Page 6 of A Cowboy Home for Christmas
“WHY DID THE Christmastree go to the barber?” Clara reads the beginning of the question from a small joke book my father gave them. Lark reads the end. My niece’s giggle and whisper among themselves as they skip ahead of us.
Fuck, I’ve missed them. Fifty-two days is fifty days too many. I never want to be away from them that long again. But I needed it. I needed the time to sort out the feelings thrashing inside me since my brother died. To figure out what I wanted. Who I wanted. And how to move forward in the delicate situation I’ve found myself. I’m in love with my brother’s widow for fuck’s sake. It doesn’t get more complicated than that.
“To get bangs.” My sister flips the wisps of bangs she’s left out of her winter beanie. The pink pom-pom on top bobbles. It’s 66 degrees Fahrenheit and it has been a warm December, but she insists on wearing a beanie. I swear, she thinks she’s in Canada.
“For a manicure.” My ma wiggles her neatly trimmed plain nails.
“For a pedicure.” Lauren kicks up a boot.
The girls shake their heads. “Nope,” Clara says, and Lark adds, “Uncle Barker?” It’s common for these two to finish each other’s sentences. Twin intuition, or something like that.
I shake my head. “I’m stumped. Why does the Christmas tree go to the barber?”
They don’t catch my pun, which I’m rather proud of. Lauren smiles at me. She catches it.
“It needed to be trimmed!” Lark and Clara buckle down in laughter.
The adults follow suit. Laughter erupts from each of us. Overly loud. We’re all trying to make up for a loss we can’t possibly. But we try anyway. We laugh and smile and be as positive and happy as we can to heal their broken hearts.
“Why ain’t Pawpaw coming?” Clara flips through the joke book.
“He’s keeping an eye on the cookies.” My ma shares a quick look with me.
It’s been three months since my pa’s heart attack. Three months of taking it easy. I’ve never seen anything take my father down the way the news of his son’s death had. And his lack of desire to get back up has broken bits of us, too.
“Hopefully he doesn’t burn them.” Lark pulls one of her sister’s pigtails.
“Hey!” Clara grabs Lark’s braid before she takes off running. Lark grunts and takes off after her.
“Girls, be kind to one other.” Lauren shouts after them. Her tone is calm and encouraging. Unlike the rebel I caught jumping on the bed earlier.
Fuck, I wanted to jump on that bed with them. To laugh with them. Their laughter and smiles had been contagious. It’s been a difficult six months. My brother might’ve been a fucking asshole, but I loved him. I loved him so goddam much my chest constricts every time I think about him. Which is a helluva lot considering we toured together and competed in the rodeo. Then I come home, and every aspect reminds me of him. My family. The ranch. The town. Every damn thing. I needed this getaway as much as everyone else.
“It’s too bad you hadn’t applied kindness to your marriage.” My younger sister has turned into a fireball of anger in our brother’s passing. Spiting off flames of rage. Notably directed at Lauren, and with no good reason.
“Savi.” I wrap my arm around my sister’s shoulder and pull her into a tight bear hug. “You promised.”
“Piss off.” She punches my side. I barley feel it.
I squeeze her tighter. “You promised.”
“Whatever.” She shoves off me. “Dick.” She flips me both middle fingers as she jogs to catch up to her nieces, whom she absolutely adores. She takes both their hands and skips in the middle. She looks like a kid herself, even if she’s in her mid-twenties. But she’s the baby of the family, and she plays the part well.
My ma wraps an arm around Lauren’s shoulders. “She doesn’t mean it, sweetie.” She protects my sister like a big burley mama bear.
“Just because she doesn’t mean it, doesn’t give her a free pass to spout it off.” On the other hand, I’m tired of her hurtful attitude that’s evolved since I’ve been away.
“It’s fine.” Lauren walks on the other side of my ma. “She’s hurting. And it’s not like she’s wrong. Gunnar and I could’ve been kinder to one another.”
“We all have regret, but we don’t shove it down each other’s throat,” I growl.
My regret runs deep, but it’s a different kind of regret. I regret not punching my brother every time I found him shacked up with a bunny buckle. I regret ignoring the guilt I carried, by keeping his affairs a secret. And I regret compensating my guilt by fixing a fucking toilet seat, or a damn doorframe at my brother’s house while he was off screwing who knows who and leaving his wife and kids alone.
But he was my brother. We shared a bond. And I couldn’t control his behaviour, so I fixed a fucking toilet seat.
My deepest regret was watching Lauren pretend his absence and affairs didn’t hurt her. I was a fucking coward, torn between two obligations. Not anymore. I know what I want and not a damn thing is going to stand in my way. Especially not my angry sister. She needs to find an outlet to express whatever’s bottled up inside her. I’ll add that to my to-do list this week.
“Like you said, this week is exactly what we all need.” Lauren picks up her pace. Fuck, it’s hard to concentrate when the denim pants hugs her curvy hips and round ass. “A chance for healin’ and forgiveness. It doesn’t start with growlin’ at each other. Give her a break.” She breaks into a jog to join her daughters and Savi.
