A Stockingful of Joy

by Hannah Howell

“I know I’m not back to my full strength. But we can’t stay here until I’m perfectly well and the stitches are removed. We’d never make Paradise in time. I know we won’t be able to move very fast and that I might even have to stop earlier than I want to, but at least we’ll be getting closer to Paradise, to that damned land office.”

  Deidre nodded and watched him go out the back door. She got out of bed and began to get dressed, donning all the warm layers of clothes she had been able to set aside for a while. It did not help her mood to see that Tyrone moved with only a hint of stiffness, probably caused more by the tightness of the stitched and healing skin than from any real pain. He would heed no argument she could come up with and she could understand that. Everything he valued, everything his father had built for his family, was at risk.

  The moment he returned, she hurried to the outhouse. She wished he had at least taken the time to cuddle a little more after their swift, hungry bout of lovemaking, but she would not complain. If he was even half as hungry for the passion they could share as she was, they might not have left the bed all day if they had not separated quickly. It would have delayed his attempt to get back on the trail to Paradise, but she suspected he would have resented that once the fog of desire had cleared his brain.

  The delicious scent of brewing coffee cheered her a little when she returned to the cabin. She greedily accepted the cup Tyrone handed to her, savoring its warmth. His color was good and she tried to let that ease her concern for him. If they took it easy and were not harassed by any more of the Martins’ henchmen, she suspected he would be all right.

  “Stop worrying about me,” he scolded gently, kissing the tip of her nose as he placed their breakfast of bacon and beans on the rough table set before the fireplace.

  “I am trying to,” she replied as she sat down and began to eat, realizing that she was so bored with the fare that she barely tasted it anymore.

  “Deidre, I would much rather stay here, warm and safe, than drag my carcass onto the back of that horse and ride through the cold. I can’t do that. Maybe if it was just me, I might take the risk, might take a day or two more of rest and hope I could make it up on the trail. I can’t take that risk, can’t cheat my brothers of their heritage just because I want to pamper myself.”

  “I am not arguing with you about the need to get back on the trail. I can’t. I would probably do the same thing.” She met his brief grin with one of her own, recognizing that her stubbornness matched his own. “Just promise me that you’ll take it easy. I don’t think you can open your wound again, but who knows? It’s more the fact that you are not long recovered from a fever, and that sort of thing can steal a lot of your strength. It can also come back if you let yourself get too tired too soon afterward.”

  “I know that and, I swear, we will go easy. There’s still time enough to do that.”

  For a while they ate in silence. Deidre could not stop herself from looking for signs that he was indeed recovered enough to travel. She wanted some assurances, ones she found herself and did not just hear from Tyrone’s lips. Even if he did not have so much at stake, he was a man, and they were notorious for claiming that they were fine when they most definitely were not. She was not about to let pigheaded pride send him back to bed with a return of his fever.

  “How much longer before we get there?” she finally asked, washing the dishes as he packed their things.

  “A week, maybe two. If we are forced to go very slowly, I suspect it’ll be more like two weeks.”

  “I did not really comprehend how far away from Missouri Montana was,” she murmured.

  “Not so far by train or stage. Going on horseback does mean you can take a quicker route sometimes, but it also means you cover the miles a lot more slowly. Yeah, we could push the beasts to a faster pace, but, in the end, that could lose us time, for they’d end up exhausted or lamed. Especially in this weather. The cold’s as hard on them as it is on us.”

  “I hope you have some very luxurious accommodations for the beasts at your ranch,” she said, struggling for a teasing air as she picked up her pack and watched him soak down the ashes in the fireplace.

  He smiled and paused to pull her into his arms and kiss her. “I will treat them like kings. After all, if they get me to Paradise in time, they will have saved the day.”

  “Equine heroes,” she murmured as they left the cabin and walked to the small stables.

  “I hope Mitchell and your cousin aren’t having this much trouble.”

  Setting her bag down and saddling her horse, Deidre smiled at him. “You put them together again.”

  “I do that often, do I?” He secured the cinch on the packhorse’s saddle and began to strap their badly dwindled supplies on the animal’s back.

  “Just lately, yes. I hope it’s a premonition of some sort. It would be nice to think that Maura has had some protection during her travels.”

  “Or that the Martins haven’t got someone dogging her trail like we do?”

  “That would be very fine indeed. Ah, well, I’ll just keep telling myself that I’ll see her soon.”

  “You and Maura are close, are you?”

  “She is all the family I have left. My mother died when I was only ten and then, one after another, twelve other members of the family followed her. At times it seemed all I ever did was attend funerals.” She shook her head and mounted her horse. “Enough of those dark memories. Shall we be on our way?”

  “I’m right behind you, ma’am.”

  Deidre smiled faintly as they rode away from the cabin. Despite her concerns about Tyrone’s health, she was not entirely sorry to leave the place. It held too many memories of violence and the fear that Tyrone would die. At least their journey was starting with them both in a good humor. She suspected that would not last for very long and intended to enjoy it. Between the cold, the discomfort of long hours in the saddle, and the monotonous diet they endured, there was not a whole lot else she could enjoy, she thought with a sigh.

  Christmas was drawing closer and Deidre wondered if they would make it to Paradise in time to relax and enjoy the holiday. Even if they did, she was not sure she would find much pleasure in it, despite the fact that it had always been her favorite celebration. It would be her first Christmas without her father. She prayed it would not also be celebrated without Maura.

  Chapter Ten

  DESPITE ALL OF HER efforts not to, Deidre took another peek at Tyrone, who rode silently at her side. He looked exhausted, which was not surprising, but she saw no sign of pain or illness. A week of riding had slowed his recovery from his wound and the fever, but had not stopped it. She prayed that criminal Pete’s wound took even longer to heal, for neither she nor Tyrone was in any condition to fight anyone. Even their horses looked exhausted, she thought with a sigh.

  “We’re almost there,” Tyrone said, giving her a tired smile.

  “Almost where? Not Paradise?”

  “No, not Paradise. We’re almost at my friend’s ranch. Jason Booker of the Three Angels.”

  “The Three Angels? An odd name for a man to give his ranch, isn’t it?”

  “A little. Named it for his aunts who’d raised him and helped him build the place. Sweet ladies. A little odd. Flora, Dora, and Cora Booker.”

  Deidre laughed. “Oh, dear. How could their mother be so mean? There is nothing wrong with any one of those names, I didn’t mean that, but, as a group?”

  Tyrone shook his head and laughed as well. “It does make you blink. Still, they seem to have grown into their names. They are a little plump and a little gray now, but they must have been pretty enough when they were young. I’ve always wondered why not one of them ever got married.”

  “How many years do you have to subtract to make them young ladies again?”

  “Twenty, perhaps? Maybe a little more.”

  “The war. I suspect the war has something to do with it. A lot of young men died leaving a lot of widows and brokenhearted young maids. I know several women at
home who are alone, yet fair enough, genteel enough, to make one wonder why. Each one of them lost the man they planned to marry in that cursed war. You can’t turn so many men into cannon fodder without suffering some consequences.”

  “Well, damn, never thought of that.”

  “And would never be so rude to simply ask them why they never got married?”

  “Ah, but you would?”

  “Maybe. I did back home. Curiosity is one of my faults. It soon became clear that men gone to be soldiers was the answer. One woman had been engaged to a man who then chose the wrong side as far as her family was concerned. Her fiance was banished from her life, went to war where she could not reach him to let him know she was willing to defy her father, and found himself another wife. Very sad. I did wonder from time to time how many other women had just been left behind, slipping into lonely spinsterhood.” She shivered and looked around. “Dark thoughts for a dark day. Has it grown colder?”

  “No,” he answered, saying the word so slowly it grew into two syllables as he, too, looked around. “I’m getting that itchy feeling on the back of my neck.”

  “Like someone’s eyes are fixed there? I just got the shivers,” she murmured, meeting his worried gaze and sharing his anxiety. “Think they’re back on our trail?”

  “Pete could have had time to heal, at least enough to get on a horse again.”

  “How far away is your friend’s ranch?”

  “About five miles, maybe a little more.”

  “Can he handle the trouble that might be following us again?”

  “Without question.”

  Tyrone nudged his mount to a faster pace and Deidre did the same. A part of him felt it was a little foolish to act solely upon feelings they had, but he decided it hurt nothing to be, perhaps, a little too cautious. The fact that, right in the middle of idle conversation, both of them had felt a strong sense of unease added some weight to his decision to hurry. Booker’s ranch was close enough that they could give in to that unease without endangering the horses.

  A guard at the gates to Booker’s ranch was just hailing them when shots rang out. The man went down, wounded in the leg. A second shot creased the left rear flank of Deidre’s horse. Tyrone cursed, grabbing out to try to catch the reins, even as he knew it was too late. Her horse bolted, galloping through the gates straight toward Booker’s ranch.

  Tyrone started after her, then reined in when he saw two of Booker’s hands ride up and flank her. Confident that they would be able to help her and get her to safety, he dismounted and sprawled on the ground next to the wounded man. A quick glance at the man’s injury assured Tyrone that it was not too serious, the flow of blood already easing.

  “Who the hell are you?” the man demanded as he used his bandana to bind his wound.

  Catching the glint of the sun off metal, Tyrone knew his enemies were using the trees just beyond the gates for cover. “Name’s Tyrone Callahan.”

  “Ah, heard of you. Friend of Jason. My name’s Tom.” He briefly shook Tyrone’s hand, then scowled toward the trees. “You bring this scum with you?”

  “ ’Fraid so, although I had thought I’d laid at least one of them low.”

  “They been chasing you long?”

  “For weeks.” Tyrone shook his head as he tried to discern enough of a target in the shadows of the trees to take aim at. “Surprised they’re being this bold. They’ve got to know they’ll be badly outnumbered here.”

  “Maybe you’ve done drove ’em crazy.”

  Tyrone laughed, but had to wonder if there was some truth behind Tom’s jesting words. It was probably Pete and Jim out there and Tyrone would not be surprised if they had become frustrated beyond all common sense. There was also the chance that the Martins were dangling a prize in front of them that was so large they were willing to risk everything to get it. He ducked and cursed as a bullet grazed the ground so close to him the dirt sprayed into his face, chips of rock stinging his cheek.

  Tom fired several bullets into the trees in response, then glanced over his shoulder. “Well, your lady friend is safe. Carl and Joe got her horse calmed down and are taking her to the house. And here comes Jason with some men. If those fools after you have any sense, they’ll hightail it right outta here. Jason don’t like trouble. He’ll be eager to stomp it.”

  Jason Booker reined in his horse beside Tom and Tyrone and looked down at the pair. The tall, fair-haired man, who had always made Tyrone think of Vikings, seemed oblivious to the occasional bullets speeding his way from the trees. Tyrone could not decide if Booker was fearless or just crazy and never had been able to. The way Booker occasionally scowled toward the trees, as if the men shooting at him were little more than a nuisance, did not help Tyrone decide this time, either.

  “Want them alive, Ty?” Booker asked, his deep voice rumbling out of his broad chest in the muted roar that, for Booker, passed for a friendly, conversational tone.

  “Sad to say, I think dying’s the only thing that’ll get them to stop hounding me and Deidre,” Tyrone replied.

  “Just rest here. Be back in a minute.”

  Before Tyrone could protest this usurping of his duty, Booker snapped a few orders to his men, then charged straight toward the trees, screaming some sort of wild battle cry. His men spread out to the side forming a semicircle. The gunfire they produced was unrelenting and Tyrone felt almost sorry for the men in the trees. He doubted they would escape this time.

  “I suppose there is no point in my following him,” Tyrone muttered as he sat up and briefly glanced back at his horse.

  “Nope,” said Tom. “Hell, he’ll probably be back and sipping lemonade on the front porch before you even get your ass in the saddle.” He cocked his head to the side. “It’s over,” he murmured as a sudden quiet fell, a quiet made all the more profound coming on the heels of such a furious assault.

  Tyrone was helping Tom sit up when Booker returned. Two of his men pulled two horses, a body slung over each saddle. Silently, Tyrone went to look at each dead man and felt a sense of grim satisfaction. Pete and Jim would not be hiring their guns out again. After what they had tried to do to Deidre, he was a little sorry he had not killed them himself, but decided not to argue the matter. The important thing was that they could no longer threaten Deidre or himself.

  “Come up to the house and introduce me to your pretty lady,” Booker said. “Staying long?”

  “Just a night,” Tyrone replied. “Two at the most. I’ve got to get back to Paradise.”

  As Tyrone hurried to mount his horse, leaving Tom to the care of his fellow ranch hands, he suddenly wondered if coming to Booker’s place had been such a good idea. The man seemed a little too interested in Deidre. Tyrone had seen that gleam in his friend’s eyes before, a gleam too many women found irresistible. He nudged his horse to a pace that allowed him to catch up with Booker.

  Deidre saw Tyrone ride up next to a huge blond man and she hurried to the steps of the porch, looking Tyrone over carefully as he dismounted. “You’re all right?” she asked as he stepped up to her.

  “Just fine.” He smiled reassuringly when she touched his bloodied cheek. “Just a few scratches.”

  “Jim and Pete?” she asked as she caught sight of the riders leading the horses with the bodies.

  “They won’t be troubling us again.” Tyrone quickly moved to stand next to Deidre, draping a possessive arm around her slim shoulders, as Booker walked up to her. “This is Jason Booker, owner of this place. Jason, this is Deidre Kenney.” He frowned when Jason kissed Deidre’s hand and she blushed.

  “Pleased to meet you, Mister Booker,” she said, wondering why the man was grinning so wickedly at Tyrone.

  “Call me Jason, darlin’. Come on inside. We’ll get you a room where you can clean off the dust of the road and change your clothes. We can have a nice long talk over supper.”

  Deidre was so pleased at the thought of a bath, she only partly noticed how neatly Jason Booker extracted her from Tyrone’s h
old and led her into the house. The smell of food welcomed her and she felt her stomach clench in anticipation and appreciation. She smiled her gratitude at her host as a maid led her up the stairs.

  * * *

  By the time Tyrone met Jason in the front parlor for a drink before dinner, he was not feeling very charitable toward his old friend. He had been put in a room far away from Deidre’s, the three maiden aunts who lived with Booker set between him and the object of his desire. The thought of making love to Deidre in one of Jason’s huge, soft beds was very tempting, but Tyrone doubted he could make it all the way from his room to hers before someone heard or saw him. Since it was obvious that Jason had planned it just that way, Tyrone had to wonder why.

  “I’m surprised you didn’t put me in the bunkhouse,” he drawled as he sat in a chair facing Jason and sipped at the finely aged whiskey his friend served him.

  “I considered it,” Jason replied, his blue eyes sparkling with barely repressed laughter.

  “She’s mine, Jason.” Tyrone was a little surprised at the hard possessiveness in his voice, but noticed that his friend was not. He suspected that should trouble him, but it did not.

  “You’re married, are you? You should’ve said so. I would’ve put you in a room together.” Jason rubbed his chin and looked at Tyrone with a reproval that was blatantly false. “Didn’t see a ring, now I think on it.”

  “No ring, but she is still mine.”

  “For how long?”

  The question was asked softly, but Tyrone felt the force of it. He had no answer, realized he had not taken much time to consider the matter. One or two thoughts had rattled through his head about how, if she continued to please him, he might keep her. They now seemed so arrogant, even callous, he was too embarrassed to repeat them. He would certainly pay dearly if Deidre ever caught wind of them. Jason would probably laugh, and Tyrone decided he was giving the man enough amusement.

  “That is between Deidre and me,” he finally said, and fought the urge to punch that broad smile off his friend’s face.

  “It won’t be for long. This is still woman-poor country. About the only boundary men honor when it comes to women is the one drawn by a wedding ring.” Jason gave Tyrone a slow smile. “Although we both know that doesn’t always stop a little delightful poaching. You’ve never played fast and loose with a maiden before, old friend. Maybe you ought to stop and ask yourself why you did this time.” He cocked his head toward the door. “The lady approaches. ’Spect my aunties will flutter in soon, as well.”