by Jillian Hart
“Y-yes.” No. Agony clawed behind her ribs as she watched him lower Thomas to the porch.
“So this isn’t really goodbye.” He unwound from the boy’s grip gently. “We can always remember being friends.”
“But you’re leaving.” Thomas clutched his horse and let out a shaky sigh. “You’ll be g-gone.”
“Love doesn’t end just because people are apart.” He knelt to catch a single tear with the pad of his thumb. Heartbreak shadowed his eyes as he laid his hand over Thomas’s small chest. “So wherever you are, I’ll be right here. All you have to do is remember me.”
“O-kay.” The boy choked on a sob. It was no comfort.
No comfort at all. She knelt down beside Thomas, surprised when he threw himself into her arms, needing her comfort, needing her love. She held him tight, stroking his hair and the middle of his back.
“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.” Caleb pulled her attention, his apology low and anguished. Cords worked in his neck as he wrestled down his own emotion. His sapphire-blue eyes—Thomas’s eyes. They were the same, Caleb and his son. Thomas didn’t only have his father’s eyes, but his heart.
“I’m sorry, too.” Tears burned behind her eyes and rose up regardless of how hard she fought them. “I’m sorry, but I have to protest. I won’t let you say goodbye.”
“What?” Confusion furrowed his forehead. Disbelief twisted his handsome face. “I don’t understand.”
“Please don’t go.” She knew him. She’d known all along. How could she have ever doubted him? He could she never have committed such a horrible act. Not Caleb. It was the hardship she saw when she looked into his eyes. The honest suffering of a man who’d had an unfair turn in life and his goodness never wavered.
She saw his soul and every bit of his spirit. Enduring devotion wove through her, powerful enough to last for eternity. He had saved her. He’d given her what she’d never believed she could find again.
“Do you mean it?” Disbelief twisted his face.
“Absolutely.” She could not let Caleb go. The chance to be loved by him, by the tender, decent man he was, was all she wanted. Her soul felt bound to his. She was nothing without him. “Please, stay for Christmas. Stay forever.”
“Forever? Really. That sounds perfect to me.” His arms wrapped about her, drawing her against the safe harbor of his strong chest. She listened to his heart beat, where only kindness lived. This was a man chivalrousness enough to always be what she needed, a man honorable enough to always do what was right. “I’m in love with you, Caroline.”
“Thomas and I love you.” So, so much. More than words could possibly say. “You wouldn’t want to come with us tonight? Selma would be thrilled to have you.”
“Sure, I will. It’s not every day a man gets his Christmas wish.” Happiness lit him up, an amazing sight to see. He scooped Thomas into his arms, father and son, all of her heart.
Love was the best Christmas gift.
Epilogue
Christmas Eve, one year later
“Are you sure you feel up this?” Caleb brushed the snow off his coat as he shouldered through the door. The little home they’d bought in town was cozy and warm, their very own place. It was a good feeling to see the life he and Caroline had made together since their spring wedding. He’d found work at the marshal’s office and folks in town accepted him, once they’d gotten to know him. Happiness grabbed hold of him as it always did whenever he saw his Caroline. His beautiful wife looked up from latching the basket’s lid to welcome him with a smile.
“Yes, I’m sure. I’m still a bit nauseous, but the worst of the morning sickness is over for the day and it’s almost gone entirely.” She stroked the small curve of her belly, where their baby grew. Radiant, she smiled, her love for him plain in her eyes. “Besides, Selma would never forgive me if I miss tonight. We’re practically family or so she insists, since she was the one who championed you all along.”
“She’s been good to us, that’s for sure.” He brushed a kiss to her lips, love and desire filling him up. “Too bad we aren’t staying home.”
Her amused chuckle made him laugh, too. She flashed a dimpled smiled up at him. “There will be time enough for that later tonight. Supper first.”
“Pa!” Thomas came running with Bingo in one hand. “Can I help hitch up the horses?”
“Sorry, son, but I already did. I strung the jingle bells on the harnessing, too. But how about I let you help me drive the horses?”
“Wow. All right!” They had chosen to tell him the truth about his father. Now they were a family bound by love of the strongest kind.
“Put on your wraps. It’s time to go.” She ran a hand through Thomas’s hair, smoothing it, for all the good it would do. He would soon be running and playing with Selma’s grandchildren. Her heart filled seeing him so happy.
“Okay.” To her surprise, the boy heaved the basket off the table and manhandled it to the door. Perhaps determined to be just like his father, he set it down with a capable air and reached for his coat.
“You look happy, Mrs. McGraw.” Caleb leaned in and pulled her close.
“Happy? No, I’m much more than that.” She relaxed against his chest, listened to the reliable thump of his heart and thought about the last year.
Caleb was an amazing, attentive husband and a man with a heart of gold. Immeasurable gratitude welled up. She could not believe how lucky she was. She had Caleb to adore, Thomas to love and a child on the way—Caleb’s child. Her world was filled with color. Everywhere she looked she saw shades of brightness and beauty and, most of all, love.
“Jingle bells,” Caleb began singing as he unhooked her cloak from its peg.
“Jingle bells,” Thomas belted out slightly off tune.
“Jingle all the way,” she pitched in.
They sang together, a family, as they tumbled out into the December night. Snow sifted over them like a fairy-tale promise as Caleb took her hand.
CHRISTMAS AT CAHILL CROSSING
Carol Finch
Dear Reader,
Welcome to Cahill Crossing, Texas! The holiday season roars in with a blizzard that leaves boutique owner Rosa Greer stranded in a snowdrift. What she needs is a Yuletide angel to rescue her. What she gets is a snarly wolf dog and a gruff ex-Texas Ranger soured on life. Rosa is determined to repay Lucas Burnett by including him in the community festivities she has planned for Christmas.
Lucas doesn’t want to be dragged into society. He wants to be left alone—but Rosa, who is hiding secrets from the world, intrigues him. So…what’s a man to do when he is bedazzled by a lively angel? The real question is: Who is saving whom at Christmas?
I hope you enjoy this fast-paced tale as much as I enjoyed writing it. Join me next month for the first book in the continuing series about the founding family of Cahill Crossing. In The Lonely Rancher, you’ll meet Quin, who clashes with Rosa’s cousin from Boston. The woman is too much like his two brothers and sister—who tramped off to chase their dreams—leaving Quin to manage the family ranch alone. Quin has enough problems with his estranged family without adding feisty Adrianna McKnight to his woes. But she’s in his face and she is here to stay!
Carol Finch
This book is dedicated to my husband, Ed, and our children, Kurt, Shawnna, Jill, Jon, Christie and Durk.
And to our grandchildren, Livia, Harleigh, Blake, Kennedy, Dillon and Brooklynn. And to Kurt and Shawnna’s children, whenever they may be. Hugs and kisses!
Chapter One
Texas, December, Early 1880s
Rosalie Greer shivered as a blast of icy wind slapped her in the face while she drove her wagon, filled with precious cargo and supplies, down the road to Cahill Crossing. She had left the train depot at Wolf Grove early enough in the day to drive the ten-mile distance and arrive home before dark. Or so she had thought. Unfortunately, the train carrying her freight had been behind schedule and she had waylaid to grab a bite to eat before heading home.
Tha
t had been a gigantic mistake, she mused as she stared uneasily at the bank of low-hanging black and gray clouds rolling toward her. She popped the reins over the horses’ rumps, sending them into a trot. Although Rosalie had moved to the fledgling community of Cahill Crossing only two years earlier to open her boutique, she had endured a Blue Norther blizzard the previous winter. She had developed a wary respect for them—and quickly. One look at the threatening sky and the feel of the frigid wind assured her that it was going to be a long, cold ride home.
Another blast of frigid air swooshed past her, bringing gigantic snowflakes. Rosa set aside the reins to fasten the coat, which, at best, provided only meager warmth.
“Confounded weather,” she grumbled to the world at large. “Never know when storms are coming. This is—”
Her voice transformed into a gasp when stinging sleet mingled with the oversize snowflakes. Sweet mercy! One minute it was just beginning to snow and then wham! She was in the middle of a full-blown blizzard. Within a half hour the blowing snow had pelted her so relentlessly that she nearly lost her sense of direction. Visibility decreased to one hundred yards—at best. The farther west she traveled the larger the piles and the thicker the sleet and snowflakes. Shifting snow and drifts made it difficult to tell the trodden path from the ditches bookending it.
Rosa gritted her chattering teeth, huddled inside her flimsy jacket and wished the rented team of horses and wagon could sprout wings and fly back to her cozy rooms above her boutique on Town Square. No such luck. Despite her noble crusade to purchase her cargo in Wolf Grove then unload it under the cover of darkness—so no one would be the wiser—Rosa faced disaster.
She had never contemplated her own demise very seriously, but freezing to death on a deserted road in the middle of nowhere just before Christmas had not been at the top of her list.
The howling wind whipped through a grove of leafless trees that reminded her of bony fingers reaching into the ominous sky. One of the horses, a bay gelding, pranced sideways and slammed into the sorrel, causing the wagon to jerk unexpectedly.
“Confound it!” she muttered in frustration.
When the skittish bay bolted into a gallop, startling the sorrel gelding into a trot, Rosa clamped her fist on the seat of the buckboard to steady herself—and failed. With a startled yelp, she somersaulted backward onto the lumpy wagon bed loaded with supplies. Her shriek startled the jumpy horses and the team thundered off while she rolled around in the wagon bed, trying to regain her balance.
“Whoa, you idiotic horses!” she yelled. To no avail.
With grim determination, Rosa crawled onto her hands and knees to anchor herself against the back of the seat. Despite the hampering skirts, she slithered over the seat to grope for the reins on the floorboard. Right there and then she vowed to give the rent horses a bad recommendation—if and when she made it to town to speak to the livery owner.
It was true that one of the reasons Rosa had packed up and moved west was to satisfy her sense of adventure and follow her dream of opening her own business. However, hanging on for dear life in a buckboard attached to two flighty horses was not exactly the adventure she’d had in mind. From the look of things, she wasn’t going to live past the age of twenty-six. Worse, she wouldn’t survive to follow through with her grand plans for Christmas.
“Heaven help me!” she yelped as the wagon careened then skidded across the layer of sleet-covered snow that she presumed was the road. But it was difficult to tell because the ditches were level full of drifts. The raging snowstorm and gathering darkness had combined to make travel treacherous.
Mustering her resolve, Rosa clamped her hands around the reins and clambered to stand upright on the floorboards. “Whoa! And I mean whoa, damn it!” She stamped on the brake, simultaneously jerking as hard as she could on the reins.
“Oh, Lord!” she shrieked as the wagon skidded sideways, throwing her off balance again. This time, however, she managed to catch herself before she cartwheeled to the ground and kerplunked into a snowdrift.
The infuriating horses finally stopped then tossed their heads to shake off the snow. Rosa glared good and hard at the troublemakers. “About time,” she growled at them. When she tried to proceed at a slow, methodic pace, the distant howls of wolves made the horses uneasy and anxious to run again.
Rosa glanced around warily then pulled up the collar of her jacket to keep the icy wind off her neck. Chilled to the bone, she twisted around to rummage through her cargo to locate a pair of gloves and a scarf. She glanced this way and that, barely recognizing the canyon that dropped off the bend of the road. It was the site where Earl and Ruby Cahill, the town founders, had suffered the tragic wagon accident that took their lives two years earlier. The locals referred to the site as Ghost Canyon and swore you could hear voices in the wind that swept up the rock-strewn slope. Rosa winced, certain she was hearing voices herself. She was more than anxious to quit the place.
Eventually, she managed to get the horses moving at a slow pace but it was difficult to make out familiar landmarks when visibility dropped another dangerous notch.
“Come along,” Rosa demanded when the horses stopped and pricked their ears at the sound of howling wolves. When the horses did no more than shift sideways she climbed down, determined to lead the horses forward. “Lamebrain animals!” she railed in exasperation. “You’re supposed to have horse sense—awk!”
The horses bolted forward, jerking the wagon sideways on the slick road. Rosa yelped when the wagon slid into an unseen ditch filled with snow. The bay gelding reared up then fell off balance when the heavily loaded wagon teetered sideways. Rosa groaned in pain when the bay slammed into her then stepped on her leg as they went down together. She held on to the harness for dear life as the downed horse whinnied and struggled to regain its feet. It was made harder by the sorrel gelding who kept shifting in alarm, anxious to run. Rosa groaned in pain and scrambled to move out of the way before the downed horse trampled her while trying to stand up.
And suddenly, all Rosa wanted for Christmas was not to be dead!
To her dismay, she noticed the bay came up limping. Worse, the jostling of both horses had left the wagon tilted to a sharp angle in the ditch.
“This cannot be happening,” she grumbled as she balanced on her good leg while the other leg began a cold, steady throb that spread from her ankle to her knee. “People on noble errands should be protected, shouldn’t they?” she asked, staring heavenward.
Apparently, the answer to that question was, not necessarily.
A chill dribbled down Rosa’s spine while she stood on one leg in the darkness, serenaded by an eerie chorus of howls. The tormenting sounds grew louder by the minute. Frantic, she tried to hobble forward to drag the wagon from the ditch, but it was no use. One nervous horse and one lame horse couldn’t get the job done.
Rosa’s precious cargo was as stuck as it could get.
Desperate, she glanced around the darkness, barely making out the drift in front of the wagon. All she could think to do was scream for help—which she did until she was hoarse. Then she realized if there was any saving to be done, she would have to do it herself. If she had any chance of surviving this night when hell seemed to have frozen over, she had to dig into the snow to make an improvised igloo.
Like a dog unearthing a bone, Rosa pawed the snow until she carved a hole large enough to crawl into and gather her skirts around her. Panting for breath, she sent a prayer heavenward then listened to the howls of approaching wolves that carried in the wind like a death knell.
“Blasted horses were no help at all,” she muttered.
Rosa figured the pack of furry beasts would get her if she didn’t freeze to death first. Her thoughts drifted to the recent letter from her mother in Maryland. Rosa had the depressing feeling the invitation—to come home for the holidays—would be the last correspondence she’d receive from anyone.
Her injured leg throbbed in rhythm with her pulse while the wolves howled and
moved in for the kill. To better days, if I have any days left. That was Rosa’s last thought before she closed her eyes and shivered uncontrollably. Then the darkness swallowed her up…and she succumbed to the cold silence…?.
Lucas Burnett pulled on the black hood that protected his head and face before he ventured from his barn to confront the raging blizzard that had descended on his horse ranch. He well remembered from his days of service with the Texas Rangers, and from his youth in Comanche camp, that Texas blizzards were unusually brutal. He had taken the precaution of doubling up on coats and breeches before he exited his cabin to feed and water his livestock. The buffalo-hide coat held in his body heat and the long black canvas duster repelled the sleet and snow.
“This is still better than the bad old days,” Lucas reminded his limping dog—named Dog. His faithful companion had saved Lucas’s life three years earlier and had taken a bullet in the leg in the process.
Dog stared up at him with dark eyes then shook off the white flakes from his dark coat. They trudged side-by-side through the wind-driven snow toward the welcoming cabin where golden light glowed in the window.
It isn’t a night fit for man nor beast, Lucas mused as he stared at the cabin he had built with his own hands. He had received this parcel of land, lying east of Cahill Crossing, in exchange for his service with the Rangers. Never mind that this land had once been part of the Comancheria and he could go where he pleased—until white folks wanted it and did whatever necessary to get it.
After ten years of dedicated service, Lucas had constructed the cabin for himself and Dog. The barn, lined with stalls for his horses, had taken a year to erect. He glanced over his shoulder, noting that his small herd of cattle had had the good sense to cross the pasture to use the barn and sheds for wind blocks. Hopefully all his livestock would survive the winter blast.