Her Cowboy Till Christmas. Jill Kemerer

life. Now that Mom was busy traveling as a corporate consultant, Brittany rarely talked to her, either. It wasn’t as if she cared what the woman thought anymore. God saw Brittany’s heart and didn’t judge her by her lack of progress. So why was she judging herself so harshly?

      She tossed down the pen and massaged her temples. She was supposed to be coming up with solutions for Nan’s care, not wallowing in some strange what-had-she-done-with-her-life crisis.

      The sound of a vehicle coming up the drive broke her concentration. She peeked out the window and recognized Mason’s truck. Why was he here? Whatever the reason, her pulse sped at the thought of seeing him again.

      She put her coat on and shoved her feet into her boots to meet him on the porch. The air was crisp and the frozen countryside beautiful. He strode up tall, sure of himself. The cowboy boots, hat and jeans fit him like a glove. Her stomach did a pirouette. She looked for signs of Noah, but the boy wasn’t with him. Too bad. He was a cutie.

      His eyes weren’t as hard and judgmental today. A girl could get lost in those depths.

      “What are you doing here?” she asked.

      “I wanted to talk to you for a minute.”

      “I’d ask you inside, but Nan is sleeping right now.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. “Actually, I wanted to speak with you, too.”

      “If this is about what happened way back when...” His expression grew wary.

      “No.” She waved him off. “It’s been a long time. We’ve both moved on with our lives.” She fought for a chipper tone. Talking to Mason used to be easy—from the day she’d met him until the day she’d left. This awkwardness felt wrong—understandable, but wrong. “I wanted to talk to you about Nan. About how she’s doing.”

      He widened his stance, crossing his arms over his chest. Formidable.

      “I don’t like it when you tower over me. I know it’s cold, but let’s sit.”

      His left eyebrow cocked skyward, but he followed her to the rocking chairs on the covered porch.

      She sat in one and waited while he settled into the other. She was all too aware his knee was only inches from hers. “Nan isn’t the same.”

      “The same? What do you mean?”

      She’d never been good at this—being blunt. Never quite knew how to approach a subject without offending someone. And it tended to result in her rambling.

      “She’s gotten thin. Just this morning I caught her hiking up the elastic on her black church pants, and let me tell you, they still drooped. And her hair really concerns me. I mean, how many days does she go without showering? It’s so unlike her.” Without thinking, she rose to her feet and stretched to her tiptoes before sitting down again.

      “I hadn’t noticed.”

      How could he not have noticed? She turned to face him. “She sleeps more. Drifts in and out all day long. You know how she used to be. Capable. Self-sufficient. She drove everywhere, baked up a storm, made jam, quilted. This house was always spotless, and she’d sit in her rocker with a book most afternoons, and she’d have this peaceful, happy expression on her face. I loved that.” Her heart simultaneously warmed and pinched thinking about it. She hugged herself. “But now? She’s forgetful. Confused. And frail.”

      He leaned back, crossing an ankle over his knee. “She’s getting up there in age. What did you expect?”

      What did she expect? If she were being honest with herself, she hadn’t wanted to face the thought of Nan being anything other than the strong, kind woman who’d taught her how to pray and to be comfortable in her own skin. It had been delusional on her part to expect Nan to still be a powerhouse at eighty-six.

      “I don’t know.” Her head dropped. “I just don’t know.”

      He didn’t say anything. Simply sat there, quiet and still.

      She’d always struggled with stillness. Even now, her arms and legs longed to move, explore the space and, to some extent, help her come to terms with what she was feeling. A series of pique turns down the length of the porch enticed her. But she kept her feet rooted in place.

      “You check on her most days and get her groceries.” She shivered. It was really cold out here.

      “Yep.”

      “She doesn’t seem fit to drive anymore.”

      “I don’t think she is. Lois Dern takes her to the beauty parlor every other week, so she is getting her hair washed, and one of the other church ladies, Gretchen Sable, I think, takes her to the doctor if she needs to go.”

      Just what she’d suspected—Nan was trapped in this house, far away from help. It couldn’t be safe for her.

      “I think her days living alone are numbered.” Brittany sighed.

      “She’s fine.” His expression hardened. “I won’t let anything happen to her.”

      “You?”

      “Yeah, me.” His eyes narrowed. “I’ve taken care of her this long. I’ll take care of her for good.”

      “She’s my grandmother.”

      “Could have fooled me.”

      “Wow. Really?” She raised her chin and glared at him. “Oh, that’s right, you know everything there is to know about me, and I must still be the selfish liar who left town ten years ago. I couldn’t possibly care about anyone but myself, right?”

      “If the shoe fits.” His face grew red, but he continued to sit there, ankle resting without even a twitch on his knee. How could he be so calm?

      “Forget it.” She got up, spun away from him and looked out over the porch rail. “Go back to your ranch. I’ll take care of Nan.”

      “And how are you going to do that, California?”

      Did he really just call her California? Her temper didn’t flair often, but when it did, things could get ugly, and she felt the storm brewing inside her. Lord, help me stay calm. Grant me patience.

      She whirled and caught her breath. He’d moved to stand behind her, and his nearness, his height slammed her with memories. She knew exactly how those hands would feel at her waist. The precise height she’d need to rise up to wrap her arms around his neck and...

      She couldn’t get mushy. It had taken her years to get over him. One touch and all could be lost.

      “Why don’t you get it all out right now, Mason? Say all the miserable things you’ve been thinking about me. Go on. I can take it.”

      His jaw shifted but he kept his mouth shut.

      She was tired of carrying around the shame about him and their past. She’d been a stupid teenager. And it had cost her dearly.

      “I’m sorry for hurting you back then.” She stood tall. “I should have broken up with Parker before I came here that summer. He and I weren’t right for each other. I’d known it for months. I thought with me being away, he’d figure it out, too.” Saying the truth out loud deflated the bravado she’d had moments ago. “It doesn’t matter—I should have told you about him. I should have done a lot of things differently that summer.”

      “Yes, you should have.” His voice was hard.

      “I know.” And she did. But even if she had... “It wouldn’t have changed the ending, though. I couldn’t have stayed here. You and I both know it.”

      His throat worked as he swallowed. He took his time mulling it over. Then he met her eyes, and she relaxed. Those were the eyes she remembered. The warm, caring man she used to know was still in there somewhere.

      “I reckon you’re right.” The words were soft, sincere and they slammed into her heart. “I’ve