The Cowboy's Christmas Redemption
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Melissa Senate
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Chapter One
On this mild afternoon for Wyoming in December, Jesse Dawson sat on a bench outside Bear Ridge Park, sipping his take-out coffee and trying to rationalize what he was about to do.
Which was leave town.
He had everything he owned in the back of his pickup—a few duffel bags—and planned to head northwest toward Yellowstone. A large cattle ranch was hiring experienced cowboys, and that was Jesse. The job came with room and board—a small cabin and all the chili he could eat in the ranch cafeteria. He’d chosen this particular ranch because the foreman required employees to sign a Code of the West contract, a one-page document calling for integrity, honor and the golden rule, all of which Jesse tried to live by. No lazybones, work shirkers, liars or jerks-at-heart need apply. He figured he’d stay six months, the minimum, then move on again, as he’d been doing since he was eighteen.
But now there was a monkey wrench.
His father, who’d died last December, had summoned him back to Bear Ridge this morning—in the form of an actual lawyer—to receive an inheritance: a letter that had Jesse tied up in knots and sitting on this bench instead of hitting the road.
Jesse,
I have some last wishes for you.
1. Put down roots—right here in your hometown.
2. Welcome love into your life (marriage and family). It’s out there, waiting for you.
3. Adopt a dog. Truly man’s best friend and a great listener.
4. Don’t make my mistakes. I wish I’d been more of a father.
5.
Jesse took a long slug of his coffee and looked around to distract himself from thinking about any of that. Or what his dad had planned to write for #5. Jesse would never know.
When around, Eddie Dawson had been a great father. More in the fun, adventurous way than in caring if Jesse went to bed at a reasonable hour or ate any vegetables, which had been fine with Jesse, of course. He’d pull Jesse out of school to go fishing for the day or camping right in the middle of the week, looming math tests and five-paragraph essays not a concern.
His dad would leave for months on end to earn money as a cowboy, then return with a small windfall and slip some cash and gifts to the half-resentful but loving aunt who’d taken Jesse in. When his dad was in town, they’d stay at a boarding house with bunk beds in the one-room efficiency, Eddie’s stories about the cowboy life happily lulling Jesse to sleep with dreams of becoming a cowboy himself. There were plenty of ranches in Bear Ridge, Wyoming, but Eddie couldn’t seem to stay in one place too long. He’d bring Jesse treasures from his travels, little things that had meant the world to Jesse as a kid.
He’d always known his father was thinking about him, that Eddie Dawson had loved him. Jesse had seen his dad as an adventurer.
His father’s motto had been never make a promise you couldn’t keep, then you’d never let anyone down. Jesse’s aunt, who’d had it with her brother and his lack of dependability and refusal to grow up and raise his son “right,” would shake her head at Eddie Dawson’s supposed words of wisdom. His father had made one promise—his wedding vows, which he’d taken very seriously, to Jesse’s mother, who had died young in an accident, their baby son barely three years old. According to his aunt, grief and shock over the loss had done a number on Eddie, and he’d figured his son was better off with her for months at a time. He always came back.
Sixty-year-old Eddie Dawson died of prostate cancer with little to his name. A black Stetson and a black leather jacket, which Jesse treasured and had worn for the past year. A plain gold wedding band, engraved with his and Jesse’s mother’s initials. Jesse had been surprised to find the ring in his father’s wallet—also containing a small, dog-eared baby picture of Jesse and forty-two dollars and fifty-seven cents. And a backpack with a change of clothes, a bar of soap in a plastic case, a razor, shaving cream and lip balm.
Possessions, memories, thoughts that all brought a lump to Jesse’s throat. And small-town Bear Ridge, decked out for Christmas with festive lights and garlands on every lamppost, every storefront, just like it had been when he’d last held his frail father’s hand, had him itching to leave. Bah humbug.
Jesse drained his coffee and watched a family of three—mother, father, toddler bundled up in a pink snowsuit between them with a hand in each of theirs—heading into the park, the parents swinging the girl up with an “Upsy-daisy” and getting a delighted “Again!” in response.
Not any kind of a distraction from his thoughts.
Sorry, Dad, but that wasn’t you, and it’s not going to be me, either, he thought as the mom and dad swung the toddler up in the air again. Family life, commitment, promises—that was all good for other people. It just wasn’t Jesse Dawson.
Roots, love, a dog. He shook his head. That wasn’t him either.
He crumpled his coffee cup and let out a hard sigh.
Jesse would be thirty next month. He still couldn’t see himself as someone’s husband, someone’s father. How could he regret avoiding commitment to anyone or anything when it wasn’t in his blood, in his veins? Wasn’t that part of the Code of the West—not to lie or make false promises? He was his father’s son, wasn’t he? His last girlfriend used to shake her head at him and remind him that Jesse’s aunt had been plenty loving and responsible and had instilled good values in him, so why focus only on how his father lived his life? Jesse used to think about that late at night, when he couldn’t sleep. It was a good question.
He’d worked hard to let that girlfriend in, to commit for the first time, but she’d ended up betraying him with a guy he’d considered a friend. Since then, two years ago now, he’d had no interest in commitment or even waking up beside a woman, no matter how much he’d enjoyed her company. He’d leave a warm bed just after pumpkin hour, making an excuse or just stealing away. Never make a promise you can’t keep, then you’ll never let anyone down...
“Again!” The little girl was shouting gleefully for another swing up. Jesse couldn’t remember ever being with both his parents. He didn’t remember his mom at all.
His gaze moved from the family to his silver pickup in the small lot. Time to go.
Not that he was getting up. His body felt like lead.
Listen, Dad, he said silently, looking heavenward at the bright blue sky, I know you had regrets. They’d talked a little about them that final day, which had been all they’d had together. But I’m not ready for roots. Or love. Or even a dog.
A bark from a Border collie with a red-and-green collar snared his attention. Even the dogs were decorated for the holidays in Bear Ridge. A reminder that he had to get going, leave his memories behind. The dog stood on the driver’s seat of a black SUV in the lot of the feed store adjacent to the park. His tail swished back and forth at his owner coming, a woman in a Santa hat with a baby in a carrier strapped to her red jacket.
This town was just too family-oriented. With too many dogs. And way too much Christmas. He didn’t belong here, couldn’t stay here.
Time to go, he thought, standing up. Sorry, Dad, but—
As the woman with the baby got closer, he froze.
He knew her.
Or had.
She was approaching the black SUV, pulling a dolly behind her with a big bag of goat feed.
Kate.
The baby, a few months old, maybe, also wore a Santa hat. Even from where he sat, Jesse could see the dark wisps under the white furry brim, and startling blue eyes.
But it was the small round pin glinting in the bright sunshine on the baby’s snowsuit that sent Jesse to his feet.
A bronze horse.
He also knew that pin. He knew it because he’d won it at a rodeo game years ago and had tucked it in his wallet as a lucky charm, a talisman of sorts. And when he’d met Kate a year ago and woke up naked beside her in her bed at close to 2:00 a.m., he’d been in his usual hurry to get away, but something had caused him to take that pin out of his wallet and leave it on the table. He’d never done something like that before. He’d certainly never left his name or phone number. But he’d left that pin and he’d never been entirely sure why.
He stared hard at the pin. Why would Kate have put it on the baby’s—
Wait. Whoa.
No.
He dropped back down on the bench, then bolted up.
The baby. A few months old.
He knew exactly when he’d had that one-night stand with Kate. The night of his father’s funeral last December—four people hastily in attendance, including the lawyer—when he’d been so unsettled. He’d driven around and noticed a bar and headed in. A pretty young woman was sitting by herself, eating a burger and fries and reading a book on animal husbandry. He’d nodded at her, not planning on even saying hello, but she’d offered him a french fry and they’d started talking about the book and ranching. Next thing he knew, an hour had passed. And they’d left together.
Now, she had a baby. Who looked to be a few months old.
Who had his coloring. The dark hair, the blue eyes when Kate’s hair was auburn, her eyes green.
And the pin on his snowsuit.
The baby could be his. Twelve months ago. Minus nine months of pregnancy. Equaled a baby who’d be three months.
Now, Kate’s gaze landed on his because he was staring at her, but in seconds she turned back to her task as if she didn’t know him. Or recognize him in the slightest. He supposed he deserved that.
His heart hammering, Jesse started walking over to her, to them, staring at the baby the closer he got. The little guy not only had his coloring and his pin but he looked a lot like Jesse. The shape of the eyes. Something in the expression.
He swallowed hard past the new lump forming in his throat. “Kate,” he said, and for a moment that was all he could manage.
She looked at him, the big feed bag in her arms now. There was something tired and weary in the green eyes. “I’m not Kate.”
He hadn’t expected that. Pretending she didn’t know him, sure. But straight-out lying that she wasn’t who he knew she was? Maybe she held a grudge over the way he’d left in the middle of the night.
He took the bag of feed from her and loaded it into the back of the SUV, then turned to her. “Kate, it’s me—Jesse,” he said, removing his Stetson and holding it against his chest.
Her eyes widened in surprise and she let out something of a gasp.
He looked at the baby in the stroller, his heart starting to pound. He tried to speak, to ask the question, but no words came out.
Lila Mack gaped at the man standing inches away from her. A carbon copy of her three-month-old nephew.
Lila didn’t know much about Wyatt’s father; she knew only what her sister had shared, which wasn’t much other than his name.
Jesse.
Ooh, this cowboy, Kate had texted to her when he’d gone to the bar to order food for the table they’d moved to five minutes after meeting. Jesse. Six foot two. Built. Gorgeous. The warmest blue eyes. Strong, silent type, not interested in asking or answering questions, except about ranching. Gave me great tips on raising goats.
Have a good time but be careful! Lila, ever cautious, had texted back.
Turned out that Kate had had a great time but hadn’t been careful. Her twin had been trying to let loose, do things she’d never normally do, like pick up a handsome cowboy in the bar she was working at part-time as a waitress—and take him home. Kate hadn’t gotten his last name, likely because he hadn’t offered it.
Lila had gotten a panicked call from her sister early the next morning because when she’d picked up her shirt off the floor where he’d tossed it, there was a wrapped condom packet under it. Apparently, when things had started heating up, the cowboy had taken a condom from his wallet and placed it beside the pillow. But between being very tipsy and very attracted to each other, the condom, likely knocked off the bed in the heat of passion, had been clearly forgotten.
If her sister hadn’t seen the gold-foil-wrapped packet when she’d picked up her shirt, she would have thought they’d used a condom. Kate had figured the cowboy had thought so too. At least Kate had wanted to believe that, she’d told Lila later. Maybe he had noticed the wrapped condom there on the floor. Maybe that had been the reason he’d left in the middle of the night—no note, no number. Kate hadn’t been sure.
All he’d left was the pin.
Six weeks after, her period, normally like clockwork, was late. Kate had stood with her nervous twin in the tiny bathroom of the studio apartment she rented above the Bear Ridge Bakery, Kate’s eyes closed as the two-minute mark passed. You look, she’d said to Lila.
Lila had peered at the white stick of the home pregnancy test that was resting on the bathroom counter. The bright orange X was unmistakable.
I don’t even know his last name, Kate had said, tears in her eyes. I just have this, she’d added, pulling the little pin of the bronze horse from her wallet. That’s all I have of my baby’s father. That’s all the baby will have of him.
After a bracing hug and assuring her twin that everything would be all right, Lila had said, The pin is something, though. And everything else aside, you told me your night with him was magical, that if you never did see him again, you’d remember it very fondly. That’s something too.
Kate had never seen her cowboy again. Her nerves and fears about being a single mother had given way to excitement as the months had gone by. Their mother and grandmother had been so supportive, Lila there every step of the way for her sister, sticky-noting what to expect in the pregnancy book, attending Lamaze classes, being Kate’s birth partner and watching her dear nephew come into the world, squawking with every bit of his eight pounds, three ounces.
Kate had loved her baby boy so, so much. She’d attached the pin to his fleece bunting and had said: That’s your Daddy’s. And now you’ll always have a piece of him. She’d never mentioned Jesse No-Last-Name or their one-night stand again. But Lila knew that pin gave her a measure of peace about the whole thing.
And then a rain-slicked road and a dark curve, and Kate was gone. Wyatt just one month old.
“I’m sorry about the way I just left,” the man—Jesse—said, breaking into Lila’s thoughts and the memory. “I’d just lost—” He seemed to catch himself offering up personal information and stopped talking, dropping back a little.
You just lost what? she wondered. A bet? All your money gambling? Or maybe someone close to him. She stared at him, oddly curious. Maybe not so oddly; her nephew, who she was raising now and had for the past two months, was half him.
Lila knew all about loss. Her grief over her sister’s death was still so raw—as though she’d gotten the news of the accident this morning. A hole in her heart that would never be filled. There were moments when she was so aware of how much she loved her baby nephew that the hole’s edges felt less ragged. She was so blessed to have Wyatt. She knew it was the same for her parents and grandmother.
Lila’s hands went protectively around the front of the carrier that secured the precious boy to her. “I’m not Kate,” she said again, gently this time. “I’m her identical twin sister. My name is Lila.”
His blue eyes narrowed as he peered at her. Closely.
And because this man was the last person on earth, the last person in Bear Ridge, anyway, not to know that her sister had died, for a second it was as if Kate was still alive. Still here, running errands on an ordinary Friday afternoon. Her twin was in the feed store, buying some last-minute goat treats before she and Lila would head back to the Double Sisters Farm. Lila wasn’t guardian of her nephew; she was just doting Aunt Lila, who bought too many gifts for Wyatt, from cute teething rattles to fun onesies that said Wyoming’s Best Nephew to a tiny chair in the shape of a panda. She had a stockpile of Christmas gifts ready for wrapping.
As quickly as the fantasy had taken over her heart and lifted it, sadness descended. Her twin wasn’t in the feed store. Or at the farm. Kate wasn’t in Wyatt’s nursery, restocking diapers in the slate blue dresser.
And Lila wasn’t just Aunt Lila anymore. She was Wyatt’s legal guardian.
Before Jesse could say anything, Lila added, “Kate died in a car accident two months ago. Wyatt was just four weeks old.”
His eyes widened and then briefly closed. “I’m very sorry. Damn,” he added after a few seconds. He gazed down at the baby. “The pin...” he began but then seemed at a loss for words.
“I know who you are. My sister and I were very close. She texted me the night she met you when you two had moved to a table and you went up to the bar to get another round and order the nachos supreme, I think it was.”
“Yes, the nachos supreme,” he said, as if lost in thought himself.
“Kate told me all about your night the next morning,” Lila said. “About waking up to the unopened condom on the floor and the pin on the bedside table.”
He looked confused. “Unopened?”
“Well, apparently, you set out a condom but both of you were too tipsy to realize you hadn’t actually used it.”
He closed his eyes again, then sucked in another breath and looked at her. “I have a baby,” Jesse said with something in his voice she couldn’t quite name.
“Yes. Of course, you’ll need to take a DNA test. So we know for sure. But I’m hardly nervous you’ll take off with him.”
A man who didn’t offer his last name in the six to seven hours he’d spent with Kate, who wasn’t interested in swapping the most basic info about each other, like last names or where they lived, who’d sneaked out of Kate’s apartment in the middle of the night with no note, inexplicably leaving behind a pin of a horse, wasn’t going to demand to raise his motherless three-month-old baby.
In fact, she expected him to hightail it out of town in about two seconds now that she’d confirmed he was the father—as far as she knew, anyway.
“I suppose I deserve that,” he said. “I left at two a.m. No idea she was pregnant. No idea she’d had my baby. No idea she...died.” He shook his head.
Lila was absolutely fine that he was beating himself up. Keep at it, Cowboy. “She told me you’d said two minutes into meeting her: ‘No last names, no stories, okay?’ I suppose that’s who you are.”
He had the decency to wince. “I deserve that too. But it’s not all I am,” he added, putting the Stetson back on his head. “The baby looks just like me. He’s wearing my pin. I’ll take the paternity test, but I can see he’s mine. And I’ll take responsibility.”
A chill ran up her spine. “Meaning? You’re not going to take off with him, are you?” She stared at him, trying not to bite down on her lip too hard.
“Of course not,” he said. “You’ve raised him since...” He trailed off again.
She nodded. “Wyatt. His name is Wyatt. And yes. I’ve raised him since we lost Kate. The past two months. With a lot of help from my parents and grandmother.”
“Well, you’re his family as much as I am then. Scratch that—you’re his family and I’m just half his DNA right now. And I don’t know the first thing about babies. Or being a father.” He looked from Wyatt to Lila. “I mean, I’ll learn. I’ll work overtime at it.”
“This is all a relief to hear,” Lila said. She’d long harbored ill-will against the cowboy who up and left her sister in the middle of the night—and unknowingly pregnant. But here he was, looking and seeming sincere. Wanting to take responsibility.
“Can I hold him?” Jesse asked.
The chill was back, this time racing up her spine and along the nape of her neck. Once he held Wyatt, his baby son who he hadn’t known existed until five minutes ago, Jesse would surely feel a powerful connection. And maybe he would take Wyatt away. Maybe Jesse had a big, loving family of his own who’d teach him the ropes of fatherhood. Father would trump guardian-aunt in a court of law.
“Sure you can hold him,” she said warily. “But you should take a paternity test before you start handing out cigars.”
Surprise lit his blue eyes. “Cigars? I’m hardly going to do that since anyone who knows me would be thinking: ‘You’re someone’s father?’ I’m not exactly father material.”
“That was before you knew you had a child, though. You said you’d take responsibility—that makes you father material.”
He tilted his head as if considering that. “No, it means I try to live by the Code of the West. I will take responsibility. But my role model in the fatherhood department wasn’t exactly traditional. I don’t know the first thing about what fathers are supposed to do.” He let out a hard sigh. “I should shut up. I’m just trying to assure you that I’m not going to run off with your nephew. That you can count on.”
She stared at him for a second, air going back into her lungs, her shoulders relaxing.
Wyatt let out a fussy cry, and they both turned their attention to the baby.
Lila carefully lifted him from the carrier, her sweet nephew instantly quieting, enjoying the change of position and his aunt’s arms.
Now she was about to hand him over to a man he’d never met.
His father. She was both very happy for Wyatt on that count and worried for herself. Things were going to change. She had no idea how, exactly, but the routine she’d tried to settle into, helped along because Wyatt was an easy baby, was about to blow up. She wasn’t the only parent now. And Jesse held the power here. He’d have the rights. As Wyatt’s father—once that paternity test proved it—Jesse would be able to supersede her.
The chill was back.
No wonder she was having trouble actually handing over her nephew. Except now the cowboy was awkwardly extending his arms to take him.
She inwardly sighed and carefully transferred Wyatt to him, her nerves now completely shot. “Just keep one arm underneath him and the other around him and hold him close to your body. It’s more instinctive than you think to hold a baby.”
She could see Jesse sucking in a breath.
“Okay,” he said and cradled his son against his chest, the black leather jacket.
The cowboy went quiet, his expression so unexpectedly full of reverence and wonder that Lila’s breath caught in her throat. “This is my son,” he whispered as if testing the words on himself.
Wyatt let out another fussy wail—bad timing as Jesse’s expression changed to worry and fear.
“Am I holding him wrong?” he asked.
“No. You’re doing just fine. But it’s a bit past his nap time and he’s tired and ready for his crib.”
“Ah,” he said, giving Wyatt a little sway, which the baby seemed to like.
“During nap time, I need to tend to the goats and get some work done on the farm,” she said, “but we can talk then.”
“I am a cowboy,” he said. “I can help at the farm. And yes, we definitely need to talk.”
Huh. She did need help. Even if just with unloading the bag of feed into the barn.
“What’s your last name, anyway?” she asked. “Wyatt’s last name. He’s Wyatt Mack now.”
“Dawson,” he said. “My name is Jesse Dawson.”
“You’re a Dawson? Related to the hundred or so in town?”
He nodded. “They’re cousins.”
Good. She knew plenty of Dawsons. Including three who were on the police force, just in case this drifter cowboy turned out to be less sincere than he seemed. She had no idea what she meant by any of that, but it was a comfort nonetheless.
A bark from her dog, Billy, had her moving over to the driver’s side window, aware of Jesse following. She reached through the half-open window to give the pooch’s furry head a pat.
“This is Billy,” she said. “He’s a Border collie mix. I found him as a stray puppy about a year ago. He loves being a farm dog now.”
“Nice to meet you, Billy,” he said to the dog, who always looked like he was smiling. “What did he used to be?”
“An apartment dog.” She’d only had the farm a couple of months, but her old apartment in town, her job as a vet tech for a large animal veterinarian’s office, felt like a lifetime ago. “Follow me to my farm. It’s just ten minutes from here. You can settle Wyatt into his seat if you want,” she added, gesturing at the rear-facing seat in the back of her SUV. She opened the door for him.
He tilted his head and looked at Wyatt in his arms. “I don’t want to let him go even for ten minutes.”
Huh. She didn’t know whether to be happy about that for Wyatt’s sake—or nervous like she felt. She only knew she’d been right that everything was about to change.
