Texas Christmas Bride: The Gallaghers of Sweetgrass Springs Book 6

by Jean Brashear

  It’s the first Christmas in Sweetgrass Springs, Texas for several new residents who have found a real home for the first time—or found home again. As Jackson Gallagher works to save his hometown from withering away by relocating his business empire there, the only gift he really wants is to marry the teenage sweetheart he thought he’d lost forever—but Veronica Patton Butler has other hearts to care for, however much she loves Jackson.

  Bridger Calhoun is more than ready to make Penelope Gallagher his bride, but however much she adores him, Shark Girl is dragging her heels on tying the knot—which seems to be a maddening tradition among Gallagher women.

  Come join the fun…the heartache…the sweetness, as Sweetgrass prepares for a community celebration that will bring the Morning Star Gallaghers and the Marshalls to town, along with several of Jackson’s Seattle geeks and more than one lost soul about to find a place to belong—in eccentric, lovable, unforgettable Sweetgrass Springs…where hope never fades and love never dies.

  The TEXAS HEROES contemporary western romance series includes:

  TEXAS SECRETS

  TEXAS LONELY

  TEXAS BAD BOY

  TEXAS REFUGE

  TEXAS STAR

  TEXAS DANGER

  TEXAS ROOTS

  TEXAS WILD

  TEXAS DREAMS

  TEXAS REBEL

  TEXAS BLAZE

  TEXAS CHRISTMAS BRIDE

  TEXAS TIES

  TEXAS TROUBLES

  TEXAS TOGETHER

  TEXAS HOPE

  TEXAS STRONG

  TEXAS SWEET

  TEXAS HEARTTHROB

  TEXAS HEALER

  TEXAS PROTECTOR

  Join Jean’s mailing list and receive a free copy of TEXAS ROOTS, normally $3.99 but yours free when you sign up to receive notices of releases and special deals from Jean.

  Texas Christmas Bride

  Texas Heroes: The Gallaghers of Sweetgrass Springs

  Book Six

  Jean Brashear

  Copyright © 2014 Jean Brashear

  Kindle Edition

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  Dedication

  To my fellow Handcrafts Unlimited volunteer quilters: Joyce Walden, Earlene Dorsa, Ruth Sudduth, Linda Vise, Jane Shurtleff, Ceci Sinnwell, Mel Brown and Linda Johnson, as well as the Thursday afternoon shop volunteers Pat, Florence, Martha and Marilyn. Thanks for welcoming me into the fold and for swapping stories, sharing quilting wisdom and generally indulging in all kinds of foolishness with me. I do love our Thursday afternoon therapy sessions!

  And, as always, to Ercel, who has embraced this pie-in-the-sky romantic’s wild notions with open arms and keeps my faith in love burning bright.

  Acknowledgments

  With my deepest gratitude all you lovely readers who keep asking for more Sweetgrass stories—and special thanks to Teresa Maksim, who thought we needed a Christmas story. You were absolutely right, and I thank you for the encouragement that made me go back and try one…more…time. Hope you like the results!

  For all the gang on my Facebook author page, thanks for the fun and the very helpful discussion about what Ben should call Jackson. You really helped me stop overthinking!

  I very much appreciate the help from my favorite flower farmer, Pamela Arnosky, who came to my rescue this time to figure out what Veronica would have available for wedding flowers in December.

  Big thanks to Jackie Paris for the last-minute read—any errors left are on me!

  I’m especially grateful to Nancy Smith Munger, my own cherished childhood friend, for many reasons—but right now, I can’t thank her enough for being a godsend in helping me keep this ever-expanding cast of characters straight!

  PS Please note the cookie recipes to be found at the end of this book, contributed by my quilter friends (you’ll see them in guest appearances in this book.) I haven’t made them all yet, but they look so yummy I intend to!

  The Legend of Sweetgrass Springs

  Lost and alone and dying, thirsty and days without food, the wounded soldier fell from his half-dead horse only yards from life-giving water. His horse nickered at the scent, and the soldier gathered one last effort to belly his way to the edge of the spring.

  But there he faltered. Bleeding from shoulder and thigh, he felt the darkness close in on him and sorrowed for his men, for the battle he would lose, for the fight he would not finish. In his last seconds of life, he wished for the love he would never find.

  Rest, a lovely, musical voice said.

  He managed to drag his eyes open once more.

  And gazed upon the face of the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

  And perhaps the saddest. Her eyes were midnight blue and filled with a terrible grief as she lifted a hand toward him.

  I am dying, he thought. I will never know her.

  But the woman smiled and tenderly caressed his face as she cradled his head and brought life-giving water to his lips.

  You will live, she said. Be at peace. Let the spring heal you.

  Around him the air went soft, the water slid down his throat like a blessing. His battered body relaxed, and the pain receded.

  Sleep, she said. I will watch over you.

  He complied, his eyes heavy. His injuries were too severe; he knew he could not live. But though he would not wake up, he was one of the fortunate, to have an angel escort him into the afterlife. Thank you, he managed with his last breath.

  Wake. All is well.

  The soldier opened his eyes, surprised to feel soft grass beneath him, trees whispering overhead. From nearby, he heard the bubbling music of the spring.

  Then he saw her, his angel. Where am I? Is this heaven?

  Her lips curved, but her eyes were again midnight dark with sorrow. You are still of this world.

  Who are you? he asked. Why are you sad?

  She searched his eyes. Will you stay with me?

  I would like nothing more, but I cannot. I must return to my men.

  She turned her face away, and he felt her grief as his own.

  I’ll come back. When the battle is over and I am done, I will come back to you.

  You won’t. A terrible acceptance filled her gaze. I will never have love. Once I was mortal like you, and I was loved, but I turned away from it. From him, my one true love. He was beloved of The Fates, and they cursed me to wait. I cannot leave this place.

  Wait for what?

  It doesn’t matter, she said sadly. You must go. They always go.

  I’ll come back. I’ll set you free. Tell me how, and I’ll do it.

  She stared into him for a long time, then shook her head. There’s only one way.

  What is it? he asked eagerly, rising strong and well again, already searching for his horse to ride away.

  She watched him in silence. Made herself invisible because she knew.

  Where did you go? he called out, searching the clearing, striding to the spring to peer into its depths. When he didn’t see her, with a heavy heart he mounted, but for a moment he lin
gered. I’ll come back, I promise. You can tell me then. I’m sorry, but my men need me, and I have to go. I will return for you.

  He wouldn’t, she knew. They never did. She’d brought her eternal loneliness on herself, and she was losing hope.

  So she watched him ride away after one last look.

  Only love can set me free, she whispered softly.

  Love strong enough to stay.

  Chapter One

  “Why did I think it was a good idea to cater Jackson’s company Christmas party with Nana off on her honeymoon?” Scarlett McLaren moaned as she juggled pans in the kitchen of her grandmother’s diner.

  “Because pregnancy hormones have fried your brain?” answered veteran waitress Jeanette Carson.

  Sweetgrass Springs was so small that they were all doing double-duty until Scarlett could properly staff Ruby’s Dream. The high-end restaurant and events center was her brainchild, created from the old decommissioned courthouse her grandmother Ruby had held onto for years, hoping to someday make Sweetgrass thrive once more. Juggling the need to keep her grandmother’s diner open while searching fruitlessly for restaurant talent who’d relocate to this tiny burg, Scarlett was a good month behind her planned schedule for opening the new place.

  She’d sure forgotten to plug getting pregnant into her schedule.

  But she’d promised Nana, and she was determined she’d make Sweetgrass vibrant again.

  “A misguided sense of love, City Girl,” opined Scarlett’s cousin, Rissa Gallagher Mackey. “My brother knows talent. He also knows a sucker when he sees one. It’s how he became a bazillionaire. Go sit down for a minute.”

  Rissa reached for a pan, and Scarlett slapped her hand. “Don’t even think about it,” she growled.

  “Hey, I can cook. Penny’s not the only one in the family.”

  Behind them, Rissa’s hot husband snickered. “Babe, step away from the stove.” Randall Mackey smiled and drew her into his arms. “No offense, darlin’. Everyone knows you’re a genius with horses. We all have our strengths. Plus some of us multi-task.” Mackey nodded toward Rissa’s sister Penny, cooking with a bluetooth in her ear, talking a mile a minute. “Anybody know who she’s talking to?”

  “China, probably. Or Katmandu—who knows? Poor Bridger. Ever since she took the job helping Jackson run his video game empire, I don’t think her phone has left her side. It’s probably surgically attached,” Rissa mused.

  “You didn’t catch the two of them making out at the spring last night, obviously.” Mackey grinned. “My man has his talents, and one of them is seducing Shark Girl right out of her socks.” He peered around Rissa. “Is she cooking in…stilettos? Doesn’t that hurt?”

  Just then, a young voice piped up from the doorway to the dining room. “Cousin Scarlett, could we do it again, the Gallagher Thanksgiving meal? Where everybody is there?” Rissa and Mackey’s adopted son Eric asked.

  “Absolutely. Every Thanksgiving. Consider it a standing date.”

  The seven-year-old didn’t look reassured. He opened his mouth, then shut it.

  “What is it?”

  His eyes slid to the side. “For Christmas, I meant,” he said softly. “Only maybe…better.” The child had come a long way from the abuse of his past, but he was still hesitant to ask for much. “Never mind.”

  “What do you mean by better? What would you like us to do differently?”

  Eric pointed around the room. “Them.”

  “Them? Oh, you mean invite more people?”

  Blonde hair bounced as he nodded eagerly. “Some people don’t have anybody. They shouldn’t be sad on Christmas Day.”

  “I can’t argue with that.”

  Rissa’s gaze met hers, dark with anguish over what this child had suffered in his short life. “We’re going to have a great Christmas, Eric. I promise you that.”

  Perfect trust showed in the boy’s face as he looked up at his new mother. “I know that. But I want everyone to have one.”

  “Let me think on it, Eric,” Scarlett responded. And tried not to feel exhausted. Christmas. Lordy, she’d barely survived Thanksgiving. She’d loved having everyone together, but brutal morning sickness seemed as though it would never end. She’d shoved Nana off on her extended honeymoon right after, lying through her teeth that she felt fine. Her husband Ian was still being a bear because he knew the truth, hovering over her every move like an avenging angel.

  She noticed their second waitress, Brenda Jones, avidly listening. The girl was a mystery to them all, a stray, probably a runaway, sweet and shy and nervous. Nana had taken her in, no questions asked.

  “What did you all do for Christmas back home, Brenda?”

  The timid girl halted mid-step. “Me?”

  Scarlett nodded for her to continue.

  Hazel eyes darted like a frantic rabbit. “Nothing special.” Brenda’s slight shoulders curled inward.

  Shy former busboy turned cook’s helper Henry Jansen, of all people, piped up to cover the awkwardness. “My granny worked for other folks a lot, so we saved our celebrating until Christmas night, after she was done serving the rich folks.” His chin remained high, his expression forbidding pity. “Soon as I was old enough, I helped her whenever I was allowed. We got to take the leftovers home, and I knew Granny liked that because she could get off her feet and skip cooking a meal. I learned to cook soon as I got big enough. Not like you, of course.”

  “You’re turning into a fine cook now, Henry.” Scarlett glanced between the two, then wondered who else here had experienced a less than storybook Christmas. Here she’d thought she was the only one who’d passed that holiday and so many more longing for what she was sure everyone else had. Mama had tried hard to make the day special, but with no family around…

  Her heart clenched as she thought about how much family she’d had here, all along. She and her mother hadn’t needed to be alone.

  She’d never understand how a mother could rob her own child of that. She stroked her belly and made a promise. You will never be so terribly alone.

  Meanwhile, there were people here whose pasts she couldn’t change.

  But their present day could be very different. “Eric,” she called out.

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  Scarlett caught Rissa’s beaming pride at her adopted son’s manners.

  “Tell me more about what better looks like to you.”

  “Really?” Hope bloomed on the child’s face.

  “Really.”

  The boy thought for a minute. “It was pretty great when everyone was here for the surprise weddings. Could we invite Dalton and Sam’s family and Emilio and Antonio’s family and all of the others who were here?” In other words, not only the whole town, but also the Morning Star Gallaghers and the Marshall clan.

  “Honey, they might already have other plans,” Rissa began.

  “But they might not, right?”

  Scarlett laughed. “The only way to find out is to ask.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.” Even if she couldn’t seem to get a restaurant open, surely she could do this. Her horrific morning sickness had finally begun to ease.

  “Scarlett…” Rissa warned. “You are just barely holding on. Don’t even think about it.”

  Wow. If Cousin Crankypants, who’d loathed her the moment she’d set foot in town, was worrying over her…

  “I’m telling Ian,” Penny spoke up, off the phone at last. “This is not a good idea.”

  “I think it’s a splendid idea,” Scarlett insisted. She’d seen Brenda’s eyes light with hope and Henry smile as he chopped vegetables. Later, she mouthed to Rissa and to Penny, who shook her head impatiently.

  “So I’m thinking that maybe we put up a big tree in the courthouse and another one out on the lawn. We can serve over there and use the upstairs if we need it. Everyone can bring card tables and chairs. With the upgraded kitchen, there’s more room to cook.”

  “If you’re going to be crazy enough to
volunteer for that, Scarlett, it has to be a community effort.” Melba Sykes stepped around the kitchen door, eavesdropping as usual. Melba considered gossip a noble pursuit and her God-given duty. “We’ll do it like a church social. You are not cooking for this whole town.”

  “Bridger can barbecue,” Penny offered.

  “Barbecue’s not Christmas dinner food,” Scarlett protested.

  “It is in Texas. Any day is a good one for barbecue, am I right?” Rissa scanned the room.

  Heads nodded.

  “We’re not in Merry Old England. Or Bedford Falls,” Rissa pointed out. “Jimmy Stewart doesn’t live here.”

  “But he’d want barbecue if he did,” Harley Sykes shouted.

  There was laughter and a smattering of applause.

  Melba spoke up. “Josh Marshall would bring a whole new flair to George Bailey.”

  “Especially if he performed the role with his shirt off,” piped up Earlene Dorsa, another of the quilting group.

  A couple of whistles amid more laughter.

  “Everybody brings a dish. That’s the way it’s done. Surely you’ve been in Sweetgrass long enough to know that. Just because you’re a Paris-trained chef and the best cook in the state doesn’t mean you’re the only one,” quilter Joyce Walden insisted. “We’ll get a signup list going, so we can plan. Can we bring family if we have relatives coming in?”

  Scarlett didn’t have to think twice to answer. “Of course. Goes without saying.”

  “Anyone who can’t get out, we’ll either pick them up or take them a plate,” suggested Ruth Sudduth.

  “And we can set up a secret Santa so all the kids get a gift,” proposed Rissa.

  Because not all of them would, otherwise, Scarlett realized, glancing at Eric and wondering what his Christmases had been like with only a mother who had had a penchant for abusive men. Eric would be inundated with gifts from his new family, she knew.

  But there were other Erics.

  She turned to look at Brenda and wondered. Made a mental note to make sure the diner staff got presents, too.