Smokin' Hot Cowboy Christmas

by Kim Redford

  “We understand perfectly, my dear.” Hedy gave her a warm smile. “Plus I know Rowdy here has been keeping busy at your house.”

  Rowdy rolled his eyes at her behind Belle’s back. If he didn’t watch out, they were both going to get him into hot water. Trouble was they were enjoying the situation at his expense.

  “I promised Hedy I’d show you my bluebird collection,” Bert said. “She sold me the entire collection over several years. It was my best excuse for seeing her, since she wouldn’t go out with me. I shamelessly took advantage of the fact that I could find her at Adelia’s Delights and spend time with her.”

  “He’s such a romantic.” Hedy smiled up at him. “And persistent.”

  “You’ve always held my heart,” Bert said. “And my bluebird house is my way of showing it.”

  “It’s impressive. Right this way.” Rowdy gestured ahead at the redbrick path.

  “I’m anxious to see it.” Belle took the path that ran alongside the house.

  Hedy went next in her wheelchair. She was followed by Bert. Rowdy brought up the rear. He always enjoyed seeing the bluebird collection from the perspective of someone who had never viewed it.

  Soon they came to an extensive back garden with stone benches, gurgling fountains, trimmed hedges and rosebushes, a manicured lawn, a flagstone patio with blue-and-white-striped cushions on redwood furniture, and an infinity swimming pool and hot tub. Blue-and-silver rope lights outlined the house’s roofline, while crimson poinsettias in large green ceramic containers adorned the patio.

  And yet all of that beauty paled in comparison to Bert’s bluebird house. In the center of the garden, a glass-walled gazebo in a hexagonal shape rose as a delicate work of art into the sky, glowing blue fire where the brilliant rays of the sun struck the multitude of bluebirds inside.

  “Oh, my,” Belle said. “That’s absolutely stunningly gorgeous.”

  “Thank you.” Bert opened the glass door to the gazebo. “Please go inside.”

  Belle went in first, followed by the others. She turned around in a complete circle as she took in the bluebirds…eyes bright with wonder.

  Rowdy gazed at the sky-blue glass bluebirds in a variety of sizes from small to large but all in the same smooth bird shape. Bert had placed them on clear glass shelves around the walls to better catch the rays of the sun. And for Christmas, he’d added decorations in the form of silver tinsel scarves around necks or gold-foil hats on heads or red-and-white candy canes at beaks.

  “I absolutely adore this gazebo.” Belle turned to look at Bert and Hedy. “Thank you so much for sharing it with me. It’s an inspiration…a lovely testimony to love.”

  “Bert taught me all about love. And it’s never too late to learn and share it.” Hedy smiled at her and then glanced up at Rowdy.

  He took her meaning to heart because she was right. It’s just that he was between a rock and a hard place.

  “I agree.” Belle clasped Rowdy’s hand, giving him a soft smile.

  “Why don’t we take a closer look at the garden?” Rowdy gestured toward the open door, and the women went outside.

  Bert hung back. “You weren’t supposed to get involved, were you?”

  “Dad, she’s the one.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re definitely a chip off the old block. Love hits Holloway men hard.” Bert sighed. “You’re in a pickle, aren’t you?”

  “She trusts me. If she finds out I’m there to sabotage her plans, she’ll never forgive me.”

  “Son, love does conquer all.”

  “That’s easy for you to say. You and Hedy—”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Get me out of this mess.”

  “That’s not so easy.”

  “Look, I’ve been with her enough to know she has good intentions toward the county. She’s not going bring in a lot of riffraff and trouble. She’s sincere.”

  “That’s what I’m starting to hear about her.”

  “If it means anything, Fernando likes her…along with Storm, Sydney, Fern, and Craig.”

  “That means a lot. Besides, she comes from a good family. That means something important, too.” Bert glanced from his son to the women and back again. “I’ll talk with Hedy and the others.”

  “Thank you. I want out of this job in the worst way.”

  “In the meantime, why don’t you go ahead and make a little progress on the house?”

  “I already painted the trim.”

  “Did it make her happy?”

  “Yes. She’s been really patient.”

  “That reveals good character.”

  “Yeah.” Rowdy glanced toward the back garden. “Something else.”

  “What?”

  “The Buick Brigade have taken a liking to her.”

  “Really? Now that’s another plus in her favor.”

  “You know how they are.”

  “What do they want her to do?” Bert asked.

  “I’m not exactly sure, but they’re involving me.”

  “What are you going to do about it?”

  “So far, nothing.”

  “That won’t work.” Bert stroked one of the bluebirds. “It’s Christmastime. If you want a miracle with Belle—and it’s beginning to look like you’ll need one—you’d better reconsider what the wise women told you to do.”

  Rowdy sighed. “I was afraid that’s exactly what you would say.”

  Chapter 26

  “I’m not so sure this is a good idea.” Belle sat stiffly in the front seat of Rowdy’s truck…or rather Bert Two’s pickup, since Rowdy had borrowed it again. Really, it was a relief because it was so much more comfortable and safer on the road than his old rattletrap. Maybe someday soon she’d get to meet Bert Two because he seemed like a real nice and generous guy.

  “We already talked about it.” Rowdy threw a glance her way and then focused back on the road. “And we decided to do it.”

  “I’m having second thoughts.”

  “We’re almost at Sure-Shot.”

  “I don’t care. It’s not that far back to Wildcat Bluff.”

  “Okay.” He slowed down. “What’s really eating at you?”

  “It’s my Christmas party.”

  “I got the trim painted on your house, and it looks good.”

  “True. But shingle stacks are still on the front lawn.”

  “At least they’re there and not stolen.”

  “But Sheriff Calhoun hasn’t caught the thieves.”

  “He’s working on it,” Rowdy said.

  “It’s just…just—”

  “Go ahead. Spill it.”

  “I’m disappointed I didn’t get to send out invitations. I thought folks would enjoy my party along with Christmas in the County in Wildcat Bluff, Christmas at the Sure-Shot Drive-In, and Wildcat Hall’s Honky-Tonk Christmas.”

  He glanced at her with wide eyes and then quickly looked back at the road. “It’s a good thing you didn’t do it. That weekend is already packed with stuff, and everybody is overworked making it come off without a hitch.”

  “It would’ve been a fine way to showcase the community and let folks see the creative, vibrant world that is now home to Lulabelle & You.”

  “We’re only three weeks out now. Invitations would’ve had to go out ages ago.”

  “I know, but still it’s a disappointment.” She tapped her fingernails on the dashboard. “And now I’m heading off into the wilds of horse country—”

  “It’s not wild. It’s Sure-Shot and environs.”

  “Anyway…”

  He pulled off to the side of the road and turned to look at her. “Is it my fault you couldn’t throw your party?”

  “Well, you are a pretty big distraction.”
r />   He grinned, shaking his head. “I meant about the house.”

  “It’s not all you. Remember how it looked when you got there. Lots of people before you let me down. At least you made progress.”

  “I’m sorry for the delay.”

  “Thanks.”

  “One good thing.”

  “What?”

  “You don’t have to worry about making plans or getting the house fixed up or anything else. You can simply enjoy all the local Christmas festivities.”

  “That’s true.” She put her hands in her lap, looked at them, and realized she needed a manicure. She couldn’t seem to get enough done. “It’s just that it would’ve been good for business.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “What do you mean? I intended to use the party to introduce and showcase the ranch.”

  “Wouldn’t spring be a better time when everything is green and you’ve had an opportunity to get the ranch in order?”

  “Do you think I was rushing it?”

  “Do you?” he asked.

  “Maybe so.”

  “Right now everybody is hurrying around to finish up stuff and attend parties so they can take time off during the holidays and enjoy Christmas. Maybe the last thing they needed was another party invitation.”

  “Good point. Sometimes you sound like an entrepreneur.” She cocked her head to one side, looking at him and trying to figure him out. Somehow or the other all the pieces just never quite fit together. Who was this man who’d become such a vital part of her life?

  “I’m a practical guy, that’s all.”

  “I guess there’s no point in crying over spilled milk.”

  “Not one bit.”

  “This way I can focus on more pressing matters at the ranch as well as my business. And maybe Kemp will soon find a way to bring Daisy Sue home.” She felt as if a weight lifted off her shoulders, even if she was disappointed not to use the bandanas or the hay bales or…just do something fun. Of course, it didn’t mean she couldn’t use the great ideas when she finally did throw her welcome to Wildcat Bluff County and Lulabelle & You Ranch party.

  “For now, do you want to go back or go on?”

  “When you put it that way, I never like to go back. That’s part of my problem with the party. I just kept plunging forward no matter the obstacles or the time of year or anything. You’re right about spring being better all the way around.”

  “Stay or go.”

  “Well—”

  “It’ll give you something else to think about.”

  She rolled her eyes at him. “Sometimes you make too much sense. Let’s do it.”

  “Okay.” He pulled back onto the highway.

  “I’ve got the map. You’ve got the key. Do you think we can find the schoolhouse?”

  “Yes. I know a little about the area.”

  “Do you come over here often?”

  “Well…I like the Sure-Shot Drive-In Theater,” he said.

  “That sounds like fun.”

  “It is. I’ll take you there sometime, if you like.”

  “I’d like it a lot. Maybe we can make out in the back seat.”

  “Anytime.” He glanced over at her with that special light in his eyes that told her exactly what he was thinking about doing in the back seat.

  “You’re on.” She grinned at him, suddenly feeling happier about her non-party. With love in the air, how could she possibly be down about anything?

  “We’ll turn off before we get to Sure-Shot.”

  “Do you need me to navigate?”

  “I studied the map, and I know my way around the area, so I’m good to go.”

  “If you need it, I have the map right here.” She clutched Craig’s crude drawing in her hand, but she wasn’t sure she could make sense of it because she didn’t know this horse country at all.

  He turned off the highway before he reached Sure-Shot and headed down a road that was little more than washboard ruts that bounced the truck with every turn of the wheels. Pretty soon that played out into nothing but a tall stand of horse-belly-high dry grass. He stopped the pickup.

  “Can this be right?” All she saw ahead was a thick section of old-growth vegetation that rose out of nowhere.

  She’d researched the area enough to know that the Cross Timbers once stretched from Kansas to Central Texas, cutting a wide swath between East Texas and West Texas. Each side of the plains was densely bordered by sturdy post oak, flowering cedar elm, hard-as-nails bois d’arc, blossoming dogwood, Virginia creeper, and thorny blackberry.

  It had originally been part of the Comanche empire that had stretched from central Kansas to Mexico. In the old days, there had been a brush fire every year, and the tree line that made up the border of the Cross Timbers would grow back too dense to penetrate. Comanche warriors had used the prairie between the two tree lines as a secret passage so enemies couldn’t see or attack them.

  Lots of folks in Wildcat Bluff County were descendants of the Comanche and still protected thousands of those acres, but they kept the wildfires under control so the thicket line didn’t grow back as dense.

  “You know about the Cross Timbers, don’t you?” Rowdy asked.

  “Yes. We’re in the center of it, aren’t we?”

  “Pretty much. What’s odd is that section doesn’t grow north-south. It grows east-west. That’s all wrong.” He pointed at the thicket line. “And that’s really out of place.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Look at it. Hundred-plus-year-old post oaks do not grow in a circle, or semi-circle from what I can see from here, with a pretty dogwood tree set in between each trunk. It’s not natural. And those dogwoods shouldn’t even still be alive. Eighty years is about their limit. They’d need really rich soil to live this long.”

  “Maybe the oaks are younger than you think.”

  “Could be. It’s all entwined with blackberry vines that would shred most anything trying to get through on foot or hoof.” He glanced over at her. “It’s like Craig told us. At some point way back in time a grove was planted here…looks like to keep somebody in or somebody out.”

  “That’s a chilling thought.”

  “You know it. And why right here near Sure-Shot in the middle of ranch land? It makes no sense.”

  “I guess it’s up to us to try to make sense of it.”

  “Let’s find that gap Craig left between a post oak and a dogwood.”

  “And see what we can see.”

  “Right.”

  She picked up two flashlights from the floorboard, stepped out, and joined him in front of the pickup. She was dressed for an excursion into the woods in a jean jacket, a thick sweater, Wranglers, and work boots. She’d also brought leather gloves. He was dressed in similar warm, tough clothes. She handed him one of the lights and then glanced around the area.

  “It seems too quiet here, doesn’t it?”

  “We made enough noise driving up and getting out that we probably disturbed everything.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Once we get inside the grove, we shouldn’t find much vegetation because there won’t be enough sunlight filtering through the oaks.”

  She walked with him to the row of trees where Virginia creeper, blackberry, and poison ivy grew in a thick mass along with the twisted and thorny branches of bois d’arc.

  “Don’t touch any of that growth.” He pulled on his leather gloves. “Most of it can shred skin and poison you.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m not touching it. I’m just looking for the opening Craig said he’d left here.” As she slipped on her gloves, she watched Rowdy walk along the thick growth, stopping and checking to see if any of the vegetation was loose.

  “Here we go.” He grabbed hold of a section and tugged on it, jerking hard, and it gave way to reveal an ope
ning large enough to go through without getting tangled up in briars. He glanced over and grinned at her.

  “Perfect.”

  “Why don’t you do the honors and go first?”

  She carefully stepped into a quiet glade with him right behind her. Dappled sunlight through thick branches of the surrounding trees cast long shadows across ground covered with dry leaves that hadn’t been disturbed since they’d fallen last autumn.

  She felt as if she’d stepped back in time to another era captured in the perfection of a small Victorian building with gingerbread trim around the peaked roof and the railing around the front porch with a crawl space underneath. It even had a fancy bell tower. After a hundred years or so, it still looked beautiful. The white paint had faded or eroded to almost nothing except bare wood, and pieces of gingerbread hung haphazardly from the eaves, but overall it looked remarkably well preserved for its age.

  “It’s lovely here, isn’t it?” She spoke softly so as not to disturb the tranquility.

  “Yes.” He gestured around the area. “You can see the trees were planted in a perfect circle around the schoolhouse. Next to white oaks, post oaks are the hardest, longest-lasting oak. And dogwoods have spiritual meaning to people.”

  “It’s very special. I wish I knew why this was done…and who did it.”

  “I think that’s why we’re here.”

  “Let’s take a closer look.”

  As they drew nearer, she could see that things didn’t appear quite as good as they had from a distance. Blackberry vines twined up the railings and across the floor of the porch, creating a gray, thorny barrier.

  “It’s obvious there was trouble here.” He clasped her hand, giving an encouraging smile.

  “And sad.”

  She walked with him to the side of the house where a single window had been boarded up.

  “As a firefighter, I hate to see so few exits,” he said.

  “Maybe there’s a rear door.”

  When they reached the back of the house, he pointed toward the lower half of the building, where dark stains tarnished the wood and stroked upward toward a brick chimney that was blackened with soot and had partially crumbled to the ground.

  “No back door,” he said. “The blaze must have started in the fireplace or the chimney. At first, smoke would have been more problem than fire. There’s only one small, high window on this side and probably the same on the other side.”