Caroline Lee's Christmas Collection: Six sweet historical western romances

by Caroline Lee

  Molly Murray was impressed by Cheyenne, despite the trepidation she’d felt knowing it was named after a bunch of savage Indians. At least, she assumed they’d be savages. That was all they ever heard about back them in Chicago; how savage the natives were, and how they needed to be civilized and cultured. Why, her parents had often donated money to missionaries intent on spreading the Gospel to the heathens.

  But here was a bustling city—not on par with Chicago, of course—named after the Cheyenne. She sighed, and suspected that was one more stereotype she was going to have to rethink when she settled out here. Lord knew that her personal comfort levels had been breached many times on this trip, and she was coming to realize just how little she knew about life outside of her own little world. But she was a fast learner, and anyone who could make it through a childhood of disillusionment, the Great Chicago Fire, and this horrible trip west could survive—thrive!—here in Cheyenne.

  And she would, by God. She had no other choice. She’d originally considered continuing on to Salt Lake City, but the girls only had another two weeks on their lease, and she needed to get them out here with her as soon as possible. Whether or not they all continued to Utah Territory in the spring was a decision that could wait; for now she needed to find work and bring her sisters to this city.

  She had left them over two months ago, heading across Illinois and then Iowa, looking for work. Oh, there was plenty of work to be had, and plenty of vulgar propositions, but nothing that a well-bred young woman would ever consider. When she reached Omaha, she thought she’d found a budding town that would welcome them, but quickly learned that all “job offers” came with a tawdry price she was unwilling to pay. She was beginning to despair ever finding a place to call home, knowing that most establishments wouldn’t hire a single woman to cook, when she’d heard about the larger towns in the west. Why, Cheyenne could even be considered a city! Somewhere in this maze of buildings there had to be one place—a hotel, possibly, or maybe even a restaurant—that would give her the chance to show them her skills in the kitchen.

  She hefted her valise, containing her immediate necessities and all of her treasured spices and mixes, and couldn’t help the smile that flitted across her face.

  Here she was, all the way out west in Cheyenne, and she’d make a home for herself and her sisters, at least until the spring. Come hell or high water.

  An angry voice from inside the train depot gained her attention. “What do you mean, there’s no stock car? There’s always a stock car on this run. How am I supposed to get my horse to Salt Lake?” She didn’t hear the response, the voice rose in volume. “Sell him? Are you nuts? Don’t answer that. When’s the next train with a stock car?” A pause, and then “Oh, I don’t care, anywhere.”

  Molly turned towards the door, thinking to arrange to have her trunk left here at the station until she could find lodging. She was trying to distract herself and block out the one-sided argument, but the offended party almost knocked her down when he strode out to depot’s front porch.

  He caught her upper arms to keep her from falling, and her reprimand died on her lips. Why, he wasn’t any older than Wendy! A boy, really, with beautiful hazel eyes and longish black hair… her breath caught in her throat. Perhaps it was because she’d just been thinking about the Cheyenne Indians, and that’s why her brain leapt to conclusions, but the boy looked for all the world the way she’d imagined an Indian, only dressed in a warm jacket and jeans, rather than buckskins.

  He misinterpreted her gasp, and quickly dropped his hands. His gaze turned wary; “Sorry, ma’am.”

  Molly forced her gaze away, and made a show of straightening her sleeves. “No harm done at all!” Her smile, when she glanced back at him, was genuine, and she couldn’t help the burst of curiosity. “Thank you for catching me, in fact.”

  His eyes narrowed slightly, as if he was suspicious of her politeness. His voice, which had been raised in a shout just moments ago, was little more than a mumble now. “Shouldn’t have been in such a hurry.”

  “Well, that’s true.” Her teasing surprised him, judging from his quick smile. “I couldn’t help but overhear that your travel plans have been interrupted, because there’s no place for your horse on the train?”

  He nodded, and shrugged. “I’ll ride on until I find a train with a stock car, or until I find a town I like enough to stay.”

  She smiled, trying to draw him out. “I was in the exact same situation, but I’ve been very pleased with what I’ve heard and seen of Cheyenne, and I think that this is a town in which I’d like to settle. Is there nothing here that draws you?”

  Was that a flush creeping up his neck? It was hard to tell, with his tanned skin. “Plenty here I want to get away from, I guess.”

  Oh dear. Molly stopped herself from sighing. He was in some sort of trouble, and anxious to leave the city. Suddenly, his willingness to take any train in any direction made sense. She wanted to know what sort of trouble could follow such a polite young man, but didn’t know how to ask. Instead, she shifted her valise to her left hand, and stuck out her right. “I’m Molly Murray, lately of Chicago.”

  He hesitated before putting his hand in hers. “Nate Barker.”

  Unwilling to break contact, she leaned in, and he had no choice but to join her, with her pulling on his hand the way she was. Her voice was low, but her interest genuine, when she said, “I know this is presumptuous, Mr. Barker, and I’m sorry, but…” She swallowed, but before she could lose her nerve, “are you an Indian?”

  He straightened suddenly, pulling his hand from hers. The anger was back in his eyes, and she was sorry she’d offended him. She supposed it had been a rude question, and she shouldn’t have asked it. “I’m sorry.” When his gaze didn’t thaw, she bit her lower lip and looked away. “I’m sorry, that was rude, and I shouldn’t have asked. It’s just… well… It’s so exciting, to be here.” She turned towards the bustling street, with its horse and wagon traffic, so unlike Chicago. “I was wondering about the name of this town, and then you showed up, and I’ve never seen an Indian, and I thought maybe you could tell me about it. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

  She peeked over at him, when he joined her at the rail, hands shoved deep in his pockets. He was tall, but she could still stand eye-to-eye with him. He wasn’t looking at her, but at the handsome chestnut stallion hitched to the rail below. She could see the mulish tilt of his chin, and the shock of black hair under the hat he’d donned.

  Finally he sighed. “It’s fine. Just not something you ask a man, usually.” Molly hid her smile. A ‘man’, indeed. “Out here, having Indian blood’s nothing to be proud of, you know? So if you look like me, people just assume the worst.” He was quiet for a long moment, and Molly wondered if she should apologize for ‘assuming the worst’ again. But his voice was low when he admitted, “And they’re right about me.”

  Her brows shot up. Oh! He was an Indian! She turned to him, excited, “Why, that’s so interesting! Can you tell me about—”

  He shook his head to cut her off. “No ma’am, I’m sorry. My mother was a half-breed, and I was born a bastard.” He obviously thought to shock her, but she didn’t let anything other than polite interest show on her face. “I get all the prejudice and hate, but don’t know anything about the Indians in these parts. Or any parts.”

  Well. How was one supposed to respond to that? “I’m sorry.”

  He shrugged, his nonchalance not quite believable. “No big deal, I stay out of town as much as possible, and no one bothers—” His gaze was suddenly arrested by something down the street. She couldn’t tell where he was looking, but she could feel his alertness. “Aww, hell.” He turned to her, tipped his hat, and muttered “Nice meeting you, ma’am” as he brushed past to hurry down the steps to his horse.

  A roar stopped him. Striding down the street was the largest man Molly had ever seen, even at this distance. His jacket stretched across shoulders impossibly wide, and his legs were well-muscled. He ha
d a thick beard that covered all but his eyes, but she could see them in the shadow of the ubiquitous brimmed hat everyone seemed to wear out here. He wasn’t wearing any guns, like she’d heard some men did, but he didn’t look like he’d need any. One arm was tucked tightly against his side, but the other was fisted, and he looked angry enough to do some damage.

  Oh Lord, he was coming this way. Nate sighed, and stepped into the center of the road. The few pedestrians hurried to get out from between them, and Molly was struck with the oddest sensation that she was watching some sort of showdown. Was this the trouble Nate was running from?

  Then her suspicions were confirmed. The giant rocked to a stop, and roared again, loudly enough that even she flinched. “Nathanial Barker! I’m going to beat you black and blue!”

  And suddenly she was too angry to be frightened of this monster. How dare he threaten such a sweet boy? Certainly, she didn’t know the entire story behind this trouble, but even if it was the worst possible, there was no need to threaten such extreme violence. For goodness’ sakes, Nate wouldn’t be able to stand up to even one of the giant’s blows, and here he was being intimidated with more than that!

  Incensed on Nate’s behalf, she dropped her bag, hitched up her skirts, and hurried down the stairs. Nate had just opened his mouth to call back, when she moved to stand in front of him.

  She put as much authority into her voice and bearing as possible, refusing to let this monster see how she was quaking. “Shame on you, sir! Bullying a young man like this!”

  The giant didn’t respond, didn’t move, but she heard Nate sigh behind her. “Mrs. Murray—”

  “It’s ‘Miss’, actually.” She didn’t know why she was bothering to whisper back, at a time when any moment the brute in front of them could choose to end their lives, but it seemed important.

  “Fine, Miss Murray. This really isn’t something—”

  “You about done hiding behind a woman’s skirts, kid?” This roar was less powerful; she could hear the smile in the brute’s voice and could feel Nate bristling behind her. He touched her once, on her elbow. “’Scuse me, ma’am,” as he stepped around her.

  And then to her surprise, he started walking towards the giant! She held up a hand to stop him, but then shut her mouth thoughtfully. Molly had always known what was best, and right, but here in Cheyenne there might be other rules. This was a whole new world, and she was the newcomer. She didn’t know what was normal, or what was right.

  When Nate stopped a few feet from the giant, Molly wished she could hear what was being said. There were one or two exchanges, and then the brute’s free arm shot out and grabbed Nate by the front of his jacket. Before she could shout a warning, he had pulled the boy towards him, their noses only inches apart, and he was punctuating his low tirade with shakes. Nate was just standing there, being yelled at.

  Molly was appalled that her instincts had been right, that this man wanted to do harm to Nate. She picked up her skirts to hurry down the street packed with muddy snow, not sure what she would do when she reached the pair. But then, suddenly, the rules changed again.

  The stranger dropped his hold on Nate’s jacket, and instead pulled the boy into as fierce a hug as Molly had ever seen. The boy stood stiffly for a long moment, and then wrapped his arms around the giant.

  And there they stood, in the sludge of the Cheyenne streets, hugging. Molly, still holding her skirts out of the snow, slowly walked back towards the depot, glancing back often. She’d learned an important lesson within her first moments in Cheyenne: things weren’t always what they seemed.

  She wished she could say goodbye to Nate, but she’d embarrassed herself enough for one afternoon. Instead, she turned her attention to arranging transport for her trunks to a suitably inexpensive hotel, and finding the job that would keep her and her sisters from starving.

  Chapter 2

  She was feeling optimistic the next morning. She’d been able to find a hotel that seemed respectable enough, while not so expensive as to deplete her funds. She’d be able to stay here for a few days, while she found a boarding house for her and the girls. Now the challenge was going to be to find someplace that would hire an unmarried woman as a cook, or preferably a baker.

  As such, she was wearing one of her nicer dresses, a gray wool with matching jacket that always made her feel more elegant than she really was. Molly was striding determinedly for the front door when she was stopped by a familiar voice calling her name.

  There, tucked in one of the alcoves at a table set for two, sat Nate and the giant. The boy looked none the worse for wear after yesterday’s ordeal, and in fact had a grin on his face. After making sure he was hale and hearty, her gaze swept to his companion.

  Had she thought him big before? Up close, he was tremendous! They’d both stood up when she joined them, and Molly had to tilt her head back to look into his eyes. She was tall enough that most men stood eye-to-eye with her, but this… this brute was half a head taller still. Without his hat, she could see that he had the same dark hair as Nate, but the similarities ended there. His face was covered in a thick, bushy beard that hid everything but a set of remarkably soft gray eyes. They seemed almost… gentle, which didn’t match the breadth of those shoulders barely encased in a plaid blue shirt. His left arm was in a sling, but he’d seemed to be managing his steak and eggs well enough when she’d arrived.

  She knew her acknowledging nod to him was wary, but she couldn’t help it. She was embarrassed by her foolish actions yesterday, but still didn’t understand what had happened.

  Nate seemed to sense her confusion. “Miss Murray, this is my brother, Ash Barker. He owns a spread out of town about a half-day’s ride. He’s been working it since before Cheyenne was even here.”

  His brother? Well, she supposed that answered that question. Whatever Nate had done to anger Mr. Barker didn’t mean the man didn’t still love the boy, which explained the yelling and the hug. Lord knew she’d been tempted to scream and shake Wendy more than once when the silly girl burned dinner yet again, but that didn’t mean she didn’t love her sister.

  She sighed, embarrassed further at the knowledge that Nate had never been in any real danger from this man, and stuck her hand out for a shake, prepared for a bone-crushing grip. But his hand was surprisingly warm and gentle when it cupped hers, and his face remained impassive. He really was intimidating, wasn’t he?

  “Molly Murray, Mr. Barker. I’m sorry for my presumption yesterday.” She knew she was blushing in embarrassment, but forced herself to apologize anyhow.

  “Call me Ash, please.” And then, with the suddenness of a summer storm, a flash of white teeth among that beard. “I appreciated you looking out for the kid.”

  Oh my. That smile was… Well, Molly felt herself getting warm. Mr. Barker’s—Ash’s smile was remarkable; it made him less intimidating, much more approachable. And entirely too handsome by half. Molly had never allowed herself to notice how attractive a man may or may not be, determined to remain focused on her goal of supporting her sisters… and if she had noticed anyone, it certainly wouldn’t have been a man so large and hairy and daunting. But that smile was definitely noticeable, even though it’d been there and gone in a flash. It made him… well, it made him downright handsome.

  She thought she might have nodded, and he politely continued. “And what brings you to Cheyenne, Miss Murray?”

  His voice was low, and made her want to shiver. She told herself to quit being a ninny, lifted her chin, and forced herself to focus on what he was saying. “I’m looking for a job. I don’t suppose you know of anyone who is looking to hire a cook, or possibly a baker? Any restaurants or bakeshops?” She couldn’t help the hopeful twinge in her voice.

  Ash looked over at Nate, who shook his head. Turning back to her, he said in that deliciously low voice, “No ma’am, sorry. But then, we don’t come into town much more than once a month, so we wouldn’t know about any openings. I’m sure you’ll find what you need, though.” He flas
hed that smile again, and Molly’s eyes went wide. Heavens, he was disarmingly attractive when he did that.

  And so she was a little rattled when she nodded distractedly and extracted herself from their company as quickly as possible. It was her first day in her new hometown. She needed all of her wits about her to find a job to sustain them through the winter. She certainly didn’t need to be distracted by the memory of Nate’s brother’s flustering smile.

  Still, she was grinning as she stepped out onto the sidewalk and adjusted her hat, determined to find her place in this bustling town.

  By late that afternoon, however, her optimism had dwindled. It seemed that there was just a limited number of options available to a young, unmarried woman, even here in such a large town. Why, some of the people she’d inquired had even suggested that she apply at one of the local whorehouses! She was utterly appalled, but had run into that attitude in Omaha and North Platte. She’d hoped, however, that because Cheyenne was larger, there would be more opportunities. She’d give it another day or so of looking, but she was becoming disheartened.

  Why was it so difficult for people—men, especially—to employ a young woman? There were women her age who worked as maids in grand households, and she was even willing to take such a job, if she could find it. But what she really wanted was to be employed as a cook.

  She loved to cook, to bake especially. Cookery was like a big puzzle, and each way she figured out to combine ingredients resulted in new and interesting meals. Her mother had been an amazing cook, and had taught Molly well, even before her remarriage to a baker. Miles Murray had accepted both mother and daughter, and they helped him build his bake shop into a grand success. When Molly had been nine, her mother gave birth to Wendy, and Molly had finally had the little sister she’d coveted.

  The four of them had been happy enough; they worked hard, even little Wendy, to make Papa’s shop successful. It had been the happiest years of Molly’s young life, working beside her stepfather, learning new ways to create delicate morsels of sugary heaven and thick, heavy rolls and everything in between. She’d often wondered if she’d only thrown herself into his interests to gain his attention, but she’d quickly come to appreciate her own talent and love of baking.