A Creed Country Christmas

by Linda Lael Miller

  His toes, like his fingers, were still intact, though he admitted he couldn’t feel them.

  He seemed so exhausted just from what they’d done so far that Juliana gave him another dose of whiskey before removing his trousers and tucking more blankets in around him.

  “How did you get here?” she asked as he sat there shivering, a good distance from the stove. “My Lord, Lincoln, you must have been out in the weather for hours.”

  Remarkably, a grin tilted up one corner of his mouth. “I rode Wes’s mule out from town,” he answered slowly, groping for each word. “Good thing that critter can smell hay and a warm stall from a mile off.”

  “You rode Wes’s mule?” If Juliana hadn’t been so glad he was home, she would have been furious. “Lincoln Creed, are you insane? If you got as far as Stillwater Springs—and God knows how you managed that—you should have stayed there!”

  “You’re here,” he said. “Gracie and Bill and Daisy are here. This is where I belong.”

  “You could have frozen to death! What good would that have done us?”

  He didn’t respond to that question. Instead, he said, “You’d better get some snow to pack around my feet and hands, or else I might lose a few fingers and toes.”

  The action was contrary to every instinct Juliana possessed, but she knew he was right. After bundling up, she took the milk bucket outside and filled it with snow.

  Returning to the kitchen, she marveled that Lincoln had been able to travel in that weather, probably for hours, when she’d been chilled to her marrow by a few moments in the backyard.

  The process of tending to Lincoln was slow and, for him, painful. It was after two in the morning when he told her there had been enough of the snow packs. She led him to their room, put him to bed like a child, piling blanket after blanket on top of him.

  Still he shivered.

  She built the hearth fire up until it roared.

  Lying in the darkness, under all those blankets, he chuckled. “Juliana, no more wood,” he said. “You’ll set the house on fire.”

  There was nothing more she could do except put on her nightgown and join him. He trembled so hard that the whole bed frame shook, and his skin felt as cold as stone.

  She huddled close to him, sharing the warmth of her own body, enduring the chill of his. When he finally slept, she could not, exhausted as she was, because she was so afraid of waking up to find him dead.

  For most of the night, she kept her vigil. Then, too tired to keep her eyes open for another moment, she drifted off.

  When she woke up, his hand was underneath her nightgown.

  “There’s one way you could warm me up,” he said wickedly.

  He was safe.

  He was warm again, and well.

  And Juliana gladly gave herself up to him.

  Epilogue

  June 1911

  Juliana Creed stood in Willand’s Mercantile, visibly pregnant and beaming as she read Theresa’s most recent letter through for the second time before folding it carefully and tucking it into her handbag. She and Joseph had attended a small school on the reservation since their return to North Dakota, but now they would have the whole summer off. Joseph had a temporary job milking cows on a nearby farm, while Theresa would be helping her grandmother tend the garden.

  Juliana looked around the store for her children.

  Billy-Moses—now called just Bill or Billy most of the time, a precedent Lincoln had set—was examining a toy train carved out of wood, while Daisy and Gracie browsed through hair ribbons, ready-made dresses with ruffles, and storybooks.

  With all of them accounted for, her mind turned to the men. Tom was at the blacksmith’s, having a horse shod, and Lincoln had gone to the Courier, looking for Wes.

  Marriage had changed Weston Creed. He was, as Lincoln put it, “damn near to becoming a respectable citizen.” Remarkably, given the long estrangement between her and Wes, the elder Mrs. Creed had returned to Stillwater Springs for the wedding back in April. While she hadn’t been happy about having a saloonkeeper for a daughter-in-law, she’d behaved with remarkable civility.

  Cora had stayed long enough to size Juliana up, decided she’d do as a wife for Lincoln and a stepmother for Gracie, and then she’d announced that she was taking up permanent residence with her cousins in Phoenix. She was too old, she maintained, to keep going back and forth.

  Although they’d been a little stiff with each other at first, Juliana had soon come to like her mother-in-law. While Cora had been cool to Kate, she had made the long journey home to attend the wedding. During her stay at the ranch, she’d treated Daisy and Billy as well as she had Gracie.

  Before her departure, though, Cora and Juliana had agreed, in a spirit of goodwill, that one Creed woman per household was plenty.

  When the little bell over the mercantile chimed, Juliana turned in the direction of the door, expecting to see Lincoln, or perhaps Tom.

  Her heart missed a beat when she recognized Clay.

  Their eyes met, but neither of them spoke.

  Clay stood just over the threshold, handsome in his well-tailored suit. His hair was darker than Juliana’s, more chestnut than red, but his eyes were the same shade of blue.

  Watching her, he removed his very fashionable hat. “Juliana,” he said gravely, with a slight nod.

  “Clay,” Juliana whispered. And then she ran to him, threw her arms around him.

  Tentatively, he put his arms around her, too. After a stiff moment, he hugged her back. “You’re looking well,” he said, his voice gruff with emotion.

  Juliana blushed, confounded by joy, pushing back far enough to look up into her brother’s face. “When you didn’t answer my letter, I thought—”

  He smiled, glancing down at her protruding middle. “You did say you were married?” he teased.

  She showed him her wedding ring. “How long have you been in town? The train came through three days ago.”

  “I’ve been staying at the Comstock Hotel, trying to work up the courage to hire a buggy over at the livery stable and drive out to the ranch to see you.”

  “Oh, Clay—surely you knew you’d be welcome.”

  “I didn’t know,” he replied. “According to my wife, I’ve been behaving like an ogre ever since you refused to marry John Holden, and I’m afraid Nora’s right about that.”

  Juliana’s eyes misted over. “I’ve missed you,” she said.

  He kissed her forehead. “I’d like to meet this husband of yours,” he told her. “Your letter made him sound like a paragon.”

  The door opened again, and Lincoln was there.

  Still tearful—tears came more easily with her pregnancy—Juliana moved to Lincoln’s side. He put an arm around her, regarding Clay curiously and then with a grin of recognition.

  “You must be Clay Mitchell,” he said. “With eyes that color, you have to be related to Juliana.”

  Clay nodded in acknowledgment. “And you’re Lincoln Creed,” he replied.

  “Papa!” Billy yelled, racing across the store to be hoisted into Lincoln’s arms. Lincoln ruffled the boy’s hair and laughed.

  Clay’s eyes widened momentarily, but then he smiled again.

  “Daisy,” Juliana called, “Gracie—come and meet your uncle Clay.”

  He charmed those two little girls by executing a gentlemanly bow. “Ladies,” he said solemnly, making them giggle.

  Still carrying Billy, Lincoln excused himself and went to the counter to speak to Fred Willand about their grocery order.

  “You will come out to the ranch and stay with us for a few days, won’t you, Clay?” Juliana asked quietly.

  “I’d be glad to,” Clay assured her.

  On the way home, having collected his bag from the hotel, Clay rode on the wagon seat next to Juliana with Lincoln at the reins, while Gracie, Billy and Daisy bounced along in back like always, seated among crates of groceries.

  “He doesn’t seem so bad to me,” Lincoln said much later, whe
n he and Juliana had retired to their room for the night. They’d talked right through supper, the three of them, and for a couple of hours afterward.

  “This is the Clay I knew before,” Juliana said, choking up a little. The change in her brother seemed miraculous.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed, Lincoln pulled off one boot and then the other. Juliana remembered the night he’d ridden a mule through three feet of snow, nearly losing his fingers and toes, if not his life.

  “I’ve never had a sister,” Lincoln said, “but I can imagine that if I did, I might have some pretty hardheaded opinions about what she should and shouldn’t do.”

  Juliana stood in front of the mirror, brushing her hair. “We were so young when our mother died,” she mused. She’d long since told Lincoln all about her family history, John Holden and his daughters, secretly studying to be a teacher when her grandmother believed she was in finishing school. “Clay’s a little older, and I guess I expected him to be strong, maybe our grandmother did, too. But he was really a child, as scared and lost and hurt as I was. I hate to think what must have gone through his mind when our father left us at Grandmama’s that day. Clay knew, even if I didn’t, that Father wasn’t coming back—and that meant he had to be a man from then on.”

  Lincoln came to stand behind her, bent his head to kiss her right ear. His hands caressed her round belly. “That corn bread you served at supper tonight was pretty good,” he said.

  She laughed. “It should have been,” she replied. “I’ve been practicing for six months.”

  He took the brush from her hand, set it aside on the bureau, turned her around to face him. “Tom says you’ll make a fine cook one of these days.”

  Juliana smiled. Tom had been giving her cookery lessons, and she was making progress. “He also says I try too hard.” She slipped her arms around his middle and leaned against him. “What else can I do? I want to keep my husband happy.”

  Lincoln tasted her mouth, once, twice, a third time. “Your husband,” he said, “is very happy.”

  She looked up at him. “I love you, Lincoln Creed. Just when I think I couldn’t possibly love you more than I already do, something happens to prove me wrong.”

  “I love you, too,” he replied, tracing the length of her cheek, and then her neck, with the lightest pass of his lips. He eased her toward the bed, still nibbling at her.

  He put out the lamp.

  “Lincoln, you’re not listening to me,” Juliana said, laughing a little, as delightfully nervous, in some ways, as she’d been on their wedding night.

  He lowered her to the bed. “You’re right,” he said, kissing her again. “I’m not.”

  Already cherishing their unborn child, Lincoln was unspeakably tender as he caressed her belly and then slowly raised her nightgown, first to her knees, then her thighs, then her shoulders. With a groan of welcome, she raised her arms so he could slip the garment off over her head.

  He kissed her distended stomach, his lips warm and faintly moist.

  Juliana groaned again, rolled her eyes back in contentment and closed them, giving herself up to Lincoln, body, mind and spirit.

  He loved the fullness of her breasts, kissed and nibbled at her taut nipples until she said his name in a ragged whisper.

  Then he moved down along her breastbone, over her middle, pausing at her abdomen before using his fingers to part the nest of curls at the juncture of her thighs. She whimpered as he stroked her with a slow, gentle motion of his hand, and although her eyes remained shut, she felt the dark burn of his gaze on her face. She knew he was silently asking her permission, and she nodded.

  He made a sound that was wholly male, low in his throat.

  In Lincoln’s arms, Juliana had learned a sort of pleasure that she’d never imagined, and that night was no exception. Even before they’d conceived this child they both wanted so much, he’d always been careful, raising her to an explosive ecstasy and at the same time making her feel utterly safe.

  For a time, he simply made slow circles with his fingers, and Juliana began to writhe in need and surrender, in triumph and exultation.

  Her breath became shallow and rapid as he teased her. Then the first release came, shattering and sweet, leaving her shuddering. Knowing there would be more—much more—before the night was over, only increased her wanting.

  Lincoln used his mouth on her next, and though it was scandalous, Juliana gloried in the intimacy of it, in the helplessness and the sheer power of the sensations he wrought in her, with every nibble, every f lick of his tongue.

  Again, she broke apart in a million fiery pieces, a primitive cry of satisfaction escaping her throat, but going no further than the thick log walls of their bedroom.

  Only when Lincoln was certain he’d untied every knot in Juliana’s still-quivering body did he mount her, and ease into her depths with that heartrending tenderness she’d come to expect of him.

  They rocked together, and she reached yet another pinnacle, softer and yet more intense than the others that had gone before. When Lincoln finally let himself go, Juliana finally opened her eyes, stroking his strong shoulders, his chest, his sides, her hands moving in ways that both soothed and inflamed.

  Then he tensed upon her, and she felt life itself spill within her, the life that had brought their child into being, and Gracie, as well.

  “I love you,” Juliana whispered.

  He sighed, kissed her cheek, her neck. Fell beside her. “And I love you, Juliana Creed.”

  IF JULIANA HAD YET TO MASTER cooking and housekeeping, she had learned to drive a buggy. On the morning of Clay’s departure for Denver, she was the one who drove him to the depot in town.

  “I’ve got eyes,” Clay said, grinning, as they pulled up to await the train, “but I still need to hear you say it. Are you happy, Juliana?”

  She kissed his cheek. “Ecstatic,” she said, meaning it.

  He reached into the inside pocket of his coat—his fine clothes made him stand out like the proverbial sore thumb in rustic Stillwater Springs—and brought out a thick envelope. Offered it to her.

  In the distance, the train whistle shrilled.

  Puzzled, Juliana looked at the envelope, then at Clay’s face. “What…?”

  “Your inheritance,” Clay said. “These documents transfer full control to you. You’re a rich woman, Juliana. Now that I’ve taken Lincoln Creed’s measure, I know you’ll be all right.”

  Stunned—it had been a long time since she’d given a thought to money—she accepted the papers. Then she beamed. “Now we can build a hay barn right on the range,” she chimed in happy realization. “And the cattle will have somewhere to take shelter when the snows come.”

  Clay laughed. “Some women would want diamonds, or fine dresses.”

  The train chugged into view, and Juliana saddened a little at the sight, not willing to be parted from this brother she had loved for so long. “You’ll come back when you can, won’t you? And bring Nora and the children?”

  He touched her cheek. “We’ll be here,” he said. “And you’re welcome at our place anytime, Juliana. You and Lincoln and this brood of yours.”

  With that, he climbed down from the buggy, took his traveling case from under the seat. He looked up at her, winked, and then turned away, walking purposefully toward the depot.

  Juliana waited until the train had pulled out before heading for home.

  Lincoln was there, having minded the children while she was gone, and Ben and Rose-of-Sharon sat at the table, baby Joshua in his mother’s arms. For all the difficulties of his birth, the infant was thriving.

  Once the Gainers had left, Juliana took the envelope from her handbag and laid it on the table.

  “What’s this?” Lincoln asked.

  “Open it,” Juliana said lightly, “and read for yourself.”

  Lincoln hesitated, then did as he was told. His eyes widened as he read. “That’s one hell of a lot of money,” he said finally. “You are a wealthy woman, Juliana
.”

  “We are wealthy,” she clarified.

  He grinned, and only then did she realize how tensely he’d held his shoulders while he read. Had he thought, for the briefest moment, that she’d leave him now that she was a woman of independent means?

  She went to him, slipped her arms around his lean, hard waist. “I told Clay we’d be building a big hay barn out on the range, first thing.”

  Lincoln chuckled. “Speaking of the range, I’d better get out there. We’ve still got a few calves taking their time to get born.”

  Juliana began rolling up her sleeves. “I’ll have supper ready when you get back,” she said.

  He gave a comical wince, and she slapped at him playfully.

  Once he’d gone, Juliana took a deep breath. It was time to make another attempt at corn bread.

  From the Stillwater Springs Courier:

  September 18, 1911

  This editor is proud to announce the birth of a nephew, Michael Thomas Creed.

  Welcome.

  ISBN: 978-1-4268-4257-3

  A CREED COUNTRY CHRISTMAS

  Copyright © 2009 by Linda Lael Miller

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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