by P. Creeden
He met eyes with his mother. “I’m going to go saddle up Ginger. I need to get the marshal out here.”
“You’re hurt!” Clara cried out, rushing to his side. “You’re bleeding too much to make it on your own.”
“I’ll go,” Samantha said with a firm nod as she picked up the pistols from all three of the reprobates lying on the ground. She handed them to their mother. “I can ride just as fast as you can.” Then she turned toward Boyd. Keep an eye on them. If they wake up, don’t let them move.”
Boyd nodded, keeping his rifle trained on the men. Tom couldn’t help but smile at the eight-year-old boy who’d never learned to hunt or use a rifle before a few days ago but had taken down two bushwhackers all on his own. Clara took hold of Tom’s arm and then tried to usher him inside. But Tom pulled from her grip. “I’m fine. I need to stay out here and help keep an eye on these men until the law man comes.”
Clara frowned and set her hands on her hips. “You are not fine, Tom Crowley. Sit down here then and don’t move. Keep that arm up. I’ll be back with the sewing kit.”
Tom blinked. He didn’t realize that the woman had that kind of fire in her. He kind of liked it. Smiling, he did what she said and sat down.
When she returned, she washed the wound with water from a basin and then poured iodine tincture all over it. He hissed as it burned. She blew on it like a mother would for a child. The feeling of her breath blowing against his skin made his heart flutter.
She met eyes with him momentarily. “The stinging from the tincture will help numb the skin so I can sew it. I think this is going to need at least eight stitches, maybe ten, so don’t move even if it starts hurting again. All right?”
He nodded and she began.
Her eyes concentrated on the task in the minimal light from the lantern she’d brought with her out onto the porch. Some of the long hairs that she had on her forehead fell into her face and she blew at them, but both her hands were occupied. Tom gently pushed them behind her ear with his other hand, his fingertips lightly brushing her temple. Her maple brown eyes momentarily met his with a smile of thanks and then she went back to finishing her task. Ten stitches, just like she’d said, and by the time she reached the last two, the numbness from the tincture had worn off and he chewed his lip to keep still through the pain.
Once she finished, she bit off the last bit of thread with her teeth and sat back from him. He felt a bit of cold from the sudden loss of her body heat and the intimacy they’d shared moments before. He cleared his throat. “Didn’t you say that you were a nurse?”
“I am,” she said with a wide smile. “I hope to find work here in town if possible.”
He pushed back down his sleeve, even though it was torn. “I think it should be more than possible. You do good work.”
She smiled again, saying her thanks through her gestures rather than her words. Tom liked that about her, too. She was expressive enough that anyone could understand her, even when she’d said nothing. He was so very wrong about her before when he thought her dull and boring. The light from the lantern shined in her eyes, and Tom felt as though he could get lost in them. Then he heard a groan from the ground off the porch.
Danny Miller attempted to sit up, but there was Boyd and his rifle pointed directly at the man. “You better hold still.”
Danny’s brows furrowed as he huffed a laugh. “You better point that thing somewhere else, half-breed.”
“Don’t talk to him that way,” Tom’s mom said sharply, her own rifle trained on the man, too. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you any manners? I suppose not since you came up to someone’s house uninvited and then attempted to burn it down. Now, you better just do what the young man said and hold still.”
Even from this short distance away, Tom could see a smile playing on Boyd’s lips at his mother’s defense of him. Tom remained still for a long breath and then he saw four horses come trotting up the road to the house. Two of them hitched to a wagon driven by soldiers who had accompanied the marshal. When the marshal dismounted, he shook his head at the scene. “Someone want to explain to me what’s going on?”
Tom huffed a laugh. “It’s a bit of a long story. You have a minute?”
Chapter 15
Snow crunched beneath Tom’s boots as he led both Clara and Boyd up the hill toward the evergreens. The three of them had spent more time together over the last two and a half weeks, and Tom was beginning to feel as if they had both truly become part of his family. His breath clouded around his face as he looked back at them. Clara held Boyd’s hand as the child helped her step over a small creek that forged its way through the snow. Tom smiled as he watched the interaction between the two of them. “It’s not too much further.”
“Why did we have to come?” Boyd asked in a slightly high-pitched whine. “Couldn’t you have done this yourself?”
“Pshaw. No. The whole point in picking out a Christmas tree is to do it together, as a family,” Tom said with a grin.
Boyd’s brow furrowed at the same time as Clara’s brows rose toward her hairline.
Tom nodded at their unspoken questions. “Usually I do this with Mom and Sam, but this year is different. This year, I’m here with my new family. My new son, if he’s willing to stay with me and let me call him mine, and my new wife, if she’ll be willing to marry me.”
A small cry escaped Boyd’s lips as his face contorted, holding back a sob. Boyd rushed forward the last three steps until he’d slammed into Tom’s midsection, hugging him tightly around the waist. He said something incoherent as he smothered against Tom’s fur and leather jacket.
“I didn’t catch that. What did you say?” Tom asked.
Boyd lifted his chin, tears still streaming down his face as he looked up at Tom. “I’d be happy and honored to call you Father.”
Then Boyd buried his face in Tom’s midsection again, squeezing him tightly. Tom smiled down at Clara, whose own smile hid her feelings for once. For a split second, Tom felt nervous. What if she denied him? What if she didn’t feel the same way as he did?
Finally, she shook her head, and his heart sunk as he realized that maybe he’d read her feelings wrong.
“It’s about time you asked,” she said and laughed, jumping forward and hugging both Tom and Boyd together tightly. Tom’s heart soared in his chest as he squeezed them both against him and kissed the top of Clara’s head. Tears stung the backs of his eyes. His mother had been right all along. He’d needed a family and a home that he couldn’t wait to come back to. He looked up at the clear sky and caught sight of the evening star and its orphan.
And he thanked God in heaven for providing him with the two things he needed most, even though he didn’t know he needed them.
the end.
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About the Author
P. Creeden is the sweet romance and mystery pen name for USA Today Bestselling Author, Pauline Creeden. Her stories feature down-to-earth characters who often feel like they are undeserving of love for one reason or another and are surprised when love finds them.
Animals are the supporting characters of many of her stories, because they occupy her daily life on the farm, too. From dogs, cats, and goldfish to horses, chickens, and geckos -- she believes life around pets is so much better, even if they are fictional. P. Creeden married her college sweetheart, who she also met at a horse farm. Together they raise a menagerie of animals and their one son, an avid reader, himself.
If you enjoyed this story, look forward to more books by P. Creeden.
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More Books by P. Creeden
A Marshal for Christmas
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A Bride for Henry
A spinster raised to run a ranch. An injured man with a broken heart. A wedding neither of them want, but both need more than they will ever admit.
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Brienne Walsh has resigned to life as a spinster and the lone heir to the Walsh Ranch upon her grandfather's death. She's always been too tall, too strong, and too unprepossessing to be appealing to any man. Yet when the bank calls on her grandfather's loan, telling her to either pay the full amount due by the end of the month, or marry, she is thrown into an arrangement she can't abide but must endure.
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