there for a second.”

  She waved the words away, giving him a crooked smile. It probably looked ghastly, but it would have to do until she could get him out of her truck.