True-Blue Cowboy Christmas (12 page)

His chest tightened, because the woman before him seemed so effortlessly a dreamer, but maybe that's why she responded so well to Kate. She understood that, understood how it could be tamped down.

“Okay, so we're sad sacks. Tell me something happy. About you.”

She grinned, holding up both her arms and moving them so her bracelets jangled. “I get to make all my own decisions now. I painted my caravan blue and purple. I decorate my own place. I come and go as I please. I get to be part of the Shaws, and…”

“Part of the Lanes,” Thack finished for her, because as much as she hesitated saying that, it was becoming true. “I hope you know you're far more than an assistant to us at this point. All of us.”

Her lips curved, something shy in how she glanced away, her cheeks turning pink. “Who knew you could be so nice when I first met you,” she murmured.

“I'm not even sure I knew it myself. I'd been…isolating all of us, I guess. Trying to maintain control to keep everyone safe. You've been a breath of fresh air. One that allowed me to pause enough to realize how…tightfisted I'd gotten.”

“Well, I'm happy to loosen—”

Before she could finish whatever she'd been about to say, his phone rang. He frowned at the unfamiliar number. “I'm going to have to answer this just to be on the safe side.”

Summer nodded, and he hit Accept before offering a greeting.

“Hi, Thack. I'm sorry to bother you. It's Gabriella.”

“Oh hi, Gabby.” Thack didn't know what to make of his second cousin calling him out of the blue. Even though she was a doctor in town, they'd never spent much time together.

“Your dad called me, and I came out to the ranch because he was having a rough go of it.”

“He called you?” Thack's stomach sank. If Dad had actually called Gabriella in a medical capacity, things had to be really bad.

“I think he needs an overnight stay.”

“In the hospital?”

He didn't glance at Summer until she rested a hand on his arm. She always seemed to be doing that, those easy touches of, well, he wasn't sure what it was. Sympathy partially, comfort mostly.

“He needs a better breathing treatment than I can give him at the clinic, and I think he needs to have a checkup with his specialist about adjusting his medications. Of course, he's fighting me on this, but—”

“I'll be right there.” Thack was already to his feet before he noticed Summer was gone. When he looked around the restaurant, he saw her smiling and nodding with the waitress who'd taken their order.

After a few seconds, she walked back to him. “I canceled our order, and she'll comp our drinks since it's an emergency.”

“But—”

“It is, isn't it? You said hospital?”

“Yeah, Dad. He needs… He has emphysema, I don't know if you knew that.”

She shook her head, linking her arm with his and leading him out of the restaurant. “I knew something was wrong, but not that specific.”

“He's refusing to go to the hospital, but he needs to go.”

“Then we'll head back to the ranch, and you'll convince him to go. Simple as that.”

Simple as that, except it wasn't simple at all. Thack was gripped by fear, by the reminder of what happened when he loosened that iron fist of control even a little.

He'd gotten off the ranch, tried to do something friendly with Summer without thinking about Kate or Dad or the ranch, and here he was, rushing to another sick family member, hoping time wasn't running out.

If that wasn't a sign, he didn't know what was.

Mr. Lane ended up spending only one night in the hospital. Summer forwent all her duties with the Shaws to help. She stayed with Mr. Lane while Thack took and picked up Kate from school, and she helped with all the meals and housekeeping Thack would allow.

Things had changed since their awkward lunch. In the first few moments, she'd thought maybe friendship had the potential to lead somewhere. As confusing as that was, she wanted it.

But in the last few days since Mr. Lane had come back home, Thack's awkward but sweet earnestness had been replaced with a kind of terse sternness that reminded her of those first few days with him.

She knew he was worried about his father, stressed about Christmas and keeping up with Kate and ranch duties, but no matter how she tried to excuse him, she couldn't get over the fact that something in him had gone cool.

Not quite cold, but something had dimmed. She knew it had nothing to do with her and everything to do with him, but that didn't make it hurt any less.

Summer stirred the chili she'd put together in the slow cooker before turning back to Kate, who was at the kitchen table putting together the gingerbread house. Translation: sneaking as much candy as she could into her mouth instead of onto the house.

“You're not going to have anything left for the shingles,” Summer admonished, sliding back into the chair next to Kate.

“Eating it is more fun,” Kate said with a grin.

It was hard to argue with that. Kate swirled her finger in the frosting, staring through the open doorway from the kitchen to the dining room. The Christmas tree stood in the corner, bright-white lights twinkling.

Summer had put it on a timer yesterday after Kate complained it was never on, and she'd set out the two boxes of colored lights she and Thack had bought those few days ago, but he hadn't taken the hint or had been too tired to put them up.

“Can't we just decorate the tree without Daddy? He's so grumpy when Grandpa's sick.”

Summer didn't know how to explain to Kate that her father's grumpiness was a side effect of his worry. A worry he took on too much and held too tight and let burrow too deep.

Summer wished she had an answer to that. Because as much as his coolness had hurt her feelings, she still felt for the guy. She still wanted to soothe and help him. Bring back the man who'd asked her to lunch.

“Your dad is really busy, and I think he'd be really sad if we decorated the whole tree without him.”

At Kate's despondent shoulder slump, Summer couldn't just leave it at that. “But how about this? I'll help you put up the colorful lights, and then you can pick one ornament, and one ornament only, to put on the tree.” And if Thack got mad about that, well, she'd give him a piece of her mind.

Even if the thought of giving him a piece of her mind made her gut clench uncomfortably. Honestly, what about this whole thing didn't?

Kate was already scurrying over to the tree. Mr. Lane had disappeared into his room about ten minutes ago, claiming he had to make a private phone call.

He'd been doing progressively better. His new medication really seemed to help, combined with more consistent oxygen-tank wearing. He was still a little weak, a little gray, but he was on the road to recovery.

Summer didn't know why Thack either didn't see it or didn't think it made a difference in how he should act.

Maybe what Thack thinks or does just isn't any of your business
, a little voice in her head whispered
.

A voice that sounded a bit too much like her mother for comfort.

Kate went over to the ancient CD player that sat on the table and had been pumping a steady stream of Christmas carols. She pushed Play, grinning happily when the Chipmunks started singing about Christmas.

It was hard not to get caught up in the holiday spirit. Summer was pretty sure both she and Kate had gingerbread frosting in their hair, and Summer had snuck a few pieces of candy too, fully feeling the hit of sugar before dinner.

Summer patiently helped Kate get the strings of multicolored lights around the fake tree. She wondered why Thack didn't have a real one. Caleb had already planned to take her out onto Shaw property and let her pick a tree to cut down since Delia wasn't up to tramping about in the snow just yet.

Maybe she could find a little real tree for the Lane house when they did that. Something Kate could make ornaments for.

“I love the pink ones,” Kate said on a dreamy sigh. She slanted a glance at Summer. “What about two ornaments? One for me and one for you?”

“This is your tree, Kate. You and your grandpa and your dad's.”

Kate pouted at that and Summer felt bad for saying it, for pointing out she was separate. But she had to point it out to someone, or she might start thinking she actually belonged. Then how would she feel when Thack gave her the cold shoulder?

“One ornament, sweetie.” Summer carefully opened the box marked
ornaments
and helped Katie up on a chair so she could see into the box.

“Oh, this one.” She picked out an angel ornament made of what appeared to be pearl with gold trim.

“Daddy always calls this one Mommy's angel,” Kate said reverently, taking all the care of an old woman as she walked over to the tree and slid the hook onto a branch. “It's my favorite.”

Summer shouldn't have been shocked that Thack had the timing to come inside at that point.

“It's my favorite too, Kate,” he said, his voice gruff but warm. For his daughter, for their memories, which Summer most assuredly wasn't a part of.

She didn't even know what had happened to his wife. Michaela. But he'd obviously loved her. Losing her had left a mark.

Thinking of how much he'd lost made her heart ache and made her soften that much more toward him because she knew he was only trying to hold on to what still remained.

Summer straightened. “I told her she could put on one. Just…one.”

Thack nodded and walked over to Kate, brushing a gloved hand over her hair. “I know you're anxious, Katie Pie. How about tomorrow night we make a special plan for hot chocolate and Rudolph and decorating the tree?”

Kate skipped away from the tree. “Can Summer come?”

She wasn't sure what in his expression changed at that request, but Summer knew she didn't like it. “I c—”

“Summer is always welcome,” Thack said before she could get out an excuse.

Summer is also right here
, she wanted to say.
Right here wondering what the hell is wrong with you.

“Where's Dad?”

“He just went to his room to make a phone call.”

Thack nodded. “I have a few more chores to do. I know it's getting late, but I hoped you could stay for another hour or so.”

“But aren't you going to eat?” she asked, more of her frustration melting into worry.

“In a bit. Just a few things to tie up. You all go ahead. If I get caught up tonight, I'll knock off early tomorrow just for our Christmas party, okay?”

Kate happily agreed, but Summer couldn't get over the feeling that something was wrong, even as Thack disappeared back the way he came.

“Why don't you go talk to him?”

Summer swung around, hand flying to her heart. She hadn't heard Mr. Lane come back in the room.

“Talk to him?”

“He needs a sounding board. I think you'd be a good one.”

Summer blinked at where Thack disappeared. Sounding board? That she could do, but she had her doubts about how much he'd let her.

“Let's eat dinner first,” she said, forcing a smile. Maybe if she ate, she'd figure out what to say.

* * *

Thack knew his father was rapidly recovering, but even a few days later, he couldn't get over taking him to the hospital.

How many times had he visited his dying mother, and then his dying wife, in that very hospital? How many more times would that be in his future?

He was struggling to cope with it. All the freezing, controlling techniques he'd used for the past few years were failing him.

He was starting to wonder if he should go back to therapy. If he should introduce Kate to it, but he kept wanting to put that off.

He wanted to put everything off, ignore it all.

For the first time in all this time, that's exactly what he did. Summer had it under control, and where that had once filled him with dread, in the midst of all this damn fear, all he could be was relieved.

He didn't actually have more chores to do. He just hadn't been able to handle Christmas right now. Not Michaela's angel ornament that she'd bought knowing she wouldn't see another Christmas, not pretty lights and happy songs and Summer's beautiful smile at his amazing little girl and Dad in the other room, alive.

It was all too good, and he was so afraid that if he enjoyed it, somehow it would be ripped from him.

So, he did the only thing he could think to do to get rid of the big, pulsing knot of anxiety inside his gut.

He walked over to his father's woodworking shed. He went straight for the little fridge in the corner, filled with bottles of water…which hid the bottles of beer lining the back.

Dad didn't touch the hard stuff anymore, but he always had beer on hand. Thack hated that, but he looked the other way because there were only so many fights he could manage, only so many expectations he could deal with.

Would a stronger man know what to do here? A stronger man would have already set the world to rights. Instead, he was looking the other way when he simply couldn't deal with another
thing
.

Thack popped the top of the beer and gulped half of it without even taking a breath. Then he moved to the back where Dad hid the recyclables. Thack went to work setting up his very old way of dealing with this overwhelming fear.

He pulled out the targets, the glass bottles, and walked twenty paces away.

Dr. Seaver had given him a litany of coping mechanisms for grief and stress during his years of counseling after Michaela's death. This one had always been his favorite. He supposed that breaking things on purpose felt like relief because his entire life was spent carefully balancing things so they didn't break.

He grabbed a bottle, flipped it from base to top, then hurled it at the target hung on the back of Dad's woodshed. It shattered with a satisfying crash.

He downed the rest of his beer before throwing the bottle, crashing it in exactly the same place. Most of the pressure in his chest stayed tight and hard, but some of it began to ease. He went back into the shed, retrieved four beers, and then set out to drink and destroy.

The people inside that house could take care of things for a while. They'd have to. He was tired of being the only one, tired of all this pressure. He didn't have any fight left. He was giving up.

Yeah, he would give up. What was the point of all this backbreaking work? What was the point of weathering all these disappointments? A ranch he could barely stand to face most mornings? A father who fought him every step of the way until he landed himself in the hospital? No one else who wanted to
really
help. Sure, they wanted to offer advice or food, but they never wanted to step in and step up.

Except Summer.

“Thack?”

“Sweet pickles,” he muttered, disgusted with himself that even a crap day didn't keep him from the stupid euphemism. He turned to face the woman in question. Most of her was hidden in the shadow, only the crown of her hair illuminated by the faint glow from the house.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you.”

“What are you doing out here?”

“Your father sent me to… Well, he thought you might need someone to talk to.”

“No.”

“What if I promised to just listen and not say anything at all?”

He knew he should agree to that or go inside. Those were his two choices. The two Thackery Lane choices of adulthood and responsibility. Instead, he polished off his beer.

“So, I think I'll head home. Unless…you want me to stay.”

He finally found his voice. “Stay?”

“I…” She cleared her throat, not meeting his gaze. “I just meant if there's anything else you need help with. Kate and your dad are eating.”

If
he needed it. What a joke. He needed so much help, and yet he'd finally gotten himself to ask for it, ask
her
for it, and something else had blown up in his face.

What would have happened if Dad hadn't called Gabriella? Would his situation have been so much worse? Thack didn't want to believe in karma or cosmic signs, but weren't they all here? Every time he stepped outside this ranch and his responsibilities, something terrible happened. How did he keep ignoring that?

He drained the last of his beer and then, with no warning to Summer, hurled the glass at the target, the flame of impotent frustration fading a little when the bottle exploded into a hundred little shards.

She jumped and took a few unsteady steps away from him.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you,” he said, copying her words. “Here, give it a shot.”

She stared at the empty bottle he'd retrieved from the bin. “A shot?”

“I have it on good authority it's cathartic.”

“I don't have anything I need…cathartic-ing.”

“Don't you?”

She blinked as though he'd caught her in a lie. Had he? She seemed so serene and happy, but she'd said she wasn't particularly well-adjusted, hadn't she?

So, he prodded where he never prodded. “Don't you have anything you're angry about? Anything that makes you
furious
with the world? Isn't there anyone who's wronged you?”

They were supposed to be generic questions, but suddenly he wanted to know. He wanted to know what had shaped this woman he didn't understand. This woman who wanted to help. Who
had
helped—not with meaningless advice or vague offers of help, but by stepping in and
doing
.