Page 10 of Her Grumpy Cowboy
“I heard that,” I say, nodding toward the barn.“She’s going to sit her butt in a chair whileIhang the star like it should’ve been done yesterday.”
“Yesterday,” Angel says, raising an eyebrow, “was me trying to be helpful.”
“Yesterday was you climbing a rickety ladder alone like someone who’s never heard of gravity.”
“She’s just like her aunt,” Mary cuts in fondly.“Merry used to climb that same ladder barefoot, holding a wreath and a coffee at the same time.I swear you two were born with the same reckless gene.”
Angel smiles, a little wistfully.“Maybe.”
I gesture toward the barn.“Let’s go.”
Angel arches an eyebrow.“Do I get a clipboard?Maybe a whistle?”
I grunt.“You get to sit in a folding chair with a blanket and make fun of me.It’s a very important job.”
I keep my hand on her elbow as we cross the yard.She doesn’t object, doesn’t try to shake me off.Once she’s settled into the folding chair near the barn, I set the ladder in the snow, make sure it’s steady, and climb with the star under my arm.
It’s a quick job if you’ve done it enough times—slower when Angel is watching.
I secure the bracket, check the topper, and climb back down with cold fingers and the satisfaction of a job well done.
Angel claps once, loud and happy.“Looks perfect up there.”
Mary hums from behind us.“Feels like a lot of things are where they’re supposed to be this year.”
Then she yells toward the barn, “Christopher, for heaven’s sake, get off that crate before you break your hip,” and wanders off.
Angel stands and hobbles to the fence, leaning on the post wrapped in a blanket.She looks up at the tree for a long minute, cheeks red from the cold.“You’re good at making things safe.”
“I try,” I say gruffly.
“You haven’t been back here in a long time?”
I shake my head.“No.”
She doesn’t press.She waits patiently, like she’s giving me space to decide if I want to say more.
And for some reason, I do.
“My folks didn’t exactly win any parenting awards.They were strung out most of the time.Cared more about their next high than whether I ate.When I was twelve, they got caught running drugs across state lines.Got locked up.I ended up with child services for a while.”
Angel’s brown eyes soften, as if she’s reading the pain between my words.If anyone knows what it’s like to be cast into the system, it’s her.
“Mary and Christopher took me in when they heard about my parents.Fed me, put me to work.Gave me tools.Showed me how to build something instead of breaking everything.I joined the Navy after that.Went a long way from home.Came back with more noise than sense.Can’t stand crowds.Still check every exit when I walk into a room.Don’t sleep much.Some nights I still wake up reaching for gear I don’t wear anymore.”
I shove my hands deeper into my pockets, bombarded by memories.“I left here without saying goodbye.Without saying thank you.And I haven’t been back since the Navy.But I knew that Mary and Christopher still lit the bonfire every Christmas Eve, and I knew it was time to put a few things right.Thought I owed them that much.A visit.A thank you, even if it’s late.”
Angel is quiet for a moment.She doesn’t look away.She doesn’t offer empty platitudes or pity.Then she says, “Come by the shop later?I’ve got a sign that rattles and a front door that sticks when it gets cold.I keep worrying someone’s going to yank their shoulder out trying to get it open.”
Her words put an ache under my ribs I haven’t felt in a long time—the ache that wants to make a place better than I found it and then stay to enjoy the quiet that comes after.The part where she’s there at the end of the day to say,you did good.
It’s a life I didn’t think I’d ever have.Not after years in combat zones.Not after the things I saw.And the things I did.
I came back thinking I’d used up all my chances at soft things.That peace was something other people got.And I was okay with that.Had to be.
But now Angel is looking at me like I’m not just a guy who knows how to fix doors and hang stars.
She’s looking at me in a way that makes me want to stay.
