WESTERN CHRISTMAS PROPOSALS

by Various

  “I’m going to cut my cookies into swords,” Robbie announced, his elbows on the table and his chin propped in his palms.

  “Swords don’t have cats to do with Christmas,” Jack argued. “Reckon I want one anyway, though.”

  It warmed her heart to see that Jack said this with a grin. When she’d first met him he’d been a sad little thing. Within the last few days he’d seemed to take a turn for the happier.

  Roy must think so, too, because Belle saw him grinning as he sat in a chair beside Grannie at the hearth. He was acting as a yarn warrior, untangling the skein that she intended to knit into socks.

  “The sword of truth!” Robbie raised his arm, hoisting an imaginary weapon.

  “I want’s a sword of truth,” Delanie declared, her small brow wrinkled. She arrowed a glance at her oldest brother. “Nobody could tell me a lie about Santa. I’d know if he’s real.”

  “Jacob Peabody saw Santa breaking up a fight in the street yesterday,” Robbie said, slashing his invisible sword at the bowl of cookie dough. “I reckon I believe that, Delanie.”

  “Santa is full of wonder.” Belle flicked a finger full of flour at Robbie just to see Jack smile—and Roy, too.

  Roy’s grin at his son was playful.

  The expression in his eyes when he looked at her was an invitation. A sultry summons to something she dare not accept.

  “Why isn’t he at the North Pole like he’s supposed to be?” Clearly, this made no sense to Delanie even if the incident made a believer of Jack.

  “He’s magic.” Grannie Em clicked her knitting needles together. “He pops in and out at will, making all things right. Things that seem impossible are easy for Santa.”

  No one but Belle would know that that last comment was directed at her as much as Delanie. She would need every bit of faith in the spirit of the jolly old man to take courage in the message.

  Last night, she’d stood over Grannie’s bed, watching her sleep and looking for signs of illness. In that moment she’d been more convinced than ever that an impossible choice was coming her way.

  If she didn’t find the ring, she would have to ask for it. Grannie believed her life hung in the balance and if she believed it...? This was not a risk Belle dared take.

  “I like you, Miss Belle.” Lorraine tugged on her apron. Her attention had wandered from Christmas cheer.

  “I like you, too.” She stroked Lorraine’s cheek, leaving a white smear. “Very much.”

  “I need to tell you a secret.” Belle bent her ear. “Papa smiles more since you came to live here. I hope you don’t go away.”

  What was she to say to that? She didn’t want to go away—not at all. Looking about at the big house, so secure and warm—so full of love, every inch of the place infused with Roy’s masculine protective presence—she did not want to leave.

  The thought of hauling Grannie Em to yet another boardinghouse was nearly unbearable.

  This could be a home for them. Even though Roy had not proposed marriage, she knew he wanted it. The children wanted it. Grannie needed it.

  “You wouldn’t mind having a stepmother?” Belle whispered back.

  “Not if she’s you.” Lorraine slashed an imaginary sword at the bowl. The swoop of her arm knocked three eggs onto the floor.

  Laughter started first with Roy, then Grannie, and soon they were all swinging magical Christmas swords at the smear of eggs.

  In her heart, she sent up a prayer that somehow Christmas night would come and find her still in this wonderful home, with Grannie healthy and Roy still caring for her.

  * * *

  It was past time to do something with the blasted ring. Having it was a constant gnaw at Roy’s conscience.

  Walking into the general store, he reached into his pocket and rubbed the delicate gold circle. He’d always be sorry for not returning it to the owner. At least if he sold it, the money would help the orphans’ fund.

  “Good day, Ben,” he greeted the storekeeper.

  “Howdy, Sheriff. What brings you out in the cold?”

  “I’ve got a ring to sell, then I’m taking the children to cut down the Christmas tree.” Roy slid the ring across the counter.

  “Selling? I thought you might be buying.” Ben grinned.

  “You got any?”

  “Three, besides this one I’m about to buy.” Ben picked it up. He looked at it from every angle. “Interesting.”

  “Do you think a Christmas wedding is too soon?” Roy asked. He didn’t think so but that was because he was impatient to make Belle his in every way.

  “That depends. You marrying Miss Banks or Miss Key?”

  Miss Banks? Why would anyone...? “Who thinks I’m interested in Miss Banks?”

  “Miss Banks does.” Ben reached under the counter and pulled out a box. “It’s clear enough to the rest of us that it’s Miss Key you’re courting. Here’s what I’ve got.”

  Maybe it was too soon.

  But then again, life was too short.

  “We can swap rings—or I’ll give you thirty dollars.”

  “Can’t swap. The money for this one is going to the orphans’ fund.”

  “In that case, I’ll give you forty dollars.”

  “That’s kind of you, Ben. I thank you.”

  Ben brushed the air with his hand as though he were sweeping away the gratitude. “Here, how about this sweet ring? It’s got engraved snowflakes, and a diamond.”

  Roy picked it up. Sensible folks would say it was much too soon to propose, but since when was love sensible?

  Hell’s business! He had yet to declare his love and here he was buying a ring.

  Chapter Eleven

  “They’re gone.” Grannie turned away from the window where she had been watching Roy pull his children across the yard on a sled. “Let’s find that ring!”

  Belle paused in polishing the dining room table. She saw her blurry reflection on the glossy finish.

  She was frowning, even though this was the moment she had been waiting for. With no one home she was free to snoop with abandon.

  “Giddyup, girl.” Her grandmother yanked the polishing rag from her fingers. “The woods are full of Christmas trees.”

  “I don’t feel right about this,” she said. But looking into Grannie’s eager blue eyes, loving her, she conceded, “I’ll search upstairs, you search down.”

  After spending an hour feeling guilty about going through Roy’s belongings, she thumped down on his bed.

  Sadly, it seemed that she was searching for something that no longer existed.

  What if Roy hadn’t taken the ring at all? Until this moment she hadn’t considered that possibility. What if Gaston had made the story up to appear innocent?

  Sitting on Roy’s bed and inhaling the masculine scent that lingered in the blankets, wondering if he slept in a nightshirt or in the altogether, was not going to help her find the ring.

  Opening his bureau door, she felt like the criminal she used to believe he was. She skimmed her fingertips over neatly folded long johns, wool socks—a wedding ring.

  Belle lifted the delicate silver circle from its nest within a handkerchief.

  Roy had told her that Colette had not been completely happy wearing it. Of course, Belle could only wonder if this was his guilt speaking and not how his late wife felt.

  Any woman would be blessed to have Roy Garner as her husband.

  If she were to have any chance of being that woman, she had to find the ring. Not only find it, but hide it and learn to live with the guilt of coming to Pinoakmont to ruin him, the man she loved.

  Loved to her bones. There was no point in hiding from the fact.

  While it was true that she hadn’t loved him when she and Grannie had concocted this scheme,
in the end her situation remained the same.

  Folding the ring back into the handkerchief, Belle searched the next drawer where she found the badge he had worn when he was a US marshal.

  While she was caught up in her imagination, seeing Roy riding to the rescue of law-abiding folks, she heard excited young voices crossing the yard.

  The Christmas tree had arrived!

  For the sake of the children and Grannie Em, she would put away her frown, her guilt and fear. She had come to love Robbie, Jack, Lorraine and sweet little Delanie. No personal angst would prevent her from helping Roy give them a blessed Christmas.

  * * *

  One by one, his children had fallen asleep, their pillow being Belle Annie.

  Robbie gave up the day with his head pressed against her arm. Jack’s curly-haired head lay on her lap; so did Lorraine’s. Delanie had snuggled up to Belle’s chest. His baby could only be dreaming of sugarplums.

  “This was grand,” Grannie declared. “Sugar and spice and everything nice. And now I’m headed for bed. Help me up, will you, Roy?”

  “It would be my pleasure, Grannie Em.”

  When Grannie had her balance, she snatched his ear, tugged his face down. She kissed his cheek.

  “I like you, Roy Garner—no matter what happens, I like you.”

  “I like you, too. Can’t imagine that anything could happen to change it.”

  “Quite right, it is Christmastime.”

  Grannie blew her granddaughter a kiss. Roy’s heart warmed seeing her walk down the hallway toward her room.

  With any luck, the Key ladies would become his family.

  He glanced back at Belle Annie. His heart tripped over, melted into a heap of holiday pudding.

  She would make a wonderful mother. Not only for these children, but the ones he hoped to have with her.

  “Will you walk with me? Once I’ve got the little ones to bed?”

  “I’d like to help tuck them in.”

  Belle Annie did put the children to bed. But in watching her, seeing her give kisses and stroke sleepy heads, she also tucked herself in—deep into his heart.

  So securely was she in there that if she refused his proposal tonight, he might not get over it.

  His life, or at least his emotional well-being for the rest of it, was at stake.

  Half an hour later, escorting Belle out into the moonlight, he was nervous. This was not like when he had proposed to Colette. Marriage between them had been the predictable outcome of their predictable courtship.

  This time with Belle Annie, it was different. The development of their relationship had been fast—anything but predictable.

  His future—and his children’s—hung upon her answer.

  “Brr!” Shivering, she stepped off the porch. “I hope Santa dresses warm tonight.”

  “Hilda Bee claims her big toe is predicting snow,” he said, working up the nerve for what he really wanted to say. “So does Jim Flynn’s knee.”

  Snow, left over from the last storm, muffled the sound of their footsteps.

  “What do you prefer, Belle Annie? A full moon or the little one we have now, with all the stars so bright?”

  “Full moon. What do you prefer? A snowy Christmas or a sunny one?”

  “Snowy Christmas Eve, sunny Christmas Day.”

  “So do I.” Her quiet laugh tripped across his heart.

  “A kiss under the mistletoe, or one under the stars?”

  She tipped her face up. Downy fur bordering the hood of her cloak rippled in the breeze. It feathered her cheeks where they were nipped pink by the icy air.

  “Both.”

  Lifting her hand, she touched his jaw with her gloved fingertips.

  He dipped his head, kissed her lips. They were not cold like her cheeks were, but hot, like the fire they had banked when they left the house.

  He reached inside her cloak, drew her against his chest.

  Wind whispered across the snowy ground, no doubt blowing in the predicted storm. It didn’t seem so cold, though, not with the two of them pressed close.

  “What do you prefer, Belle Annie? Living in my house or in a boardinghouse?”

  “Your house,” she said slowly.

  “I love you, honey. Will you marry me—me and my babies?”

  Tears pricked his eyes, clogged his throat. It was hard to believe that dumb chance had brought him this woman. Strangers bound for the same place at the same time.

  It could only mean that they were meant for each other.

  Tears shimmered in her eyes, as well.

  Strangely, she did not hug him closer, or answer with a joyful kiss—with a yes.

  She stepped out of his embrace, her back straight, stiff looking.

  “I want—I’ve got to have my grandmother’s ring.”

  She hugged her arms about her middle.

  “If that’s what you want. Whatever makes you happy, Belle Annie.” He’d sell the one in his pocket, make another donation to charity. “I reckon Grannie’ll be pleased to have you wear her ring.”

  “How can she when...? Where is it, Roy? Give me the ring that you took from Gaston Lamar when you arrested him!”

  * * *

  Belle wanted to double over, lose her dinner in the snow, but she stood erect, held Roy’s stricken gaze.

  Marry him? Become his wife? It’s what she wanted more than her next breath—more than anything except possibly seeing Grannie take her last breath.

  Mentally, she formed a fist and stomped her dreams into the dirt-crusted snow beneath her boot.

  Now that she had cast her future away, she had to win Grannie’s.

  “I want the ring you stole from her.”

  “What are you talking about Belle Annie?”

  Seconds ago, emotion welled in the corner of his eye. Now a single drop of moisture slid alongside his nose. It would not be an expression of joy.

  “Is that why you came here? For a piece of jewelry?” He backed away from her. The distance seemed an icy mile. “We didn’t meet by chance?”

  Her throat dry, she shook her head. “It was for the ring.”

  “Why didn’t you just ask me for it?”

  Because she’d believed him to be a criminal, figured he would only lie about it. Now that she knew him—now that she loved him—she understood that he was not that person, but back then....

  Silently, she stared at him, at his darkening expression.

  “What makes you think I stole the ring?”

  “Gaston Lamar is Grannie Em’s stepson. He says you did.”

  “Hell’s damn business, Belle,” Roy muttered, his arms spread in supplication, in disbelief. “The man’s a criminal—why would you believe him?”

  Why indeed? She should have asked for the blasted ring in the beginning. But, she reminded herself again, things had been different then.

  And later? She’d feared facing this very moment.

  “I’ve got to have the ring, Roy.”

  “Too bad you didn’t ask me for it.” Roy shoved his hands in his coat pockets. “I sold it yesterday.”

  Her head buzzed. It felt like her heart stopped beating.

  “You had no right!” She rushed at him. Hammered his chest with gloved fists. “It wasn’t yours to sell. You don’t know what you’ve done!”

  He held her at arm’s length, staring hard into her eyes.

  “All this time you thought I was a thief? You let me fall in love with you, let my children fall in love with you.” His breathing came fast, harsh. “When the whole time all you wanted was a ring? You want the truth, Belle?”

  No longer Belle Annie, but just Belle.

  She knew the truth. He had taken property that didn’t belong to him.


  But there was another truth, a worse one maybe.

  He was much more the wronged party than she was. She had deceived him—had let him love her, had loved him back and all the while she knew it would fall apart.

  “I already know the truth,” she gasped.

  “If you did, you wouldn’t be looking at me like I was the devil.” He breathed in, let it out in a slow, white-misted hiss. “That day, I had every intention of handing the ring over to the judge, but while I was arresting Lamar, I was informed that Colette was dying. I forgot about the ring. Months later when I came across it, I had Lamar questioned in prison but he still claimed the property was his. I didn’t feel right keeping it so I sold it and gave the money to charity.”

  If she didn’t lock her knees she might slip down onto the snow and not get up again.

  “I reckon that’s not the truth you knew,” he said, his voice cold.

  She wanted to reach for him, beg his forgiveness, but what right did she have to do that?

  Not only had she misjudged and hurt him, but now with the ring gone, Grannie might become ill.

  “All you had to do was ask for it, Belle. I’d have gladly given it to you.”

  Misery was etched on Roy’s pale, drawn face. And she had caused that despair.

  “I’ll leave as soon as I can pack our things.”

  “You will not.” His mouth was set, a grim angry line under his narrowed eyes. “You will stay and celebrate Christmas with the children. I’ve allowed them to become attached to you and I won’t see them face another holiday heartbroken.”

  “Of course.”

  Without a word, he spun about and walked toward his house.

  When he was on the porch, beyond hearing, she murmured, “I love you. I’m desperately sorry.”

  For all it mattered now, she was sorry.

  Chapter Twelve

  At three in the morning, Roy sat at the kitchen table drumming his fingers on the highly polished wood.

  Sleep was as elusive as a wish fired at a star.

  From the beginning, instinct had warned him that something about Belle was not what it seemed.

  Still, he’d rushed into love, blind to everything but her pretty face, her intriguing charm.