Blue Sky Cowboy Christmas

by Joanne Kennedy

  As she handed out gifts and smiled for the volunteer who was taking pictures, she knew the magic of this night would get these kids through the year to come. For one night, bullies would make peace with their victims, and their victims would forgive them. Hostilities in broken families would cease for the day, and parents who fought grinding poverty all year would somehow treat their kids to a family meal and a few treasured gifts. Quiet kids learned to laugh and even shout, while kids who couldn’t seem to do anything right sensed love and approval from Santa, from partygoers, and maybe even from their parents for once. Meanwhile, carols drifting from the speakers in the ceiling made everybody feel holy inside.

  Soon the carols were drowned out by the sound of paper tearing and the oohs and aahs of children—along with a few moans of disappointment.

  “I got a stupid doll,” said a boy with curly hair. He held up a plastic baby doll that wore a look of stunned surprise, and no wonder. Its new daddy looked like a miniature auto mechanic, with greasy black hair and grit under his fingernails. Riley searched under the tree for a different present for him, like one of those tool sets, but they were all gone.

  “I’ll trade with you,” said a small voice, and she looked down to see a little girl holding out a box. “I love baby dolls.”

  Riley looked at the box. It was a My Little Pony playset, full of pink and purple horses with long flowing manes. There was a comb to style their hair with, and Riley couldn’t think of anything most boys would want less, except for the baby doll.

  “That’s okay, honey. We’ll find something…” she began.

  “Cool!” exclaimed the mini-mechanic. “I love My Little Pony! You sure you want to trade?”

  The child beamed down at the baby doll cradled in her arms. “It’s going to be all right,” she crooned, and Riley could have sworn its look of surprise calmed a bit.

  She basked in the lights, the scents of pine and roasting turkey, and the happiness of the kids as the warmth of the holiday danced all up and down her spine—but then a red-clad arm pulled her close, and she realized Griff was standing behind her, a wall of warmth that had nothing to do with the holiday.

  She looked around for Fawn, who was still over at the bar. She wasn’t looking, but Riley still felt guilty when she leaned back against her Santa’s soft belly. She’d made a promise, but then again, she wasn’t Riley right now, and he wasn’t Griff. They were a wayward elf and her Santa trapped in a sea of torn paper and discarded ribbons. As they watched the kids exclaiming over their toys, she twisted to look up at him and smiled.

  He smiled back, pulling her close, and she was just starting to wonder how she’d kiss him through that cottony beard when the back door burst opened, slamming against the inside wall like a gunshot.

  Isaiah appeared in the opening, his eyes darting frantically around the room.

  “Where’s the marshal?” he asked.

  “He got a call,” Griff said. “Why?”

  Isaiah’s narrow chest rose and fell rapidly. “There’s a fight out back,” he said. “Well, not really a fight. More like some dude got his lights punched out.”

  “Who?”

  “Some guy with the band. Blond guy. I think he had glasses before, but he doesn’t have ’em now. Not sure he’s got a pulse, either. Some big guy worked him over good.”

  Rushing across the stage, Riley stepped out the bar’s back door and almost tripped over the prone body of the Only Heir, who looked so much like a broken doll that she almost panicked. Kneeling beside him, she was relieved to see his eyes were open, watching her from behind a whole lot of swelling and two matching bruises.

  He’d lost that cynical sneer, along with a couple of teeth. In the fan of light that stretched from the bar’s back door, she could see his nose was bleeding, his jeans were torn, and his clothes were soaked with snow. His shirt was hiked halfway up his back, revealing muddy boot prints where someone had kicked him in the kidneys. He started crying when Riley took his hand.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  Trevor lifted his head to look at her, winced, and fell back into the snow.

  “Is anybody in there an EMT or anything? A nurse?” Riley asked.

  “I’ll check,” Isaiah said.

  Griff, who had been kneeling beside Riley, stood. “I’ll dial 911.”

  While he answered the dispatcher’s questions, a curly-haired young man dashed out the back door, bringing several long-limbed, skinny boys with rock ‘n’ roll hairstyles with him.

  “Trevor. What happened, dude?” Curly asked.

  “Looks like You Know Who tracked him down and got him good,” said a tall, emo-looking guy decked in head-to-toe tattoos. Riley guessed he was probably the lead singer, judging from the way he tossed his hair and ended every movement with a pose.

  “Send the marshal,” Griff told the dispatcher. “Somebody just about killed this guy.”

  “Oh, hey, don’t call the marshal,” Curly said.

  “I already did.” Griff flashed him a grim look. “And he’s going to want to know who You Know Who is.”

  Curly snorted. “Don’t worry about it, Santa. Come on, guys. Let’s get Trev out of here.”

  One kid grabbed the Only Heir’s legs, while two others took his arms. They started to drag him toward a battered van half-loaded with amplifiers and instruments, but Griff blocked their way.

  “Stop,” he said.

  Shocked by the voice of command coming from the supposedly jolly old elf, they dropped their burden in the snow.

  “Oof,” said Trevor.

  The musicians turned to walk away, but Riley grabbed the back of Emo Boy’s shirt along with Curly’s and tugged them backward.

  “Tell me who hit him,” she said.

  “What, little elf, is he your boyfriend?” Curly sniggered. “I don’t think you want to mess with the guy who did this.” He looked her up and down, leering. “He might want to mess with you, though.”

  A man loomed up out of the shadows. “I did it. Who wants to know?”

  The guy was huge, but he looked soft, like a prizefighter past his prime. Riley looked at the skull and snake tattoos, the lowering forehead and the jutting jaw, and wondered why she felt compelled to protect the Only Heir, who’d been nothing but nasty to her.

  Griff stepped up beside her, and her stomach clenched. The stranger topped him by a couple inches in height, and his arms were so long his knuckles almost dragged the ground, but that wasn’t what worried her. It was more that if Griff released the violence festering inside him, he might kill the guy.

  Griff’s hand fell heavily on her shoulder, and she knew it was too late.

  “Don’t push the elf,” he growled. Anger pulsed through his grip, but he bent and whispered, “I pushed her once, and I’ve never been sorrier. Biggest mistake I’ve ever made.”

  Surprised by the sudden dose of sweetness where she’d expected a burst of temper, stunned by the arousal sparked by the tickle of his fake beard and the warmth of his breath against her ear, the butterflies formed a conga line and started dancing up and down her spine.

  Stop it. You promised Fawn.

  Riley squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them to see a half-dozen trucks swing into the space where the sleigh had been, spinning skilled doughnuts on the ice to shine their headlights on Trevor and his attacker. Truck doors slammed like muffled gunshots as a circle of shadowy men armed with long guns stepped out to stand silhouetted against the glare from their headlights. It was just as well their faces and figures were obscured by the bright light, since most of them were hardly spring chickens.

  A few more men spilled out the bar’s back door, including a very pale Brady Caine, his brother Shane Lockhart, looking dangerous in hat-to-boots black, and Sierra’s husband, Ridge, whose slight limp only made him look more dangerous. Wayne came next, carrying the shotgun he always
kept under the bar. He’d never used it, but he’d named it Emmy Lou and caressed it lovingly with a bar rag, whispering sweet nothings, whenever anyone threatened to start a fight.

  The stranger put his hands up, but he didn’t back away from the prone form of the Only Heir. “Listen, this has nothing to do with any of you.”

  “If it has to do with Trevor, it has to do with me.” Riley felt a bit self-conscious in her elf suit, but she stood tall, hoping Trevor’s attacker wouldn’t realize that the constant jingling of the bells on her hat and pointy slippers meant she was trembling from head to toe.

  “Well, that’s good, honey.” The big man’s smile revealed the jagged, stained teeth of a meth user, which should have scared Riley but only turned her stomach. “Guess I’ll just take you in payment then. That okay with you, Santa? Your elf can be my Christmas present.”

  This was just what Riley had been dreading. The man might as well have poked a grizzly bear with a stick. Griff stood firm behind her, a wall of red-velvet Santa suit, and she knew there was too much tension here, too much at stake.

  A crowd of kids stood wide-eyed in the doorway, watching the showdown. If Santa and his elf got hurt, they’d be scarred for life. But if Santa killed somebody, it would be even worse.

  Where the heck was the marshal?

  Chapter 38

  Griff didn’t hear exactly what the big man said to Riley because the bees were swarming, taking over his brain, clouding his thoughts, and making the cold air hitch in his chest.

  He glanced over at the kids gathered in the doorway and remembered he was still Santa. Just moments before, he’d been soothing little kids who were scared to sit on his lap and listening to the hopes and dreams of the older ones. He could smell the dinner Wayne and the women were preparing—roast turkey and stuffing, pumpkin pie and other sweets—and the cold, crisp air bore a hint of pine. It smelled like Christmas, and that seemed to satisfy the bees. They slowed and finally went still—really still, for the first time in forever.

  Just then, a series of clicks sliced the air—guns cocking, one after another, all around the circle of trucks that surrounded them.

  The stranger turned and scanned the circle of men standing in front of their trucks. “Go ahead,” he sneered. “Hain’t you never heard of a Mexican standoff? You’ll all shoot each other.”

  “Not if we shoot off your feet,” somebody shouted.

  The voice sounded high and cracked with age, but the stranger lifted his hands in the air anyway. He looked like he was surrendering, but his attention was still darting around the crowd as if looking for a weak spot.

  Enough.

  Easing Riley behind him, Griff grabbed the stranger’s arm. All that clenching and unclenching was apparently paying off, because the guy turned white when Griff tightened his grip. He wanted to deck the guy, twist his arm behind his back and break it, stomp him into the ground, but he swallowed his temper as a tall, stooped man shuffled out of the crowd. Shadowed against the headlights, only the newcomer’s hair, a few reddish strands stretched across his scalp, caught the light.

  Ed. It’s Ed Boone. What the hell…

  “Leave Riley alone.” The old man’s normally gentle voice was a venomous hiss, like Clint Eastwood on a bad day.

  Riley staggered backward into Griff. “Ed! What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be…”

  Griff tugged her close with his free arm, hushing her. The stranger didn’t need to know the man confronting him was supposed to be in a hospital bed. But wonder of wonders, that was what Ed was doing—confronting the man who was threatening Riley. He stood toe-to-toe with the stranger as if he’d fought tough guys all his life, his normally watery eyes steely with determination.

  “I’m just trying to collect on a legitimate debt here,” the stranger whined. “This kid stole from me, and I’m tryin’ to make things right.”

  “Is this how a real man makes things right?” Griff tightened his hold on the big man as Ed poked him in the chest. “Harasses innocent, um…” He glanced back at Riley, looking confused. “Innocent elves? Is that what real men do?”

  The crowd erupted in nervous giggles.

  “Yeah!” somebody shouted. “Leave the elf alone!”

  “Don’t mess with her,” shouted somebody else. “That’s one tough elf!”

  “What does he owe you?” Ed helped Trevor to his feet. “And what’s it for? Drugs?” He turned and spat on the ground.

  Ed. Spat. Had the world turned upside down?

  “Well, yeah.” The man twisted a foot in the snow in an oddly childlike gesture. “I’d say he owes about three hunnert dollars.”

  “You did that for three hundred dollars?” Ed pointed at Trevor, who looked like a character from The Nightmare Before Christmas, with bruises ringing his eyes and his clothes all torn. His nose streamed blood, and his arms were scraped and bloody.

  “Pick on somebody your own size next time,” Ed sneered.

  Ed. Sneered. Griff had never seen anything like it, and judging from the nervous hush that gripped the crowd, they hadn’t either.

  “What’s your name?” Ed asked.

  “Um, Darrell.”

  “Okay, Darrell.” Ed spit the name out like it was worm or earwig. “Tell you what. I’ll get you your three hunnert dollars, and you can go back to the rat hole you came from and leave my family alone.” He paused and scanned the crowd. “My family. That’s this boy and the elf, okay?” He turned to Riley and instantly turned back into the old Ed as if someone had thrown a switch. “Can you go get the money, sweetheart?” He glanced at the stranger and lowered his voice. “There’s plenty in the safe.”

  “Sure.” Riley twisted to look up at Griff. “I’m going to go get it, okay?”

  She looked strangely wary, and he wondered if she was still afraid of him until he realized he was squeezing her much too hard. He relaxed his hold and smiled tenderly at this brave woman, this fearless warrior, this defender of the lost. The woman he loved.

  Yes, loved. Who wouldn’t love a woman who could face down a devil twice her size, standing ramrod straight with fire in her eyes and her loving heart leading the way? Who wouldn’t love her for protecting Trevor of all people—the Only Heir who was taking away her rightful place in the world?

  “Take care of Ed and Trevor, okay?” she said.

  Griff wanted to take care of her, but if taking care of people she loved was all she asked, he’d do it.

  “I’ll protect them with my life.”

  “I know you will.” Bouncing up on the tips of her pointy shoes, she kissed his cheek, the bells on her hat jingling as they brushed his face. “That’s what you do.”

  He touched his cheek as she turned and walked away, then turned to Ed. “You want to sit down for a bit? I can take care of this guy.” He shook the big man’s arm, then nodded toward the ambulance that had just turned into the lot. “The EMTs can take care of the Only… Trevor.”

  Right before Griff’s eyes, Ed seemed to deflate, becoming his gentle self, shoulders hunched, gaze soft and dreamy. “I guess that’d be good,” he said. “I’m kind of tired now.”

  He wandered off after Riley. Griff looked down at Trevor as the EMTs approached.

  “Don’t hurt me,” the boy squeaked.

  “I won’t,” Griff said. “Because Riley doesn’t want you hurt. You need to think about her, though, and think about the person you are. Look what she’s doing for you and look what you’re doing to her. You might be Ed’s Only Heir, but she’s worth ten of you. A hundred.”

  “I know.” The kid sniffled and wiped his nose on his sleeve, leaving a streak of blood behind. “I already talked to my uncle. I know it’s not right.”

  Griff nodded, distracted as he made a quick internal inventory. The bees were still silent. He pictured the swarm escaping like a black cloud rising into the night sky, taki
ng all his anger with them, and was surprised to find they hadn’t taken away his strength. He still gripped the lunkhead’s arm, and the spindly musicians hovering in the background ducked when he turned their way. His free hand hung idle at his side, but his fingers were relaxed. He didn’t have to make fists to calm himself.

  He smiled. He couldn’t help it. And when the marshal, who’d followed the ambulance into the lot, joined him, he savored a new kind of kinship. They were both strong men. Good men, who could handle the tough stuff without violence. Men strong enough to wear Santa suits, red noses, and hats with antlers. Griff wondered what the folks on Matt’s last call had thought of his Rudolph costume.

  “What’s going on?” Matt asked.

  “Not much.” Griff stared cross-eyed at Matt’s nose until the marshal reached up and removed it, looking sheepish—or at least a bit less reindeerish.

  “Did you explode?” Matt asked Griff. “Hit anybody? Kill anyone?”

  “No, it’s pretty much over, except Riley’s going to give this guy three hunnert dollars.”

  Matt lifted a skeptical eyebrow.

  “I mean three hundred.”

  “Okay.” Matt was wearing a shit-eating grin that made Griff realize he’d fallen into a trap. He’d told Matt he couldn’t handle this, and here he was, handling it just fine. He wondered if the call that took Matt away had even been real.

  “It was just a fender bender,” Matt said, reading his mind. “I knew I didn’t have to hurry back with you here. Now I’ll just interview some witnesses and then talk to your friend there.” Matt nodded his antlers toward Darrell. “Make sure he doesn’t leave, okay?” Turning away, he flashed Griff one last smile. “Thanks, Deputy.”

  Chapter 39

  Riley jogged down the sidewalk toward the hardware store. Darrell didn’t deserve his ill-gotten gains, but if she paid him off, Trevor would have a chance. Recovery made a person vulnerable, and he wouldn’t be able to heal unless he was free from fear.

  She was so lost in thought she forgot to pay attention to the icy spots. Twice, she slipped and caught herself. She’d completely forgotten about the elf costume until the bells jingled. Glancing up, she spotted her reflection in a shop window dancing a slippery little jig and laughed.