Wild West Christmas Page 11

  Dillen stopped at Mrs. Pellet’s home to pick up the boys. Alice longed to linger in the cheerful parlor. It was already festooned with evergreen swag and garlands accented with bright red bows. Beside the window was a Christmas tree that stood ready for the woman of the house to decorate after her children were tucked safely into their beds. The boys rushed to Alice in welcome, and their exuberance filled her heart to brimming.

  Mrs. Pellet ushered out her family and drew closed the two pocket doors, leaving Alice and Dillen with Cody and Colin. Dillen did most of the talking, explaining to the boys that he planned to marry Alice and that they would be a family from here on out.

  “What do we call you?” Cody asked Alice, ever the practical one.

  “Well, I am not going to try to replace your mother. She was my dearest friend and I loved her very much. So I will understand if you wish to continue to call me Alice. If you ever wish to refer to me as your mother, I would be honored.”

  Dillen glanced at Colin. “You have any questions, little man?”

  “Where will we live?”

  Dillen took that one. “We’ll stay in the ranch house until the thaw.” He glanced toward Alice. “After that we’ll be looking for a spread of our own.”

  The snow was now falling so heavily that Dillen rented a sleigh from the livery, leaving Dasher safe and snug in a stall. They arranged to return for the sleigh after they completed their business.

  The first was the telegraph office, where Dillen sent a message to Alice’s father asking for his daughter’s hand. Alice was fearful that her father would not recall Dillen or would deny his request because her mother did recall him.

  Dillen took them to dinner while they waited, and the reply arrived as the boys were finishing their pumpkin pie. Cody, at least, seemed to sense the importance of this moment, for he lowered his fork and watched Dillen with anxious eyes.

  Alice laced her fingers together beneath the white tablecloth and prayed as Dillen scanned the message and then grinned. The breath left her and her head dipped for a moment as she sagged with relief.

  “Read it, Uncle Dillen,” demanded Cody.

  “‘Permission granted. Stop. Take good care of my precious girl. Stop. Will inform Mother of your plans. Stop. Fremont Truett.’”

  “Guess we’d better go find a preacher,” said Dillen.

  “Now?” asked Alice.

  “Heck yes, now. When you’ve waited as long as I have to wed the gal you love, the wedding can’t come soon enough.”

  Alice longed to kiss him, but refrained from public displays of affection and settled for squeezing his hand under the table.

  The church was Presbyterian instead of Episcopalian, but Alice did not care. Reverend Middleton was gracious in his agreement to marry them on short notice just prior to the Christmas Eve service. And that was how Alice Pinter Truett, heiress to a considerable fortune, wearing a simple dove-gray dress and with no adornment save a borrowed veil, wed Dillen Roach, a man of considerable pride and integrity. In her hand she carried a prayer book, and in her heart she carried love and hope.

  The little church was full to bursting with the members of the congregation. Bathed in soft candlelight and decorated with sprigs of evergreen, the interior glowed with the enchantment of Christmas services. Alice could not think of a more lovely setting to exchange her vows, and Dillen told her that he had never seen a more beautiful bride. With the simple exchange of words, a kiss and two signatures, they were married. In that moment, four people became a family and one wandering cowboy set down roots deep and strong.

  Alice believed in him, and that gave him the confidence to accept what she offered: her help, her heart and her courage.

  He was the luckiest cowboy alive.

  * * *

  Something hit the bed with enough force to bring Dillen upright. The next jolt struck him square in the chest as Cody joined Colin on the bed Dillen now shared with his wife, Alice.

  Alice groaned and her eyes fluttered open as Cody slipped into the gap between them. Dillen peered at the gray light filtering through the window above the half curtains. Pellets of ice struck the pane, and the room was cold enough for him to see his breath.

  “Wake up!” said Colin, nudging Alice. “It’s Christmas! Santa came! He came!”

  Alice had been up late decorating the tree and filling the nosegay ornaments with treats. Dillen had busied himself whittling a slingshot for Cody and painting the hobbyhorse he’d already finished for Colin.

  Then he’d kept her up even longer. A grin broadened across his face.

  “All right, I’m up. Come on, boys. Let’s get the fire started and give Alice some privacy.”

  Colin swung onto his back and Cody led the charge from the room. Dillen glanced back to Alice.

  “Do you think Santa brought you anything?”

  “I already have everything I ever wanted.”

  “Still, Saint Nick wouldn’t forget you.”

  Dillen had the fire started and the coffee on before Alice appeared, her hair in a loose braid and wearing a simple blue woolen dress that was as relaxed and pretty as its owner. The boys dug into their stockings as she started a breakfast of eggs and ham. Cody and Colin ran from the hearth to the kitchen to show her the caramels and the peppermint and sassafras sticks that Santa had brought them. The bounty continued as she set the table and sliced the bread, the stockings disgorging licorice whips, jacks for Colin and a sack of marbles for Cody. Alice insisted they eat before they indulged in the treats Santa had provided, but when the boys took their places, there was a distinct smell of licorice at the table. Dillen bowed his head and gave thanks. Everyone echoed his amen and Alice was quite horrified at how fast the food vanished and festivities commenced.

  Dillen kept the fire blazing as the boys opened their gifts. Both Colin and Cody feigned appreciation for the knickers and jackets, showed minimal interest in the hosiery, but the riding boots were a great success. Cody was in ecstasy over the slingshot, which Alice worried was a horrendous idea. Both she and Dillen extracted promises from Cody that he would not shoot either his little brother or any songbirds. Colin proved a great horseman on his new hobbyhorse, which he rode all about the house wearing new boots.

  Alice placed the goose that Dillen had provided in the oven with potatoes and onions. Mr. Roberts arrived to give the boys each a handful of lead soldiers that looked as ancient as the foreman. He stayed long enough to have a cup of coffee and admire what Santa had brought. Then he was off to the home of his niece for Christmas dinner.

  After Mr. Roberts’s departure, Alice settled in her chair. The boys approached, hands behind them, and Alice’s smile broadened as she glimpsed the bundle past Cody’s narrow body.

  “We made you a present,” said Cody.

  Alice protested. “You already gave me my gift, my lovely satchel.”

  “It’s for the tree,” said Colin. “For the top.”

  “Don’t tell her that!” growled Cody as he quickly handed over a gift wrapped in one of the dish towels.

  “For me?” Alice kissed them both on their foreheads and then drew back the edges. “Whatever can it be?”

  “It’s an angel,” said Colin.

  Cody groaned and glanced to Dillen, who just smiled and shook his head.

  Alice drew back the cloth to reveal a carved wooden angel with white feather wings. “Oh, she is beautiful!”

  Dillen came to stand beside her, one hand on her shoulder. “A tree topper,” he said. “I tried to make one like the one I saw on your tree at your grandfather’s home, except there’s no gilding and the head isn’t porcelain and it’s goose feathers.”

  “We glued them on!” said Colin, bouncing now with excitement.

  “It is the most beautiful angel I have ever seen.” She kissed the boys and then her husband. “Please put it on the top of our tree.”

  “We can get another someday,” said Dillen. “A store-bought one.”

  “No. That angel shall top ever
y tree from here forward. Our first tree.”

  Dillen grinned in pleasure as he took the ornament and lifted it into place, using the wire he’d fastened to the back to secure it to the fir tree.

  Alice stood by his side, admiring their angel. “Angels are usually blond,” she said.

  “My angel is one of a kind, and she’s got light brown hair.” He gave her a squeeze and dropped a kiss on her head.

  The boys stared up at the angel as if mesmerized. Alice broke the spell.

  “And now I think it is time for a little music. Cody, the fiddle, if you please.”

  Cody scrambled to retrieve the fiddle from the corner table beside the sofa. Dillen tuned his fiddle and rosined up his bow as Alice settled the boys beside her on the sofa.

  “What song would you like?” asked Dillen.

  “Boys?” said Alice, deferring to them.

  “You pick, Mama,” said Cody. It was the first time he had called her that and her reaction surprised her. She burst into tears and hugged the boys as she stared up at her husband, who seemed on the verge of tears himself.

  “Oh, I can only think of one carol to sing right now. What about ‘Joy to the World’?”

  Dillen lifted his fiddle and bow. Next their voices filled the little ranch house with music and her heart with gladness. Alice was home for Christmas after all.

  * * * * *

  DANCE WITH

  A COWBOY

  KATHRYN ALBRIGHT

  Dear Reader,

  I am delighted to bring you Kathleen and Garrett’s story that takes place in the backcountry of Southern California—one of my favorite places. They’ve each had their disappointments and regrets and truly deserve a “happily ever after,” if only they can forgive the hurts of the past. Perhaps, in this season of miracles, they can. After all, love is the greatest gift.

  A big thank-you to my agent, Mary Sue Seymour of The Seymour Agency, and to Harlequin editors Linda Fildew and Charlotte Mursell. You are each a treasure on this publishing journey.

  I love to hear from my readers. You can find me online at www.kathrynalbright.com, Facebook and Goodreads. Stop by and say hi.

  Merry Christmas!

  Kathryn Albright

  This story is dedicated to my first critique group—Maggie, Nina, Barb and Cheryl.

  I couldn’t have come this far without you.

  Thanks for always being there!

  Look for

  The Gunslinger and the Heiress

  Coming January 2015

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter One

  Southern California, 1882

  Garrett Sheridan latched the gate after the last of the Corriente steers pushed through into the small holding yard. Sweat dripped down his temple and veered toward his eye, the salt stinging as he squinted. He swiped the moisture with his arm and then resettled his hat. Temperatures might be in the fifties but he’d worked up a lather getting the small herd up the Old Slide Trail to the enclosure behind Ham’s butcher shop.

  Next to him, Eduardo tilted forward in his saddle, the expression of anticipation on his face making him look younger than his twenty years.

  “Gracias, Eduardo.” Garrett tugged off his leather gloves, dragged the folded wad of money from inside his vest and counted out a third of the vaquero’s earnings. The rest, Eduardo had insisted when he hired on, should go directly to his mother. Garrett counted that out, too, and tucked it in his hip pocket. “Daybreak Monday.”

  A wide grin split across Eduardo’s face. He reined his mount away from the corral and took off at an easy lope down the main road toward the saloon and an evening of gaming and drinking with his friends from the surrounding ranches. He’d find his way to his parents’ home by morning.

  Garrett might have only eight years on Eduardo, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt that carefree.

  He stroked Blue’s neck and then led him to the water trough. While the horse drank his fill, Paul Ham stepped from his shop. They’d already negotiated the price per head on the cattle, so Garrett figured this was more a social call—and he had an idea what it might be about. Still, he waited for Paul to get past the idle talk of the weather, knowing the real issue would come soon enough.

  “Saw smoke out your way.”

  “Took down a dead tree at Gully’s Creek. Burned the rotted part.”

  “Got a few good memories of that spot.”

  He didn’t need a trip down memory lane—not today. “Nearly lost a steer. A dead branch came down with that last storm.”

  “Guess you had to do it, then, but it still won’t seem the same.”

  That was the idea. That tree had witnessed a lot. He’d had enough of the reminders, although he wouldn’t admit that to Paul…or anybody.

  Paul studied him for a moment. “You hear the news about Kathleen?”

  Even after five long years, hearing her name still had the power to chase any other thought from his mind. He wished that weren’t the case.

  “Seems it’s common knowledge.” Common for everyone but his family. It was a bur under his saddle. Kathleen hadn’t sent word to the ranch to let his folks—or him—know she’d returned to Clear Springs. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for more questions.

  “You seen her?”

  “Not yet. I’ll stop by Molly’s today.” Ma had learned of it when she hosted the ladies’ quilting group. Then she had told Pa, and they’d both informed Garrett it was his duty to bring Kathleen on out to the ranch. She had no business paying for her room and board when a perfectly good room lay vacant there. Besides, Ma was fair itching to help with her child—a thing Garrett had difficulty believing even now. He was an uncle.

  “She took that opening at Becker’s.”

  Garrett nodded. He hadn’t heard that.

  “Christmas Dance is in a few weeks. Maybe you can talk her into coming. I wouldn’t mind a turn around the floor with her.” A smirk appeared. “Lucy Mae’s planning to go.”

  Garrett grunted. Lucy Mae had set her sights on him for last year’s party, and in a moment of weakness he’d agreed to go with her. Luckily, a sick calf had needed him more than Lucy Mae and he’d ended up staying at the ranch. After that, Lucy had made it known that he was something of a scoundrel. “Likely I’ll be there. You know how Ma looks forward to it every year.”

  “Women.” Paul snickered. “They’re tamin’ the countryside. In a friendly way, if you know what I mean.”

  Garrett shook Paul’s hand, and then gathered Blue’s reins and headed down Main Street. At the crossroad, he took a right, passed two tall clapboard houses and then stopped in front of a small log home. Señora Nuñez bent over her clay oven in the side yard, removing bread. In a routine that had become familiar to them both, Garrett gave her Eduardo’s earnings, refused her invitation to stay for dinner and thanked her for the thick slice of warm bread with a slab of cheese that she pressed into his hands.

  He turned back toward the main road and Becker’s Bakery. Half of him couldn’t wait to see Kathleen again. He felt it deep inside, the old charge of excitement he’d tamped down and controlled for as long as he could remember. Had she changed? It’d help immensely if she’d grown fat and ugly over the past five years. The other half, the half that had spurred him into torching that old tree…that part of him wanted her to stay far, far away.

  But most of all he had to know…why had she come back? This town held nothing but bad memories for her. He’d lived with those same memories—the ground rumbling, the explosion and then the air choking with dust as it billowed from the mine. And right in the thick of it, his brother, Josh.

  * * *

/>   The bells over the door tinkled twice as more customers entered the shop. Kathleen looked up from the dough she’d just shaped into a fat braid. A tall woman she didn’t recognize stood contemplating the baked-goods display while a man behind her waited his turn. The town had changed since she’d lived here. The discovery of gold had new people moving in. Yet some things remained the same, and she relished seeing those people she remembered as they stopped in the bakery.

  “Kathleen! Remember to knead that another ten times!” Sue Becker called out from the register.

  She sighed as she contemplated destroying her artwork. The dough had become sticky again. Sprinkling flour over the mound and onto the board, she shoved the heels of her hands into the center of the dough and pushed it away from her. Ten times! Her hands and arms ached from a week of kneading and slicing and stirring. She blew out a breath, hoping to displace a fallen lock of blond hair that obscured her vision without using the back of her hand. Although why that mattered she didn’t know. She was already covered in flour from topknot to toe.

  She separated the dough into two loaves, braiding both of them into a pleasing design. She would take one loaf to her aunt’s for supper. She smiled as she thought of the woman’s condition for watching Lily during the day. Soft warm bread…and company of an evening so that the night didn’t tarry so long. Of course, Kathleen would have none of that. Molly had turned her home into a boardinghouse in the years since her husband had passed away and Kathleen would pay for her keep just as anyone else would.

  She set the earthenware trays with the loaves on an iron rack over the oven. An hour to rise and they’d be ready for baking. As she lowered her arms and dusted the flour from her apron, she realized the chatter in the bakery had ceased. What was more, Sue and the tall woman looked from her to someone in the shadowed corner with more interest than seemed warranted.