Blue Sky Cowboy Christmas

by Joanne Kennedy

  “It’s you, Riley,” he whispered. “It always was.”

  She didn’t know what he meant by that, but when his tongue touched her there, right there, it wasn’t what launched her into space. It was the emotion behind those words that sent her, wild and helpless, into the limitless sky. Closing her eyes, she clenched her fists, clutching at the cushions and struggling for breath. He held her and she rose, rose, and flew, certain she’d rocket off into the cosmos if he ever let her go.

  But he did at last. Rising up, he unzipped his pants and stepped awkwardly out of one leg, then the other. Then he was all grace again, a feral, muscled man making her need him in a way she never had before. She reveled in being feminine. Being delicate. Being taken by a man, a real man, who was stronger than a thousand storybook heroes in her eyes.

  Chapter 24

  Griff closed his eyes. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to look at Riley. He did, but the blissful expression on her face was enough to make him embarrass himself. He needed to think about something else, something ordinary, even ugly. Otherwise, he was liable to explode.

  But this moment was too precious to waste on anything but her.

  A picture of Fawn flashed into his head, and he shook it away. Fawn was all tidy, like a Persian kitty at a cat show, but Riley was an alley cat, lithe and powerful, a survivor like him. She was what he needed, what he wanted, and what he’d have—for tonight, anyway, and a whole lot longer if she’d let him.

  Deep down, though, he wondered if that was even possible. Riley was a loner. Even now, she was giving him everything but her heart, and he wondered if she’d ever give that to any man. He couldn’t blame her for being cautious after all she’d been through, but maybe he could change her.

  No, not change her. Heal her. He hoped she’d always be Riley, but he wanted her to be happy, free from that fear he saw under her bold facade. Like when he’d hit the dashboard that time.

  He remembered the expression on her face, the way she’d twitched as if to run. The way she’d scanned his face, searching for the right response.

  Obviously, he’d have to heal himself first, before he could do anything for her. To his surprise, the thought energized him. He had a goal now—a reason to find his old self buried under all the painful memories.

  For once, the picture that flashed into his mind wasn’t smoke and flames or faces wrenched with pain. It was Riley, dressed in white, carrying flowers. Daisies, or those little mini-roses, walking, slow and stately as music played…

  “Griff? Hello?”

  “Sorry.” He wouldn’t tell her he was picturing her in white, considering a forever life together. It was way too much, too fast. Besides, Riley had enough problems. She didn’t need one more.

  And so he lied.

  “I was busy trying to figure out how we could do this again and when,” he said.

  “Not a tough problem.” She shrugged. “I’m here. You’re here. We might as well play house.”

  “Okay.” He lowered his voice. “But just so you know, I’m not playing.”

  He didn’t want to scare her, but he needed to tell her this wasn’t a game. It was real—but she might not have been listening, because she pulled his head down and kissed him, hard and wild, and he lost it, totally lost everything in the world. Everything but her.

  * * *

  Riley closed her eyes and kissed Griff, letting her inner alley cat out of the bag. She hadn’t let anyone touch her in a long, long time. In fact, she avoided most men, except for people like Ed and her friends’ husbands. Men she could trust.

  She didn’t know if she could trust Griff, but she sure couldn’t resist him. Those big hands, that broad chest… When he held himself above her, the muscles in his arms and shoulders bulged. It made her feel small, but not in a bad way. In a delicate, feminine way. A beautiful way. And he looked at her like he’d never seen anything he wanted more.

  Right now, she wanted him to do more than look. Much more. She was afraid she’d make a fool of herself if he didn’t just do it already. The Beast was ready, and reaching down, she showed him the way, showed him how easy it would be, with her so slick and willing. With a gasp, he let himself push, but he held back again, not even halfway there.

  “Now,” she said. “Hard. Please.”

  “Wait.”

  When he stood, she felt suddenly naked, lost, and she had a moment of horror when he fished his wallet from his jeans. Was he going to pay her? She almost laughed when he flourished the condom.

  She was more than ready once he’d put it on, but one glimpse of his face made her look away. His eyes were too tender, staring straight into hers. She was afraid she’d give something away if she looked back—but then he stopped again and touched her chin, and she knew he wanted her to look. Shaking inside, she tried.

  His eyes seemed so impenetrable sometimes, but now they were warm, like deep, rich chocolate, and she forgot to hold herself back as he slid inside. It hurt—it had been a long time—but in a good way, and as she rocked against him, it stopped hurting and she decided what the heck. She’d made a fool of herself already. She trusted Griff. Why not let loose?

  That was her last thought before the two of them became one creature, one body, one mind fixed on one pleasure. They rocked together, wild and thoughtless as the firelight flickered on their naked skin, touching them with magic. Need licked at her body as the flames licked the logs, and she heated, burned, then collapsed beneath him, sending up sparks.

  Merry Christmas to me.

  Lacing her legs around his waist, she threw her head back as he bit at her throat like an animal, taking her. Those crazy thoughts about wild stallions weren’t far off the mark. She felt more and more a part of him, and when he gasped out something incomprehensible, she gasped, too, and the two of them flew off together this time, rising like the flames, floating like the smoke, changing shape like a cloud, changing forever as they rose up into a velvet night sky scattered with stars.

  * * *

  Riley woke to Griff’s face focused on hers with unnerving concentration. She rubbed her nose, wiped her lips.

  “Do I have something on me? Did I drool?”

  “No.” He shook his head as if he’d just woken up. “No. I was just…looking.”

  She flushed, wondering why. All her life, she’d been told how odd she looked. Often it was under the guise of admiration—you’re so different, your eyes are so weird, you hair’s such a strange color—but she’d have given a lot just to be normal. It was lonely, being different and unable to hide it. In Wynott, she felt like the only one of her species, one who wanted nothing more than to mingle with the other animals. To fade into the crowd.

  “Thanks,” Griff said. His somber expression transformed into a smile, and she couldn’t help smiling back.

  “No, thank you.”

  “I’m serious,” he said, looking wounded as she laughed. “I know we weren’t planning on that, but it’s good, right? I feel… I feel human again.”

  Riley remembered his comment the day before, when he’d slipped and said he felt “almost human.” She’d vowed then to do her best to make him better, make him part of the fabric of life again. And hey, look, she’d succeeded—and had fun doing it.

  That was what it was, she reminded herself. Just fun.

  “Happy to help,” she chirped.

  His brows arrowed down. “So are we good?”

  “Sure.” She sat up, puzzled by the question. “Why wouldn’t we be? Good for you, good for me, good all around.”

  “Good.” He put an arm around her, and she curled against him, loving his strength, the safety of his arms. “So that means we’ll do it again?”

  She laughed. She couldn’t help it. He was so awkward.

  “I guess. I don’t know.” She gave him a gentle punch in the arm. “Let’s just let things happen naturally, okay?
What happens happens.”

  “Okay.” He grinned. “But I gotta warn you, it’s going to happen.”

  He tugged her close and kissed her. This time, it was a tender kiss, one that warmed her to her toes. But she heard warning bells in the back of her busy brain, telling her to go slow, be careful. Part of her heart belonged to Griff now, and she wasn’t comfortable with that.

  With an act of will, she pulled herself out of the kiss and looked at him as if from the outside. He smiled, his eyes still closed, his forehead unlined, his expression relaxed.

  And there he was, her cowboy, the one she’d held in her heart all those years he’d been gone. He was still in there. She just had to find him and coax him out.

  But this is for Fawn, she reminded herself.

  No, it’s for Griff.

  She’d seen how his memories overwhelmed him and worried it was more than she could handle, but with all he’d given for his country, for the men who served him, and for this small town and all the others like it, she ought to do her part to help him. It was her patriotic duty. She smiled at the seriousness of her thoughts. Everyone served their country in their own way, and she’d found hers. What a sacrifice, right? She’d fix him all up, and then she’d have to pass him on.

  It would be like the house she’d renovated to earn her certificate. It had been an old farmhouse, homey, solid, and strong, but damaged by water and wind and tasteless tenants. Once she’d peeled away the layers of ugly wallpaper, the hideous vinyl flooring, the trendy paint, and taken it down to its bones to reveal its beating heart, she’d fallen in love with it—only to have to pass it on to the real owners.

  Griff was like that house. He was a cowboy down to his bones, but a cowboy was a simple man, and he’d become complicated, with a whole lot of layers built up that obscured the man inside. She’d find that man—and, inevitably, pass him on.

  She just had to remember how big a sacrifice that would be. Ever since she’d thought of the nursery scenario, she’d known she wouldn’t want to stick around and watch Fawn enjoy the fruits of the renovation. But that was okay. It was time for her to move on. She’d never expected her stay in Wynott to last forever, especially since the Harpies and the Only Heir had shown up.

  Pulling away, Griff smiled and gently tapped her forehead. “What’s going on in there?”

  “Nothing.” She rose and stretched, laughing when his eyes widened. “Want to go to bed?”

  He grinned. “Do I ever.”

  He laughed so low she barely heard him, and at the sound, her body softened, ready all over again for whatever this man wanted.

  Oh lord, she was in too deep. This wasn’t going to end well.

  Chapter 25

  Three days later, Riley wasn’t sure playing house with Griff was working for her. She kept busy all day with the bathroom renovations, but instead of playing house like newlyweds or at least like I Love Lucy, Griff spent all his time holed up playing video games. Thursday morning found her standing, again, in the doorway to the family room, where there were no lights but the flickering video screen. She could hear the click of guns cocking, the blast of shots fired, over and over, despite the early hour.

  “Hey, Griff,” she said. “We should probably get out of the house.”

  “Uh-huh.” Bang. Bang.

  He’d been playing for days. She’d tried to distract him. She’d reset the timer for the Christmas lights, so when dusk fell, the tree in the corner would light up, cutting through the video game’s blue light with something warm and bright, but he didn’t seem to notice. She’d cooked the most tempting meals she could, even replicating the coq au vin she’d made for Ed’s sisters, but although he ate, he barely seemed to notice what she’d made. He wasn’t rude, but he wasn’t appreciative, either.

  She’d even left for a while—not that he’d noticed. Ed had picked her up and taken her back to her truck, and they’d had it towed to a garage in town. It was all fixed now. Ed claimed the damage hadn’t been bad, just a crumpled fender, but since the vehicle looked far better than before the accident, she wondered what he’d spent. He wouldn’t show her the bill, said it was nothing, but she knew better.

  She’d helped Ed out in the store for a while that afternoon, but after they closed, she went back to the Diamond Jack. Griff might care about a video game more than he cared about her, but at least he wasn’t actively hostile like Ed’s sisters.

  In spite of all this, their nights together were still magic. At ten o’clock sharp, he’d find her, wherever she was. He’d take her hand, and they’d go upstairs to practice being human together. They’d climb into bed, she’d meet his eyes, and together they’d dive down deep into the wild, rocky river of their feelings.

  She didn’t fool herself by thinking his feelings were for her. She gave him something he needed—a release, a safe place to let his emotions loose. Eventually, he’d find himself again, the old Griff, and he’d remember he was crazy about Fawn.

  But on these nights, he was hers, and she loved the long hours before sleep when they explored each other wordlessly. She’d learned how he liked to be touched, and he’d learned what she needed. They twisted together in the moonlight that slanted through the window, giving, taking, stoking the flames of need until they rose together in ecstasy, their spirits rising up into the night.

  Afterward, his sleep was sound. There was no shouting, no clutching at the sheets, no sudden leaping from the bed. Nobody could tame Griff himself, but she was working on the demons she’d seen lurking in his gaze—the ones that urged him to shoot, shoot, shoot in that danged game.

  He was like an ogre in a fairy tale who only turned into a prince at night. In the morning, he’d be back to grunting words of one syllable while he shot at virtual soldiers. She couldn’t cut through his concentration, not with food, not with talk, not even with a skimpy tank top and her tool belt slung low on her hips the way he liked it.

  She almost wished they weren’t so isolated. If they lived in town, there’d be people around, walking past the windows, stopping by. But obviously she was hiding as surely as he was, because when the doorbell rang late Thursday morning, she felt almost violated. And when Bruce let out a low growl from his spot on the hearthrug, she was almost scared.

  Opening the front door just a crack, she peered out at their visitor, then opened the door wide and did her best to smile.

  “Fawn,” she said. “Come on in.”

  She glanced at the arched door to the family room. It was dark, with only silver flickers from the screen hinting at Griff’s presence.

  “You probably want Griff,” she said.

  Who doesn’t?

  She turned to get him, and there he was, big as life or maybe bigger, standing in the doorway. He’d run his fingers through his hair and smoothed it down, and he looked almost civilized, despite the stubble from not shaving.

  “Hey, Fawn.”

  His smile looked completely normal, as if he was really glad to see Fawn. And of course he was, Riley reminded herself.

  It looked like she’d done her work too well. Griff was a tame horse now, and she could turn him over to Fawn like she’d intended—except she still saw the darkness in him every day when he played that stupid game. Was he reliving some event from his service? Was he replaying it over and over on the screen? Or was he just bored with her company unless they were in bed?

  Whatever the answer, he looked fine now. Obviously, Fawn could bring him out of his depression in a way Riley never could.

  “What’s up?” He gave Fawn a grin, like he was genuinely interested in real life.

  “I wondered if you wanted to go to lunch at the diner,” she said. “Matt’s going to meet us. He wants to talk to you.”

  “About what?” There was a wariness in Griff’s eyes, as if he thought Fawn wanted to trick him into something.

  “I don’t know.” She shr
ugged. “You’ll have to ask him.”

  Griff nodded and paused a moment, his eyes on Fawn. Finally, he relaxed. “Okay. I’ll meet you there. Give me a half hour, okay?”

  “Okay.” Fawn gave him a kiss on the cheek, kicking one foot up behind her as she hopped to reach him. “Oh, I’m so glad. We’ve missed you. We were worried when you left the other night.”

  “I’m fine,” he said.

  “Are you?” She stroked his rough cheek. “You look like a mountain man.”

  Apparently Fawn liked mountain men, because she snuggled against him for a moment, her smile blissful.

  Riley turned away, her stomach roiling, but Griff touched her arm.

  “Riley, you want to come?”

  She shook her head, backing away into the hallway and tripping over a throw rug. She barely caught herself on the banister.

  “No,” she said. “You go ahead. I’ve got work to do.” Her heart squeezed hard, and she did her best to ignore it. “A lot of work.”

  She needed to work on packing her stuff. That was what she needed to do. And once she got that done, she needed to unpack her heart and jettison all the fond feelings she had for Griff Bailey. Because she’d been kidding herself. He didn’t need her.

  He needed Fawn, and Riley needed to get out of the way.

  Chapter 26

  Ed slumped into the armchair he called Old Faithful, setting a glass of Riley’s Jack Daniels on the table at his elbow. Closing his eyes, he clasped his hands to his chest and sighed. Sharing a meal at the Red Dawg with his sisters had been too much for him.

  It was bad enough they bossed him at home. For them to harangue him in the Dawg the way they had, with everyone around them listening, was too much. He hadn’t wanted to spread their family issues all around town, so he’d stayed mum as they’d gone on and on about how the “family” business should be passed down to Trevor. About how Ed “owed” the boy.