Christmas in a Cowboy's Arms

by Leigh Greenwood

  “Destry.” Houston’s boots crunched in the snow. A grin brought a twinkle to his brown eyes. “I see you have proper clothing. If you’re ready, I can show you the house where you’ll stay. Thanks for helping us out. Pa is fit to be tied. He wants Christmas perfect, and nothing less will do.”

  “I’m ready.” Hank blew out a worried sigh. He couldn’t let himself think of what would happen if he messed up, whatever Houston’s father wanted.

  “After I show you where you’ll bed down, I’ll take you to meet my father. Don’t let his gruff ways scare you. You’ll find most of it is bluster.”

  “Yes, sir.” His breath fogged as he strode beside Houston. They were evenly matched in height, but Houston had him beat on weight.

  The small one-room house fit Hank’s needs perfectly. A bed, a flat oak chest at the foot on which his saddlebags lay, and two straight-back chairs completed the furnishings. Someone appeared to have put Jim Wheeler’s personal effects away. Probably in the chest.

  Houston pushed back his Stetson. “It’s not much.”

  “It’ll do. I’ll move on after Christmas.” Before Hank’s past caught up with him.

  “Maybe we can change your mind. Let’s go meet my father.”

  A few minutes later, Hank entered the office of headquarters. A silver-haired man rose from behind the desk and came around. His voice boomed. “You must be Hank Destry. I’m Stoker Legend.”

  “Glad to meet you, sir.” Hank shook his hand and liked the firm grip.

  Stoker waved Hank to a chair and propped himself on the edge of the desk. “It was pure luck that you rode along. Houston tells me you can work the telegraph.”

  Hank gave him a wry smile. “I won’t lie. It’s been quite a while since I’ve done it with my father. I’ve probably forgotten most of it.”

  “You’ll do fine.” Stoker’s piercing stare seemed to see down inside where Hank couldn’t bear scrutiny. “Where were you going when you ended up here, son?”

  “No place in particular. Just drifting.” Trying to find a place that would welcome him. Hank steadied his breathing and set his jaw. “I have to be honest with you, sir. I got out of prison a few months ago.”

  The barrel-chested man opened a cigar box and offered one to Hank and Houston before taking one himself. They cut the ends off and lit them. Smoke filled the room. Hank hadn’t had a cigar in so long, he couldn’t recall, and the taste satisfied a craving he’d had for years.

  “What were you in for?” Stoker puffed on his fat cigar, his eyes never leaving Hank.

  “Murder.” Hank waited for the reaction, daring to wager how this would go.

  The big rancher never batted an eye. He put his cigar in an ashtray. “You do it?”

  “Nope. I learned money can buy a man’s freedom, even if he didn’t have it coming.”

  “Not here,” Stoker snapped.

  Hank glanced at Houston. The man’s face hardened. “We know those kind,” Houston said.

  Stoker’s eyes drifted to Hank’s gun belt and Colt. “You looking to get even?”

  “Nope. Just want to be left alone. Had enough trouble for a lifetime.” The false charge cost him eight years of his life that he’d never get back. Hank got to his feet. “Look, I’m not the man you need. I’ll get my horse and ride out.”

  “Hold on, son.” Stoker rose. “Texas is full of good men who got caught up in messes.” He laid a hand on Hank’s back. “One thing you’ll find with me and my sons is, we don’t judge and we don’t have any time for anyone who does. Sit back down and I’ll tell you what I want you to send over the wire.”

  Hank dropped back into the chair.

  “Now, I’ve got to find my son, Luke. I want you to pepper Texas with wires until you locate him. He goes by Luke Weston, though why the hell he does escapes me. I have a list of contacts. I want him here for Christmas. Maybe for once, our family will all be together. Send one also to my other son, Sam, in Lost Point.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Nope, don’t call me sir. I’m Stoker.”

  Houston grinned at Hank. “We’re a bit loose on formality. Guess we’d best get started.”

  Hank thanked the big rancher and left with Houston. On the walk over to the telegraph office, Houston told him a little about his brothers. Sam was the sheriff where he lived, but Luke seemed to be a man without a home, and Hank didn’t really know why. There was something Houston wasn’t telling him.

  They arrived at the small office and Hank glanced around. It was as if he’d stepped back in time and half expected his father to walk through the door. He shook himself, made a fire in the potbelly stove, and located everything he’d need. Houston wished him luck and left. Soon his finger was tapping out messages as he got started on the list Houston had given him.

  Beau gave a sharp bark and glanced up, covering his eyes with a paw.

  “Stop that, for God’s sake. You’re not a person, no matter how hard you try to be. You’re a dog. Accept it.” Hank snorted. “Have some pride in yourself. You’re not a bit cute, either.”

  As though to prove it, Beau whirled in a circle then stood on his back legs, his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth.

  “Stop that grinning too, while you’re at it. I ought to sell you to a circus. I can’t play right now.” Hank turned back to his work.

  Noon came and Sidalee walked through the door. “I brought some lunch.”

  Hank glanced up and was struck by her brilliant smile and the sun caressing her blond hair. The rays fired the golden strands with red glints. He didn’t think he’d ever seen a woman so breathtaking. All he could think about was their kiss.

  When he could unglue his tongue, he managed to speak. “I don’t have time for lunch. I have to find Stoker’s son Luke, or he won’t have time to make it here before Christmas.”

  “It won’t take long to eat,” she answered firmly. “Hot soup, and ham between two slices of my homemade bread. Plus slices of my famous apple cake. We have two weeks. Besides, I have a favor to ask.”

  “Whatever you need, just say the word.” He’d do anything for the woman who’d saved his life—in more ways than one.

  Sidalee wagged her finger at him. “Nope. Eat first.”

  There was no arguing with a lady. He poured two cups of coffee and sat down with her. Between mouthfuls, they talked.

  “What do you know about Stoker’s son Luke?” Hank asked.

  “Not a lot. He stops by every once in a while, but never stays long. I always wondered why he uses the last name Weston. I get the feeling he has to keep moving. No one talks much about him around any of us.” Sidalee’s forehead wrinkled in thought. “Luke wears deep sadness inside, but he’s always polite and kind when he comes into the mercantile. Once he removed his coat and worked one entire afternoon lifting heavy boxes for me. I’m not sure what secret he and his family keep, but I figure it’s their business.”

  “You’re wise not to pry.” Hank reached for one of the ham sandwiches and his hand brushed Sidalee’s. He could’ve sworn sparks bounced off their fingers—some kind of strange electricity that built up inside until it either had to escape or burn them up.

  Sidalee’s eyes met his. “I liked this morning. It was nice being with you, Hank.”

  “Same with you.” What a stupid thing to say. He didn’t know what happened to his brain when she was next to him. “What was the favor you mentioned?”

  “Do you think you can ride with me out to an abandoned line shack? There’s an old woman living out there and she’s sick. I’m going to go get her and bring her in.” She flashed a smile. “It wouldn’t hurt to have reinforcement, in case she refuses again.”

  “I’ll be glad to.” Riding next to Sidalee anywhere would make his day perfect. “You don’t need to go out there by yourself anyway. The snow is too deep and you could get stranded.” Or hurt
. He knew way too much about enduring the cold.

  “Thank you.” She covered his hand with hers.

  “People helping people, isn’t that what you said? Holler when you’re ready.” Hank helped her pack up the remnants of lunch, making sure to get his hands in the way of hers. He was starting to like these not-so-accidental touches too much.

  When she left, he stood in the doorway, watching her maneuver the narrow path through the snowdrifts. He wished he could answer all the questions she had. Maybe someday, with luck, he could share everything. But he’d have to stick around first.

  Thoughts filled his head.

  What if he had her to go home to at the close of the day? What would it be like to sleep next to her for real in the deluxe Queen Anne bed, model number 24?

  A smile spread at such crazy daydreams.

  * * *

  Sidalee’s heart raced like a herd of wild horses when Hank climbed into the wagon box and took the reins in his gloved hands. Beau leaped into the back. The snow glittered like diamonds under the weak sun and the horses’ hooves crunched on the frozen ground. Sidalee didn’t think she’d ever known more happiness.

  When she glanced down, her breath caught to see her skirt resting against his leg. Warmth flooded her. Hank must think her forward, but she didn’t move it or herself away. Memories of his gentle kiss washed through her mind like a treasured secret.

  Even if she never got another, Sidalee would always remember how Hank took her in his arms and placed his lips on hers.

  They talked about life with her family, and Hank’s at his father’s side, running the telegraph office in Still Valley, Texas. As he spoke, she pictured life there.

  A few minutes later, his face hardened. “I’ve said enough.”

  “No, please. I want to hear more. What happened to make you leave there?”

  “Sidalee, some things are better left alone.” Then Hank turned to watch a rabbit scamper across the white landscape.

  Sidalee loved how the snow wrapped them in a white cocoon and made it seem they were the only two people in the world. It was their own private sanctuary. Beau sat between them and laid his head in her lap, begging to be petted.

  Suddenly she gave a cry. Only a thin, barely discernible column of smoke rose from the chimney of the line shack. Something wasn’t right. She willed the horses to go faster and jumped down as soon as Hank stopped.

  “Miss Mamie, are you all right?” Sidalee burst through the door with Beau.

  The old woman sat in front of the fire with a blanket wrapped around her. She wiped her eyes and turned. “Girl, of course I’m all right. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “The fire is far too low. It’s freezing in here and you’re sick.” She hurried to the wood supply and threw on two logs. “There, that should have us warm in a minute.”

  “I was just trying to save wood in case you didn’t come back today, dear. I—” Miss Mamie froze when Hank ducked his head and stepped inside. “George! You came!”

  Sidalee whirled. Her son? No, it wasn’t possible. Hank grew up in Still Valley. Her heart broke for the poor dear. She swung from Miss Mamie to Hank to see his reaction, praying that he let the old woman down gently.

  Hank stared in confusion. “Ma’am, I think you have me mixed up with someone else.”

  “Miss Mamie, this is Hank Destry,” Sidalee explained.

  The sweet lady drew herself up. “I should know my own son.” Her attention shifted back to Hank and she shrugged. “I don’t know why you changed your name, but you must have your reasons. To me you’ll always be George Tabor.”

  “Can I speak to you a minute, Sidalee?” Hank ushered her back out. “What’s going on here?”

  “I honestly don’t know anything, except that she’s been waiting for her son George.” Sidalee chewed her lip. “Are you sure you don’t know her?”

  “Never saw her before in my life. There’s no way I can be her son. Just age alone will tell you that much.”

  “She’s been terribly confused. Some days she talks about things that couldn’t possibly have happened. Maybe her son George died and she can’t accept it.”

  “I’ve heard of things like this happening. A woman I once knew lost her mind when her baby died, and she started carrying a doll around, thinking it was real.”

  “Is there any way you can go along with this?” She rested her hand on his arm. “Let her have some happiness at Christmas.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of doing anything different. Clearly, she needs to believe in something. I’ll be whoever she needs me to be for however long. I’m glad we’re taking her out of here. This is no place for a frail old woman.” Hank strode to the wagon with Beau running circles around him. He lifted a heavy blanket and Sidalee followed him inside.

  Her chest tightened. Hank Destry was a man with a big heart, and what he was giving Miss Mamie couldn’t be measured in money.

  She just prayed he could accept what the poor widow could give him in return.

  Six

  “Mother, I didn’t expect to take so long in coming for you. Now that I’m here, I’ll take you somewhere warm. Put your arm around my neck.” Hank lifted her into his arms, concerned that the skin barely stretched across her bones. The old woman probably didn’t weigh ninety pounds.

  Sidalee finished gathering up the last of Miss Mamie’s things and stuffed them into a bag.

  “Don’t forget my bag of rocks, dear,” the old woman said.

  “I got them,” Sidalee assured her and followed Hank out to the wagon, where he gently lowered his pretend mother onto the warm bed Sidalee had made. Then Hank helped her up beside Miss Mamie and watched her tuck blankets around the woman who needed a son so badly, she had to invent him.

  At least that was Hank’s theory. He’d send some telegrams out as soon as he learned the town she came from.

  He climbed up into the wagon box, and with Beau perched beside him, he set off for the ranch town. The sun had faded behind heavy clouds, and the icy wind had picked up. He prayed they wouldn’t have any trouble. This wasn’t a night to be out in the elements. Every so often, he glanced back and always found Sidalee leaning close, talking to Miss Mamie and patting a thin, blue-veined hand.

  Sidalee had no one either. She’d spoken of deep loneliness that cut through her at times. The gnawing was bad for a man, but for a sensitive, refined woman? It could destroy her and make her shrink into herself.

  There were worse things than taking refuge at the Lone Star Ranch. Lots of worse things.

  For no reason at all, Hank smiled.

  The return trip didn’t take long. Before he knew it, he was pulling up to Sidalee’s door. He carried Miss Mamie inside and lowered her into a rocking chair in front of the fireplace.

  “Thank you, son.” She glanced up at him. “I can’t seem to remember you getting so tall. You’re a handsome boy. You take after your father.”

  “How long has it been since you’ve seen me, Mother?”

  “What kind of fool question is that? You know it was only a few months ago.”

  “Of course. How were things in town when you left there?” Hank met Sidalee’s questioning glance with a quick shake of his head. He’d explain later.

  “Well, you know Benton Falls never changes. Except our place. It burned, you know. Your bedroom went up in flames. Nothing survived.”

  Hank gently wiped away Miss Mamie’s tears. Here was someone who desperately needed something to believe in. He could be that for her. “That’s all right, Mother. I can replace them. You rest and get your strength back.” He took Sidalee into the kitchen and told her why he needed the name of the town.

  “That’s a great idea, Hank. Maybe you can figure out what’s going on. My heart breaks for her. It did when I first saw her freezing to death in that line shack, and it’s only gotten worse.”

  �
��I’ll not turn my back on her, and that I can promise you.” Hank met her blue gaze, sudden longing rising inside so fierce he could barely breathe. He lifted a tendril of her hair, wishing he could kiss her again, but he’d only asked for one, and any more would only make the leaving unbearable.

  “Will you stay for supper, Hank?”

  He didn’t have the power to refuse. “I’ll be back after I take the horses to the barn.”

  A rosy blush colored her cheeks. Hank didn’t think he’d ever seen a more beautiful woman. To share supper with her—and Miss Mamie too, of course—would feed his soul, which had been hungry for so long.

  But he wouldn’t make a habit out of it. He just needed a little more of her company to store up for the lonely days after he left the ranch.

  * * *

  The following morning, Hank set to work trying to uncover information that would shed light on Miss Mamie’s insistence that he was her George. It didn’t take long to get an answer from the sheriff in Benton Falls.

  Albert and Mamie Tabor buried their baby boy, George, back around 1823 or so. The sheriff didn’t know the specific year. The child had been about a year old.

  Also, their house and all their belongings did not burn as Miss Mamie claimed. She and Albert had gotten evicted from their land by a bunch of land-grabbers. The sheriff hoped they found a better climate at the Lone Star.

  Hank sat staring at the telegram for a long time, his heart aching for the old woman. Anger rose. The loss of their land must’ve been too much, and something in Miss Mamie’s head broke. He’d be her son as long as she wanted.

  Sometimes people just needed a little something to cling to, something to get them through the long days. To have hope. Lord knew he had—and still did. The thing that gave him strength in prison was the daily tapping on the wall, the conversation with his friend, Robert Gage.

  For Miss Mamie, it was pretending her son was alive and well.

  The door opened and Stoker Legend strode in. “How’s it going, Destry? Have everything you need?”