Darn Good Cowboy Christmas (3 page)

Raylen grinned. “Been there.”

He went straight for the recliner where Blister had taken up residence on the back and sunk into it. Hooter raised his head and wagged his tail. Raylen scratched his ears and then turned his attention to Blister.

“They miss Haskell. I'm glad you let them in the house.”

“He was howling like he was dyin'. I opened the door to see what was going on, and they both came in,” she said. Should she sit in the other recliner or the sofa? She finally crossed in front of him and claimed the other chair.

“They're good animals. Blister has a litter box in the utility room off the kitchen. The litter is in the cabinet beside the washer and dryer. Hooter would explode before he'd make a mess, so there's nothing to worry about them bein' inside. Haskell said they were good company and that Hooter knew all his secrets. He told me that he was glad the dog couldn't talk.”

Liz smiled. “Too bad. He could tell me stories about my uncle, I'm sure.”

“Yep, he could.” Raylen grinned. When she smiled, he remembered that crazy feeling in his chest when they were teenagers. She'd smiled at him over the fence and his heart had done a couple of flip-flops. He wanted to do something fancy on the horse, like jump a hurdle, but his momma would have had his hide if he'd hurt her prize horse.

Liz inhaled deeply to ease the antsy feeling in her gut, but it didn't help. All she got was a lung full of Raylen's shaving lotion. Damn! The man had cleaned up in the last couple of hours. His boots were spit shined, his hair still glistened from a shower, and his Wranglers were starched and creased. He looked like sin on a stick all sweaty and dirty, but cleaned up—he just plumb made her mouth go dry.

Raylen rubbed Blister's fur and stole sideways glances at Liz. She'd taken the clip from her hair, and it fell below her shoulders. It was even blacker than Austin's, his brother's new wife of a little more than a year. Liz's dark eyes reminded him of a deep, dark hole that could swallow him up if he stared into them; as if they could see straight into his soul and tell him everything he'd ever thought or would think.

“So you are Uncle Haskell's nearest neighbor, now mine, I guess?” she asked.

He pointed toward the fireplace. “Less than a mile as the crow flies, straight that way. Haskell's house and ours is probably set on a plumb line, but to drive there, you have to go down to the highway, hang a left, drive a mile, turn left down the lane, and then back as far as your place is off the highway. But I jumped the fences and walked over tonight. Needed the exercise after Momma's supper.”

I
would
shoot
you
between
the
eyes
if
you
called
me
Momma. When I get a husband, even when I have kids, he's not calling me Momma,
she thought.

He noticed the scowl on her face.
Lord, what did I say wrong?

“How many fences?” she asked.

“Well, you leave the backyard fence but it's got a gate. Then the corral fence but it's got a gate too. After that there's the rail fence out into the horse pasture, but there's a stile over it, and then your fence. So I suppose I only actually jumped one fence.” He grinned.

That grin was flirting. If he was her husband he'd be in the doghouse with Hooter for looking at another woman the way he was staring at her. Liz couldn't remember when she didn't work at the carnival in some capacity or another. And she'd seen men walking down the midway with their arm around one woman and eyeing another just like Raylen was doing.

Raylen saw the disgusted look cross her face and stood up so fast that Blister rolled down into the chair. “I came to invite you to Sunday dinner tomorrow. We do the big family thing on Sunday, and Grandma wants to have music.” His palms were sweaty, and high color stung his neck.

She pointed. “One mile straight across there?”

“That's right. At noon. My sisters, Gemma and Colleen, will be there and my brother, Dewar. My other brother, Rye, and his wife and baby daughter, Rachel, live over in Terral, right across the river and they'll be coming too. And of course Grandma and Grandpa and Momma and Daddy.”

Liz's dark eyebrows knit together in a frown. Did he live with his mother and father?

Well, you lived with your mother until yesterday, so don't be casting stones!
Aunt Tressa's gravelly voice whispered so close that she turned to make sure she wasn't in the room.

“I'd love to come to dinner. At noon? Can I bring something? What's your wife's name?” she blurted out and wished she could cram the words right back in her mouth. God, that sounded so tacky.

“Wife?” he stammered.

“You didn't mention your wife's name. Rye, your brother, is married to Austin. Are any of the rest of you married?” She might as well be hung for a full-fledged sheep as a little bitty lamb. She'd opened the can of worms. She might as well let them all out to wiggle.

“Hell, no! I wouldn't be over here askin' you to dinner if I was married. That wouldn't be right.” The words shot out of his mouth like cannonball.

She cocked her head to one side. Were all the women in Ringgold, Texas, blind? Raylen filled out those Wranglers right well, and his biceps strained the seams on his Western-cut, plaid shirt. How in the devil had he outrun all the women?

“Do you have a husband?” he asked bluntly.

It was her turn to blush and shake her head emphatically. “Carnies aren't the marryin' type.”

“Carnies?” He wondered if that was a family name.

“That's right. You sure I can't bring something?”

“We plan on music.” He smiled. “If you play an instrument bring it along. If not, just bring a healthy appetite.”

She walked him to the door. He turned and looked down into her eyes and felt himself falling. She moistened her full lips with the tip of her tongue and he leaned in to kiss her then jerked back.

Liz wanted that kiss and felt cheated, then cheap. A woman didn't let a man kiss her just because he asked her to Sunday dinner. She might be a carnie, but she wasn't trashy. She took a step back and looked over her shoulder at the dog and cat.

“I'll see you tomorrow then,” she said hoarsely.

He cleared his throat and opened the screen door. “Be lookin' for you. Want me to drive over and get you?” he asked awkwardly.

“No, I'd either walk or bring my own truck,” she said just as stiffly.

“Okay, then. Good night, Liz.”

“'Night, Raylen.” His name slipped off her tongue entirely too easy, and he did smell good and look good and that kiss would have been so, so good.

She plopped down in the recliner, and Hooter laid his head in her lap. Blister moved from the back of the chair to the arm and purred. The remnants of Raylen's shaving lotion surrounded her.

“I'd give you each a big T-bone if you could talk and tell me more about Raylen.”

She dug her cell phone out of her purse and punched in the speed dial for her uncle. After five rings she was about to hang up when she heard his voice.

“Uncle Haskell. I'm here and I'm unpacked and I was so tickled to see Hooter and Blister. Do I really get to keep them? I've already made up my mind. I'm staying on the property and I promise I'll spoil them even worse than you did.”

“Whoa, girl. Slow down,” Haskell said. “Yes, you can keep Hooter and Blister. They wouldn't be happy anywhere but right there and I know you'll spoil them. But you haven't been there long enough to make up your mind, so you have to stay until March when the carnival pulls out of here before I sign it over to you legally. I told Raylen to water and feed Hooter and Blister. I guess he did?”

“Yes, he was in the house when I got here. He went home but he came back and invited me to the O'Donnell's for Sunday dinner. He said they're going to have music,” Liz said.

“You'll enjoy that. That Raylen and Dewar both are good men, Lizelle. Take your fiddle and enjoy the day.”

“Are you settling in out there?” Liz asked. It hadn't occurred to her in the flurry of excitement that her uncle might not be satisfied in Claude and might want to come back to Ringgold.

“Yes, I am. Poppa and I are getting along pretty good. I'm still unpacking my books, but we're getting a few boxes done each day. Poppa borrowed some yesterday. I may make a reader of him yet. He's anxious for Marva Jo and Tressa to get here though. He loves revamping the wagons every winter.”

“I'm glad you are there, Uncle Haskell. He gets lonely. I promised Hooter and Blister some quality family time so I'm going to hang up and visit with them,” Liz said.

“I'll be looking for reports at least once a week,” Haskell said.

“You got ʼem. Good night,” Liz said.

Did that mean she could ask questions about Raylen once a week as well as give her uncle a report?

Liz put a Martina McBride Christmas CD in the truck player as she drove down her lane toward the highway and listened to “I'll Be Home for Christmas.” So what if it was the middle of October and Christmas was still a couple of months away? Liz was home for Christmas. She could feel it in the peace and joy that surrounded her.

Martina sang that Christmas Eve would find her where the love light gleamed. Liz sang along with her and got cold chills down her back as she thought about love light gleaming on her by Christmas Eve.

“Maybe next Christmas Eve. It would take a miracle to have it this year,” she said.

She and her mother liked country music. Tressa hated it. Liz wondered where her Uncle Haskell stood on the issue. Somehow she couldn't see her overall-clad uncle listening to the Irish melodies that Tressa loved. She'd bet her fiddle that he was a Willie Nelson and George Jones man.

Another three Christmas songs had played through when she made a left onto the O'Donnell property. She gasped when she saw the big, two-story white house and all the vehicles parked out front. She'd expected to find something more like her house, a small ranch-style place with a dog on the porch.

“Oh, stop it,” she talked to herself. “You've been in real houses before. You're acting worse than you did on your first date nine years ago. And this isn't even a date. Raylen said he didn't have a wife. He didn't say anything about a girlfriend. He's probably just being a good neighbor.”

Folding chairs under a shade tree in the backyard had a guitar, banjo, and several other stringed instruments sitting on them. She wondered if she should add her fiddle to the mix but decided to leave it in the truck. Could be that she'd have enough normalcy by the time dinner was finished and be ready to get the hell out of Dodge.

The wind had died down from the night before, but a breeze whipped her long, flowing skirt around her ankles when she got out of the truck. She pulled her bright orange crocheted shawl around her shoulders and made her way to the door. Her finger headed for the doorbell but it didn't reach its mark. The big wooden door swung open and Raylen stood a foot from her. How in the devil did he do that? Did he have a sixth sense that knew when she was about to ring a doorbell or unlock a door?

His cologne reached her nose at the same time her eyes took in the sight of him in black Wranglers, a black pearl-snap shirt, and shiny black boots. The whole effect was enough to make her swoon like a heroine in the romance books she loved.

Raylen stood to one side and motioned for her to come inside. She wore a multicolored patchwork skirt that reached her ankles, high-heeled shoes, a turquoise knit shirt, and a bright orange shawl around her shoulders. The sunrays on her jet-black hair gave it a deep blue tint, and she chewed on her full bottom lip as if she were just a little bit nervous. He was so mesmerized by the sight that he didn't think he could utter a single word, but when he opened his mouth the words flowed. “Liz! I heard a door slam and hoped it was you. We're just about ready for Grandpa to say grace and then we can eat. I was afraid you wouldn't take me serious about the invitation, but I'm glad you are here.”

“Hey, talk later. I'm starving,” a dark-haired woman yelled as she made her way down the staircase.

“That's Gemma, my youngest sister,” Raylen explained. “Let's have grace and then I'll introduce you to the family.” He put his hand on her shoulder and steered her through the living room, dining room, and into the kitchen.

The living room was a huge square with lots of tall windows letting in natural light. A brown leather sofa with deep cushions and wide arms was on either end of the big, square room with rocking chairs and recliners thrown in here and there, with tables and lamps beside them. It was a room that invited family and friends to come right in and make themselves at home.

“We're all here, so Grandpa, would you say grace?” a man who looked a lot like Raylen asked.

Everyone bowed their heads.

Liz did the same but stood perfectly still. Raylen's touch sent vibes up and down her spine that she'd never felt before. She tried to listen to the words of thanks his grandfather delivered in a deep Texas drawl, not totally unlike Raylen's voice. But she couldn't concentrate on anything but the heat flowing from his hand, through the shawl and the knit shirt.

“Amen,” Grandpa said.

Gemma extended her hand. “You must be our new neighbor. We'll miss Haskell. He's been a wonderful neighbor.”

Liz reached out and Gemma's shake was firm. She had black hair cut in short layers that framed an oval face, deep green eyes beneath arched dark eyebrows, heavy lashes, and a wide mouth. She took care of her short height with a pair of bright red three-inch high heels on a one-inch platform. She wore skintight jeans and a green shirt the same color as her eyes.

With a slight pressure on her back, Raylen turned her around to face more family. “This is my father, Cash O'Donnell, and my mother, Maddie.”

Liz shook hands with Cash who was taller than Raylen. They shared the same hair color, but Raylen's eyes were clearer blue, and his face more square cut with a stronger chin.

Maddie bypassed her hand and hugged her. “Welcome to Ringgold, honey. We're here if you need anything. Come over if you get bored. Holler if you want company.”

“Thank you,” Liz said softly. Would the invitation still stand when they found out that she came from a long line of carnies? Or had Uncle Haskell told them about his sister's lifestyle?

Maddie had a few crow's feet around her bright blue eyes, but there wasn't a single gray strand in her chestnut-colored hair. She was taller than her daughters and slim as a model. Any twenty-year-old woman would have been delighted to look that good in snug jeans.

“I've got to get the last pan of hot rolls out of the oven, so excuse me, but remember what I said,” Maddie said.

“Thank you, I will.”

“My sister, Colleen,” Raylen said.

Her hair was a strange burgundy color, and her face was slightly rounder than Gemma's angular planes, and her lips a wee bit wider. She was a little taller than Gemma but built on the same delicate frame.

“You have gorgeous hair,” Liz said. She could imagine Colleen in a gypsy costume with a long scarf tied around her forehead and all that hair flowing down her back.

Colleen nodded but didn't offer to hug her or shake her hand. “What kind of job are you lookin' for, or are you going to farm that twenty acres?”

“I haven't thought that far. Are you offering me a job?” Liz asked. She'd been in catfights before, and Colleen's eyes said that she did not approve of her brother bringing a stray into the house for Sunday dinner.

“I work at the casino as a blackjack dealer up in Randlett, Oklahoma. I imagine I could put in a word for you if you're shopping around for a job,” Colleen said.

“I'd rather have something closer,” Liz said.

“Then go talk to Jasmine at Chicken Fried. She's going to need a waitress in a couple of days. I'm Austin, the sister-in-law, Rye's wife,” a tall woman, with jet-black hair and beautiful blue eyes, said from behind Maddie. “And that baby that Maddie is takin' from my husband is Rachel, our daughter.”

It was plain as a gold earring in a gypsy's ear that Rye and Raylen were brothers, only Rye was well past six feet tall. The baby that he was passing to his mother was a dark-haired little girl with her mother's eyes. Liz wondered if Rachel would be as tall as her mother too.

“I'm pleased to meet you,” Liz said. “Who's Jasmine?”

A brunette in pink cowboy boots, jeans, and a cute, flowing top raised her hand. “That'll be me. And anytime you want to work come see me. I'm lookin' for a waitress at the Chicken Fried, my café just up the highway. And I'm not a sister or kin. I got into the family on Austin's shirttails. Welcome to the area. I love it here.”

An older woman slipped her arm around Liz's shoulders and knocked Raylen's off. “I'd be his grandmother, Franny, and that man with his plate loaded so high he needs sideboards is his grandfather, Tilman.”

“And I'm Dewar, his other brother,” another handsome cowboy said.

Dewar wasn't quite as tall as Rye but taller than Raylen and his face was fuller. He also sported a deeper dimple in his chin and a scar on his cheek. “So are you getting unpacked over there? Got a truck coming in with your things? Need us to gather up a bunch of men and help you get it unloaded?”

“No, thank you, I'm handling it just fine.” Liz smiled.

She bit back a giggle. If they'd seen how little she'd brought they'd have too many questions to answer in a lifetime. And was Dewar flirting with her?

“Well, you call us if you change your mind,” Dewar said.

“You better stop yapping and get over here or I'm going to clean out the mashed potato bowl and you're goin' to be left out in the cold,” Jasmine said.

“Got to go protect my dinner.” Dewar headed to the bar separating the kitchen area from the dining room. Like the living room, it was one big, square room with the same come-right-on-in attitude.

Thank
you, Jasmine,
Raylen thought.

His brother's eyes had lit up entirely too bright when he saw Liz. And he was the next in line. Rye found Austin the year before and it was Dewar's turn if Cash's prophecy about his children all getting married in the order of their birth was to come true. Raylen didn't care if his brother got married or to whom, as long as it wasn't the new neighbor. He might not even like her once he got to know her, but that tingle in his hand every time he laid it on her shoulder sure made him want a chance.

Raylen dropped his arm back on her shoulder again. “We'd better elbow our way up to the bar or else we'll go hungry.”

Liz wasn't ready for the sizzle of instant heat rushing out every nerve ending when Raylen touched her. She'd dated a few times. She'd been kissed. She'd had a few relationships that wound up in bed. But not even her dreams about Raylen prepared her for the attraction that almost had her panting right there in front of his family. She blinked three times to be sure she wasn't in another dream and looked up to see Colleen staring right at her.

She winked. It just came out, but it set Colleen's mouth in a firm frown instead of a smile. That woman would be something to deal with. But it would have to be later because Liz was hungry, and the house smelled like fried chicken and hot yeast rolls. Those kinds of meals didn't come along often, and she wasn't letting one sourpuss sister ruin it.

Rye handed her a plate. “Well, Miz Liz, how do you like Ringgold?”

“Haven't seen any of it except Uncle Haskell's place and this one. How big is the town anyway?”

Raylen chuckled. “If we round up everyone from the Red River to halfway between us and Bowie, we could probably roust up about a hundred people.”

“Uncle Haskell said it was tiny and that the fire from a few years ago burned up a lot of it,” she said.

Rye draped his arm around his wife. “That it did. I hope you like it.”

“I already do,” she answered with a bright smile.

“You Irish?” Grandma asked.

“No, ma'am. Not that I know about anyway. Are you?”

“Oh, yes, I am. I come from a long line of Irish. With your dark looks I thought I saw some Irish. Maddie was an O'Malley before she married Cash.”

“I done good when I lassoed Maddie,” Cash said. “Woman is what made this ranch what it is today. Good Irish woman is hard to come by.”

“And we've all got the temper to prove it. And Raylen is the worst of the lot. That's why he's not married,” Gemma said.

Colleen playfully poked her sister on the arm. “He'd be runnin' a close race to you and…”

“Don't say it.” Dewar pointed.

“You got that right about my daughter.” Grandma was piling her plate high. “Maddie can take a colt that's all gangly legs and turn it into a million-dollar racer.”

Grandpa yelled from the dining room, “Got that from you, sugar.”

Grandma grinned at Liz. “Got ʼim fooled.”

“Y'all come on over here and sit with us. Ain't room at that table to cuss a cat without gettin' a hair in your mouth,” Dewar said when Raylen and Liz had their plates filled.

“You really interested in a job?” Jasmine asked when Liz sat down beside her.

“I could be.”

Dewar reached out to steal Jasmine's hot roll and she aimed a fork at his fingers.

“Touch it and you are dead,” she said.

“Don't be her friend, Liz. She's mean and hateful.” Dewar grinned.

Jasmine shot right back. “Don't be his friend. He's a thief.”

Liz picked up a chicken leg with her fingers and bit into it. She didn't whimper but she wanted to; it was the best chicken she'd ever eaten—crispy on the outside and tender and juicy on the inside.

Jasmine talked between bites. “Lucy usually supplies me with waitresses, but she's out of stock right now. You'd have to be there at six in the morning, but you're done about two so your afternoons and evenings would be free.”

“Lucy?” Liz asked.

“It's a long story. Pearl, who's been my friend since we were toddlers, inherited a motel over in Henrietta, Texas. Short version is that she took in Lucy to help her out when Lucy's abusive husband whipped on her the last time. When Pearl and Wil married, she turned the motel over to Lucy to manage. She helps other abused women find work when they decide to get out of their bad relationships. But she doesn't have anyone to send to me right now, and Amber is leaving on Wednesday to live around her folks in northeast Arkansas.”

Dewar eyed her bottle of beer, and Jasmine slapped his shoulder playfully. “You do not even want to think about touching my beer. I might stab you with my fork for messin' with my bread, but darlin', they won't even find your bones if you steal my beer.”