Longing for a Cowboy Christmas

by Leigh Greenwood

  They moved in glorious rhythm, feeding each other’s needs while reveling in the ecstasy of mating. Maggie ran her hands over his muscled arms and solid chest and shoulders, returning his heated kisses with fervor as his thrusts grew deeper and faster. Sage was all power, yet all gentleness.

  Life couldn’t be any better than this. But sometimes past disappointments and heartache caused both of them to fear that something—or someone—would take all this away. She prayed to God every night that would never happen.

  Four

  Sage rode Storm hard, racing to keep up with a sleek, wild black mare he’d broken out of the herd of mustangs the rest of the men were helping chase down. This mare in particular was the perfect size for Maggie, and she was beautiful…like Maggie. He wanted to gift something to his new wife. She deserved it for all she’d been through, and for being the best wife he could ask for.

  He kicked Storm’s sides and urged the horse on until he was close enough to lasso the mare. He threw his rope, letting out nothing short of a war whoop when the loop fell over her neck. He supposed this was how elated his Cheyenne ancestors must have felt chasing down wild horses and buffalo. He quickly wrapped the other end of the rope around the pommel of his saddle and slowed Storm. “Hold her steady, boy,” he told the horse, patting Storm’s neck. “You’re a little lathered, I know. We’ll take a rest.”

  Storm planted all four hooves solidly and refused to buckle under the wild mare’s attempts to escape. She whinnied and reared with fear and confusion, yanking hard at the rope but not getting one inch of relief. Sage dismounted and walked closer to his catch. “Calm down, girl. You’re going to live a good life once we get you broken in.”

  The mare whinnied and bucked again, her eyes wide and wild. She tossed her head and snorted when Sage came a little closer. He stayed out of reach long enough to light a cigarette and step out his match. He took a long drag on the smoke as he studied the vast valley below, where his men chased and herded what looked like a good fifteen or twenty mustangs. They headed east, toward home base and the corrals that would hold the fresh horses for breaking and branding.

  Sage couldn’t help feeling pride at knowing everywhere he looked, the land belonged to him. Paradise Valley couldn’t be a more fitting name. Most of this land was part of a sprawling valley in the foothills of the Rockies, and each season brought a wild array of colors, from wildflowers to grasses of a hundred shades of green and yellow. The gray and purple mountains to the west were speckled with dark-green pine and the white trunks of aspen, which displayed bright-green leaves that glittered when they rippled in the wind.

  For the first time in his life, he felt true peace. Having Maggie come into his life had helped. She was everything his first wife wasn’t—unselfish, hard-working, brave, and able, good with her father’s rifle, willing to put up with the loneliness and hardship of living in the wilds of Wyoming. Maggie didn’t care about fancy things, and she was a damn good cook.

  The best part was, she’d love him and do whatever it took to help him even if he didn’t have a dime…and it didn’t matter to her that he carried Cheyenne blood…or that he’d once ridden with and lived the life of outlaws. She knew he’d started this ranch with cattle he’d bought from another man along the Outlaw Trail—cattle that man had stolen. But he’d built a huge herd of his own from those first few. He didn’t know a damn thing about where some of his men came from or what they’d done in the past—and he didn’t care. Neither did Maggie. She never once looked down on any of them, and they all loved her and respected her.

  He’d built a beautiful home for Joanna, but she’d thrown it all in his face. Maggie, on the other hand, loved it, and to her, their big log home might as well be a castle. And in bed… He grinned, feeling the manly urge he always felt at the thought of Maggie taking him with great passion every time they made love—and they made love often.

  He could hardly wait to show her this black mare. The horse had a white patch on her chest and around all four legs at the bottom. He smiled, knowing how excited Maggie would be with the gift.

  The mare had calmed as Sage stood there smoking, then suddenly jerked and whinnied again when he turned to walk closer to her. He paused to sniff the air as he studied the horizon in all directions, glad he didn’t smell any smoke other than that of his own cigarette. He still worried about fire, and about the fact that streams and watering holes were drying up, as well as the grass itself. It wouldn’t be long before he’d be forced to herd the cattle to the northeast section of grass he’d been saving. He’d even posted men there to guard it, fearing a neighboring rancher would try to sneak his own cattle onto the still-green grass.

  He finished the cigarette, then stepped it out in a patch of gravel, smashing it good and hard with his boot and watching the spot to make sure the stub was definitely out. He walked even closer to the mare, and she tossed her head again, eyeing him with obvious distrust.

  “Settle down, girl.” Sage reached up and touched the horse’s neck. “See there? I’m only here to give you an even better life—a good barn that’s warm in winter, plenty of oats, and a rider who’s so lightweight that you’ll hardly know you’re being ridden. She’s small and beautiful, and she knows and loves horses. You’ll never have to work hard, and you’ll never be ridden hard.”

  The horse snorted, as though to say she didn’t believe him. Sage patted her neck again, then walked back to Storm. The big Appaloosa grunted and shook his mane hard, sending sweat flying.

  “I know, boy. Let’s get you back to your stall and rub you down. We can ride easy on the way.” Sage remounted Storm and turned him to head to the house. The wild herd his men had rounded up was already over a rise and had disappeared in the direction of home, but Sage could still see their dust. He frowned when he spotted something else headed that way…a fancy buggy pulled by a sleek, black horse. The animal’s perfect cadence bespoke an expensive steed, trained only for pulling buggies and not for riding.

  Sage couldn’t see from his position who was driving the buggy, but he did recognize two other horses riding beside it—an Appaloosa and a roan-colored gelding. They belonged to two of his ranch hands, big Joe Cable and the Mexican Julio Martinez. They had apparently seen the unknown visitor coming and decided to accompany them. It wasn’t often that strangers made it into Paradise Valley without being spotted and questioned.

  “Who the hell could that be?” Sage muttered to no one. He kicked Storm into motion, heading in the direction of the visitors, tugging the mare along behind. He hoped this unknown visitor had nothing to do with Joanna. The last time she’d come to visit and beg for money, he’d sent her packing with plenty of cash and orders to never come back to Paradise Valley. The expensive rig below must belong to someone else…someone with even more money than Joanna had, unless she’d found another rich husband. He damn well intended to catch up with the rig and question whoever was in it before they reached the house.

  Five

  Julio and Joe saw Sage coming and slowed their horses, shouting to the driver of the buggy to stop and wait for Sage to catch up. Keeping Storm at a slow pace because of the horse’s recent hard run, Sage finally reached the carriage and halted Storm beside it. A dark-green canopy trimmed with gold-colored fringe sheltered both the driver and his passenger from the hot Wyoming sun.

  Sage did not recognize the driver, nor did he recognize the stern-looking older woman who made her appearance when she rolled up dark-green canvas shades at each side of the back seat. Once the shades were opened, Sage could see padded seats covered with soft green velvet. The skinny wooden carriage wheels were painted yellow, with bright red trim. Any man could see the rig was high-end, and the older woman who likely owned it radiated wealth, both in her clothing and her demeanor. Her feathered hat nearly touched the roof of the buggy, and her blue velvet dress looked as though it was tailored just for her buxom figure. Sage thought how she might be attractive if
not for the dark, judgmental look in her eyes. Her lips were tightly pressed, and her eyes reminded him of black clouds.

  The bearded carriage driver wore a silk top hat and a black frock coat. He was burly, with dark eyes that glared as though he was God Himself, eyeing all the men with the hand of judgment, as though they should all be condemned to hell.

  Sage turned his attention to Joe. “What’s going on here?”

  “They are unarmed, Sage. We didn’t figure there was any harm in bringing them in. They asked about you and about Maggie.”

  “Maggie?” Sage turned his attention to the driver. “Who the hell are you, and what do you want here?”

  The driver held his chin high, his black eyes looking ready to burst into flames. “I am Reverend Billy Parker, and this lady is a member of the Church of Judgment and Salvation, so you will not curse or blaspheme in her presence.”

  Sage looked at Joe. The man shrugged and grinned a little. “They won’t tell me what they want—just to see you and Maggie.”

  A disgruntled Sage leaned on his saddle horn and frowned at the preacher. “Well, here I am, and I’ll speak any way I want. This is my land, and so far you are trespassing. Are you here to judge me or save me? Whichever it is, I’m not interested.”

  “You’re Sage Lightfoot? The outlaw?” the reverend asked. “The murderer? There is no salvation for such a man, especially one who I am told carries Indian blood.”

  Sage straightened. “Mister, you got the name right. And you got it right that I’m part Indian. You even got the outlaw right, but I’m no damn murderer. Any sonofabitch I ever killed was in self-defense or defending someone else!”

  The woman in the back seat gasped and finally spoke up. “Dear God! He is a sinner beyond redemption, Reverend! We must get the child out of here!”

  “What child?” Sage asked, now beginning to bristle. “I don’t care to be called names by someone I have never met! You two had better explain yourselves damn quick, or these men will accompany you off this ranch!”

  “We prefer to first meet a Mrs. Maggie Tucker before we explain,” the reverend told Sage.

  “She’s Mrs. Maggie Lightfoot now, not Maggie Tucker. She’s my wife! I’ll decide whether or not you get to meet her. And I’ll not have her insulted the way you just insulted me. More talk like that, Reverend, and I’ll drag you right off that buggy and give you a sound wallop! I don’t like your attitude.”

  The reverend refused to meet Sage’s gaze. “Whether the name is Tucker or Lightfoot, it does not change why we are here. The woman with me is Mrs. Elvira Hart, and she has good reason to meet your wife. We mean no harm. This involves Mrs. Hart’s son. She needs some questions answered, and only this woman named Maggie can answer them! If you do not allow us to speak with your wife, we will come back with the law.” He finally faced Sage. “I don’t think a man like you, or those who work for you, care to have the law come riding in here asking questions about how you built this ranch, Sage Lightfoot!”

  “And I don’t like being threatened! Law or not, any men who come onto my land unwelcomed will get chased right back off! And I’ll not take you to see Maggie until I know what this is about.”

  “It’s about my son!” the old woman yelled. “Jimmy Hart!” She raised her chin and sniffed as though victorious in some kind of combat.

  Sage was taken aback. Jimmy Hart was one of the three men who’d raped Maggie after murdering Maggie’s husband…one of the three men who weeks later stole Maggie away after she and Sage fell in love…one of the three men Sage killed to get her back.

  “What about your son?” Sage asked. “He’s dead. Is that what you’re here to find out? It was me that killed him, and he damn well deserved it! He murdered Maggie’s first husband, and he and two of his friends raped Maggie. What the hell else do you want to know?”

  The stout Elvira Hart stiffened, her bosom heaving with deep breaths of frustration. She glared at Sage so fiercely that he felt he’d just been stabbed. “I want to know if she is carrying my grandson,” the woman declared. “If she is, I intend to take the child and raise it!”

  Sage’s fury knew no bounds. He’d never been more tempted to wrap his hands around a woman’s throat. Not even Joanna had ever made him this angry. He unwrapped the rope from around his saddle horn and handed it over to Julio, then dismounted. “Take this mare on home, Julio. And don’t pay any attention to what that woman just said.”

  “Sí, señor,” Julio answered.

  “And get off your horse,” Sage added. “Storm has been ridden hard. I need you to ride him to the barn—slowly—and brush him down. See that the mare is penned—separate from the other horses. She might be in heat, and I don’t want any stallions getting to her. I’ll ride back on your horse. When Maggie sees you on Storm, she’ll be worried about me, so just tell her we traded horses because I was going out after more horses and Storm was worn out. And don’t say a word to her about these visitors, understand?”

  “Sí, Señor Boss.” Julio dismounted, handing his horse’s reins to Sage. The two men exchanged a look that said it all. All the ranch hands knew what had happened to Maggie, and all of them knew Sage claimed to be the father of her child. None of them knew if that was true or not, and none of them cared. They all adored Maggie, and she belonged to Sage, which meant to question the situation in front of Sage would likely get them fired…and likely not without a beating.

  Julio mounted Storm and rode off with the mare.

  “What do you want to do, Sage?” Joe asked him.

  “I’ll handle it,” Sage answered. “Just don’t say a word to the rest of the men about this.”

  “You know I won’t,” Joe answered.

  Sage mounted Julio’s roan gelding. “Wait till this is over,” he told Joe, his best friend and a man he trusted with his life. “I’ll be wanting these two escorted off Paradise Valley, and I need you to go along to make sure that happens.”

  Joe nodded. Sage urged Julio’s horse closer to the reverend, who still sat glaring at Sage. “How dare you keep this fine woman waiting in this heat!” he declared.

  “Do you think I give a damn?” Sage answered. “She’s the one who chose to come here.” He turned his attention to the woman.

  “How in hell did all this start?” he asked. “Jimmy Hart was a murderer and a rapist. He was living on the Outlaw Trail with men as bad or worse than he was, and they all died, most of them at my hand! How in God’s name did you know anything about any of that? You certainly aren’t the type to hang around men in places like that.”

  Elvira Hart stared straight ahead. “I am a woman of considerable wealth,” she answered. “Whatever I need to know, I can hire men who will find out for me. As far as how this started, Jimmy knew he’d not get his share of my fortune until he was twenty-five years old, or I was dead—whichever came first. He wanted it sooner, so he robbed a local bank in Omaha to get what he wanted. He thought I would pay it back out of my own money. Instead, I sent men to arrest Jimmy for his sin, but he ran off. I hired men to track him, and they learned he’d taken up with thugs and was committing other crimes. They traced him to a place called Hole-in-the-Wall, where they—”

  The woman sniffed and choked up, quickly dabbing at her eyes with a lace-trimmed handkerchief. “Where they learned he’d been killed,” she continued. “Other men there talked. They told the men I hired that my Jimmy was shot down by a man named Sage Lightfoot, who owned a ranch called Paradise Valley. And they said…they said it was over a woman named Maggie Tucker… That in all the shouting, they heard men say she was pregnant with a bastard child…and that you rode off with her after killing my Jimmy and the men he rode with—and in a very brutal way, I might add!”

  “They were brutal men,” Sage answered. “I did what needed doing. They’d taken an innocent woman—a woman who was carrying my baby—understand? Mine!” He turned to the reverend. “Now
, turn this rig around and get the hell off my land!”

  “Not without talking to Maggie Tucker!” the reverend demanded. “Mrs. Hart wants to hear from her own lips that the child she carries is not Jimmy’s. It is possible Jimmy was the only man who had his way with her, and not all three men. Mrs. Hart is very well off. She will take the child and raise it properly. The child will want for nothing.”

  “Except the love of its real mother,” Sage growled. “I told you the baby is mine, and Maggie is my wife now! I’ll not let you put her through the humiliation of the kind of questions you’d ask her, so get the hell out of Paradise Valley. I’ll not take you to see Maggie!”

  “You must!” Mrs. Hart insisted.

  “I don’t have to do one damn thing I don’t want to do. Get off my land!”

  “But…my grandson…”

  “Lady, that baby is mine, so you have no rights to the child.” Sage turned his attention to the preacher. “Get the hell back to wherever you call home.”

  “You, Mr. Lightfoot, are a sinner of the worst sort,” the preacher answered. “I feel sorry for what you are going to suffer upon your death!”

  Sage looked at Joe and grinned.

  “Sage, I hope we both go at the same time, so we can have each other’s backs when we get to hell,” Joe joked.

  Sage nodded. “I’ll be proud to have you at my side.” He turned his attention back to the preacher, his smile fading. “You’ve had your last warning, Reverend.” He rode closer and grabbed the bridle to the sleek horse that pulled the rig, forcing the horse to turn. “Get moving, or I’ll take the reins from your hands and my men will lead this horse out of here whether you like it or not. You’ve pushed my patience as far as it will go. If you want to come back here with the law, just try it and see what happens!”