The Cowboy's Christmas Treasures
Author
Jill Kemerer
Reads
17,4K
Chapters
16
Chapter One
“He’s going to make a good daddy.” Brooke Dewitt unpacked empty jars next to her sister-in-law, Reagan Young, who was stirring wax in a warmer at the dining room table. Reagan had offered to help her make homemade candles for Christmas gifts, so Brooke had brought her almost-two-year-old identical twin daughters over to her brother’s ranch. The twenty-minute drive from her house in downtown Jewel River, Wyoming, had been easy for mid-November, with no snow yet. Her brother, Marc, was currently in the living room giving Megan and Alice horsey rides. Their squeals and laughter melted her heart into a puddle.
She would do anything for her girls.
“I agree.” Reagan rubbed her tiny baby bump. “Marc’s going to be a great father.”
“He’s protective.” Brooke hooked a finger around her low ponytail to bring it over her shoulder. “But fun, too.”
“You’re right about that.” Reagan’s light brown eyes twinkled. “He still worries about you, you know.”
“I know. I don’t mind.” She spoke the truth. Marc had been more of a father figure to her than their own dad had been before he’d left when she was twelve and Marc was sixteen. Brooke appreciated the sacrifices Marc and their mother had made over the years, especially the recent ones.
It was hard to believe it had been over eighteen months since Brooke had had the stroke. Being separated from her infant twins for four weeks had devastated her. Almost as much as when she’d found out her husband had died in a helicopter accident while on a training mission overseas. Ross had known she was pregnant, but he hadn’t known she was carrying twins.
He’d never met his beautiful girls.
The twins would never have a daddy. She couldn’t in good conscience dip her toes in the dating pool, not when she had no plans to get remarried. She wouldn’t be having more children, either. The risk of a postpartum stroke was too high. They’d already lost their father. They couldn’t lose their mommy, too.
“I still can’t believe Ed had a heart attack.” Reagan checked the temperature of the wax. Yesterday, local builder Ed McCaffrey had collapsed at his office in town. Brenda, his administrative assistant, had called 911 and performed CPR until the ambulance arrived. She’d likely saved his life.
“I feel so bad for him. It’s horrible.” A metallic taste developed in her mouth. She hoped he made a full recovery, and not just because he was remodeling her house. “I can’t believe it, either.”
“I mean, he’s always been so full of life. And he’s nice. He did an amazing job renovating my chocolate shop. And your mom’s bakery.”
“He’s the best.” Brooke couldn’t trust herself to speak beyond that. She’d hired Ed’s company, McCaffrey Construction, to renovate the three-bedroom home she’d bought this summer in downtown Jewel River. Ed hadn’t flinched when she’d explained that she needed the house to be wheelchair accessible in case she had another stroke and ended up with a temporary or permanent disability. By now, most of the renovations had been completed. The halls and doorways had been widened, and vinyl plank flooring had been installed throughout.
But the gutted main bathroom needed tons of work, and the outdoor ramp leading to the back door hadn’t been started. If she did have another stroke, she wanted to recover at home. She needed to be prepared for the worst-case scenario.
“When do you think Ed will be released from the hospital?”
Brooke shrugged. “Mom’s been texting me with any updates she hears at the bakery, but no one seems to know much at this point.”
“Do you think this will set back your renovations?”
“I don’t know. Probably.” She leaned forward to insert the wicks into the empty jars. “Hopefully, he has a backup plan for emergencies.”
“I’m sure he does. And if it takes a few more weeks to finish your house, it takes a few more weeks. Everything will get done eventually.” Reagan always knew the right thing to say. Her sister-in-law had a way of easing her mind without even trying.
But what if Ed didn’t have a backup plan? Worse, what if he died?
Death was all too real in her world. She’d lost her husband over two years ago and had come close to losing her own life not long after the twins were born. She couldn’t bear the thought of kind, capable Ed McCaffrey dying. Thanksgiving was only a week away. And then Christmas. What would it do to his son, Dean?
“The wax is the right temperature. Are you ready to add the fragrance?” Reagan selected a bottle marked Cinnamon and measured it into a small cup on a scale.
“Sure.” Brooke rounded the table to stand next to her. “What do I do?”
“Pour this into the wax.”
Brooke followed her directions, but it was difficult to concentrate with Ed’s health on her mind. Reagan had her repeat the process with the vanilla fragrance.
“How do you feel about Dean staying with you guys?” Brooke asked as Reagan stirred.
“I’m glad.” She checked the wax’s temperature again. “No one should be alone during those first days following a crisis.”
“True. Did he say how long he’s staying?” While Dean McCaffrey and Marc had been best friends since elementary school, Brooke had never been close to him. She’d always liked Dean in a little sister type of way. Now that they were both grown-up, she’d noticed him in a mature woman type of way. And it unsettled her.
Dean had been a groomsman in Marc and Reagan’s wedding this past spring, but Brooke’s hands had been full as a bridesmaid and with the twins being flower girls. She hadn’t spent much time with him. He’d been living in Texas for over a decade. He was more handsome now than she remembered. Quieter, too. More reserved. More intriguing.
“Marc seems to think he’ll be here for a while,” Reagan said. “Maybe Dean will take over your remodeling projects while Ed recovers.”
“I can’t imagine why he would. Although he does have the experience. He worked for his father all through high school.”
“That’s what Marc said. Don’t worry, it will all work out.” She called over her shoulder, “Hey, Marc, when do you think Dean will get here?”
A thumping sound, giggles and footsteps greeted them.
“Soon, I imagine.” Marc carried Megan under one arm and Alice under the other. Their faces were red as they laughed and kicked.
“Unc Mawc, down!” Alice shouted.
“If I set you down, the tickle monster might get you.” He grinned at Alice, then at Megan, who squealed.
He carefully set them on the floor, then bent and wiggled his fingers at them. They both took off running, screaming the whole way. Then he planted a kiss on Reagan’s cheek and leaned over to take a whiff of the wax warmer.
“Smells like Mom’s bakery. Are you sure these are candles and not her cinnamon buns?”
“That’s what we’re going for. Cinnamon Bun Surprise,” Reagan said, snuggling into his side. She’d operated a successful candle business with her mother and sister for years before moving to Jewel River. Now she owned R. Mayer Chocolates, a gourmet chocolate store in town.
Brooke couldn’t have picked a better bride for her brother. And while she loved that they were so affectionate, it always brought a pang to her chest. She’d had that kind of love once. And she wouldn’t have it again.
“I’m surprised Dean isn’t staying at his dad’s house.” Brooke craned her neck to check on the girls. As if on cue, they scampered back into the dining room. Each grabbed one of Marc’s legs, pulling on his jeans to pick them up.
“Girls, leave Uncle Marc alone. He’s played with you since we got here.” She wiped her hands with a paper towel. “Come on. It’s time to settle down. I’m putting on a Christmas movie for you.”
The girls were infatuated with Christmas cartoons. She found the remote and helped the girls get settled on the couch. Then she unfolded a red-and-green-plaid throw blanket and tucked it over their legs.
“There. Cozy?” She bopped the tips of each of their noses with her index finger and gave them both a smile.
“Yes, Mama.” They held their arms out for a hug. She hugged them and straightened. “I’m helping Auntie Reagan with the candles, so come get me if you need anything, okay?”
“Okay.”
She returned to the dining room, keeping an eye on the twins as she took a seat. Both girls had their eyes glued to the screen. Reagan was placing metal clips on top of the jars to keep the wicks in place. “Ready to fill these?”
“Yep.” Brooke followed her instructions and carefully filled each jar. Then she stepped back and admired their handiwork. The candles looked great. In a day or two, after they’d cooled, she would apply the labels Reagan had printed for them. She couldn’t wait to give them to her friends this Christmas.
“I told Dean he could stay here for as long as he wants.” Marc rested his forearms on the table. “He mainly needs a place to stable Dusty.”
“He’s bringing his horse?” Brooke was taken aback. Why would he do that?
“He’s dealing with a lot. He basically dropped everything to drive here.”
What did “drop everything” mean? Before she could ask, a knock on the front door had them all turning their heads. Marc got up and hurried down the hallway.
“Looks like we finished just in time.” Reagan turned off the wax warmer, while Brooke stood to pack away the other supplies. “I can drop these off after I close up tomorrow if you want.”
Just one of the perks of buying the house in town. Reagan’s chocolate shop, their mother’s bakery and her mom’s bungalow were within a few blocks of her house. Brooke had been grateful it had gone up for sale in the summer. She’d waited for the big renovations to be completed before moving out of her mom’s place. Everyone told her to wait until all the projects were completed, but Brooke needed her independence.
She also needed to be able to recover from a medical emergency at home. With her girls.
The stroke had robbed her of her peace of mind. Every day she worried about having another one. If only the renovations were finished...
But she knew Reagan had spoken the truth earlier. The house would get finished at some point. Brooke would have to trust the Lord would provide what she needed.
The sound of the front door opening forced her thoughts back to where they belonged. On Dean. Poor guy was standing on the doorstep and probably terrified of losing his father. The man needed support and compassion. Her problems would have to wait.
As the door opened, Dean felt the first stirrings of hope since finding out his father—his larger-than-life dad—had collapsed from a heart attack. The light from inside the house glowed, and Marc didn’t say a word, just pulled him in for a big hug.
Dean hadn’t realized how much he’d needed that hug until Marc stepped back. “Come inside.”
“I’ve got to take care of Dusty first.” After getting Brenda’s call yesterday, it was as if a switch inside him had flipped. It was time to make changes. He’d been living a shell of a life for over ten years.
Dean had immediately quit his job as a ranch hand. Then he’d packed his meager belongings, hitched his horse trailer to his truck, loaded Dusty in it and driven from Texas straight to the hospital in Casper. He’d called Marc on the way and had slumped in relief when Marc had insisted he stay with him and Reagan. Their ranch was forty minutes closer to the hospital than his dad’s house on the other side of Jewel River.
That wasn’t the main reason he wanted to stay with them, though. He had unfinished business at his childhood home. And he wasn’t ready to deal with it.
“What else needs to be done?” Marc asked.
“Nothing.”
“You know the way to the stables. I’ll join you in a minute. Let me grab a coat.”
Shivering as the cold air seeped through his unzipped jacket, Dean headed back to his truck. Take care of Dusty. Then do the next thing. And the next.
Before coming here, he’d stopped at the hospital. His father had been in the middle of a procedure, and the staff had advised Dean to come back in the morning.
His dad was probably hooked up to a million machines. What was going to happen with McCaffrey Construction while he recovered? If he recovered...
Dean couldn’t go there. Couldn’t imagine the world without his dad in it.
The drive to the stables took all of two minutes. As his boots hit the gravel, the reality of what he was facing smacked him.
Dad might die. Even if he survived, Dean would likely be in town for a while. While he appreciated Marc and Reagan’s hospitality, he didn’t want to overstay his welcome. At some point, he’d have to move—temporarily—into Dad’s place. The furniture and appliances had been updated, but everything else, except the basement, was the way he’d left it as a twenty-one-year-old college dropout.
He only had bad memories of that time in his life. He hadn’t dealt with them, and he didn’t want to. That was just one of the reasons he hadn’t come back all that often during the past ten years.
As he stepped out of the truck, the reality of his situation overwhelmed him. God, You aren’t going to let him die, are You?
During the long drive here, Dean had scrambled to remember every detail of the last time he’d been with his father. Their last phone conversation. The last text messages. Would there be any more? His father’s health teetered on the edge.
Heart attack. Open heart surgery. Triple bypass. What did it all mean?
Icy blasts burrowed under his coat collar as a familiar sense of bleakness filled him. At least this time, he had friends to count on. He was older, wiser than the night ten years ago when his life had fallen apart.
Dean strode to the door of the stables. It slid open easily, and he switched on the lights before heading down the aisle in search of an empty stall. The scent of straw and dust and manure made him feel at home. Not surprising. It had taken a job on a ranch to save him from himself.
Within minutes, he’d led Dusty out of the trailer and gotten the horse settled into a stall. He was in the middle of filling a bucket with water when Marc strode his way.
“How are you holding up?”
“About as good as can be expected.” He finished watering the horse, patted his neck one more time, then headed out of the barn with Marc. “I appreciate you and Reagan letting me crash here.”
“Anytime. You’re like my brother.”
“You’re the closest thing to a brother I have. It means a lot to me.” Unlike Marc, Dean didn’t have siblings. Didn’t have a mother, either. She’d moved away after his parents divorced, disappearing from his life altogether.
“Stay as long as you need.”
“I won’t impose long. Just until I find out what’s happening with Dad.”
“You’re not imposing.” Marc put his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “I want you around.”
His throat grew thick with emotion. They piled into Dean’s truck and drove back to the house.
The velvety black sky seemed to stretch forever as they walked to the house’s side entry. Inside the mudroom, Dean took off his cowboy boots and hung his coat and Stetson on a hook on the wall. After washing up, he followed Marc into the kitchen. The place smelled like cinnamon. Overhead lights spread a cheerful glow as they passed the living room, where he caught a glimpse of two cute toddlers almost asleep on the couch. Brooke’s girls. He recognized them from the wedding.
A Christmas tune played from a cartoon on TV. Christmas—another thing he couldn’t bear to think about at the moment. Up ahead in the dining room, Brooke and Reagan stood side by side with matching sympathetic expressions.
Reagan was the first to step forward. She gave him a brief hug. “I’m so sorry, Dean.”
Then Brooke approached, and he forgot how to breathe. She’d captivated him at the wedding. How could anyone ignore her beauty? Her shiny black hair was tied back and pulled over her shoulder, and she looked up at him through enormous dark blue eyes. She had a casual style, and her figure could only be described as curvy.
As far as he could tell, she was perfect in every way.
She embraced him, and he wanted to sink into her arms for eternity. But, like all things, the hug ended too soon.
A bunch of jars took up one side of the dining table. Candles, he guessed. The cinnamon aroma grew stronger as he sat down.
“I’ll put on a pot of decaf.” Reagan flitted across the room toward the kitchen. “Marc, could you help me?”
He nodded and left Dean alone with Brooke, who pulled out a chair across from him at the table.
“It’s a lot to take in, isn’t it?” Her big eyes shimmered with compassion.
“Yeah, it is.” He wiped his hand down his cheek as exhaustion took over. He’d been driving all day with only a few stops for gas and fast food.
“One minute everything’s fine, and the next?” Her right shoulder lifted in a shrug. She tossed her head to the side as if to say, What do you do?
“Your dad has a heart attack followed by triple bypass surgery,” he finished for her.
She reached over and covered his hand with hers. Her touch eased his tension. “How is he?”
“I’m not sure. He was having a procedure when I left the hospital. They wouldn’t let me see him. Told me to come back in the morning.”
“If you want to go back and stay there, Marc will take care of your horse.” Her long eyelashes fluttered as she blinked.
Should he go back? Was that expected? He was too tired to even think straight.
“But you should probably stay here and get some sleep,” she said. “Try not to worry. He’s in good hands.”
“How can you be sure?”
“I spent a week at the same hospital when I had my stroke. The staff knows what to do.” How could she speak so calmly about it? He still couldn’t wrap his brain around the fact she’d had a stroke. Brooke was so vibrant. “In the meantime, we’re here for you. Whatever you need.”
“Thank you.” As he stared into her enormous eyes, it hit him again how much they’d both changed in the past ten years. He’d never been close to Brooke. She’d always seemed so much younger than him and Marc. She didn’t anymore. “I have to ask, though. What have I ever done for you? Why would you offer to help me?”
She averted her gaze as if she wasn’t sure how to answer. “Because your father means a lot to this town, and you’re my brother’s best friend. I understand how tough times rip your world apart like a tornado.”
And there it was.
Reality.
His father did mean a lot to Jewel River. Ed McCaffrey was the guy everyone called to have their homes built, businesses refurbished, kitchens remodeled. His dad was reliable, dependable, and he excelled at everything he touched.
Basically, he was everything Dean was not. An alarming thought came to him. Would the town expect Dean to fill in at McCaffrey Construction while his dad recovered?
Those shoes were too big to fill. Always had been.
Marc returned and pulled out a chair to take a seat. “We’ve got you in the spare bedroom upstairs.”
Reagan followed and sat, too. “I’m glad you’re staying with us, Dean.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it.” He’d liked Reagan from the second he’d met her. She didn’t have a mean bone in her body. “I’ll be out of your hair soon. But it’s tricky because I don’t have anywhere else to keep Dusty.”
“You’re not in our hair,” Marc said. “You and Dusty can stay with us for as long as you want. I wish you weren’t back under these circumstances, but it sure is good to see you.”
Two beeps brought Reagan to her feet. Brooke followed her to the kitchen, and Dean watched them until they disappeared from view.
The emotions he’d been stuffing down since getting Brenda’s call bubbled to the surface. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could avoid the fear. What he needed was some time to himself.
“I’m pretty tired.” He spoke the truth. He also knew he’d be awake for hours.
“Let’s get you settled. Then you can have a couple of Mom’s leftover doughnuts and some decaf. It will do you good.”
“I can’t argue with that.” And he wouldn’t, even if he could.
Dean forced himself to his feet and went outside to get his bags from the truck. Minutes later, he followed Marc upstairs to the guest room. Rubbed his temples with the span of one hand.
“Come down when you’re ready.” Marc clapped him on the shoulder and left the room.
Ready? He didn’t think he’d ever be ready. The scene in the dining room had been what he’d been avoiding for a decade. A home. A life. A family. Things he couldn’t—wouldn’t—have.
If only he hadn’t been such a hothead at twenty-one. He’d left town in a rush with get-rich-quick plans and the wrong people along for the ride. Within a year, the situation had unraveled, and one night had changed everything. He’d lost his job, his girlfriend and his self-respect.
That was why he’d started over as a ranch hand in northern Texas. And closed himself off to everything else.
“Dean, do you take cream or sugar?” Reagan yelled from the staircase.
He tilted his head back and gazed at the ceiling. They’d welcomed him into their home. Were fine with him and his horse being here indefinitely. He couldn’t stay up here and avoid them, no matter how much he wanted to.
“Cream, please!” He tightened his jaw. Having to socialize with his well-meaning friends wasn’t easy. He’d been a loner for ten long years. And now he had a feeling he was going to be thrust into the community, whether he wanted to be or not.
It was time to face facts. If Dad recovered, he would expect Dean to step in and manage the current projects. And if he didn’t recover?
Dean would have to finish what he could and cancel anything that hadn’t been started.
He didn’t belong in Jewel River. Didn’t know where he did belong, either, but it wasn’t here.
In the next month or two, Dean would start over. Somewhere new. Somewhere that didn’t tempt him to believe he could have the kind of life guys his age had.
He’d gotten off easy the last time his world had tipped over. His anger hadn’t caused any permanent damage. But that was a blessing—and he couldn’t risk a repeat.
