A Cowboy For Christmas. Rachel Lee

interesting perspective, Abby thought. She could appreciate it, though. “Rally’s a good dog.”

      “Yup.” Regina stood up. “I need to get out to the barn before Dad looks up and notices the time. Or before Rally starts driving him nuts cuz he knows I ought to be there now. Heck, Rally probably heard the school bus even inside the barn. He’s good at that. Grab yourself one of the laptop computers. I’m sure Dad won’t mind, and they’re all hooked up to the internet.”

      She grabbed a small bag of chips, said a cheery goodbye and headed out back toward the barn. Not five minutes later Abby saw girl and dog racing around outside with the sheer joy of being alive and together.

      Maybe she should have been born a dog. Nothing she could do about that now, so she went to get a laptop from the front room. Looking around the web might lead her to something interesting.

      An hour later, she set the table for dinner. Two places in the dining room, her solitary one in the kitchen. Spaghetti and meatballs, homemade sauce. Crusty garlic bread and a tossed salad. She wondered how many would eat.

      Before she could fill serving dishes, however, she heard the back door open. A minute later, Regina entered the kitchen carrying two plates that she put on the kitchen table.

      “What?” Abby asked.

      “This is silly” was all the girl said. In another minute, she had three places set at the kitchen table.

      “But your dad...”

      “Doesn’t mind,” said the deep familiar voice of Rory. He stood in the kitchen doorway, smiling. “Do you?”

      “Of course not.”

      “Good, because I was starting to feel like a feudal lord in that dining room. All I need to fill it are about twenty minions. Tonight you sit. Regina and I will wait on you.”

      Abby felt her cheeks heat. “That’s not...”

      “It’s perfectly right,” he said. “Now sit down, Abby. Regina is looking forward to this.”

      Abby looked at Regina, who was beaming. “I am. I never got to do this at Mom’s. You might have to give me instructions.”

      “I can do the instructions,” Rory said. “I wasn’t always a too-big-for-my-own-hat superstar, you know. I grew up on a ranch and everyone pitched in. I even used to cook and wash dishes.”

      Regina giggled. “You do dishes?”

      Rory pretended to scowl at her. “I do indeed.”

      “This I want to see,” his daughter answered pertly.

      Deciding she really had no choice in the matter, and honestly not minding it because it was fun to watch, Abby sat at the table while Rory and Regina worked to serve the meal. Rory gave gentle instructions, but only when needed, allowing his daughter to do most of the task. Abby’s help was needed only when they didn’t know where to look for something, such as the ladle.

      “Really sorry, that’s me,” muttered Rory. “I ought to know what’s in my own kitchen.”

      Regina answered. “Your head’s too busy filling that hat.”

      He laughed. But then Regina turned and gave him a big hug around his waist. “You’re cool, Dad. And the important thing is writing your songs. I like that new one you’re working on.” Then she went back to serving dinner.

      “It’s giving me fits,” he admitted. “Long ago, before I made it, I used to have more melodies and lyrics floating around in my head than I could use. Feels like the well went dry.”

      Which, thought Abby, was probably what he’d meant about this place rebuilding him. He’d lost something essential, and he wanted it back. She knew the feeling all too well, except in her case she’d finally reached the point where she didn’t want any of it back. But for him it had to be different. This was not the kind of divorce any artist wanted, she was sure. Watching him move around the kitchen, he didn’t appear troubled, but he sure appeared attractive. The background sizzle he always elicited in her had arisen again. Attracted to her boss? Not good.

      Soon they were gathered in a cozy group around the kitchen table. Abby complimented the food generously and Regina said, “I’d like to learn how to make the spaghetti sauce by myself. I could have my friends over for a spaghetti party.”

      That caused Rory to lift his head. “So you’re making friends?”

      “Of course. It’s easy when your daddy is Rory McLane.”

      Abby tensed, watching Rory’s reaction to that. Sadness seemed to flicker over his face. “Sorry, kiddo.”

      Regina shrugged. “They’ll get over it soon enough. Then I’ll find out who’s for real.”

      One corner of his mouth lifted. “How old are you again?”

      She giggled. “Old enough. It’s okay, Dad. And actually, I like it. Here I’m meeting kids who don’t have famous parents. It’s different.”

      His smile faded again. He looked as if he wanted to say something, then decided against it. Regina didn’t miss the cues, though.

      “I know,” she said. “Mom was into the whole scene. Who I could hang out with, all that. I almost never got to meet ordinary kids.” She twirled her fork in her spaghetti. “How can I ever be ordinary if I’m always in a box?”

      “A box?” Rory asked.

      “A box. That’s how I felt.” But she didn’t seem to have any other way to describe it.

      Abby listened to this, both troubled and amazed. She had never before considered what it might be like to be Regina, to have two famous parents. She wished she could ask questions, but Regina had moved on to talking about other things, like getting a horse, leaving Rory to look vaguely troubled.

      * * *

      After dinner, having been dismissed from dish duty, Abby followed her usual custom of disappearing into her suite at the back of the house. It was a cozy space, decorated pleasantly in warm yellows and blues, clearly designed with a woman in mind by the decorator.

      She had a bedroom, a sitting area with a small kitchenette and her own bathroom with a separate shower and a walk-in whirlpool tub. Elegance beyond any she had ever known. All by itself it was a livable apartment, and from the windows in the sitting area she had a beautiful view of the mountains and the barn where Rory was working. She even had her own private entry from outside.

      Nicer than any dwelling in her entire life, and even though she enjoyed it, sometimes she felt a bit like an impostor. She didn’t come from wealth and saw herself as an outsider looking in. She wondered if Rory ever felt that way.

      Her parents had owned a small catalog store that had thrived for many years, but had eventually gone broke with the upsurge of internet shopping. Abby had started college a few years late as she tried to help them through the hump, but finally her dad had found a job in Colorado Springs and they had moved away. They’d sent small sums to help with her school expenses, then she’d met and eventually married Porter. When she’d had come back here as a new bride, she’d been hired by Joan to look after Joan’s dress boutique, a small business with a select and limited clientele. Everything had seemed perfect.

      Until Porter announced he was leaving with Joan. She supposed, in those moments when she was able to find some gratitude, that she was lucky they’d decided to leave town. Joan sold her boutique, Porter found a job as a clerk with a big law firm in Idaho and the two had vanished...after Porter sold his family house in town.

      Since his betrayal, she’d been working as a waitress at the truck stop, nursing her wounds, unable to see the possibility of ever getting herself unstuck, emotionally or physically. She’d had to rent a small apartment, all she could afford, and the community college offered no classes beyond the ones she’d already completed. She’d been looking at a bleak future until she saw the ad for