All I Want for Christmas Is a Cowboy Read online

  All I Want for Christmas Is a Cowboy

  EMMA CANE,

  JENNIFER RYAN,

  KATIE LANE

  Contents

  The Christmas Cabin by Emma Cane

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also by Emma Cane

  Can’t Wait by Jennifer Ryan

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  About the Author

  Also by Jennifer Ryan

  Baby It’s Cold Outside by Katie Lane

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  About the Author

  Also by Katie Lane

  An Excerpt from Once Upon a Highland Summer by Lecia Cornwall

  An Excerpt from Hard Target by Kay Thomas

  An Excerpt from The Wedding Date by Cara Connelly

  An Excerpt from Torn by Monica Murphy

  An Excerpt from The Cupcake Diaries: Spoonful of Christmas by Darlene Panzera

  An Excerpt from Rodeo Queen by T. J. Kline

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  THE CHRISTMAS CABIN

  Emma Cane

  Dedication

  To the Central New York Romance Writers, great writers, great friends—and definitely great at brainstorming. Thanks for all your help with this novella!

  Prologue

  IT WAS ONLY a few days to Christmas, and Sandy Thalberg sat in her dark living room and stared at the Christmas tree. It gave her such a feeling of peace and joy, of family. All the decorations were homemade or gifts—lots of horses and cows, of course, because she lived on the Silver Creek Ranch, after all, but she also had the little gift tags each of her kids had scrawled their names on in preschool and elementary school, when they’d given her a school-made gift at Christmastime. She loved the little photos of them glued onto construction paper wreaths, a little moment in time captured forever. She had pinecone decorations she’d made with her own mom, when they sprayed them with gold paint and applied glitter.

  She could hear her family in the kitchen. It would be a joyous Christmas, but they usually were, because Sandy always made sure that whatever drama was going on in life, nothing was to disturb the celebration of the holiday. She’d practiced that well during her first Christmas with her husband, Doug. She’d been thinking a lot about that time ever since Jessica Fitzjames from the Valentine Gazette had called to ask if she could write a story on the historic old cabin in the woods.

  “Hey, Mom!” Nate leaned through the kitchen doorway. “Jessica just got here.”

  “Bring her on in,” Sandy said, rising slowly from her chair using her cane.

  Jessica must have taken off her coat and boots in the mudroom, because she walked into the living room wearing socks beneath her tights and flowing blouse. She was a pretty girl in her mid-twenties, with a friendly smile and long, wavy blond hair damp with melting snowflakes. She was carrying a tablet computer, rather than the notebook and pen Sandy had thought reporters still used.

  The rest of the family trooped in next: her daughter Brooke and her boyfriend Adam carrying trays of appetizers; Nate’s bride, Emily, bearing pastries from her bakery, Sugar and Spice; her boys Nate and Josh carrying as many drinks as they could; the widows of the Widows’ Boardinghouse dressed in their outrageous Christmas sweaters; and lastly, Sandy’s husband, Doug, whose brown hair was fading slowly to gray along with his mustache, but who was still the handsomest cowboy she’d ever seen. His gray eyes practically twinkled at her, like they shared a private joke that had spanned a lifetime.

  Jessica approached and held out her hand. “Mrs. Thalberg, thanks so much for agreeing to see me. I’m sorry it’s so close to the holiday, but once I heard about the Christmas Eve story you share with your family every year and saw a picture of that old cabin all snug in the snow, I knew I wanted to write about it. It’s all so . . . Christmasy, you know?”

  “I know,” Sandy said, and exchanged an amused glance with her husband.

  “I was five, and I still remember it,” Nate said, handing a beer to his wife, Emily, and taking a sip of his own.

  He smiled at Sandy, his black hair tousled and boyish, his green eyes long since reminding her just of him, not his father, her ex-husband, who’d left them so long ago.

  Brooke rolled her eyes, her long brown hair still in a braid after working all day on the ranch. “Well, I hope you remember it—we talk about it every year.”

  “I’d love to hear the story, if you don’t mind sharing,” Jessica said with enthusiasm.

  Sandy looked around at the eager faces, saw the warmth and love in her mother-in-law Rosemary’s expression, then met her husband’s eyes once again.

  “We can tell you. It’s a good story,” Doug said.

  She gave his waist a squeeze. “A romantic story.”

  Their youngest son, Josh, groaned, and Brooke gave his arm a playful push before settling onto the couch, her boyfriend Adam at her side.

  When everyone else found places all around the stone hearth, where pine logs crackled and embers glowed beneath a row of stockings, Sandy took her husband’s hand and smiled at him.

  “Guess I can start. It all began two days before Christmas . . .”

  Chapter One

  “THAT’S THE PERFECT Christmas tree!”

  Sandy winced and glanced at her son, Nate, his dimples framing his happy smile, five years old and convinced the best tree had to be the biggest. They stood in foot-deep snow, in the woods at the base of the Elk Mountains. The falling snow that had looked so pretty when they’d arrived was now coming down a little steadier. But she could still see their boot tracks—just not so well, she realized uneasily.

  “Nate, honey, that tree won’t fit in our apartment.”

  “We can move back to our old house,” he said eagerly.

  But they couldn’t move back—they hadn’t been able to afford it since Nate’s dad left them last year. Now they lived in a small apartment over her sister Marilyn’s garage while Sandy went to college.

  “Someone else lives there now, honey. They have their own Christmas tree. So let’s go find a better one. Remember, I have to be able to cut it—and drag it!”

  “I’ll help,” he said, so good-natured and understanding.

  After everything he’d been through, it still amazed her that he hadn’t become a sullen, angry little boy. She wished she could tousle his adorable dark hair, but he was all snug in a hat and one-piece snowsuit.

  She looked down at the handsaw she was holding, because her fingers were a little numb and she wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or her multiple sclerosis symptoms. Numbness and tingling were how she’d first known something was wrong last year. Bruce hadn’t believed her at first, had sworn she pinched a nerve or something. Even the doctors took a while to diagnose it.

  Gripping the saw tighter, she followed Nate, who romped through the deepening snow with delight. When he fell headfirst into a drift, he turned his wet, laughing face u
p at her, eyelashes sparkling with snow, and her heart just swelled with love for him.

  Soon they found a tree that wasn’t much taller than she was, and just the perfect shape. Using their hands, they dug away the snow from around its base so she could lie on the ground beneath the branches to cut the trunk. Nate called encouragement, even as she thanked God she still had her old ski pants and jacket to protect against the cold.

  Maybe the saw wasn’t quite as sharp as it could have been. Sandy felt like she was sawing forever, occasionally stopping to stretch her tired hands. After a while, Nate sat down cross-legged, watching for any sign the tree was about to go. When she was within a couple inches, arms aching, she leaned out from beneath the tree.

  “Nate, stay behind me, honey. I don’t want our perfect Christmas tree to fall over on you.”

  He scampered behind her, eyes and mouth wide open with wonder as he looked up. The toppling of the tree started out slow, but it sped up and landed with a soft “woomph” in the snow.

  “Yay!” Nate cried, jumping to his feet and practically dancing around the Christmas tree.

  Laughing herself, Sandy joined hands with her son and did an awkward shuffle around the tree in celebration. But the snow was making her nervous, so she wasted no time in picking up the saw with one hand, and the trunk of the tree with the other.

  “I’ll carry the saw, Mom!”

  “Uh, no, honey, it’s pretty sharp. I’ll be okay. You find our trail.”

  She hadn’t realized how much running around Nate had done looking for the tree. It took her a few minutes of trudging before she was able to find their path to retrace. After about fifteen minutes, she realized she’d gone off track following a deer path or something, and had to backtrack to where she’d branched off. The snow was coming down harder now, and even Nate’s enthusiasm began to subside.

  “How long will it take us to get back to the truck, Mom?”

  She’d borrowed her brother-in-law’s pickup for the tree.

  “I’m not sure, Nate. We did a lot of stopping and starting as we examined the trees.”

  “I’m cold.”

  Me, too. A chill had settled in from lying in the snow. Her wet ponytail kept dipping under the jacket collar and dampening her turtleneck. Dragging the tree behind her, one-handed, was a growing strain on her shoulder.

  It shouldn’t be this long to the truck.

  She felt the first shiver of fear. Nate began to lag behind, and she slowed her pace for him.

  “Just think how this will look in the corner of the living room,” she said, too brightly, her breath huffing as it formed a mist. “Uncle Tom and Aunt Marilyn offered to help us put it up.”

  He nodded, but his little head was bent as if to watch his feet drag one at a time through snow that was occasionally up to his hips, where the wind had swept it into drifts.

  Finally, he just came to a stop, and his voice was soft and plaintive as he said, “Mom?”

  She let the tree fall, and hugged him hard against her body. “I’m sorry, Nate, honey. I’m so sorry.”

  She was lost; somehow she had to face the fact and deal with it. She felt like the world’s worst, stupidest mother, taking her son alone into the woods to cut down a Christmas tree.

  She’d just wanted him to have the best Christmas ever, since the last one had been fresh with sorrow over his dad’s abandonment. They’d decorated their small apartment already, put fake candles in the window; they’d even found two red plastic bells hung side by side that when plugged in, synchronized their blinking to mimic a bell swaying back and forth.

  But none of that mattered now. If she didn’t do something soon, they could die.

  Fear became a lump of paralyzing terror in her stomach, and she clutched Nate to her, hard.

  Please, God, please. My son has had to deal with so much. Please don’t let him die like this.

  And then she heard the whinny of a horse.

  Sandy inhaled sharply even as Nate lifted his head.

  “Mom? Did you hear that?”

  She could barely nod, so complete was her overwhelming feeling of relief. Her eyes stung, her breath came harshly as she fought back tears. “I heard, Nate,” she finally whispered, then cleared her throat and called out, “Hello!”

  Her voice was muffled in the storm, so she tried again, louder this time, trying not to sound terrified and desperate.

  They saw the horse’s head first, low against the snowstorm as it plodded forward. Like coming though a curtain, the rest of her rescuer slowly materialized, battered boots and scrawny legs beneath his chaps dusted with snow. He wore a big old sheepskin coat, his head sunk into the wool collar, with a cowboy hat perched atop. When he raised his head to peer at them, snow fell off the brim and down his shoulders like a white waterfall.

  “You don’t need to shout, I heard ya,” he said, his voice quavering with age.

  “And I’m so glad you did,” Sandy said, reaching for Nate’s hand.

  Her little boy leaned tiredly against her hip.

  “Can you point us in the direction of the road?” she asked.

  He shook his head, his eyes bright in a maze of wrinkles. “You’ve gone too far in, girl. It’d be dangerous going back.”

  She blinked at him in numb dismay. “Then . . . then do you know a place we can wait until the snow lets up?”

  “Might not let up for days.”

  Sandy swallowed and breathed deeply to remain calm. She couldn’t feel her feet anymore, could only imagine poor little Nate’s. She wished she could still pick him up, but he was big for a five-year-old, and she was exhausted.

  “Do you live nearby?” she asked. “We have to warm up soon or—” She broke off, glancing down at her son.

  “Naw, you couldn’t walk there, and I can’t take ya both on old Gretchen here.”

  While her spirits sank again, she thought dazedly that Gretchen was a strange name for a horse.

  “But there’s a cabin just through that line of trees,” he said, pointing his finger, which was twisted painfully with arthritis.

  Her shoulders lifted; the cold despair began to recede. “Really? A cabin? With people?”

  “Naw, no people, but a good fireplace that’ll keep you warm ’til the storm’s gone. Mind you, don’t go tryin’ to leave too soon. Many’s a fool who was safe, but underestimated a snowstorm.”

  “Thanks, that’s good advice. Are you sure I won’t be trespassing?”

  “You’re on Silver Creek Ranch land now—they’d want to help a lady in distress.”

  Who hadn’t heard of the Silver Creek Ranch, living in Valentine Valley as she did? “Oh, thank you! And I promise I’ll thank them. Where did you say the cabin was?”

  He pointed again. “Keep walkin’ that way. I know you can’t see it yet but there’s a line of trees. The cabin’s right behind, not even a couple hundred yards away. I can’t stay, ’cause I got people who need me. Now go on, before you catch your death.”

  “But—”

  He pointed again, and with a sigh, she turned and started to push her way through the deep snow, holding Nate’s hand.

  “Walk behind me, honey, where I’ve made a path.”

  “But, Mom, the Christmas tree,” he said plaintively.

  She briefly closed her eyes. The tree was the whole reason they’d come, her way to make Nate’s Christmas perfect, even though it really wasn’t.

  “Okay, that nice man said it’s not far. I guess I can drag the tree.”

  She turned back to where she left it, only to see the rump of the horse disappearing into the blowing snow. Damn. Hopefully they wouldn’t lose their way again.

  Those final couple hundred yards seemed as long and exhausting as anything they’d done that day. Nate never complained, but he took to walking behind the tree, where the path was easier. She was forced to look over her shoulder every other step to make sure he was still there. Her face was numb and wet from the snow, a trickle of moisture running steadily down insi
de her clothes. She could only imagine how he must feel.

  But at last they saw the long line of trees, and just behind, the squat shape of a snow-covered log cabin. Though it was only late morning, the blowing snow and the trees combined to make it look shadowy and forlorn.

  “That’s the cabin?” Nate said, sounding dejected for the first time.

  “Oh, just wait until we build a big fire,” she said, fingers crossed behind her back as she prayed there was ample firewood and an easy way to light it. “Now let’s set our tree right up against the cabin.”

  “Can’t we bring it inside?”

  “Silly—of course not. We need to keep it frozen, so it lasts a long time at our apartment, right? Trees like the cold.”

  “Christmas is only two days away—it doesn’t have to last a long time.”

  She wondered if that was his subtle way of reminding her he’d been waiting a “long time” to get a tree. She’d had classes, homework, and her part-time job, not to mention enjoying his kindergarten activities—Christmas had snuck up on her this year.

  As they walked the last few yards, she said, “Nate, I love to look at the lit Christmas tree every night before I go to bed, with the living room lights off. I’ll keep it up long into January, until the needles fall off.”

  He made a “hmph” sound, but even she was starting to run out of energy for talking. At the cabin, she leaned the tree upright, and the snow covering the needles did look beautiful.

  “You picked out a good one, honey.” She touched the top of his wet hat.

  She put her hand on the door latch, held her breath, and pressed down with her thumb. Inside, the latch lifted and the door creaked inward. A cloud of dust rose with the storm’s windy blast, and the room stretched into darkness.

  “Hello?”

  But of course there was no one there. She cautiously stepped in, opening the door wide for light, just to make certain furry creatures hadn’t retreated there ahead of the storm. All she saw were some wooden chairs, a bench, a table, crates and wooden boxes, shelves and cupboards. There were windows, though, so after she guided Nate inside, she went out and climbed a few snowdrifts to unlatch the shutters and open them wide. Once inside the house, she was able to close the door and at least see a bit through the grimy old windowpanes. She looked closer and saw that the glass rippled—these were really old windows.