A Western Christmas Homecoming: Christmas Day Wedding Bells ; Snowbound in Big Springs ; Christmas with the Outlaw
Page 9
They rode all day, watering the horses at willow-swathed streams and eventually emerging from the woods into meadows covered with blue chicory. When the sun dropped behind the hills, flaming the sky peach and scarlet, Rand reined to a stop beside a stand of alders.
“We’re still some hours from Smoke River. You want to stop and camp here or go on?”
“I want to go on and get home. I’m anxious to have a bath and sleep in a soft bed.”
“Okay.” He gigged his horse forward.
“I sound terribly overcivilized, don’t I? Quite unlike Lolly Maguire.”
Rand chuckled. “Not ‘overcivilized,’” he pointed out. “Just civilized. I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t like to wash off my trail dust, too.”
They rode steadily for another four hours. By the time they reached town, it was pitch-dark and his stomach was rumbling. They unloaded their saddlebags and Alice’s travel case, left instructions with the livery attendant for feeding and brushing down the horses and started down the street toward Rose Cottage.
Now that this ordeal was finally at an end, Alice couldn’t think of a thing to say. In silence she walked beside Rand beneath the maple trees, past gardens smelling of roses and night-blooming nicotiana, feeling oddly flat. She was returning to Sarah and Rooney and her beloved Smoke River; Why wasn’t she feeling the joy she’d expected? Instead of elation she felt tired. And...sad.
She had missed her library, she reminded herself. Her wonderful library with its collection of exciting books about everything under the sun. And now she was back and she could enjoy them again. Still, something was different. Was it Dottie? She caught her breath. She missed her sister. She would always miss her.
Then all at once she knew what it was. She was different. This whole ordeal had changed her in some way.
No, it was Rand who had changed her.
And he was leaving in the morning.
Her steps faltered and he slowed and turned to her. “Alice?”
She looked up at him. “Don’t go,” she whispered.
“Alice, I have to go, you know that. Pinkerton already has another mission for me.”
“Yes,” she breathed. “I know. It doesn’t seem possible that in less than two weeks my whole life has been turned upside-down.”
He tipped her face up to his. “You know I’m in love with you, don’t you? It’s taken half my life to find you. I don’t want to let you go.”
“Never in a million years did I expect to feel this way about a man,” she whispered. “It hurts.”
“I could send for you,” he said, his voice hoarse. “We could be married in Denver City.”
She hesitated and finally released a long breath. “I can’t, Rand. This has all happened so...so fast I don’t trust it. I guess I’m not ready. Not yet.”
He wrapped his arms around her and caught her mouth under his. After a long, long minute, he lifted his head. “All right,” he murmured against her lips. “I understand. I don’t like it, but I understand.”
Alice stepped out of his embrace and they turned back to the street. “Come on,” she said. “We’re both hungry. Sarah will have something for us to eat.”
He heaved a sigh and they walked on.
At the boardinghouse, Sarah and Rooney were rocking in the porch swing while young Mark sat at their feet playing pick-up sticks. “Well, my stars!” Sarah exclaimed. She rushed down the steps and pulled Alice into a hug, then planted a kiss on Rand’s bristly jaw. “Welcome back! Are you hungry?” she said in the same breath.
Rand laughed. “Yes!” Alice sang. “We’re starving.”
“Then come on into the house, you two. There’s cold chicken and potato salad, and I just took an apricot pie out of the oven.”
Mark climbed to his feet. “Didja shoot anybody, Marshal?”
“Nope. Came close, though.” He ruffled the boy’s hair as he climbed the porch steps.
Rooney caught Mark’s arm and propelled him through the screen door and into the house. “How close?” he intoned to Rand.
“Close enough. Double murder and embezzling. Alice...” He sent an admiring look at her. “Alice was instrumental in catching three criminals.”
Rooney rolled his eyes. “Don’t let on to Sarah, or she won’t let Alice out of her sight till Christmas.”
Mark slapped back through the screen door. “I wanna know about what Alice did.”
Rand shot a quick look at the woman who had made his undercover plan work. She sent him a subtle shake of her head, and he quickly modified what he was about to say.
“Well, one night Miss Alice got dressed up real pretty in a red dress with a real low—uh...with sequins all over—”
“Sequins!” Sarah yelped. “Red sequins? Well, I never!”
Rooney caught his eye. “Bet she looked real fetchin’, didn’t she?”
“Oh, yes, sir,” he breathed. “She looked like a walking burst of fireworks.”
“Thought so,” the older man said with a grin.
“Tell me ’bout what Alice did!” Mark insisted.
Sarah ushered them all into the dining room. “Clean up,” she ordered. She pointed into the kitchen.
Alice went first. Then, while Mark danced at his side, Rand managed to lather up at the sink and accept the slightly damp towel Alice handed him. “Tell Mark about the miners,” she breathed.
Sarah shouldered her way past them with a platter of fried chicken. “Mark, bring that bowl of potato salad in the cooler.”
“Aw, Gran, I wanna hear ’bout Alice and the miners!”
“I want to hear about that, too,” Sarah said in a determined tone. “So, you two sit down. Eat. And...” She sent Alice a significant look. “Talk!”
Rand helped himself to a crispy chicken breast and a double spoonful of salad. “Okay, about those miners...”
“And Alice!” Mark crowed. “Tell about Alice!”
Rand swallowed a bite of cold chicken. “Well...” He sent Alice a quick smile. “Alice got to know some of the miners, and—”
“How’d she do that?” Mark interrupted. “Did she go down in a mine?”
“Um...well, she found a place that had a piano player, and she...um...danced with them.”
Sarah’s fork clattered onto her plate.
“What kinda place?” Mark queried.
“A saloon, no doubt,” Sarah said through thinned lips.
“There was a nice Chinese piano player who played waltzes,” Alice said quickly. “So I danced with the miners, and I talked to them.”
“We call it ‘gathering evidence,’” Rand explained.
“That’s not what I’d call it!” Sarah grumbled.
Rand swallowed. “So,” he continued, “Alice worked undercover, getting the miners to share information with her.”
“Like what?” Mark pursued. Rooney laid his hand on the boy’s arm.
Rand caught the older man’s eye. “Like who’s who in town and who had enemies, that sort of thing.”
“In a red dress with sequins,” Sarah spluttered. “Really, Alice. I am shocked.”
“Alice was very proper,” Rand said quickly. “And very clever. And I watched over her every single minute.”
Sarah harrumphed and flounced into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. When she returned she set a golden-brown deep-dish apricot pie in front of him. “Ice cream?” she barked.
Rand couldn’t help laughing. And so did Rooney and Alice and, finally, even Sarah.
“Oh, all right, I forgive you,” the older woman said. “But you surely gave this old heart of mine a turn.”
“And then what happened?” Rooney and Mark said in one voice.
“Then,” Alice supplied, “we devised a plan to get our quarry to admit what they had done without letting them know Rand was listening.”
“Bad hombres,” Rand said.
“My sister’s murderer,” Alice added.
Sarah rose. “I don’t even want to know what that plan was, Alice. Coffee?” Then she sank back onto her chair and leaned toward Alice. “On second thought, I do want to know.”
“I’ll get the coffee,” Rand volunteered, laying his napkin on the table.
“The cups are in the hutch, Mark,” Rooney said, giving the boy a nudge.
Sarah pinned Alice with sharp blue eyes. “So, what was this clever plan you came up with?” She kept her gaze on Alice’s face.
Alice explained about her theatrical performance at the assay office. As she talked Mark’s eyes got bigger and rounder and Sarah’s mouth got smaller and tighter.
“Young man,” she said when Rand emerged from the kitchen with the coffeepot, “I don’t want you and Alice to take any more of these trips together. Is that understood?”
“I brought the ice cream, too,” Rand said blandly, “in case anyone wanted...”
Mark applauded, and Alice couldn’t stop smiling at him.
When the pie and ice cream had disappeared, Sarah emerged from the kitchen, her apron in one hand, and sent Rand a long, considering look. “Marshal Logan, you might as well use the guest bedroom tonight, seein’ as how you’re half asleep already and the hotel’s probably full up. And,” she added, “I’m heating bathwater, if anybody’s interested.”
With a quick twist of her wrist she wound the apron ties around her waist and marched back into the kitchen.
Chapter Sixteen
Alice lay wide-awake, watching the fat, silvery moon drift across the sky and drop behind the branches of the pepper tree in the front yard. For the first time in days she was squeaky clean and wearing a long, lace-trimmed nightgown. She should be feeling calm and civilized after so many hot, dusty days on horseback.
But she wasn’t. Instead she lay on her bed feeling something so shocking she tried to brush it out of her mind.
Hours passed, and still she lay sleepless and overwarm until a soft click brought her up on one elbow. Her bedroom door opened, and a shadow slipped inside.
Rand.
Thank God. Tears stung under her eyelids.
Without a word he walked to the bed and stretched out beside her. With a start she realized he wore only his drawers, and with another start she realized three things. First, that she wasn’t surprised that he was here with her. Second, that she didn’t care what he wore, or didn’t wear. And third, that she wished she had the courage to strip off her nightgown.
Next time.
But there might not be a next time.
“Rand,” she whispered. “I thought you might not come.”
“You’re not wrong too often, Alice,” he murmured. “Maybe you should trust your instincts.”
She turned into his arms.
“Oh, honey, don’t cry. Please don’t cry.” He smoothed one hand up and down her back, and after a moment he pressed his lips against her forehead. “You smell like roses.”
“You smell like...pine trees.”
He chuckled. “Rooney’s soap.”
“I want to remember your sweat-and-woodsmoke smell.” She squeezed her lids shut to stop the tears.
“Alice,” he said, his voice low and serious. “Alice, don’t.”
“Kiss me,” she whispered.
He touched his mouth to hers, deepened it until he thought he would explode, and then he just lay quietly and held her in his arms.
When the sky started to lighten, he kissed her one last time, rolled off the bed and left.
It was the hardest thing he’d ever done.
Chapter Seventeen
Usually Alice loved Christmastime. School was out for the holidays and youngsters of all ages flocked to her library, from little Manette Nicolet, who devoured every book she could find about insects, to oh-so-grown-up Adam Lynford, who had just discovered the laws of physics. Annamarie Panovsky asked for works by Dickens and Shakespeare, while Molly Bruhn, whose mother had just purchased a new Windsor piano, read about the great composers, Beethoven and Schubert and Brahms.
As Christmas drew closer, bands of carolers roamed the town singing “O Come All Ye Faithful” and “Joy to the World” for rewards of gingerbread and hot spiced cider. The annual tree-decorating competition, sponsored by Poletti’s Barbershop, got under way, and children all over town made paper chains and popped corn to string on the tree branches. Peter and Roberta Jensen hosted a big winter barn dance where box lunches were auctioned off to raise money to buy new music for the community choir.
Alice was invited to all the holiday events. Even though she didn’t feel the least bit like celebrating this year, she put in an appearance at most of them. There were whist parties and taffy pulls and Christmas sing-alongs and quilting bees, and she made endless batches of divinity and fudge for Sarah’s afternoon teas.
But mostly she tended to her library, ordering the new books she could now afford with money from the sale of Coleman’s Assay Company in Silver City.
She heaved a sigh. Activities in Smoke River during Christmas could be exhausting. In the evenings she knit socks with Sarah on the front porch of Rose Cottage and tutored Mark in mathematics. And late one night she sat bundled up and rocking in the swing next to Rooney and confessed how empty it all felt.
“Honey-girl, lemme tell you somethin’ I learned from an old vaquero way back when I was scoutin’ for Colonel Wash Halliday. Goes like this. ‘Don’t promise anythin’ when yer happy. Don’t reply to anythin’ when yer angry. And don’t decide nuthin’ when yer sad.’”
“Oh, Rooney, the last time I was happy was the night Rand was here eating Sarah’s apricot pie and ice cream.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I know. Takes time to get over it when yer heart’s broke.”
“I’ve never felt quite this empty and unhappy, not even when Dottie died.”
“Then, like the vaquero says, don’t decide nuthin’. Jes’ pull up yer socks and go on as best you can.”
And so she went on. Christmas drew closer. Frost tipped the branches of the Douglas fir trees, and schoolchildren did extra chores for their parents and tried to be extra-good.
With each day that passed the library grew quieter and quieter, and Alice grew more and more despondent.
And then one afternoon, just when she thought she had pulled her socks up about as far as they could go, she sat alone in her empty library, her head down, reading a thick volume of Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales, when a patron stopped by her desk and presented a book to be checked out.
She was so absorbed in The Wife of Bath’s Tale she didn’t even look up. “Do you want to take the book home?” she asked.
There was a pause, and then a familiar voice said, “No. I want to take the librarian home.”
She looked up, and Chaucer and the vase of red poinsettias on her desk went flying. “Rand!”
“Miss Alice.”
He stepped over the scattered blooms and the volume on the floor, caught her in his arms and swung her around and around.
“Rand,” she said breathlessly, “where did you come from?”
“Colorado,” he said simply. “From the Pinkerton Agency.”
“Oh!” He was covered with a light dusting of snow, obviously weary, his cheeks bristly and his gray-green eyes questioning.
He kissed her forehead and both cheeks before he finally found her mouth. Then he did it in reverse.
“I’m not going back,” he said when he finally lifted his head. “Pinkerton agreed that I can work from Oregon as well as Colorado. From Smoke River, in fact.”
He kissed her again, and this time it lasted so long she thought she might faint. When he released her she stood staring at him while outside somewhere a wi
nter sparrow started to trill.
“Miss Alice,” he said at last. “I have come to invite you to a wedding.”
She gaped at him. “A w-wedding?”
Now he was smiling at her. “That’s what I said, Alice. A wedding.” His smile worked itself into a grin. “In Broken Toe, Idaho.”
Passersby that afternoon looked at each other in wonderment. From the library, where Miss Alice Montgomery had always, always insisted on absolute quiet, floated the sound of laughter. A man’s and a woman’s prolonged, unrestrained, joyous laughter.
* * *
The wedding was held on Christmas day in the parlor at Rose Cottage. In the middle of all the cake and champagne and congratulatory wishes the couple slipped off to the livery stable, climbed on their horses and rode out of town.
Heading for Broken Toe, Idaho, of course.
* * *
If you enjoyed this story you won’t want to miss these great full-length reads by Lynna Banning:
Baby on the Oregon Trail
The Hired Man
Miss Murray on the Cattle Trail
Miss Marianne’s Marriage of Convenience
SNOWBOUND IN
BIG SPRINGS
Lauri Robinson
Dear Reader,
Christmas is often referred to as the time of year when miracles abound. Though I believe miracles abound year-round, I do enjoy writing stories set during the holidays and of course love happy endings that might be a bit miraculous. I hope you enjoy Welles and Sophie, and their Christmas journey!
Blessings,
Lauri
Dedication
To our grandson Connor, who has made life a wonderful adventure from the moment he was born. Love you!
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven