With jolly plastic Santas on doorsteps and the town’s cheesy decorations lashed to every lamppost, Wynott looked like an old-timey postcard, ready to welcome visitors from a future it would never know. The town was an oasis of the past, adrift in a sea of modernity it had rejected.
It was hard to say goodbye, so Riley pretended to herself she was just taking a little trip. She did her best to be excited about the future instead of scared.
Wynott was her true hometown, and she’d always carry it in her heart.
* * *
Griff was relieved when the emotional greetings were over and his family settled back into their normal affectionate bickering. It had been a long time since he’d been around, and coming back from his deployment was a big deal to them, but his sister acted like he’d risen from the dead, and her new husband, Cade—who’d been Griff’s best friend all his life—seemed overcome as well. And though his dad had been hearty and stoic as usual, Molly, the stepmother he barely knew, had actually cried.
“It’s for Heck,” she said, wiping her eyes. “I’m just so happy he has you back.” She’d embraced Griff, then pushed him out at arm’s length and looked him up and down. “I’m just making sure you came back in one piece, honey. Your dad worried about you every day, you know that? Every day.”
Griff had been planning to dislike his stepmother. Molly had been a substitute teacher at the high school, so he’d known who she was. He knew her reputation, too; word was she’d auditioned the husbandly skills of every man in Wynott before she settled on Heck. But Griff found her remarkably easy to be with and ended up sitting at the kitchen table while she bustled around baking Christmas cookies.
It almost distracted him from missing Riley, but he was starting to wonder if you could have a toothache in your heart. The pain was like an abscess—constant, deep, and impossible to ignore—but he did his best to pay attention to his family.
“Have you seen your mother yet?” Molly asked.
He shook his head. “Maybe after the holidays. You know how busy she is, entertaining and all that.”
Dot Bailey had run off with a slick politician from Jackson Hole when Jess and Griff were teens. She’d pretty much ignored them ever since, dedicating herself to nurturing her husband’s career instead of her kids. But she was still his mother, and he’d resented his dad for years, blaming him for her departure.
“We’ll share you if we have to, but it sure is nice to have you here.” She took a cookie sheet from the oven and began stacking the warm gingerbread men on a plate. Lifting one to her mouth, she bit its foot off and stared at him, chewing, looking like a thoughtful squirrel.
“What?”
She smiled, which seemed to make her cheeks even plumper and pinker—if that was even possible. “Did something happen between you and Riley?”
He shrugged, glowering. Usually that was enough to shut down any conversation, but Molly just stood there, resting her hip against the counter with a gleam in her eye that looked dangerous. Or motherly. Or both. Either way, she was a threat he wasn’t prepared for.
“Riley talked to your dad about you while you were gone.”
He looked up. “Why would she do that?”
“She said she texted you while you were away.”
He nodded, struggling to work his way through a sudden onslaught of memories.
“She was the one person who kept in touch,” he said. “She’d text me gossip about Wynott—nothing I really cared about, but it was nice, you know?”
The truth was, he hadn’t expected to come back, not alive, so he hadn’t dared to care, but that night at the quarry, together with her texts, had made that almost impossible.
“And since I got home…” His throat constricted, and it was suddenly hard to breathe. Sorrow hit him like the anger, like the fear, but it was worse, because it came from a deeper place.
His shoulders heaved as he struggled to master himself. “She saved me. Dammit, she talks about how she’s not whole, and she’s so damn complete, you know? She fixes everybody else. Why can’t she see that?”
“She will.” Molly set the plate of cookies in front of him, then sat down herself. Resting her elbow on the table, her cheek on her palm, she gave him an impish smile. “We just have to find her first. Did she go back to Ed’s?”
He shook his head. “Ed’s sisters are here with their grandson. They pretty much pushed her out of the hardware store.”
“You’re kidding. And Ed let them?”
“He’s trying to stop them, but Riley seems to think family is all that matters.”
“She’s right,” Molly said. “But there are different kinds of family, and Ed and Riley were definitely kin.” She ate her cookie’s other leg. “So where was she going?”
“Denver.”
Molly gasped. “Oh, no. You have to go after her. If she goes down there, who knows what will happen? That’s where… Well, it’s where all her trouble started.”
“If you’re thinking she’ll fall into her old ways, you’re wrong.” He was almost grateful Molly had made him mad, because the anger blotted out some of the sorrow. “Riley’s the strongest person I know. The only thing she can’t take is the way everybody still looks sideways at her, like she’s going to whip out a crack pipe or cook meth in their bathroom.”
Molly was smiling, which seemed strange until he realized how hotly he’d defended Riley.
“You love her, don’t you?”
He didn’t know what to say, so he shrugged again. That should have shut down the conversation, but not with Molly. She seemed impervious to even his best avoidance strategies. She was still smiling, still staring at him with her fluffy head cocked. She looked like a squirrel again—a magical talking squirrel.
Sheesh. Riley had him thinking in fairy tales again.
“Have you told her?” Molly asked.
Swallowing hard, staring down at the table, he nodded. “She left anyway.”
“So you have to go after her.” Molly stood, tugging her purse from where she’d left it on the counter and looking down at him with an expectant glint in her eyes. “You ready?”
He looked up at her, confused. “For what?”
“We’re going to go find her, silly. You can’t just sit here.”
Griff thought about refusing. But then what would he do? Go upstairs and sulk in his room? Go out to the barn and tell his troubles to the horses? Talk to his sister?
He’d take his chances with Molly. Maybe he’d get one of those Christmas miracles everybody talked about, and they’d find Riley and bring her home.
Chapter 50
Molly hiked herself up into the Jeep like she rode shotgun in monster four-wheelers every day. She and Griff bumped down the dirt road and hit the highway, heading for town. As they passed the marshal’s office, she bounced in her seat, pointing. “Matt Lassiter, the marshal! He’ll help. He might have seen Riley.”
“He won’t be there,” Griff said. “It’s almost Christmas.”
“Matt’s always there,” Molly said. “That boy’s a great town marshal, but he needs to get a life. Once we have you and Riley settled, we need to find a girl for him.”
Griff couldn’t help laughing at Molly’s confidence.
“What’s up?” Matt leaned back in his chair and grinned when they walked in. “You come to give me a Christmas present?”
“Sure.” Griff couldn’t help smiling back. “Got you some baby powder and bubble bath.”
“That’s not what I wanted.” Matt scanned Griff’s face, his expression somber. “I was hoping for a deputy.”
Griff glanced at Molly. He’d mentioned the job to Cade but hadn’t discussed it with anybody else in his family. He wasn’t sure he was ready, but when would he be? And if he accepted it now, made it official, he’d have everything settled if—no, when—he found Riley.
“You got one,” he said. “Merry Christmas.”
Molly clapped her hands like a child. “Oh, Griff! That’s wonderful. I thought you were going back to the army.”
“So did I.” Griff grimaced. “But it’s not going to happen.”
“Well, I’m sorry if that’s hard.” Molly patted his arm. “But your father will be so pleased. Everybody will.”
“I need lots of hours, okay?” he said to Matt. “I want to work all the time, learn a lot.”
“That’s not necessary,” Matt said. “Besides, you’ll need plenty of time to spend with that awesome girl of yours.”
Griff grunted. “That would be nice, but the awesome girl isn’t mine. I can’t even find her. So when do I start?”
Matt sobered. “Seriously, you can’t find Riley?”
“She left this morning. Said she’s moving back to Denver.” He looked down at his hands. “She thinks she doesn’t belong here.”
“She’s wrong about that.” Matt stood, hiking up his pants like an old-time lawman in a movie. “Guess you’ve got your first assignment.”
“What?”
“Track her down like she’s an outlaw on the run and bring her back alive. Preferably to your place.” He tossed Griff a radio. “You cover the east side of town, I’ll cover this end. Radio me if you spot her. I’ll do the same.”
Griff stared down at the radio. “I don’t know if she’d want me to set the cops on her.”
“It’s okay when the cop is you,” Matt said.
“Let’s go.” Molly turned to Matt. “It’s okay if he has a sidekick, right?”
“Sure.” Matt clipped the radio to his belt, grabbed his hat—which still had antlers on it—and gave her a grin as he held the door. “Every lawman needs one, and you’ll do fine.”
* * *
Riley leaned against the side of her Chevy LUV and watched the lighted numbers on the gas pump count up the gallons.
“Don’t you eat my snacks, Bruce.”
The dog ducked his head, panting. She’d taken him for a long trot, and he’d watered all the weeds behind the dumpster. Now he was belted in again, so hopefully he couldn’t reach the grocery bags.
“That’s Christmas dinner,” she said. “And don’t worry. I’ll share. And there’s a bag of kibble in the back.”
Maybe gummy bears, Cracker Jacks, and Cool Ranch Doritos didn’t sound like Christmas dinner to most people, but she had Mounds bars and Little Debbies for dessert. Besides, giving in to her urge for junk food might help her avoid any other temptations she might find closer to the city. She needed all the distractions she could get to make it through the days before she had a job.
She was glad she’d remembered to grab her portable DVD player from Griff’s place. She’d brought it over to help with lonely nights at the ranch, but then Griff had turned up. She probably would have been better off watching the old romantic comedies she’d brought along, but she’d seen them over and over.
That was why she’d been pleased to find a five-dollar DVD bin beside the mini-mart’s candy racks and Twinkie displays. She’d found a few older movies she hadn’t seen in ages—Dirty Dancing, Music and Lyrics, and a Sandra Bullock boxed set that included Miss Congeniality. She could drool over Patrick Swayze, Hugh Grant, and Benjamin Bratt while she stuffed herself with junk food. That would keep her from missing Griff.
Yeah, right.
She adjusted the nozzle, listening to the gas chugging down the line and praying the truck would make it to Denver. It would be awful to break down the day before Christmas. Even if she could get a tow truck, where would she tell them to take her?
She imagined standing by the side of the road, telling some hairy trucker dudes to tow her precious Chevy LUV to the lot of the nearest cheap motel. They’d know then that she had nowhere to go. And maybe up to that point they’d have been nice to her, because of the holiday and all, but then that wall would go up. They’d look at her with pity, and she’d be one of them again. The poor. The homeless. The unloved. She shuddered at the thought.
A vehicle pulled up to the tank beside her truck. It shuddered and roared, tossing great diesel farts into the clear, cold air. She turned her back to it, not wanting to start a conversation. The way she felt, she was likely to burst into tears if somebody so much as said Merry Christmas.
The Jeep’s door slammed, and she heard the driver opening the gas cap. As he—she could tell it was a he—notched the hose into place, she could sense him staring at her. It was like a sixth sense for her, the knowledge a man was giving her the eye. It had meant danger at one point in her life. Now, without the protection of the good people of Wynott, it would mean that again.
Bruce’s tail was wagging like crazy, which made her wonder just how much protection he’d be. She tried to concentrate on the tinny Christmas music coming from the speakers under the canopy. It was Wham! singing that corny song about giving someone your heart for Christmas and getting it back. She could identify with George Michael on that one, except he was planning to give it to somebody else instead, while she was on her own from here on.
Finally, she turned to the other motorist, ready to shout an exasperated “What?”
But the words balled up in her throat, and all she could let out was a croak as Griff Bailey crossed his arms over his chest, leaned back against his Jeep, and gave her a lazy, self-satisfied smile.
* * *
Griff did his best to stay calm, to make sure the bees didn’t rise again. This was his last chance with Riley, and if he got nervous, he was sure to blow it.
The smile was real, though. Between the ancient, absurd pickup, the enormous dog filling up the front seat, and the slight, spare figure with the long, silvery hair spilling out from under a Carhartt baseball cap, she cut quite a distinctive figure. She looked remarkably delicate, but she had a spine of steel and a stubborn streak a mile wide. Somehow, he needed to bend them both.
“You got me in trouble,” he said.
She looked puzzled. “Trouble?”
“Everybody was expecting you to spend Christmas at the ranch. You’re half the reason they came home early.”
“Why would they expect me to do that? Why wouldn’t they think I’d be with Ed?”
“I guess because I told them.”
“Told them…”
“Pretty much everything. So now they know I’m the reason you left.”
“No, you’re not. Tell them it’s not your fault. I make my own decisions.”
“I tried that.” He shrugged. “Didn’t work. I need you to tell them yourself. Come on. Let them see you’re okay and I didn’t send you sobbing off to Denver or anything.”
“No.” She tilted her chin up and stared into his eyes—an expression he’d learned meant for sure she was faking it. “I’m not going to horn in on your family Christmas, okay? I’m always doing that. Besides, I have obligations.”
He strode over and leaned on the hood of her truck. “Obligations to who?” He peered in at her grocery bags. “Little Debbie? Mike and Ike?”
She grimaced. “No, just—to people in Denver, okay? And to myself.”
“Yourself.”
“Yes, myself.” She took a deep breath. “Look, everybody’s been really nice, but I’m sick of being the third wheel every Christmas. Or the fifth wheel, or the seventh. I’m not doing that again.”
“You wouldn’t be a third wheel. You’d be with me. My wheels came off.” He smiled, realizing that was true. “You are my wheels.”
“No.” She avoided his eyes. “I’m not…I’m not the right girl for you.”
“Are you back on that Fawn thing?”
“Maybe,” she said. “I know you said you’re not interested, but you loved her for so many years. Now you can finally be together. How can you not want that?”
He made a gagging sound
.
“Come on. Feelings like that don’t just evaporate.”
“How do you know?”
“I just do, that’s all. Once you love somebody, it’s forever. It doesn’t change, no matter where that somebody goes or what he does.” She turned away abruptly, pretending to concentrate on the gas pump’s digital readout, but the pump turned off just then with a loud thunk, and there was silence, making her next words seem much louder. “Even if he loves somebody else, it doesn’t change. That’s how I know.” She waved her hands as if she could erase the words before they reached his ears. “Or her. If she loves somebody else. That’s what I meant. Or him. Not me.”
“Right. So you’re saying once you fall in love, that’s your happily-ever-after, and you can’t have it with anybody else?”
She looked away. “I don’t think happily-ever-after’s going to work for me.”
“Seems to me it never works for anybody—until the last, best time. And then it does.”
Shrugging, she opened the passenger door of her truck and tossed her purse inside.
Dang it, she was going to leave. He shot an SOS look at his truck, then winced when Bruce, who’d somehow slipped his seat belt, dove for the Little Debbies and sent some stuff clattering to the pavement from the open driver’s side door. Griff dodged around the truck to pick up whatever it was.
DVDs. A bunch of them. As he helped Riley pick them up, he couldn’t help smiling at the titles. They were all romantic comedies, old ones. The kind they sold for five dollars at mini-marts.
“Look, here’s proof.” He gathered up three titles and fanned them out in front of her like a poker hand. “You think Hugh Grant found love on the first try? How about Matthew McConaughey?” He picked up another DVD and squinted at the title. “Patrick Swayze? He and Baby—they had a rough time, right?” He set the last one on the seat and turned to face her.
Blue Sky Cowboy Christmas Page 28
