A Christmas Cowboy to Keep Read online

  A Christmas Cowboy to Keep

  A Contemporary Western Romance Collection

  ~ Contributors ~

  Carra Copelin

  Andrea Downing

  Kristy McCaffrey

  Devon McKay

  Hildie McQueen

  Hebby Roman

  Patti Sherry-Crews

  ☆Estrella Publishing☆

  Cover Design by Earthly Charms

  October 2018

  Table of Contents

  Christmas, Liberty, and The Three Minute Man

  A Christmas Carole

  The Peppermint Tree

  The Devil’s Christmas Kiss

  Slay Bells

  The Best Christmas

  Counting Down To Christmas

  About the Authors

  Christmas, Liberty, and The Three Minute Man

  By Carra Copelin

  Contemporary Western Romance

  Copyright @ 2018 by Carra Copelin

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval systems, without prior written permission of the author except where permitted by law.

  Published by Oak Forest Publishing

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Acknowledgements

  This book is dedicated to my brother, Gunner Carr, Country Gospel singer, one of the most talented musicians I know. And, to new beginnings.

  About Christmas, Liberty, and The Three Minute Man

  Nashville event planner Liberty Ann Hart tries not to fall for a local carpenter, but his charisma is difficult to ignore, especially at Christmas and in the rustic setting of a Texas town called Mistletoe. Daniel Dylan Layman is determined to show the headstrong city woman a country life. Will a Christmas fundraiser spark a lifetime of love?

  Chapter One

  Mistletoe, Texas, late December

  Liberty Hart stopped her car on the outskirts of town, at the city limits sign. In doing her research, she knew the municipality was small, but Mistletoe, Texas was further south of Podunk than she’d thought. Definitely not where she’d planned on being for Christmas this year.

  If she hadn’t been knee-deep in a favor she owed country music agent and promoter, Connor Hill, she would’ve been with her friends at her home in Nashville. While it was a favor she was paying in advance, being here and not home rubbed her the wrong way. She hated owing people anything, be it money or favors, and yet that’s exactly what had gotten her here.

  Connor was in the process of helping her get her career, as an event planner, off the ground. Since she was new to Nashville, he had taken on the task of backing her and recommending her to various artists and groups. She had done well, so far, and had become so wrapped up with her clients, that she’d put Connor Hill and her debt in her back pocket. That is, until he had called her after Thanksgiving.

  His request had two requirements. First, she was to plan and promote a Christmas charity fund raising event for Country music star, Lilah Canfield. Second, she was to secure a meeting with Dylan Kyle, the brother of country music star, Darin Kyle, ex-leader of the band, Dy Tryin’. When Darin had died of a deadly mix of pills and booze, Connor had handled the band’s breakup badly. Somehow, she was to get Connor back into the ex-star’s good graces.

  This could prove to be an impossible feat for she knew how insufferable Connor could be and from what she’d heard, Dylan Kyle had no good graces. His reputation in the music world had him categorized as a self-centered, self-absorbed ass. Since he’d ignored, or refused, Connor’s initial attempts at contact, she was inclined to believe Rock Music and the world, in general, were better off without him and his infuriating attitude.

  The only thing that had her excited about this job was meeting Lilah Canfield. Two years ago, the country music star had married, moved away from Nashville to her husband’s ranch in Texas, started a family, and reinvented her career. She was now one of the most sought-after performers in the music industry. Setting up the Christmas charity event, plus an exclusive interview with her, would be quite the feather in her cap if she could pull it off. The number of doors this interview would open and connections she could make, were endless for her own career.

  She pulled the emails out of her bag that she’d printed off early this morning before she left the motel. Lilah had given her explicit instructions on how to get to the ranch, and while they seemed simple enough, she wanted to read over them one more time. She read, “drive straight through town, take the first right off the main drag, after the light, and then continue on the county road for another five miles. Ranch will be on the left.”

  Seriously? Which light? How was she supposed to know when to turn right? What county road? Bob’s road? Being a city girl, all of these were perfectly good questions in her mind which could be cleared up easily with a phone call, if her phone hadn’t died. She’d realized she’d left her phone charger plugged into the wall in her motel room, when she’d needed to call roadside service to change the flat tire. This was turning out to be a banner day.

  Well, she’d just have to stop somewhere and ask questions. Maybe she’d ask at the gas station when she filled up. Someone should be able to give her directions.

  The little town of Mistletoe couldn’t be too small or backward for, on the drive into the main part of town, she passed a couple of popular restaurants normally seen along the interstate highways. Her favorite and, one she was glad to see, was a country place with wooden rocking chairs on its front porch. She absolutely loved their chicken and dumplings. She would make a point to eat there while she was here.

  Not too far from that was a fast-food drive-in with a couple of carhops on roller skates. Thoughts of cherry colas, shakes, and tots had her mouth watering. If she could get a few of her favorite foods, she might just survive here after all. Definitely a bright spot in this otherwise dismal day.

  She came upon a few houses lining either side of the road, the number of them increasing as she drove further into the town. Just ahead on the right, across from the last house, sat a convenience store with two gas pumps out front. She pulled alongside one, stopped, and shut off the car. Retrieving her debit card, she got out, removed the gas cap, pushed the card into the reader and removed it quickly.

  Nothing.

  She looked at her card, checking that she’d put it into the reader correctly, and repeated the action.

  Again, nothing.

  “The readers don’t work.”

  Liberty peered around the pump, following the sound of the male voice. She located the source standing between the pump on the opposite side and a dusty, beat up truck. The soft timbred baritone belonged to a tall and broad-shouldered man, wearing faded jeans, a blue cotton, button-down shirt, and a tan hat, stained with sweat and dirt. His full lips held a toothpick and his handsome face possessed a strong, well defined jaw. A real cowboy, not the Nashville kind.

  She wondered briefly where he’d left his horse, and then she saw the horse trailer just beyond the truck’s tailgate. Phrases like, “Can I take you for a ride, Miss Kitty” to “Aww, shucks, ma’am”, limped through her exhausted mind, and then she remembered he’d spoken to her.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I said, the card readers don’t work. You have
to pay cash inside before you pump your gas.”

  “Well isn’t that just craptastic.”

  “Is everything all right?” he asked.

  Too late, she realized she’d said that aloud. She really needed to watch herself, as her mouth tended to overreach in times of stress. She dug her wallet out of her bag, grinned and said, “Sorry, I’m sure it will be. It’s just been a day.”

  He transferred the nozzle from its holder to the gas receptor and began to pump gas into his truck. “Yes, ma’am, I hear that.”

  “Well, I’ll be right back.” Nodding in his direction, she gave him a quick smile and headed inside to pay for the gas.

  The kid behind the counter waved and said, “Hey, how’s it goin’?”

  “It’ll be better once I pay you, so I can put some gas in my car.”

  “Sure, how much d’ya want?”

  “I want to fill the tank, plus I’d like twenty in cash, please.” She held out her card, so he could initiate the transaction.

  He put up both hands, palms out, and backed up like she was trying to hand him a bomb or something. “Sorry lady,” he said. “I can’t take no cards.”

  “It’s a debit card from the bank,” she explained, even though it seemed ridiculous to do so. “It’s like cash.”

  “Yeah . . .” he hesitated. “I got no authority.”

  Rather than continue to push, she asked, “Do you have an ATM?”

  “It’s on the back wall, by the beer.”

  “Thank you.”

  She walked to the rear which, since the store was fairly small, didn’t take very long. She found the refrigerator cases and the ancient looking ATM right where he’d told her it would be. Doing her due diligence, she checked for a false front or fake reader before surrendering her card. Seeing nothing untoward, she slid the plastic into the slot. Her bank card disappeared, yet nothing happened.

  The machine sat there like a big old boat anchor. She pushed buttons and keys, but nothing. Failing to elicit a response, in a normally sane way, she removed her ankle boot and slapped the machine several times with the stacked wood heel.

  Movement to her left drew her attention for a split second before the cowboy from outside placed one hand over the front of the machine and took possession of her shoe with the other.

  “Ma’am,” he drawled. “If you don’t mind, you’re scarin’ young Tyler over there.”

  Liberty glanced over toward the check-out counter. The kid stared back at her, his eyes as big as dessert plates. She waved in his direction and said, “Sorry.”

  “Now, what seems to be the problem?”

  “The stupid machine ate my debit card.”

  He turned to the face of the ATM, pushed a few buttons, and then, looking at her, dangled her shoe on the end of his finger. When she reached for it, he held it out of her reach. “Not so fast.”

  “What, are you holding my boot hostage?”

  “I’d like some assurances you won’t come at me when I tell you what I think about your situation.”

  She saw the corner of his mouth, the side holding the toothpick, lift slightly. He was trying to be funny, and while most times she appreciated a good sense of humor, today wasn’t one of them.

  “Sorry,” she said, grabbing her shoe and putting it back on her foot. “This is ‘No Promises Sunday’. You’re going to have to take your chances.”

  “Well . . .” His hands bracketed his hips as he studied his boots for a second or two, and then ran his hand slowly across the front of the ATM, giving it a pat. “You see, this old girl hasn’t worked for some time.”

  “What? But he said . . . he told me . . .” Surely she hadn’t misunderstood the kid. She went over what she’d said and realized she’d only asked if there was an ATM in the store. “Oh.” With that, all the starch went out of her and she dropped onto a couple of boxes stacked on the floor behind her, like a bag of russet potatoes. Resting her elbows on her knees, she looked up at him. “Please tell me I’m still in Mistletoe and not in some alternate universe.”

  “Which would be worse?”

  “The latter would certainly explain my day, that’s for sure.” She shook her head and grinned. “But I have business here, and now I can’t get where I need to be because I can’t get the money I need to put gas in my car to get there.” She felt her English teacher cringe all the way from Houston at that run-on sentence.

  “It’s going to be okay.”

  She’d give the lint from her wallet if some of his confidence would come her way. “I wish I felt as sure as you do.”

  “Easy as ropin’ a calf,” he said, with an extra dose of self-assuredness. “Where’re you headed?”

  “I need to find Lilah Canfield’s ranch.”

  He reached into his pocket, pulled out his billfold and started toward the counter and young Tyler. Half-way, he stopped and motioned to her. “Come on.”

  “Okay.” Reluctantly, but curious, she followed him.

  He handed the boy a fifty-dollar bill. “Ty, put this on pump one and give the lady the change.”

  “I can’t let you do this.”

  “Sure you can,” he said. “You’ve had a rough day and the banks don’t open until tomorrow.”

  “Well, thank you, but how am I going to repay you? I don’t know your name or where to find you.”

  “Kind of makes us even, because I don’t know yours either.” He returned his billfold to his pants pocket, and said, “Don’t worry, my friends know where to find me and they call me Daniel.”

  She smiled and put out her hand. “Liberty Hart.”

  * * *

  Daniel Layman flipped the turn signal on his truck to the right. He was leading lady Liberty to the McCommas Ranch where Lilah Canfield lived with her husband, Jack, and their family. He reached the turn-in and put on his turn signal again. This time he only slowed until he saw her headlights turn onto the narrow drive. After her car disappeared from view, he continued another five miles to his own ranch.

  He pulled up to the barn, unloaded his horse and put him up for the night, parked the truck and trailer, and headed inside the house. He needed a shower, some food, and his bed, and not necessarily in that order. He kicked up the central heat to take the chill off the house. Hunger beat out his need for sleep, so he threw two slices of bologna on a couple slices of bread, grabbed a beer and sat on the couch in the family room.

  Heading up the crew to build the outdoor stage for Lilah’s benefit on Christmas Eve, while for a worthy cause, added extra work to his already busy schedule of working the ranch and fixing up a house he’d discovered on the property. After living on his ranch for a few years, he had finally decided it was time to update the old place. He’d realized, in the course of rehabbing the house, he had a knack for design and carpentry. Which was why he’d volunteered to help with the benefit.

  Lilah had mentioned several days ago that she had asked Connor for help in finding an event planner. She wanted to be sure the event ran smoothly, and since it was being put together quickly, she needed help gathering musicians and performers. Connor had told her he was sending an L. Hart.

  Daniel couldn’t say why he hadn’t told lady Liberty that he knew why she was here or that he knew Lilah or Jack. He supposed it was because he didn’t want to open himself up to questions about his brother or his own past. It was why he had avoided her calls from the beginning. She’d find out soon enough about his past.

  He kicked off his boots, popped the last bite of sandwich into his mouth, and finished his beer. Swinging his socked feet onto the leather couch, he sank into the cushions and closed his eyes. His last conscious thought was of a pint-sized, irate woman beating the stuffing out of a defenseless piece of machinery with her shoe.

  Chapter Two

  Liberty parked her car in the circle drive and pulled the key from the ignition. It was good to finally be here. It seemed like she’d been traveling for days, when in fact she’d onl
y left Nashville yesterday morning. She was sure the quality of the travel, especially today, was the reason for her bad attitude, and if she didn’t think she’d freeze to death, she wouldn’t mind curling up in her car and grabbing a quick nap. Someone turned on the porch light and a woman stepped out onto the porch.

  So much for sleeping in the car tonight.

  Despite her hair being twisted atop her head, the comfortable looking set of sweats, and fuzzy pink house shoes, Liberty instantly recognized Lilah Canfield coming to greet her. She got out of her car and walked around to the rear liftgate to get her bag and was immediately swallowed up in a crushing hug.

  “Oh, my gosh, Liberty,” Lilah said. “You’re here!”

  “I’m here!” Liberty smiled. She’d been told to expect a warm welcome and that’s exactly what she’d gotten.

  Lilah released her, reached past her to grab a second bag, and started toward the porch. “Come on, let’s get you inside, it’s freezing out here.”

  She followed Lilah out of the frigid temp straight into a living room that made any Christmas magazine spread look like a slacker. She’d never seen such a display of tinsel, garland, holly, and poinsettias in her life. The sight was tacky and simply fabulous.

  “Your home is beautiful, Lilah.”

  “Thanks,” she said, glancing around the room. “I know it looks a little like Santa Claus threw up in here, but we let our daughter, Callie, decorate this year and . . . well this is the result.”

  “She’s very creative.” She set her bag next to a chintz covered easy chair. “My mom did all the decorating. We were never allowed to help.”

  “I get it. It’s hard to find that measure of trust.”

  “It’s probably why I’m such a control freak now.” Liberty thought about that for a second, and said, “I hope that doesn’t prove to be a problem for us.”