A Cowboy Christmas

By A. E. Easterlin

It might be the most wonderful time of year, but not for me. Christmas marked the date my husband left our home and ran into the arms of his secretary. It happens so frequently and to so many women, it isn't even interesting anymore. That is, until it happens to you. When it's your husband asking for a divorce it's a different story.

It took time before I met Logan. Before I cuddled close to him, relieved, happy with my nerves on high. Before he tilted my chin so I could see into his eyes as he bent his head low to kiss me. Slow at first, building the burn, a stealthy kindling that caught fire and I wondered what it would be like to be loved by a man like him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: A. E. Easterlin
• Release date: Sep 17, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393261407

Book preview

Noelle

With Halloween over, the holiday season began in earnest. It might be the most wonderful time of year for the majority of the world, but for me, Noelle Barton, Christmas marked the date my husband of ten years left our comfortable suburban home to run straight into the arms of his sexy secretary. Funny, but it happens so frequently and to so many women, it isn’t even interesting anymore. That is, until it happens to you.

When it’s your husband asking for a divorce it’s a different story.

The dreaded words, Sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you cut me to the core. The words bled the love that sustained me through a married life. Moves to new cities, leaving friends, making new ones. Long lonely nights while he worked hard at a new job.

I tossed and turned in an empty bed only to hear more dreaded words. Oh, by the way, Gloria really likes what you’ve done to the house, so could you be out by Thanksgiving?

Then, in that chilling, heartbreaking moment, I become a believer. All that I vowed and believed in meant nothing. I lost trust, faith, and love at the season where trust, faith, and love were celebrated around the world.

Merry. Christmas.

In the length of time it took him to shatter my world, the happiest time of the year became a nightmare. The color red took on an entirely different meaning and the festive bows on packages and poinsettia bloomed as my hurt morphed into anger.

Charlie, my lying, cheating, clueless husband was all in-love right now and thinking with the wrong part of his anatomy. When the day comes, he wakes up to Gloria’s VISA bills, and she rebels against his frugality, where will they be? The petty part of me found the thought comforting.

It wasn’t as if I hadn’t had plenty of chances to cheat and I’d remained faithful. Why couldn’t he?

Not that Charlie wasn’t an attractive man – but he certainly wasn’t bimbo material. He had a good job, was a fair if somewhat obtuse husband. Appeared content with the house and the meals and the sex. So, what went wrong?

Okay, so I was a little curvier than a Victoria’s Secret model. A little shorter, more of a down-home kind of girl than a New York model type. But I got my share of second looks when we went out. Guys still hit on me before they noticed the modest rock on my left hand.

Come to think of it, what did the Bimbo have that I didn’t? Her equipment was the same, maybe not as flamboyant, but Charlie had never complained.

Then it happened.

Unfolding in slow motion, the nightmare began with a vigorous, if silent, morning make-out session and some intense attention to Charlie’s morning wood. While he’d showered, I made his favorite breakfast and a pot of his favorite brand of coffee. Set out his lunch and emptied the dishwasher. A usual morning on what turned out to be a most unusual day.

The doorbell rang. I answered. A burley stranger dressed in a too-tight overcoat stared at me, his face a mixture of determination and sympathy. My tummy rolled and the first inkling that something was awry pinched my heart.

Yes, I prompted.

Ms. Barton?  The man asked, as he checked me out and raised his brows.

I nodded. Numbness seeped through my limbs. This couldn’t be good.

He sighed and held out a long manila envelope. Sorry to do this so early, but . . . you’ve been served.

Served? I repeated. It was early, and I hadn’t had her coffee.

Served. Sorry. He stated emphatically and left.

I stared at the envelope in my shaking fingers. Sick apprehension crept through her as understanding dawned and a teeny-weeny knot of dread danced a bump and grind against her ribcage.

In the upper left corner, the address of Cohen and Cohen, Esq. flashed. Nothing from Cohen and Cohen could be good news. Not at this time of day. Not at any time of day. Opening the parcel, I pulled out the legal documents and scanned them before my legs gave out and I plopped to my bottom on the foyer floor.

Charrr-leeee! I screamed at the top of my lungs.

Either my husband had a sixth sense about the early morning interruption, or he knew exactly what was coming. Guess which? I watched as my ordinary, sweet, unassuming husband slunk down the stairs carrying a hastily zipped suitcase with his favorite tie hanging out.

Pale blue eyes met and held mine. His forefinger pushed his glasses up on his nose as he stared down at me. I stared up at him from the cold tile under my body.

I didn’t know how to tell you. He said in an apologetic voice as a sheepish expression crossed his face.

You’re leaving me? My voice rose an octave as shock stole the breath from my bottom.

We aren’t working, Noelle. You know that as well as I.

We worked pretty well this morning.

He ignored my sarcastic rebuttal. You don’t need me anymore, he whined. I’m not sure you even like me anymore.

That’s ridiculous. Of course, I like you. I love you.

He let his suitcase fall on the stair and ran his fingers through his hair. Gloria . . . he lifted his eyes to meet my narrowed gaze, and I are in love. He nodded toward the paper in her hands. "We’re moving in together and once the divorce is final, we’re getting married.