Brenda Minton - The Cowboy's Christmas Courtship

The animal tossed its head and ran around the small enclosure. Layla stood on the outside of the corral, her arms rested on the top rail. The horse changed to a slow, gaited trot that was pretty showy.

Eventually Gage shook his head and went back to work, pounding the next post deeper into the ground. Five more to go. He was down to the second from the last post when Layla walked up to him, her arms crossed and that knit cap making her gray eyes look huge.

“What in the world are you doing?”

He finished the last post, pounding once, twice, three times. He tried to push it, but it was in tight. “Fixing your fence before the cattle realize they can walk right through.”

“I can fix my own fences.” She looked like a woman about to stomp her foot.

“I know you can. I’m being helpful.”

“No, you’re feeling guilty. And angry. And I don’t know what else. But I am not your problem. You are your problem. Stop trying to fix your life by fixing mine.”

He stepped back, stung by her words. She might have a point. “Whatever.”

Yeah, that didn’t sound much like a teenage girl. He let it go. He had fence to fix. He pulled the tools out of his jacket pocket and grabbed the fence.

“Stop.”

He looked up from the wire he was holding and pushed his hat back so he could get a better look at her. He yanked off his sunglasses and shoved them in his pocket. “Why?”

“Because I’ve got to get ready for church, and if Brandon sees you out here, he isn’t going to want to go.”

“He’ll go.”

“Because you’ll make him?” She nearly smiled. The edge of her mouth pulled up, and her eyes sparkled just briefly. It took him by surprise, that almost smile.

He shook off the strange urge to hug her and went back to work, ignoring her as she continued to yammer at him, telling him why he was about as low on the food chain as a guy could get.

Finally she did something that sounded a lot like a growl and then she punched him on the arm. He swallowed down a laugh and turned to look at her. She was madder than spit.

“Are you about finished abusing me?”

She yanked off her knit cap and shoved it into her pocket, setting her light brown hair free to drift across her face, set in motion by a light breeze. “No, I’m not done. If you don’t get off my property, I’m calling the police.”

“You’re going to turn me in for fixing your fence?”

“Yes.” She bit down on her bottom lip and the angry look in her eyes melted. “You make me so mad.”

“Because I’m cute and hard to hate.”

“Something like that.” Her mouth opened like a landed trout. “I didn’t mean the cute part.”

“Of course you did.”

“No, I didn’t. You think you’re cute. I don’t.”

“I could use a cup of coffee. And where did you get that horse?”

“I don’t have coffee. And the horse is mine.”

“I know he’s yours.”

“My old stallion died a few years ago. The filly is the last foal I got from him. Her mother was a pretty Arab that I bought at an auction.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously. I had to sell the mare, but I kept the foal. She’s three now.”

They were walking toward the house at this point. Gage didn’t know exactly how it happened. Maybe she started to walk away and he followed. Or maybe they both started walking as they talked about the mare. It didn’t really matter; it just meant he was losing it. No big deal.

As they got closer to the house, he glanced toward the corral and the mare that now stood at the opposite side of the enclosure. He whistled and the horse turned, her ears twitching at the sound. She trotted across the enclosure, her legs coming high off the ground in the prettiest dance he’d ever seen. Her neck was arched and her black tail flagged behind her.

“Nice, isn’t she?” Layla looked at the horse with obvious pride.

“What are you going to do with her?”

“I had planned to train her for Western pleasure, but then I realized she was a barrel racer.” She shrugged slim shoulders beneath the oversize canvas coat. “I don’t know...I might sell her.”

“Why would you do that?”

She didn’t look at him. He guessed if she did, he’d see tears in her eyes. He didn’t know what he’d do if faced with those tears.

* * *

Layla hadn’t meant to tell him that she planned on selling Pretty Girl. But the words had slipped out, her emotions were strung tight and she had confided in the last person on earth she should have been confiding in.

“Layla?”

She shrugged.

“I don’t have the money to haul her around the country or the time to train her. She really deserves to be a national champion.” She stumbled over all of the reasons she’d been telling herself. When she looked up, he was looking at the mare and not at her. She breathed a sigh of relief. She didn’t need to see sympathy in his eyes.

“I’ll buy her.”

“No.” She practically shouted the word and then felt silly.

This time he looked at her. “Really?”

“No, not really. I don’t know. Maybe I won’t have to get rid of her. Vera said I could work nights waiting tables at The Mad Cow.”

The owner of the local diner had always been good to Layla. When the job opened, Layla had jumped on it. Yes, it added one more thing to her to-do list, but it would bring in a little extra money at Christmastime.

“When are you going to start working for Vera?”

She walked up to the corral and reached up to pet Pretty Girl’s velvety nose. The mare nuzzled against her palm, her breath warm, her lips twitching and soft. The mare was her dream horse. But dreams changed.

A hand, strong and firm rested on Layla’s back. She wanted to shift away from the touch, but she couldn’t. Not even when the hand rested on her shoulder, his strong arm encircling her.

“Don’t get rid of her, Layla.”

Why did his voice have to be so soft, so sincere?

Buck up, Layla. She gave herself the stern lecture and moved from his embrace. “I need to get ready for church.”

“I’m going to finish that fence.” He reached for her arm and she stopped. “Layla, don’t give up.”

“I won’t.” She smiled and backed away from him. “And thank you, for the fence, for talking. I’ll see you later.”

He waved and then headed back to the fence he’d been working on. She watched him go before she hurried across the yard to the house to finish getting ready. As she headed to her room she yelled at Brandon to get up. He wasn’t skipping church. She heard him mutter that he was awake.

She’d give him ten minutes.

Now she had to figure out what she would wear to church. She opened her closet and rummaged through the clothes. A stack of notebooks on the bottom of the closet caught her attention. She hadn’t looked at them in years. She didn’t plan on looking at them now. Who needed voices from the past to remind them how it felt to have a broken heart?

That girl of sixteen was long gone. She had work-callused hands, a heart that didn’t have time for romance and bills to be paid at the first of the month.

At a quarter to ten she walked through the house, carrying the boots she would wear with her denim skirt and searching for her Bible and her brother. She found her Bible on the table next to the chair she’d fallen asleep in two nights ago. She didn’t find Brandon.

She slipped her feet into her boots and grabbed a jacket off the hook next to the door. She knew where she’d find her brother. And she was right. He was down at the fence with Gage.

After tossing her purse and Bible in the truck, she walked down to where the two were working away, laughing and talking like old friends. She watched as Brandon pulled the wire tight and Gage clipped it to the metal post.