by Caroline Lee
A Cheyenne Christmas
First edition
Copyright © 2013, Caroline Lee
[email protected]
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author.
Second edition: 2014
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Printing/manufacturing information for this book may be found on the last page
Cover: EDHGraphics
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Other works by Caroline Lee
The Sweet Cheyenne Quartet
A Cheyenne Christmas
A Cheyenne Celebration
A Cheyenne Thanksgiving
A Cheyenne Christmas Homecoming
Where They Belong: A Sweet Cheyenne Christmas Story
The Mothers of Sweet Cheyenne: A short story collection
Everland Ever After
Click the image to be taken to a listing of all the Everland books!
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For all of us Mollys who were
surprised—and delighted—to
discover the beautiful ordinariness
of True Love.
CHAPTER ONE
December, 1875
Ash started grumbling again when he hit the outskirts of Cheyenne. He had been cursing under his breath for hours, since he left the house. Nah, he’d been cursing since he found Nate’s note in the barn, and he hadn’t stopped since.
He had cursed his way through hitching the horse up to the sleigh, because anyone who’d ever done that with only one arm knew how tough it was. But it was loads easier than trying to saddle a horse one-handed. There hadn’t been any fresh snow in a few days; it would be an easy enough journey.
He had followed the kid’s tracks all the way into town. Nate hadn’t bothered to backtrack or hide his trail, but Ash knew the kid wasn’t stupid; there was only one place he could have been heading, and they both knew it. It wasn’t a question of where he was, but if Ash could reach him before he did anything dumber, like leave Cheyenne altogether or get himself hurt.
The sight of the town—growing into a city these days, really—always left Ash with a bitter taste in his mouth, although this time he couldn’t blame his bad temper on Nate. When he had moved into the area ten years before, there were barely a handful of buildings at Crow Creek Crossing, which suited him just fine. He could enjoy the privacy his hills offered, and still have some basic dry goods within a half-day’s ride. But then the Union Pacific Railroad came through in summer of ’67, and decided that this sleepy little collection of stores and churches would be a prime depot. Before the end of that year there were close to 4,000 people living all bunched up next to each other.
Ash wasn’t against change or modernity, he just didn’t see why folks would want to live on top of their neighbors. He had lived like that once, years ago, and wanted nothing to do with it these days. There might be benefits to living so close to doctors, or saloons, or schools, but nothing that would outweigh the freedom and vitality he felt when he rode across his land.
There had been once or twice over the years that he’d felt guilty about keeping Nate out there with him, when the boy deserved the chance at a real life in town. Someplace he could meet other kids his age and go to a real school, instead of learning letters hunched over a slate in front of a fire after all the day’s chores were done. But every time Ash suggested that Nate head into town for the school year, the boy’s stubborn streak had shone through. He insisted that he’d rather be on the ranch with Ash, rather be helpful, than stuck in ‘civilization’. Since Ash felt the same way, he hadn’t pushed the matter.
But lately they’d been fighting more, over inconsequential stuff. Ash figured it was what happened to most youngsters, as they started exploring their limits. Hell, when he was the kid’s age, he was already hunting buffalo for the Army. But then, he’d never had anyone back home who cared what happened to him. So he’d made his own way in the world. He had figured he was happiest being alone, until that warm spring day nine years ago, when a scrawny, half-starved urchin had followed him home. It had taken two weeks just to plump the kid up enough that Ash had been sure he would survive, and another two before he could spare the time from the ranch to take him back into town. By then, though, Nate had made himself at home, even calling Ash “big brother” as a joke. But the name stuck, and within the year Ash was thinking of Nate as a younger brother; a pest, but someone who he could rely on. Someone he cared about.
He truly thought of Nate, now fifteen, as his brother. They were each the only family that the other had. But they bickered and argued over stupid stuff they’d never bothered with before, and matters had come to a head yesterday.
Ash was willing to admit that he had been short-tempered since late October, when he’d been thrown and busted his arm so badly. To go from able-bodied to half-helpless was mighty galling, but with Nate helping so much, they had managed to get all of the horses settled for the winter. And maybe that was the issue; with Nate taking over so much responsibility on the ranch, he probably figured that he was due a little more say in how it was run. Not that Ash wasn’t willing to listen to his brother’s opinions, but when the kid had started in—yet again—about how they should be breeding the mustangs they tamed, rather than just training and selling them, the two of them had it out. Again.
Only this time, Nate hadn’t backed down. He’d stood up to Ash, and yeah, he had some good points, but nothing Ash hadn’t heard—and thought—before. But the simple fact was that the ranch was Ash’s, something he had built from nothing before Nate was even in the picture. It was his skill with the mustangs that made catching and taming them worthwhile, and his ranch was known well beyond Cheyenne as the place to come for quality horseflesh. He’d taught Nate over the years, and the kid was almost as good as he was when it came to horses. Honestly, Nate had better business sense than Ash, and could get top dollar for their mustangs. But the decision on how to expand the ranch rested ultimately with Ash.
At least, that’s what he’d always figured. But during that knock-down argument they’d had last night, when it sunk in that Nate considered the ranch his home just as much as Ash did, and was vested in its success just as much, Ash began to wonder if maybe he’d been wrong to not allow the kid a say in its future. Of course, he didn’t admit that last night, just yelled back the hurtful, bossy things he knew would piss off Nate, as if he were no more mature than a kid himself. He was so disgusted with himself this morning that he didn’t even leave his room until he heard Nate finish eating and stomp out the door. Which is why he didn’t discover that the kid was gone until the sun was well up in the sky.
He had left a note, which Ash supposed he should be thankful for, knowing exactly where to look. He stood there at the barn door and had to read the note three
times to understand what it said; Nate was bitter that Ash didn’t appreciate his contributions, and was going to find someplace that would. Ash was angry at first, and then disbelieving. And then the worry set in. The tracks leading towards Cheyenne said that Nate was making good on his threat, and he was stubborn enough that he might just leave the ranch for good, no matter how much sweat and blood they’d both poured into it.
And if it’d been a normal year, Ash was just stubborn enough to let him go. Nah, that wasn’t true, he’d light out after the kid soon enough, just because there was no telling what kind of troubles he would find in Cheyenne. But this year was different. Winter was heading down on them with a vengeance, and with his bum arm, Nate was doing most of the work around the ranch. It galled Ash to admit it, but he needed the kid. The ranch needed him.
With Nate’s help, he’d been able to build up their operation to the point where two men could just about handle the land and the horses; he’d never have been able to get this far on his own. But when he busted his left arm, and Nate dragged him into town to have Doc Sanderson set it, he’d put everything they’d worked for on the line. With only three good hands, they were going to be hard pressed to survive the winter. Not just the horses either; the two of them had been eating jerky and tinned fruits, and living in filth, for a month. Sure, they wouldn’t die because of a little dirt, but things were precarious enough as it was. Not being able to cook with fresh food, or make the things they used around the house, meant that they had to buy everything in town. But they were eating through their savings much faster than normal, and later in the season they wouldn’t even be able to get into town, which meant that starving was a possibility. If he couldn’t figure out how to get some extra money, or some help out on the ranch, there was a very real chance they would have to drive their stock into town and sell it in exchange for boarding, which means they’d basically lose the ranch.
They were balancing on a thin line as it was, and now Ash had driven his little brother away, because he was too stubborn to admit that the kid might have some valid points.
And that’s why he’d been cursing, all the way into town. He was angry at Nate, but plain livid with himself.
Now, having deposited the whole rig at the livery stable in town, Ash only hoped he wasn’t too late. Where would a fifteen-year-old kid hide out? Where would he be that he figured his big brother—with tracking experience—wouldn’t find him? There were people in a town like this that would happily take advantage of a kid like Nate, or worse, and Ash hoped he hadn’t gotten himself into trouble already. Most everyone in Cheyenne knew of Ash, seeing as he’d been ranching here before the town itself started, but that didn’t mean that Nate was safe from hateful prejudice.
With that sobering thought, Ash turned up the collar of his sheepskin jacket, awkward with only one hand, pulled his hat down further around his ears, and set off to find his brother.
Molly Murray was impressed by Cheyenne, despite the trepidation she’d felt knowing it was named after a bunch of savage Indians. At least, she assumed they’d be savages. That was all they ever heard about back them in Chicago; how savage the natives were, and how they needed to be civilized and cultured. Why, her parents had often donated money to missionaries intent on spreading the Gospel to the heathens.
But here was a bustling city—not on par with Chicago, of course—named after the Cheyenne. She sighed, and suspected that was one more stereotype she was going to have to rethink when she settled out here. Lord knew that her personal comfort levels had been breached many times on this trip, and she was coming to realize just how little she knew about life outside of her own little world. But she was a fast learner, and anyone who could make it through a childhood of disillusionment, the Great Chicago Fire, and this horrible trip west could survive—thrive!—here in Cheyenne.
And she would, by God. She had no other choice. She’d originally considered continuing on to Salt Lake City, but the girls only had another two weeks on their lease, and she needed to get them out here with her as soon as possible. Whether or not they all continued to Utah Territory in the spring was a decision that could wait; for now she needed to find work and bring her sisters to this city.
She had left them over two months ago, heading across Illinois and then Iowa, looking for work. Oh, there was plenty of work to be had, and plenty of vulgar propositions, but nothing that a well-bred young woman would ever consider. When she reached Omaha, she thought she’d found a budding town that would welcome them, but quickly learned that all “job offers” came with a tawdry price she was unwilling to pay. She was beginning to despair ever finding a place to call home, knowing that most establishments wouldn’t hire a single woman to cook, when she’d heard about the larger towns in the west. Why, Cheyenne could even be considered a city! Somewhere in this maze of buildings there had to be one place—a hotel, possibly, or maybe even a restaurant—that would give her the chance to show them her skills in the kitchen.
She hefted her valise, containing her immediate necessities and all of her treasured spices and mixes, and couldn’t help the smile that flitted across her face.
Here she was, all the way out west in Cheyenne, and she’d make a home for herself and her sisters, at least until the spring. Come hell or high water.
An angry voice from inside the train depot gained her attention. “What do you mean, there’s no stock car? There’s always a stock car on this run. How am I supposed to get my horse to Salt Lake?” She didn’t hear the response, the voice rose in volume. “Sell him? Are you nuts? Don’t answer that. When’s the next train with a stock car?” A pause, and then “Oh, I don’t care, anywhere.”
Molly turned towards the door, thinking to arrange to have her trunk left here at the station until she could find lodging. She was trying to distract herself and block out the one-sided argument, but the offended party almost knocked her down when he strode out to depot’s front porch.
He caught her upper arms to keep her from falling, and her reprimand died on her lips. Why, he wasn’t any older than Wendy! A boy, really, with beautiful hazel eyes and longish black hair… her breath caught in her throat. Perhaps it was because she’d just been thinking about the Cheyenne Indians, and that’s why her brain leapt to conclusions, but the boy looked for all the world the way she’d imagined an Indian, only dressed in a warm jacket and jeans, rather than buckskins.
He misinterpreted her gasp, and quickly dropped his hands. His gaze turned wary; “Sorry, ma’am.”
Molly forced her gaze away, and made a show of straightening her sleeves. “No harm done at all!” Her smile, when she glanced back at him, was genuine, and she couldn’t help the burst of curiosity. “Thank you for catching me, in fact.”
His eyes narrowed slightly, as if he was suspicious of her politeness. His voice, which had been raised in a shout just moments ago, was little more than a mumble now. “Shouldn’t have been in such a hurry.”
“Well, that’s true.” Her teasing surprised him, judging from his quick smile. “I couldn’t help but overhear that your travel plans have been interrupted, because there’s no place for your horse on the train?”
He nodded, and shrugged. “I’ll ride on until I find a train with a stock car, or until I find a town I like enough to stay.”
She smiled, trying to draw him out. “I was in the exact same situation, but I’ve been very pleased with what I’ve heard and seen of Cheyenne, and I think that this is a town in which I’d like to settle. Is there nothing here that draws you?”
Was that a flush creeping up his neck? It was hard to tell, with his tanned skin. “Plenty here I want to get away from, I guess.”
Oh dear. Molly stopped herself from sighing. He was in some sort of trouble, and anxious to leave the city. Suddenly, his willingness to take any train in any direction made sense. She wanted to know what sort of trouble could follow such a polite young man, but didn’t know how to ask. Instead, she shifted her valise to her left hand, and stuck out he
r right. “I’m Molly Murray, lately of Chicago.”
He hesitated before putting his hand in hers. “Nate Barker.”
Unwilling to break contact, she leaned in, and he had no choice but to join her, with her pulling on his hand the way she was. Her voice was low, but her interest genuine, when she said, “I know this is presumptuous, Mr. Barker, and I’m sorry, but…” She swallowed, but before she could lose her nerve, “are you an Indian?”
He straightened suddenly, pulling his hand from hers. The anger was back in his eyes, and she was sorry she’d offended him. She supposed it had been a rude question, and she shouldn’t have asked it. “I’m sorry.” When his gaze didn’t thaw, she bit her lower lip and looked away. “I’m sorry, that was rude, and I shouldn’t have asked. It’s just… well… It’s so exciting, to be here.” She turned towards the bustling street, with its horse and wagon traffic, so unlike Chicago. “I was wondering about the name of this town, and then you showed up, and I’ve never seen an Indian, and I thought maybe you could tell me about it. I didn’t mean to be rude.”
She peeked over at him, when he joined her at the rail, hands shoved deep in his pockets. He was tall, but she could still stand eye-to-eye with him. He wasn’t looking at her, but at the handsome chestnut stallion hitched to the rail below. She could see the mulish tilt of his chin, and the shock of black hair under the hat he’d donned.
Finally he sighed. “It’s fine. Just not something you ask a man, usually.” Molly hid her smile. A ‘man’, indeed. “Out here, having Indian blood’s nothing to be proud of, you know? So if you look like me, people just assume the worst.” He was quiet for a long moment, and Molly wondered if she should apologize for ‘assuming the worst’ again. But his voice was low when he admitted, “And they’re right about me.”