The Christmas You Found Me

Chapter 1

Wanted: Husband for Hire

Temp to full-time position, based on satisfactory job performance.

Eligibility requirements: Ability to lift, push, or pull 50 pounds. Willingness to perform ranch work in extreme weather without whining. Experience with livestock a plus. Broad shoulders preferred.

Benefits include medical, dental, 401(k) matching.

Salary negotiable. Current husbands need not apply.

(Previous husbands of Sienna Naples are ineligible for the position.)

There should be a limit to how much personal horror one should have to face first thing in the morning. It’s only 9:30 a.m., and an ad cut out of today’s local paper, featuring my recently changed marital status, stares at me from the passenger seat of my truck. It’s just one in a growing pile I’ve found posted around town, accompanied by more than a few laughing faces.

And here I thought the most interesting part of my morning was waking up divorced today.

All week . Jess’s text says they paid for the ad all freaking week , and it’s online too. Our rural northern Idaho town of Caney Falls is finding this whole situation hysterical. Every place I go in town for supplies, I find another clipping. Tacked to the corkboard at the co-op where I buy horse grain. In the window of my usual gas station. At the local animal vet when I swing by for a refill on my dog’s joint supplement. It’s everywhere.

Leave it to my best friend to manage to make me laugh on a day when I’d normally be holed up, licking my wounds. The goofy ad is a reminder that they love and support me, even if it has resulted in my being jokingly propositioned all morning.

“All I want for Christmas is caffeine,” I sing softly as I pull up to my favorite coffee shop, the Daily Grind, the suspension of my late-model Chevy truck squeaking from a bed loaded down with bags of horse and cattle feed. It’s time for my next round of caffeine, since I’ve been up since 5:00 a.m. to get my work done today.

It’s not like I was going to be able to sleep much last night anyway.

I’m trying really hard to feel the holiday spirit, despite knowing today is Divorce Finalization Day. The culmination of years of love, heartbreak, memories, and so much effort has now been labeled with a time of death: two weeks before Christmas.

Lucía, a teller at my local bank, brightens as we pass each other at the coffee shop entrance. “Thanks, Sienna,” she says as I hold the door for her, the poor woman juggling two fully laden coffee carriers and a bag of pastries. “How’s your day going so far?”

“More interesting than I wanted it to be,” I reply ruefully.

She giggles as she hustles down the snow-lined sidewalk. I’ve been getting this all morning. Wide grins, snickers, a few waggled eyebrows.

“This is a regular Tuesday morning,” I murmur to myself as I step inside, the rich scent of roasting coffee beans greeting me. “Nothing to see here. Move along.”

I can handle a joke. Ranching next to the Frank Church Wilderness isn’t for the faint of heart or the thin of skin. I’m a Naples, a family infamous for curly brunette hair, short statures, and digging our heels in. It’s etched into our DNA to fight hard, then fight even harder. Living on the edge of over two and half million acres of steep mountains, rushing rapids, and dangerous wildlife teaches you to be tough. Even the Salmon River winding through Caney Falls is known as the River of No Return. This is a bad place for people without some sort of significant backbone, and mine is iron strong. The issue isn’t me. The issue is my ex-husband. Micah’s just as tough as the rest of us, but having the whole town laughing at him isn’t going to make his mood any better.

As of the twenty-day waiting period finalizing our divorce, I guess his moods aren’t my problem anymore.

The chalkboard sign next to the tiny yellow coffee shop door reads CHOCOLATE, COFFEE, MEN: THE RICHER THE BETTER. Considering my already wealthy ex-husband is officially an even richer man as of today, I have to disagree. I like rich chocolate and coffee though, so I go to the woman leaning on the waist-high swinging door separating the Daily Grind’s seating area from the barista station.

“Morning, Sanai,” I greet the owner and barista. “Same as usual.” Chocolate, espresso, caramel, almond milk. I’ve been known to splurge on a gingerbread latte a time or two when the weather gets cold. Sanai’s been in town for about two years now, and her lattes have already become a requirement in most of our lives. Besides, if anyone can convince my nonexistent appetite to kick in today, it’s Sanai and her breakfast sandwiches.

Sanai’s embracing the holiday spirit better than I am. Her shoulder-length Havana twist braids sparkle with red and green gems, and she’s wearing a cream-colored oversize sweater that makes me drool almost as much as the smell of coffee does. Christmas lights are strung around the ceiling, blinking with a holiday cheerfulness I’m desperately trying to find. The aroma of warm, fresh biscuits fills the air, mingling with the peppermint mocha the customer seated near us is sipping.

’Tis the freaking time of the year. I refuse to be a scrooge.

“Making a grain run?” Sanai asks, and I nod. “I was hoping you’d come in today.”

Sanai and I have become friends, although she and Jess spend more time together than we do these days. I’ve been hiding out on the ranch too much—up to my eyeballs in work and nursing a broken heart—to be a very good friend to anyone lately.

“Jess has been here already, huh?”

The grin Sanai can’t keep from her lips isn’t a good sign, especially when she nods toward the job board beside my favorite table by the front window. Great. Just perfect .

I sling my coat over the back of the chair and rip down the ad before I settle in. As I wait for my coffee, I call up Jess. “ Caney Falls Daily complaint department,” I say in greeting.

“I was wondering how long it would take you.”

Jess sounds far more cheerful than most people do in the morning. This is what being born and raised in a ranching town gets us: too many people used to waking up way too early to feed the cows. We’re all half-useless after six at night, but we sure can keep a coffee shop busy before dawn.

“How many times have you been propositioned so far today?” Jess asks. “The paper has a running bet.”

“Twice at the co-op,” I reply, wrinkling my nose. “But I think they were just joking. You do realize you’ve made me the laughingstock of the entire town?”

“Actually, I’ve made Micah the laughingstock of the entire town. I’ve made you the newest hot commodity.” I can hear the smugness in their voice. “You would not believe how many inquiries I’ve already had on the ad. I just emailed you a link to a folder with the raunchiest résumés. Open the pictures at your own risk.”

I groan and lean back in my chair. “You know it would’ve been easier to write my name and number in a bathroom stall, right?”

“Yes, but this is much more fun. Hey, are you getting coffee today?”

“I’m about to be nose deep in a latte. Am I this predictable?”

“It’s Tuesday, you always get coffee after grain on Tuesdays, and you’re the most predictable human being on the planet.”

I just chuckle because I’ve been hearing this from Jess my whole life.

“We have an actual applicant who wants to talk to you. I told him he should be able to catch you there today.”

I groan. “I don’t find it alarming at all you have an applicant for a totally fake ad that’s only been up for a couple hours.”

“Technically, the job posted online last night, just after midnight.” They sound proud of themselves, which is never a good thing, not when Jess is in revenge mode. “Just meet with the guy. He sounds nice.”

“If he’s answering an ad for a husband, he sounds like a weirdo.”

Jess laughs, a bright, cheerful sound, which matches the holiday music piping through the café’s speakers. “You need to hire some help at the ranch, and in this economy, it’s clear no one is going to be interested. Chalk it up to inventive advertising in a depressed labor market.”

“I actually don’t think that’s what it means…”

“Trust me,” they promise. “The labor market is depressed. Or at least experiencing some significant ennui. You think I love editing holiday pieces right now?”

“Just cancel the meeting, Jess.” They don’t know all the gritty details of my highly contested divorce settlement, so I don’t blame them for assuming I can hire someone. I’ve been trying to keep from my friends how painful this divorce has been.

“You’re no fun, you know that?” Jess sighs in playful dramatics, then snickers before hanging up.

Sanai brings me my coffee, and the heat of the mug warms my winter-chilled hands. Settling deeper into my chair, I try and fail to resist opening the shared drive link Jess emailed me. I click on one photo and squeak, quickly closing it out.

Yep, there’s definitely…interest…all right.

“Sienna?”

A quiet voice pulls my attention. I look up from my phone and realize there’s a person standing near my table. I keep looking up and see his face, this stranger standing just far enough away he doesn’t enter my personal space. He’s tall, even for around these parts, and his dark-blue long-sleeved T-shirt stretches across his broad, muscled shoulders nicely. The shirt is loose at the waist though, and his face looks lean. His skin is the deep tan of a man who spends all day outside, even in winter, but what strikes me the most is for how strong he looks, he’s thin .

“Hey, I’m Guy Maple. Are you Sienna? Someone from the Caney Falls newspaper said I might be able to meet you here. It’s about the ad.”

Oh no. Oh no . This isn’t happening.

He doesn’t quite meet my eyes, glancing at the window behind my shoulder as if he’s regretting standing here. His isn’t a natural leanness or the kind of thin that comes from using drugs. Guy looks like he’s missed one or two meals a day for a while now, and what’s left is muscle and sheer grit. His worn jeans are actually worn, not deliberately distressed, and his work boots are scuffed but clean.

I watch Guy shift back a little bit, as if he knows he’s looming over me and he’s uncomfortable about it. I realize I still haven’t said anything.

“I’m Sienna,” I slowly acknowledge, because as horrified as I am right now, this is real. Someone is actually answering the most mortifying personal ad I’ve ever been party to.

When I stand up, he looks physically relieved, although I don’t have much more height standing than I do sitting. I’m five foot three with my boots on, and he’s got almost a foot on me.

When we shake hands, it’s firm, polite, and professional. No clamminess or hanging on too long. His hands are calloused, his nails neatly trimmed but scratched on the surface. When I look back up, pretty glacier-blue eyes glance at me and then away again.

“I’m actually here because of my daughter,” Guy says in a quiet voice, as if feeling the need to explain himself. “She’s had a tough go of it, and the medical bills…” He stops, pride causing the words to lodge in his throat. He looks like he’d rather be anywhere other than here.

“Do you want to sit down?” I ask Guy, because we’re still standing there, and I realize this must be hard enough on him without being on display. We’re talking privately, but in a coffee shop this size, eyes are on us.

“This isn’t the good kind of sit, is it?” His mouth quirks up at the corner as he pulls out the chair across from me and sinks down into it. “To be honest, when I saw you here, the ad seemed too good to be true.” As soon as I sit back down, Guy forges ahead, on the edge of babbling as his words tumble over each other. “In the ad, you said you needed a husband for hire. And you have medical insurance. We have medical insurance, but it’s one of those high-deductible plans, which eats into what I try to set aside. And there are a lot of costs outside what insurance covers. Gas to get to the doctor appointments, missed work when she’s having tough days, babysitters when I can get someone qualified—and the farther I travel looking for work, the less that happens. I work hard. Work’s just getting harder to find.”

“How old is your daughter?” I ask.

“Emma’s four. She’s in kidney failure. We’ve been on a transplant waiting list for a while now.”

Abruptly, his eyes swing to me with a level of desperation I’ve never, not even on my worst day, felt. Suddenly I realize he’s here ready to whore himself to me so his little girl can get a kidney transplant. The man is looking at me as if absolutely dead serious, and I have no idea what to say.

I have never in my entire life felt worse than I do right now.

“You’re not from Caney Falls, are you?” I ask gently. Nobody who lives here could possibly have taken that ad seriously.

“No.” He gives his head a small shake. “My daughter and I are originally from Bozeman, but we move around a lot for work.” He’s a Montana boy, which could explain why he’s so tall.

“Do you have any family or friends in town?” I press. “Someone who can help?”

“We have family, but no one local. They’ve done what they could, when they could. I tried crowdsourced fundraising, but there’s only so much people can give. Emma’s doctors are all in Idaho Falls, so most of the time, it’s just us.”

Just us. Those two words resonate with me, although my “just us” all have hooves and tails and aren’t in renal failure. So not the same, not even close.

Sanai comes by our table on her way to clean off another one, her eyes flickering between us curiously. “Hi. Is there anything I can get you?”

“I’m fine,” Guy politely declines, then he looks at me and adds, “Unless I can buy you another coffee, Sienna?”

Guy doesn’t have two pennies to his name, but he’s here, in what’s probably his nicest shirt, trying to do something for his daughter. There’s no way this man isn’t hungry. No one can walk into this place and not start drooling.

“You got lured here on false advertising,” I tell him. “The least I can do is buy you breakfast.”

Guy hesitates, then he caves and orders a plain coffee and a breakfast sandwich, the smallest, least expensive one on the menu.

“A basket of biscuits and huckleberry jam too, please,” I add to the order, giving Sanai a pretty-please-just-go-along-with-it smile because she’s looking at me curiously. Women are good at full conversations with just a few blinks. Yes, I know. He’s new. And yes, I’m feeding him. All this is totally Jess’s fault.

Totally , Sanai silently agrees.

Guy waits until she leaves before exhaling a quiet huff of breath. “So, false advertising. I take it you don’t need a husband then?”

“I just finished getting rid of the last one,” I admit, wrinkling my nose at the memory. “It was kind of a joke. There’s a twenty-day waiting period before divorce finalizes in the state of Idaho, and we’re officially on day twenty-one. My friend Jess works for the local paper and thought it would be funny to write the ad. I only learned they posted it this morning.”

A flash of humor reaches his eyes. “And already you have a line at the door.”

“It’s the benefits package…” I joke, then my voice drifts off as I realize I might have embarrassed him. The benefits are exactly why he’s here.

Guy’s back to looking at his hands or behind my shoulder, and I don’t know what to say.

“I wouldn’t actually pay someone to marry me,” I admit. “But for what it’s worth, I appreciate how hard it must have been to show up here. Your daughter is a lucky girl to have a father who loves her so much.”

Guy’s smart enough to understand I’m trying to let him down easily, and he’s either kind enough or desperate enough not to be a jerk about it. Instead, I see him mentally shift gears.

“Do you need any help out on your ranch? I’m a carpenter by trade, but I’m a quick learner. I work hard.”

I believe him. At least I believe the hands in front of me, with all the little cuts and splits fingers get when someone spends a lot of time doing manual labor.

“I need the help, but most of my cash either whinnies, moos, or is tied up in land I won’t sell.” Certainly not after tearing my life apart to keep it that way. “I can’t pay anyone until the next season of steers are sold, or offer insurance benefits.”

“I understand.” Guy’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Well, it was worth a shot, right?”

“You miss all the shots you don’t take.” I hate how embarrassed he looks, so I ask, “Can I see a picture of Emma?”

Guy pulls a cell phone out of his back pocket and lays it on the table as he scrolls through his photos. He stops on a video of him and a little girl at a petting zoo and offers his phone to me so I can see better. The video is a little shaky, because he’s obviously filming them himself, but his daughter is a cutie-pie, sitting on his shoulders with a beautiful grin on her face that matches the sweet smile on his own and goes straight to my heart. She’s got his blue eyes and dark hair.

“The next one is my favorite.” Guy indicates I can swipe to a second video, where his daughter is standing by a short fence, giggling as she feeds handfuls of hay to a pair of baby goats in pajamas.

Sanai returns with his breakfast sandwich and the biscuits, which I’m hoping will help us both choke down the awkwardness of this morning.

“Are you going to be in town long?” I ask.

“Not unless I can find work. I was hired on for a kitchen and bathroom remodel down the street, but my job was supposed to be for a month. The general contractor paused it two weeks early because everyone wants time off for Christmas.”

Clearly, it’s time off Guy can’t afford. I doubt the homeowner is any happier with the contractor than Guy seems to be.

“I’m guessing taking the holidays off isn’t an option for you?” I say gently.

He gives me a slight smile. “Not really. And I’m guessing you weren’t expecting to hear a stranger’s life story this morning.”

“I’ve got a large latte and a biscuit in front of me.” I lift my drink in silent encouragement for him to go on. The man needs a break, or maybe just five minutes of someone caring his life is falling apart.

Guy glances out the window again, then picks up his breakfast sandwich and sighs.

“It’s this vicious cycle,” he says in between bites, frustration filling his voice. “The insurance will cover the transplant, but you have to prove you can afford the anti-rejection drugs, and I can’t show that kind of financial stability. I’m able to get work, but Em’s in stage five kidney failure. I can’t not take her when she needs dialysis, and I can’t leave her alone when she’s in the hospital. Emma gets too scared.”

“That’s awful.”

Those two words feel so insignificant. If his situation feels awful to me, I can’t fathom what Guy is experiencing. This isn’t a sad story online or in the paper. This is his life. This is his daughter’s life. He finishes the breakfast sandwich and wipes his mouth politely with his napkin. I nudge the basket of biscuits his way, and he caves. Guy has more restraint than most, and he only eats one, albeit slowly.

“Well, I need to get back to my daughter. Thank you for the breakfast, Sienna. It was nice to meet you.” He almost manages to cover how disappointed he is, but I can see it in his eyes.

“Where is Emma now?”

“At the day care across the street. I don’t like to leave her there very often. They’re nice, but I’m always worried someone will give her something she can’t eat or drink by accident.”

I follow his gaze and suddenly understand why he’s been checking out the window every few moments. I hear what he’s saying and what he isn’t. Childcare is incredibly expensive, even for just an hour or two.

“You could have brought her in,” I tell him. “I would have bought you both breakfast.”

“That’s kind of you, but her diet is really strict.” Guy hesitates, then says with quiet dignity, “My daughter’s heard and faced a lot she shouldn’t have had to deal with. I didn’t want to bring her and have her hear…whatever this was going to be.”

Like her father selling himself for a chance to save her life.

I’ve never felt so badly for a stranger as I do in this moment, so on impulse, I say, “I know a lot of people in town. I can ask around and see if anyone needs some help. Can I get your number?”

“Thanks, I really appreciate it. Anything will be great, but I’m better on my tools than most other work.” Guy texts me his number, and I add him into my phone. He pauses and then he looks at me with too much kindness for someone with so much on his shoulders. “Sienna? I’m really sorry about your divorce. I hope you do something nice for yourself today. And I hope whoever your ex is, he’s kicking himself for losing you.”

Then he leaves, grabbing a worn, heavy tan Carhartt jacket from the hooks by the coffee shop door, hands stuffed in his pockets and head down as he hustles across the street. I watch him through the window, and the grim worry on his face smooths before he reaches the day care. He opens the door and disappears inside. A few minutes later, he walks back out to a white Dodge truck parked on the street with a small child in his arms. I can only see the back of her head and a sparkly rainbow unicorn horn sewn to the knit cap she’s wearing, but the expression on his face as he looks down at her is so full of love, it makes my heart hurt.

I bet she’s beaming right back at him. With a smile like Guy Maple’s, it would be hard not to.