ROMANCE: Holiday Romance: Her Christmas Surprise (Sweet Clean Holiday Romance) (Holiday Bride Book 1)

by Mercy Levy

  Cherry patted her skirt, the carefully hoarded bills she had left securely wrapped in a scarf and neatly hidden away in a small pocket inside her petticoat. She was well-used to the need for security, having carried much more than she did now for her employers in the past. She hurried off in the direction the stationmaster had given her, and found out that the Matrimonial News was simply one of the jobs that was performed by two assistants to the printer, along with their regular duties. One took care of the incoming advertisements and made sure they were ready for typesetting, the other managed the incoming and outgoing mail.

  Cherry waited for the staffer to appear. She was only waiting a few minutes when a harried older woman introduced herself as Maeve Thresher and asked how she could be of help. Careful to exclude any details about the money she’d brought with her, Cherry explained to Maeve how she had come to Goliad county. Maeve was quick to point out that she couldn’t give out the addresses of their customers, for safety and privacy.

  “Oh, I don’t want his address.” Cherry replied. “I just want to mail him a reply and look for a job.” She admitted. “I left with no warning, and now I’m stuck here, so I need to find work to afford a place to stay, and I have no mailing address of my own for correspondence, so I’d hoped that you would be willing to keep those and I could collect directly from you?” Cherry coaxed the matchmaker.

  “Well, of course!” The woman replied. She tidied the hair that was falling out of the haphazard knot at her neck. “DO you not have a place to stay then?” She went on to ask. The wheels were spinning in her head, and she had an idea. “Would you like to stay with me tonight? And I’m sure that if you are quick to learn and follow instructions, I could find someone here who needs extra help for the day for fair pay.”

  Cherry Gawked at Maeve without answering, afraid that if she opened her mouth, the tears of relief and gratitude she was holding back would pour out of her eyes in a waterfall of three days’ worth of pent up emotions. She nodded her assent and Maeve took her to the office she shared with the other printing assistant, whose name was Paulette. Maeve let Cherry write her reply and handed her over to the capable hands of Paulette to show her the work of typesetting for the remainder of the day.

  As Cherry carefully checked her spelling and placed the raised letter and number tiles into the frames for the printer, she considered what she would say if she ever met the man from eh advertisement. If she should even carry on with the idea of meeting him at all. The printer examined her first few frames and pronounced her work acceptable, if only it weren’t at a snail’s pace. He barked art her to move faster or get out of the way for someone who could actually help get the paper out on time, and ignored her for the rest of the afternoon.

  Paulette laughed and said that was the closest thing to a compliment she could expect to receive, and as soon as they had finished the last tile frames, she took Cherry back to the office to clean some of the ink off her hands. Paulette and Maeve each split a little of their lunch with Cherry and Maeve admitted that she’d given Cherry’s letter to a courier instead of sending in the mail, so Cherry could get a response sooner.

  None of them spoke about what Cherry would do in a strange city if her could-be-future-husband didn’t like her reply. In fact, they avoided speaking of him at all while they ate, instead sharing stories of their own worst employers (though Maeve and Paulette agreed Cherry won that story round) and comparing their favorite city fashions.

  By the end of the day, Cherry had almost forgotten the horror of the Winchester house and the hardship she was in. She refocused herself on the problem of getting a husband now that she was here in the relative wilds of Texas, with the help of her new friends. She bit her lip to keep from asking how close, exactly, the cattleman was, and tried to acclimate herself to the people and the alien environment she now found herself in.

  If only she’d known to what extent the Winchesters were willing to go to find her and bring her back, she would have made the next train out of Angel City and just kept riding.

  3.

  Jack Helm took a long pull from his canteen as he sat astride his horse and watched the dust rise in the distance, on the road out to “Shanghai” Pierce’s ranch, where he was just coming in from a hard day laying fence and rousting cattle.

  His boss waved to him from the front porch of his house, and with a last glance over his shoulder at the lone rider approaching, he slid off the side of his horse and sauntered over to Pierce’s side.

  “Whatcha thinking Boss?” He drawled as he watched his employer stuff a wad of tobacco leaf into his lower lip and cheek. The other man tipped his hat back on his head, leaned over, and spit brown, frothy on the ground next to his feet. He offered the tin to Jack, who shook his head and pulled out a cigarette he’d rolled a few minutes before.

  “You up for a little justice tonight, son?” Shanghai asked him around the wad in his mouth. “We got some men branding cattle they ain’t paid for, needs tending to.” Pierce noted. It was always like that for members of the Goliad County Regulators, vigilantes who picked up where they felt the law was leaving off. Jack scratched the back of his head and thought for a moment.

  “Well, sir, if we have cattle rustlers running around and the law ain’t taking care of that, then I think somebody ought to handle that for sure. Where did the cattle get stolen from?” He asked. He knew that if the Regulators were being called in, it was more likely an unpaid debt than an out and out theft, but he asked anyway.

  “You remember my good friend, Cal Davies, don’t you?” Pierce asked. “Well, he did a right good thing by a man, name of Kirby Benson. Kirby took the cows, still hasn’t paid Cal a dime of the money he owes for them twenty head of steer. That’s a lot of money to have to wait on, you ask me.” Pierce knew there was very little the men wouldn’t do for the sake of keeping the peace, usually killing rustlers or chasing prospecting cattlemen out of the region. But, recently there’d been a lot more complaints between neighbors the vigilantes were mediating. It seemed like maybe getting drunk and beating up his neighbors for the rich men his boss called friends, just wasn’t sitting well in Jack’s gut.

  “I’ll tell the guys for sure.” He replied. “Is Kirby going to get a warning before the guys go get the money from him?” He inquired.

  “Oh, I think he’s had enough time.” Pierce mused, spitting more brown tobacco juice on the ground and splashing Jack’s boots in the process. Jack clenched his jaw and said nothing. He took a half step back to avoid more spittle on his feet, but his boss seemed not to notice. In fact, there was a lot that Pierce overlooked when it came to social graces and propriety, and Jack was just expected to go along with it, a hired thug for the wealthy cattlemen who wished to inflict their will on not only the savage land around them, but the people as well.

  Frustrated, Jack welcomed the interruption of the rider, who had finally made it through the gates. Both men watched as the young rider jumped down from his horse and tied the mare at the trough to drink. He was obviously a courier, and he clung to his messenger satchel like it was full of gold. Hesitantly, the dusty fellow stepped toward both men, holding a thin envelope in one hand. He read the name on the front and looked up, then glancing down one more time, said, or rather, asked the name “Helms”. Jack blinked slowly as Pierce sniggered at him.

  “Do you mean ‘Helm’?” Jack inquired, holding out his hand for the envelope. “Jackson Helm?” The courier looked relieved as he handed over the missive, and Jack couldn’t blame him. Since the Shanghai Ranch had become the base of operations for the Regulators, it was a scary place to be for anyone who couldn’t name at least one of the men as a friend. Jack looked at the return address on the envelope and the neat, feminine handwriting and pursed his lips.

  “Where’d this come from?” He asked the courier, who was untying his horse and about to beat a hasty retreat back to civilization. The boy rubbed his jaw and thought for a moment.

  “It came from Angel City, Sir. From the Chronicl
e.” He replied. Jack waved him off and the courier urged his mare into a canter then a gallop as soon as he hit the gate. Pierce watched Jack with curiosity as the other man folded the envelope and slid it into the pocket of his dungarees.

  “Anything important?” Pierce asked Jack, which in reality, meant “Anything I should know about?” Jack just shook his head, loathe to explain to the other men on the ranch why he had put in an ad for a wife, when the truth was, he didn’t really know, himself.

  “Naw, it’s nothing that can’t wait.” Jack drawled. He finally lit the cigarette he’d been toying with and sucked in the smoke with immediate relief. He and the owner of Shanghai Ranch stood and surveyed all that Pierce owned, which was almost as far as the eye could see, from this particular vantage point. Pierce owned so much of the land, and controlled so much of the votes, the businesses, and the law of Goliad County, that Jack wondered why the regulators were needed at all.

  But, Texas wasn’t as wild as it used to be, and lawmen were braver and held greater numbers than ever before. Jack considered the implications of the posters asking for more men to take up the badge. Soon, Texas would have real cities, like Charlotte and Georgetown, even without slaves to build them. He turned to Pierce and tipped his hat toward the older man. He stepped down from the veranda toward his horse, still patiently waiting by the trough for him to return.

  “So, I can count on you to take care of that little issue for Cal, right?” Just let Kirby know that he can’t be starting a ranch of his own on such bad terms with people. I’m sure with a little nudge, he’ll do the right thing.” Pierce suggested. Jack waved to him and climbed up into the saddle, and headed into town to tell the men that they were needed out at Kirby’s place that night. He hated feeling like a paid henchman to the rich ranchers, but some of the men he found in the beer parlor were actually happy they got to beat up poor Kirby. It left him feeling sick and disgusted that these were the only friends he had anymore.

  Even during the war, when he found out too late exactly what it meant to be fighting for the losing side, he had friends in the men he fought side-by-side with friends who he had been willing to die for, some of whom had even died for him. The only thing he seemed to have in common with the ruffians that he commanded now, was Shanghai Ranch. Now, he nursed his whiskey in the corner of the gambling hall and tried to come to a plan as to how he could make money and not just be another piss poor cowhand shaking down poor farmers for debts.

  After a couple of shots from the bottle he’d taken to the corner with him, he finally pulled out the letter. It occurred to him that sending it by courier was a lot more expensive than just letting the post handle it, and he was chagrined that his work trouble had made him forget the letter as soon as he’d received it. He unfolded the envelope and carefully sliced it open with his pocket knife. Inside was the story of an intelligent young woman’s flight from abusive employers. The gall rose in his throat when he read of the exploitation of the wealthy of the young maiden who wrote it, and he felt empathetic to her situation.

  He tipped back in his chair and put his feet up on the table, taken away by her words, to the river-side city she described in such detail, he felt as though he had walked the banks of the Potomac himself. He appreciated her lyrical way with words, and was pleased that she’d chosen him to write. Her plight spoke to him, and he had already decided to save her from the evil Winchesters, when he read that he had so inspired her, she’d escaped her life in Pennsylvania and traveled across the country to Angel City. His heart sped when he read that she was all alone, afraid of being caught by police, both for leaving, and for the money she’d taken to get there.

  Angel City. He read again, setting his chair upright with a thump. That was less than two hours’ ride from where he sat right at that moment. He knew he had to meet her, but with work, there was only one way. He couldn’t help but smile that she’d given him likely the only excuse his employer would begrudgingly accept for his absence from Kirby farm raid.

  He tossed back one last shot of whiskey and sauntered over to the vigilantes at the faro table. He whispered to his bunkmate, Slim O’Keefe, that he’d made an appointment with a young lady and that he might be a little late to the “festivities” at the farm. O’Keefe laughed raucously and turned his cards, claiming another win.

  “Don’t rush back to us without taking yer fill!” O’Keefe called out as Jack stood there, face reddening. “Jus’ don’t break her on the first time, hear? We all know it’s been a while for you!” He teased in a loud voice. Jack laughed off the embarrassment and headed out for Angel City, alibi firmly in place, and only a couple of hours of sunlight left for the ride across the county to meet the woman he’d inspired to traipse across the country like a gypsy.

  4.

  Cherry tried to distract herself from her problems by doubling her efforts into the afternoon, and was bone tired and achy by the time the other ladies declared it quitting time and dragged her away from the presses, where she’d already begun to get the printer ahead of the gossip column and society news sections for the next printing. Maeve took her home to the cottage she shared with her sister, Charlotte, and her aging father.

  Mr. Thresher was a kindly sort, who had only just retired from the world of printing himself the year before, when his eyesight had simply gotten too bad to keep proofreading the chicken scratch of his reporters and writers. Maeve had learned everything she knew about the paper from him, and hoped to move up to editor herself within the next few years. Cherry was amazed that women could be more than wives or serving girls. She renewed her vow to ever go back to a life of servitude ever again.

  The Elder Thresher sister, Charlotte, and Mr. Thresher were as amazed at the story of Cherry’s adventure as Maeve had been. As Cherry detailed her flight from the police, Charlotte visibly shivered. Maeve and her father exchanged a look and Maeve nodded and folded her arms under her ample chest. She’d heard Cherry’s story three times now, and every time Cherry still managed to make her feel as though she was there, as if they were going through it together.

  Maeve knew a great story-teller when she found them, and she could see that her father agreed. What better way to show she should be editor of the Angel City Chronicle, than to bring in amazing natural talent like Cherry Flannigan?

  Supper was a simple affair at the Thresher household, roast chicken that fell from the bone when Cherry put a fork to her plate, and vegetables like okra that Cherry had never sampled before. She fell in love with a buttery corn mash that her hosts called “Grits”, thinking the dish very much like the polenta her Italian neighbors had served to her up north. With each new food she sampled, she made mental notes of how to replicate recipes or improve upon them to her own taste. Halfway through the meal, she glanced up at an odd noise, and saw the three Threshers all staring at her.

  “What?” Cherry asked, bewildered. “Did I do something wrong?” Charlotte snickered, and Mr. Thresher smiled broadly at her before ducking his head and becoming singularly interested in a spot on his own plate.

  “You were talking to yourself.” Maeve chuckled at her. “It sounded like you were writing recipes in your head.” She smiled and waved her fork over the food. “And, you were right. The okra is missing something. I was supposed to go the dry goods store for some more salt and chili peppers on my way home, and in all the excitement of meeting you, I forgot.” She smiled affectionately at her older sister. “Something my too-kind older sister would never bring up in front of company.” Charlotte shook her head.

  “From the look on your face when you walked in, I saw that you had remembered it exactly then. Why would I get angry when you obviously had so much else to worry about?” Cherry gaped at the two older women in shock. Her own experience with such matters had been a far cry from the polite, affable way Charlotte had handled Maeve’s mistake. It was a pleasure to see that people could afford to treat each other with respect, something that had been sorely missed in her own life.

  The Thr
esher family could see that Cherry was still traumatized by the way her employers had treated her, and Maeve changed the subject to the courier she had sent to Shanghai ranch with Cherry’s letter. Cherry was still amazed that he could be reading her letter at that very moment.

  “Of course, The ranch is just on the other side of the county.” Mr. Thresher agreed. “In your case, it was prudent to at least get word to him quickly. I wonder when you will hear back from him?” He mused. Cherry wrung her hands but said nothing. She was certain that she would lose her sanity if this adventure had the disastrous ending she was beginning to fear. Noting her drawn look of concern, Maeve suggested they all go out for a promenade of the town, so that Cherry could get to know her way around.

  Charlotte eagerly agreed, but their elderly father begged out, saying that the three of them together should be safe enough within the town center, and he’d only slow them down. Cherry went to the tiny guestroom that Maeve had taken her carpet bag to and washed up in the small porcelain bowl of cold water. She changed her ink smudged blouse for a clean one and put on a bonnet and her best crocheted shawl before joining the sisters in their tiny flower garden.

  They strolled about town, pointing out points of interest as they walked. They paused at storefronts and Cherry daydreamed about a life in which she could afford the dresses of a lady, instead of a housemaid. They approached a public house just past Maeve’s favorite haberdashery and Cherry caught sight of the cowboys entering and exiting the bar, guns on their hips and a swagger that she’d never seen before, even among the streetwise newsboys of Philadelphia. While she was watching them, her eye settled on one that stood out from the others. He was tall, almost six foot, and his dark eyes were brooding and thoughtful as he surveyed the people around him.

  He seemed to feel her staring and looked right at her. Blushing, she dropped her gaze and studiously examined the hats in the display window. She glanced over at Charlotte, who giggled behind her hand, but blessedly, said nothing to her about her lack of social graces. The ladies carried on their evening stroll, and Cherry fought the urge to look back, though she felt his eyes boring through her back long after they’d continued on.