Blue Sky Cowboy Christmas

by Joanne Kennedy

  “Those are stories,” she said. “Life’s not like that.”

  “Not yet,” he said. “But it could be if you’d let it.”

  Chapter 51

  Riley looked up at Griff and wished things were simpler. She wanted to climb up into his Jeep—because that was what he was driving, that was why she hadn’t realized it was him—and go home with him. And once they got there, she wanted to go upstairs and lose herself in his bed for the next two days. They could forget about Christmas, forget about other people, and go back to that safe space they’d found together—the one where she wasn’t the damaged one. The one where she helped him.

  But instead, he’d come charging to her rescue in that big, old truck, like a knight galloping on a white horse, and he wanted to drag her back and shove her into the bosom of his family, and he thought she’d belong, just like that. But if she didn’t belong with Ed, where she’d been happy for so many years, she’d never belong with anyone.

  “Riley James.”

  Riley knew that voice, and she knew it meant trouble.

  Molly Bailey stood on the curb that held the gas tanks, her cheeks pink from the cold, her hands, clad in red mittens, fisted on her plump hips. She was normally a kittenish kind of woman, but right now, she reminded Riley of a rodeo bull.

  “Heck and I rushed all the way here just so we could spend some time with you,” she said. “Jess and Cade can’t wait to see you, and Griff… Well, I think you know how Griff feels.” She raised a hand, and despite the mitten that obscured her raised finger, she made her point. “I guess our friendship doesn’t mean much to you if you’d rather spend Christmas in Denver than spend it with us.”

  She wagged an admonishing finger. “Not only that, but you stole Heck’s dog.”

  “I didn’t mean to,” Riley said, horrified by the thought. “Griff made me take him, honest. But you can have him back.”

  “I don’t think so.” Molly smiled at the dog, who was gazing lovingly at Riley with drool dripping from his jowls. “You stole his heart.” She glanced over at the gas pump and smiled. “Seems to be a habit of yours.”

  Thus far, Riley could handle the lecture—but then Molly swept her into her arms.

  “We love you, honey, and we’re so sorry about what happened with Ed’s sisters. We wish you’d stay with us. I always thought we were like another family to you. We sure want to be.”

  Riley sniffed, inhaling the motherly scents of White Shoulders perfume and perm lotion. Griff’s stepmother felt comforting and pillowy in her arms, and she was horrified when the tears she’d been holding back all day burst the dam to wet Molly’s shoulder.

  “It’s not that.” She kept her face buried in Molly’s sweater so no one would see her cry. “It’s just that this is your first Christmas with Griff in so long. It’ll be just like old times, and I don’t want to spoil that.”

  Molly backed off, giving Riley a gentle shake. Wiping frantically at her face, Riley took off her cap so her hair would fall forward and hide her face.

  “Old times are nice and all, but there are always changes. I was a big change,” Molly said. “And I can tell you, I was the third wheel for a while. A stepparent is always on the outside looking in. But if you love folks enough, you become family. That’s why the present matters more than any old tradition, and we want to share our present with you.”

  Riley was crying again, so she jammed the cap back on her head and pulled the brim down.

  “We love you, honey. Me and Jess and Heck.” She thumbed toward Griff. “And that one, too.” She held up a hand to stop Riley from protesting. “I don’t know what kind of love, whether it’s friendship or, you know, love love, but there’s no escaping the truth.” She smiled, kittenish again. “Heck is just dying to see you and tell you how much he likes those bathrooms, and he’s already got a half-dozen new projects lined up. We stayed in some really nice places on the road, because that RV shower is a little cramped for him. He got a lot of good ideas.”

  She turned to nod at Griff, who was hanging up the nozzle while studiously avoiding them. Riley could tell he knew darn well it hadn’t been fair to sic his stepmother on her. Molly was like a plump, pleasant steamroller who managed to flatten anyone who disagreed with her while somehow making them feel loved.

  “I’m making cookies tomorrow, and you know this guy won’t be any help,” she said now. “Plus Jess can’t wait to see you. You were her maid of honor, Riley! How could you be a bigger part of our family?”

  The question hung shimmering in the air as Molly looked over at Griff, who’d hung up the nozzle and was climbing back in the truck.

  “Well, there might be a way,” Molly continued. “But we can talk about that later. I have to tell you, we were so glad when Griff said…”

  The roar of a diesel engine drowned out her next words. Griff leaned out the open window of the truck, which was belching black smoke from the tailpipe. “Are we going back or not? Because I’m ready.”

  He didn’t say exactly what he was ready for, but his eyes lit on Riley’s, and more than anything he or Molly had said, the look he gave her said going back wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

  She didn’t want him to think she was easy, though, so she pouted. “I was looking forward to spending Christmas with Hugh Grant.”

  “He can come, too,” Griff grumbled. “But I don’t think he’s your type. Hope not, anyway.”

  Riley giggled. She couldn’t help it. Comparing Hugh Grant to Griff Bailey was like comparing a cocker spaniel to a grizzly bear.

  Griff waved toward her truck. “You lead the way. I’ll follow and make sure you don’t get stuck.”

  “I won’t get stuck,” Riley said. “Don’t underestimate my truck. It’s…”

  “I know. It’s a collector’s item,” Griff said. “But I’m still glad I’ve got a tow strap.”

  * * *

  The next morning, Griff stood in the barn’s open doorway, leaning on a manure fork, supremely satisfied with the world. He and Riley were together now. He wished he was sure of that.

  Well, he’d make sure of it. Riley didn’t seem to be sure of anything—yet.

  He was surprised to find he didn’t mind the work he’d resented so much as a boy, even when doing it with his dad. Though horse leavings were hardly fragrant, he liked the rhythm of the work, the glide of his muscles, and the slight ache in his shoulders at the end. And he loved knowing Riley was inside talking girl talk with his sister and helping his stepmother with the baking.

  But he still wasn’t sure he liked his father. He loved him, sure, and he’d been hoping those health scares would mellow the old man some, but the old resentment was like a wire strung tightly between them, strangling them so they couldn’t talk like a normal father and son, so they couldn’t relate the way they should.

  Beside him, Heck cleared his throat and kicked at the old wooden floorboards before speaking. “I want you to know I respect the decision you made when you enlisted, and I’m proud of what you did.” He looked down at his toes, clad in a pair of fancy tooled Durango boots. “Not very proud of myself, though.”

  “What? Why?” Griff had to say something, but he didn’t know how to respond to that. His father had always been supremely confident that his way was the right way. That was the problem.

  “I never wanted anything but this place,” his dad said. “This land. Horses and cattle. The riding, the roping, the branding—it’s in my blood.” Heck’s voice grew husky. “I thought it would be in yours, and when it wasn’t… Well, I thought I could make you a rancher anyway. Thought you’d change your mind sooner or later.”

  Griff shrugged. Once again, he’d disappointed his dad. He was used to it now.

  “I thought there was nothing better for you to be.” Heck waved an arm at the view, then let it fall limply at its side. “Not many men grow up with the promise of twenty
thousand acres of prime grazing land, you know?”

  “I know.” Griff gazed across the landscape from the distant hills to the tilted fence posts that bound the corral, from the crazy old house with its turrets and gables to the barn itself, built to last with thick beams hewn from native trees. “I always knew I should appreciate it more. Cade would have given anything to have the luck I did. But it wasn’t what I wanted.”

  “Well, I’m proud of what you chose to do,” Heck said. “People in town compliment me all the time, like I had something to do with it.” His laugh sounded bitter. “Like I made you what you are, when all I did was fight you. I know you deserve all the credit for the man you’ve become.”

  “I don’t know.” Griff warmed toward his dad in a way he never had before. It had never been easy for the old man to apologize. “I think you prepared me for combat pretty well.”

  Heck looked wounded. “I know we fought, but…”

  “No, that’s not what I mean.” Griff gave his dad an affectionate cuff on the arm. He should just give the old man a hug and get it over with. He’d been shocked to see how his father had aged. But that affectionate punch was the best he could do for now. “What I mean is, ranching’s a lot like combat. Remember what you used to say? How it’s ‘long periods of sheer boredom punctuated by moments of panic’? That’s what they say about combat, too, and it’s true.”

  His dad’s eyes took on a faraway look. “Moments of panic,” he said. “Remember when Jess roped that randy bull-calf back when she was—how old was she, ten?—and the rope got under her horse’s tail?”

  Griff chuckled. “Never saw such a rodeo. She hung on tight, and we got things straightened out, but I couldn’t do a thing to help her, ’cause my horse was bucking in sympathy or something.”

  Heck grinned. “Wondered if I’d get you kids out of there alive, but we managed,” he said. “Your mother wasn’t too happy with me.”

  Griff sobered. “My mother wasn’t too happy with anything. She hated ranch work.” He thought a moment. “She was determined we’d hate it, too.”

  Heck turned so fast Griff was afraid he’d wrench his neck. “She was?”

  “Sure. You didn’t know? She always told Jess she could do better. Watched those shows with her, about the Karklashians or whatever, talked about hair and makeup. Why do you think Jess wanted to move to the city so bad?”

  Heck nodded. “Jess said something about that. That she was trying to please her mother.”

  “I was, too.” Griff shoved his hands in his pockets. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m no rancher. I’d be happy if I never saw another cow in my life. But mostly, it was Mom. She made it seem like ranching was a low-class occupation that didn’t do anybody any good.”

  “That’s not true,” Heck said. “Ranchers feed the nation. We…”

  Griff laughed. “I know that, Dad. I’m just telling you what she said.”

  “All right.” Heck set a hand on Griff’s shoulder. “Just so you know, I’m proud of you, Son. Proud of the way you carry yourself, the things you’ve done. You can bet I won’t try to boss you anymore. You’ve done fine. More than fine.”

  Griff was surprised to find his breath shuddering in his chest. He’d apparently wanted his father’s approval more than he realized.

  “It’s not for everybody.” Heck waved at the landscape again. “Dot didn’t like it, and neither did you kids. Thought I could make you somehow, but I went about it all wrong.”

  Pressing his hat firmly onto his head, he headed for the house.

  Griff called after him, shouting over the wind.

  “Dad?”

  Heck turned.

  “Turns out I liked it more than I thought. I missed it like crazy after I was gone, and now that I’m back, the horses… Well, they’re the best part, aren’t they?”

  Heck grinned, then sobered. “Almost, Son. Almost. But not quite.” He kicked at the snow, suddenly shy. “It was always you kids that were the best part. Family’s what it’s all about.”

  “Well, just so you know,” Griff said, “it turns out I was a cowboy after all. I’m not planning on hitting the rodeo again anytime soon, but I know I was lucky to be raised here. And I was lucky to be your son.”

  His father’s eyes, already rheumy, filled with tears as he turned and clasped Griff in a hug. They patted each other’s backs, then parted awkwardly, shoving their hands in their pockets, glancing around to make sure nobody’d seen them.

  “Come on inside,” Heck said gruffly. “Got something for you.”

  As they returned to the house, Griff couldn’t help noticing how slowly his father moved. Now he had another reason to stick around—to spend some time with his father now that they understood each other better.

  Heck held up one finger, asking Griff to wait while he hobbled off to the bedroom. Griff could hear drawers opening and shutting, then a muffled curse before his dad returned, carrying a little box in one hand. When he opened it and presented it like a magician revealing a rabbit, Griff couldn’t help laughing.

  “I love you, Dad, but I’m not going to marry you.”

  “Shhh.” Heck put a finger to his lips. “It’s not for you, stupid. It’s for Riley.”

  “She won’t marry you, either.”

  Heck cuffed his shoulder. “Now you listen to me. This ring was your grandmother’s. My daddy gave it to her when they’d already been married ten years because up until then, all he could afford was a plain gold band. It wasn’t fancy enough for your mother, but I always kept it, thinking maybe someday I’d have a daughter-in-law who’d wear it. You know how much Molly and I think of Riley.”

  “I know, Dad, but…”

  “That little girl could bring a sparkle to any diamond,” Heck said. “You give her this for Christmas, seal the deal. Don’t let her get away.”

  Griff took the ring. The box seemed fragile in his big, clumsy hands, but the stone had plenty of sparkle. “Dad, I think she already did.”

  “We got her back here, Son.” Heck gave him a glare that brought back old times—and not the good parts. “We did our part, and now it’s up to you. Don’t be telling me she doesn’t want you. That girl’s so in love she don’t know which end is up. You love her back, right?”

  Griff nodded.

  “I know I promised I wouldn’t boss you anymore, but I’ve got one last order for you,” Heck said.

  Griff sighed. “All right. Go on.”

  “Try again,” his father said. “And don’t quit trying ’til you win.” His tone softened. “She’s worth it, Son. I can see what’s between you. Don’t let her get away.”

  Chapter 52

  Riley woke with a start, glancing around wildly before she remembered where she was.

  It was finally Christmas. Molly and Heck were still in bed, and Jess and Cade had returned to Cade’s old place, which they were going to fix up for Molly and Heck so they could move into the ranch house. There was room for Riley in Jess’s old room after all, at least temporarily, so she wasn’t homeless, and she had even more work to do than she’d thought. Jess wanted to fix up Cade’s old place so Molly and Heck could grow old there. Heck had grumbled at the idea of grab bars in the bathroom and other adjustments, but Riley figured the world would end if he ever admitted he was getting old.

  That would mean staying here and close to Griff, but she knew he didn’t want to live with his folks, so she might be able to avoid him, along with whomever he chose to share his life with. Because it would not be her.

  Even if she hadn’t cared about him and his future, she wasn’t sure she had the courage to face people like the Harpies. She’d rather be alone so she could remain on the edges of Wynott’s version of high society, keep her head down, do her work, and leave the moving and shaking to people like Griff and Fawn, who belonged here.

  People like the Harpies were everywhere.
They made up their mind about you based on rumors and half-truths, and no matter how nice you were, no matter how hard you tried, you could never, ever change their minds. Griff didn’t understand that and never would. He actually seemed to believe she was an elf, waking every morning with a clean slate.

  The thought made her smile. It was Christmas, after all. She’d try to stop thinking these serious thoughts and enjoy it. The Baileys had made her so welcome during their raucous Christmas Eve dinner that she hadn’t felt like a third wheel once.

  She moved slowly and quietly, swinging her feet to the floor. She’d meant to sleep in Jess’s room, but it had seemed natural to share Griff’s bed, as she had so many times. It wouldn’t seem natural for her to emerge from his room in front of his family, though, so she’d better keep moving.

  As she opened the bedroom door, a snippet of song floated up the stairs. Molly was up already, busy in the kitchen and serenading the day with Christmas carols.

  Well, Christmas songs, anyway. “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer,” sung slightly off-key, wasn’t exactly a carol.

  Riley washed up, then hurried into Jess’s room and dressed hastily, popping the elf hat on her head at the last minute so the jingle bell dangled just above her nose. As she trotted down the stairs, she caught the scent of cinnamon, and when she reached the hall, she glanced out the windows to see snowy fields stretching out in every direction under impossibly blue skies.

  She stood there a moment, savoring the scent of fir and cinnamon and vanilla, listening to Molly warbling happily in the kitchen, and feeling a peace and promise she’d always believed Christmas morning should hold but had never found. Her world felt new, as if the warmth and love of the holiday was about to change everything. As if the world might be a better place from this moment on.

  She’d never had one of those exciting Christmas mornings where she rushed down the stairs to see what Santa had brought. Usually, Santa was an old drunk on the corner in a ragged suit and soiled beard who tried to get little girls to sit on his lap. She never got presents or sat around a loaded table smiling at a family of her own.