Darn Good Cowboy Christmas Read online

  “Why?” Liz asked.

  “I don’t know. Well, here’s Dad. We’re watching NCIS on television tonight. He likes that show, and I made him banana pudding with whipped cream. Have fun, and I’m glad you are making friends. There’s good people in Ringgold. You’ll fit right in with them.”

  “Uncle Haskell, I love all the pretty things in the barn,” she said. She wanted him to stay on the phone and tell her more about her neighbors and new friends.

  “I knew you would. Sara always wished she could’ve had you rather than God giving you to Marva Jo. But life does have a bunch of twists and turns. Call me and send pictures when you get all that situated.” He chuckled. “Bye now.”

  “Good night, Uncle Haskell,” she said.

  A warm feeling settled around her like a tightly crocheted shawl on a cold winter night. She wrapped her arms around her body to hold it closer and jumped when someone knocked on the door.

  She opened it a crack and looked out to see Raylen standing with his hands shoved down in the pockets of his jeans, then she slung it open.

  “Sorry, I just didn’t want to scare you. I hopped over the fence and was in my yard before I remembered that I drove my truck over this morning and parked out by your barn. I was afraid you’d hear the engine and think someone was trying to steal your Christmas stuff.” He grinned.

  “Come on in,” she said. She was learning the art of being grounded and rooted pretty damn fast.

  “Can’t. Still got some chores. Just wanted to let you know about the truck. Don’t know what in the devil I was thinking,” he said. He wasn’t about to own up to the fact that he was thinking about how tough it was going to be if Dewar did set his cap for Liz when he left the barn.

  She opened the screen door and stepped out on the porch. “Thanks.”

  He cupped her face in his hands and looked deeply into her brown eyes. “You really are very beautiful, Liz, and I don’t say that to all the girls.”

  She didn’t have time to answer before his lips found hers in blaze that burned every thought of anyone or anything from her mind. All too soon, it was over and he stepped back.

  “Good night, Liz,” he whispered and disappeared into the night.

  Chapter 7

  The night was clear with the faintest hint of a crisp fall breeze. Wispy clouds strung out like spun strings of cotton candy over a waning moon that promised werewolves, witches, goblins, and maybe even shape-shifters later on in the evening. Across the river bridge in Terral, little children were at the community center eating hotdogs and nachos before their parents loaded them on the back of hay wagons and took them trick or treating. Some would even ride across the river bridge to Ringgold in their cute costumes to hold out their bags to aunts and uncles, grandmothers and friends. Excitement had danced in the air all day, and Liz was more excited than the trick-or-treaters as she thought about her very first Halloween party.

  She wore her orange belly dancing outfit, pulled her dark hair up into a ponytail, and stretched a two-inch wide jeweled hair clip around the base. She artfully applied her stage makeup, which included extra eye shadow, liner, and a deep, dark burgundy lip liner and lipstick, then very carefully affixed the headpiece, a double row of dangling, sparkling crystals with a pear-cut topaz resting between her eyes.

  A circlet of bangles that sounded like wind chimes when she walked clipped around each ankle, with matching ones around her wrists. Shoes were nothing more than thin leather soles kept on her feet with the tiniest strap of leather across her toes. She removed them before she danced, because Aunt Tressa had taught her to feel the rhythm with her feet. However, it was only a costume that night. She was a fortune-teller, and no one had asked her to dance.

  The orange costume was her very first grown-up dancer’s outfit. Aunt Tressa gave it to her for her eighteenth birthday and she’d worn it when she danced that night on the small porch attached to the fortune-teller’s wagon. After her dance, people had lined up for two blocks waiting to have their fortune told by the Egyptian Dharma. The bra top was covered in bright, shiny rhinestones and sequins, creating a pattern that glistened from every angle when she moved. A fringe cascade below her bustline hung at varying lengths, drawing the eye downward toward her belly button and the intricate belt topping off a sheer, handkerchief hem skirt. The wide, V-shaped belt matched the bra with sequins and rhinestones.

  She affixed a rhinestone the size of a lima bean to her belly button and picked up the most important piece of her costume—a two-by-six-foot length of chiffon, scattered with rhinestones and bangle beads, that served as both a veil and a shawl around her shoulders.

  Raylen had offered to come for her, but she’d opted to take herself so that she could leave if she wanted. She slipped her leather jacket over her outfit and was careful not to shut her skirt tail or her shawl in the truck door when she left. A Texas Highway Patrol fell in behind her when she pulled out onto the highway.

  “Now that would take some explaining if he pulled me over for speeding. Yes, sir, Mr. Patrolman, I’m a real belly dancer and I’m on my way to tell fortunes. Flip your hand out here and I’ll be glad to tell you how long you will live. Oh, my, you are going to have a very short life unless you let me go without even a warning.” She giggled nervously as she turned into the O’Donnell’s lane. The highway patrol turned with her.

  “Dammit! What is he doing?” She kept a check in her rearview mirror.

  She drove past the two-story house and made a left turn, following the two ruts that made a path toward the big, lit-up barn which would have been no more than half a mile from her house if she’d walked straight west. She passed a log cabin and slowed down to a crawl. Light pouring through the windows cast a yellow glow on the shrubs. A hound dog was silhouetted on the porch, and while she eased past what had to be Raylen’s house the lights suddenly went out, the front door opened, and the dog yipped. Gemma stepped out and waved at Liz, who put on the brakes.

  Gemma trotted over to the truck and swung the door open for Liz. “Wow, girl, when you dress up, you do it right! Hey, Sammy, are you in costume or not?”

  Liz stepped out and asked, “Is he for real?”

  The patrolman waved. “Not. I just came by for a minute to see how things were going. Who’s your friend?”

  “New neighbor. She’s tellin’ fortunes tonight. You sure you can’t stay?”

  “No, I’m on duty. Ten minutes tops and that’s my break time,” Sammy said.

  Gemma turned her attention back to Liz. “Where did you get that getup?”

  “Just one of my carnie costumes. I guess Creed isn’t here tonight or you’d be Daisy Duke.” Liz grinned.

  Gemma was a witch in a short-tailed outfit with a low neckline that scooped low enough to show a couple of inches of cleavage. Her pointed hat was covered in black sequins and glittered in the dark.

  Gemma frowned, drawing her dark brows down until they were almost a solid line. “Oh, he’s here, but I got word early that he was bringing along some girl he met in college. They are Mickey and Minnie Mouse. She’s crazy, I’m tellin’ you, just plumb crazy. Creed is so damn fine he should be Tarzan or Fabio, not Mickey Mouse. And he’s crazy for letting her dress him tonight. I’d never dress something as sexy as Creed up like a damned old Disney character. I might dress him up like a stud bull, but shit! Mickey Mouse?” Gemma fussed the whole way to the barn.

  “Hell, Ace could pull off a Mickey costume better than Creed. Never did see what all the women saw in Ace anyway, but his brothers are a different matter with all that dark hair and those big old, soulful blue eyes. Dalton and Ryder are too young for me, but what does a year matter? That’s all the older I am than Creed.”

  “Wow!” Liz said when she stepped inside the barn.

  “We do get carried away. We buy new things every year and add them to what we have in storage, so each year gets better. Jasmine is running the bar for the next hour and then I have to relieve her. You’ve got to tell fortunes for us tonight s
o choose a spot.”

  “Palms or cards?” Liz asked. At least Gemma hadn’t asked her to dance in front of the whole crowd. Dancing before strangers was easy; doing so before her newly found friends wouldn’t be.

  “I don’t care if you read tea leaves, but when Becca gets here, you tell her that she’s going to be dirt poor and wind up living in a trailer house with six kids and four hound dogs,” Gemma whispered. “I do not want her for a sister-in-law.”

  “But what if she’s destined to be an O’Donnell?” Liz asked.

  “Then change her destiny.” Gemma laughed. “I’m going to check on Jasmine. Grab a beer or a plate of food and mingle. You got about thirty minutes before fortunes begin.”

  ***

  Raylen had been watching the door for the past half hour. Becca had arrived and made a splash as Annie Oakley in jeans cut off so short that an inch of her butt cheek showed when she was standing upright and hung lower on her hips than a bikini. When she bent over a table, even more of her cheek peeked out, but there was not a single cellulite cell anywhere. She wore a sequined hat, had rhinestone encrusted .38s strapped low around her hips and tied to her thigh with velvet ribbons, and a pearl-snap Western shirt. It was tied up under her breasts, leaving her entire midriff bare. Her boots were as shiny as her hat and sparkled every time she took a step.

  When Gemma and Liz came through the doors, and Liz removed her leather jacket, Raylen’s breath caught in his chest. Someone yelled at Gemma from across the barn and she headed in that direction. Liz looked up and saw Raylen, waved, and made a beeline toward him. He was glad for the few seconds to collect his thoughts before she reached him.

  “Well, good evening, Indiana Jones,” Liz said.

  Raylen sported two days’ worth of stubble, a hat like the one Harrison Ford wore in the movie, and he’d rolled the sleeves up on his gray work shirt, unbuttoned the first three buttons to show a little chest hair, and wore faded work pants rather than jeans. A leather whip circled around his left shoulder.

  “And what do I call you?” Raylen touched her shawl gently.

  “Madam Drabami. I’m here to tell fortunes to those who aren’t faint of heart,” she said.

  “Did you figure out that he’s Indiana Jones?” Dewar walked up behind her. “That’s his costume every year. I keep tellin’ him that he looks more like Crocodile Dundee.”

  “Oh, no, Crocodile Dundee wasn’t near as handsome,” Liz said.

  Raylen popped his brother on the shoulder playfully.

  “Him, handsome? Did you leave your contacts out tonight? Let me show you around.” Dewar grinned.

  Raylen looped Liz’s arm through his and said, “Sorry, Brother. Indiana Jones knows more about Egyptian princesses than a pirate does.”

  “Are we going to find a lost treasure?” Liz asked. “Please tell me we won’t have to go into a cave where there are snakes or rats.”

  “You afraid of snakes and rats? Hell, woman, I figured something as beautiful as you could charm anything on the earth.”

  Liz laughed. “You are a silver-tongued rogue, not Indiana Jones. I bet there ain’t even a treasure in here.”

  Raylen chuckled. “Oh, yeah there is and I’ve got it on my arm. A drink for Madam Damagamy?”

  Liz giggled. “Drabami. It’s the gypsy word for fortune-teller. But she would love a cold beer.”

  He pushed back a strand of fake cobwebs and led her toward the bar, where six-foot black cat cutouts with green flashing eyes stood propped at each end. Cauldrons with billowing smoke sat on the bar and were scattered around the room on tables.

  Ace reached up and grabbed Raylen’s arm as they passed his table. “Hey, hey, you goin’ to share or do we have to have a duel? My pistol can outdo your whip for the harem lady.”

  Ace had been in and out of the café all week. He and Jasmine were best friends and he reminded Liz so much of Blaze it wasn’t even funny. He had that confident swagger about his walk like Blaze, curly blond hair, and he flirted with every woman he met. The one thing that was different was the eyes. Ace had crystal clear blue eyes, not totally unlike Raylen’s. But when he sized Liz up with those eyes, it didn’t do a damn thing for her. Not one single bell or whistle went off like they did when Raylen graced her with a look and a smile.

  Raylen grinned. “I’m pretty good with a bullwhip, pard’ner.”

  “Ace, get your sorry butt behind this bar and help me.” Jasmine yelled and crooked her finger at him. “You are my backup and I’m swamped.”

  Ace strutted over to the bar. “You’ve been saved by the sexy bartender who is begging for my help.”

  “Who is he supposed to be?” Liz whispered to Raylen.

  “John Wayne,” Raylen answered.

  “Yes?” Ace turned quickly. “Did someone call my name? Is there a cowgirl in distress?”

  “Not right here. This is Madam Dammagrammy,” Raylen said.

  “Madam Drabami,” Liz corrected him with a giggle.

  “Well, I guess Indiana will have to save her. John Wayne don’t have no truck with anything but cowgirls,” Ace winked.

  “Two bottles of Coors, please, miz bartender,” Raylen said.

  Jasmine popped the lids off two longnecks and set them on the bar. “Liz, can you really do the dance that goes with that getup?”

  Liz nodded. “But not to George Strait.”

  “Guess we’re slap out of luck then because all these cowboys listen to is country.” Jasmine smiled.

  “What can I get you, Becca?” Ace asked.

  Liz bit back the groan before it escaped her lips.

  “I’m not Becca. I’m Annie Oakley and I bet I can outshoot and outdance you.” Becca’s eyes were on the cowboy at the end of the bar: Taylor, the foreman of her father’s ranch.

  “Well, Annie Oakley darlin’, what can this slow cowboy get you to drink?” Ace played along.

  “I’ll have a whiskey and Coke,” Becca said and turned around, popped her elbows on the bar, and leaned back, straining the snaps on her shirt. “So you’re the fortune-teller tonight? Are you going to look into the crystal ball and tell me that I’ll be walking down the aisle with Raylen in six months?”

  “I don’t use the ball. I use cards and your palm and I’ll tell you whatever it says,” Liz said.

  “You really believe all that shit?” Becca asked.

  “Do you read your horoscope every day?” Liz asked right back.

  Becca readjusted her position and claimed a bar stool. “Hell, yeah, and it comes true about fifty percent of the time.”

  “Hey, Raylen, are you going to introduce me to your lady?” A man dressed like a pirate bellied up to the bar.

  “Liz, this is Dalton Riley. He’s Ace’s younger brother. And Dalton, this is my new neighbor, Liz,” Raylen said.

  Dalton got to his feet and bowed over Liz’s hand. He brought it to his lips and gently kissed her fingertips. “May I have the next dance, Miz Liz?”

  “Of course you can,” Liz said. “But right now Raylen and I are headed to the food table.”

  “I’ll hold you to that dance,” Dalton said.

  Becca reached out and touched Raylen on the arm. “Be a sweetheart and get me a plate of nachos. Libby can sit here beside me and we’ll talk about the stars.”

  Raylen tilted his head and looked at Liz. “Her name is Liz, not Libby. You’ll have to get your own nachos. Liz is supposed to start telling fortunes in fifteen minutes so we’re going to eat.”

  “You ain’t no fun and not even a good friend tonight, Raylen,” Becca pouted.

  Raylen ignored her and steered Liz toward the long food table with a hand on the small of her back. Bare, rough cowboy hand against cool flesh created enough heat to burn hell to the ground. Her body hummed with the excitement of his touch, and she wondered if she’d be able to read the cards or even see a lifeline on a palm.

  All the strange people, the party atmosphere, the decorations, and the night air reminded her of opening night at the carnival
: new faces eager to win a stuffed animal, little children clamoring to ride the ponies or the Ferris wheel, the smell of funnel cakes and cotton candy, the hawkers drawing in the crowds, and Liz dancing to bring in people to the fortune telling wagon.

  She missed it all.

  Liz wasn’t a spectator. She was a player. She liked to dance. She liked to be in the midst of the carnival. She liked to tell fortunes and watch the people and children. What in the hell ever made her think that she could settle down and never roam again?

  Raylen pulled out a chair for her and sat close enough that he could drape his arm over her shoulders. Liz looked out across the people laughing, talking, milling about from one group to the other. The energy wasn’t as electric as opening night at the carnival, but it was there and it fed the atmosphere.

  “Would you go steal a candle from one of those tables, Raylen? And ask Jasmine if I can have one of her smoky cauldrons, and then I want a handful of dirt in one of those orange paper plates,” she said.

  “Why?” Raylen asked.

  “Props,” she whispered.

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “Earth, wind, and fire. I’ll call on the spirits to steer me to the right future for the people,” she said.

  “Hocus-pocus.” He chuckled.

  “Spirits.” She smiled.

  He could easily move earth, wind, and fire for her when she smiled like that. Hell, he could talk the angels out of their wings and the devil out of his horns if Liz wanted them for her hocus-pocus.

  “Why are you stealing my candle?” Becca looked away from Taylor when she noticed Raylen picking up the candle.

  “Fire. Madam Drabami told me to bring her fire, and her wish is my command,” he said.

  “You’re goin’ to get burned,” Becca said.

  “Not if I don’t stick my fingers in the jar.” He laughed.

  He set the candle on the table. “There you go, Madam.”

  She smiled up at him. For another smile, he’d damn sure find her some wind and earth. He picked up an orange plate on his way outside and scooped up a handful of dirt.