Silver Belles and Stetsons

by Caroline Clemmons

  “I love you too, honey.” Penny responded.

  “Happy Birthday, baby girl.” Eric said.

  Larissa jammed her hands on her hips. “Daddy, I’m seven years old now. I’m not a baby.”

  Penny and Eric laughed. “You’ll always be my baby girl, darlin’.”

  “What’s my pony’s name?” Larissa asked.

  “She’s called Inkie and she’s four years old.” Eric said.

  “Can I ride her?”

  “Of course you can. You’ll have to learn to take care of her. She has to be brushed and fed and you’ll have to keep her stall clean so she doesn’t get sick.”

  “You’ll teach me daddy.”

  “I will baby.” He picked her up and lowered her onto the saddle before handing her the reins. Instinctively Larissa slipped her feet into the stirrups. She was a natural born rider, Eric thought and his chest swelled with pride.

  Penny watched as her husband led the pony around in a large circle. He talked to Larissa, patiently teaching her. And what a joy it was to watch them.

  Penny smiled. Finally her life was complete. She patted her swollen stomach and inwardly rejoiced. It had been a long journey, but her daughter had her real daddy in her life. And, she had her Marshal Mistletoe.

  ~ The End ~

  About the Author

  I grew up in the Western Suburbs of Sydney in the 50's and 60's.

  My parents are originally from the Newcastle-Under-Lyme area of England and came to Australia in 1952 as £10 poms. This was a scheme that was begun to help populate Australia.

  I met my husband, Robert, in 1973 and we were married in March 1974; we were both 18 years old.

  I was a Nurse, a career that spanned more than 35 years. I have been retired for 5 years and I’m finally able to indulge my love of writing and storytelling.

  We have 2 sons and 5 gorgeous grandchildren.

  Please enjoy reading my books and don't hesitate to contact me with good or bad opinions.

  Website: http://horsnells.wix.com/susan--1

  Blog: http://susanhorsnell.com

  Twitter: @susanhorsnell

  Other Books by Susan Horsnell

  Series:

  The Glenmore’s: Revenge

  The Glenmore’s: Deputy

  The Glenmore’s: Sacred Secrets

  The Glenmore’s: Caught

  ***

  The Stuck-Up Governess

  Mail Order Marshall

  Forgotten Spark

  Capturing Charlie

  Crowned Heart Award Winner and nominee for Rone Award 2014:

  Blind Acceptance

  The sequel – Blind Achievement

  Western Angels – 3 short stories

  Contemporary:

  Secret Memories

  With Award winning Author,

  Margaret Tanner:

  Colonials and Cowboys

  Childrens Books:

  The Mystery Under The House

  Erotic Romance as Lacey Roberts:

  Mastering Justice

  Taming Gemma

  Greek Affair

  Guardian Cop

  Whispered Pleasure

  Murder: Hawaiian Style

  Loving Hurts

  Deadly Secrets

  Captive

  Heat

  Website: http://robertslacey1955.wix.com/lacey-roberts

  Blog: http://laceyvixen.wordpress.com

  Email: robertslacey1955@gmail.com

  Christmas Redemption

  By Paty Jager

  Christmas Redemption

  By

  Paty Jager

  Copyright © 2015 Paty Jager

  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

  Pleasant Valley, OR

  1889

  Where did all these people come from? Van Donovan slowed the team of horses to a sluggish walk. This wasn’t the cozy town he remembered. The buildings and streets expanded beyond the small valley. When he’d ridden away from Pleasant Valley after a disastrous adventure at the age of fifteen, the town had been a respectable farming and ranching community.

  He stared at the stone buildings and bustling people. The snow-packed streets attested to more traffic than he remembered. Town folk laughed and patted one another on the back. He smiled. His stomach had been in knots since his decision to return. Would they welcome a man who helped steal their money twelve years ago? He’d changed. In fact he’d changed the moment Sheriff Burke locked the cell door on him the day of the robbery. That click had snapped sense into him faster than fifteen years of Pa’s lectures.

  Van snorted. Course Pa didn’t even make the trip to Baker City to ask why he’d been involved. When no one from his family set foot in the court room during the trial, Van knew he was on his own. No relying on the Donovan name to get out of any more scrapes. He didn’t blame Ma. She would have been there had she found a way to get around her stubborn, hard-ass husband.

  A vacant building next to a saloon caught his attention. He tugged on the reins and stopped, staring at the dusty windows. This was the perfect spot to set up shop. Every man would walk by and see his wares. He rubbed his gloved hands together. His inventory of boots would get him through until orders started rolling in.

  Going to prison at fifteen had been an eye opener, but he’d never regret becoming friends with an old German boot maker. Old man Krupke taught Van the trade and gave him a reason to show his face in his home town. Prove to Pa he could amount to something without the help of the Donovan name.

  He glanced at the tarp covering crates of tools and boots in the back of his wagon. He didn’t trust leaving it in the street while he searched for the owner of the vacant building. Living with crooks and murderers for ten years had taught him to watch his back and his belongings. Van scanned the street. Yep, the livery still sat at the end of the street. Beyond that, a new train depot and tracks contrasted with the white world at the edge of town.

  “Move on,” he urged the team, slapping their rumps with the leather traces. Pulling into the livery building, his worries eased seeing an old friend. Brett Johnson was one of the few people who visited before the sheriff had hauled him off to prison.

  Van jumped down from the wagon and strode toward his childhood pal.

  Brett stared at him a moment before stepping forward and extending a hand. “I never thought I’d see you again.” He shook Van’s hand vigorously.

  “I decided it was time to patch things up with Pa.”

  “Probably a good thing. Last time I seen him he didn’t look too good.” Brett turned his attention to the wagon.

  Van’s gut tightened. He’d sent a letter once a year to Ma on her birthday, not knowing if Pa allowed her to read them.

  “What’s all this?” Brett tugged the tarp back.

  “I’m going to start up a business. I learned how to do leather work and make boots.” Van plunked a booted foot on the hub of the wagon, showing off the intricate stitching on the side and front of his boot.

  Brett whistled. “That’s a fancy pair of boots. Not sure you’ll sell many here.”

  “I have people who special order these. I also make everyday boots.” He nodded to the crates. “Plenty to sell while I set up shop.” Van flipped the tarp back. “You happen to know who owns the empty shop next to the Red Dog?”

  Brett nodded, but his eyes lost their hospitable shimmer. “That would be Judge Spencer.”

  Damn! The circuit judge who gle
efully sentenced him to ten years when everyone knew five was fair. “Does he live here now?”

  “Yep. Bought the old Harrison place.” Brett didn’t look him in the eye.

  “What about Mrs. Harrison and Tessa?” Remorse gripped him at the memory of Mr. Harrison taking a bullet during the bank robbery and later learning the man had died. Tessa was only eight or nine at the time.

  “Mrs. Harrison tried to keep the place going as a boarding house, but couldn’t make ends meet. She passed six months ago.” Brett slapped him on the shoulder. “You didn’t kill her husband. It was that drifter, Crane.”

  “But I could have stopped the whole thing if I’d told Sheriff Burke instead of trying to further aggravate Pa.” Van ran a hand along the back of his neck. The muscles tensed. Damn, he’d ruined the Harrison’s lives. “Where’s Tessa?”

  Brett shook his head. “She turned down a couple marriage offers and is working in the Red Dog.”

  Van snapped to attention. The saloon was next to the building he wanted to purchase. “She become a sporting lady?” His gut clenched thinking his actions ruined a girl.

  “Not so far, but Floyd is gettin’ a little perturbed she won’t make extra money like the others.” Brett shook his head. “Since working there, she’s about lost her women friends. My Beth talks to her if no one else is looking.”

  The guilt he’d slowly shed over the years now came back and smacked him in the face like a pan of hot pitch.

  “Where can I find the judge?” First he’d get the building, then he’d check out the neighboring businesses.

  “Should be in his office in the courthouse.”

  “Courthouse?” Van raised an eyebrow. “I can’t believe the changes in this town since I left.”

  “They brought the railroad through here five years ago. People started flocking in like flies to manure.” Brett slapped him on the back. “I was afraid my business would go down, but once people arrive they need transportation.”

  “Keep an eye on my wagon. I’m going to do business with the judge.” Van walked to the door smiling at Brett’s prosperity. With the train coming through he’d be able to get supplies easier. This move couldn’t have worked out better. He looked down the snow trod street to the Red Dog saloon. Thoughts of little Tessa and her wide green eyes sobered him quick.

  He turned right and headed up Main Street, keeping the bell tower of the courthouse in sight. His gut clenched. Hopefully, the judge would recognize he’d turned his life around and wanted a new start.

  ***

  Tessa Harrison pulled the less than adequate saloon dress over her head. Two more months and she could test for the teaching certificate. Till then she had to keep thwarting Floyd’s advances and anger over her not bedding men. As soon as she received her certificate, she’d use the money she’d saved up for decent clothes and a ride out of here.

  This town pricked and festered like a sliver under a fingernail. She ached to get away from the accusations her father was in on the robbery and the impoverished life she and her mother had lived the past twelve years. People had begun to forget the past and things had changed for the better until two years ago when Judge Spencer decided he wanted to live in Pleasant Valley. He brought up the robbery every chance he had, and when they could no longer make payments, he’d bought the house. And offered to let her stay if she warmed his bed. She gagged at the thought. He was old enough to be her grandfather.

  Patch, the calico cat she found near starved to death in the alley, wrapped around her legs and purred loudly. She glanced at the animal and smiled. At least she wasn’t completely alone.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll bring you back a morsel, but you better keep the mice out of this room.” Ever since a mouse ran across her bed as a child, Tessa had an aversion to the beady-eyed creatures. The cat sleeping at the foot of her bedroll every night helped her sleep in the back room of the empty building next to the saloon.

  Tessa stared into the small piece of mirror propped on a crate. She pinned her dark brown wavy hair up and smiled smugly. The judge may have taken her house, but she’d found a roof to cover her. His empty building.

  The first night after working the saloon, Floyd had offered to share his bed. She snorted. She’d freeze to death before sleeping with the disgusting man. She’d fought off his grabbing hands and insults, leaving the saloon through the back. She’d made it as far as the stoop of the empty building before breaking down. Pulling herself together, she used the skeleton key above the threshold to open the door and started living in the back room without anyone knowing.

  Her temporary home. Tessa draped a woolen shawl around her shoulders. It was only a few yards to the saloon, but December in Pleasant Valley was bitter and snowy. She exited the building, locked the door, walked across the alley, and stepped into the storage room of the Red Dog.

  “Tessa?” Floyd’s voice sent her on alert.

  “What?” She pulled the shawl from her bare shoulders, draping it over a peg by the back door. She hated the saloon dress. The skirts were short and the tops bared her shoulders and tops of her bosoms.

  “The crowd’s growing and Shirley’s sick.” His large round head peered above the keg of beer he held. His bulging eyes gleamed with interest as he scanned her shoulders. “Get yerself out there and please the crowd.”

  Only two more months.

  She stepped around Floyd, happy his hands were busy holding the keg. No matter how many times she told him to keep his hands to himself, he always grabbed at her when they were in the storage room.

  She took a deep breath, pasted on a smile, and entered the eye-watering smoke hanging head height in the saloon. The crowd was large for mid-week, mid-day. A train must be stalled. Some dressed in wool suits of salesmen, while others wore the dark suits of railroad men.

  “Over here, girl!” And then there was the local crowd in wool coats and trousers, flannels, and work boots. She grit her teeth and sauntered over to the card table in the corner. Wesley Trainer held court at the faro table just like any other day and just like any other day, he swatted her bottom. “Bring me a bottle and a glass for my newest friend.”

  Tessa looked at the small stack of money in front of Wesley’s newest friend and knew why the gambler bought him a drink. She nodded and headed back to the bar. An arm reached out, looping around her waist.

  “You’re pretty. How about we go get better acquainted upstairs?” The man’s liquor drenched breath made her gag, and she shoved off his lap.

  “I serve drinks. That’s all.” She hurried to the bar and avoided that table on her way back to the card table.

  “You know, honey. All you have to do is say the word and I’ll take you away from all this.” Wesley’s soft spoken words fluttered over her ear as she leaned passed him to place the glass on the table for the down-on-his-luck fellow. It wasn’t the first time he’d offered. He wasn’t bad to look at. Straight blonde hair, a dapper mustache, and young enough to not be revolting for a marriage prospect, but that was the problem, he didn’t want marriage. He just wanted to haul her around while he gambled.

  “No thanks. Next time you come through here, I’ll be gone.” She took his money and moved on to the next table looking for refills. Her day was just starting and her feet already hurt and her heart weighed heavier than one of the brass spittoons sitting at each end of the bar.

  Chapter Two

  Van removed his hat, knocked on the judge’s door, and waited.

  “Enter,” announced a booming voice he’d never forget.

  He clenched the hat brim in one hand and turned the doorknob with the other. He might be twelve years older, but his gut twisted with guilt like he was fifteen again as he walked across the threshold and stared at the man who sent him to prison.

  “What do you want?” the judge asked, lifting his gaze from the papers on the desk in front of him. Van remembered those dark, cold eyes from the trial. They scanned his person and stopped at his face and squinted. “I don’t know you. Wh
at do you want?”

  Van cleared his throat. “I’d like to purchase the building next to the Red Dog saloon.”

  The man straightened his back and shoved the papers aside. “Well, come on in and have a seat.”

  Van crossed the room in four strides and sat in the chair in front of the desk. If he could pay cash and get out of here without the judge finding out who he was this could be a whole lot smoother than he’d presumed.

  “What did you want the building for?” Judge Spencer pulled out a clean piece of paper.

  “I’m a boot maker. I need a building where I can make my goods and sell them. The spot next to the saloon is on Main Street and will show off my wares.”

  “We have a boot maker in town.” The judge frowned. “How do you propose to make payments if you’re competing with him?”

  “I won’t make payments. I wish to buy the building outright.” Van reached for his wallet inside his jacket.

  The judge stared at his hand. “I’d rather make it on payments.”

  “I want to buy it outright. And I have the funds to do so.” Why didn’t the man want to sell the building?

  “How’d you get all that money, Mr…”

  “Donovan. Van Donovan.”

  The judge narrowed his eyes and peered at him. He shoved back from the desk. “When did you get out?”

  “Two years ago.”

  Hatred glowed in the judge’s eyes. What had he done to evoke such feelings in the man?

  “How did you get enough money to purchase a building? You still robbing banks?”

  Van shot to his feet. “No! And I didn’t rob the bank twelve years ago either.”

  “You were an accomplice. Same thing.”

  “I was a mixed-up boy trying to get back at my father. I didn’t realize the seriousness until afterwards. And I didn’t handle the money or any weapons. I was just a lookout.” Van ran a hand over his face. “I didn’t come here to rehash my participation in something I’ve paid my dues for. I’d like to set up a business in the building you own. How much do you want for it?”