Page 9 of Deck the Halls with Cowboys
I knew that.
I knew everything.
“Abbie and I haven’t said a word to anyone,” I assured him. He looked back to the herd and I leaned over, putting my hand on his shoulder. “Congratulations, though. Abbie practically leaped into the air when Pop told her the news.”
His chest rose and fell a few times before he spoke again. “I don’t want to be like my father.”
“You won’t be.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because you’re stronger than he ever was,” I said firmly.
He shot me an annoyed look. “You just called me a coward two minutes ago, Beau.”
“Only called you that to get you riled up so you could tear down this wall in front of you.”
“When did you become a therapist?”
I chuckled. “Mags must be rubbing off on me, I guess.”
Mason looked down to his reins, fumbling them between his gloved hands. “How am I supposed to teach Denver how to love Christmas when I only loved it to piss off our father as an act of rebellion?”
“No one can tell you how to love anything, Mase.”
As the rest of the cowboys hollered across the snow-covered field for us, Mason’s eyes met mine. The rage in them had diminished.
“You have to let love in,” I said. “Both of you. Not only for yourselves, but for the sake of your son, your niece, and your nephew.”
“Christmas is just a holiday, Beau.”
A small smile found my lips. “Yeah, I used to believe that too.”
Chapter Four
Mags
I glared at Lawson’s back as he walked out of the barn, disappearing into the heavy snowfall. My fingers itched to pull out my gun and shoot him in the ass.
It was only midday, but the weather had disrupted the workday, and according to Beau and Mase, it pushed up our holiday plans. Plans I wanted no part of, and they knew that. I liked my alone time during the holidays, and this year, I was looking forward to being alone with Diana. We had over a decade of catching up to do, and we weren’t wasting a single second.
The wooden ceiling of the horse stall creaked, meaning that Jigs and Denver were still in the loft. Which meant I had to linger around a bit longer to get a moment alone with my friend. I returned to brushing Midnight, and not even five minutes later, myphone vibrated in my pocket.
Firefly.
“How are you feeling?” I answered. “How’s the baby?”
My ear was filled with the sweet sound of Diana’s soft laughter then. “Mags, is that how you’re going to answer the phone my entire pregnancy?”
“Yes.”
More laughter.
Christ. I should’ve never left our bed this morning.
“The baby and I are fine, handsome,” she murmured.
“Any more nausea?” I pressed. She was nearly twelve weeks, and she could hardly keep down her normal breakfast. It worried me probably more than it should, but nothing could happen to her. Or our child.
