Page 1 of Her Cowboy Santa
Chapter 1
Nate
“Give it a try now,” I tell Ledger Kringle, heir to the Kringle Christmas Tree Ranch here in Courage County, North Carolina. It’s the kind of place that crowds come during November and December to get a homegrown Christmas tree. The whole Kringle family goes all out for the holiday season.
He cranks the tractor, but nothing happens. It’s this little tractor decorated to look like a train engine that transports guests around the ranch. The kids love the Christmas train tour, their eyes growing big and excited when they see it.
I study underneath the hood again. I’m usually good at fixing things, especially things that break down. But I’ve never had any experience working with this particular model, so it’s taking me longer than usual to figure out what the problem is.
The wind blows, howling and cold, promising snow later this evening. If we can’t get this fixed soon, Ledger and his brothers won’t be able to do their usual tours.
Before I can move onto the next possible solution, Peyton bustles into the cold barn. She’s Ledger’s wife and one heck of a businesswoman. She’s taken Liquid Courage, our local bar, and turned it into one of the best restaurants in the state.
“I made cookies,” Peyton calls, all buttoned up in her coat that’s brown with white trim, almost as if she’s baked so many gingerbread people that she’s in danger of becoming one herself.
Ledger clambers down from the tractor in less time than it takes a heart to beat. He accepts one of the cookies from his wife and bites into it, giving her a delighted smile.
“Still warm from the oven.” She passes him a thermos of coffee.
I duck my head and look back at the tractor, unable to take the sweetness and the innocence of the moment. I almost had that once. Three years ago, I could have sworn that by this point I’d be married with a couple of rugrats of my own running around underneath my feet.
But that never happened. I push back the familiar pain and despair, the reminder that I am alone in the world.
My phone rings, and I quickly check the screen. It’s Mary from the Naughty List Ranch in Montana. I stayed at that ranch years ago when I was a young boy on the wrong path.
Mary and Christopher Maas saved my life, and I don’t know if they know it. I silence the call, figuring I’ll return hers later. Right now, I have a tractor to fix, so I can get away and lick my wounds in peace.
“Give it another try,” I tell Ledger, who is happily kissing his wife. He pulls away from her reluctantly. The tractor rumbles to life. This old workhorse has returned.
Peyton gives me a soft smile. “You saved Christmas.”
“No big deal,” I tell her, wiping my grease-covered hands on a rag.
“You should stay for dinner,” she says enthusiastically. I shake my head before Ledger can second the invitation.
“Well, at least take some gingerbread men with you,” she says, pushing a plate of the warm cookies toward me.
Rudolph, my giant chocolate Labrador Retriever, tries to sniff the plate. I hold it out of his reach, calling his name in a soft warning. He makes a whimper but takes a seat, licking his lips as he does.
I say my thanks to Peyton, wave away Ledger’s gratitude, and start on the two-mile walk back to my farm. Rudy keeps pace beside me, quiet and unassuming.
Flurries have just started swirling in the late afternoon air as my phone dings with the reminder of a missed call.
I call Mary back even though I already know what she’s going to say. She’s calling to invite me to the annual Christmas Eve bonfire on the Naughty List Ranch in Silver Bell Hollow. I used to love it. I went every other year because I loved reconnecting with my brothers. But since that Christmas three years ago, I haven’t been able to return.
Mary answers on the first ring. Hearing her voice floods me with memories of Christmases past. She greets me with her usual chipper tone. “How are you doing?”
I tell her I’m doing fine, ignoring the rough edge to my voice.
The little click she makes with her tongue against her teeth lets me know that she heard the rough edge too. She knows how tough things have been.
“Everything’s almost in order for the bonfire,” she tells me. Of course, she has everything organized and running like a top. If the media ever reported that Mary and Christopher Maas were secretly the couple in red with the magical workshop, I’d be the first to believe it.
“That’s good.” I brace myself for the question that’s coming next. She doesn’t mean for it to hurt. She doesn’t even fully understand what happened that year. Still, I’m sure enough of it got back to her.
Right on cue, Mary asks, “Should I set out a plate for you?”
I sigh. “No, I won’t be there.”
