Christmas in Winter Valley

by Jodi Thomas

CHAPTER TWO

  December 10

  Wyoming

  TYE FRANKLIN WALKED the rainy-day shadows of the rodeo grounds. He was into his forties and hard as leather, and most agreed that he was usually one drink past being drunk.

  He never bothered to argue. In truth, he rarely talked to anyone. His job was to haul in rough stock for small rodeos across the West. He’d made sure the pens were loaded with hard-to-ride broncs and bulls flashing Satan’s fire in their eyes.

  He’d lived so long around the mud and blood of the rodeo that it was more home than anywhere he’d ever been.

  As he passed from one floodlight to another in the silence of a cloudy arena, he watched his shadow beside him. Long and lean. He wore his Stetson low, even after sundown. His back was bowed just a bit from fatigue, and he had a limp he carried like a badge of failure.

  Tye smiled at his shadow. Sometimes he wondered if he was the echo and the dark carbon copy that paced him was real. They weren’t that different. Both almost invisible. Both silent. Both broken.

  “Franklin,” someone yelled from the row of empty stands. “You still out here?”

  Tye recognized Harden’s voice. “I am, Trooper, but you can’t arrest me for being a walking drunk.”

  The lawman didn’t bother to laugh. “Damn it, Tye, you’re the hardest man in this state to find. If I hadn’t seen that tin can of a truck of yours, I never would have found you. A Texas Ranger down in Austin I know has got me looking for you.” His words came as fast and sharp as his steps on the metal bleachers.

  Tye didn’t move. He’d figured trouble would find him soon enough without him running toward it.

  Harden was out of breath when he reached the mud of the arena. “Double damn. If it rains again tonight, we won’t be able to have the rodeo tomorrow. Folks around here look forward to it all year long.”

  “You just come out to give me the weather forecast, Officer?” Tye pushed back his hat so he could meet the trooper’s eyes. In an odd way, they were friends. Tye had done what he could to keep the lawmen in this area in business. Running stoplights. Being drunk and disorderly. Occasionally picking a fight in a bar just so he could feel the pain.

  Harden glared at him. “I came to deliver this to you. It’s traveled across several states to find you.” He slapped a brown envelope against Tye’s chest. “Tonight it appears I’m just a mailman, nothing more.”

  Tye grinned. “The Texas Rangers after me again?”

  “No, it’s from a lawyer. I think the Rangers were just helping find you.”

  Tye rolled up the envelope and put it in his coat pocket. He cared less about what was in it than the trooper did.

  Harden spit in the dirt. “Hell. I came all the way out here and you’re not going to tell me what’s in it?”

  “Nope.”

  Turning, he walked away with Harden describing, in detail, what he planned to do the next time he arrested the cowboy.

  Tye didn’t care about the letter or the threats or much of anything.

  His body was strong. Hard work kept him fit, but Tye knew deep down inside he was dying. A man without a heart could only pretend he’s alive for so long.

  Not one person would mourn him when he died. Tye had no one who’d care, and he planned to keep it that way.

  CHAPTER THREE

  December 10

  Late afternoon

  Maverick Ranch

  COOPER USED THE extra mount to haul medical supplies and extra provisions up to the line shack. Creed’s pickup could have made it within a mile of the little house, but Cooper had met the foreman at the opening to the pass and loaded up. He was in a hurry to be alone.

  The air was crisp where canyon walls widened and rose to Heaven. It was so quiet he swore he could hear the clouds floating by. In the warmth of the late-fall day, everything around him seemed still, as if nature rested in the warmth before sundown.

  A hawk floated above him without a sound, and the tall grass waved in the wind. Cooper could feel this country calling to him. Reminding him that he was from this land, as much a part of it as the soil and rocks. Here, out in the open, he didn’t need to-do lists or deadlines or even conversations. He was a man who needed solitude, and this land welcomed him to that paradise.

  This part of the ranch wasn’t good for grazing—too rocky, too uneven to drive cattle and impossible to truck them in or out. Maybe that was why he loved it so much. It had no purpose but to be.

  He rode toward the base of Winter Valley, hidden away among the hills blanketed with cottonwood and juniper. Shrubby mesquite was peppered between them, a bothersome squatter. Once at the base, he climbed through trees to the highest hill. The wide basin was covered in fall colors on the bottom. Splashes of golden leaves and rich browns and oranges were spread over patches of still-green grass. Near the north wall, a stream moved as silently as a huge snake between the cottonwoods and sage.

  Cooper saw tracks and knew the wild horses had already arrived. They’d winter here, where the canyons would shelter them. And, if he was lucky, they’d let him take care of them.

  There were rumors of bears up here and maybe a mountain lion or two, but a healthy horse wasn’t likely to become prey. Snakes would be belowground by now. The horses would need shots, maybe doctoring from old wounds to weather the winter. They’d need him, even though they wouldn’t welcome him.

  He rode toward the shack his great-grandfather had built. The original log wall still blocked the north wind, but the other three sides of the line shack had had layers added, more than being rebuilt. Log walls covered with wide planks of oak boards.

  The first Holloway on this land had hauled the wood for the line shack by mule, then cut enough logs so winter wind wouldn’t freeze him out. Legend claimed he’d started it the summer his first wife had left him. By the time the third one left, he’d disappeared from the headquarters so often, he’d had time to build the shack solidly. Cooper’s dad had told him once that he remembered the old cowhands called it Holloway’s Hideout.

  Cooper had no idea if wife number four had driven him here, or if the old man had just grown used to the silence by the time she came along. Coop was just considering that he’d inherited that trait as his home for the next few weeks came into view.

  The place had never been painted. There was no real porch, just a low roof that shaded the front door but left the rough board steps open to the weather. If a Realtor ever saw it, she’d probably describe it as worthless and rustic. One room with no bath, but with a nice view.

  Grinning, he thought he’d made it to Heaven.

  Before dark, he’d unloaded the medical supplies, mended the corral for his horses and stacked all the staples he’d need inside—a case of soups and chili, a box of spices and basics, a tin of crackers, coffee and a cooler packed full of peanut-butter cookies and sealed with duct tape.

  More food than he’d need, but Dani Garrett, the new cook, insisted on making sure he had enough. “You might get snowed in,” she’d said, “or have company come to dinner, and I want you prepared.”

  Cooper liked the way she took care of everyone. He and his brothers had called her Momma Dani from the day she’d moved in. She could cook pretty much anything, even those funny foods that Sunlan liked. Beans made into hummus and little noodle bags packed with a teaspoonful of meat.

  When Sunlan was home, Dani would make funny little appetizers with raw meat or seafood, but on nights it was just the men, she cooked chicken-fried steak or slabs of ribs that hung over the edges of their plates.

  Cooper decided he’d rather haul in more than he needed than hurt her feelings. Who knew—by Christmas, he might be as fat as a bear. If he timed it right, he could miss all the pre-Christmas mess and just make it home for the gift opening.

  The brooding sky was almost dark when he climbed up the bluff behind the shack and looked over the valley. Every y
ear since his dad had first brought him here when he was five, the first view from the cliff always took his breath away. Cooper sat down and watched evening spread across the land so slowly it was fully dark by the time he realized he should be off the cliff.

  As he stumbled down, he cussed himself for not even bothering to bring a flashlight. He’d probably step on the last snake heading into hibernation.

  Thank goodness he’d hung the solar light on a nail at the sunny side of the roof. It hadn’t had the seven hours of sunshine to fully charge, but maybe it would shine enough to show him the way to the shack.

  He was almost down from the cliff when he noticed a low light. Though it was putting off the glow of a dying firefly, it was enough for him to get his bearings.

  Cooper made it to the shack’s overhang and reached for his flashlight, which was tucked away in his saddlebags, along with a Colt. He always hung necessities, like matches and firearms, on a peg shadowed under the overhang. That way, day or night, inside or out, he knew where they were when needed.

  He looped the bags over his shoulder, turned on the flashlight and stepped into the cabin, where he’d unloaded the supplies.

  One sweep of the beam told him someone, or something, had been there. The bags were tossed around, spilling medical supplies and canned goods all over the place.

  Cooper backed slowly outside and reached for his Colt. If the intruder hadn’t found what he was looking for, there was a good chance he was still in the cabin. Maybe the door had swung closed and whatever had entered was trapped inside.

  A man might hide, but a cornered animal would fight when threatened.

  With the door wide-open and his gun at the ready, Cooper tried to tell himself he was prepared. He’d threaten any stranger who’d invaded his place, or hopefully frighten away a curious animal.

  The whole world was silent. Dried leaves rushed along in the wind, seeming to whisper of danger in the darkness outside. A dove cooed, and its partner echoed the call.

  Cooper didn’t move. He barely breathed as sweat dripped from his forehead. He hated waiting. But something had invaded, and right now they seemed to be playing a game of chicken to see who would make the next move.

  Then he heard a crunching sound. Maybe the animal inside had found food, or maybe he was gnawing his way out between loose boards at the back of the shack.

  The sound came again. One of the floorboards creaked.

  “You’d better come out,” Cooper said, feeling foolish—he was probably talking to a raccoon. “If I have to come in after you, I’ll come in firing.”

  Silence.

  “I’ll count to ten.” Cooper almost hit himself in the forehead with the Colt. Raccoons couldn’t count. “One...two.”

  Nothing.

  “Three...four...five.” Cooper leaned in, trying to see something moving in the shadows, but the flashlight’s beam only passed over dust. The stranger could be behind the old potbellied stove or under one of the two small beds.

  “Six...seven...eight.” Hell, he was going to have to go in shooting.

  “Nine.” Cooper took a step, the barrel of the Colt pointed ahead of him.

  “Don’t shoot me, mister,” a squeaky voice said.

  Cooper lowered the Colt, swung his flashlight back and forth and watched as a kid crawled from beneath one of the bunks. He held a box of crackers in one hand and an old, beat-up hat in the other.

  Cooper stared at the intruder. Eight, maybe nine years old. Filthy. Body so thin his clothes hung on him as if he was no more than a coat hanger. Brown hair and light blue eyes shining up at Cooper as if he thought he was meeting Satan himself.

  “What’s your name? What are you doing here?”

  “Tatum, sir. I ain’t a thief, mister, I promise. I was just so hungry, and I couldn’t wait around to see if you were coming back.” He held out the almost-empty box of crackers. “I didn’t eat them all. You can have the rest back.”

  Cooper walked to the lantern and flipped it on. He was thankful the batteries were fresh.

  The kid watched his every move as though he’d already figured the cowboy would turn around and strike at any moment.

  Cooper had a dozen questions, but he guessed he’d frightened the kid enough. “You want some soup or chili with those crackers?”

  Tatum looked like he feared a trap, but hunger must have made him brave. “You got a can opener? I looked for one. I’ll be happy with anything. You don’t even need to heat it up.”

  Smiling, Coop relaxed. “Sit down, kid. I’ll warm you a can of soup. This place gets cold once the sun goes down, so I was planning to start a fire, anyway.”

  He tossed a few logs into a potbellied stove three times older than him, then pulled a starter stick from his saddlebag. While the wood caught, Cooper moved around the small space, putting up supplies. Food on the top two shelves, too high for the kid, or any wild thing, to reach. The duffel bag of clothes hung on a peg in case it rained and the place flooded. He’d shoved his old rifle back above the cabinet. The rest of the supplies went on a shelf inside a cupboard he’d made when he’d started coming out to work with the horses. It didn’t have a lock, but the latch would keep out varmints.

  Ten minutes later, Cooper handed the little boy a mug of soup. “Eat slow, kid.”

  As he ate, Tatum never took his eyes off the pot. That told Coop all he needed to know about how hungry the boy was.

  As the boy finished, Cooper made coffee and dug out the first bag of cookies. Dani had told him she’d packed one bag for each day he’d be out here, so when the cookies were gone, he’d better be heading home.

  Cooper would have laughed, but with no cell phone and no electricity, there was a good chance he’d lose track of time.

  He pulled out three of the cookies and handed them to the kid, then ate his three for supper.

  Tatum handed back the empty mug, his big blue eyes never turning away from Cooper.

  “I wash dishes in the stream.” Cooper kept his voice low, friendly. “If you stay for breakfast, you’ll have to do the dishes tomorrow morning.”

  “You going to let me stay, mister? I’m not trouble. You’ll barely know I’m here.”

  The doubt in the boy’s tone broke Cooper’s heart, as did the fact that this shack was his best option. What kind of people had this kid been around to have him skeptical of simple kindness? “Yeah, you’re welcome to stay. I got two bunks. From the looks of it, a northerner is coming in. Won’t get much below freezing tonight. Probably won’t see but a dusting of snow, but the place will be warmer than outside.”

  “Thanks.” Relief shook the boy’s thin frame.

  A hundred questions still stood between them, but Cooper thought the kid looked like he might fall over any minute. He tossed the boy a blanket and his only pillow. “Better settle in before I turn off the lamp. The fire will offer enough light.” He sat the flashlight on the room’s tiny table and flipped the latch on the door. “I’ll leave the flashlight here in case you have to go to the outhouse in the night, but you be sure and turn it off when you get back.”

  “Which bunk do I take?”

  Cooper finished off his coffee. “The one closest to the door. That way if a bear breaks in, he’ll eat you first.”

  Tatum crawled onto the smooth, cowhide-covered slats. “I wouldn’t be more than a few bites, mister. If a bear does break in, he’ll just step over me and go straight for you.”

  Cooper laughed. “Way my luck’s been going, you’re probably right, kid.”

  He studied the child. His clothes hadn’t been washed in at least a week, and they probably had been little more than rags to start with. As soon as his head rested on the pillow, the boy was asleep. Cooper wondered how many days he’d been out here, probably rarely sleeping and never eating. He was miles from a road or any farm. Maybe he’d been riding a horse and gotten lost, but
if that had been true, someone would be out searching, and this was Holloway land. If men were on his ranch hunting for the kid, they’d probably never find the cabin. Cooper’s ranch hands would spot them long before they reached Winter Valley.

  Tomorrow, after breakfast, maybe the boy would explain the mystery. Then Cooper would have to find a way to get him back to civilization quickly, before Cooper lost too many days of peace.

  He stretched out and tried to solve the puzzle.

  There was nothing worth stealing for miles around, so the kid wouldn’t have traveled in with smugglers or thieves. Farther south, an intruder might find Holloway equipment and cattle, but no one could get there without being noticed. No campers would venture onto the ranch by accident.

  “Nothing of value anywhere worth taking,” Cooper whispered. But then a thought sent a chill up his spine.

  Nothing but wild horses.

  His muscles tightened. If someone was after the herd, they’d have to get past him first, and he didn’t plan to make that easy.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  December 13

  TYE FRANKLIN SAT on the bed in his thirty-dollar-a-night hotel room and stared at the envelope the trooper had said was from the Texas Rangers. He never got mail. As far as he knew, he had no living relatives except a pair of old aunts, and he hadn’t checked on them in years. Every time he passed through Amarillo, he stopped by his post-office box to collect all the junk mail. He’d drop off a dozen postcards, too—all addressed to his first boss. At ninety, the old guy had lost his memory. He couldn’t remember who Tye was, but the nurses at the VA said he liked getting the cards.

  In Tye’s grand days, when he was riding high over the rodeo circuit, he’d be asked to endorse a product or make an appearance at some store opening for extra money. But those days were long gone. He hadn’t even had to show up drunk that many times before the word got out. The offers had stopped about the time his luck at the rodeo played its last hand.

  No one ever asked why he drank, but if they had, Tye would have lied. It was no one’s business. Hell, most days he didn’t have enough sense to figure it out himself.