A Tall, Dark Cowboy Christmas

“This is terrifying,” she said.

“You’ll be fine.”

“What if I’m not?” she asked.

“You’ll be fine.”

She huffed, hanging on to the saddle horn.

“You can’t hold on to that the whole time,” he said.

“Why not?”

“Because,” he responded. “You’ve got to hold on to the reins.”

Grant handed them to her, his hands covering hers again as he guided her, showing how she was supposed to hold them. “This is a good beginner’s hold,” he said. “Eventually you’ll be able to do it one-handed.”

“That’s definitely what she said,” McKenna said.

“I’m going to ignore that,” he said.

“Great. Ignore that. But telling me you’re going to ignore it isn’t exactly ignoring it.”

He did ignore that. “Pull this way to go left, this way to go right. When you want to stop, you pull back. When you want to go, give her a kick.”

“A kick? That seems mean.”

“This horse could flatten you without giving it much thought. A little kick from your rounded heel to the flank doesn’t hurt. It’s a nudge. And that’s all you’re doing, because you’re just walking. A gentle nudge, and she’s going to go.”

“And pulling back is the brakes?”

“Pulling back is the brakes. But believe me. She’s an old girl. She’s not going to get frisky on you.”

“Okay,” she said, feeling nervous. “I guess I’m... Ready?”

“You’re ready,” he confirmed.

He went back over to his horse, mounted with complete ease. The grip he had on his reins looked different than hers, and he guided Guinevere into position as effortlessly as he had led the horses out of the barn.

“I’m going to lead us down the trail,” he said. “Give her a tap, and she’s going to start walking. Don’t freak out.”

“Hey,” she said. “Do I seem like the type of girl who freaks out?”

“In general? No. On a horse? Maybe.”

She breathed in deeply, giving Sunflower an experimental tap. And indeed, just like he said, the horse walked forward. She seemed to keep an effortless following distance between her nose and the ass on Grant’s beast. In fact, the horse might be a better driver than McKenna.

“There,” she called up to him. “I’m not freaking out.”

“Good job,” he said.

“Why do I get the feeling that wasn’t entirely sincere?”

“It was sincere.”

She rolled her eyes, but didn’t say anything. Instead, she focused on the scenery around them. Many of the trees that were spread across the flat land were bare, their branches like bony fingers reaching toward the sky, just a few lone brown and yellow leaves clinging on for dear life.

But up ahead, and growing up the mountainside, was the thick blanket of evergreens that never withered or changed. The wind blew down the hillside, across the trail, kicking up the scent of pine, damp earth and moss.

She wondered if after today she would find comfort of some kind in smells like this. In the strange, heavy scent in the barn, and in the fresh woodsy scent of the pine.

The horse’s gait was strange at first, difficult to get used to, but after a while, she settled into it. Learned to move in her saddle along with Sunflower. They rode the horses into the thick line of pine, the trail continuing on up through the evergreens and to the mountain.

It was so quiet. There was no sound beyond the intermittent breeze, the swish and flick of the horses’ tails.

It was vast. Even now where they were, closed in on the trail, surrounded on all sides by trees, she sensed that vastness. She felt like nothing more than a tiny dot, in the center of the world.

It was a strange, heavy feeling.

McKenna was often the biggest thing in her own world. Her wants. Her needs. Her hunger. Her cold. And right now, she felt like nothing. Like gold dust. A glimmer of something, but not so substantial all on her own.

It wasn’t an awful feeling. It was clarifying.

Like a relief.

If she wasn’t the center of everything, then she didn’t need to strive quite so much. Then maybe she didn’t need to worry the way she often did. Maybe she could set down concerns for the future for just a moment and be here. With the strong silent cowboy riding in front of her as she lived a moment out of time that she could never have imagined she might find herself in.

She didn’t have to pretend to be anyone else. Didn’t have to fantasize about an alternate reality. She was the one existing here, free of concern, out in the middle of nowhere, on the back of a horse.

And she felt... The strangest thing, starting at the center of her chest and spreading outward like warmth. A still, calm feeling that was like nothing else she’d ever felt.

Was it contentment? Peace?

Had she truly come out to the country and found something she hadn’t been able to find anywhere else?

She would worry about being a cliché, but she didn’t want to worry. Not now. Not now. The trail wound around, narrowing slightly, boulders rising up on either side. She was worried for a moment that her horse might not want to go through, but Sunflower kept on going. Clearly, everything that Grant had said she was. The sound of rushing water grew louder and louder, and when they made their way through the rocks, there it was. Water rushing in a torrent, flowing over the side of a cliff.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“Wishing Well Falls,” he said.

She stared at it, in absolute awe. The water was a wicked beast, churning and frothing as it spilled over the side of the rocks.

If she’d felt small before, this diminished her further. She was on the back of an animal that could dispatch her with one quick move, near water that could sweep her away before she could call out for help.

All those stories of people going into the wilderness and finding themselves made sense. You could find your own insignificance out here. Your place as a thread in the patchwork of the world, rather than imagining you were the whole damn quilt.

“Let’s ride the horses down to the swimming hole,” he said, tugging his reins and starting down the trail.

“What?” The trail up ahead was steep, and the very idea filled her with dread.

“They’ll be fine,” he said.

He urged his horse forward, and she watched as Guinevere made an easy trek down the path, surefooted even on the rocky ground.

Sunflower at this point didn’t have to be urged much by her, but kept on following her leader. McKenna held on tightly, leaning back and gritting her teeth as the horse made her way down the trail.

When they reached the bottom, Grant looked back at her.

“What do you think?”

Now that her heart wasn’t racing so quickly from the stress of making it down there, she was able to appreciate the beauty. “It’s like a secret garden.”

“Like a what?” he asked.

“It’s a book I read. When I was a kid. The Secret Garden. It’s about this girl. Her parents died. And she ends up living with her aunt and uncle. But her cousin is sick, so he’s not allowed to go outside. And while she’s wandering around trying to entertain herself she finds a secret garden.”

She hadn’t minded that book much. As books about orphans went. It was realistic enough in that no one had much cared about the girl, but had taken her in out of a sense of obligation. Granted, she had held out some hope for a while that she might discover she had a distant aunt and uncle in England, so that she might have a rambling manor home to wander around.

But alas. That was not to be.

Still, she had enjoyed that book. Because it was the orphan girl who’d had something to give to the boy who still had his family. Because she had been smart, and she had been valuable.

Sometimes she wondered if the reason she had hope in her heart was because of all the books she’d read. Because they had often depicted bleak things, and sometimes had shown her things she didn’t like. But they had also taught her things about herself, and things about the world. The terrible things people believed and did, and the wonderful things, too. And the ways in which people could triumph as long as they always believed in something.

Like magical waterfalls named after wishing wells, and cowboys who seemed good, straight down to their bones.

“Do you want to explore for a minute?” he asked.

“Will the horses be okay?”

“They’ll be fine.”

Grant dismounted, and then walked over to her, reaching his hand up. She was grateful, because she wasn’t sure she could manage the dismount on her own.

She reached down, taking hold of his hand, something that still sent a shock through her, even though their hands had touched several times that day.

She leaned forward, not quite sure how to proceed, and slipped just a little bit. But even she, in all her nervous state, wasn’t as terrified as Grant looked in that moment. His eyes went wide, and then he reached up, large hands grabbing hold of her waist, and lifted her down from the horse as though she were as light as a child. He was strong. Stronger even than she had realized. And when he set her down, her toes nearly touching his, their eyes met, and she realized that he was even more handsome than she had thought.

His green eyes were blazing into hers with absolute ferocity, his chest rising and falling with a hard, heavy pitch.

He felt it, too.

She couldn’t do anything but stare. She didn’t want to move away. She felt drawn to him. To his heat. His intensity.

His hands were still wrapped around her waist, the heat from them bleeding into her skin. He flexed his fingers. Almost imperceptibly. But the slide of the fabric from her shirt against her skin, and the rasp of heat from his fingers beyond, sent a shock of attraction straight to her center like a lightning rod. She looked up, her eyes landing on his lips. She was fascinated. By the whiskers there. She wanted to touch them. She lifted her hand, her fingertips brushing him, a shudder racing through her when her hand made contact.

And then, abruptly, she found herself being set away from him, his expression ferocious.

“That’s enough,” he said.

“I...”

“We should go back.” The words were hard, brisk.

“But why?”

“Because we’ve been out long enough.” The clipped explanation wasn’t an explanation at all.

“You said we were going to explore,” she said.

“That was before I realized how late it had gotten,” he said.

He was lying. She knew he was lying. And she felt... Like someone had taken a drawer full of expectations inside of her and turned it upside down. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, whether to be offended or relieved.

Apparently, even sun-dappled horse rides could turn into total messes when she was involved.

He didn’t want her to touch him. That much was clear. He didn’t want to chase the attraction that seemed to be building between them—and not just on her side.

That made him... That only made him better, she was sure of it.

Because he was in a position of power and he could demand anything from her, and in order to keep her job, in order to keep the roof over her head, she might feel compelled to say yes.

Except the problem was, she felt compelled to say yes because she wanted to. And he was being...noble.

There was a certain sense of triumph over being right about his goodness, but a hell of a lot of frustration over the way his goodness was making him behave.

“Okay,” she said.

She got back up onto the horse all on her own. She wasn’t going to touch him. Not again.

She spent the entire trail ride back stewing, not able to enjoy the scenery.

Somewhere in there, she felt like this was just her life. There might be horses, and a beautiful scene, there might be a moment of serenity, of feeling content with her place in the world.

But then the good man was going to push her away, and she was still going to be alone.

“You’ve been fine by yourself all this time,” she muttered as she entered her cabin. “At least now you’re not alone and homeless.”

She looked around the tiny room, and she tried to convince herself that—for now at least—this was enough.

CHAPTER SIX

GRANT GOT AN unnecessarily early start on painting the next morning.

He needed to expend all the pent-up...

He couldn’t even pretend he didn’t know what it was.

Sexual frustration.

McKenna was... She was a hell of a lot of things he wished she weren’t. A hell of a lot of things he wished didn’t appeal to him. Because he had to deal with this, he knew that. He had to deal with himself, and where he was at, but he just...

He wanted to skip ahead.

He had spent eight years of marriage wanting to slow the years down. To hang on to what he and Lindsay had. He had spent the eight years since bogged down and walking his way out of a fog. And now he wanted to fast-forward through the part where he figured out what to do next, and just be there.

But no one—human, divine or other—had ever seemed to care what Grant wanted out of life and time.

Seeing as there was no way to solve that, for now, he would just paint the barn.

The sun was starting to rise, and his joints ached. He hadn’t slept. Not at all. Instead, he had been replaying that moment down by the waterfall.

He’d given thanks throughout the whole ride that she was behind him, and not in front. That even though he could sense her presence, he couldn’t see her. She’d been scared of the horse at first, but then gradually a look of awe had settled over her face and he’d had to look away.

He couldn’t see her for the whole ride, and she’d been silent for most of it. Uncharacteristic for McKenna, as far as he could tell.

He’d wanted...he didn’t know. To show her more. To show her something good. Because it was clear her life had been tough, and damn if he didn’t relate to that. So he’d decided to take her to the falls, and then he’d been even dumber and decided they should stop.

And when she’d started to dismount...

She’d slipped and there hadn’t been any thought in his mind other than taking hold of her and making sure she didn’t fall.

And all he could think was that he had promised she wouldn’t get hurt. So immediately he had grabbed on to her.

And that had been a mistake. A damned fool mistake.

She had been soft. So alive. He hadn’t touched a woman in so damned long... He hadn’t touched a woman where there was a possibility of something happening in a hell of a lot longer.

He had been a caregiver for years. But care was not what he wanted to give McKenna.

He couldn’t compare touching her with touching Lindsay, not remotely. He didn’t want to, anyway. Comparison was the last thing he was after here.

His marriage was sacred.

And maybe that was part of the problem. He had made certain promises to his wife, and he knew that death had done them part, and that was it. But the problem was...

They’d had all the sickness, none of the health. They had never gotten to half the things in those vows. He’d known there was a chance—a good chance—it might be that way. He had known they wouldn’t be together till they were old and gray. But he’d hoped...he’d hoped they’d have some healthy times in there. A few years.

They never had. It had been hit after hit. Illness, barely a recovery, infection, reoccurrence, repeat. It hadn’t been fair. Not to her. Not to them.

But he’d forsaken all others. Even though he hadn’t been able to have her.

Part of him didn’t know what to do with the fact all that could be over.

That really, truly, he could have followed that desire he’d felt for McKenna down there by the water.

She was complicated, though. Prickly and wounded and living on the same property. Entwined in his life, in his family. He had no desire to be entwined ever again.

It couldn’t be her. It could be someone. Hell, it needed to be. Soon.

He needed to get out of town. That was the only answer.

He went back into the barn to find the other bucket of paint, and then he heard footsteps behind him.

He turned around, and saw a disgruntled-looking McKenna standing in the doorway.

“You started without me.”

“I didn’t even say that was your responsibility for the day. In fact, you should go find Wyatt and see what he wants you to do.”

“I thought you were my...my Yoda. My guide.”

“Well, maybe you should find another guide.”

“What’s your problem?” she asked. “You were weird yesterday at the end of the ride, and you’re being weird now.”

“I’m not being weird.”

“Yes, you are. And I was going to let it go. I wasn’t going to say anything. But you’re being grumpy with me this morning.”

He dropped his paint roller onto the ground, not caring if it got dirty. “McKenna,” he said. “I don’t know exactly what you think this is, but let me clarify a few things for you. You work here. You work for me, you work for my brother. We are not friends. When we do work we’re not hanging out. Me taking you on that trail ride yesterday? I wasn’t being friendly.”

“No,” she said. “You weren’t being friendly at all. You just offered to take me on a completely extracurricular activity that you totally didn’t have to take me on.”

“What I did was not extraordinary. Don’t start thinking there’s anything more to this than just basic human decency.”

McKenna rolled her eyes, tossing her glossy brown hair back, angling her chin up toward him. That pouty mouth was schooled into a rounded shape that told him she was about to launch into a whole thing. As little time as he’d known her, he knew that much.

“Why are you so married to this idea that you’re grumpy?” The word married hit him like a bullet, but she carried on. “That you’re an asshole? Let me tell you something, Grant. I have known a lot of assholes. Like, a lot. You’re not one of them. You’re difficult, I’ll give you that. But you’re good. Just... Straight up good.” She waved her hand. “Hell, from my point of view you’re practically a saint.”

He didn’t hear the rest of what she said, because it was those last two things that hit hard and stuck. That rattled around inside of him, collecting speed, turning into a molten ball of flame that settled into his gut. Good. A saint.

For the first time he wondered if she knew who he was. If she knew more about him than she was letting on. It had been stupid of him to not consider that before now.

She was young, which was one reason he’d assumed that she hadn’t been glued to his human interest piece he didn’t sign on for that had played out on Good Morning America sixteen years ago, or the repeat of it eight years ago after Lindsay passed.

But it was possible she’d talked to Jamie or Bea, or hell, anyone. It wasn’t like it was a state secret he was a widower.

He didn’t want her to know. But she must.

That he was somehow better than other people was what everybody thought of him when they knew. That he was this great, sainted man who had married his high school sweetheart in spite of the fact that she was dying. That was what every news outlet had always said. Like Lindsay was a burden. And he was something special. When the fact of the matter was the only reason he mattered at all was because she had believed in him. Because she had come into his life and taught him to be something more than a raging, angry bully that was headed on a one-way ticket straight to prison or hell, possibly both.

And now he was... He didn’t even know what he was.

Just an idiot stuck in limbo who had no idea how to get out. He’d moved enough, just enough, over the past few years to convince himself he was making progress but it was a damned lie he’d told himself. As much of a lie as this idea that he was good.

And somehow this woman, this woman who made his thoughts into something entirely separate from saintly, had bought into the same lie about him.

Good. A saint.

Before he could think it through, he found himself walking toward her. The distance between them closing with each step he took.

He wasn’t good. He wasn’t good at all, he had just spent a hell of a long time on a leash. And yeah, he had chosen it. He had put it on gladly. But it wasn’t there now.

No one was here to be disappointed in him. To see him acting like an ass.

McKenna’s eyes caught his and she took a step back, then another, until she was pressed against the barn wall. And he should feel guilty. Because she looked uncertain. Because her dark eyes were wide, and her mouth was now slack, held open slightly, and she was looking at him like he might take a bite out of her throat.

The idea sent a kick of lust through his body. Yes, he did want to take a bite out of her.

He was consumed with the idea. It was all he could think about. He pressed his hand against the barn wall up by the side of her head, and leaned in. And then McKenna did something completely unexpected. She pressed her palm flat against his chest, right over where his heartbeat was raging, and met his eyes.

There was a challenge there, one that he wasn’t sure he could ignore. Because he was past the point of reason. He was past the point of himself. Of everything.

He felt more like the boy he’d been back in high school than he had for sixteen years. Feral. Angry. About absolutely everything.

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