A Daddy for Christmas

“Yet again, I’m thinking everything but my pride will be fine.” He tried getting to his feet, but this particular stretch of the drive was sloped and enough snow had fallen during the night to create a drift. More freezing rain had coated it, transforming an already bad situation into a disaster.

“Here, let me try getting to you.” She made it, only to start sliding.

“Give me your hand.”

Jess did, and he caught her just before she started sliding into the icy abyss—well, really more of a dip, but considering how cold the ice felt seeping through the seat of her jeans, she preferred not to be outside a second longer than necessary.

“Hang tight and I’ll pull you up.” Gage tugged her arm, pulling her along the ice, and for a split second it hurt, but then she was laughing and he was laughing and she was resting against him, clinging to his jacket, relishing his warmth…his strength.

“Th-thanks,” she said, teeth chattering.

“Come on, let’s get you inside.” He hammered his boot heels into the ice, then pushed up with his powerful legs. His arms cinched her to him, and while she should’ve been put off by his proximity, what she really felt was safe. Protected. And for the fleeting moments it took to reach higher, flatter ground, she rejoiced in the emotions. But then Gage released her and struggled to his feet. Ever the gentleman, he offered her his gloved hands and for the briefest of seconds, she accepted them, telling herself it wasn’t a tingle of awareness flooding her with heat, but the barn’s warmer air.

“That was, um, good thinking,” she said, once again stable on her feet now that they were on the barn’s dirt floor. “Thanks again.”

“No problem.”

As Gage headed for Honey’s stall, Jess watched him. The breadth of his shoulders under his coat. The smattering of ice and snow clinging to his hair. He smelled fresh and clean, like the straw he’d spent the night on. But there’d also been a trace of the bacon they’d had for breakfast. The syrup. The coffee. The smells of normalcy—it seemed a lifetime since she’d last experienced them.

Frustration balled in her stomach, building into a wall of panic she wasn’t sure how to break down. Gage Moore had to go. Now. This second. Only it was Christmas Eve, and judging by the clatter on the tin roof, additional freezing rain had arrived instead of Santa and his reindeer.

“You’re a sweetheart,” she overheard Gage croon to Honey’s momma.

Jess rounded the stall’s corner to see him stroking the mare’s mane. Gage seemed so gentle and kind. Responsible. Hardworking. Exactly the kind of hand she’d want. So why, why couldn’t she take a gamble on letting him stay? So what if he took off? It wouldn’t be the end of the world. He would just be a hired hand. She would find another.

“This little fella’s looking better,” Gage said, turning his attention to the colt. “Doc called my cell while you were refereeing the girls. Gave me a list of warning signs to watch for, but he looks good.”

“How long have you known Doc?”

“Long as I can remember,” he said, coming out of the stall for a handful of oats he fed the mare. “When my parents lived here, I guess they were friends with Doc and his wife. Over the years, they kept in touch.”

“That’s nice,” Jess said, stroking Honey. “My parents have a few couples they’ve known forever. Every so often, they get together. Meet up for fun weekends in Dallas or Kansas City.” He grabbed a pitchfork, and scooped manure into a wheelbarrow. “You look like you’ve done that before. Been around horses much?”

“All my life.” After spreading fresh straw on the floor, he moved on to the next stall. “Well, all of my life, that is, save for recently.”

“Right. I remember you saying you live in Dallas. But does your family still have a ranch?” She grabbed a second pitchfork so she could help.

“Yep.”

“In Texas?” Jess probed.

“Uh-huh.”

“So that’s where you learned to work with horses?”

“Yep.”

They both moved on to other stalls.

“How come you’re not with them for Christmas? Your family?” Despite the barn’s chill, beneath her heavy coat and sweater she was already working up a sweat.

“Long story.”

“Thanks to the weather, looks like we’ll be together a while.”

“Ha-ha.” He jabbed his pitchfork in the wheelbarrow’s rapidly growing manure pile.

When Gage made no further conversational attempts, Jess prompted, “Well? Christmas? Your family?”

“Truth is, if it’s all right by you, I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Fair enough.” She jabbed her fork alongside his. Lord knew, she had plenty of her own issues she’d rather not discuss. Still…Who voluntarily left their loved ones this time of year? “But why aren’t you still working for them?”