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

by Caroline Lee

  “You’re a Marshall? Really?”

  “Yeah. What did you think?” He had an idea, but wanted to hear her say it.

  “I thought…” She sure was pretty when she blushed. “Well, you showed up—I mean, you looked like—“ She sighed and pulled away from him long enough to wave one hand up and down his chest, as if trying to encompass all of him at once. “What was I supposed to think, Bear? You looked and acted like an outlaw.”

  Had he? Bear snorted, laughing at himself. “Not on purpose. I just couldn’t tell you who I really was, because I couldn’t afford anyone finding out that I was still alive. Or worse, the gang coming after whoever was helping me.” He saw her glance at the dead men by the station, and shudder delicately. “My life is dangerous, Rose Red. Or at least, it was. That’s what I was trying to say, earlier.” He shifted, awkward, and in a flash she’d picked up the cane and pressed it into his hand. It felt good to be able to take his weight off his right leg. “I have to go back to Washington, to report. And…” He swallowed, suddenly not sure how to say what he needed to say. “And to resign. But then…” A deep breath. “Then I’d like to come back here. For you. I’ve been thinking about taking up the law, about judging, like a few of my fellow Marshalls have done when they retired. I’d have to study, and be appointed, but I think it’d be a good fit for me.” Marshalling had been his life for so long, but he figured he could get used to judging, too. “I’m too used to roaming, Rose, to settle down, but I figure that as a circuit judge, I could—“

  “Take me with you.” It wasn’t a question, and it stopped him cold.

  “Rose Red…” Bear had to swallow down his fears, and just get it said. “I know this isn’t how a man usually courts a woman. And I know that it’s Christmas Eve and we’re standing in the snow and my blood’s still pumping because I’m terrified of what could’ve happened to you tonight, but…” A deep breath, and he snagged her cold hand in his free one, trying to put his feelings into words. “But I love you, and I want to give you the chance at a real life, the kind you deserve.”

  Her face had split into a smile that struck him right in the chest. “You mean it, Bear?”

  “U.S. Marshall Barrett Faulkner doesn’t lie, miss. Except when he really, really needs to.”

  “Do you need to, now?”

  “No.” He met her eyes, and smiled back. “No, not about this. I love you, Rose Red, because you’re kind and sweet, and you’ve got an imagination and dreams enough to keep me happy, and I want to make those plans for the future come true.”

  “Then take me with you. You know I want to travel. I’d love to see Washington, and the rest of the country.”

  “But your family? Your friends here?”

  She squeezed his fingers, and he realized how cold she must be, to be out here without a coat. Wrapping his free arm around her, he pulled her snug against him once more. Where she belonged. One of her small hands rose to play with the badge on his chest, and he felt proud, suddenly, to be able to share that with her. “I don’t have any real friends here, Bear. Barrett. No, Bear, still, I think.” She sighed. “I’ve never really belonged. I’ll miss Snow, but she assures me that she’ll get along fine with my mother in my absence. She told me to go off and have the adventures I wanted, so that I could write my books.” Rose met his eyes. “That’s what I want, Bear. To be with you, traveling.”

  “And your mother? You’re willing to leave her?”

  Her smile was a little dry. “Once you meet Mama, you’ll understand how easily I can leave her. She’s going to hate you, you know.” He bristled a little. Sure, he might be wounded, but he’d had an honorable career as a Marshall, and knew that he’d make a good husband. Rose, though, understood, and just patted his chest. “Mama sees what she wants, and none of it’s good. I think that, if you don’t mind me coming with you, I’d like to come back to Everland occasionally to see Snow, but Mama…?” She sighed. “Maybe one day she’ll understand how I could be so happy with you.”

  “And are you?” Why did he feel like a schoolboy again? “Happy with me, I mean.”

  That smile again, the one that knocked him in the chest. She really was a sight, under the moon and the stars, her red hair falling all around her pale face and making him want to kiss her so badly. “Yes. Since the moment I saw you cuddling with my pigs, Bear, I’ve been happier with you than I can remember being.”

  “I never cuddled—”

  “I love you, Bear.”

  He knew, then, that he was going to kiss her. Before he did, though, he had to work out one detail. “Well then, Miss White, the only problem is your name.”

  Those topaz eyes widened, and then blinked. “My name?”

  “Yeah,” he drawled, his own lips curving into a smile. “Rose Red, it’s just silly to have a last name like White.”

  “Oh? Do you have a suggestion?”

  “I was kinda thinking about changing it. To Faulkner.”

  Her smile grew, when she understood what he was asking. “I think I’d like that very much, Bear. Mrs. Rose Faulkner? Yes, I think I could write under that name.”

  He began to chuckle then, and she joined in. With the woman he loved in his arms, Bear knew that their future would be bright. Together. “Happy Christmas, Rose Red.”

  “Happy Christmas, my outlaw Bear.”

  There, under the Christmas Eve sky, with the snow falling gently around them, he kissed her. It was perfect.

  If you’ve enjoyed Rose and Bear’s fairytale romance, I urge you to friend me on Facebook or follow me on Bookbub. I frequently post fun stories, links to great books, and cute animal pictures.

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  Snow

  An Everland Ever After tale, #10

  About this book

  Book #10 in the Everland Ever After series of reimagined fairy tales set in the Old West!

  This Christmas, beauty is more than skin deep!

  For years, Snow has watched her stepmother become more and more deluded. Now that she’s been left alone with the nasty Mrs. White, she’s made the choice to put up with the woman…right up until her stepmother’s new hobby pushes her too far. Coven Cosmetic’s Skin as White as Snow lotion might appeal to other women, but Snow knows it for what it is: her stepmother’s attempt to change Snow, to make her admit her skin color is what defines her.

  Asthmatic Reverend Hunter Woods has arrived in Everland just in time for the holiday, but didn’t expect to meet two little old ladies claiming to be godmothers. He certainly didn’t expect to be hit between the eyes with some kind of magic spell, and on the list of things he’d anticipated in his new home, meeting the woman of his dreams was at the bottom of the list.

  But wandering through his beloved woods, he can’t help but be intrigued by the lace-decorated Christmas tree, the haunting voice lifted in Christmas melody drifting through the trees, and the beautiful, dark-skinned woman who is suspicious of his claim to be there for the healing properties of the waters.

  But the more he sees of Snow White, the more he realizes she has every right to be cautious around him. Her stepmother is an evil woman to try to judge her daughter’s worth by the color of her skin, and despite his holy duty as Christmas approaches, he wishes there was some way he could help. But when disaster strikes, he learns he can do something; when called upon, he’ll give up his very breath for the woman he’s come to love!

  For everyone who has pleaded for a return to Everland. Merry Christmas, my friends!

  Chapter 1

  “Silent night, holy night…All is calm, all is bright…”

  Snow’s voice trailed off, for more than one reason.

  First of all, she knew she didn’t have a lovely singing voice, not like her mother. Since Mama’s death so many years ago, Snow often liked to sing to herself,
just because it made her feel closer to the woman she barely remembered.

  Secondly, Lucinda White, her father’s widow, was in the kitchen brewing up another pot of her potions, and if she heard Snow singing, she’d likely brew up some trouble along with it. Heaven knows the woman couldn’t abide Mama or Snow, which made it ironic the two of them were all each other had left.

  And third, Snow had just come to a particularly difficult piece of tatting.

  The light coming in through the window over her shoulder wasn’t as bright as it should be, but she couldn’t light a lantern without Mrs. White throwing another tantrum. So Snow hunched over her tatting pillow and bit down on her lower lip as she tied off the end of the lace.

  This was a strand she’d started earlier in the year, but the color had been wrong for the christening gown she’d been working on at the time, so it had been set aside until now. She was finishing it off, not because she had another commission—no, she was set to ship off the last of this year’s orders in a few days—but purely for herself.

  For Christmas.

  There.

  She held up the now-finished strand of lace.

  Lovely.

  “Son of God, love’s pure light…”

  Placing her tatting pillow on the ground beside her well-worn chair, Snow stood, humming happily as she folded the lace and tucked it into her pocket. Maybe later today she’d be able to slip away to her tree and place it there.

  “Snow! Are you singing again?”

  The shriek—and it really was a shriek—came from the back of the house. Snow sighed and patted her tignon, making sure the bright red wrap was in place before her stepmother could call again.

  “Snow, get in here!”

  “Coming, mother dearest,” she muttered under her breath, not wanting to give the woman the courtesy of answering so she could hear.

  But still, she moved toward the kitchen door, knowing nothing good would come if she waited.

  Lucinda wasn’t her mother, and was no longer her mistress. In fact, Snow was the one who supported them both, since her sister, Rose, had married and moved away two years ago—at Christmastime.

  Had it really been two full years without her? Two years alone with Lucinda, who was becoming odder and odder, now that she was spending time with that gypsy woman who moved to Everland with Skip King’s new wife?

  Two years? Sometimes it feels like eons.

  She pushed open the kitchen door and stuck her head in. There was no reason to jump at Lucinda’s every shriek, but if she didn’t, the old witch made life miserable with her screaming and nagging.

  “Snow! There you are, you wretched girl! I’ve been calling and calling!”

  Snow hummed noncommittally as she slipped into the room. “I was about to run an errand, but I can—”

  “You can help your mother, you lazy thing. Whatever you have to do is nothing compared to what I require.”

  The older woman was standing at the counter, various bowls and flasks spread out in front of her, as she stirred something viscous and bubbling on the stove. She didn’t look up as she berated Snow, which was a small blessing at least. In the last year or so, Lucinda had gotten significantly…odder.

  She’d always powdered her red hair to make it seem lighter, but now her hair was rarely arranged properly. The skin around her cheeks and forehead looked too-stretched and shiny at times, as if she experimented with her potions on herself, and her eyes were just as likely to be glazed and mindless as they were cruel and snapping.

  Still without looking at Snow, Lucinda stretched out one long finger and sniffed highhandedly. “Now, hand me that crock.”

  Snow looked where she pointed. A crock of honey Snow herself had collected in the autumn sat on the kitchen table, only a few feet from Lucinda.

  She’d really been called in to fetch something so close?

  Stifling her sigh, she crossed the room to reach for the crock. Lucinda was nasty, ungrateful, and full of hate, and Snow had long ago learned the only way to get through life—or a meal—with her, was not to speak. If the older woman heard anything she disagreed with, she didn’t have any trouble screaming her opinion.

  But irritated at being dragged in for such a trivial matter, Snow couldn’t help her sarcastic, “Your majesty,” as she held the crock out with a flourish.

  Lucinda didn’t look up from her pot. “No, no, you fool. Just pour it in!”

  Snow narrowed her eyes at the woman’s back, not at all sure why she couldn’t do it herself. But the sooner she completed this, the sooner she could sneak out.

  So she shrugged and uncorked the honey. “Just dump it in?”

  “A trickle. These potions take finesse, girl.”

  Girl. At least Lucinda had called Rose—her own daughter—by her name. But Snow was only called Snow when Lucinda needed something.

  Which is funny, because she’s the one who named me.

  Alright, maybe not funny.

  Snow stepped up beside the woman who made her life hell, and held her breath as she began to trickle the honey into the bubbling pot. Beside her, Lucinda muttered under her breath, but it certainly didn’t sound English.

  Whatever concoction was in the pot looked innocent enough. It was thick and creamy, a sort of off-white, made even darker by the honey Snow was pouring in while Lucinda stirred. Thick, sludgy bubbles rose to the top and burst lazily, releasing a pleasing floral scent.

  Lucinda continued to mutter under her breath, until suddenly, she hissed, “Clockwise now, you idiot, clockwise!”

  Snow startled, almost dumping in more than a trickle of honey, but when the older woman switched the direction she was stirring, Snow realized she’d been talking to herself.

  Getting odder? No, Lucinda White was going mad.

  Snow wondered if anyone else besides her saw it. Would anyone believe her?

  Who would you tell?

  The town was full of lovely people, but Snow had never really gotten to know any of them. Rose had been her only confidante, until she’d met Zosia Spratt, her best friend. But now Zosia was off attending school, Snow was all alone.

  Maybe you wouldn’t be, if you would at least make an effort.

  Everland, Wyoming was an unusual little town, full of unusual people, but each one of them were kind and caring…except Mrs. White. If Snow truly needed help, she knew she could rely on them.

  But it had always been easier to rely on herself. To keep to herself, to keep her thoughts to herself, and not have to worry about upsetting her not-quite-stepmother any further.

  “There!” Lucinda straightened from her stirring and blinked, as if surprised Snow was still there. “What are you doing, girl? Stop pouring this instant!”

  Snow refused to apologize—she had no idea she wasn’t supposed to continue to trickle, after all—but met the woman’s gaze as she calmly stoppered the crock once more.

  With a disapproving cluck, Lucinda stirred the potion thrice more—clockwise, because apparently, that was important—then whisked the pot from the stove.

  Her back was to Snow as she muttered over the creamy potion, her hands making arcane motions. Despite herself, Snow moved up to her other side, peering into the pot.

  “It smells good,” she offered. “What is it?”

  Lucinda’s eyes narrowed as her glare snapped to Snow. Because she’d been interrupted? Or because of the question?

  Finally, she huffed and reached for two empty jars. “A cream which will reduce the appearance of wrinkles. I’m calling it anti-aging cream, and I think it will be very popular.” She sniffed as she began to dole out small amounts into the jars.

  Snow hummed noncommittally as she picked up one of the empty jars to read the hand-written label.

  Coven Cosmetics Anti-Aging Cream: A new you!

  It was good marketing, she had to admit. And if this one sold as well as Lucinda’s skin-whitening cream, maybe Lucinda would be distracted for a while. Anything was welcome if it resulted in less complainin
g from the wretched woman!

  Even if that anything was witchcraft...?

  Snow shook her head as she carefully replaced the jar on the counter, and began backing away.

  Mama had been born in New Orleans, even if she’d been living on the White Plantation when Snow had been born. She’d been the one to teach her daughter how to tie the tignon, which later caused Mrs. White’s anger over Snow’s “unnatural” hair, and she’d told her daughter more than enough stories about the supernatural things she’d experienced.

  But witchcraft?

  Snow wasn’t sure if that’s what Lucinda was doing. But she’d been spending a lot of time with Madame Vadoma, the gypsy woman who stayed in Everland after her troop moved on. Everyone knew how happy Marina King was to have her grandmother nearby, but some of the women, like Lucinda, had taken it upon themselves to start visiting the woman and learning some tricks.

  Coven Cosmetics?

  How much of that was witchcraft and trickery, and how much was just woodslore, like honey and cream and fresh water?

  She was almost to the door when Lucinda suddenly slammed her spoon on the side of the pot and whirled to face her. “Water! You’re to fetch me more water, girl!”

  The older woman had been working near the stove all morning, and the sweat at her temples was causing the white powder she always used to cover her red hair to cake and drip. Between that, and the slightly crazed look in her eyes, Snow took another step back.

  And maybe she noticed it, because Lucinda shook the spoon in her direction, the lotion splattering. “Water! From the lake, girl! And don’t think to fool me with some stupid stream water, I’ll know the difference! I need the lake’s magical properties, and I need it before I can bottle more of this!”