Loving the Horseman

by Davalynn Spencer

  Her voice trailed off as she held her hair with one hand, searching through the folds of her skirt with the other.

  Her combs.

  He stepped over Cooper’s unconscious hulk and rage churned again. On Annie’s bed he found the combs where they’d worked loose, and he returned them to her, pressing them into her hand.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. “Again.”

  He might as well be the one drowning, the way her eyes drew him through deep water.

  “Annie, I have to ask you a question.” He wrestled with his desire for vengeance, shoved his fervor down. “Has Cooper ever tried anything like this before today?”

  Her face blanched. She shook her head, swallowed. “But the day I asked him about renting the storeroom, I was pushed into him.”

  Caleb waited for more.

  “I went to the saloon to talk to him, but I went no farther than just inside the door. As I stood there, someone outside pushed it from behind. I lost my balance and fell against him.”

  She glanced at Cooper’s still form and shuddered.

  “Did he hurt you then?” Revenge skirted Caleb’s thoughts, goading him to finish what he’d started with the no-good lecher.

  She shook her head again. “No. But I was humiliated. The way he looked at me …”

  “He’ll not try it again, I assure you.”

  Again he encased her hands in his. “You were going to tell me something, something he said. What was it?”

  Fresh tears formed against her lashes. “Today—before you got here—he said if I told Daddy, he’d kick us out of the mercantile.”

  His jaw tight, Caleb drew both air and hatred in through his nose. God help him, he wanted to do a whole lot more than just hate Jedediah Cooper.

  “That won’t happen. I’ll be speaking with the magistrate as soon as your father returns, and I intend to tell him the whole story.”

  “I’m so ashamed.” The chin that usually took every assault from a lofty perch drooped against her chest.

  “No, Annie.” Gently, he tilted her face to meet his eyes. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing at all.”

  He longed to tell her how he felt, but now wasn’t the time. She was too vulnerable. Declaring himself, even in an honorable way, would have to wait.

  Heavy footsteps fell across the threshold, and Daniel Whitaker’s voice boomed into the store. “Did you see me coming with this monstrosity and leave the door open?”

  Whitaker held the cut end of a large evergreen as he dragged it through the door. Both Caleb and Annie rose to help him.

  One look at Annie’s disheveled appearance, and Daniel dropped the tree and reached for his daughter.

  “Caleb Hutton!” he thundered.

  “Daddy, it’s not what you think.” Annie ran to her father and threw her arms around his bulk. “He came just in time.”

  A moan from the back room drew their attention to the man on the floor. Caleb strode to Cooper and dragged him to his feet. Blood stained the man’s shirtfront and brocade vest, and he lifted his bound hands to his swelling nose.

  Caleb grabbed his arm and shoved him past the stove toward the store front. “Tell Whitaker what happened, Cooper, or I will.”

  Red-faced and stammering, the man’s eyes darted between Annie, her father, and escape. Caleb stepped around him and soundly shut the door.

  ~

  Annie stood with her arm linked through her father’s as they watched Caleb usher Jedediah Cooper, none too gently, to Magistrate Warren’s office.

  “Annie, girl, I never would have forgiven myself if that man had hurt you.”

  She hugged his arm and looked into his guilt-reddened eyes. “I shouldn’t have gone to the saloon, Daddy. I should have listened to you. You were right.”

  He pulled her into a fatherly embrace and cupped her head in his big hand. “I’ve been thinking too much about myself lately, and not enough about you.”

  Stepping back, she gave him a scolding look. “Nonsense, Daddy. You’ve been happy, and that makes me happy.”

  He blustered and hugged her again. “I’m just glad you’re all right.”

  Still shaken from the ordeal, she willed her nerves to calm, determined to cling to their simple holiday cheer. They had to keep moving forward.

  “Have you delivered Martha’s tree yet?”

  He huffed. “Don’t know that I’ll ever view a Christmas tree the same after today.”

  Brushing aside her father’s comment, she reached for the aromatic tree that lay across their floor. “I’m not letting that varmint spoil my Christmas.”

  The less-than-ladylike term rolled off her tongue with delicious precision. Bless the freighters and their colorful language. Well, some of their language. “And neither should you.”

  If they quaked at every horrible thing that might have happened, they’d cower themselves into an early grave, and that she refused to do.

  She closed her eyes and held her face near the tree’s branches. “This smells so good. Help me set it in the window.”

  “Let’s lean it against the wall. Turk showed me how to make a cross and nail it to the tree bottom so it’ll stand by itself.”

  Her father set the tree’s peaked top between two saddles hanging on the wall opposite the front counter. “I’ve got an old box out back that I can bust up and use. Be right back.”

  He stopped to pick up the coffeepot and pegged her with a warning. “You holler if anyone comes in and I’ll be here faster than you can blink.”

  Her ragged nerves quivered at his protectiveness and she resisted the urge to follow him outside. “I’ll be fine, Daddy. Besides, I can just topple this blue spruce on anyone who is less than gentlemanly.”

  He set the pot on the stove and headed for the back, wagging his head.

  Drinking in the sweet woodsy scent, Annie’s thoughts wandered to her other protector. A shiver coursed through her body as she recalled the chilling anger in Caleb’s eyes when he’d found her pinned beneath Cooper.

  Held in two men’s arms in less than ten minutes’ time, yet each with such different intent. She fingered her swollen lower lip and winced at the taste of Cooper’s brutality.

  Leaning again into the evergreen branches, she imagined they were Caleb’s strong, protective arms. The thought fanned a fire in her belly as sure as the open flu pulled sparks from coal.

  Thank you, Lord, for sending Caleb.

  The back door shut, and her father stomped his feet before coming up front.

  “It’s snowing.”

  Annie turned toward the window. Penny-size flakes fell from the gray sky and settled on the boardwalk. Dry and crisp, they held their starry shapes instead of melting like the first snows in Omaha.

  “Oh, Daddy, it’s beautiful.”

  “It’s also cold.” He brushed the white dust from his shoulders. “Let’s get this tree set and I’ll stoke the fire. It’s going to be a cold one tonight.”

  Grateful to be in the store and not the livery, Annie prayed that Caleb would be warm and dry in the box stall. Maybe she should take him another quilt. With the down from their Christmas goose, plus what she’d gathered at the river, she could start a feather cover for him. She’d let Martha know too, and maybe barter for enough down to finish one this winter.

  Such a thought for a single woman to have.

  Her father laid the tree flat on the floor, held a squared wooden cross against the cut edge, and positioned a large nail in the center.

  With two swift hammer hits, he drove the nail head flush to the wood, and repeated the process with a second nail.

  “Imagine,” she wondered aloud. “A cross and nails at Christmas holding everything together.”

  Box slats did not resemble Calvary’s cruel tree. Then again, maybe they did—a sober foreshadowing of the Lord’s calling from manger crib to cross.

  Caleb’s confession came to mind with a bitter-sweet recognition that he must follow God’s leading—even if it took him away fr
om Cañon City.

  Away from her.

  Her father raised the tree to stand straight and tall.

  Annie slipped an arm around his waist. “Thank you.”

  “We’d better get some corn popping so you can start on a garland for the tree. That is, if you’re feeling up to it, Annie.” His gaze fell to her bruised mouth.

  “I’m fine, Daddy. Truly.”

  Not as fine as she wanted to be, and her lip stung where it had cut on her teeth. She still felt Cooper’s weight pressing her down, and if she could, she’d strip off the dress she wore and burn it in the stove. Burn away the memory of his sour breath, of her helplessness.

  She wasn’t sure which was worse, but right now, she needed to put on a good face for her father.

  The bell clanged and the Smiths poured through the door, bundled and stomping and laughing. The children’s eyes glittered like Christmas candles when they saw the stately spruce.

  “Oh, Mama. It smells so pretty. Can we have a tree?” Emmy Smith tugged at her mother’s skirt. “Can you buy one from Mr. Whicker for us?”

  Louisa Smith laughed and knelt beside her daughter. “Where would we put a tree in our tiny cabin? Maybe we can just come visitin’ and enjoy this one.”

  Emmy’s lower lip quivered and her blue eyes pooled with enough tears to set Annie’s father astir.

  “I know just where you can get a tree for your new home.” He threw an exaggerated wink at Springer, who stood behind his mother and sister, failing to hide the yearning in his own eyes.

  “Just this morning I saw one that could sit on a table top. Just right for a pint like you.” He patted Emmy’s head.

  She tucked her chin. “I ain’t no pint.”

  “You aren’t a pint,” Louisa corrected.

  Emmy stomped her little foot. “That’s what I said.”

  Annie stifled a laugh and moved behind the counter. Did she look like that when she stomped her foot?

  Her father drew something from his pocket and slipped it to Springer with a whisper and a nod.

  An oversized grin spread across the boy’s face, and he tugged his hat and addressed his mother. “I’ll be right back. Got an errand to run.”

  “Well, hurry. I want to be home in this storm, not out stuck somewhere in a snow drift.”

  Louisa pegged Annie’s father with a merry frown that twitched her lips into a smile. “You’re going to spoil us all, Mr. Whitaker.”

  Annie pulled a letter from the Smith’s mail slot. “I have something here for you, Louisa. It’s postmarked Kansas City.”

  “Land sakes.” The woman snatched the envelope from Annie’s fingers with something a kin to hunger. “It’s from my sister Emma.” She slid a finger beneath the flap, glanced at her audience, then tucked the letter in her cloak. “Pardon me. How rude. It can wait.”

  Annie knew full well what it meant to get a letter from home brimming with news of everything familiar. Suddenly she missed her sister. Even Aunt Harriet a little.

  Louisa shuttled Emmy to a table to look through a button box, then returned to the counter and lowered her voice. “I’d like to see your calico, please.”

  Annie laid a length of sky-blue cotton on the counter. A dress for Emmy, no doubt. Aunt Harriet wouldn’t be fingering calico this Christmas, nor would Edna. In fact, her sister was probably up to her ringlets in ruffles and lace, planning the perfect dress for her spring wedding.

  Louisa held up one finger, silently noting how many dress lengths. With a deep sigh, Annie rolled out the fabric and cut it with shears.

  “Her doll gets a new dress too,” Louisa whispered. “And give me three lengths of that light wool there, please. Springer and Ben need shirts.”

  And there it was. Family.

  Annie would gladly take calico and wool over satin and lace any day, unless it was her wedding day, of course. With no warning, she saw herself in a beautiful dress with Caleb awaiting her in the church, but the startling image fled as suddenly as it had appeared. Such an event didn’t even peek over the far horizon’s edge.

  “Looks like you’ll be mighty busy.” Annie dragged her morose thoughts back to the task at hand, folded the fabric, and added it to the Smith’s purchases. Despite her resolve, her mind wandered to the traditional Christmas preparations for her aunt’s ornate home. Glass ornaments and tinsel for the tree. Candles, star-shaped cookies …

  “Annie?”

  Startled from her daydream, she focused again on her customer. “I’m sorry. I was just thinking about … your cabin. You mentioned a cabin. So you are out of the tent in time for winter?”

  Louisa sighed and her eyes gentled with adoration. “My William worked so hard to get it completed, and the Turk brothers helped, bless their souls. It’s not big, but it’s so much warmer with the fireplace and solid walls.”

  Annie stooped behind the counter and brought out a large tin. She lifted the lid for Louisa to peek inside.

  “Oh,” Louisa whispered. “Wrap several of those for me, please.” Her blue eyes sparkled like her little girl’s. “Just tuck them into the fabric bundle.”

  Annie giggled. “I couldn’t resist these when we put in our last order. I knew the few children we have around here would be delighted.”

  She chose six white candy canes, wrapped them in brown paper, and laid them on top of the calico. “And if you have heavy shears, you can cut stars from empty tins and tie them to the tree. That will add a little shine to Emmy’s Christmas surprise.”

  “That is a wonderful idea,” Louisa said.

  “What’s a wonderful idea, Mama?” Emmy skipped to her mother’s side and eyed the large container on the counter.

  Annie returned it to its hiding place with a wink.

  “You have too many questions for this time of year.” Louisa pulled her daughter into a quick hug.

  The bell over the door rang out, and Emmy’s two small hands clapped her cheeks, her mouth a rosebud O.

  Springer held a perfect little sapling in his hands. ”Just right, don’t you think, Ma?”

  Annie reached for a skein of red yarn, snipped off a generous length, and rolled and tucked it inside the Smith’s package.

  “For hanging the stars,” she whispered to Louisa.

  As Annie watched the family hurry through the falling snow, she couldn’t help herself. She couldn’t keep from wondering what it would be like to hurry home with a certain horse-handling preacher for a husband.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Caleb shoved Cooper through the magistrate’s door and waited for Frank Warren to draw his long, lean body out of the chair by the woodstove. More cabin than jail, the room housed a single stout cell in the back.

  A frown creased the magistrate’s brow as he gave the saloon owner a quick once-over, pausing on the man’s blood-stained brocade vest.

  “I found him taking liberties at Whitaker’s Mercantile that were completely unacceptable.” Caleb stepped back, distancing himself from the no-account before giving into the urge for further action.

  “And what were you doin’ at the mercantile, Cooper?” Warren folded his arms and sat on the edge of his desk.

  “Can’t a man make a friendly call on the local shopkeeper?”

  Caleb took a step forward, and Warren stopped him with a glare.

  “And that shopkeeper would be Daniel Whitaker?”

  Cooper mumbled something about the Whitaker woman being excessively unfriendly.

  Caleb didn’t know if he could control himself.

  Warren ambled across the open space and escorted the bloodied saloon owner to the back corner.

  Cooper twisted in the magistrate’s grip, shouting at Caleb, “I’ll see you pay for this.”

  “Keep your threats to yourself, Cooper.” Warren locked the iron door and pocketed the key. Three long strides returned him to the stove’s warmth, where he lowered his voice. “Those liberties happen to involve a Miss Annie Whitaker?”

  Caleb’s blood surged. “I figured murder w
as a hanging offense even this far west, so I brought him to you instead.”

  Warren’s sweeping mustache quirked with apparent appreciation of Caleb’s self-restraint. “The People’s Court meets day after tomorrow. We’ll hold the old cuss here until then.” He crossed the room, took a seat behind his broad oak desk, and opened a ledger. “This isn’t the first report we’ve had of him taking a shine to the single womenfolk, but you’re the first witness we’ve had to the offense other than the women themselves.”

  “Will there be a trial?”

  “More likely an informal hearing.” Warren’s gaze shifted from the ledger to Caleb’s reddened knuckles. “I take it you’re the one responsible for the bloodletting?”

  “Yes, sir.” Caleb flexed his fingers, swollen now from the force of Cooper’s face coming to blows with his fist.

  “Any other witnesses?”

  “Just myself and Ann—Miss Whitaker, but I saw to it that Cooper apologized to her father, who returned to the store not long after the incident.”

  Warren grunted his approval. “Good. A confession. That will speed things right along. I’d just as soon get Cooper out of these parts, and this might do it. Time he sold out to somebody else and moved on.” He laid his pen down and leaned back in the squeaky chair. “In fact, I think I know someone who might be interested in buying the Fremont Hotel and Saloon. Give Cooper a stake to leave and clean up the town all at the same time.”

  Caleb reset his hat. “I work at the livery. I’d appreciate a word about the hearing before it takes place.”

  “Oh, you’ll hear. Court meets in Cooper’s building, upstairs above the saloon. You might even be called on to testify.”

  Caleb nodded his thanks and opened the door.

  The chair creaked. “Good timing.”

  Pausing, Caleb looked over his shoulder into the magistrate’s coal-chip eyes.

  “Good thing you happened by the mercantile when you did.”

  A tight throat and tighter chest prevented Caleb from speaking before he stepped onto the boardwalk and closed the door.