The Cowboy Who Saved Christmas

by Jodi Thomas

  How that one singular moment when our mouths met was the happiest and most complete I’d felt in years. Like I’d found my home.

  I sat up in bed quickly on that thought. My home?

  My home was right here. I shut my eyes tight against the burn. “At least for today,” I whispered to the walls.

  There was a soft knock at my door, and Lila peeked her head in.

  “ ‘Happy Birthday,’ ” she sang in a whisper, smiling. Pushing the door open, she walked in with a bed tray.

  “Lila,” I said, standing. “You didn’t—”

  “Hush, and sit back down,” she said, clucking her tongue. “It won’t kill you to get a little special treatment today. Sit down and enjoy it.”

  The tray was set beautifully with a golden-brown croissant, two little tin cups of her amazing canned jellies, two crispy sausage patties, and a small jar of fresh honey.

  “Thank you, Lila,” I said, catching her around the waist and hugging her before she could get away.

  The older woman wasn’t one for overt affection, but I felt her soften after a tiny pause, and her arms came around my shoulders as she laid her cheek against my head. I’d had no mother, and she’d had no children, so we’d always kind of filled those spots for each other without saying it out loud.

  What would happen to her if I let the bank foreclose? Of course she would come with me wherever I went. Wouldn’t she? And we’d do what? I had the tiniest little bit of a personal purse stashed away for emergencies that I hadn’t touched since my father died, but it was truly minimal. I, myself, would only last maybe a year if I was frugal, but that didn’t take into account finding a new place to live or giving Lila a wage.

  But an honest job wasn’t out there for me. A woman. With cattle ranching skills, no less. I could sew a little, thanks to Lila. She took on sewing projects in her spare time and was glorious at it. She would be able to find steady work as a seamstress, no doubt, but no one would pay me for my meager ability.

  “You’ll be okay, Josie,” she said against my hair, as if reading my mind. “You may have to wear a dress every day if you’re going to be my assistant, but you’ll survive that.”

  I barked out a laugh and gazed up at her.

  “You’d hire me and all my thumbs?”

  “In a heartbeat,” she said with a wink that I didn’t quite believe. “You’d get better, doing it regularly. Before you know it, you’ll be measuring, pinning, and threading in your sleep.”

  That sounded horrid.

  A long pause passed between us.

  “I know life would be easier if I went with—any of the other options,” I said. “Things could carry on as normal.”

  “But it wouldn’t be normal for you, my girl,” she said, stroking my hair.

  I let go of a long breath. “Martin gives me the willies,” I said as Lila chuckled, then moved away to pick up a handkerchief from the back of my chair. “He’s always leering at my chest, and now the oil thing . . .”

  “Mr. Mason’s words are weighing on you.”

  The sound of his name sent warm tingles down my spine.

  “Everything is weighing on me,” I said, gazing down at the beautiful breakfast in front of me for which I had no appetite. “Could I live with the leering and the uncertainty if it meant the ranch was secure for my employees? That I could actually hire them back?”

  “With no cattle?”

  I sighed. “Would he really do that?” At her shrug, I averted my eyes. “But I wouldn’t have to worry about other things.”

  “Things that have very little to do with business, I suspect,” she said, a knowing tone in her voice.

  I met her gaze, shaking my head. “There was a moment,” I whispered.

  She chuckled. “Oh, there’s no doubt about that,” she said. “Any fool within five miles knew about that moment. It was radiating from both of you, neither of you looking at each other.”

  I covered my face with my hands.

  “I’m such an idiot, Lila. I can’t let that happen again.”

  “No, you can’t.”

  I heard the reproach, but it was much less than I expected. I waited for the lamenting of impropriety, but she just opened my wardrobe.

  “That’s all?” I asked.

  She shook her head, her back still to me. “You don’t need me to tell you right from wrong anymore, Josie. You’re a grown woman.” She pulled out a dress, surveyed it, and put it back, where she knew it would likely stay for the next six months. “You just need to be careful.”

  I sighed. “I know.”

  “Do you?” She closed the wardrobe, looking back at me. “Because the shattered young woman I pieced back together five years ago is not someone I want to see you wearing again.”

  I bit down on my lip as I felt the burn begin behind my eyes.

  “Protect your heart, Josie,” she said. She moved her gaze around the room. “This house, this land—they are just things.” She crossed the space to sit on my bed. “He’s a good man, I can see that. But this thing between you is—”

  “Dangerous,” I finished, my voice choked.

  The emotion in her face was evident. “And tempting,” she said. “I know. And that’s a gamble. It could be wonderful, or it could be disastrous, but that’s how life is, sweet girl.”

  “Did you ever—”

  “We aren’t talking about an old woman now,” she said, the mother coming back into her tone as she got up.

  “We could be.”

  “And yet we’re not,” she said, fixing me with the look. There was a flush to her cheeks with the diversion, however, that I didn’t miss.

  “I don’t have that luxury,” I said. “Not with him.” I swallowed hard. “I can’t trust my judgment with him, and that’s not good business.”

  “Business,” she echoed, picking imaginary lint off the quilt. “Well, that’s a choice.”

  I frowned. “How is it a choice?”

  “Between being the strong person I know, or letting your fears rule you,” she said. “If you’re afraid of being broken again, Josie, then you will be. And in that case, you’re right. You can find other places to live, rebuild your life, but there are only so many times you can rebuild yourself.”

  I just nodded, looking down at my tray through a haze of hot tears, willing them back. When they wouldn’t be denied, I blinked them free and swiped them quickly away.

  “So one, foreclose and lose everything,” I said, pulling apart the croissant. “Or two, marry Martin and keep the ranch, but risk the integrity of it.”

  “Or three . . .”

  I stuffed the flaky bread into my mouth, not even tasting the warm, buttery goodness before I swallowed, shoving everything else down with it. She was right. I was letting my fear rule me. But I couldn’t put my ranch down as collateral for my heart. It wouldn’t be fair to my employees to hope again and lose. That would be even more disastrous.

  I can’t make you trust me.

  “There isn’t a three,” I said softly.

  Chapter 13

  1904

  Josie

  I was sweeping, pushing, and pulling wet sticks and small debris from the long, wraparound porch when option number two came to call. Martin LaDeen, in all his puffed-up glory and enclosed carriage, rolled up, straightening out his suit as he stepped down.

  “Miss Josephine,” he said, brushing his hands over his jacket before stepping up to hold one out to me.

  I wasn’t usually a fan of proper greetings, so the lack of a “Miss Bancroft” was on point, but today, for some reason, it rankled me. Perhaps because this man had no personal knowledge of me, and yet wanted me to saddle up with him in spite of it. It felt presumptuous. Then again, today was the day.

  “Mr. LaDeen,” I said, taking my time resting my broom against a railing. I turned to let him take my hand in his meatier one just in time to see the disdain color his features.

  I had on my daily outfit. Breeches, riding boots, and a top shirt. S
ans hat. I had rounds to make shortly, checking on any further damage to the buildings, and I needed to check the herd and double check Malcolm’s estimates on fence repairs. In short, I was at work, and this was my work uniform.

  Mr. LaDeen had never seen me in it, however. We’d only met twice, once when I was meeting with my accountant in town and again at the party, both times looking much more put together than now. Then again, if he’d worked here at the Lucky B once, when Ben was here, he would have. My daily wear hadn’t changed in five years.

  “I hope my unannounced visit doesn’t offend,” he said, kissing the backs of my fingers a little too long. It was all I could do not to yank them back and wipe my hand on my shirt. “Or catch you at an inopportune time,” he added, gesturing toward the broom, as if it were the traitorous culprit that had me dressed so offensively.

  “Not at all,” I said. “I was just doing some chores.”

  “On your birthday?” he said, a grin pulling at his lips. “Surely one of your help could take care of chores today.”

  “My help.” I chuckled. Maybe too harshly. “Well, one of them is feeding the animals, and the other is in town to pick up food to feed us, so . . .” I grabbed the broom handle, needing something in my hands. “I’m it.”

  He paused, as if about to say something before clearly thinking better of it, placing his other hand over mine on the handle to cover it instead.

  “Well, all this will change, I assure you,” he said softly. “You won’t have to do such inappropriate tasks again—”

  “I don’t mind,” I said, clenching my jaw. “Cleaning makes me feel productive.”

  “Understandable, understandable,” he said, nodding. “But would you like to change and let me take you to lunch for your birthday?”

  “Of course,” I said. “After you tell me why you were fired from here several years ago.”

  He withdrew his hand as if I’d burned him.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I couldn’t believe I didn’t remember you,” I said. “Imagine my surprise. Then again, not everyone is memorable.”

  His face became a mottled canvas of pinks, reds, and something resembling plum.

  “I don’t know what you think you’ve heard,” he said, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “But you shouldn’t listen to gossip, Josephine.”

  “There was no gossip,” I said. “I found my father’s notes and ledgers. His shocking revelation right after the big storm that ‘Heavy Lean Deen’ was stealing from him.”

  It wasn’t a complete lie. There were notes and ledgers. Maybe not about him, but that was inconsequential. There were also years of teaching me to call a bluff.

  The plum color turned positively purple and spread down his neck.

  “It was all a conspiracy because Malcolm didn’t like me,” he sputtered. “He spread rumors about me—”

  “Actually, he told no one and fired you quietly,” I said, turning to resume my sweeping. “You can go, Mr. LaDeen.”

  “Josephine . . .”

  “Sorry you wasted your day,” I added.

  I heard a huff of breath behind me. “You don’t understand just how profitable our relationship could be.”

  Profitable.

  I looked back at him over my shoulder.

  “I’ll survive the disappointment,” I said. “Goodbye.”

  The front door opened as his carriage jerked and sped away like his horse wanted away from him as well. Lila stepped out onto the porch.

  “I take it you heard?” I asked.

  “I might have,” she said quietly.

  I swallowed, gripping the broom handle as I watched the dirt cloud behind the carriage.

  “Can you find me something appropriate to wear, please?” I asked, the words thick on my tongue as I shut my eyes tight against them. My heartbeat was loud in my ears. “For a ride into town?”

  I felt the pause. “Would you like me to try to ring up Mr. Green?” she asked. “The line may be full today, but I can try.”

  I shook my head. “The town will know soon enough,” I said. “I don’t need a bunch of nosy blowhards speculating beforehand.”

  “Josie.” I turned at her tone. Firm. Expectant. “It’s okay, sweetheart. We’ll be okay. All three of us. You’re making the right choice.”

  The hot tears burned my eyes. “Am I?”

  * * *

  I arrived at the office of Harris Green, Accountant, at one o’clock in the afternoon, driving solo in the small buggy Malcolm used for supplies. It wasn’t the best we had, but it rode smoother than the silly little carriage, and, also, I didn’t care. I’d dressed appropriately feminine in a simple ankle-length dress with laced boots and conservative gloves, and that was enough. I refused to wear any of the hats Lila put out. Hats didn’t belong on me unless I was riding a horse. For pleasure. Or work. Not for going into town alone on my birthday to sign my very life’s work away. They didn’t deserve me in a damn hat. I conceded to an updo. That was all I could stomach.

  It wasn’t really town, per se. The places we frequented—the market, the butcher, the bank, and Mr. Green’s office—these were all in a small subset of Houston proper. All within a two-block radius, and not inside the city itself, which was fine by me. Much less hustle and bustle, and less pretentiousness as well.

  The sound of my booted feet on the worn wood of the steps leading to his door sounded ominous. Like I was walking to my demise.

  In a way, I was.

  I shut my eyes tight against the burn, as I lifted my hand to the doorknob.

  “I’m sorry, Daddy,” I whispered. “I’m so, so sorry.”

  The knob squeaked as I turned it, and the door gave way to the musty smell of old paper as I walked in. The room was dimmer than the last time I’d been there, a testament to the layer of dust coating the windows.

  “Josephine,” Mr. Green bellowed jovially, entering from a back hallway. “Happy birthday, my dear.” He crossed the room as I removed my gloves and took one of my hands in both of his. “What brings you all the way here?”

  I blinked, confused. “What—what brings me?” I chuckled bitterly. “What do you think brings me? You said that my deadline was today.”

  It was Mr. Green’s turn to blink and be taken aback.

  “Yes,” he said.

  I widened my eyes. “And so here I am.” I took a deep breath and forced out the words. “I’m letting the bank foreclose. I only ask for a couple of weeks’ grace to get the animals placed and our furniture—”

  “Josie.”

  The way he said my name stopped me. With fervor and curiosity. Possibly alarm.

  “What?”

  “The debt has been paid,” he said. “Yesterday evening, before closing. I—I thought you knew.”

  My skin prickled with his words. “Yesterday? What—how?” My quickening breaths echoed in my ears. “Who?”

  “Benjamin,” he said, as if that was perfectly logical. “Mr. Mason. He—” A shake of his head preceded a worried look in his eyes as he passed a hand over his face. “Josie, I thought you and he had agreed upon this.”

  My chest went tight. “Agreed on what?” I managed to wheeze out. “Were there—are there papers? Does he own the Lucky B now? Did something transfer to—” My head went dizzy as the thoughts hit me at lightning speed. “Does he own me?”

  I knew that last one wasn’t legitimate. We’d have to marry for that. But what had he done? What did he go behind my back and do now?

  I can’t make you trust me.

  Well, no damn wonder.

  Turning on my heel, I ran from the room, the door swinging open behind me and Mr. Green’s voice calling my name. It was all a distant haze, covered by the ringing in my ears and my blood rushing through my brain. I had one mission, and one destination.

  He had tricked me with his pretty words. Again. Let me think he cared for me, when all he wanted was my property. Well, I wouldn’t be obligated to someone who spent his life thinking of new ways to rip my life
apart, and I would not be played for a fool. I would find a way to fix this, to get out from under him in every way. And by God, this would be the last conversation I had with Benjamin Mason.

  Chapter 14

  1904

  Ben

  “Daddy?”

  The sweet little voice called my name again, breaking through the pounding in my skull. I knew I needed to haul my butt up from the chair and go to the tree and see which present she was pointing at this time. Because it would be different from the other fifteen times, and each one was vitally important to her.

  “Daddy, did you hear?” she said, padding across the room in her tiny, soft little slippers, a shiny, red-wrapped box cradled in her arms. “Is this the one I get to open tonight?”

  “Whichever one you want, sweetheart,” I said, leaning on the arm of the chair as I massaged my right temple. “You can open one gift tonight before Santa comes. One gift from me. You decide.”

  “Do you get to open one, too?”

  I chuckled. There wouldn’t be one for me. Not yet. Not till after she went to bed and I filled our stockings with gifts from Santa Claus. Then there would be the new knife I’d been eyeing at the tannery and finally bought, and the small tin of strawberry tarts from the bakery. My favorite. Because obviously, Santa had to bring me something, too.

  “I’ll wait till tomorrow, bug,” I said. “Tonight is all for you.”

  “What did you ask for, Daddy?” Abigail asked. I met her beautiful, innocent hazel gaze.

  That was a good question.

  Until a few days ago, the answer would have been the same as it had been for the last four years. Peace and love and happiness for her. I was just Abigail’s father. I didn’t need anything for myself. But now . . .

  I rubbed at my eyes as I pondered the but now.

  Now, I couldn’t get a pair of dark eyes out of my head. Again. The same ones I fought so hard to forget the first time around. Opinionated, sharp words that flowed from a mouth I had devoured just yesterday. I hadn’t been able to stop myself once I’d started. Her taste drove me mad, and her hands on me—God, they were intoxicating.