The Cowboy Who Saved Christmas

by Jodi Thomas

  The next morning he was on edge. The wind was strong, with a bit of snow blowing like sand. All the girls stayed in the back of the wagon except Number One. She and Emery took turns riding shotgun.

  By midafternoon the snow increased but still blew sideways from the north. The heavy clouds seemed to boil above them, promising a storm. Trapper ordered everyone inside the wagon as he drove, fighting to see the trail on a ground turning white.

  Finally, before dark, he found a ravine about a quarter mile from the trail. It wasn’t much deeper than the wagon was tall, but it would break most of the wind.

  Though not perfect, he took the stop knowing that the horses needed rest. His three riders jumped out of the wagon and helped him with the horses. They walked them to the deepest part of the wide ditch. It was too rocky for the wagon, but here the animals were out of the wind, and they found a spot to form a corral.

  When they got back, all the girls helped to push the wagon into a pocket in the ravine, taller and longer than the wagon. Trapper chopped down a few branches and small trees to block the one side of wagon that was exposed. The barrier might not keep out all the wind, but it would help.

  Emery had a supper of apples and biscuits with leftover bacon sitting out on a tiny table made of bags. They all knew there would be no campfire tonight. They’d eat in the wagon.

  Halfway through the meal, Number Five stood up and said that Tapper was staying inside with them tonight. It was too cold to sleep out, even if he did have a P-gun and didn’t need the chamber pot.”

  “What’s a P-gun?” he asked.

  Emery whispered, “I believe it’s spelled p-e-e gun.”

  He was the only one who blushed. The others all laughed.

  “I never knew little girls thought of such things.”

  “We’ve seen them on babies,” Three announced. “You take off their clothes and the pee gun shoots up like a fountain.”

  Two added, “Don’t boys think things about girls?”

  “We are not having this conversation.” If he got any redder, he’d be stepping out in the blowing snow. He sat on the bench by the back opening that was now draped with the girls’ dresses. Looking down at all of them settling in, he felt like an eagle watching over his nest of chicks.

  Emery moved over to sit beside him. He wrapped his blanket and his arm around her. She spread her blanket over their knees.

  He pulled her close and kissed her forehead, then looked at the sleeping girls. “I’m going to miss them,” he whispered.

  “Me too,” she answered.

  As the last light faded and the inside of the wagon was black as a mine, she touched his chin and turned his face toward her. This time she kissed him slowly and tenderly for a long while.

  He didn’t feel the cold or worry about the darkness. He was floating in heaven. He encircled her waist and pulled Em on his knee so he could feel her heart beating against his. As they kissed, he untied the shawl and pushed it back so he could feel the soft cotton of her nightgown.

  She shifted so his blanket covered them from the shoulders down.

  He spread his hand over her ribs and felt her breath quicken. When the kiss deepened, he knew she loved his touch as much as he loved the feel of what he’d once seen on a rainy night.

  His hand moved up until his fingers passed over her breast and he caught a tiny cry of joy before it could escape.

  He moved close to her ear and whispered, “You all right with this?”

  She nodded, then turned to whisper back, “I’m loving it. I’ve never felt anything like this.”

  He wanted to tell her how soft she was, how perfect, but words would be dangerous. If one of the girls woke, what they were doing would be a lot harder to explain than the pee gun.

  He moved to the buttons of her gown and slowly worked one at a time. Then he slid his hand beneath the cotton and felt her skin on skin. His hand was rough on the softest thing he’d ever felt. Her nipple peeked and he laughed in surprise.

  They’d had no time to say the words of how they felt about each other. No mention of love or forever but he hoped she felt it in his touch.

  Maybe neither believed in forever. But at this one moment in time, he wished he did. He had nothing to give her. She’d lost one man. What if she wasn’t willing to lose another?

  What if this one touch was all they’d ever have? It wasn’t enough. He had a feeling that a lifetime wouldn’t be enough.

  He kissed her one more time and brushed her breast once more as he tried to memorize the feel. Holding her so close he felt like they were one person with two hearts.

  Then, he relaxed. She rested her head on his chest and slowed her breathing.

  He held her against him all night. It might be the only night they had. Tomorrow he might have to fight. He swore he’d die before he’d let anyone take Emery or the girls from him.

  Chapter 10

  The silence woke him at first light. The raging wind that had whistled down the ravine had finally settled. The storm was over.

  He stood and gently lowered Emery to the bench. Covering her with his blanket, he kissed her head tenderly. He’d danced with a few women when drunk, and talked to a few when necessary, but holding Emery in his arms was a paradise he’d never expected.

  Trapper had no way to put it into words.

  Moments like this in his life were tiny stars in a million miles of darkness. They made all the hard times bearable. One night like this would carry him through seasons of loneliness. Strange, he thought, how he hadn’t known how hollow he was until Emery filled his heart.

  As he buttoned his coat, he stared at the girls sleeping. Texas princesses born on this land. Number Five, Sophia May, she’d reminded him yesterday of her real name, had wiggled out of her blanket, but One, Catherine Claire, was holding her close and sharing her blanket with her little sister.

  Number Four, Helen Wren, had hidden so many rocks beneath the back of the front seat he wouldn’t have been surprised if they weighed more than him. He couldn’t bring himself to tell her she had to toss out even one.

  Four might be the next to the youngest, but she could read him. When he had to stop for the third time in one morning for the girls to “take care of private things,” or Trapper was forced into one of their games, Four always came near and patted him on the cheek, like that one thing would calm him.

  Strange thing. It usually did.

  When he studied Two and Three, he couldn’t believe he’d thought they looked just alike when he met them. They were as different as night and day. Number Two, Anna, was shy and organized, with a love of horses he’d rarely seen. Number Three, with her short hair and shorter temper, was emotional, unpredictable, and could talk him into anything.

  As Trapper climbed out of the wagon and crunched his way down the ravine to the horses on a thin layer of frozen snow, he thought about what kind of men his girls would marry. He wished he could stay around to run off most suitors. If he were the colonel, he’d only let one in a hundred through the front door.

  Trapper frowned. The colonel might want to think about nailing Number Three’s windows closed. Short hair or not, she’d be a beauty and probably would grow up to be wild as a jackrabbit.

  He thought he heard the horses moving restlessly farther down the ravine and was glad he’d corralled them so far away from the wagon. They might have kept the girls awake during the storm. Then Two would think she’d have to go check on them, and of course he’d have to go with her.

  He’d better go check on them early, before he had two or three of the girls following him.

  He’d like them to sleep a bit longer, for this morning there was no campfire to warm up around.

  As he walked toward the makeshift corral, he realized something was wrong. Maybe some animal was trying to get to them. He’d heard that in cold winters mountain lions would come down this far looking for food.

  He heard something strange on the wind. The tiny giggle of a spur. The sound of leather ratt
ling and the shuffling of human feet.

  Trouble! That gut feeling he always got. Every nerve in Trapper’s body went on full alert.

  He raised his rifle to the ready and moved into a heavy fog that had settled low to the ground.

  Just as he turned a bend, something slammed into the back of his head, knocking Trapper to the ground. Someone or something hit the dirt a few feet to his left. Trapper turned left, but the fog blocked a clean shot.

  Trapper took one step left as two more men, dressed in western clothes, dropped from above on his right. One man’s knee hit hard into Trapper’s middle, while another’s fist got in two hard blows before Trapper could get in just one.

  He was a trained fighter, but so were they. After delivering several blows, two of the men caught his arms, and the third man, with the stance of a boxer, delivered a fist to his chin that knocked back his head.

  Trapper’s world went black and he could no longer respond, but the boxer continued hitting as his partners kept Trapper from collapsing.

  He hurt in so many places he could barely feel the new blows coming. He was seventeen again, thinking his midnight rides through the lines were exciting. Bullets flew past his ears, but he rode on believing he was somehow saving lives.

  Suddenly, in his mind, he couldn’t draw in enough air to breathe and his horse slowed. Now he was running. Not riding for a cause he didn’t understand. Not trying to save lives. Just running.

  In his nightmare he was reaching out, trying to touch someone. Running to Emery. He called her name, but the sound never met his ears and night closed in around him. The ground finally rose up to slam against him and all was silent.

  When Trapper finally fought his way awake, the sun was high. The first thing he heard was snow dripping as it melted. All was silent around him.

  Both his eyes were swollen, but he could see out of the left one. The three men who’d attacked him were huddled around a tiny fire drinking coffee. The boxer who’d delivered more blows than Trapper could count was beefy and bear-shaped. The other two looked more like gunfighters, with their gun belts worn low and strapped to their legs.

  Trapper didn’t have to ask what they wanted; he knew. He’d been watching for them to arrive, waiting for them since he left Jefferson.

  Last night he’d talked to Emery and the oldest three girls. They’d agreed that Trapper would step out early and scout around until he was sure they were safe to travel. Then he’d come back and they’d head out. From this time on they’d be traveling off the trail. Only now it was too late. The bad guys had found them.

  The plan was still sound. The wagon was hidden. If Emery could keep the girls in the wagon, they’d be safe for a while. Only, Four might slip out looking for rocks or Two might decide to test her skills in tracking him. One of them could refuse to use the chamber pot and want to make their circle in the open. Number One might decide it was time for her to take over the world.

  Trapper knew one fact: With Colonel Chapman’s daughters, he needed to expect the unexpected.

  His head was starting to hurt more from worrying than he did from his black eyes or split lip, or bruises and cuts.

  A short little man who looked like the reincarnation of Napoleon appeared and strutted over to Trapper. The newcomer rocked back on his heels as if he was teasing. “You must be Trapper Hawkins. I must say, you are far more trouble to track than that fat teamster. We lost your trail the third day out. Since then we’ve been riding back and forth, trying to guess where you were. It was pure luck we found your horses last night.”

  Trapper didn’t speak or move. It wasn’t hard for him to look half dead; he pretty much was.

  The little man turned and yelled at his men, “I told you to capture him, not beat him senseless. If he dies, one or two of you will be buried in the same grave.”

  The beefy guy grumbled and finally said, “I don’t see that it makes any difference. You told us we was gonna kill him anyway.”

  “And that little widow with him,” another added. “But I’d like to spend some time with her first.”

  All three started arguing over Emery.

  Trapper sat calmly on the ground with his hands tied behind him and blood dripping from several cuts on his face. His one thought was which one of these outlaws he’d kill first.

  The little Napoleon pushed them aside and stood in front of Trapper.

  “Sorry about my men. They can’t seem to follow orders,” he said, as if there was nothing unusual about Trapper being tied up.

  Trapper stilled. “Those are my horses. Take them and be gone and I won’t shoot you.”

  The thin cowboy hiccupped a laugh and asked, “How you gonna shoot us? Your hands are tied and you don’t have a gun.” He tapped the barrel of his rifle against the back of Trapper’s head.

  The leader shrugged, as if not interested in anything the thin cowboy said. “I didn’t spend two weeks tracking you just to take the horses. You insult me by even thinking I’m a horse thief. That’s not what I came for.”

  Trapper saw no gun on the man. He might give the orders, but he wasn’t a fighter.

  “I heard you fought for the South, Trapper. Thought I’d make you an offer. One chance, you might say, from one soldier to another.”

  “You’re here for the girls.” Trapper made a statement. He wasn’t asking a question.

  “Yes, we are. We’re not going to hurt them. They’re worth too much alive. We just plan to keep them until their papa gives us enough money. Then we’ll give them back, take the money, and head for California.”

  “I’m not turning them over.” Trapper steadied himself. He sensed another man was standing back in the fog even though he could not see him. Once the shooting started, Trapper had to get two, maybe three, before they killed him. The man hidden in the fog was a wild card in this deadly game they played.

  The three who’d beat him up were not ready for a gunfight. They’d done their job of beating him. The man in the fog might be the assigned killer.

  Trapper put his palms together and twisted hard on the wet rope. It gave just enough to slip one hand out.

  The short man was too busy making his point to notice. “Now think about it, Reb. You can get on your black devil of a horse and ride away, or you can die right here. Either way is fine with me.” He smiled. “Either way we take the girls.”

  Trapper figured if he could bide his time a little longer, the sun would burn away some of the fog and his chances would be better. “What’s in this for me? I’d already be dead if you didn’t want something else from me. So, tell me what you want.”

  The outlaw leader laughed. “You’re right. The old man at the trading post told us you were well-armed and you bought more. I only see one rifle on you, which means the others are in the wagon.”

  “They are.” Trapper saw no reason to deny what they already knew.

  The short man shrugged. “I’ll give you a hundred dollars, your horse, and your life if you’ll go tell the girls to come out unarmed. That includes that little woman you’ve got traveling with you.”

  Trapper shook his head and caught a glimpse of his rifle leaning against the ravine wall. If he rolled, he could grab it and get two, maybe three shots off before the men around him could raise their guns. But, the shadow in the fog standing twenty feet back might be ready. If so, Trapper would only get one man before he was shot.

  The odds weren’t with him this time, but he had no choice. He had to fight.

  Chapter 11

  Emery opened her eyes. Trapper wasn’t holding her. Looking around, she realized he was gone. All was quiet. He was simply scouting around, checking on the horses, nothing more.

  Maybe he’d gone to gather firewood for a meal before they started out.

  She closed her eyes for a moment and remembered how he’d touched her. Very few words were spoken. He’d told her how he felt about her with his light strokes.

  There was no time for words now, or maybe ever. He was a drifter who migh
t not want to settle. But, last night, she’d felt cherished and his touch would stay with her no matter what happened next.

  As quickly as she could, she changed into her clothes. They all needed to be dressed by the time he got back. One by one she woke the girls. Before they were finished dressing, she heard a horse stomping, as if the devil was chasing him.

  No breakfast. They’d be moving out soon, she guessed.

  One and Two shoved on their boots. “That’s Midnight,” One whispered.

  They were gone before Emery could stop them.

  She ordered the three other girls to stay put and ran to the opening where One and Two had disappeared.

  Branches caught her skirts for a minute, and she wished she’d been smart enough to buy Levi’s like the others had.

  Both girls were trying to calm Midnight.

  “His right front leg is cut,” Two said as she cried. “He won’t let us close.”

  Emery didn’t know much about horses, but she’d watched Trapper. He always talked to the horse before he touched the animal.

  “Easy, Midnight. Easy. I’m not going to hurt you. Easy.”

  Midnight watched her, his eyes still fired with panic.

  Emery kept talking. “I wish you could tell us where Trapper is. Did he go looking for you? Trapper will be worried about you.”

  The horse seemed to calm a bit as her soothing voice continued. “We want to help you, Midnight.”

  Finally, he stilled.

  Number One touched the rope around his neck. “I’ve never seen Trapper put a lead rope on Midnight.”

  “Someone else must have.” Emery felt fear cut off her breathing. “We need to hide, girls. Get back in the wagon. If someone besides Trapper is out there, we don’t want them to see us.”

  Catherine Chapman straightened to her full height. “No, Mrs. Adams. We have to split up. Eliza and you stay in the wagon with Helen and Sophia. If anyone you don’t know comes near the wagon, start firing. Even if you don’t hit anyone, they’ll stay back.”