Silver Belles and Stetsons

by Caroline Clemmons

  “I like the idea of my pa nudging us together.”

  He kissed her once more and noticed, for the first time, her fancy bonnet, good coat, and a skirt he’d never seen her wear. “Why are you all dressed up? Where we goin’?”

  “To the Children’s Program at the church. It’s a tradition in Mountain Home. You’ll like it.”

  “Anywhere, with you, is sure to please.”

  The train whistle blew, startling him back to awareness of his surroundings, and his trunk sitting alone on the platform.

  Alone. Somethin’ he’d known all too well, ‘til just a week ago. Now, thanks for Adaline Whipple, his empty heart filled to the brim. She might think she’d been the one who needed him through all the Lockhart business, but in truth, he’d been the one who’d needed her.

  “Darlin.” He nuzzled her neck, and loving the rasp of his skin against hers. “I’d marry you right now. Tonight. I’m that certain this is the right decision.”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes?” She agreed, that easy? “Don’t brides want time to alter a dress or invite friends or bake a cake or somethin’?”

  “You, Malloy, are the man for me. I’m ready to marry you. Tonight, tomorrow, the sooner the better.”

  “Tonight, Darlin’, it is. I’d marry you right this second. If I can find someone to issue us a marriage license.” He glanced down the darkening street, noticed many businesses still open but offices had locked up tight. Most folks were headed out tonight to the musical event and wanted a hot supper first.

  “No problem.” Adaline opened her drawstring reticule and pulled out a folded paper. “You told me to guess what you wanted for Christmas. You said it didn’t need gift wrap, it would cost nothing, and took almost no preparation.”

  Malloy couldn’t believe his good fortune. Humbled, he kissed her soundly, accepted the offered paper, unfolded it, and sure enough, a marriage license, all filled out and listing his newly minted name, Whip Thaddeus Malloy as groom, age thirty-two, and Adaline Miriam Whipple as bride, age twenty-five.

  “Hey!” he looped his arms about her, swung her around in a circle again, much to her delight. “Mama told you all about it, didn’t she? And how’d you find out my age?”

  “Mrs. Erickson came in to pick up her order for her Christmas house party, and we had a nice visit about you. She made short work of finding that bit of information in her husband’s employment records. Notice I even found your birthplace.”

  Sure enough, the applicable line announced Kansas. No county, no city. No one seemed to know, but this document, signed by the probate judge, was legal and afforded him the right to make Adaline Whipple his wife.

  “This slip of paper,” he told Adaline, “is the best Christmas present ever.”

  Adaline wrapped her arms about his neck and hugged him tight. “You and I, Mr. Malloy, will make your— our first Christmas one to remember.”

  ~ The End ~

  A Note From The Author

  Dear Reader,

  I’ve enjoyed building a community of friends, families, and neighbors within my fictional town of Mountain Home, Colorado. High in a Rocky Mountain valley west of Denver City, Mountain Home is patterned after towns that did exist historically. It’s essentially a fictional town in a very real place.

  This story, The Drifter’s Proposal, is set at the same time as another novella in the series, The Sheriff’s Surrender. Adaline’s problems are worsened by the fact the town Sheriff, a capable former United States Marshal is busy rescuing a kidnapped young woman, who’s stolen his bachelor’s heart. To read the sheriff’s story and all the concurrent fun and trouble in The Sheriff’s Surrender, please pick up that title, too.

  #0.5 This Noelle (a short story)

  #1 Home for Christmas

  #2 Maybe This Christmas

  #3 The Sheriff’s Surrender (coming November 2015)

  #4 The Drifter’s Proposal (the book you’ve just read)

  The series: Holidays in Mountain Home is five titles long (and growing!), including one short story. Each book in this series stands alone and may be read in any order. It’s not necessary to read them in order, but some readers might find them more enjoyable if read in numerical sequence.

  Though the series has “holidays” in the title, not all forthcoming books in the series will be centered around the winter holidays of Christmas and New Year’s. Coming up, additions to the series set against spring, summertime, and autumn celebrations in the family-oriented community of Mountain Home, Colorado.

  Happy Reading!

  www.KristinHolt.com

  And while you’re there, please sign up for a newsletter,

  to be the first to hear about new releases.

  Quick Peek: Amazon’s Kristin Holt Page

  About the Author

  I recall the winter of my first grade year, basking in the heat from our fireplace in Kalamazoo, Michigan. Dad read aloud Madeline L'Engle's A WRINKLE IN TIME and Mom peeled orange segments for us to enjoy. That was the definitive moment I fell in love with fiction.

  I write sweet (wholesome) romances set in the 19th Century American West. I'm newly active in a fantastic Facebook group for authors and readers of Western Historical Romances: Join the fun at Pioneer Hearts.

  Please stop by www.KristinHolt.com and say hello!

  The Perfect Gift

  A Texas Devlins Christmas

  By

  Lyn Horner

  The Perfect Gift

  A Texas Devlins Christmas

  By

  Lyn Horner

  Copyright © 2015 by Lyn Horner

  This novella has been expanded from a flash fiction piece titled A Texas Devlins Christmas posted on author Alison Bruce’s website in 2013.

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events, or locales is purely coincidental.

  Chapter One

  Bosque County, Texas; July 1885

  Sixteen-year-old Vittorio Medina quietly dressed, not wanting to wake his two younger brothers. Dawn had barely broken. There was no need for them to rise yet, and he’d said adios to them last night. He took a last look at their sleeping forms and the room they’d long shared then walked out to the front room where his parents waited to see him off. His sisters, Elena and Sofia – two and three years younger than him respectively – stood with them. Still in their nightclothes, with their long black hair mussed, they looked half asleep.

  “Buenos días,” he said to the group.

  “Buenos días, mijo,” his madré replied. Fully dressed, with her gray-streaked hair pinned back in a tight bun, she looked sad but resigned to his leaving the ranch where he’d grown up, and where she worked as the cook.

  His padre, who was head wrangler and top hand on the place, nodded, a frown causing his mustache to droop more than usual. The two girls muttered a greeting in sleep-clogged voices.

  Crossing to where he’d set his boots and saddlebags by the front door last night, he stamped into the boots. The saddlebags held his clothes and a few personal items. Included was a small tintype of Nora Taylor taken a while back by a traveling photographer who’d stopped by the River T. Her parents, owners of the ranch, had very kindly given him the picture when he announced his plans to leave. They knew how close he was to their daughter. It was not easy parting with her.

  “I have packed you some breakfast to eat as you ride,” his madré said. “It is eggs and beans rolled in tortillas.” Her voice wavered with emotion as she held out the paper-wrapped food.

  �
�Gracias, Madrecita,” Vittorio said, hugging her tight. “I will miss you and your good cooking.” She patted his cheek but didn’t respond, lips pressed together to hold back her emotions.

  His padré shook his hand. “Give Señor Crawford and Señor Devlin a good day’s work and you will do well.”

  “Sí, Popi, I will.”

  Giving his sisters quick hugs, he tossed his saddlebags over one shoulder, said adios and headed out the door with a tightness in his throat. The gray dawn light illuminated his path to the corral. He hung his gear over the fence and cut out a chestnut mare he liked. Too bad he would have to return her to the River T after taking up his new job as a cowhand for the neighboring Crawford-Devlin ranch.

  Quickly saddling the good-natured mare, he slung his saddlebags over her back and mounted up. He hoped to get away before Señor Taylor, his wife Señora Jessie, and their daughter awoke, but as he rode from the corral he spotted Nora standing on the porch outside the main house. They had said goodbye last night. Why couldn’t she allow him to leave without another unhappy parting?

  Muttering under his breath, he kneed the mare toward her. Dressed in her long white nightdress, with a dark shawl hugged tightly around her slim frame and nothing on her feet, she looked small and forlorn. Her wind-tossed black hair and huge, sad eyes added to the effect as he brought the horse to a halt in front of the porch steps.

  “You should still be sound asleep. I told you not to come out here this morning, did I not?”

  “Yes, but I had to see you one last time,” she said in a small voice.

  “Pequeña, you only make this more difficult for both of us. Anyway, we will see each other again. I won’t be far away, and I will visit my family and you when I can. We talked about this before.”

  She hung her head. “I know but it . . . it won’t be the same without you here.” Shivering, she rubbed her arms and crossed one bare foot over the other.

  “Go back inside, Noracita. You are freezing and I must leave. Your Uncle Tye will expect me soon. If I want to get paid, I must work, sí?”

  Nodding, she asked, “Won’t you hug me goodbye one last time?”

  Vittorio sighed. He ought to say no. After all, he had hugged her last evening – while she wept – and had been forced to disengage himself from her clinging arms. He did not want to go through that again. Still, he found it impossible to refuse her. Dismounting, he climbed the shallow steps and reached out for her. She came readily into his arms, hugging him tight. Although only twelve years old, a mere child compared to his lofty sixteen years, she was tall for her age. The top of her head came to the base of his throat.

  “No tears,” he said sternly.

  “No, I promise.” Her voice wobbled and he saw the glisten of telltale wetness in her blue eyes, but she kept her word, not giving in to emotion. She leaned her head on his chest and they stood there holding each other. She smelled sweet, like a garden full of flowers, and her body fit perfectly against his. That thought alarmed him.

  He cleared his throat. “Now, I must go or I will not have a job.” He grasped her arms and set her away. To his relief, she did not resist. “Be good, pequeña. I will see you . . . well, when I see you.” Giving her a jaunty grin, he ran down the steps and climbed back in the saddle. He kneed the mare into a trot, heading to a new job and a new home, away from temptation.

  Glancing back once, he saw Nora still standing on the porch. He wasn’t sure but thought she was crying. His heart clenched. Hurting her had never been his intention. On the contrary, he had taken his new job on the neighboring ranch precisely because he wished to protect Nora. From himself.

  Vittorio’s parents had both worked for the Taylors since he was a small boy. He himself had acted as Nora’s big brother almost from the time she was born. He loved her just as much as his own younger sisters and brothers, but no longer in the same way. She was swiftly becoming a young woman, a fact he had begun to notice recently. It was time to put distance between them.

  He had made the right decision, he assured himself. With time, Nora would forget their close attachment. He only hoped he could do the same.

  Chapter Two

  Christmas Day, 1885

  Jessie Devlin Taylor stepped back to admire the dining room table she and her twelve-year-old daughter Nora had just finished arranging. Everything was in place, ready for dinner to be served. Her good china, crystal and silverware gleamed, and a centerpiece of cedar bows decked with red ribbon stood out against the white linen tablecloth.

  On the nearby sideboard, her cherished Christmas angel oversaw several serving pieces waiting to be filled. About ten inches tall, with a gown of ivory, a delicately painted face, golden hair and wings, the porcelain angel was one of Jessie’s most prized possessions. Her mother Nora had brought it all the way from Ireland, stuffed in her bundle of clothing, the only thing left of her former life.

  Jessie’s father had saved the precious keepsake when they fled the terrible Chicago fire that destroyed most of the city. He’d presented it to her after moving to Texas to be near his children and grandchildren.

  “Doesn’t everything look beautiful, Mama?” Nora said.

  “It does indeed.” Slipping an arm around her tall, gangly daughter, Jessie gave her a light squeeze. She wished her sister Rose, brother-in-law Jack and their brood of little ones could be here, but Rosie was expecting again – this would make five children for them – and Jack had insisted they stay home. Considering how rough the ride was by buckboard from their Red River cotton plantation, Jessie conceded he’d been right.

  She released Nora. “I’d best go see if all’s ready out back.” Her cook, Maria Medina, was roasting venison and turkeys in the cookhouse, while Jessie’s sister-in-law Lil prepared side dishes in the kitchen. Their food preparations were nearly complete. She just wanted to make sure David and Tye, her husband and brother, had finished setting up tables for the twenty-odd ranch hands from their adjoining spreads. They would soon gather in the courtyard behind the house for their Christmas meal.

  “Quiet the little ones before they upset your grandda, aye?” she said, hearing children’s shrieks from the parlor.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Nora’s reply came with a sigh and an impatient frown.

  Jessie smothered a laugh. She knew Nora wanted to go out front and wait for Lil’s parents to arrive with their ranch hands. One hand in particular.

  While Nora hurried across the hall to put a stop to the noise, Jessie headed for the back door. Stepping out onto the walled, flagstone-paved courtyard, she was glad to see two long tables stretching back almost to the cookhouse. Currently, David and Tye were spreading white sheets across the tables they had constructed out of wooden planks supported by sawhorses. More planks lay across barrels and crates along both sides of the tables, improvised seating for the ranch hands. Fortunately, the day was warm, or the men would have to eat in the bunkhouse, not nearly as festive.

  David looked up, saw her and smiled. Leaving Tye to finish spreading the last cloth, he sauntered toward her. Even after all this time his dark-haired, handsome looks and long-legged gait made her heart beat faster. The new red shirt she’d gifted him with this very morning along with the black silk bandana knotted at his throat, both cut and sewn by her own two hands, fit well and showed off his deep tan and dark hair to perfection, if she did say so herself.

  “Well, darlin’? Does it pass muster?” he asked, draping his arm across her shoulders and hugging her to his side.

  She was so caught up in admiring him that it took her a moment to catch his meaning. She directed her gaze back to the tables. “Aye, it all looks fine. Now bring out the box of greens and ribbons if ye please and I’ll lay them out.”

  “The boys don’t expect all this fuss, you know. Feed ’em good and give ’em some Christmas cheer and they’ll be happy as foxes in a hen house.”

  “Nonsense! As I’ve told ye every year before, I want them to enjoy their holiday the same as we do.” She poked her finger
at his broad chest. “Now fetch the –”

  He cut her off by pulling her into his arms and sealing her lips with a lusty kiss that flooded her with warm tingles all the way to her toes. When he lifted his head, she sighed in regret.

  “You look beautiful in that blue dress,” he murmured next to her ear.

  “I’m glad ye like it. You picked out the material,” she said, feeling faintly dazed.

  “So I did, and I recall why. It matches your bluebonnet eyes. It’s nice and soft, too.” He ran his hands slowly up and down her back

  “’Tis velvet,” she said in a breathy whisper, delighting in his sensual touch.

  “Mmm. Tonight, I’ll enjoy taking it off you, very slowly.” Smoky green eyes dancing, he grinned wickedly when she caught her breath, planted a quick kiss on her temple, then stepped away and went to do her bidding.

  Jessie required a moment to collect her wits. Then, glancing at her brother, she met his leering grin and felt her face heat with a blush. “What are ye looking at, brother dear? He is my husband. He’s allowed to kiss me if he wishes.” She smoothed the skirt of her gown, thinking of David’s bold promise for tonight, and made sure the pins holding her auburn hair in a coil at the back of her head were still secure.

  Tye’s vibrant blue eyes glinted mischievously. “I’ve no argument with that. I was merely enjoying the show and admiring the man’s ability to shut ye up, sister mine.” An even wider grin split his devilishly handsome features.