Mustang Christmas

By Karen D. Nichols

            Some incidents pass and take with them the chance of our ever being the same again. Have you ever met a person and, in a moment’s time, you felt a connection so strong that the meeting lingers forever in your mind?

            Glancing at the photo on the mantle, I remembered one such moment that took place long ago.

            Living in Southern California, I loved visiting my grandfather’s log cabin ranch far out on the North fork of the Siuslaw River. Away from civilization’s wrath, one green rise led to another. Flat lush valleys lay cut by the river nestled between pine forests. His cattle roamed there, or huddled under a shade tree. Early in the morning, Grandpa and I would take a horseback ride out to catch the sunrise over the forested hills.

            Only Grandpa knew how I loved the barn cats. I begged him to let me take one home. But alas, the toms were old and set in their ways.

            On the eve of my eleventh birthday, Mom took me to the LA airport. I was to go to Grandpa’s for one week. At the Eugene Airport, I rushed into his arms. That may have been the last time I was small enough for him to swing me round and round. “Put me down, Grandpa.” I giggled with happiness.

            Grandpa and I arose at five the next morning. I remember seeing the golden glow of the not-yet-risen sun over the mountain. By the time Grandpa saddled Storm and helped me saddle Candy, the sun was shooting rays that sparkled across the dewy field.

            Then we were on the trail.

            Grandpa hollered, “Wait’ll you see your birthday surprise.”  He cantered ahead of me. Not to be outdone, I galloped up next to him and we set off to - I didn’t know where. Soon we came to a dirt road where I could see a farmhouse in the distance.

            “Where are we going, Grandpa?”

            “You’ll see.”

            Moments later, when we arrived in a cloud of dust, we were met by a man who very much reminded me of my dad. He squared his shoulders and strode toward us, wearing a wide grin as Grandpa and I dismounted.

            “Jed, this is my granddaughter, Kay. Kay this is Mr. Stone.”

            “Howdy, ma’am.” He tipped his cowboy hat.

            “Say, I don’t suppose you have that little thing we talked about the other day?” Grandpa smirked a mischievous grin.

            “Hey, Jimmy,” Mr. Stone called out. “Could you come here a minute and bring that box out, will you?”

            A few minutes later, a lanky boy brought a cardboard box out of the barn, leaned over and set it in front of me. When he stood, he brushed a blonde sprout of hair back from his forehead.  “Should I open it?”

            Looking up I found myself lost in the bluest eyes I think I had ever seen. We just stood there staring at each other for a moment until I heard the mewing. He lifted the lid. Inside the box were three little calico kittens, plus one black one and a soft gray one. They were climbing all over each other trying to escape the box.

            “Oh, Grandpa!” I jumped up and down. “Please, tell me I can have a kitten!”

            Grandpa nodded. “Are you sure you would take care of it? I don’t want your Mom to kill me.”

            “Grandpa.” I plunked my hands on my hips. “You know how responsible I am with my chores.”

            “Well, then maybe Jimmy will let you pick one out.”

            “We have to give away all of the kittens.” Jimmy’s voice broke. He knelt and picked up the gray one out of the box. “You can have any one you want.” Jimmy stood there beaming, as proud as if he were the mama cat. He stroked the kitten as his face relaxed into a pensive expression.

            “This one. May I have this one?” I reached for the one he held.

            His watery blue eyes bore into mine. “Just promise to take good care of her.” Suddenly a tear slid down his cheek. He reached out holding the cat around its tummy with its tiny paws dangling. As he handed it to me, the kitten nuzzled and licked my neck with her warm grainy tongue.  When I cuddled it in my arms, Jimmy turned and hurtled toward the barn. A piece of my heart went with him.

            Memories of that day 15 years ago, made me study the photo Grandpa had taken of me holding Cuddles. Last year I lost Cuddles, and there wasn’t a day that went by that I didn’t picture Jimmy handing me that kitten with his teary blue eyes begging me to care for her.

            When the doorbell rang, I knew it was my friend, Marilyn. Christmas shopping is always fun with your best friend.

        We laughed and reminisced on the scenic drive down 101 to Newport Beach. After hitting all the department stores in the Fashion Island mall, we headed off to some little boutique that sold specialty jeans. The cowboys sign their name on the rear pocket and sell their old Levi’s. The boutique makes them into skirts, cutoffs, purses or just decorates and resizes them for resale.

            “Go ahead, give yourself a Christmas present. You deserve it.” Marilyn held up a pair. “Maybe I will too.”

            So, after trying on several skirts and jeans, I bought the pair signed,  ‘Mustang’ on the derriere and decided to wear them. Studying myself in the dressing room mirror, I ran my hands over my rear where there was a horse label, his neck ringed with a wreath of flowers like a winning racehorse.

            “You lost weight, Girl? Those look great.”

            I smiled and nodded thinking that although quite snug, I didn’t have any rolls.

            “I made reservations at The Grille for lunch.”  Marilyn gathered up her Christmas packages. “Promise me you’re not going to get all teary over breaking up with that loser boyfriend of yours.”

            The restaurant was crowded and our table wasn’t ready yet, so we sidled up to the bar to wait.

Marilyn’s shiny auburn hair always attracted attention. She soon chatted with a good-looking dark haired guy.

            I stared into the wine glass in front of me. It wasn’t more than a few minutes when I felt the tap on my shoulder. I turned ready to glare at the intruder. However, I’ve always been a sucker for blue eyes, so I smiled up at him.

            “Couldn’t help but notice the name on your jeans.”

            “Imagine. A cowboy signed these and sold them to a boutique.”

            “Imagine that.”

            “Yeah, it’s amazing what they get for used jeans these days.”

            “May I buy you a drink?”

            Staring straight into those sapphire eyes, I held up my glass. “I’m sticking to this one white wine.”

            He stared right back. “I’ve only met one person with eyes as green and beautiful as yours.”

            “That’s a good line,” I sipped on my wine and flashed him a flirtatious grin.

            “It was a long time ago when I was a boy living up in Oregon on my pa’s ranch. I only saw her once but I still remember.”

            “Small coincidence. My grandpa lives up in Oregon outside of Florence. I just loved to go horseback riding in the hills and around the ranches. Maybe we went to your ranch?”

            “Yeah, Florence, huh?” He stared off as if his mind had gone searching. “I was very sad this one day, because my pa said we had to get rid of all our wild kittens. Then this delicate little girl came, and I gave her my favorite gray one. The twinkle in her emerald green eyes made me feel a lot better knowing the kitten was going to a good home.”

            “Hm?” I tossed my hair over my shoulder. It couldn’t be, could it? “What’s your name?”

            “Mus.”

            “That’s a strange name. Is it short for something?”  I asked.

            “James is my real name. When I got sick of being called Jimmy, my pa started calling me Mustang for the way I handled the orneriest of our horses. Somehow it shortened up to Mus.” He touched my cheek. “And I think you’re wearing my jeans.”

            That day I didn’t know I had gone shopping for a husband. Merry Christmas to us!