The Christmas Token

by Shanna Hatfield

  By

  SHANNA HATFIELD

  The Christmas Token

  Copyright 2013

  by Shanna Hatfield

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  For permission requests, please contact the author, with a subject line of "permission request” at the email address below or through her website.

  Shanna Hatfield

  shanna@shannahatfield.com

  shannahatfield.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  To the humble, the kind,

  the forgiving, and the grateful…

  Chapter One

  Eastern Oregon, 1895

  Holding a lightly perfumed handkerchief to her nose, Genevieve Eloise Granger shot a disdainful look at the filthy man sitting to her left, blocking both her view out the stage window and any hope she had of drawing a breath of fresh air.

  “Deplorable, disgusting boar,” she muttered, wondering if a shortage of water or sense had resulted in her seatmate’s pungent condition.

  Turning her head to the right, the cowboy seated inappropriately close to her side gazed at her with a lecherous grin.

  Rolling her eyes, she shrank back against the stiff seat, trying to make room between the two males intent on making her trip into the wilds of Oregon even more miserable.

  Spending three days on a sooty, malodorous train, she disembarked in Heppner only to endure the last twenty miles of her journey crowded into a stagecoach with a bunch of ill-mannered men.

  When she voiced her disapproval of the insufficient space inside the stage, the driver had the unmitigated gall to suggest she make do with the seating available, ride on top, or walk to Hardman.

  As soon as she arrived at her brother’s home in the pathetically backward little town, she planned to pen a letter to the stage company voicing her complaints to someone with the authority to make changes in their passenger accommodations.

  Grateful the October day wasn’t exceedingly warm, Genevieve, known to family and friends as Ginny, flapped the handkerchief, stirring the air in front of her face, praying they would soon reach their destination.

  The cowboy sitting next to her rubbed his arm against her side and blew his breath across her neck. Glowering, she picked up her reticule and smacked him across the chest with it.

  “Sir, I do not know what sort of lady you think I am, but I assure you I will not put up with your shenanigans!”

  “No shenanigans, ma’am,” the cowboy said, grinning broadly as he winked and placed his hand on her knee, squeezing it with an intimacy he had no right to pursue.

  “You brute! I’ve given you ample warning,” Ginny exclaimed, reaching up and pulling the pin from her hat before stabbing it into the hand of the cowboy.

  Yelping in pain, he jerked his hand back and sucked on the spot of skin between his thumb and forefinger where she’d buried the pin.

  “Please keep your extremities, looks, vile thoughts, and smile to yourself for the remainder of our expedition,” Ginny said, poking the pin back in her hat and leveling the man with a cold glare as he slid over, giving her a few inches of space. “If you should fail to do so, I’ll find a spot guaranteed to be more painful than your hand to jab my pin next time.”

  She looked up to see all eyes on her as she returned the handkerchief to her face, drawing a shallow breath. When the three men sitting across from her began laughing and slapping their legs, she fought back the urge to lecture them on their raucous behavior.

  “I’m so wholly pleased to know I’ve provided you gentlemen, a term I use loosely you can be certain, with entertainment to take your minds off the fact we’ve been stuffed into this detestable conveyance like cattle in a train car,” Ginny said. Her traveling companions were bright enough to recognize the hint of sarcasm in her voice. “Rest assured, however, any further abuse of propriety will not be taken lightly. Should any of you so much as even think of doing anything untoward, I promise it will not be to your benefit.”

  “Sure, honey. Whatever ya say,” the smelly beast beside her stated, shifting his bulk closer to the window and further away from her remarkably sharp hatpin, and even sharper tongue. “I don’t rightly know what all ya said, but we’ll leave ya be. I ain’t got a hankerin’ to explain to the missus why some riled up woman run my hand through with her hatpin.”

  “Very well,” Ginny said, nodding triumphantly to her traveling companions. The men sat quietly for the remainder of the trip.

  As the stage rocked to a stop in Hardman, Ginny tugged her gloves down on her hands, stuffed her hanky into her reticule and prepared to be the first to exit.

  Fearful of what she might do next, the men leaped out and grabbed their belongings, giving the driver a brief warning of the violent woman inside while moving hastily down the street.

  Trying to disembark with a semblance of decorum proved more challenging than Ginny could manage with her limbs stiff from the long trip across the country and her cramped position on the stage.

  Stepping on the ruffle of her skirt as she placed her dainty foot out the door, she tripped and fell in an undignified heap on her knees in the mud at the bottom of the stage step.

  “Well, missy, if ya’d just held yer horses a minute, I would’ve given ya a hand,” the driver said, trying to hide his laugh at the haughty woman’s current disheveled state. He looked down at her from where he stood on the top of the stage.

  “Perhaps if you’d been able to move your rotund girth down here faster, the necessity of exiting the stage unassisted wouldn’t have arisen,” Ginny said, pulling herself from the mud to her feet and shaking her hands to dislodge the clumps clinging to her gloved fingers.

  “Is that right?” the driver asked, grim-faced as he held one of her bags in his hands.

  “That is correct,” Ginny said, annoyed at the bumpkin who had not only sold too many seats on the stage, leaving her uncomfortable the entire trip, but also at his obvious lack of concern that she be treated like a lady. “Only a buffoon would oversell the stage like that, drive at such a breakneck speed, and then offer such little regard for the wellbeing of his passengers.”

  Fisting her hands at her hips, she gave him a cool glare, waiting for his apology.

  “In that case, I reckon my rotund girth, as ya put it, doesn’t feel like carefully moving yer bags down there, so here ya go.”

  Ginny gasped as the driver threw the bag in his hands at her, hitting her in the chest and knocking her into the mud, square on her backside.

  “Well! I never...” she huffed as he tossed the rest of her bags on the boardwalk behind her. Climbing down, he set her trunk next to her bags, shook his head and left her sitting with mud oozing through her skirt as he walked in the direction of the saloon.

  Struggling to gain her feet, she was near tears when a gloved hand reached down and pulled her upright.

  Raising her gaze to that of her rescuer, she sucked in a gulp of air as she recognized the face of the boy who’d captured her heart ten years ago in the handsome man smiling at her.

  Bearing little trace of her childhood playmate and youthful love, this man with the warm hazel eyes and charming smile looked strong, confident, and sure of himself.

  “I
f it isn’t Miss Granger,” Blake Stratton said, grinning at the tiny blond standing before him, dripping mud from the feather on her fashionable hat to the toes of her expensive shoes. “Just in off the stage, are we?”

  “Oh, I, um... you see...” Ginny lost the ability to think upon seeing Blake. His slight British accent coupled with his inviting grin caused any manner of distressing thoughts to flit through her head, the most predominant being her desire for his kiss.

  “Luke expects you?” Blake asked as he took the bag from her muddy hands and picked up two others, leaving the rest sitting on the boardwalk. Motioning to a redheaded boy down the street, the lad returned his wave then ran his direction.

  “Percy, would you keep an eye on Miss Granger’s things until Luke can retrieve them?” Blake asked, fishing in his pocket for a coin and handing it to the boy.

  “Thanks, Mr. Stratton. You can count on me to keep an eye on her stuff. Is she Mr. Luke’s sister?” the boy asked, looking at the stranger like some great novelty that fell off the stage.

  “That she is, Percy,” Blake said, patting the boy on the back then offering his arm to Ginny.

  Starting to grasp his arm, Ginny pulled back at the last second, realizing she would soil his shirt with mud dripping from her head to her feet.

  “Thank you, Mr. Stratton, but I do believe I best keep my hands to myself,” Ginny said, finally finding her tongue. She observed Blake’s strong shoulders and muscular arms as he hefted her bags and waited for her to precede him down the boardwalk toward the end of town where her brother and sister-in-law lived.

  “So Luke and Filly knew you’d be on the stage today?” Blake tried not to laugh as the mud-drenched feather on Ginny’s hat drooped pitifully near her eye. He wanted to yank the ridiculous bit of millinery from her head and see if her hair remained as wild and curly as it had been the last time he’d seen it ten years ago - the day she left town and took his heart right along with her.

  “Not exactly,” Ginny admitted as they walked past the bank her brother owned. She gazed in the window, but couldn’t see through the bars covering the outside well enough to tell if he was inside or not.

  “Then what, exactly, does that mean?” Blake asked, wondering why Ginny suddenly returned to Hardman. She hadn’t set foot in the town since her parents moved back to New York a decade earlier. Dora and Greg Granger came to visit Luke with some regularity, but Ginny never accompanied them.

  “It means I may have failed to follow the proper protocol required when one goes visiting socially. There wasn’t sufficient time to inform them of my impending visit,” Ginny said as they walked past the newspaper office. Despite the distraction Blake provided, she noticed the town didn’t seem much different than it had the day she left.

  “Do your parents know you’re here?” Blake asked, beginning to think Ginny hadn’t changed at all, or at least hadn’t grown up since he’d last set eyes on her lovely face.

  “At this particular time, they believe I’m visiting a friend in Boston for a few days. I shall certainly advise them of my current whereabouts once I have the opportunity to refresh my appearance and partake in a moment of rest,” Ginny said, coming to a stop as she stared up at the imposing Granger House where it sat on the edge of town at the end of the boardwalk.

  Recalling how much she liked the house when her parents built it, she admired the colorful flowers blooming along the front porch and the tasteful arrangement of fall leaves and pinecones set in a large basket by the front door. Cattle grazed in the pasture behind the house and she could see Luke’s beloved horses in the corral by the barn.

  “The place looks well-kept,” Ginny said, suddenly fearful of marching up the steps and introducing herself to the woman Luke married almost two years ago.

  Gone on a tour of Europe when he wed, she managed to find some reason not to come with her parents when they visited the previous summer. She made plans to visit friends when Luke and Filly traveled to New York.

  Curiosity about her sister-in-law was getting the best of her as she stood gazing up at her childhood home. Ginny wondered if the woman appeared as beautiful in person as she looked in the photograph her mother had on display in their front parlor.

  “Luke and Filly have truly made it into a home,” Blake said, nudging Ginny with one of her bags as she started down the front walk, forcing her to take a step into the grass.

  Glaring at him over her shoulder, she huffed in irritation. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m attempting to direct you to the kitchen door so you don’t track that muddy mess all through Filly’s house. There’s no need to make extra work for her needlessly,” Blake said, stepping off the front walk and motioning Ginny toward the door on the side of the house.

  Swallowing back the rebuke that began working its way out her lips, Ginny nodded her head and followed Blake. He seemed quite familiar with both Luke and Filly, but then she supposed in the small town, everyone knew everyone else’s business.

  They were almost up the back steps when a large, furry beast ran around the corner of the wraparound porch and knocked into Ginny’s knees, throwing her off balance.

  Falling backward, she felt Blake’s hand on her rump as he reached out to steady her from his position several steps below.

  “Down, Bart! Stay down!” Blake commanded the dog. The animal dropped to his hindquarters on the top step and sat looking at them with a big doggy grin.

  “This is Luke’s dog, Bart. He’s a good fellow, just too friendly sometimes,” Blake said, hurrying up the steps and offering Ginny his hand as she glared at the dog.

  “My stars!” Ginny studied the animal. He didn’t appear to be of any particular breed and certainly didn’t exhibit the finest manners.

  “He’ll grow on you,” Blake said, raising his hand and tapping on the back door.

  “I somehow doubt it.” Ginny stood slightly behind him, mortified at meeting her brother’s wife in such an unkempt state. “Perhaps no one is home...” Ginny suggested just as the door swung open and a beautiful woman with bright green eyes and gorgeous mahogany hair greeted them with a friendly smile.

  “Hello, Blake. What brings you by today? We weren’t expecting you to start on the project until next week,” Filly Granger said, wiping her hands on her apron and motioning for Blake to step inside the kitchen. Noticing the mud-covered woman behind him, she tried not to laugh at the bedraggled spectacle dripping mud on her clean kitchen floor.

  “You poor thing, come in, come in,” Filly said, motioning the girl farther into the kitchen. “I’m Filly Granger. Welcome to Hardman and Granger House.”

  “Actually, Filly, she’s quite familiar with both the town and your home,” Blake said, setting down the bags and taking a step toward the door.

  Filly looked at him in confusion, waiting for an explanation.

  Tipping his head at Ginny, he gave her a look that said she had better speak up and do it quickly.

  “Filly, it’s my pleasure to finally meet you, although I do apologize for my less than suitable appearance. That ghastly stage driver should be drawn and quartered for his abhorrent attitude toward his passengers. It is completely unacceptable and I plan to take up the matter with his superiors posthaste,” Ginny said, flicking the soggy feather dangling near her eye away from her cheek.

  “I’m so sorry, but I’m still uncertain as to who you are,” Filly said, gazing from Ginny to Blake.

  “I’m Genevieve Granger, Luke’s sister,” Ginny said, tipping her head politely toward Filly. Her parents’ praise of Luke’s bride didn’t do the woman justice. She was tall, graceful, lovely, and gracious. Everything Ginny had long ago decided she would never be.

  “Don’t let her mislead you into thinking she can put on airs here in your home,” Blake said, grinning at Ginny. “You’ll find soon enough that Luke calls her Ginny Lou, just to ruffle her bloomers, and despite her ladylike comportment, she has a foul temper and a wicked tongue.”

  Filly stifled a laugh at
the look Ginny shot Blake. He grinned at them both then, with a word of farewell, made his way out the door.

  “That... man is thoroughly vexing and entirely incorrigible,” Ginny said, barely resisting the urge to stamp her foot. She had often wondered what she would do, how she would feel, if she saw Blake again. The unsettled fluttering in her stomach wasn’t what she expected, neither was her longing to wrap her arms around his strong form and rest against his chest.

  Giving herself a mental shake to clear her thoughts, she looked at Filly and smiled. “I do apologize for the mess I’m about to make all over the house, but may I please have a bath and can you please have Luke fetch my trunk and the rest of my bags?” Ginny asked imploringly as she removed her ruined hat and dropped it on the floor next to her.

  “My gracious, of course, Ginny,” Filly said, hurrying to help the girl remove her mud-coated attire.

  Blake Stratton stood outside Granger House for a moment, trying to regain his equilibrium. The world as he knew it whirled off center the moment he watched Ginny Granger fall in the mud when the stage driver tossed a bag at her.

  Laughing at the sight she made with that bedraggled hat and mud running down her finely made traveling suit, he couldn’t believe she’d finally returned to Hardman.

  Knowing how much he’d cared for the girl when they were in their teens, he assumed Luke would have mentioned her planning a visit if he’d been privy to her plans.

  Apparently, her impetuous, headstrong tendencies weren’t curtailed through the years, although she’d obviously perfected her manners and pretentious behavior.

  Small in stature, she’d always been a little spitfire, one he’d hoped to make his own when she’d reached maturity. Unfortunately, her parents moved to New York before that happened.

  Waiting as the family prepared to board the stage on Christmas Day, Blake remembered tugging Ginny behind the blacksmith’s shop and stealing a kiss then pressing a small gift he’d labored many hours to create into her hand.