Coming Home to My Cowboy (A Cowboy for Christmas #5)

Chapter 1- Layla

Going home feels strange, like an adventure I didn’t plan for. It’s been six years since I spent more than a few days there, and somewhere between growing up and chasing my degree, I stopped going back the way I thought I would.

I always imagined college would mean coming home often, visiting on weekends, staying connected. But becoming a real adult took work — late nights, internships, trying to figure out who I am and what I want from the world.

And after Mom and Dad split when I was fifteen, the house never felt quite the same. It became a stopover, not a home. Dad is barely there these days, and now walking back into that place feels almost… new. Familiar walls, unfamiliar life.

Still, I’m excited to see him. To step back into small-town December, where Christmas lights glow even in the quiet and everyone pretends the cold doesn’t bite.

Outside, snow drifts in soft flakes, and the afternoon sky has already turned that winter shade of gray, the kind that makes three o’clock feel like evening. It looks peaceful, almost like the town is waiting for me.

My car fills with the sound of my dad’s ringtone. I push my light blonde hair out of my face and press the call button on my steering wheel.

“Hey, Dad. Perfect timing. I just got into town.”

“That is great, honey.”

“I did not need chains, but I checked the tires like we talked about. The roads are pretty icy though. Especially near the edges.”

“About that…” his voice dips, and my stomach tightens.

I slow for the stop sign and tap the brakes too sharply. The tires skid, gravel crunching under the wheels before I stop right at the line.

“About coming home? And actually spending Christmas together this year?” My voice tightens even though I try to keep it light. “The first real one in… forever?”

“I know. I really do. But the airport is at a standstill. All flights are canceled because of the storm. I cannot get there.”

I stare ahead at the street I used to drive every day, the one I imagined seeing again with him beside me.

“So you are not coming.” The words land heavier than I expect.

“I might get out in three days. Maybe sooner. That is the earliest I can make it. I will still be there before Christmas. And if not, I will drive. I promise.”

“Okay.” It comes out thin, not angry, just tired. “I get it.”

A beat of silence stretches, and I swallow past the little ache in my chest. I tried not to build this up. I really did.

“That does not exactly help me figure out what I am supposed to do tonight.” I try to sound practical, even though disappointment still sits heavy in my chest.

He must hear it, because his voice softens. “Just go home. I already called Jace. I do not know if you remember him, but he is preparing the house for you. Stay there until I get back. I will send you money for groceries or anything you need.”

My breath catches before I can stop it. Jace.

I have not heard that name in years, but the sound of it sparks something low and sudden in my stomach. Memory mixes with nerves and something that feels like excitement, even though that makes no sense.

“I can handle it, Dad. I just…” I blink hard, trying to ground myself. The steering wheel feels too warm under my palm. “I just want you to be safe, okay?”

“I will. And Jace is a good man.”

“I remember.” More than I should, apparently.

“I love you. Be safe, Layla,” he says, gentle and apologetic. “I am going to go fight with the airline.”

The call ends, and I sit still for a moment, heart beating faster than it needs to, my mind still focused on Jace. At the house. Preparing it for me.

Jace who was … honestly inappropriately older than me when my crush started. I was fifteen, finally understanding why my friends were so interested in guys, but it wasn’t the cute nerdy boy who always asked for notes he didn’t need that had my attention. It was Jace.

He was a man with his thick black hair and sure green eyes.

He made life look effortless and kindness look basic, even if it was silent.

He casually told me that I needed to check my tires after inflating them for me.

How he always checked on me when there was a bad storm and dad was gone just because he knew I hated them.

There was always something that could be fixed and he’d take care of it before anyone else could.

His muscles, his imposing height, how he never had to raise his voice to get a job done even if it was dealing with a drunk, pissed high school boy who was yelling loud enough for him to hear from his ranch. Jace made high school boys look like… boys.

I knew even then that I couldn’t have him. He was and still is eighteen years older than me. We rarely spent much time together. He was always there to see dad, but God he left an impression.

Now, staying is just the logical thing to do.

He’ll be there waiting for me and I still want to see my dad.

But I’ve changed a lot since the last time he saw me.

I was sixteen and a half, coming back from a trip to the lake with some friends and he’d been working on our tractor with his shirt off, telling my dad what he needed.

He’d looked at me, nodded his head to acknowledge me, and I’d been sure he’d finally recognize my budding curves and would see my blush as more, just like in the books. He hadn’t.

Thinking about it now makes my face warm.

The way I used to linger in doorways when he visited.

The little excuses I made to walk outside and pretend I needed something.

The way I watched him with more longing than sense.

I had a crush shaped by teenage dreams and a heart that did not yet understand real life.

And I am not ashamed of any of it. For a long time, when I started dating, I secretly compared the boys I met to him.

Not forever, but in those early years when I was still figuring out what kind of man I wanted.

If they did not hold themselves with the steadiness Jace did, if they could not make kindness look strong the way he always did, I knew they were not right for me.

I grew out of that habit eventually. Life moved forward and I stopped thinking of him. Or at least, I thought I had.

Until now, with his name sitting right there in my chest like it never left at all.

“I should go to a hotel and tell dad not to bother him,” I say to myself.

But I’m twenty-three. I’m an adult now. Eighteen years is a lot, yeah, but it’s not too much.

Maybe seeing him will make the crush fade.

Maybe I will look at him and feel absolutely nothing.

That should be a relief. I bite my bottom lip, hoping the flutter in my stomach is only nerves and not old wishes trying to breathe again.

“It was a teenage crush. Nostalgia, nothing more,” I tell myself. “I will go home. I will take care of myself. I am past all that. Time to prove it.”

I step on the gas and head to the ranch. The sign is clear of snow. The one Dad and I painted, reading ‘Winter’s Ranch.’ It’s simple but sends a wave of peace over me.

Even if seeing Jace might be awkward at first, getting this time with my dad is more important.

Being able to disconnect from work and get back to my roots matters.

And if I finally see the man I once built impossible hopes around and realize it was all in my head…

well, that might be the closure I did not know I needed.

I turn into the shoveled gravel drive, tires crunching beneath me, and remind myself who I am now. I worked hard to build a life. I am not the girl blushing by the barn door anymore. This is not a test or a storm of feelings I cannot handle.

It is home. It is Christmas. And I am not going to waste a second of it.