Western Christmas Wishes. Brenda Minton

drive.

      “The kitten is on the kitchen floor,” Rose yelled back to her. “I’ll have muffins for a snack after school.”

      “I was going to drive you,” Laurel called out, but it was too late. She closed the door and then leaned against it. “This can’t be my life.”

      From the kitchen she heard a small mew and then the timer on the stove beeped. She removed the muffins from the oven and picked up the kitten. The tiny gray feline purred and nuzzled against her.

      “You do need your mommy, don’t you? Let’s go see if we can find her.” She would take the kitten back and ask about the tree.

      As she approached the building, she heard music. She slowed, taking cautious steps forward. What she was hearing wasn’t coming from the radio. The strumming of the guitar was soft and the words of the song muffled. She leaned in closer, trying to catch the words of the song. For several minutes she stood listening. The music grew louder, then boot steps shuffled.

      “Are you enjoying the concert?”

      She jumped. Cameron Hunter stood in the doorway of the stable, a tall and imposing figure with his black cowboy hat pulled low and a flannel jacket over a dark T-shirt. A guitar hung from the strap around his neck. Her first instinct was to make an excuse or deny that she’d been listening. But, of course, he knew the truth. A person lurking outside a barn was obviously a person up to something.

      She said the first thing to pop into her head. “I’m looking for a Christmas tree.”

      “Out here?” he asked, a half grin tugging at his mouth. He looked around and shrugged. “I think I’d look somewhere else. Unless you’re planning to cut one down.”

      “No, of course not. I promised Rose I would ask. I also had to bring the kitten back to her mother. Have you seen the mama cat?”

      “She was lurking in corners. Sound familiar?”

      Laurel rolled her eyes at the accusation. “I wasn’t lurking, I was listening to your music. You’re very good.”

      “Thank you. And the mother cat is in the far stall with her kittens. I think she’ll be glad to see that one. She’s been looking for her.”

      “Yes, Rose realized she took her away from her family too soon.”

      He motioned her to the end of the barn. “I think Rose wants something of her own. Even if it’s just a kitten. Having a pet is a sign of permanence.”

      Of course, that made perfect sense. She’d been so immersed in her own thoughts, feeling sorry for herself, she hadn’t thought about Rose. She might be Trouble with a capital T, but she was also a child whose mother was missing and her only real stability was an elderly woman in a nursing home.

      “She seemed sad this morning,” Laurel noted as she walked through the door of the stall to find the mother cat with the rest of the litter.

      He paused at that. “I can imagine. She’s lost everyone, and even though Gladys isn’t going anywhere, I could see that it would worry Rose.”

      “Do you know where her mother is?” Laurel asked.

      “No one knows. Family Services has tried to locate her but she hasn’t made contact in six months. She left Rose on a friend’s couch and took off, supposedly for California.”

      “That’s tough. Poor Rose.”

      “Yeah, it is. But Rose is also tough.” He leaned on the stall door to watch as the kitten reunited with her mother. The orange, black and white calico immediately curled up with her baby and began to give the gray kitten a good bath.

      “Oh, I brought muffins.” Laurel handed him the bag she’d carried from the house. “Rose said I’m required to feed you.”

      “You’re not, but thank you.” He took the bag and opened it.

      She backed away and as she did, he gave her his right side. Did he do it consciously, to make people more at ease? Or was it habit? She started to ask but then didn’t. They weren’t friends. They were barely acquaintances. She didn’t have a right to know his stories. And yet she couldn’t walk away.

      “I’m going to see my grandmother. I promised to bring her lunch.”

      His fingers, long and slim, suntanned from time working outside, strummed the guitar. She watched, mesmerized.

      “I considered visiting her this afternoon. She made me feel guilty the other day. I should visit more often.”

      “I’m sure she understands.”

      “I’ll give you a ride if you think you’ll be ready by eleven,” he continued. The offer took her by surprise.

      “Oh, that would be good.”

      “We can’t have you getting lost.” He winked and she thought he had no idea how lost he could make a girl feel. It had nothing to do with a malfunctioning GPS or a not-so-helpful teen.

      Maybe it was just that he had that unavailable vibe and every girl liked a challenge. Every girl but her. She didn’t want to conquer the walls he’d obviously constructed to protect himself. She didn’t want to know all of his secrets and heal his brokenness. She would leave that for some romantic soul out there waiting to fix a broken man and call him her own.

      Laurel wasn’t that person. She was here for a week or so, just long enough to make sure her grandmother was okay.

      “I’ll be ready to go by eleven,” she told him as she walked away, totally unaffected.

      At least that’s what she told herself.

      Cameron had been surprised that Laurel took him up on his offer to give her a ride to Lakeside Manor to visit Gladys. He should have been more surprised with himself for offering. As he stepped out into the hall of the nursing home in order to give Laurel time alone with her grandmother, he realized he’d fallen into Gladys’s plans, the ones that ultimately dragged him into her granddaughter’s life. He had to give it to her, she was good at meddling.

      As he left the room, he heard Laurel telling Gladys that she couldn’t stay in town more than two weeks. She had signed up to start classes in January. She was going to be a teacher. Reinventing herself, Gladys had said, almost approvingly.

      He didn’t get it. He didn’t want to reinvent himself; he just wanted to find a way to live the life he already had. He’d spent the better part of two years figuring it out. He’d spent a lot of that time alone. As Gladys liked to say, “licking his wounds.” He couldn’t disagree.

      A lot had changed in his life. Too much. And it went beyond his injuries. He’d lost his dad. The family ranch had been sold because Cameron and his siblings hadn’t wanted to return to the place where they’d spent their childhood years working long hours side by side with their father rather than doing what other kids their age had been doing—movies on Friday nights and swimming on weekends.

      The sale of the ranch had given them all the freedom to make their own choices. His choice was to stay in Hope, raise horses and live his life exactly the way he wanted.

      He bought a soda from a vending machine and headed back to Gladys’s room.

      Gladys waved him in, a smile of greeting quick to replace the frown she’d worn when he stepped through the door. If he had to guess, they’d been discussing Curt Jackson. Laurel stood at the window, her back to him. The light cast her in silhouette but didn’t hide the fact that she surreptitiously swiped her hand over her cheek.

      “Did Laurel ask about your Christmas tree?” he asked. “Rose wants to put up a tree.”

      “Christmas tree?” Gladys shook her head. “I don’t have an artificial tree. I usually buy one in town. Laurel, you’ll have to get a tree for