Love Inspired December 2014 - Box Set 1 of 2: A Rancher for ChristmasHer Montana ChristmasAn Amish Christmas JourneyYuletide Baby

by Brenda Minton

  Robin felt her jaw drop. “How did you…?”

  “Aw, don’t worry. Won’t no one else see it because they didn’t know Ezra and Elaine, but I did. With the right clothes and hairstyle, you could just about pass as old Missus Shaw’s twin, at least when she was young. I know ’cause I saw pictures.”

  He was wrong about one thing: someone else had noticed. Some time ago while looking through some old photos, Cord Shaw had noted the similarity between Robin and Ezra Shaw’s bride. Robin had laughed it off, but that photo had proved to her as nothing else could have the veracity of her great-grandmother’s story. Robin swallowed and forced a smile.

  “That’s very interesting, but I have a meeting to attend, so if you’ll pardon me…”

  She pulled free and took a step away, but he halted her with a simple statement. “I know Lucy didn’t die when that car went off the bridge.”

  Gasping, Robin whirled to face him. “What did you say?”

  He pushed back his hat and hung his thumbs in the belt loops of his jeans. “I was there. I was just a boy, but I followed Lucy that night. I saw how she and Cyrus ran that Model T off the bridge and slipped away together, and I kept their secret all these years ’cause that’s what Lucy asked me to do. Her pa didn’t have any right to force her to marry against her heart, even to save the bank.”

  “You know about that, too?”

  “I heard the talk. They said there was something fishy going on at the bank, that Silas Massey left town a rich man in 1924, though everyone knew he’d made some bad investments. Ezra Shaw denied the bank was low on cash, but some folks withdrew their money anyhow. They said he used his own fortune to cover the loss. In ’26, that feller Victor Fitzhugh offered to buy into the bank, give it a big infusion of cash, if Lucy would marry him.”

  “How do you know this?” Robin demanded.

  “Lucy told me herself. Said she’d rather die than marry old Fitzhugh.”

  Those had been Lucy’s last words to her father, in fact, and she had regretted them, but not running away to marry the love of her life, or so she’d told Robin.

  “Can’t blame her,” Rusty said. “Fitzhugh was nearly her daddy’s age, a big, hard man, all jowls and whiskers, and her just sixteen years old. ’Sides, she was in love with Cyrus, and he was in love with her. That’s why nobody questioned it when he went away after the accident.”

  “What happened after Cyrus went away?” Robin asked.

  “Fitzhugh took his money and went back where he came from,” Rusty explained. “Old Ezra hung on at the bank, even in ’29 when the big crash came, but by ’32 he had to give up. Back then the Shaws were land poor like all the rest of the ranchers, but they held on. Gotta respect them for that, especially as they knew about the gold in the time capsule and didn’t touch it. They stayed true to the agreement about that.”

  “Gold!” Robin erupted.

  “And lots of it,” Rusty told her. “Lucy said that one day the Shaws and Masseys would all inherit a fortune when the time treasure was dug up. She said Silas wanted to go back on the agreement and dig it up when his investments went bust, but Ezra wouldn’t allow it, and that’s why Silas looted the bank. He said he was taking the Massey share whether the Shaws approved or not.”

  “So that’s why the time capsule was stolen,” Robin mused. “Gold.”

  “That’s my theory,” Rusty acknowledged. “So I got to thinking.” He tapped his temple with a gnarled finger. “Who’d know about that treasure? And it couldn’t be anybody but the Shaws, more like a Shaw, and my money’s on the mayor himself.”

  “Surely not!” Robin insisted more loudly than she’d intended. “Everyone says Pete Daniels is the culprit. Why else would he leave town like that?”

  Rusty grimaced. “Think about it. How would Daniels know about the gold? If the gold is in the time capsule when it’s opened, what’s the mayor’s excuse for keeping the bridge closed? He can’t say there’s no money to pay for it anymore.”

  “But Dale Massey is underwriting the reopening of the bridge.”

  Rusty nodded, cackling gleefully. “And don’t you know that sticks in Jackson Shaw’s craw! All the more reason to cut the Masseys out of the inheritance. Lucy told me that the Massey and the Shaw heirs were to share it equally.”

  Robin blinked. If what Rusty said was true—and she had no reason to doubt him—then the fact that she had kept quiet all these months about her connection to Lillian/Lucy and the Shaws had just become exponentially more complicated. If she spoke up now, Jackson might think she was after the gold!

  But where did Pete Daniels fit into all this? Why flee town if he was innocent of any crime?

  She narrowed her eyes at Rusty Zidek, demanding, “Why are you telling me what you know? And why are you telling it now after all these years?”

  “’Cause,” he said, “Lucy’d want you to have your share of that gold.”

  “I’m not here for gold!” Robin snapped, though everyone would think so if she told them the truth about herself and her great-grandmother now.

  Rusty’s weathered face folded into a series of deep crevices. “Well, now, that’s fine. You know what the Good Book says, the love of money is the root of all kinds of evil. But I can’t look into your eyes without seeing my sweet Lucy’s, and I know she’d want you to have everything coming to you, money, family, all of it. And I’ve been trying to help you get it.”

  Understanding dawned. “You’ve been leaving those notes around town!”

  One note, back in August, had told the committee looking into the disappearance of the time capsule to “think about L.S.” Another note had shown up in November after the time capsule had reappeared. That note had warned that something important was missing from the container and been signed with the cryptic cypher “LS4EVER.” People around town had assigned the initials to Lilibeth Shoemaker, but the teenager had disavowed any connection to the disappearance of the time capsule and whatever it had contained, and nearly everyone had believed her. The committee had cleared her of involvement.

  Rusty nodded. “I’d do it again, too. Now you gotta do what you gotta do.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You gotta confront the mayor about this.”

  “Me? Why me?”

  “You’re Lucy’s granddaughter.”

  “Great-granddaughter,” Robin corrected, wincing when she realized that she’d just confirmed his suspicions.

  He showed her a wide smile beneath that prodigious mustache, featuring a bright gold tooth in front. “Yep. That’s what I figured.” His filmy old eyes blurred, and his chin wobbled. “Lucy and Cyrus did good for themselves. Now, you do her proud, you hear?” With that, he turned and shambled away.

  Dismayed, Robin headed in the opposite direction. Didn’t he realize that what he asked of her was impossible, now more so than ever? It was one thing to impose herself on the preeminent family in the area as a long-lost relative and another to do so after keeping her silence on the matter for nearly six months now, but to reveal herself as a member of the family after learning a fabulous inheritance might be claimed was unthinkable. They would surely brand her a gold digger! Literally.

  Oh, how had she gotten herself into this mess? The more she dwelled on it throughout the morning, while approving fabrics and patterns for the pageant costumes, the more convinced she became that the Shaws would revile and reject her if she came forward now.

  She toyed with the idea of going to Ethan and laying out the whole problem, seeking his advice, but the thought of confessing her lies to him made her want to weep. He had kissed her. Very innocently, perhaps, and he obviously regretted it. Nothing could ever come of it. Nevertheless, he had kissed her, and she’d dreamed about that kiss, no doubt making much more of it than she should.

  They had worked together for weeks now, and all the while she had kept her true identity and purpose from him. How could she tell him the truth and ever face him again afterward? She could almost see
his disappointment and feel the change in him. The very idea made her heart hurt; so did the notion of never seeing Ethan again, but how could she stay in Jasper Gulch with this secret hanging over her head, especially since Rusty Zidek had confirmed his suspicions about her?

  If she didn’t confront the mayor as Rusty wanted, would Rusty divulge her true identity? She couldn’t trust that he wouldn’t, perhaps not right away but eventually. If he spoke up, she’d either have to deny his claims—in other words, lie—or try to prove them, but all she had as proof were her great-grandmother’s words, a name and an old photograph.

  Robin didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t go to the Shaws with the flimsy proof she had, she couldn’t count on Rusty to keep quiet indefinitely and she couldn’t confess to Ethan. She finally came to the conclusion that she would have to leave Jasper Gulch, but she couldn’t go while Ethan was so dependent on her. In the end, she decided that she would stay until after Christmas. It was only twelve days away. She would help Ethan provide his congregation with the centennial Christmas celebration that he envisioned. If God allowed and Rusty was kind, she might even hang around for the dedication and opening of the museum on New Year’s Eve, but then she would leave Jasper Gulch and the friends she’d made here. And, sadly, any hope of connecting with her Shaw family.

  She would leave behind any chance of fulfilling her great-grandmother’s deathbed wish for her, any chance of being accepted by her Montana family.

  And Ethan.

  She would leave Ethan and even the dream of anything they might have had together.

  In fact, it was probably best just to nip that in the bud now before she managed to break her own heart. If it wasn’t already too late.

  *

  Christmas carols had never sounded so merry to Ethan as they did that Sunday morning. He and Robin had toiled side by side the day before, though each had been absorbed with separate responsibilities. Nevertheless, he had been keenly aware of her every moment of every hour. She had seemed distracted, even flustered, at times, and he’d been almost too busy himself to do more than give her a passing suggestion here or there. Every time, she’d regained her equilibrium and forged on with the work at hand. He’d found himself taking great pride in her.

  Without even realizing it or him intending it, she’d stepped into the role of helpmeet, acting as his partner in many ways. The idea both disturbed and entranced him, so much so that for the first time he began to question his conviction that God meant him to remain alone.

  She’d looked exhausted at the end of the day, tempting him to ask her to join him for dinner. He’d refrained, fearing his own motives. Instead, he planned ahead and laid up a Sunday meal, a hearty soup, made mostly from a mix, that bubbled away in a Crock-Pot in the church kitchen as he preached.

  Who, after all, could mistake a bowl of soup in the church kitchen for a date? They’d go over the checklist for the pageant and the Christmas service to see what remained to be done, enjoy a hot meal and perhaps find a moment of privacy in which to discuss roping the bells. He could almost smell the soup from the pulpit and eagerly looked forward to that moment when he could take her hand in his as they bowed their heads in a prayer of thanks over the simple meal.

  After the service, he dutifully stood at the back of the sanctuary, offering his hand to everyone who came to him. Robin trudged up the center aisle, her handbag hanging from her shoulder by a long strap. He offered her a smile, along with his hand, and pulled her to his side.

  “Could you wait with me a minute? I have something to ask you. Just let me finish up here first.”

  She seemed a tad reluctant, and who could blame her? He’d heaped mountains of responsibility on her slender shoulders of late.

  “Nothing to make more work for you,” he promised, ducking his head.

  She smiled wanly and stayed put, shifting her weight from foot to dainty foot. Finally, they were alone in the sanctuary, sunshine gilding its windows and igniting a golden glow in the pale woodwork dressed with fragrant evergreens and cheerful holly, the big red bows and white chrismon symbols lending a true holiday feel to the place. Anticipation welled up in Ethan.

  “Will you take Sunday dinner with me? I have it pretty much ready in the church kitchen. I thought we could go over a few things in peace and quiet, away from the chaos.”

  Her face fell before he got all the words out. “Oh, Ethan, I don’t know. I, um, I’m so tired. I—I think I must be coming down with something.” She lifted a hand to her throat. He noticed that her fingers shook. Automatically, he reached up to feel her forehead, but she darted back a step. “I—I probably should’ve stayed away this morning. Don’t want to expose anyone to…anything.”

  “I’ve made soup,” he said, gesturing helplessly. “At least take some with you.”

  She shook her head. “No. No, I couldn’t. I…I couldn’t eat now. I just couldn’t.” With that she turned and hurried out into the vestibule.

  He went after her. “Maybe I ought to drive you home.”

  “No, please. I just…” She reached into the coat closet, grabbed her overcoat and ran from the building without even bundling up first.

  Concerned, Ethan followed her out onto the boardwalk and watched as she hurried to her car while frantically digging in her bag for her keys. She dumped her things into the vehicle then climbed in after them and was driving away in mere seconds.

  A shiver of foreboding went through him. She didn’t seem desperately ill, merely desperate. Now that he really thought about it, she’d acted a little distant and uncomfortable yesterday. He’d thought it a matter of her taking on such a prominent role in the holiday preparations, but could it be that their nondate had affected her more than he’d realized?

  Had he hurt her with that impulsive kiss and his apology afterward? It had hardly been a kiss at all, really, but had it been a step too far for Robin? She was certainly avoiding him. Could it because of the apology?

  Was it possible that Robin actually liked him? She’d said that he needed a better woman than her, but he’d thought that was her humility talking. Could she think that he judged her as lacking, that he didn’t think she was good enough for him?

  The truth was just the opposite! She was everything for which he could possibly hope, everything wonderful he could possibly imagine—and for which he never dared to ask.

  He didn’t know what to do now. His hand drifted up to the collar at his throat, and he turned back to the church, always the source of his greatest solace. As he walked, he began to murmur a prayer.

  “Lord, I’m in a quandary here. I need some guidance.”

  As he went through the motions of preparing and eating his lonely lunch, he talked it out with God, and in the end he understood that he was as much pastor as man, though with Robin he seemed to have a difficult time remembering that. She might not be a formal member of his congregation, but she had rendered much aid to him and the church. He owed her pastoral care.

  He waited until after the evening service, unsurprised that she did not put in an appearance. After everyone had left, he packaged up the remaining soup, some bread, juice and canned fruit cocktail and drove over to the inn. Knocking, he announced himself, then prayed that she would open the door for him. When she finally did, she wore a fluffy pink bathrobe over a pair of old jeans and an oversize T-shirt, her stockinged feet stuffed into a pair of old slippers that had seen better days. With her pale gold hair piled on top of her head in a wobbly bun, she couldn’t have looked more adorable, despite her red-rimmed eyes and swollen nose. He couldn’t decide if she’d been crying or if she was truly ill. Either way, she needed a bit of comfort from someone. He held out the sack of foodstuffs.

  “I thought you might feel more like eating now.”

  Nodding, she took the brown paper bag from him. “I am kind of hungry. Thank you.”

  “It’s chicken noodle soup,” he said, standing in the open doorway as she carried the bag to the tiny kitchenette. “And some other
stuff.”

  “Looks good,” she said listlessly, rummaging around in the bag. She glanced back over her shoulder at him, saying, “You’re letting all the warm air out.”

  He stepped inside and pushed the door almost shut, waiting while she carefully set the food on the narrow counter.

  “I’ll enjoy this,” she said in a nasal tone, her back to him. “Thank you again.”

  “My pleasure,” he told her.

  She folded the bag, her slender fingers smoothing each crease precisely, before turning to face him. Then they both spoke at once.

  “About this morning…”

  “You’re more than I deserve.”

  Stunned into momentary silence, they took each other’s measure, both frowning. Then again, they spoke at the same time.

  “What about this morning?”

  “I don’t understand.” She waved him into silence. “What do you mean, more than you deserve?

  He didn’t know what had possessed him to say it, but now he had to explain it. Licking his lips, he picked his words. “Any man would be blessed to have you, Robin, myself included. Never think otherwise.”

  She turned her back on him, and his heart dropped like a stone. He fought the urge to reach for her, and despite his best intentions found himself standing behind her, his hands on her upper arms. He could feel her trembling, and pitched his voice low to hide his urgency.

  “Robin, what is it?”

  “Don’t ask,” she croaked.

  Something was very wrong here, much more than he’d assumed. “You can tell me anything.”

  She slipped out of his reach, folding her arms. “Please don’t ask. Please, Ethan.”

  He understood then that whatever it was, she felt that she couldn’t share it with him. His thoughts circled back to the things that he had not yet shared with her: a girlfriend dead on the streets of Los Angeles because of his choice of friends, a father in prison, a sister who wouldn’t even speak to him.

  Perhaps her secrets would not carry the same weight as his, or perhaps they would. It really didn’t matter. Nothing she could tell him would make him think any less of her. But could he trust that she could truly say the same about him?