Upon a Midnight Clear

by Jude Deveraux

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  Color

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  Text Size

  10 -- 11 -- 12 -- 13 -- 14 -- 15 -- 16 -- 17 -- 18 -- 19 -- 20 -- 21 -- 22 -- 23 -- 24

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  UPON A MIDNIGHT CLEAR

  By

  Jude Deveraux, Linda Howard, Margaret Allison, Stef Ann Holm, Mariah Stewart

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  Contents

  The Teacher

  Jude Deveraux

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Christmas Magic

  Margaret Allison

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Jolly Holly

  Stef Ann Holm

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Epilogue

  If Only in My Dreams

  Mariah Stewart

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  White Out

  Linda Howard

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

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  Praise for

  UPON A MIDNIGHT CLEAR

  "Delightful, charming…"

  —Philadelphia Inquirer

  "Christmas stories from some of the best romance novelists around."

  —The Pilot (Southern Pines, NC)

  "Heartwarming, unforgettable tales from five of today's most talented romance authors."

  —The Literary Times

  "[A] masterly anthology… fans of holiday short-story collections will want to read and keep as a treasure to be reread next Christmas."

  —Paintedrock.com

  "UPON A MIDNIGHT CLEAR celebrates this season with the joy of good reading."

  —Romancing the Web

  "Original stories by five bestselling authors… which will brighten the holidays and warm the hearts and souls of readers… A great holiday anthology."

  —Abilene Reporter-News (TX)

  "These fictional stories are delightful to read and leave the reader with warm and enduring memories."

  —Pocono Record (Stroudsburg, PA)

  "Heartwarming."

  —Chattanooga Free Press (TN)

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  UPON A

  MIDNIGHT CLEAR

  Jude Deveraux

  Linda Howards

  Margaret Allison

  Stef Ann Holm

  Mariah Stewart

  POCKET BOOKS

  New York London Toronto Sydney Tokyo Singapore

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  This book consists of works of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Originally published in hardcover in 1997 by Pocket Books

  POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon & Schuster Inc. 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY

  "The Teacher" copyright © 1997 by Deveraux, Inc.

  "Christmas Magic" copyright © 1997 by Cheryl Klam

  "Jolly Holly" copyright © 1997 by Stef Ann Holm

  "If Only in My Dreams" copyright © 1997 by Marti Robb

  "White Out" copyright © 1997 by Linda Howington

  ISBN: 0-671-01988-0

  First Pocket Books paperback printing December

  POCKET and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster Inc.

  Cover design by Gina DiMarco

  Cover art by Lina Levy

  Printed in the U.S.A.

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  UPON A

  MlDNIGHT CLEAR

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  Jude Deveraux

  The Teacher

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  Chapter One

  Legend, Colorado

  "I don't see why—"

  "Please don't say it again, Jeremy," his mother said, then had to grab the side of the stagecoach to keep from slamming into the fat, snoring man beside her. Or perhaps beside wasn't the correct word. Even before the man had fallen asleep he'd been trying to get even closer to her than the tiny seat forced on them. It didn't help matters that the man kept swearing that she was "the prettiest little thing I ever seen in my whole dad-gummed life," as he put it. When Jeremy had closed his eyes, looking as though he'd fallen asleep, the man had offered Kathryn an extraordinary amount of money to spend just one hour alone with him. "If you know what I mean."

  Kathryn certainly did know, and her instinct demanded she tell him she'd rather be boiled in oil than have him touch her, but instead she'd smiled and murmured that she was already "promised."

  The man had patted her knee and said he "understood." Maybe he did, but Kathryn didn't have any idea what he meant. Was the American Wild West so without morals that women did spend "just one hour" with a man? As much as she wanted to know, she wasn't about to ask. However, the man's intimate interest in Kathryn de Longe and her son was why they were now speaking in French.

  "We could have stayed and fought," Jeremy said, looking up at his mother with eyes much too old for his mere nine years.

  Kathryn had no answer for him because over the last weeks she'd exhausted her supply of words. What could she tell him that she hadn't already said? For his entire nine years they had been running. Actually, since Kathryn had had to escape Ireland when she was pregnant, maybe she could say he'd been running since before he was born. But no matter where they went or how well they disguised themselves, the O'Connor money always found them.

  Now, Kathryn looked out at the steep mountainside that fell away from the narrow road the stagecoach was trying to climb. This barren, isolated place was their last chance. Their very, very last chance.

  Turning, she forced herself to smile at her son. Since he was born she'd tried to protect him. Perhaps she hadn't done a very good job, but she knew she'd done her best. And maybe this time they could settle down. Maybe this time they could stay in one place for longer than three months.

  When she'd bought her stage ticket (through a third party so no one would remember a lone woman buying a ticket), she'd asked a man about the isolation of Legend, Colorado, and he'd laughed. "Lady, there are places up in the Rockies that not even God can find. And I figure Legend heads that list." She hadn't smiled as he'd meant her to, but had nodded solemnly. Yes, that sounded like the place she needed.

  It hadn't been so easy to persuade Jeremy to the idea of living in an isolated mountain town, as he'd liked Philadelphia very much. He was a quiet child and studious. Like his father's people, Kathryn thought with a melting of her heart. He was very much like his father's uncle with his love of books and music. And he had his father's taste in clothes. And his father's good looks, she thought with a heavy sigh. One look at Jeremy and there was no doubt whose son he was.

  "I'm sure there was some other way," Jeremy said for the thousandth time. "We could have—"

  "No!" Kathryn said sha
rply, then wanted to bite her tongue. Part of her wanted to tell him the truth of how bad the situation was, but another part wanted to protect and shield him.

  Sewn inside her corset was a wanted poster bearing excellent likenesses of both her and Jeremy. The poster said that she, Caitlin McGregor, was wanted for thievery and attempted murder, and ten thousand dollars was offered for information leading to her apprehension. It further stated that she was dangerous and should be treated as such.

  You'd like that, wouldn't you, O'Connor, she thought to herself. You'd like to see me behind bars. Or better yet, led to the scaffold. You'd probably dance at my hanging.

  If she were caught, there would, of course, be no appeal for her. Who would believe her over the money of an O'Connor? Who would step forward and defend her against such a man as he? Especially when he was so very obviously Jeremy's father?

  "I'm sure you'll like the place," Kathryn said soothingly to her son. "I hear there's a library and many entertainments are brought from Denver."

  "Denver," Jeremy said with a sneer of contempt. "Traveling players? And what do you think they have in the library? Dime novels? Shall I read about Dead Eye Dick?""It might do us both a bit of good to get away from the rarified air of Philadelphia for a while. And we might like it here. Stranger things have happened."

  Jeremy just snorted and looked out the window at the beautiful, but empty, mountain scenery.

  Kathryn wanted to isolate herself in this godforsaken place about as much as her son did. They'd been in Philadelphia nearly three and a half months, and they had begun to make friends. There had even been a man…

  But Kathryn wouldn't allow herself to think of that. She knew when she'd run away from Ireland with Sean O'Connor's child in her belly that she'd never be able to have a normal life, a life with a man and a house and maybe other children and—

  "Mother!" Jeremy said sharply. "You have that look on your face again."

  Kathryn smiled as she reached across the narrow aisle and took his hand in hers. She knew she'd been wearing what Jeremy called her "dreamy look" when she was far away. She'd told him she was thinking of the sweet greenness of Ireland when she had that look. Better that than to tell him the truth of how she dreamed of a home and husband and safety. No, she couldn't tell Jeremy that, for, knowing him, he'd think she could have those things if it weren't for him and he'd run away. Again.

  With a tiny shake of her head, Kathryn leaned back against the seat and looked at her son in awe. He had the refined, aristocratic look of the O'Connors, a look that had taken generations of breeding to achieve. He had long, thin fingers that looked as though they were meant to hold a lace handkerchief. But Kathryn knew the truth. At Jeremy's own insistence, he'd taken boxing lessons (free in exchange for Jeremy's writing letters home for the boxer) and she knew what a punch he could make with those hands.

  From the way he was dressed, Jeremy looked as though he'd never seen the outside of a drawing room. No one would guess that they had lived all their lives in tenements where the smell of cabbage always surrounded them. Jeremy had witnessed his first murder when he was one year old, after he'd wandered into a street brawl between two drunken sailors.

  It was when he was four that Kathryn finally decided to return him to Sean O'Connor. She was going to take him back to Ireland and allow his father's family to raise him. What did it matter if she were hanged for kidnapping? What did it matter that Sean's family were the coldest, most ruthless people she'd ever met? At least Jeremy would be safe with them in Ireland. And safe was all that mattered to her;

  That was the first time Jeremy ran away. Four years old and he ran away from home for three days. Kathryn had been insane with worry, not eating or sleeping for those three days. The police had been no help. What did they care that some slum kid had disappeared? They had leered at Kathryn and offered to give her another child.

  After three days Jeremy had sauntered home, clean, well fed, and said that he was not going back to Ireland, that he wanted to live with his mother, and if she tried to send him away, he'd run away again.

  That had been five years ago, and since then the two of them had been on the run. But this year Jeremy had been feeling as though he were grown-up and so wanted to stay and fight his father. "He has no claim over me since you never married him," he'd said several times.

  Kathryn had tried to explain about money being able to buy anything, but for all the prematurely gained wisdom in his eyes, Jeremy still had a child's belief in justice.

  When she'd been offered the job of tutor to a nine-year-old boy in the remote, isolated mountain town of Legend, Colorado, it had seemed like a dream come true. She was to be the teacher of Zachary Jordan, son of Mr. Cole Jordan. And maybe, just maybe, in this remote town, they'd achieve what had become the most beautiful of words to her: safety.

  "This is it?" Jeremy said with contempt as he stepped down from the stage. "This is what we left civilization for?"

  "Jeremy, I really don't care for your tone of voice. And I'm sure this is the… the…"

  "Red-light district?" he asked, sidestepping as the stage driver threw their small trunks to the ground.

  Kathryn drew in her breath and stared at the awful place around them. There seemed to be nothing but saloons and gambling houses as far as one could see. Noise, dirt, unwashed men, raucously laughing women, great wagons full of rocks, horses and manure, filled the place. There didn't seem to be anything clean or even decent as far as she could see. In front of her was a garish, gaudily painted sign that had a woman's leg wearing a black stocking and a frilly garter. What looked to be a high-heeled bedroom shoe dangled from the toe and the place was called The Lady Slipper. Kathryn didn't have time to look at other signs because she had to step back as a dirty man with graying whiskers made a lunge for her.

  "Me first," he said, then when Kathryn sidestepped, he fell into the mud at her feet.

  If Kathryn had had so much as two dollars to her name she would have climbed back onto the stagecoach and ridden away, as far from this den of iniquity as possible. Instinctively, she put her arm around Jeremy and drew him closer—as though she could protect him from what she was seeing, hearing, and smelling.

  With her arm still around Jeremy, she looked at the stage driver, who was climbing back onto the box.

  "Can you take us out of here?" she asked.

  "You bet, lady, for fifty bucks each. In cash."

  "I dont have—"

  He didn't let her finish but just chuckled. "Thought not. Well, there're plenty of ways for a pretty gal like you to earn money in Legend. Giddyup!"

  Coughing from the dust of the rapidly departing stage, Kathryn turned back around, the two of them standing alone in the middle of the wide, foul street, three small trunks at their feet. Kathryn didn't have time to think about an alternate plan because a wagon drawn by six horses was coming straight toward them. With one quick gesture she thrust a case at Jeremy, grabbed the other two, and ran for the safety of the boardwalk.

  But just as they stepped in front of the saloon, a man came flying through the glass window and hit the boardwalk, then rolled into the street, where two men on horses nearly trampled him. Dropping her cases, Kathryn grabbed Jeremy, his back pressed against her front as she tried to pull both of them into the safety between the door and the window. When a shot rang out, she tightened her grip on Jeremy.

  Out of the saloon door came a man, his back to her, but she could see the power of his build: shoulders so thick they curved round to his chest, a taut waist with a decorated knife sheath at his side.

  "You ever show up in this town again, Bartlett, and you'll answer to me," the big man said to the one in the dirt.

  Then, to Kathryn's horror, she saw that the man in the dirt was about to draw a gun, and from the angle of the porch post, she doubted if the man standing in front of her could see him.

  "No!" she shouted, and in the next second, with the speed of a striking snake, the man on the porch drew a knife from a c
oncealed pouch down the back of his shirt and threw it. In the next second the man on the ground lay pinned to the dirt, blood pouring from the knife sticking into his shoulder.

  Trembling with emotion, Kathryn loosened her grip on Jeremy, and he twisted away from her.

  "Don't faint on me now, sweetheart," the man who'd thrown the knife said. He'd turned, and now she looked up into his deep blue eyes. And the feeling that ran through her was nothing that she'd ever experienced before. For a moment, time stood still as her eyes locked with his; it was as though everything else disappeared except this big, handsome blond-haired man.

  It seemed natural when his strong arm slipped about her waist and he lifted her off her feet, his one arm holding her as he pressed her body against his, then kissed her.

  The only man who'd ever kissed her before was Jeremy's father, and those kisses had been forced upon her. But this man was different, and for the first time in her life, she responded to a man's kiss. Her arms slid about his neck, and she leaned into him as she opened her mouth under his. She could feel her heart pounding and her breasts tingling from the pressure of his hard chest.

  The sound of gunfire brought Kathryn to her senses, but when she started to pull away, the man held her firmly so she had to push against his chest to make him release her. All around them was the sound of laughter, unmistakably aimed at the two of them.