Just in Time for Christmas, page 1
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Books. Change. Lives.
Copyright © 2022 by Carolyn Brown
Cover and internal design © 2022 by Sourcebooks
Cover design by Elsie Lyons
Cover images © AnjelikaGretskaia/Getty Images
Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. Sourcebooks is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.
Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks
P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410
(630) 961-3900
sourcebooks.com
Contents
Front Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Excerpt from A Chance Inheritance
About the Author
Back Cover
This one is to my Uncle Coy’s girls, Jeanette, Susan, Gwen, and Judy. We always looked forward to y’all coming from California to Oklahoma in the summertime to visit us.
Dear Readers,
I hope you enjoy this new version of the original Darn Good Cowboy Christmas. When I heard the new title, Just in Time for Christmas, I fell in love with it. It fits the story line so well—all of Liz’s lifelong wishes come true just in time for Christmas.
I’ve been asked several times about Colleen and Blaze since they didn’t get a full book written about them. They are still doing well, and Colleen loves the carnival life. They have three children now. She and Blaze work hard at homeschooling the children and making their home as normal as life can be when they’re on the road most months of the year.
I’d like to thank Deb Werksman, my editor at Sourcebooks, for giving me free rein to rewrite this book. The story is the same, but I tried to delve more into the friendship and the angst at having so many changes come into Liz’s life. Even through it all, she knew what she wanted, and she got it just in time for Christmas—like the new title says.
I’m finishing up this version of the story at Christmastime, which made the revision even more fun. I hope when you read it you are filled with hope and love for the holiday season, and that if you don’t believe in miracles, some phrase or scene in the book will change your mind.
Until next time,
Carolyn Brown
Chapter 1
It was just a white frame house at the end of a long lane.
But it did not have wheels, and to Liz that meant it was a mansion.
She squinted against the sun sinking in the west and imagined the house with multicolored Christmas lights strung all around the porch, the windows, even in the cedar tree off to the left side. In her vision, it was a Griswold house from Christmas Vacation that lit up the whole state of Texas. She hoped that when she flipped the electricity on she didn’t cause a major blackout because in a few weeks it was going to look like the house in that old movie that she loved.
Now where is the cowboy to complete the package? the voice in her head asked.
Christmas lights on a house without wheels and a cowboy in tight-fittin’ jeans and boots—that’s what she asked for every year when her mother asked for her Christmas list. She didn’t remember the place being so big when she visited her uncle those two times. Once when she was ten and then again when she was fourteen, but back then she’d been quite taken with the young cowboy next door and didn’t pay much attention to the house. The brisk Texas wind whipped around her skirt tail as if saying that it could send her right back to east Texas.
“I don’t think so,” she said with half a giggle. “I’m here to stay, and I know a thing or two about Texas wind. It would take more than a class five tornado to get rid of me. This is what I’ve wanted all my life, and I think it’s the prettiest house in Montague County. It’s sittin’ on a foundation, and…” She clamped a hand over her mouth in disbelief when she saw her uncle’s old dog, Hooter, slowly come down off the porch, head down and wagging his tail. Blister, the black-and-white cat, eyed her suspiciously from the ladder-back chair on the tiny porch.
“Uncle Haskell, I could kiss you!” she said as she slung open the truck door. The wind pushed its way inside, bringing a few fall leaves with it, but she didn’t even stop to brush them away. Aunt Tressa would say that was an omen—that the place was welcoming her into its arms. Her mother would say that the wind was blowing her back to the carnival where she belonged.
Her high heels sank into the soft earth, leaving holes as she rushed across the yard toward the yellow dog. She squatted down, hugged the big yellow mutt, and scratched his ears. “You beautiful old boy. You are the icing on the cake. Now I’ve got animals and a house. Who cares about a cowboy? I can’t have it all, now can I?”
The key was under the chair, tucked away in a faded ceramic frog, just where her Uncle Haskell said it would be when she talked to him earlier that afternoon. But he hadn’t mentioned leaving the two animals. She’d thank him for that surprise later on when she called him.
She opened the wooden screen door and was about to put the key in the lock when the door swung open. There stood Raylen O’Donnell, all grown up and even sexier than she remembered. Her heart thumped so hard she could feel it pushing against her bra. Her hands shook and her knees went weak, but she took a deep breath, willed her hands to be still, and locked her knees in place.
“If it’s religion you’re sellin’ or anything else, we’re not interested,” Raylen said in a deep Texas drawl. He held a glass of tea in one hand and the door handle in the other, and the expression on his face said he was as shocked as she was. “I wonder why Hooter didn’t bark?”
“Maybe because he knows me,” Liz answered.
She felt the heat of his gaze as he started at her spike heels and traveled all the way to the top of her head. She reached up and tucked several strands of her jet-black hair into a shiny silver clasp.
“You are Raylen, aren’t you?” she asked.
“Yes, I am, and who are you?” he asked.
“I’m Liz, and I now own this place and land,” she said with a flick of her hand to take in more than just the house.
“Liz?” Raylen’s expression changed to one of disbelief.
“Surprise!” she said with a smile. “What are you doing here?”
Could Raylen really be the cowboy Santa was going to leave under her Christmas tree? He’d sure enough been the one she had in mind when she asked for a cowboy. She’d visualized him in tight-fittin’ jeans and boots when she was younger. Lately, she’d changed her vision to nothing but a Santa hat and the boots.
His hair was still a rich, dark brown, almost black until the sunlight lit up the deep chestnut color. His eyes were exactly as she remembered: pale, icy blue rimmed with dark brown lashes. It all added up to a heady combination, enough to make her want to tangle her hands up in all that dark hair and kiss him. She looked up, but there was no mistletoe hanging in the doorway. She’d have to remedy that when she decorated the house for the holiday.
Cowboys have roots, not wings. Don’t get involved with one or you’ll smother to death in a remote backwoods farm or else die of boredom. Her mother’s voice whispered so close to her ear that she turned to make sure Marva Jo Hanson hadn’t followed her to Ringgold, Texas.
Raylen stood to one side and motioned her into the house. “I came to feed and water Hooter and Blister. Haskell asked me to do that until you got here. We met when we were kids, remember?”
“I do,” she answered. How could she forget? She’d been in love with Ray
“Haskell said that if you didn’t like it here, he’d sell me your twenty acres,” he blurted out.
“That won’t happen, and you sure are blunt,” she said as she scanned the living room that was exactly like she remembered it, down to the well-worn leather sofa and hassock where she’d snuggled in to read romance books about cowboys the last time she was there. “I’m going to live here. Uncle Haskell said if I like it, he’ll deed the place over to me in the spring. The place isn’t for sale and won’t ever be.”
“And do what? Ringgold isn’t very big.” Raylen’s tone was filled with exasperation.
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Pet the cat. Feed the dog.”
“That won’t make a living, lady,” Raylen said.
She propped both hands on her hips. “I don’t reckon what I do for a living is one bit of your business, cowboy.” Never in all the scenarios that she’d imagined had he been cross with her like this. He’d kissed her. He’d swept her off her feet and carried her to a big white pickup truck and they’d driven off into the Texas sunset. He’d smiled and said that he remembered her well and she’d grown up into a beautiful woman. But he hadn’t argued.
She brushed against his chest as she headed into the kitchen to make herself a glass of tea. She’d had Raylen on a pedestal for more than a decade and he didn’t even recognize her. He was probably married and had three or four kids too. That was the way her luck ran, so why should today be any different?
When she fanned past him, she got a whiff of his cologne—the same kind he’d worn all those years ago.
“I’ll take over feeding the cat and dog,” she said. “Thanks for what you’ve done until I could get here.”
He dug into his pocket and handed her an old key ring with two keys on it. “Welcome to Ringgold, Liz. I still live on the ranch that surrounds this land. Haskell sold me most of his ranch six months ago, all but the part the house sits on.”
“He told me,” she said as she opened the nearly empty refrigerator and took out half a pitcher of sweet tea.
Raylen headed for the door. “The O’Donnells are your closest neighbors. Come around to see us sometime. Be seein’ you.”
She wanted to say something, but not one word would come out of her mouth. Raylen in her living room, looking even sexier than he had when he was seventeen and exercising the horses. Raylen all grown up, a man instead of a lanky teenager, was such a shock and a surprise that she was speechless. And that was strange territory for Lizelle Hanson.
“Dammit!” She stomped her foot and popped the heel off one of her shoes.
The noise of the truck engine filled the house for a moment then faded. She’d been so stunned to see him that she couldn’t think straight. She hadn’t known what to expect, but it sure wasn’t what she got. She fished a cell phone from her jacket pocket and punched a speed dial number.
“I’m here,” she said when her mother answered.
“And?”
Liz giggled nervously. “It’s bigger than I remembered, and there’s a sexy cowboy who lives next door, but he’s probably married and has six kids because no guy that pretty isn’t taken. I’d forgotten how big the house is after living in the carnie trailer.”
“Have you unpacked? You can turn around and come back right now. You could be here in time to take your shift tomorrow night, and my brother can sell it to those horse ranchers next door to him,” Marva Jo said.
“Not yet. I was on my way in the house when Raylen opened the door and startled me so badly I was almost speechless. Hooter and Blister are still alive and well. I’m not ready to throw in the towel yet.”
“Raylen?” Marva Jo asked.
“The sexy cowboy. I met him both times I came to visit Uncle Haskell. Remember when I told you about the boy who tried to beat me at walkin’ the fence when I was ten? That was Raylen.” Liz sank down on the sofa and wasn’t surprised to find it just as soft as she remembered.
“You’re right. He’s probably married and has a couple of kids. I was hoping the house would be butt-ugly to you,” Marva Jo said with a giggle.
“No, ma’am. I squinted and even imagined it with Christmas lights. Looked great to me. Right now, wild horses couldn’t drag me away,” Liz said.
“We’ll be in Bowie in a few weeks. By then you’ll be sick to death of boredom. You were born for the carnie and travel,” Marva Jo said.
“I will have the Christmas lights on the house when you get here,” Liz said.
“A house not on wheels with Christmas lights and a cowboy.” Marva Jo laughed. “Be careful that the cowboy doesn’t cut off your beautiful wings.”
“Good night, Mama. I love you,” Liz said.
“Love you too, kid. Go prove me right about getting bored. It’s only half an hour until time to tell fortunes and I still have to get my makeup on. Does that make you miss me?” Marva Jo asked.
“Not yet. I only saw you this morning. Hug Aunt Tressa for me and I’ll see you in a few weeks.”
***
Raylen drove down the lane and stopped. The left blinker was on, but he couldn’t make himself pull out onto the highway. The whole incident at Haskell’s place had been surreal. Haskell said his niece, Liz, was going to take over the property. He remembered Liz very well. She was the ten-year-old who’d walked the rail fence better than him even though he was older at thirteen. She was the fourteen-year-old who rested her elbows on the same rail fence and watched him exercise the horses. Now she was so pretty that just looking at her sucked every sane thought out of his brain.
He finally pulled out on Highway 81 and headed north a mile, then turned left into the O’Donnell horse ranch. She’d find out that a person couldn’t make a living by petting the cat and feeding the dog, and when she did he intended to be the first in line to buy her twenty acres. It was the only property for a three-mile stretch down the highway that didn’t belong to the O’Donnells.
He parked in the backyard, crawled out of the truck, and sat down on the porch step to his folks’ house. His older brother Dewar drove up, parked next to him, hopped out of his truck, and swaggered to the porch. Just a year older than Raylen, Dewar was taller by several inches. His hair was so black that it had a faint blue cast as the sunrays bounced off it. His eyes were a strange mossy shade of green and his face square. His Wranglers were tight and dusty, and his boots were worn down at the heels and covered with mud.
“Y’all get those cattle worked at Rye’s?” Raylen looked down at his own boots. They were just as worn down at the heels as his brother’s were and covered with horse manure. His jeans had a hole in one knee and frayed hems on both pant legs. His shirt looked like it had been thrown out in the round horse corral for a solid week and then used for a dog bed after that. He let out a long, loud sigh. He’d planned on at least meeting Liz the first time in clean duds, not looking like a bum off the streets.
“Yes, we did, and we would’ve got them done sooner if our younger brother would’ve helped,” Dewar said. “You look like you just saw a ghost and lost your best friend. What’s going on?”
“If you worked harder and played with our niece Rachel less, you’d get more done, and nothing is wrong with me.”
“You’re just tryin’ to find excuses,” Dewar said with a grin.
Rachel was the first O’Donnell grandchild and only a few months old. Her father, Rye, was Raylen and Dewar’s oldest brother. Her mother, Austin, had been a Tulsa socialite until she inherited a watermelon farm across the river in Terral, Oklahoma, and fell in love with Rye. Rachel was getting to know her two uncles, and there was an ongoing battle about which one would be the favorite.
“Want a beer?” Dewar asked. “I swear I’m spittin’ dust, and hot summer is long since past.”
“I’d drink a beer with you,” Raylen said. “And I believe what we’ve got going on now is just about the last warm weather we’re going to see for a while, so don’t get used to it.”
Dewar disappeared into the house and in a few minutes he brought out two longneck bottles of Coors. He twisted the caps off both, and handed one to Raylen. “So, you got the chores done around here or am I going to have to do those too?”
