Blue Sky Cowboy Christmas

by Joanne Kennedy

  He heard the phone ringing as he returned to the house. He doubted Riley would call, but that didn’t stop his heart from goading him into a run. Dashing up the stairs to the front door, he tripped over the threshold, caught himself on the heels of his hands, scrambled upright, and grabbed the phone halfway through the umpteenth ring.

  “Hello?” He was panting from the run, but he did his best to sound cool and casual.

  “Hey.”

  That’s not Riley.

  “It’s Matt.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I know.” Bending at the waist, Griff struggled to round up his renegade thoughts, which had scattered like spooked horses in a storm. “How’s it going?”

  “Fine. I’m just calling to keep you out of trouble. Fawn says you promised to take her to the Christmas party tonight at the Dawg.”

  “No, I didn’t,” Griff growled. “I told her I’d try to come, but I never said I’d take her. And anyway, I’ve had enough of the Dawg for a while.”

  “Understandable.” Matt paused just long enough for Griff to feel awkward. He liked Matt and hated to say no to everything.

  “How ’bout if I pick up a six-pack?” Matt suggested. “We could drive down to the quarry, like old times.”

  The weather was hardly right for outdoor beer drinking, and yet it sounded like a good idea. Griff needed to work out his future plans, and it would be good to bounce some ideas off Matt without Fawn analyzing every word.

  But the Christmas party was a big deal in Wynott, and the marshal would have to be there.

  “Another time,” Griff said. “Don’t you need to show up at the party to kiss babies and charm the old ladies?”

  “Sure do, but it doesn’t really get going until after seven.”

  “Oh.” Griff thought a moment. “Okay. The quarry, then.”

  “Bundle up. I’ll be there in a jiff.”

  By the time Matt arrived, Griff had pulled on a clean thermal Henley under a red flannel shirt. Heavy wool socks demanded a pair of his father’s cowboy boots, which were a half size larger than his own. It wasn’t hard to find some; the difficulty was finding some his dad would wear in this weather. The man was cowboy as they came, with little regard for his appearance, but when it came to boots, he was the cowboy version of a Hollywood starlet. His collection of fancy footwear covered every known maker and every type of exotic leather, with tooled designs ranging from cattle skulls to American flags.

  Griff shoved his feet into a pair of unadorned Ariat work boots just as Matt pulled up and tooted his horn. Griff was glad to see his friend had driven his old beater Ford instead of his municipal SUV. As soon as Griff had fastened his seat belt, he reached for the six-pack of Coors on the floorboards, popped a can open, and took a slug. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he shot a troublemaker’s grin at his old drinking buddy.

  “There’s an open container law in this state,” Matt said.

  “Yeah.” Griff shrugged. “But I’ve got an in with the town marshal.”

  “You’d better hope Jim doesn’t show up.” Matt pulled out of the drive onto the highway. “He’d like nothing better than to haul my ass off to jail or at least give me a ticket. He thinks he ought to have my job.”

  “Can’t believe you took him on as a deputy.” Griff laughed. “Don’t go napping after lunch. He’ll kill you in your sleep.”

  “Naw, we get along,” Matt said. “He has his quirks, but nobody cares more about this town. Folks might laugh, but they’re fond of him. He’s kind of like a mascot.”

  They fell silent as Matt headed for the quarry. No plows maintained the roads, but the wind had obligingly swept most of them clean. Everything looked unfamiliar to Griff—he’d been gone a long time, and the snow was disorienting—but he figured out where Matt was headed soon enough to stop him.

  “We don’t have to go all the way to the lookout,” he said.

  “Sure we do. You chicken?”

  Griff actually was chicken, though not in the way Matt thought. He didn’t mind the danger of the slick, snow-covered roads, but he did mind the emotional minefield waiting for him at the turnout where he and Riley had spent that long-ago night. He was sure the spot was haunted, not by the legendary ghosts of leaping lovers or suicidal outlaws but by his old self and a younger version of Riley.

  “I’ve changed my mind,” he said. “Let’s go to the Dawg.”

  Matt turned his head so hard Griff worried he’d get whiplash. “You sure?”

  Griff nodded. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

  A slow smile spread across the marshal’s face. “You’re thinking Riley will be there, aren’t you?”

  Griff shrugged. “I doubt she’ll talk to me.”

  He didn’t tell Matt that watching her spread her quirky version of Christmas cheer to everybody else would be better than not seeing her at all. Nor did he admit even to himself that he was hoping she’d remember the message of the season included forgiveness as well as joy and goodwill.

  Chapter 33

  Ed’s neck ached. He’d had his head turned to one side ever since he woke up so he could look out at the slice of blue sky beyond all the complicated vents and chimneys on the roof below his window. Somewhere to the north, that same sky arched over Wyoming. Over Wynott. Over Boone’s Hardware store, and over Riley.

  Once in a while, he’d turn his head to stare at the phone. He knew it worked, because he’d called Carol and Diane. They’d said she was busy with Griff Bailey and made busy sound like a dirty word, so maybe she didn’t have time for him. New love could be like that. And hadn’t he always hoped Riley would find love with a man like Griff—a man who’d take good care of her?

  He felt useless lying there, missing her, worrying about the store. Carol and Diane were sure Trevor was ready to take over. Ed was sure they were wrong.

  “How hard can it be?” Carol had asked. “There’s a price on the merchandise. He rings it up, he takes the money. It’s not exactly rocket science, is it?”

  Ed didn’t want to tell her he was afraid Trevor really would take the money—and put it in his own pocket. He’d been trying to see the good side of the kid, but it was tough to look past the laziness, the lying, and the snide remarks.

  He closed his eyes and tried to shut out the noise from the hospital corridor, but something cut through the bells and mutterings and footsteps and made him lift his head from his pillow.

  “Ed Boone?” said a female voice. “Yes, he’s in room 214, on the left. He’ll be happy to see you.”

  Relief washed over him, making him feel better than he had in days. It had to be Riley. He hadn’t wanted her to drive that rickety pickup of hers all the way to Loveland, but his blood warmed his veins for the first time since he’d arrived, and that sliver of sky seemed bluer and brighter.

  Hoisting himself up on his elbows, he reached for the remote to crank up the head of his bed, chiding himself for being so lazy. He’d been moping all day. He could have at least combed his hair. He swiped at the few strands with his fingers, hoping he didn’t look too old, and smiled expectantly as the door creaked open. His heart leapt—only to plummet when Trevor’s wan, spotty face appeared.

  “You decent, Uncle Ed?”

  Ed sighed. “Decent as a man can be in this dress they make me wear.”

  “What, the grandmas didn’t get you any clothes yet?”

  Ed shook his head. His sisters had moaned and groaned about having to stay in a hotel last night and made out like his request for a pair of pajamas wasn’t a welcome excuse for a shopping trip. Evidently, the trip was a success, because it was nearly noon, and they still hadn’t found those pajamas. If they’d even looked.

  “You want me to go pick up something for you?”

  “No, Son, that’s okay. I’m sure they’ll be along.” He eyed his grandnephew suspiciously. “Weren’t you supposed to go back and op
en the store this morning?”

  “Yeah, Uncle Ed, I was. That’s why I’m here. I messed up—again—and I wanted to say I’m sorry. I’ll head up there right now.”

  Right now? It was already noon. Had the store been closed all morning?

  “Okay.” There wasn’t a danged thing Ed could do about it now, so he swallowed his anger and tried to drum up some understanding. “What happened, Son?”

  “I stopped to see some friends and things got…complicated.” The kid had the grace to be ashamed, anyway, and stared down at his toes. “I had too much to, um, drink and fell asleep.”

  Ed didn’t know what to say, which was fine, because silence seemed to deepen the boy’s shame more effectively than anything he could have said.

  “I think I’ve got a problem, Uncle Ed. I’m going back to Wynott, and I’m going to try to do better. Nothing good happens when I’m, you know, drunk.”

  Ed had a pretty good notion drink wasn’t the issue. He’d seen enough problem drunks in his life to know Trevor wasn’t just hungover. For one thing, drink didn’t hang over every day of your life, but Trevor was always struggling to stay awake. Drink didn’t usually make someone lose weight, either, and Trevor was thin as a rail.

  Ed was angry that the store was closed and customers who’d relied on him for years weren’t able to buy the nuts and bolts they needed this morning. But he couldn’t help feeling sorry for this sad, slouching, white-faced boy.

  He cleared his throat. “Can I give you some advice?”

  Trevor nodded, sinking into the chair beside the bed. He actually seemed eager to listen. Something bad must have happened.

  “Go back and take care of the store. Do your best,” Ed began. “Hard work will help distract you from whatever ails you, and I’m not just saying that because you’re working for me. It’s its own reward, Son. You’ll see.”

  Trevor nodded, looking thoughtful. “It’s just… I never thought I’d end up working in a store.”

  “Not many people do,” Ed said. “But it’s what we’ve got. Can you do it?”

  “I think so.” The kid picked at a loose thread on his shirt, unwilling to meet Ed’s eyes. “I think… I wondered… Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  Ed figured the kid was going to ask for money, but instead Trevor asked, “Have you talked to that girl?”

  “Riley? No.” Ed swallowed and hoped the boy couldn’t see how much that hurt him.

  “I don’t know why my grandmas don’t like her,” Trevor said. “I have a lot of questions about the store, and they won’t let me call her.” He glanced up at Ed. “I don’t think she even knows you’re here.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t think they told her,” Trevor said. “I bet she doesn’t even know you’re sick.”

  Anger struck Ed’s soul like a bolt of lightning, but it left a smooth stretch of blue sky in its wake. Riley hadn’t called because she thought he was home, having some sort of family Christmas with his sisters. She tended to exaggerate the value of family—and to forget that she herself was the heart of his.

  He had to let his heart slow down before he dared to speak. “Thanks for letting me know that, Trevor. I appreciate it. Can you do me a favor?”

  “Sure.”

  “Get hold of her when you get home, no matter what your grandmas say. Have her answer your questions about the store, and tell her to call me, okay? The number’s in my…” He realized he hadn’t seen his cell phone since he’d arrived. “I guess my phone’s back at the store.”

  Trevor shook his head. “My grandma has it.”

  Ed’s throat tightened. His phone was private. There was nothing bad on it, but he hated to think of them going through his photos. He and Riley had done some jokey ones around the store, just for fun, and stuff like that wasn’t any of his sisters’ business.

  “Is it password protected?” Trevor asked.

  Ed shook his head. “I don’t know how to do that.”

  “I can fix it for you,” Trevor offered. “Then they won’t be able to snoop.”

  Ed felt a bit more of that blue sky, just knowing there was an innate decency in his grandnephew’s heart after all. “That would be helpful, Trevor. Thank you.”

  “Sure.” The boy stood, glancing around the room. “You got a pen?”

  “I think there’s one in that drawer over there.”

  Trevor rummaged through the few things Ed had brought—his wallet, a handkerchief, a pocketknife—until he found a ballpoint pen with the hospital logo on it. Taking a napkin from a forgotten cafeteria tray, he tore it in half. On one half, he wrote the number of the phone on the bedside table. On the other, he scrawled another number. That part, he handed to Ed.

  “That’s my cell number, okay, Unk?” The boy flushed, as if embarrassed at assigning a new nickname, but Ed kind of liked it. “If you need anything, just call me, okay? I’ll head up there now and get the store open.” He flushed deeper. “I’m sorry I messed up.”

  “First step is admitting it,” Ed said. “I know you’ll do a good job once you put your mind to it. And Riley will help you a lot. You give her a call.”

  “You bet. Thanks, Unk.” The boy started to leave, then paused awkwardly, bent down, and kissed Ed’s forehead. Surprised by the gesture, Ed reached up and patted the kid’s head. His hair was greasy and unwashed, and he smelled of cigarettes, but he’d said he’d do the right thing and Ed believed him.

  No fool like an old fool. But Trevor had owned up to his mistake, and for that he deserved another chance.

  “Hey, could you hand me that phone?” he asked.

  “Sure.” Trevor carefully draped the cord over the side of the bed and set the big landline phone on his uncle’s lap.

  “Can you look up a number for me?”

  Trevor nodded, and Ed had him look up the number for the Bailey place and write it down. He should have called Riley there sooner, but he’d assumed she was so busy with Griff she didn’t want to hear from him. She was probably wondering why he hadn’t called.

  Once Trevor was gone, Ed pressed the numbers into the phone. The ringing sounded tinny and far away, and Griff’s voice sounded scratchy and gruff when he answered.

  “Baileys’.”

  “Griff, it’s Ed.” Ed was a little awkward around Griff Bailey. Word around town said the man was a genuine war hero, and that was something Ed himself would never be. “I wonder if I could speak to Riley, please.”

  “Riley?” Griff sounded surprised, and Ed’s heart dropped in his chest like a stone in deep water. “I thought she was with you.”

  “No.” Ed remembered the last time they’d spoken. They’d gone through this same routine, and it had turned out Riley was in danger.

  “I’m in the hospital down in Loveland,” he said.

  “Hospital?” Griff cleared his throat. “You okay?”

  “Sure,” Ed said. “I’d be better if I knew where Riley was.”

  “Well, she’s not here.”

  War heroes were apparently kind of blunt and not terribly comforting.

  “She must be at the store,” Ed said.

  If she was, she’d have found the place closed up, the apartment empty. She must be worried sick.

  “You want me to go check on her?” Griff asked. “Not sure she’d be real glad to see me, but…”

  It sounded like there was trouble in paradise, which made one more reason Ed wished he could be there for Riley. Folding the napkin, he ran his finger across Trevor’s number.

  “I’ll take care of it,” he said.

  “Okay.” Griff sounded relieved, and Ed wondered again what had happened. But Griff wasn’t Ed’s problem; Ed’s sisters were the problem, and as long as he was here in the hospital, they held the upper hand.

  The situation had become truly dire. He di
aled Trevor’s number and was gratified when the boy picked up on the first ring.

  “Hello?” Trevor’s voice sounded rushed and quivery. “I’ll have it for you, I promise. I just need to…”

  “Trevor? It’s Unk.”

  “Oh.” There was a long, embarrassed silence while Ed wondered who the boy thought was calling. What he thought he needed to “have” for someone. But he didn’t have time to think about that now.

  “You in my truck?” he asked.

  “Yep. I’m just about to get on the highway,” Trevor said. “I’ll get up to the store as fast as I can, I promise.”

  “There’s been a change of plans.” Ed swung his legs out of bed and glanced around the room, wondering where they’d put his clothes. “Turn around. You’re taking me with you.”

  Chapter 34

  Like every other resident of Wynott, Riley felt right at home in the Red Dawg Bar & Grill. Housed in a squat, square building coated with stucco painted the color of adobe, it had no architectural pretensions except for two large windows hung with neon beer signs and a crude, crooked porch roof over the door. The name was painted across the front in large, clumsy red letters that were beginning to peel.

  Inside, the age of the building showed in rustic exposed beams that supported a colorful assortment of whimsically posed taxidermy—a lynx reaching up with one snowshoe paw to snag a duck flying past on a wire; a curious otter wearing a cap decked with trout flies and holding a fishing rod; and the obligatory jackalope—a large brown rabbit topped with a truly impressive rack of antlers. In a corner by the entrance, an enormous bear stood upright, roaring silently and lifting a welcoming paw at the patrons as they entered.

  This being Christmastime, the bear wore a Santa hat and held a wrapped present in his upraised paw, the jackalope’s antlers were wrapped in twinkle lights, and the lynx wore a green singlet, a pointed cap, and the curly-toed shoes of an elf. All around the walls, multicolored lights were draped in patterns that had more to do with enthusiasm and excess than decorative skill, while a ten-foot Christmas tree in the back corner by the bandstand was lavishly bedecked with western-themed ornaments—tiny cowboy boots and hats, miniature elk pulling toy sleighs, and a collection of cunning western birds ranging from Steller’s jays to Clark’s nutcrackers, all of them cleverly formed of feathers and looking remarkably real.