A Tall, Dark Cowboy Christmas
He blinked, finding himself back in the present. He’d been so careful with her. Because she was sweet and delicate. Because she thought he was good. Sometimes he regretted just how careful he’d been. When the cancer came back, her prognosis wasn’t good. They’d gotten married as quickly as possible. Always thinking it would go away. Always hoping. Even though, deep down, he’d known.
They’d both known. Her life wasn’t going to be long; there was no way it could be, barring a miracle. But he’d imagined that they could have something. Maybe not the kind of marriage everyone else had, but something like it.
They’d never had normal. But they’d had something pretty damned precious. In the end, being with Lindsay had changed him profoundly.
Without her... The path he had been on only ended a couple of ways. Dead young or in jail. She had saved him. And whatever he had or didn’t have now, whatever he hadn’t done...
He couldn’t regret the choices he’d made.
So, if his sixteen-year-old nephew was getting play, he had to ask himself at what point he was going to start figuring out how to live some kind of normal life.
He’d tried. Once.
He’d driven to a neighboring town and gone to a bar. He hadn’t even gotten past saying hi. The damned woman had recognized him. He was that famous guy who’d married his terminally ill high school sweetheart even knowing their life together would be short. She’d given him the saddest eyes he’d ever seen, and he’d been sure he could have gotten pity sex.
That was when he realized he didn’t want pity sex.
That had been two years ago. Two years since he’d last tried to go out and get some and had stopped himself on some kind of principle. Right about now, he was starting to think that maybe he would take pity sex.
A hot kick to his gut told him that wasn’t true. Not by a long shot.
He didn’t just want any sex. That was the thing. If he did, there were a bunch of ways to get it.
He was a man who didn’t want an emotional connection, at all, yet was unable to stomach the idea of an anonymous hookup.
He’d had enough emotional connections to last him from here to forever. He’d had an emotional connection with a woman for eight years. He didn’t want to do it again. Not ever. He valued it, over any other experience, over any other relationship, he’d ever had. He didn’t have the energy to do it again.
Lindsay had made him a better man, and he was never going to go back on that. He wouldn’t do that to her memory. Yeah, he’d given her those eight years, but she’d given them to him, too. He wasn’t perfect. Far from it. But she saw him as somebody worthwhile, and he had needed that, more than air.
Maybe that was part of why the shallow hookup thing didn’t work for him.
He almost laughed. Actually, he could see Lindsay telling him to go for it.
You’re too serious, Grant. Go have some fun.
He gritted his teeth and took another drink of whiskey. Thankfully, after that, the rest of the crew arrived, and pushed his thoughts out of that maudlin territory.
Lindy and Bea were talking about Lindy’s brother, Dane, and his recovery from a recent accident he’d suffered on the rodeo circuit. “When he’s up and around, hopefully we can get him a job on the ranch,” Lindy said.
Bea’s forehead creased. “How long do you think that will be? He was... Not so great when I saw him the other day.”
“Yeah,” Lindy said. “He’s not so great.”
Well, Grant could relate to that. Though maybe that wasn’t fair. He hadn’t been trampled by a bull. He was just... Constantly trying to figure out what the hell his life was supposed to look like.
That, he related to. The fact that your life could change completely, look nothing like you wanted it to, and you could do nothing but go on living.
Grant figured that the chances of Dane getting back to riding were slim to none. Also, knowing his brother Wyatt like he did, he knew that bull riders didn’t take kindly to the idea that they might be human, or fallible in any way.
“So what’s the deal with the new girl?” Jamie asked. “The new hire?”
“You said there was nothing different happening at the ranch,” Bennett said, looking at Grant pointedly.
“We don’t talk about every new ranch hand we bring on board.”
“This sounds like something other than a random ranch hand,” Bennett commented.
“It’s a woman,” Jamie said. “She’s young.”
“She’s twenty-six,” Grant said. All heads swiveled toward him. “She told me,” he added, knowing he sounded a little defensive. “Anyway, Jamie, she’s older than you.”
“You seem to be an expert on the subject,” Kaylee said.
“I’m not an expert,” Grant said. “But I found her this morning sleeping in one of the abandoned cabins on the property. She was homeless.”
“What?” Jamie asked.
Bea was looking at him with wide eyes. “She was homeless? She didn’t say anything about that when I talked to her today.”
Leave it to Bea to have struck up a conversation with McKenna. Bea was a collector of strays, though mostly they were of the furry variety. It didn’t surprise him that she had a soft heart when it came to people, too.
“Yeah, well, I doubt it comes up in polite conversation,” Grant said.
“She didn’t... Well, she didn’t look homeless,” Bea said. “Not that there’s... I mean... That sounded mean.”
“Don’t worry about it, Bea,” Lindy said, putting her hand over Bea’s. “I know what you meant.”
“I found her this morning,” Grant said. “And today she was put in my charge. So, I spent time showing her around the ranch, and helping her figure out the job.”
“I invited her to come out tonight,” Wyatt said. “She didn’t want to.”
“Possibly because she didn’t have money to pay for drinks,” Lindy said gently.
Wyatt frowned. “I would’ve bought her drink.”
“She probably didn’t want to assume,” Lindy said.
“Well, next time I’ll make it clear.”
“I wonder what happened,” Jamie said. “I mean, it has to be pretty rough to end up sleeping in one of those god-awful cabins on the ranch property. Those things are full of spiders.”
Yeah, Grant imagined McKenna had had it pretty tough. Not just because he’d found her curled up on the floor this morning, but because her whole demeanor was like a shield. Fully designed to keep people away from her.
“Why didn’t Luke and Olivia come tonight?” Bea asked.
“From what I heard,” Jamie said, “they couldn’t get a babysitter.”
That was when Jamie held up her cell phone and showed off pictures of Luke and Olivia’s baby. Not that she was much of a baby these days.
Grant didn’t look at the pictures. He made a show of it, but he let his eyes skim over the screen. Not that he wasn’t happy for Luke. He was. Luke was like a brother to him, and the guy had had it rough growing up. He deserved every bit of happiness with Olivia that he could get. But that didn’t mean Grant wanted to look at it.
“Does anybody want another round?” Grant stood up and gestured toward the bar. “I’m going to get another drink.”
All hands around the table went up, and Grant took that as a great excuse to take a small break away from the revelry.
He was good at that. Good at using alcohol as a distraction.
Another image of McKenna filtered through his mind. McKenna would be a damned good distraction.
He gritted his teeth, pushed that out of his mind and walked over to the bar.
CHAPTER FOUR
MCKENNA COULDN’T BELIEVE she had slept all the way through the night. Not considering she’d lain down at two o’clock. But at least she was feeling revived. Renewed in some way after sleeping for so many hours. Even though it was still dark outside. She was a couple of minutes late heading over to the mess hall, but not late enough that it should matter. At least, not in her opinion. Whatever the opinion of her gruff, grumpy guide was, she didn’t know.
The conclusion she’d come to that morning that was most important was that she needed new clothes. When she got her first check from this job, that would be the thing she took care of right away.
She would also have to figure out transportation. But she didn’t want to waste money on a car. And she didn’t want to save up that long for anything. Not right now.
But today, in a pair of worn jeans, another threadbare sweater, with the heavier sweater she’d been wearing over the top of it, she was feeling slightly day-old. And then some.
At least her hair was clean. Clean and brushed and silky feeling for the first time in weeks.
As victories went, it was a small one, but she would take it.
When she walked into the mess hall, Grant was standing against the back wall, leaning against the display with the coffee on it. He lifted his cup. “You’re late.”
“I know,” she returned.
“If you know what time it is, then why didn’t you come at the right time?”
“Because it’s early? And it took a little longer for me to get ready and get over here than I realized it would.”
“Get it figured out for tomorrow,” he said, his tone hard. Uncompromising.
“Do you let anyone make mistakes?”
“Nope.”
“What about yourself?” she asked. “Are you allowed to make mistakes?”
He stared at her, the moment stretching out into two. “No,” he responded.
And the funny thing was she absolutely believed him. The gravity in his green eyes was far too severe for her to even consider that he might not be deadly serious.
“Come on,” she said, reaching past him and grabbing a coffee cup, her elbow brushing against his solid midsection. She clenched her teeth, trying not to think about just how solid that midsection was. “Mistakes are like walnuts in the cookies of life.”
“What does that mean?” he asked.
“It would be better without them, but somehow they end up in there half the time, anyway.”
The corner of his mouth twitched, lifted upward slightly, and McKenna’s heart leaped up half a foot in response. She didn’t know why she was reacting to him. He was hot. Big deal. Men were often hot. Sure, not commonly as hot as this one, but whatever.
Of course, there was no reason to be too...too guarded with him. He’d been nice to her, and anyway, it was better for her if he liked her. Or whatever his version of liking someone might be.
“Careful,” she said. “You almost smiled at me.”
“Won’t happen again.”
She arched a brow. “Does that make your smile a mistake, Grant?”
“No,” he said. “Just an unplanned facial tic.”
“Damn. You’re a hard case.”
“Not the first time I’ve heard that one.”
He took a sip of his coffee and her eyes were drawn to his mouth. She had never really been into the cowboy thing or the beard thing. But she liked his. His mouth was... Well, it could almost be called pretty. Except for all the ruggedness that surrounded it. She shouldn’t be staring at it.
She popped the lid on her coffee cup and lifted it. “I’m ready.”
“Just fifteen minutes late now,” he said.
She chose to ignore that. She had hot coffee. She wasn’t going to spoil it with a fight. “I can’t tell you how long it’s been since I’ve woken up to some decent coffee.” She took a long sip. “It’s blessed.”
“Blessed?”
“If there was a patron saint of caffeinated beverages I’d be saying a prayer of thanks to him right about now. Or her.”
“So tell me,” he said, pushing away from the coffee stand, the only indication that he was ready to get moving. McKenna started to follow him out the door. “How exactly did you find yourself in a position where you’re waking up without coffee in the morning?”
Her stomach twisted, her guard going right back up.
She squinted at him, trying to read his face. “Why do you want to know that?”
“I’m curious,” he said. “Also, maybe wanting to make sure you didn’t murder someone and are now on the run.”
“I told you I wasn’t on the run from the law,” she said.
“It’s entirely possible you’re running from becoming identified by the law. Which makes you not on the run from the law on a technicality.”
“No,” she said. “I’m pretty sure that makes me on the run from the law on a technicality actually.”
“Whatever.”
“It’s a whole series of bad choices, Grant,” she said, trying to sound light and not ashamed or depressed. “The main one being that I got screwed out of my apartment and my deposit and decided to come here.”
“Why here?”
“I found out that I have... A family connection. But I’m not sure how to approach it. You know, since random family members showing up at the front door aren’t always welcome.” She wasn’t going to tell him about what the family relationship was. Certainly wasn’t going into the fact that she was Hank Dalton’s secret baby.
“Is this your only family?”
She nodded. “At least, the only family I want to find. I could maybe track my mom down, but she gave me up. I’m not looking for a tearful reunion. Anyway, I’m not even sure why she gave me up. For all I know she had good reason.”
“Right,” he said. “So you found out you had some extended family here.”
“Yes,” she responded. It was kind of a lie. But not totally. Not that it really mattered. She lied all the time. What was one more?
“But your truck broke down.”
“Dead as a doornail.” She waved her hand in a broad gesture. “At least, barring me finding a thousand dollars. Let me tell you, that is not likely.”
“Right.”
“I don’t really have any connections. The last couple years... There hasn’t really been anyone. I figured why not start over. Totally. Somewhere new. I had a plan. Not the best plan, but I had one. I should know better than to make those by now.”
“You’re preaching to the choir,” he responded.
She thought about pressing for more information, because she was curious. Curious what force on heaven or earth had ever dared oppose Grant Dodge. He seemed far too formidable for anyone or anything to dare. But she also had a feeling—a pretty rock-solid one—that he wasn’t interested in having heart-to-heart talks. Least of all with her. The man was a fortress, and she had a feeling that was by design. That he was keeping things locked up for a reason.
Hell, she could understand that.
“Don’t you want to know what we’re doing this morning?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, taking a sip of hot, fortifying coffee. “My brain is feeling just awake enough to handle that information.”
“We’re painting the barn.”
She thought of the pretty, bright-red structure he had showed her yesterday morning. “Isn’t it painted?”
“One of them.”
“There are more barns? Multiple barns?”
“Several. This is the one we keep supplies and machinery in. But Wyatt thinks that we should freshen it up for the tourists.”
“And you don’t?”
“I don’t have a thought about barns, or the color of them, at all.”
“Oh, just the way you said it. Made it seem like it was something he was into, but maybe not you.”
“I’m here to support Wyatt. I would rather be here than working at the power company. That means I do whatever the man wants.”
“It must be tough,” she said. “Working with your brother. Taking orders.”
“Why do you think that?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m an only child.” She frowned. Because maybe she wasn’t an only child. If it turned out she was a Dalton, then she had half siblings. But still, she had been raised one, so that counted for something. She had foster siblings sometimes, but ultimately, she was alone in life. There was no group that moved with her. No one she could reach out to when she needed something.
“I always admired the hell out of Wyatt,” Grant said. “He used to be a pro bull rider in the rodeo.”
“Really?” she asked. “That’s kind of badass.”
“Pretty damn badass,” Grant agreed.
He pushed open the door on a barn that had been worn down to the original wood, and held it for her. She went in first. There were dropcloths and ladders, paint rollers and buckets of paint, all ready to go inside.
His demeanor changed when he talked about his brother. He was a little bit less serious. A little bit less of a wall. It intrigued her. Made her want to dig a little deeper. See what other reactions she could possibly get from him.
And why not? Allies were an important thing in this world. It wouldn’t be a terrible thing to make one out of Grant Dodge if she could.
“Where are we starting?”
“Outside,” he said. “I’ll do up high, if you want to do down low.”
She huffed out a laugh. “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”
He shot her a look she couldn’t quite read. It almost had humor in it—almost. “I have no idea what the kids are calling much of anything these days.”
“I guess I don’t, either,” she said. “What a sobering thought.”
“You’re closer than me.”
“Not by much.”
“Twenty-six? I’d say.”
“How old are you?”
“Thirty-four.”
“Wow,” she said, rolling her eyes. “So advanced. So aged. Can you even remember what you were doing when you were my age?”
His expression turned to stone. It was an immediate shift. That little glint of humor she had seen in his green eyes, just a hint, gone flat. And just like that, her stomach fell.
“Yeah,” he said. “I do.”
She’d said something wrong, and she wasn’t sure what. It would be nice if she could find a segue, but she needed at least one more coffee to be that nimble on her feet. “Well, I guess we can cart some paint outside.” Her verbal soft shoe was nothing to write home about.
“Right,” he said.
They hauled out one of the big five-gallon paint buckets, and he started messing around with some piece of equipment she wasn’t familiar with.
“Compressor,” he said. “I’m going to use that on the upper level.
“Wait a minute, you get the power tools? Is that because you’re a man?” She eyeballed her classic, totally uncool paint roller.
“No, I get the power tools because I know how to use them. If running a compressor was something that you did for one of your manual labor jobs, please feel free to inform me, and I will happily turn that work over to you.”
“All right, that’s a good reason. Because no, I haven’t ever used a compressor.”
He pried open the lid on the paint can and started to stir, and she found herself captivated by his movements, even while he was all covered up. This morning he had on a dark jacket and gloves, the same hat he’d been wearing yesterday on top of his head.
“Is this what you would be doing if you weren’t babysitting me?”
“I’m not babysitting. I’m training.”
She shrugged. “Well, is this what you would be doing if I wasn’t here?”
“Yes,” he answered. “Probably by myself.”
“How much of a charity case am I, Grant?”
“I’ll get the job done faster with you here.” His sidestep didn’t go unnoticed.
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“Do you want the answer, McKenna?”
“I don’t actually care if I’m a charity case. People in my position can’t afford to put pride over a warm meal.”
“Fair enough. It’s probably about fifty-fifty. Because let’s face it, the cleaning work that we need you for doesn’t exactly cover pay and a place to stay. And it sure as hell isn’t full-time.”
“Fair enough,” she said.
“How did you end up—”
“Working a string of menial jobs and having no connections in my life?”
“Yeah,” he said, hefting the five-gallon bucket of paint and pouring a measure into a tray.
“Foster care,” she said. “Which kind of gets you used to the transient lifestyle. Also, not the best for forming long-term attachments.”
“All your life?”
“From the time I was two.”
Most people looked at her with pity after she told them that. Most people said they were sorry. Grant Dodge just seemed to absorb it. Like she had spoken the words to a mountain, and not a man.
“I did not get good grades in school. Didn’t know how to even begin applying for financial aid for college. Didn’t want to, anyway. I struck out on my own with a guy that I met in my last home. That didn’t turn out. Had a little run of didn’t turn out. Decided that at least if I was on my own I was never going to get screwed for anyone else’s mistakes. Which ended up not being true, since my last landlord sold the place out from under me. Thought that was more a deliberate action than a mistake on her part.”
She looked up at Grant. His expression contained neither judgment nor pity, and she didn’t know quite what to do with that. Typically, it was one or the other.
“Aren’t there tenants’ rights to protect you?” he asked.
“Sure,” she answered. “But how am I going to take anyone to court? How am I going to make sure that those rights are enforced? Mostly, it isn’t going to happen.”
He frowned. “That doesn’t seem—”
“Life is not fair, Grant. Not even close.”
“Yeah, I’m actually familiar with that principle.”
Again, she didn’t ask. It was strange, because he was asking her quite a few questions. More than she had expected a guy like him to ask, certainly. But she could tell the reverse would not be welcome.
“Well, then we understand each other to a degree. I don’t expect life to be fair. And that’s why when I’m given unexpected charity, I don’t kick up a fuss. I’ve had enough of the alternative to know that if something good is going to cross my path, I’m going to take it for however long it lasts.”
“Pretty solid principle to live by,” he said.
“I haven’t got a whole hell ton of principles, but the ones I do have have served me pretty well.” She dipped the long-handled roller into the tray of paint and moved it back and forth a few times, sliding it through the ridge part of the tray to get rid of the excess.
“Anywhere?” she asked.
“Anywhere,” he responded.
While he set up the air compressor, she set about making her mark on the side of the barn. She had thought yesterday’s work was satisfying, but this was somewhere beyond that. It was therapeutic in a way. Bright red strokes over weathered, worn wood. Making something new out of something old. It was more than just cleaning, it was transforming. She and Grant worked in relative silence, nothing but the sound of the air compressor, which blended into white noise and became somewhat meditative as she worked through the lower sections of the barn. They worked until her arms ached, and she was hungry.
“Why don’t we take a lunch break?” Grant asked.
“Sounds good to me.”
He covered her paint roller in plastic, and then the two of them walked back down the trail toward the mess hall. This time, when they walked by one of the covered arena areas, there were horses, and a girl with dark hair was riding one around a set of barrels.
“That’s my sister,” he said. “Jamie.”
McKenna found herself glued to the scene in front of her. She walked over to the fence, draping her arms over the top, and just watched. Grant went to stand next to her, a silent, tall figure at her side. “She’s pretty good, isn’t she?”
“Amazing,” McKenna answered.
“You want to ride sometime?”
She turned her head toward him, her expression contorting into one of shock. “I don’t know how.”
“I can teach you,” he said.
“You could teach me?”
He hesitated. “Or Jamie could.”
She wanted Grant to teach her. And if he had been a different man she might have said that. Hell, they were talking about him teaching her to ride. If it had been a different man she probably would’ve made an innuendo out of it.
But then, if it had been a different man she wouldn’t have felt like it. There was a reason she hadn’t been with anyone in a couple of years. She was sick of all the ridiculous nonsense that came with men. The way that a nice relationship turned into a series of transactions, and then faded out into boredom before the guy abandoned her. There was always hope in the beginning. That was one of the things she hated about herself. She could never quite squash that out. She knew women who could. At the last diner she’d worked at, there had been a whole crew of women on swing shift who had been shiny and sharp like obsidian.