Christmas in a Cowboy's Arms

by Leigh Greenwood

  “I know this is an inconvenience, but I don’t want to take him back into the cold.” Doc laid a hand on her shoulder. “I will, though, if you say the word. We don’t know who he is or where he’s from. He could be dangerous.”

  Again the thought hit her that he could be an outlaw.

  Sidalee dragged her gaze away from the stranger and gave Jenkins a smile. “No, please. He’s fine where he is. I don’t mind one bit. I’ll watch over him and keep heating the bricks.”

  “When he wakes up, he may be confused. I don’t want to put you at risk.”

  “You’re not.” She shifted her gaze back to the sleeping man. Something told her he wouldn’t be angry or violent. She sensed a gentle spirit inside him. “I made a nice pot of bean soup. Either that or hot broth will be good for him when he wakes.”

  “I smelled that soup when I walked in.” Doc’s eyes twinkled. “It’s my favorite, you know. Maybe it’s his too.”

  “Then I’ll dip you out some. It’s nice and hot.”

  “Those, my dear, are words from heaven.”

  “I’ll feed the dog too, if he’ll come.” She called to the faithful pooch, and it took a good bit of coaxing to get him to leave his master’s side.

  With the dog eating leftover boiled chicken from a bowl, they sat at the table in the warm kitchen. While they ate, she asked Doc where he was from.

  “San Francisco. I lived there many years, but one day I woke up and couldn’t take the ground shaking any longer and came to Texas.” He reached for another slice of corn bread.

  Sidalee laid down her spoon. “Do you mind if I ask a question?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Why do you carry that cane around all the time and never use it?”

  Doc laughed and winked. “It goes with my suit, of course. I rather think it makes me look smarter. And rich.”

  She suspected he was pulling her leg. Her reply was soft. “You don’t need a prop, Doc. You’re the real thing. Anyone can see that.”

  “Bless you, child.” He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “This soup and corn bread hit the spot. I don’t think I’ve eaten better.”

  The border collie licked the bowl clean and padded back to his spot on the bed. The dog had such sad brown eyes.

  “It’s nice to share a meal,” Sidalee said. “Gets lonely sometimes.” For herself. For Miss Mamie. Maybe for the stranger too.

  Doc pushed back his chair and went to check on their patient, buried under a mountain of blankets and quilts. Sidalee stood next to Jenkins as he listened to the man’s chest and checked his breathing.

  Finally, he stood and put his instruments back into his black bag. “I think we’ll see him come around by morning. His chest is clear and his heart is strong. Refill the hot-water bag at his feet in a bit and through the night, if you’re awake.”

  “I won’t sleep,” she announced firmly. Sleep wasn’t important when a life was at stake. This man would live, if she had anything to say about it. Christmas was coming and the stranger was going to see it.

  The doctor bundled up and collected his bag. With his cane looped over his arm, he went out into the cold. She made quick work of cleaning up. She couldn’t stand mess and clutter, something she got from her mama. Their house stood ready for unexpected company at any given time—from the stocked larder to the beds. No one left the Kings’ house hungry or cold. Nothing replaced family.

  Unshed tears filled her eyes. How she missed her sweet mama’s hugs.

  Blinking hard, she went to the bedroom for the hot water bottle and refilled it. She couldn’t wait for him to wake up so she could find out if he was Miss Mamie’s George. The woman would be so happy. After tucking the warmth again at his feet, Sidalee went to the man’s clothes and hat lying on the floor, hoping to find something to indicate who he was. The pitiful coat lay on top. She lifted it up and her chest tightened at how thin the fabric was in places. Someone had patched it numerous times, but even those had frayed.

  Surprisingly, his shirt and trousers were clean, although they too were well-worn. His gun belt rested nearby with the big revolver in the holster. Doc had wrapped the belt around the gun into one tight bundle. She picked it up and put it in a drawer. Guns scared the daylights out of her. With it hidden away, she felt safer.

  Sidalee glanced at the drifter. What had he been through? The clothes told a story of hardship. What had happened to him?

  Everything was sodden from the melting snow. She carried his clothes to the kitchen and spread them out to dry before drifting back. The dog raised his head at her return, looking at her with curious eyes as she sat next to the bed. He chuffed once, then stretched out beside the stranger.

  The hours passed slowly. She worried about Miss Mamie, wondering if the woman was warm enough. She’d bake an apple cake in the morning to take when she went to check on her.

  But of course, that would depend on the man in her bed.

  She pulled her wool shawl around her shoulders and stood to feel his forehead and cheeks. He was warming up nicely and the pink color confirmed it. His legs moved as though he was coming around. His eyes fluttered a few times, but still he slept.

  While she watched, he drew his hand from under the covers. His long, slender fingers rested on top, but they constantly moved as though tapping out something. Very odd.

  Midnight neared when she leaned over him again to adjust the covers up around his neck. His eyes flew open and he stared at her with alarm. Sidalee jumped back, her heart almost leaping from her chest. But she quickly collected herself and gave him a cheerful smile. “I’m glad you woke up. I’m Sidalee King. I’m sure you’re wondering where you are. I found you in the snow, loaded you in my wagon, and brought you to my home. You were in bad shape. Doc came and, once we knew you were going to make it, left you in my care.”

  “Thought I was dreaming,” he rasped.

  “Not this time. You’re safe and warm now.”

  His brows pinched together. “What town?”

  “Not exactly a town. You’re on the Lone Star Ranch. Stoker Legend built a small town here for the ranch hands and their families, since it’s too far to the nearest town of any size for them.” Light from the oil lamp beside the bed shone on his face. Sidalee thought he had the most arresting eyes she’d ever seen—gray with a dark outer edge around the rim. They left her strangely flustered as they followed her.

  “Where are you from?” She handed him a cup of water, ignoring the flutter in her stomach.

  “Nowhere.”

  “Were you coming to the Lone Star, Mister…?”

  “Destry. Hank Destry. And no. I’m headed no place.”

  Sharp disappointment ran through her. He wasn’t Miss Mamie’s son.

  Then his eyes met hers and she saw the pain this threadbare man tried to hide, heard the bleak tone of his voice, felt his despair seep into her. She understood the obvious.

  Hank Destry had no hope.

  No future.

  No life.

  Three

  Hank Destry stared at the woman he’d mistaken for an angel. The way the light caught on her blond hair, drawing out the red running through it like thin strips of flame, made him think of a heavenly being. He was glad it hung free, not twisted up on the nape of her neck in a tight little knot like a lot of women’s, marking her hair out of bounds to a man’s touch.

  Not that he’d be touching this woman’s. She wasn’t meant for someone like him.

  This one was too sweet, too pure for a man like Hank. The only type that gave him a second glance was found in saloons and brothels. They didn’t care where he’d spent the last eight years of his life. As long as he had money to pay, they welcomed him.

  His destination, she’d asked?

  Probably hellfire and brimstone, if you believed the preachers. At least that’s what they always told him. Enough
times that he figured it was true.

  The dog whimpered and licked his hand. Hank petted his fur.

  “Where’s my gun belt?” His dry mouth made his voice scrape like sandpaper.

  “I put it away for safekeeping. You won’t need it here.”

  “I always need it. Can you get it?” He hated to be insistent, but he’d feel better once he had his Colt close. Beau gave a sharp bark, evidently sensing his panic.

  Without a word, she pursed her lips, strode to a dresser, and opened a drawer.

  What the hell was her name? It was something odd. Lee was the last part. Becky Lee? Sibie Lee? Sally Lee? Sid? Then he remembered. Sidalee. It was pretty, like her.

  Thick disapproval sat on her face as she laid the gun belt on his chest. It was clear what she thought of him, and he winced. He’d give anything for this angel to look on him with favor—though even as he thought it, he knew he shouldn’t.

  But one thing he knew, he couldn’t let his blackened life touch her. He’d seen things, heard things, even said things no decent woman should see or hear. Not a refined woman like Sidalee. He wondered how old she was. He guessed early twenties.

  Hank’s hand curled around the gun and he found peace in the cold, hard iron. “Thank you. Where’s my horse?”

  “Warm and dry in the barn. Probably full of oats by now.”

  That was welcome news. He couldn’t bear for his animals to suffer. “If you’ll bring my clothes, I’ll get out of here.”

  She planted her hands on her hips. “No. If you think I’m going to let you waltz out of here in the middle of the night in this snow, you’re crazy. Besides, they’re wet and cold, and putting them on will for sure hasten your death.”

  Beau glanced from Sidalee to him and barked three times. Hank didn’t think he’d bite, but he kept a grip on the collie’s fur to be safe.

  The mulish woman had gumption, he’d give her that. And the flash of fire shooting from her eyes told him the only way he was getting his trousers was over her dead body.

  He decided to call her bluff. “Well, I’ll just find them myself. Surely you wouldn’t mind seeing a man in long johns. Of course, I’d hate like hell to have your tender eyes see me through a big hole that just happens to be where something really needs to be covered. How many men have you seen in their holey long johns, Sidalee?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow.

  “You just try to get up, mister, and I’ll…I’ll…I’ll sit on you.”

  The exasperation on her face only made him want to bedevil her more. He hadn’t seen that expression on a woman in a long time. It might be kinda fun to have her sit on him, feel her saucy bottom next to him, but he wasn’t about to point that out.

  Or that he must outweigh her by more than a hundred pounds. He’d play along—just to see what this tantalizing woman would do next.

  Hank laced his fingers together behind his head. “So I’m your prisoner?”

  He hadn’t known true freedom for such a long time. But he’d give up a little to spend a few hours with Sidalee.

  “For now. At least till morning. You have your gun, so go back to sleep. You need your rest in order to keep bullying the kind woman who saved you.”

  Shock rippled through Hank. “You found me?”

  “Yes, although in hindsight, if I’d known how much trouble you’d be, I might’ve let you lie there.” Her hands moved from her hips as she crossed her arms. “It wasn’t easy getting you into the back of my wagon and then into the house. You must weigh a ton. You’re solid muscle.”

  “I got lots of exercise, where I was.” The kind no man wanted every day, six days a week. On Sunday the warden made them attend services. That’s where he got preached to about his rotten soul and how there was no hope for him—not now and not in eternity.

  She thawed a few degrees. “Would you like me to heat the bean soup I made yesterday?”

  “Sounds good. Throw in a cup of coffee and you got a deal.”

  “I’ll be back in a minute.” She stopped at the doorway. “You get out of bed and I’ll holler for Jonas. He’ll keep you in line.”

  Hank frowned. “Is he your husband?” Somehow the thought of that pricked him.

  “No. Jonas is the blacksmith, and you wouldn’t want to mess with him.”

  Beau barked, staring after her with his tail wagging to beat all.

  “Lay down, Beau. Don’t get us thrown out,” he said low. “This is a good place.”

  He glanced around the bedroom. A woman’s touch was evident everywhere he looked—from the painting of multicolored flowers in a vase, to the quilt on the bed, to the soft shade of pink and green wallpaper that bore pretty flowers inside wide vertical stripes. He bet there were rugs on the floor. He raised his head and leaned over. Sure enough, a deep-rose rug lay beside the bed. Another lay at the doorway. He swiveled to look behind and found the brass bedstead had a heart fashioned of metal with angel babies in the center.

  Yes, Sidalee was all woman.

  And she isn’t for the likes of you, he reminded himself firmly for the second time.

  But he was half tempted to get out of bed just so she’d sit on him. A smile curved his mouth, the first in so long. He admitted he was more than a little rusty, but the impertinent woman made it hard to stay grim. In fact, she made it difficult to breathe when she came into the room.

  Soft footsteps sounded a few minutes later and she entered with a tray. Heavenly smells drifted from the bowl. She couldn’t know how long it’d been since he had a home-cooked meal. He could barely remember. He sat up against the metal headboard and she placed the tray in his lap. Hank sniffed the fragrant steam rising from the bowl and the piece of corn bread resting beside it. He lifted the spoon and found heaven in the taste filling his mouth.

  With eyes closed, he savored the soup, letting memories drift through his head. His sweet mama calling him to supper. The touch of her hand, smoothing back his hair. Her smile that lit up his heart on days so dark, he didn’t think he’d ever see the sun again. He fought tears that tried to spill and didn’t open his eyes until he’d pushed them back.

  “How is it?” Sidalee asked.

  “This tastes”—he swallowed the thick longing—“of home. Better than anything I’ve had in a while.”

  “Good.” She was silent a second before asking, “Where is home, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “Gone.” Everything was gone. Friends had buried his mother and father in the church cemetery while he was locked up. He winced. Their only child had brought them shame and broken their spirits. Guilt stabbed him. His hardworking parents stood by him through it all, never losing faith that one day the nightmare would end. The house where he’d grown up was gone too—turned to ash after squatters set it on fire. At least that’s what the neighbor told him when he gave Hank his father’s horse and gun. He’d lost everything he had.

  Hank lifted the coffee cup. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

  “I’m a good listener, if you ever change your mind.”

  The dim light bathed her in shadows, but he could see caring in her eyes. How fast would she run if she found out prison had been his home until a month ago? Then her kindness would come to an abrupt halt.

  Pain rushed through him and it wasn’t from the pinpricks in his thawing fingers and toes. This pain was the sort that lasted—the kind that rose from disappointing friends. He’d leave come morning, before Sidalee learned the truth. She would never have to know anything about the drifter she’d saved.

  He finished the last swallow of coffee and set down the cup. “I refuse to take your bed. Give me a blanket and I’ll sleep on the floor.”

  “Absolutely not, and I’ll hear no argument.” She leaned to take the tray.

  Her fragrance circled around him. He’d never smelled anything so fresh, and the scent gave life to the part of him that had died wai
ting for justice. The brush of her hand against his made him long for the life he’d been denied. A home—a wife—a fresh start.

  But it was too late for that now. Far too late.

  “I insist.” He threw back the covers, shivering when cool air touched his skin. But he couldn’t let her spend a sleepless night because of him.

  Sidalee plunked down the tray with a resounding noise and yanked the covers back over him before he could say a word. Beau jumped and growled low. “Am I going to have to make good on my promise, Mr. Destry? You’re the stubbornest cuss I’ve ever seen.”

  “I could return the compliment.”

  “You’re sick,” she huffed. “Just you wait until Doc hears about this.”

  “You’re a pain in my backside,” he answered with a scowl, wishing she weren’t so pretty and god-awful determined to butt heads with him. He’d never had a woman affect him like this in his life. “Here’s a compromise. If you’ll lie down beside me on top of the covers, I’ll stay where I am.”

  “And if not?”

  “Then I’m walking out that door, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me. I’d rather sleep in a snowbank than turn you out of your bed.” He watched her hesitate as she weighed her safety against the need to get her patient well. “I won’t touch you, and that’s a promise.”

  “And that’s the only deal you’re willing to make?”

  “Take it or leave it. Your choice.” Hank patted the collie to keep himself from reaching for the red-haired angel with curves that could make a man forget his honor.

  “You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Destry.”

  “Hank.”

  A smile flirted with her lips. “Hank.”

  After taking the tray to the kitchen, she wrapped a quilt around herself and lay down on the bed. The low light of the lamp bathed her delicate cheekbones and that stubborn chin. He was glad she left it on. He’d been in too much darkness.