Blue Sky Cowboy Christmas

by Joanne Kennedy

  At least she could be useful. With a surge of determination, she grabbed the handle on the old front door to yank it open—and almost dislocated her arm.

  The door was locked.

  She looked around at Wynott’s other businesses and the old Victorian homes that lined Main Street. Their sidewalks were shoveled, and the street was plowed. It was a Thursday afternoon, and the sun was shining. Folks would need shovels, and kids would come in and buy the plastic sleds she’d ordered. So why wasn’t the store open?

  She glanced at the show window and felt butterflies in her belly again, but instead of fluttering with anticipation, they were plain dang nervous, because the lights were out, the Styrofoam snowman’s hat had fallen over one eye, and the scrapers and boots she’d carefully arranged were in disarray. Ed’s cardboard Closed sign was stuck in one corner.

  Maybe the sisters had insisted on some sort of family outing, like shopping in Cheyenne or going to see the Christmas lights in all the subdivisions scattered around the town. But why wouldn’t Ed have called Riley and asked her to watch the store? Staying open during his appointed hours was practically a religion for him. He believed a hardware store was like one of those urgent care clinics but for houses instead of people. Folks depended on them to be there with first aid for stopped-up plumbing, broken washing machines, and busted irrigators. He’d even been known to open in the dead of night when one of their regulars had an emergency—but judging from the depth of the snow on the sidewalk, Boone’s Hardware had been closed for more than a day. Something was wrong.

  Riley glanced up the street, then down. The town was quiet, with few cars braving the slushy, slippery roads. High drifts were heaped on each side of the street, spilling snow out onto the sidewalks. Giant plastic candles surrounded by evergreen boughs graced each lamppost, and lights were strung on wires that crossed the street from building to building. Some people might think their tacky holiday decor was kind of sad, but it warmed her heart with small-town Christmas spirit.

  She made up her mind. She’d go over to Wynott Willie’s, the diner that served as the town’s gossip center. Whatever was going on at Ed’s, someone there would know.

  The buzzer on the door that announced new customers had been replaced by a strap of jingle bells, so it sounded like Santa Claus was coming to town when Riley stepped into the old-fashioned chrome trailer. She was immediately engulfed by delicious scents—brown gravy, roast turkey, hot grilled cheese, chicken Parmesan.

  “Riley!” Willie himself was at the counter, filling ketchup bottles from a big industrial-sized jug of the stuff. “Sure am glad to see you. Boone’s has been closed for two days, and let me tell you, folks are really worried. How’s Ed doing?”

  Riley hopped onto the cracked vinyl seat on one of the old chrome stools that lined the counter. “That’s what I was going to ask you.”

  His eyes went wide. “You don’t know?”

  Gooey red ketchup dripped unheeded from the jug, sliding down the outside of the smaller bottle and pooling on the counter like blood.

  “I’ve been gone.” She grabbed a few napkins and helped him dab up the mess. “I was, um, working out at Heck Bailey’s place. Since Ed’s sisters were here, I let them use my apartment.”

  “Huh. Well.” Willie mopped up his mess, refusing to meet her eyes.

  “What happened, Willie?”

  He cleared his throat. “He… Actually, I’m not sure. There was an ambulance there the other night, and his sisters followed it, I reckon to Grigsby. That nephew was back for a day, but he didn’t open the store. Not sure where he went, but there hasn’t been a sign of life around the place since.”

  “Oh, no. No.” Riley had been thinking about ordering a hot turkey sandwich, but her appetite suddenly vanished. “He must have… Oh, no. His heart. He has trouble with his heart.”

  “Are you telling me those women didn’t call you?”

  She sighed. “They don’t like me much.”

  Willie, who was filling another ketchup bottle, gave the jug a shake. A massive red blob blooped out onto the counter and spattered his white apron. Ignoring the mess, he shook his head. “I can’t say I’m surprised. They were over here most every night, ordering stuff fixed special and being rude to my servers. I always say you can tell a person’s true nature by the way they treat a waitress.” He grabbed a rag and wiped his hands. “Those women came straight from the devil, and as far as I’m concerned, they can go right back to hell. They should have called you.”

  “It’s not their fault. Well, not completely. I should have called Ed. Checked on him,” Riley said. “I was…busy.”

  While Ed suffered, she’d been sleeping with Griff, conning herself into thinking she was helping Wynott’s hometown hero heal from his war wounds. The truth was, she’d been having an awfully good time and completely ignoring her responsibilities.

  Hiding, just like Griff said.

  “I’ve got to go,” she said. “I need to find Ed, and then I’ll come back and open the store.”

  “Thanks, Riley.” Willie screwed the cap on the ketchup jug and eyed the mess he’d made. “Businesses here depend on one another, and we miss the place.” Grabbing a wet rag, he began mopping up the counter. “We’ve missed you, too, hon. It’s good to see you back.”

  “It’s good to be back,” she said reflexively.

  But she was lying. It wasn’t good at all. She didn’t know where Ed was. She’d abandoned him, and the worst possible thing had happened. If he’d had another heart attack, it could be really serious.

  She needed to find him, and fast.

  * * *

  Griff was tired of sleeping alone.

  Well, not really alone. A serenade of snuffling and snorting reminded him that Riley’s dog, who’d moaned and whined for half an hour after she’d left, was sleeping on the rug beside his bed. She’d said Bruce belonged to his dad, but it was clear where the dog’s loyalty lay.

  “Come on.” He nudged the dog. “Misery likes company. Talk to me.” The dog let out a sigh. “Oh, that’s right,” Griff said. “Guess I’ll have to do the talking. Want to hear about all the mistakes I’ve made in my life?”

  The dog sat up, ears perked. He was a good listener, as somber and attentive as any of the shrinks at Walter Reed.

  “Iraq was the biggie.” Griff buried his hand in the deep fur over the dog’s shoulders and closed his eyes tight, squeezing out memories of smoke, flames, and the kind of screams you never forgot. “See, I dragged a couple guys out after the first explosion. That’s the big hero deal everybody talks about. But there was a private standing there flat-footed with his mouth open, and I yelled at him to quit standing around and help somebody, dammit. He did, and he stepped on a wire, and then—well.” Griff took a deep, shuddering breath. “It should have been me, buddy. He was just a kid, and the last thing he heard was me, yelling at him. Telling him he wasn’t good enough, like my dad always told me.”

  The dog stood and shook hard, his ears flapping against his head. He probably just had an itch, but Griff preferred to think he disagreed.

  “I guess I couldn’t have known what would happen. But that kid… I’ve done some stupid things in my life, but that’s the one I regret the most. I’ll never forget his face.” He sighed. “I saw that same look on Riley’s face the other day. I didn’t hurt her, I swear, and I never would. But I scared her.”

  Bruce sat up and put first one front paw, then the other, on the edge of the bed so he was sitting up like a rabbit, and he looked up at Griff with hooded amber eyes that clearly believed in Griff’s innate goodness. The dog’s tail slowly swept the floor behind him.

  “You wouldn’t wag your tail if you’d been there,” Griff told him. “You probably would have bitten me. I guess I deserved it.”

  The dog sighed and set his paws back down. Griff lay there stewing in regret until Bruce hoisted h
imself up onto the foot of the bed. The dog walked up to sniff Griff’s face, then groaned and collapsed, falling hard against Griff so he was pressed as tight as possible against his back. He seemed to fall asleep as soon as he hit the mattress. After a while, his steady breathing lulled Griff into sleep as well.

  An hour passed, maybe two, before Griff woke to the sound of an explosion. When he sat up, he saw nothing but moonlight coming through the window, creating dancing tree shadows on the wall. A poorwill sang its monotonous song, and he knew he’d been dreaming. He was home. He was safe.

  Hey, that was progress. A week ago, he’d have rushed out and fallen down the damn stairs trying to rescue people who weren’t there.

  Bruce, who had lifted his head the moment Griff woke, settled down and was snoring again in seconds, but Griff stayed awake a long time. When he’d had dreams like that in the past, he’d simply turned and looked at Riley, fast asleep beside him, to soothe his nerves. He’d listen to her slow breathing, and if the moon was out, he’d watch her face, lovely in the silvery light. He’d think back to their lovemaking, and soon those thoughts became dreams, good dreams, and he’d sleep through the night.

  But she was gone now. He’d blown it, and he probably couldn’t talk her into coming back.

  Probably. That was the magic word. There was still a chance, and he had to take it. If he could conquer his demons and unwrap the man he’d been before he’d left—the cowboy whose hopes and dreams she’d admired all those years ago at the quarry—she might come back.

  Hopes and dreams. That was what he needed. Whether a man dreamed of winning a football game, saving the world, or winning back a girl, that dream was what kept him alive. Sitting up on the side of the bed, he rested his elbows on his knees and his chin on his hands as he planned the laborious resurrection of his former self and the re-romancing of Riley James.

  He needed a goal. That was the problem. When he’d come home, he’d been determined to rejoin his unit, but he was starting to rethink that choice. Going back wouldn’t change what had happened, and running headlong into his own death wouldn’t help the men who’d died that day. Slowly, his goal was shifting. He wasn’t sure yet what it was, but he knew it had a whole lot to do with Riley James.

  The dog woke and wriggled to the edge of the bed. His eyebrows twitched as he rested his chin on Griff’s leg and scanned his face.

  Griff stroked Bruce’s head. “She said broken-down old houses were her favorite kind, remember?” Griff smiled at the memory. “She tears up the linoleum, scrapes off the wallpaper, rips out the drywall, and opens the place up to the sun. What was it she said?” He pictured Riley’s face, so animated when she talked about her work. “She peels back all the layers and finds ‘its honest old-time heart.’”

  He scratched the dog behind the ears and spoke into those trusting eyes. “What do you think, buddy? Do I still have an honest old-time heart?”

  If he did, he’d hand the whole thing over to Riley.

  The dog looked up at him with eyes that believed. Griff had his doubts, but he had to try. It would take more than power tools or a crew of carpenters to get it done, and there was nothing he could buy at Boone’s Hardware that would help. But somehow, some way, he was going to find his inner cowboy and win her back.

  Chapter 30

  Riley jammed the button that summoned the hospital elevator and shifted from foot to foot, watching the lighted numbers fall, one by one, to her floor. It opened to reveal an orderly guarding a gurney that carried a patient-shaped mound, a nurse guiding an IV stand, and another pushing a cart loaded with complicated tech equipment. The group stared at her as if daring her to try to squeeze inside.

  “Never mind,” Riley said. “I’ll take the stairs.”

  She’d had to park on Level 5, so by the time she bounced down the stairs and racewalked to the information station on the ground floor, she must have looked a sight. The elderly woman wearing a volunteer badge gave her a slit-eyed look that was anything but welcoming.

  Maybe it was her tattoos or the single silver ring on the arch of one eyebrow. She’d always considered her body art a tasteful expression of who she was, but older folks didn’t see it that way. Even Ed had taken a while to come around, saying he’d always associated tattoos with sailors.

  “I’m looking for Ed Boone,” she said. “He’s a patient here.”

  The woman blinked slowly, like a lizard. “Relation?”

  “He’s my… He’s my dad.” Riley had never said those words out loud to anyone before, but she knew them to be true. Ed was her real dad, not the stranger who’d played sperm donor at her conception, not the various stepdads and so-called uncles who’d made her childhood a misery.

  So why couldn’t she say the words out loud with more conviction? The woman was giving her the side-eye. “Really?”

  “He’s… We live together. I took care of his wife, and now we take care of each other.”

  The woman’s side-eye turned into downright disapproval.

  “Shoot,” Riley mumbled. “That didn’t come out right.”

  She’d never had trouble saying it before. She and Ed agreed that was the way their relationship worked, and nobody in Wynott questioned it. But somehow, Carol and Diane’s suspicions had made it into something ugly.

  “Patient information is strictly confidential,” the woman said.

  “Oh, I know.” Riley bounced on her toes, pleased she and Ed had prepared for this very situation. “But we filled out a form—a living will. He named me as his power of attorney.”

  The woman narrowed her eyes behind her wire-rimmed glasses. “I wouldn’t know about that. I suggest you speak to his physician.”

  “I think it’s on file. If you just…”

  The woman stared Riley down. “Speak to his physician. Or perhaps a family member.”

  “All right. I’ll…I’ll just go.”

  Riley strolled as casually as she could to the big hospital directory. It looked like a menu board, but instead of listing turkey sandwiches and the soup of the day, it listed medical specialties she hoped she’d never need.

  Urology, proctology… There. Cardiology.

  That was where Ed would be. Second floor.

  This time, the elevator was empty and waiting. Stepping inside, Riley checked out her reflection in the stainless-steel walls, which were warped like a fun-house mirror. Raising her coat collar, she tugged down her sleeves to cover her tattoos so she’d look more…normal.

  When she reached the second floor, she started toward the nurses’ station. Then she realized they might refuse her, too, so she strolled down the hall, trying to look as if she knew what she was doing as she ducked her head into each room to look for Ed.

  What she saw didn’t make a hard day any better. Old men, old women, all looking sad and sick, their skin gone gray, their eyes rheumy and unseeing. It hurt her heart to think of Ed being among them, but it hurt a lot worse when she finished the floor and hadn’t found him. Where could he be? Pausing in the hallway, she thought about her next step.

  She hated hospitals—the lights, the sounds, the smells. She’d never been sick a day in her life, but she’d been injured more times than she liked to remember by people she liked even less. Back then, she’d been a street-smart waif with a mouth like a sewer and an attitude to match. She’d held off the pity and compassion of the nurses with an iron hand and checked herself out before anyone could ask any questions.

  All around her, in the unforgiving white light, bells chimed mysterious warnings. A PA system barked out incomprehensible instructions buried in static, while the scent of bleach tried and failed to obscure the odor of hurt humanity. Nurses and doctors flowed around Riley, and an orderly pushing a mop bucket mumbled as he passed. She was pretty sure he was swearing at her. She didn’t blame him, but she couldn’t seem to move.

  Maybe Ed had left already, an
d they’d crossed paths on the road to Wynott. She’d head home, and later they’d laugh about the way she’d poked her head into all those rooms, probably scared those old folks to death.

  But that notion couldn’t conquer the worries that made her drive too fast down the spiraling concrete parking structure. And it fled her thoughts entirely when she got back and found the hardware store still closed.

  Pulling out her key, she decided she’d have to open the store and wait for news. Much as she wanted to see Ed, there’d be bills to pay, so that would help him more than anything.

  She began the routine she’d done a hundred times before—turning on the lights, counting out the cash, touching up the window display, and tidying up the store. She was getting started a lot later than usual, but the old routine was still a comfort.

  She took down the Closed sign, unlocked the doors, and shoveled the sidewalk and the three parking spaces out front. Back inside, she strolled the aisles with a pad and pencil, doing a quick inventory, and confirmed Trevor was useless. It wasn’t that hard to pull gloves and hammers and chain-saw oil from the back room and restock the shelves.

  When the bell over the door rang to announce a customer, she hustled to the front, wondering who it was. Maybe Devon Walters had finished painting her ceilings and was ready to move on to the walls. Maybe Sierra over at Phoenix House had another craft idea for the kids. Or maybe that rancher from out beyond the Baileys needed more supplies for running electricity to his barn. She was worried about that guy. He was getting on in years, and it wasn’t an easy job. She should probably stop out there and…

  “You.”

  Riley stopped fast, noticing grit beneath her shoes. Trevor hadn’t kept up with the sweeping, either, and now here were his grandmothers, calling her names again.