The Cowboy's Christmas Lullaby

Ignoring the shouts of her two sons sitting in the backseat of the car, Marcella Grayson glanced up from the black dashboard to the flash of headlights in the rearview mirror.

When her car had suddenly died, she’d attempted to steer it to the side of the rural graveled road. Instead, the vehicle had rolled to a complete stop before she could manage to make that happen. Now the rear end of the car was partially blocking the path of the driver behind her.

Marcella pulled on a lightweight jacket and reached for the door latch. “Stay buckled up, boys. Do not get out of the car for any reason. Understand?”

Harry, the older of the two brothers by a mere eight months, questioned, “Where are you going, Mom?”

“We’re blocking the road,” she said. “I need to explain to the driver behind us.”

“Tell ’em to call the police!” Peter exclaimed. “We need help!”

“Dummy! We don’t need the police,” Harry chided his brother. “We need a tow truck!”

Marcella didn’t waste time telling the boys to quit arguing. Instead, she exited the car and immediately found herself blinded by the orb of a flashlight.

Shielding her eyes with a hand, she peered toward the end of the vehicle, but all she could discern in the darkness was a pair of long, muscular legs encased in dusty denim and an equally dirty pair of cowboy boots.

“Having trouble?”

As the boots started toward her, she tried to recognize the male voice, but failed. She was acquainted with several men who lived or worked here on the Silver Horn Ranch. Unfortunately, this wasn’t one of them.

“My car suddenly lost power and quit. Now it refuses to start. And I’m afraid I’ve blocked the road.”

He lowered the circle of light and Marcella’s gaze traveled up the long legs, across a wide, deep chest, then finally to a set of chiseled features shaded by the low brim of a black cowboy hat. Tall and thirtyish, he was the epitome of a strong, weathered rancher.

“Don’t worry about the road,” he said. “If any more vehicles need to pass, I think there’s enough room to go around yours.”

Relieved for that much, at least, she quickly introduced herself. “I’m Marcella Grayson. My boys and I just left the Calhouns’ Halloween party.”

He jerked off a scarred leather glove and extended his hand to her. “Denver Yates,” he replied. “I work for the Calhouns.”

His hand was as hard as a piece of iron and as rough as grit, yet it was warm and reassuring. And for that reason alone, she allowed her fingers to linger against his for a few seconds longer than necessary.

“Nice to meet you, Denver. Thank you for stopping. Of all things, my cell phone has lost its power or something has gone haywire. It refuses to work. So I was beginning to think we were going to have to walk back to the ranch house for help.”

He said, “It’s at least five miles back to the ranch house. Much too far and cold for you and your children to be walking. I’ll take a look at your car. It might be a loose wire or something simple to fix.”

“If it’s not too much trouble, that would be great!”

“No trouble,” he assured her. “Just pop the hood.”

Inside the car, she released the hood latch, while Harry and Peter peppered her with questions.

“Is he a bad man? He might rob us!” Peter exclaimed.

“No. He isn’t a bad man,” Marcella patiently explained. “He’s a man who works here on the ranch.”

“Does he know how to fix cars?” Harry wanted to know.

“Let’s all hope he does,” Marcella said while stifling a sigh. She’d already worked a long shift at the hospital today. Her shoulders and legs were aching, and she still had a pile of laundry to do before she could crawl into bed tonight. The only reason she’d agreed to bring her two sons to the Calhoun party this evening was because she’d wanted them to enjoy a real outdoor shindig with a giant campfire, roasting wieners and marshmallows and listening to Orin tell ghost stories. She hadn’t expected to get stranded in the middle of the ranch’s wilderness.

“Okay. Try to start the motor,” Denver called to her from where he stood near the front of the car.

Marcella turned the key, but all that happened was a faint clicking noise.

“It ain’t doin’ nothin’,” Peter muttered with disappointment.

“The guy ain’t no mechanic, that’s for sure,” Harry added.

“All right, you two, I don’t want to hear the word ain’t again. From either of you. In fact, I want complete silence or both of you are going to be in trouble!”

She was tossing them a look of stern warning when Denver Yates pecked on the driver’s window.

Marcella lowered the glass a few inches. “Did you find the problem?” she asked hopefully.

“Yes. The battery is dead.”

She twisted the key back to the lock position. “Dead!” She groaned with disbelief. “I don’t understand. The battery hasn’t given me an ounce of trouble! And the car started fine a few minutes ago when we left the ranch house.”

He nodded as though to say he didn’t doubt her word. “That’s the way of batteries nowadays, ma’am. They don’t give you any warning as to when they’re going to quit. We keep a few batteries on hand back at the ranch yard, but I’m fairly certain none would fit your car. They’re mostly for trucks and equipment. Is there someone I can call for you? Maybe your husband can bring a new battery out to you?”

Even if she was still married to Gordon, the man would be about as useful as a rowboat with one oar, she thought drily.

“I don’t have a husband,” she said flatly. “And I wouldn’t ask a friend to drive all the way out here.”

If her statement surprised him, he didn’t show it. But then, single mothers were the norm these days, rather than the exception.

After a moment, he said, “Sounds like I need to call roadside service for you. But that would be expensive to have them come all the way out here. I could drive you in to Carson City to buy a new battery.”

His last suggestion penetrated her spinning thoughts. “No! It’s a thirty-mile trip to town, then thirty back. I wouldn’t think of asking you to do that. My insurance will pay for the roadside service. I was just thinking—” She glanced back at Harry and Peter, then climbed from the car and shut the door behind her. “Sorry,” she said, “but I didn’t want the boys to hear me. You see, Peter, my younger son, has asthma. The condition is well controlled, but I don’t like him being out in the cold night air for too long. Back at the party he was near the warm campfire. Out here, without the car heater—well, he’ll probably be all right until the mechanic arrives, but I’d feel better if you’d drive us back to the ranch.”

The man studied her for a brief moment, then glanced at the car’s back window. “You don’t want the little guy to think he needs special care?”

Surprised that he understood, she decided he must have children of his own. “That’s it, exactly. He’s ten and wants to think he’s just as strong as his eleven-year-old brother.”

A faint grin tilted the cowboy’s lips. “Sure he does. I won’t mention the asthma. So get your sons and whatever else you need from the vehicle and I’ll take you back to my place. You can wait there until the mechanic gets your car going.”

His unexpected offer caused her jaw to drop. “Your place? I wouldn’t want to barge in on you. Lilly and Ava—”

“Are busy wrapping up the party,” he finished her sentence. “And I live just a short distance from here.”

Deciding she was in no position to turn down help from this Good Samaritan, she said, “Thank you, Mr. Yates. I really appreciate your help. Uh—but first—well, I hope you won’t take offense, but would you mind if I used your phone to call Lilly? Just so she can confirm who you are?”

“Sure. I’m glad you’re being cautious.”

He pulled a smartphone from a leather carrier on his belt and handed it to her. Marcella quickly tapped out her friend’s number and to her immense relief Lilly answered immediately.

After giving Lilly a brief explanation of what was going on with the car and Denver, Lilly assured Marcella she was in safe, capable hands.