WESTERN CHRISTMAS PROPOSALS

by Various

  Still, watching her from across the room with the fire’s glow on her face and hands, the shimmer of light warming her hair where it curled over her shoulders, his dedication to this courtship remained.

  Belle Annie Key was going to become Belle Annie Garner. Belle Garner—it sounded right in his mind.

  Only one thing stood between them. The secret she kept.

  It troubled her deeply. Until she trusted him enough to confide it, he did not believe she would give herself to him.

  “Evening, Belle,” he said, sitting down in the chair beside her. “Delanie is going to love that pretty little dress.”

  She held it up, turning it this way and that, smiling at her work.

  “She’ll be a Christmas angel.”

  “She’ll look like one.” His youngest truly was an angel, when she wasn’t being an imp. “You sure do stitch fast. Only this morning that was a hunk of cloth.”

  “One learns to be fast when one needs to provide food and shelter.”

  “Life’s dealt you a hard blow, Belle Annie, but something tells me this is not your first.”

  She set the dress in her lap with a thump. “Only Grannie Em calls me Belle Annie.”

  “I’d like to.”

  She tilted her head to the side, studied him for a long silent time, then smiled.

  “I think that would be nice.”

  “Belle Annie.” It felt good to be able to speak the endearment out loud. “I do admire you. Not many people would do for your grandmother what you do. I’d say you were her angel on earth. But I wonder—what is the cost of that devotion to you?”

  A woman like her—smart, beautiful, full of humor and mystery—ought to already be the wife of some lucky man.

  Good for him she was not, since he intended to be that lucky man.

  “It’s Grannie who’s done everything for me.”

  She was silent for a moment, seeming to consider whether to speak of her past or not. If she really was his Belle Annie, she would.

  The grandfather clock ticked away a full thirty seconds while wind pelted the windows, and his heart raced in apprehension.

  “My mother was too young when she had me. So was my father.” Roy wanted to jump up and shout, not for her sad parentage, but because she was sharing herself. “Being parents was not what they had in mind when they—well, it was adventure they wanted, not me. As soon as they could hand me over to my grandmother, they ran off to the silver fields. As far as I know, they’re still there.”

  “Is that what troubles you about me?” He braced his elbows on his knees, let his hands dangle between them and stared into her eyes. “You think I was like them?”

  “I’m not troubled.” Gazing intently at her sewing, she shook her head. “You hardly took off for the silver fields. You were making a living for your family, doing good for society, not chasing a foolish dream.”

  She looked up. “No matter what, you are a good father.”

  “You know that I’m courting you?”

  Her cheeks flushed a sweet shade of pink. “I know.”

  “Do you welcome it?”

  “I—” She glanced away and then back. “I want to, but—”

  “But there’s something holding you back. What is it, Belle Annie?”

  “We hardly know each other, for one.”

  “Fair enough.” It was a valid point. “I’ll tell you a secret about me, then you tell me one about you. Before the rooster crows, we’ll know each other.”

  That caught her interest. Curiosity sparkled in her eyes when only a moment before, apprehension had clouded them.

  “Tell me your darkest, Sheriff Garner.” Her left eyebrow rose in a delicate arch.

  “The first time I fell in love, I was fourteen. I was too nervous to kiss the girl so instead I gave her the lumpiest toad I could find.”

  Laughing, she looked down, weaving her needle in and out of the dress.

  “Did she keep it?”

  “She tossed the toad in a bush but kept the wart it gave her.”

  “That is funny. But what about something more recent? Maybe something you did as a marshal.”

  Christmas punch spiked with whiskey would not be as intoxicating as her smile.

  “Nothing very interesting, since US marshals tend to live by the same letter of the law they enforce. As far as secrets go, my mischievous youth was better. You’ve heard my secret now. Out with yours.”

  “You might not think the same of me once I tell you.”

  “Nothing will change my high opinion of you.”

  “I’ll hold you to that.” She grinned, pointed the tip of her needle at him.

  “When I was seven years old, there was a neighbor girl who was spoiled, snooty as a fat cat in a sunny window. Well, one Christmas Eve, she told me there was no such thing as Santa Claus. Grannie dried my tears and assured me that there was. If our neighbor thought there was not, it was because she was a nasty little thing and therefore Santa did not come to her house.

  “It sounded right, but I needed proof. So after everyone was asleep, I went next door. I peeked in the window and saw her folks putting gifts under the tree. That only proved what Grannie told me to be true. Since Santa didn’t bring naughty children gifts, her parents had to do it. Well, one big gift intrigued me. After her ma and pa went up to bed, I let myself in through the window, which conveniently was not latched. I unwrapped an expensive doll and cradled it for a while. Then I saw Grannie’s face looking in the window. I thought I’d be in trouble, that Santa might not visit my house now. But Grannie was laughing. She told me that—”

  All of a sudden Belle stopped speaking.

  “What was it that she said?”

  “That even good people—children, that is—make mistakes.” She stuffed the needle into the small dress on her lap and stared at it. “You’ve got a similar problem here, Roy.”

  “My children are making mistakes?”

  “Not that. Robbie is telling his siblings there is no Santa.”

  “I reckon he’s of an age that he questions things.”

  “One should never become too old to believe in Santa. I firmly believe that.”

  “You still believe?”

  “In the spirit of him, of course. Of magic and giving.” She looked up from her work, her eyes wide and beautiful. “Don’t you?”

  “Teach me to believe, Belle Annie.”

  Sliding off his chair, he knelt before her and touched her cheek. “Show me the magic.”

  She dropped her sewing onto her knees, leaned forward in her seat. With a sigh, she pressed her lips to his mouth. She nipped his lower lip, then melted against him.

  Her heat made him dizzy, but bold. He slipped his arm about her back, drew her out of the chair. Her knee pressed his. Thigh to thigh, hip to hip, he drew her tight. Her waist felt small under his fingertips; her hair tickled his hand as he crept up the ladder of her ribs.

  If she didn’t resist, poke him with her sharp little needle, he was going to touch her even more intimately.

  He broke the kiss. “Belle Annie?”

  She rested her forehead on his, her breathing quick and shallow.

  “Um...well, what we are going to need, in order to make Christmas special for the children,” she murmured, “is a Santa suit, and boots—tall black boots.”

  She wasn’t ready for him yet—but she would be.

  He smiled, nipped her lips one more time. “And a beard?”

  She nodded, then glanced down, her hand lightly grazing his ribs. “And pillows.”

  Even though he hadn’t touched her the way he wanted to, she had not poked him with the needle. In fact, in calling a halt to the amorous moment, in suggesting the costume, she had proposed something as intimate. She had said
we.

  It felt so damn good not to be alone.

  The door to the future lay wide-open.

  Chapter Ten

  “You’ve a glow about you, Belle Annie.” Sitting at a table in the bakery, Grannie Em squinted at her while wiping a cookie crumb from the corner of her mouth. “You’ve lain with our young man!”

  “I have not! Grannie—for heaven’s sake, lower your voice.”

  “I know that glow, miss. You did at least let him enjoy your breasts?”

  “Nearly.” Belle swallowed a gulp of cocoa so hot it burned. “But I can’t and you know it. Remember why we came here? Even if do we change our minds about that, I can hardly confess that we were going to ruin his reputation.”

  “Confess? I’m sure I raised you smarter than that.” Grannie pursed her lips, a smile lurking at the corners. She winked. “I have a plan to get the ring and the man.”

  “There’s no way to have both.”

  “Do you want him?”

  More than she did yesterday—not as much as she would when she woke tomorrow and every day after that.

  “More than anything, Grannie. He’s not the villain we thought—I’m positive of that now.” She touched her grandmother’s soft, bony hand. “So, what is your plan?”

  “We find the ring and take it. All he thinks is that he lost it. You are free to give yourself to him, and he’ll be none the wiser.”

  “That’s deceitful—I don’t know if I could live with the guilt. Besides, he’ll see it on your finger.”

  “Not if I keep it on a chain between my charms.” She touched her chest.

  “What if, after all, I do just ask him for it? Tell him that you can’t live without it?”

  “Then you’ll have to explain everything. Even the best of men don’t like being deceived.”

  “What if we can’t find the ring? You’ve looked high and low already.”

  “There are only so many more places it can be. It’ll turn up.”

  “It might not.” Belle swirled the cocoa in her mug, watching the brown waves circle. “But, Grannie, I don’t believe you will die on Christmas Day.”

  “Your grandfather is convinced. Another Christmas without the ring would be unheard of. There are widows up there who are surprised that the gypsy gave me last year. They all say it’s unfair.”

  Belle set the mug on the table with a decided click. “That’s nonsense.”

  “Not according to your grandfather.” Grannie patted her hand comfortingly, which only left Belle more distressed than ever. “But not until late in the day. I won’t miss the pageant. I’m glad of that, since it ought to be an interesting event. I wouldn’t want to miss something interesting.”

  “You make it sound like dying doesn’t bother you at all. And how do you know this isn’t your imagination?” It had to be.

  “When you get to be my age, you just know things.” Grannie took another cookie from the plate, nibbled it, then said, “Like I know you don’t need to worry about me. We will find the ring and Roy will never be the wiser.”

  “If only it was that easy.” She clamped her fingers about the warm mug. Her heart felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. “Roy and I talked last night. Nearly until dawn.”

  “Talk is also important, dear.”

  “I got to know him better than I’ve ever known anyone—except you.”

  “And soon you will know him even better.” Grannie’s gray brows wagged.

  “I can’t do that—not knowing—Grannie, I could never make a choice between him and you and that is what it might come down to if things go any further. Not that I believe you will die—but if you believe it, it might affect your health, which could lead to decline.”

  Grannie lifted her mug and sipped. Her eyes, peering over the rim, looked bright, as full of life as ever. “You won’t have to choose. I feel it in these old bones.”

  Belle wished she could believe the promise in Grannie’s bones, but Grannie also believed in the curse.

  * * *

  Coming up with a Santa costume might have been a difficult thing, except that the town of Pinoakmont had one stored away. It hadn’t been used last year because a week before Christmas, the sheriff had tossed it onto the floor, stomped on it, then quit his job—or been fired. The story changed from one teller to another.

  Just now, Roy’s role as Santa had placed him alone with Belle Annie in the storage room of the general store. There were things he’d rather be doing than trying on the musty old costume.

  “Do you have enough pillows?” she called from the other side of the curtain where he changed.

  He stepped around the partition. “You be the judge.”

  Patting his belly, she nodded. “You’ll do. But the beard?”

  She reached up to tweak it. He caught her hand, kissed it.

  Hell’s business but she had a pretty smile when she used the full force of it on him.

  “What moral value do you hold dear?” she asked, continuing the question-and-answer game of “getting to know you” that they had begun two days ago.

  There was so much to learn about one another. Posed as a game, it seemed easier.

  Not that anything was difficult about falling in love with her. It was the most natural thing he had ever done.

  “Honesty, I reckon. Enforcing it is what I do for a living.” He yanked on the white cuff of the sleeve, trying to pull it all the way to his wrist. “What’s yours?”

  “Honesty is fine, but I would say forgiveness.”

  “In all honesty, I want to kiss you.” In all honesty he wanted to do a lot more than that.

  For a second she looked uncertain, but in the end, she nodded.

  “I like kissing you, so I’d forgive that boldness.”

  Slowly, she lifted on her toes, held his gaze. Cradled the promise of his future.

  He stroked her cheek, kissed it, then inched toward a sugarplum kiss.

  A woman’s scream shattered the moment.

  “Sheriff!” the voice wailed from the outer room.

  “Beulah?” Belle’s eyes widened. She shoved away from his chest.

  Stifling a red-hot curse, he rushed into the front room. Running past the counter, he saw the spinster standing in the open doorway.

  He rushed by her, felt her hand brush his sleeve, then her screech became a dad-gummed sigh.

  Jim and a farmer rolled about in the dirt, scrapping and throwing punches that could only have missed on purpose.

  It was a lucky thing that there were no children about. It wouldn’t do to have them see Santa holding the miscreants apart by the scruffs of their necks.

  “It’s my goat that’s going to be in the nativity stable!” the farmer demanded.

  “It’ll be Pete’s newborn lamb or nothing,” Jim shot back.

  Roy glanced at the boardwalk to see Belle covering her mouth, stifling a laugh. Beulah stared at Belle, not hiding the fact that she was glaring.

  She had to have followed them to the store in order to know he was within shouting range.

  No doubt she’d noticed Belle come out of the storage room at the same time he did. She could not have missed the fact that the pair of them were flushed of face.

  Roy yanked on the collars of the middle-aged scrappers.

  “You couple of—” He shut his mouth. Calling men he was honor bound to protect “idiots” was not wise.

  “Any reason we can’t have a goat and a sheep in the manger scene?” he asked.

  “The Good Book never mentioned a goat,” Jim growled.

  “Didn’t mention Santa either,” Roy growled back. “But he’ll be there. Don’t force me to make an arrest dressed in his red suit.”

  “I reckon there wasn’t direct mention of a lamb ei
ther,” Jim admitted. “Howdy, ladies. We didn’t mean to distress you.”

  “Looks to me, if we can have Santa, who wasn’t there, we can have a sheep and a goat who might or might not have been,” said the goat owner. “I reckon you can let loose of us now. We’ll act peaceable.”

  “Let’s go have a drink, Horace,” Jim declared.

  “We ain’t got a saloon.”

  “Pete’s barn is better anyway. Bring your goat. Let it get acquainted with the lamb.”

  The men walked shoulder to shoulder down the road as though the confrontation had never happened. Jim glanced back at Beulah and waved.

  Miss Banks rushed Roy, standing closer than was proper.

  “Our sheriff certainly is a brave one,” she declared, her smile wide and toothy.

  “That was interesting,” Belle laughed, now on the other side of him. “Which animal do you prefer—sheep or goat?”

  “Sheep!” Beulah exclaimed. “Goats are smelly. Sheep are sweet and soft to the touch. Don’t you think so, Sheriff?”

  Clearly, by the look Beulah was casting at Belle, she was comparing herself to the sheep and Belle to the goat.

  “I’d best get inside before I ruin Christmas for some curious tot.”

  The jolly old elf did stand for love, kindness and the magic of Christmas.

  A magic that his children would have in abundance this year. Very much due to Belle Annie Key—who one day, he hoped, would become Belle Annie Garner.

  Back behind the barrier of the screen, he changed into his clothes and pinned on his sheriff’s badge, all the while wondering how his children would feel about having a stepmother.

  As much as he wanted to marry Belle Annie, the children would have to want it, too.

  From all he’d seen, they would. Their eyes sparkled when she was with them. A sparkle that was echoed in Belle’s eyes.

  He believed that their young souls were beginning to heal—and that Colette was smiling down in approval.

  * * *

  Life was lovely, if she didn’t delve too deeply.

  Dusted in flour up to her wrists, Belle laughed with Lorraine and Delanie while they took turns cracking eggs and dumping them into the beginnings of cookie dough.