Blue Sky Cowboy Christmas

by Joanne Kennedy

  “He needs more than horses, though,” Fawn continued. “He needs people around. Friends. That’s why we’re going to the Red Dawg.” She glanced at her watch, frowning. “I said five thirty.”

  Riley nodded, swallowing hard. It sounded like Griff had a date with Fawn tonight, which made it awfully rude of him to kiss Riley the way he had. Three times. Twice like he meant it.

  The butterflies were on their backs now, their wings still, their legs waggling weakly in the air. “I’m sure he’ll be back soon.”

  She tried to picture him in the crowded bar, but her imaginary Griff insisted on sitting in a corner booth, alone. He even unscrewed the light bulb that hung over the table so he could sit in the dark, and he was still mad he’d had to come.

  Except he’d be with Fawn. He’d probably do anything for her—even mix and mingle.

  “Do you want to check the barn and see if he’s back?” she asked.

  “No. I’ll wait.” Fawn edged past Bruce into the living room. She glared down at the sofa where Riley had left her romance novel, her fluffy pillow, and the soft blanket printed with frolicking bunnies that obviously didn’t belong to Griff.

  With a little moue of distaste, Fawn placed the pillow and the blanket on the floor and took possession of Riley’s favorite spot. The look she shot Riley smacked of triumph—or was Riley imagining that?

  She really ought to sit down and make small talk, but she had no idea what to say. If Fawn had come in to the hardware store looking for some power tools, she would have had plenty to talk about, but Fawn was into hairstyles and fancy fingernails. There was nothing wrong with that, but they had nothing in common.

  “I’ll go out to the barn,” she finally said. “See if he’s back.”

  “Thank you,” Fawn said stiffly.

  Riley couldn’t imagine how Griff could be late for a date with his dream girl. Had he forgotten? Or was something wrong?

  * * *

  Dumping the curry brush he was using to a bucket, Griff led Jess’s horse, Buster, back to his stall, glancing around, wondering if he could just hide.

  His stomach had done a slow, sickening flip when Fawn’s car rolled up. He’d forgotten all about their date. He’d even forgotten today was Sunday.

  And he’d just kissed Riley James three times. Not to mention that tumble in the snow.

  He watched through the wavy panes of a smudged barn window as Fawn marched up to the house, wondering what was wrong with him. He’d wanted a date with Fawn all his life, but watching her now, he felt like a hunted animal.

  Tugging his hat down over his eyes, he remembered her comments the other day.

  You probably need somebody to talk to.

  You can’t close yourself off, you know. Don’t bottle it up inside.

  It’s time to jump back into life, okay?

  She meant well, but those helpful admonitions sounded like threats right now.

  He’d met women like that before—women who wanted to save his tragic soldier soul. He knew how to stave them off; a few dull stories of long patrols usually lost their interest, and if that didn’t work, a guy could just get crass with a few off-color stories.

  He had one foot on the ladder to the hayloft when Riley’s slim silhouette appeared in the doorway.

  “Griff?” She squinted through the dust motes that danced in the light from the windows. “Fawn’s here. She says you have a date.”

  “Yeah, she made that date. I didn’t. Can you tell her I’m not here?”

  Riley stared at him as if he’d gone crazy. “Didn’t you hear me? It’s Fawn. Your dream girl.”

  “Yeah, well, I changed my mind about that. Um…”

  His throat suddenly went dry, and his eyes welled up. He had stuff bottled up all right, and right now most of it was about Riley, so he sat down hard on the bottom rung of the ladder and bowed his head, hiding his eyes beneath the brim of his hat.

  Geez, what a doofus. Tell Riley she’s your dream girl. Tell her.

  His dream girl shrugged. “It’s no big deal, Griff. I’ve always known you liked her. But you’d better get inside. She’s pretty mad you’re late.”

  “I don’t… I don’t…” He groaned, dropping his head into his hands.

  “Hey, I realize the Red Dawg on dollar-beer night’s a lot to deal with.” She sounded chirpy, encouraging. “You could get a six-pack and go out by the quarry instead.”

  His heart twisted. Didn’t she realize that was their thing? Doing it with Fawn would be like blasphemy. He needed to tell her that—but instead, he rolled his eyes. “Then we’d have to talk.”

  Punching his arm like a buddy would, she grinned. “Then the Red Dawg’s perfect. You won’t be able to hear yourself think in there. Plus you can get a buzz on.”

  He nodded miserably. He’d been worried about hurting Riley’s feelings, but it was obvious that she was over whatever had happened between them.

  “If you really want me to, I’ll go in there and tell her you’re not home yet, but judging from the look in her eye, she’d mount a posse and go after you.” Riley laughed, and the hoarse, sudden sound sent a squadron of doves blasting from the rafters. She jumped, startled, but Griff didn’t.

  Hey, he was getting better.

  “I’ll be right there,” he said.

  “Great. I’ll tell her.”

  Fawn’s voice rang in his head as he hung the grooming bucket on a hook.

  I heard about what you did over there. You’re a hero.

  She had it all wrong. Whatever she’d heard had been filtered, washed, and sanitized by the military, because he was definitely not a hero. How could he be, when he was afraid of a five-foot-nothing hairstylist with a dimpled smile and a tinkling laugh?

  Chapter 19

  “He’ll be right in,” Riley told Fawn. “His horse was sweaty.”

  Fawn gave her a skeptical look.

  “The sweat froze because it’s so cold, and then he had to chip the ice off its hooves.”

  “Won’t all that just melt?” Fawn asked. “He knew we had a date. I’m here to help him.”

  Riley swallowed a pang of jealousy. She’d hoped Griff would turn to her for help, but then, he’d probably heard she’d barely survived her own problems. She was the last person anyone would ask for advice.

  When Griff walked in, stamping snow off his boots and shrugging out of his coat, Fawn rushed right to him. Right to him. Riley wouldn’t dare invade his personal space like that unless he asked. Or unless he was asleep and didn’t know she was there.

  “Griff!” Fawn grabbed his hands. “Are you all right? Riley said you might have gotten lost! I was so worried.”

  Riley’s mouth dropped open. She hadn’t told Fawn that Griff was lost. And Fawn hadn’t been worried; she’d been furious. In fact, Griff had better toe the line for the rest of the night, or his first date with Wynott’s sweetheart would be his last.

  * * *

  Griff looked down at Fawn and tried to feel the way he was supposed to—sorry because he’d forgotten their date and worried because she might be mad. He should be turned on, too, because she was wearing a low-cut shirt that would have had the old Griff drooling. But all he felt was annoyed. He’d been looking forward to a quiet night with Riley, sitting by the fire together, reading. His doctor had told him that was the kind of thing that would heal him: quiet times with family. Not nights in a crowded bar.

  Sorry. Can’t go. Doctor’s orders.

  Maybe he could pull that off, but of course Fawn would want to know more, and he didn’t really want anyone to know he’d seen a doctor or spent three months in a military hospital trying to tame those buzzing black bees.

  “You’d better get cleaned up.” Fawn wrinkled her sweet, tip-tilted nose. “I can tell you’ve been riding.”

  “Right.” Griff glanced over at Riley.
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  “Don’t worry.” She was trying to be game, but she looked like he’d sent her to the executioner. “Fawn and I’ll catch up while you’re gone.”

  “I’ll be quick.”

  By the time he got downstairs, Riley was seated by the fire with Fawn, who perched ramrod straight on the edge of her chair with perfect posture that emphasized her generous curves. Her eyes flashed with the triumph of a cheerleader whose team was trouncing the competition. Riley, on the other hand, looked limp as a picked daisy too long out of water. Griff figured he’d look like that by the end of the night.

  He gave himself a mental slap. He’d wanted Fawn with an almost desperate longing for most of his adolescence. Now, she wanted him. He ought to be overjoyed.

  “You look great.” She jumped to her feet. “I like that shirt.”

  He didn’t. He’d apparently bulked up overseas, so he’d had to borrow one of the shirts his dad wore when he worked pickup at the rodeo. Striped in loud colors, it was too garish for a man accustomed to army green and camouflage.

  “See you later, Riley,” he said.

  Riley looked at Fawn, then bit her lip and nodded.

  He wanted to tell her, right there and then, that she shouldn’t compare herself to Fawn. Sure, Fawn came from an old Wynott family and was a cheerleader and a beauty queen. And if you didn’t know her, Riley might look like more of an outsider, one who’d come to Wynott with nothing but a bad reputation.

  But that was what they were. When you looked at who they were inside, Riley won hands down.

  “Have a good time,” Riley said, her tone flat.

  “Thanks.” Fawn looked up at him as if waiting for something. He finally realized he was supposed to put his hand in the small of her back and usher her toward the door. Glancing back, he saw Riley staring after them. Her eyes looked sad, and a gong rang inside him.

  Wrong, wrong, wrong.

  But he couldn’t see a way to stay. He’d tried to hide, but Riley herself wouldn’t let him, which was a pretty good hint that those kisses hadn’t meant much to her.

  They’d meant a lot to him—but how would she know? He was leaving with another woman—one who was her opposite in every way.

  Chapter 20

  The Red Dawg was humming when Griff and Fawn arrived, but a hush fell over the crowd the moment they entered. As the swinging saloon-style doors flapped behind them, the dim light from the Tiffany shades over the pool table caught the gleam of dozens of eyes, all of them looking their way.

  Somebody clapped and he almost bolted, but nobody joined in, and the applause faded to a scattered ripple. There was a hoot from one corner, a “booyah” from another, plus a rush of words as a few people rose and came to greet him.

  Most of the folks were older men he recognized, along with some guys he knew from high school. Several clapped him on the back, and everybody shook his hand. Their words blended together, and he was unsure of who said what.

  “Heard about what you did over there.”

  “Griff! Long time, no see, buddy!”

  “Hey, soldier. How’s it going?”

  And stiffly, “Thank you for your service, sir.”

  Through it all, Fawn stood beaming like a kid who’d brought her shiny new pony to the fair, and Griff realized why she was suddenly interested in him. He was a trophy date. As long as she clung to his elbow, Fawn could bask in some sort of reflected glory. She didn’t know he didn’t deserve it. Didn’t know they had it all wrong.

  Once he managed to extricate himself from the crowd, Fawn steered him toward the booths that lined the back wall, but he resisted. They were dim and private, and he didn’t want to be trapped there with Fawn in case she started with the Dr. Phil stuff again. Instead, he led her to a table near the bar. Fawn happily hiked herself up onto one of the tall chairs and smiled, patting the seat beside her.

  “See? I told you everyone would be glad to see you.” She beamed. “When we heard you were back, a lot of people thought we should have a parade, but some of the older guys said it wasn’t a good idea.” Her pretty eyes softened, and she gently touched his arm. “It might remind you of…things.”

  He nodded, doing his best to look soulful and damaged. If she thought he was a basket case, she might get bored and leave him alone.

  He was relieved when the house band hit the stage at nine and played rock-laced country songs loud enough to make conversation a challenge. Griff watched a smattering of couples make their way to the dance floor and sensed Fawn casting him meaningful looks as if she wanted to get up there and join the two-steppers, but he wasn’t in the mood.

  He wasn’t in the mood for any of this, and he was starting to feel sorry for Fawn. She seemed genuinely concerned about him, but her approach was all wrong somehow. Maybe she was right and he was afraid to get into the water or whatever.

  He resolved to try harder as a waitress approached. Griff recognized her, but danged if he could remember her name.

  “Well, hey, look who’s here! What can I get you two?” She emphasized the last two words, touching Fawn’s arm, widening her eyes, and giving her a not-so-subtle congratulatory nod.

  “Hey, Lucy,” Fawn said. “A cosmopolitan for me.”

  Lucy George. Griff remembered her now. She’d dated one of his friends, but asking about that would probably be awkward.

  “Beer.” He looked down at the table. “Any kind.”

  A shadow fell over the table and Griff looked up warily, expecting another well-wisher he barely remembered, but he actually smiled when he saw who it was.

  “Matt Lassiter.” He stood and shook the newcomer’s hand. “Long time, buddy.”

  This time, the handshaking and backslapping felt good. Lassiter had been a fellow contestant on the rodeo team and the ultimate troublemaker all through high school. If a relatively harmless prank involved fireworks, spray paint, or wayward animals, Matt had been the man for the job.

  Obviously, things had changed. Somehow, Grigsby High’s most notorious prankster had gotten himself elected town marshal. Lean and sinewy, with piercing brown eyes, he looked like a worthy adversary for Wynott’s criminal underworld—if only there were one. As far as Griff knew, the town’s isolated location had kept it clean and innocent, without the taint of drugs or crime—so far. It was Matt’s job to keep it that way.

  “How are you?” Matt pulled out a chair and joined them. A slight frown tugged at the corner of Fawn’s polite smile, but Griff was relieved. Having Matt here made the whole “date” thing a lot easier.

  “I’m good. You know Fawn, right?”

  Matt nodded, and they made small talk for a while, talking about Matt’s job, some incidents at the high school, and a robbery at the convenience store at the edge of Wynott. Griff was starting to enjoy himself, but his mind kept wandering back to the ranch, back to Riley and the sorrowful look in her eyes just before he’d left—the look she’d covered up with that phony pasted-on smile.

  He’d honestly forgotten about the date with Fawn. If he’d remembered, maybe he wouldn’t have kissed Riley.

  Yeah, right.

  Who was he kidding? Nothing could have stopped him out there on the truck. But he could have explained the situation in advance. Or called Fawn and canceled.

  He couldn’t believe Riley had suggested he and Fawn go down to the quarry. That was the last place he and Riley had been intimate—or was it? He’d woken this morning with her snugged up against him, enjoyed the warmth of her body, and heard the soft whisper of her breath. That was intimate, wasn’t it?

  Suddenly, he missed her with almost a physical ache.

  “Hey, buddy,” Matt said. “You here with us or on another planet?”

  “Sorry.” Griff gave him a rueful smile. “Another planet, I guess.”

  Fawn reached over and took his hand, her eyes shining with compassion. She was a sweet, kind
woman, and Griff was sure her kindness was genuine. He just wished it wasn’t aimed at him.

  “He’s been through so much,” she said to Matt. “Sometimes he just gets lost in his thoughts.” With a winsome smile, she nudged his arm. “You’re surprised I know that, aren’t you? Well, I’ve been doing some reading about soldiers coming home from war. And I’m not a professional or anything, but I think I have a good understanding of what you’ve been through and what you need.”

  Oh, sweet Jesus, get me out of here. Now.

  He gave her a sickly smile. “Sure, Fawn. But I’m okay. Doing fine.”

  He wasn’t, though. The din in the bar was clanging inside his head, and the dark corners, together with the milling crowd, made him nervous.

  He cleared his throat and tossed a desperate look at Matt. “So what’s it like patrolling the mean streets of Wynott?”

  Matt laughed. “It’s even worse than you’d imagine. Mostly, I get old ladies who mistake stray cats for stalkers and complaints about barking dogs.” He sobered. “But trouble’s coming. I partnered with the state police busting up a meth factory out in the county, and somebody was selling pills at the high school in Grigsby. We’ve got so many different types of community—the ranchers out in your area, the little downtown area, the trailer parks, and the mountains, with who-knows-who squirreled up in those remote cabins. We’ve been having issues with squatters.”

  “Are you the only law in town?”

  “Might as well be.” Matt sighed. “Jim Swaggard ran against me, and he was so crushed he didn’t get elected that I took him on as a deputy. Trust me, I need another one. He still hasn’t qualified to carry a weapon, and it’s been three years.”

  Griff chuckled, and it was real humor this time. Jim was Wynott’s one-man volunteer police force before the town could pay for a full-time law-enforcement officer. They’d chosen to elect a marshal, like the Wild West town they were, but Jim had more enthusiasm than skills, and his law-enforcement education came from Law & Order reruns rather than the police academy. He’d been dedicated, riding a bicycle around town in a uniform he’d fashioned for himself that boasted a marshal’s star that looked like it came from a Toys“R”Us Western Lawman kit. Nobody took Jim seriously, but he’d considered himself the only man standing between Wynott and the lawless wilderness.