A Christmas Baby For The Cowboy

He’d be gone long before the Christmas season started, of course, but she was already talking about Christmas as if it were tomorrow. He didn’t even want to think of how obnoxiously her cup would runneth over with holiday cheer the closer she got to December 25.

Peace on Earth and goodwill toward men. Bright lights and Christmas carols. Deck the halls and joy to the world.

Stuff and nonsense, that’s all it was.

What was there to be cheerful about? This world and everything in it only caused strife and sorrow.

He was proof of it.

Aaron was proof of it.

Well, it wasn’t his problem. He had enough quandaries of his own to deal with, without accidentally allowing his relationship with Alyssa to become personal in any way. He was always ultra-aware of her whenever she was in the same room with him, but it was better for everyone that he kept his distance from Aaron’s sister.

With his resolve firmly in place, he turned his full attention to the work at hand. When she’d first mentioned building display cases, he’d told Alyssa that he could hammer and saw, but a carpenter, he was not. The whole project was going to be slow going, but he supposed that was making it easier for Pete to capture pictures of him covered in sawdust with a pencil behind his ear.

Working hard on his charity project, for what that was worth.

After Cash posed for the camera with a hammer in his hand, Pete indicated he was taking a break and Cash was able to relax and actually enjoy working with his hands. He gauged the next board out with his tape measure and cut it to size with a circular saw, nodding to acknowledge Alyssa as she approached him.

She’d been busy with a steady stream of customers all morning. A couple of times he’d considered asking her if she’d like him to help out at the register. It had been a few years since he’d worked at Emerson’s, but he thought he remembered how to use the till.

But since she didn’t ask, he didn’t offer. He hadn’t shown himself to be the most stand-up guy in the past few months. She probably didn’t trust him around money.

Not that he could blame her. He wouldn’t trust him around money.

So instead, he did his best to keep himself and Pete out of the way of the flow of shopper traffic. Some of his old friends and neighbors stopped to say hi, which surprised him, especially after the public shunning he’d received at the auction.

Slade and Nick McKenna, ranchers who’d both competed in rodeo with him when they were in high school, stopped by to say hey. Cash had expected to feel uncomfortable, but his friends treated him as they always had, laughing and joshing around.

He supposed he was old news now, which was just as well.

He set aside the saw and picked up his hammer, ready to finish nailing the shelving unit together.

“How are you doing back here?” she asked, examining the wooden case he was currently building. “I’m impressed at how much you’ve been able to get done with Pete constantly in your face snapping your picture. Doesn’t that bother you?”

He shrugged. “I’m used to it.”

“The cabinet looks nice and sturdy.”

“Ha, ha. It ought to be.” He lifted his hammer to strike the next nail. “I’ve been using more nails than is probably strictly necessary. Remember, I’m a cowboy, not a carpenter.”

“It looks good all the same.”

Her words of praise surprised and pleased him, and his fingers slipped, bringing the ball of the hammer straight down on his thumb.

“Ow,” he grumbled before he could stop himself. He held up the offended appendage and shook it out.

Alyssa reached for him. She pulled his hand down and examined his thumb. “I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. I distracted you, didn’t I?”

That ship had already sailed a long time ago. Alyssa was distracting by her mere presence, which was probably why he’d already smacked his thumb more than once today. He might be trying to build an emotional barrier between them, but he wasn’t immune to her pretty face, especially when she smiled.

“Don’t worry about it.” He tried to shrug it off. “It’s not the first time today I’ve slipped up,” he admitted, gritting his teeth to grin at her and realizing it probably looked more like a grimace. He didn’t want to be a baby about it, no matter how much his thumb was throbbing. He was too much of a man to ever admit how much pain he was really in.

“Oh, no. Cash. You should have said something.”

“Nothing to say,” he muttered. “It’s all good.”

It would take more than a few splinters and slamming the hammer into his thumb to keep him from his task. He would take a couple of aspirin when he got home.

His head was throbbing louder than his thumb, anyway. He had so much on his mind that it was no wonder his brain felt as if it were about to explode.

Mollifying Martin and bringing his rodeo skills up to par, for one thing. Another, infinitely more significant reason for his stress was that he couldn’t get a hold of Sharee. She wasn’t answering his calls and now her voice mail box was full.

What were her plans for their baby? He suspected she was avoiding him, so she wouldn’t have to answer that question.

He blew out a frustrated breath. Hitting his thumb was little more than pain transference, if he wanted to look at it that way. And Alyssa was a nice diversion.

He picked off his hat and wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt.

Her lips twitched.

“What?”

“Forgive me.” Despite her best efforts, a giggle escaped her lips. “I know you’re in pain. It’s terrible of me to laugh, but...but you...you...”

She waved her hand toward his forehead, the cutest little snort escaping her lips.

He arched his brows.

She covered her face as another giggle escaped her.

He reached up and brushed his forehead with his fingers. He pulled his hand away to see grime caking the tips. He suspected what had started as a swirl of sweat and sawdust now had three distinct finger marks treading through it, like an animal’s track.

What now?

He couldn’t think of a way to fix the problem without making it worse. He obviously couldn’t use his gunked-up shirtsleeves, and he didn’t carry a handkerchief.

“Hold on a second,” she said, jaunting off to the bathroom just inside the stockroom. She returned a moment later with a couple of wet paper towels and two dry ones, as well.

“Here. Let me.” She leaned on tiptoe to wipe his forehead clean and then handed him the dry paper towels to finish mopping up.

“Dirty work, I guess,” she teased.

“No worse than rodeo. Anyway, I’m enjoying doing something different for a change. Working with my hands is fulfilling. It’s a new experience for me to build something from nothing but raw materials. And I think I’m getting the hang of it. Give me a day or two and I’ll be a regular Mr. Fix It.”

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