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

by Caroline Lee

  He felt responsible for her, and he couldn’t abandon her to society. He admired her, but didn’t want her to be left alone. She might’ve wanted to be here, to be launched properly, but she didn’t know what these people could be like. How they cared for what was pretty, what was perfect. Someone like Serena would be adored, but not Annie. He took a deep breath, knowing he wasn’t being fair. Annie was strong and smart and brave. If the New York matrons had any sense, they’d recognize her for what she was, and she’d be adored too. But Reggie didn’t trust them to be able to see the truth of her perfection.

  He’d have to spend his days protecting her from them, and he was a little surprised to discover that he was looking forward to the opportunity.

  Chapter 3

  It had been a hard day. Annie rubbed the small of her back, and scoffed quietly at herself. She’d been raised on horseback; up before dawn, training and caring for her colts and helping Ash and Nate. Once they’d realized that she wasn’t going to sit by quietly and let them have all the fun, they let her help… and that was the only opening she needed to worm her way into the daily running of the ranch. There’d been days when they hadn’t sat down more than twice all day, and her jeans and boots had been filthy.

  And yet, today had been harder, if less physically taxing. Her back ached from forcing herself to sit up straight all afternoon. Her eyes hurt from trying to follow the conversations that had flashed back and forth in front of her. Her fingers hurt from griping them so hard, trying to keep from making signs no one would recognize. Her head hurt from the pitying glances Mrs. Singleton and her daughters had flashed at her when they didn’t think that she could see. She was deaf, darn it. Not blind.

  And her heart hurt because Reggie had deserted her. Apparently, there’d been a fire in the warehouse district, and when three dozen casualties showed up at his clinic, they’d sent for him in the early morning hours. Mrs. Carderock had been livid when Hodgkins had told her that he’d be gone all day, and even more so when the note she’d sent him had been returned unopened. Annie tried not to feel abandoned, knowing that the work he was doing was more important than… than, well, anything that she’d ever done, and anything that she could possibly imagine doing.

  But that didn’t stop her from feeling just a little bit abandoned, when she’d realized that he wasn’t coming along to the Singletons’. Maybe it was just her being over-sensitive, and comparing him to some ideal of a man who wouldn’t ever leave her behind, who wanted to spend time with her. Maybe it was unfair to expect him to like her enough to not abandon her to his friends, when the history they shared was so minimal. Maybe it was because he was the only one here who’d spent any time in Cheyenne. He’d only come out to the ranch twice, preferring instead to join in his brother’s social events in the city, but he was still—in some small way—a part of her past. He was the only one here who knew who she really was.

  Who she used to be.

  That realization had been depressing, knowing that she’d had to change so much of herself to fit in, so she’d sat down to write her sister a long letter. Wendy and Serena had promised to share the letters she’d sent, so she’d only have to write once, but Annie wanted—needed—that special connection sisters shared. She wanted Wendy to know that she was safe, and happy, and enjoying everything that New York society had to offer. Or at least pretending to.

  While she knew that her older sister didn’t have much use for the “high society” that had shunned her in St. Louis, Annie didn’t want Wendy to worry. No matter what happened in Wendy’s past, Annie couldn’t afford anything to worry her. Not when she was so close to carrying this baby to term. Her other pregnancies had ended in heartbreak, and more than anything, Annie wanted to meet this niece or nephew.

  It had been cathartic, pouring out her feelings in the letter. Despite her aches, Annie had gone downstairs to give it to the housekeeper to post first thing tomorrow morning. She was heading back up the grand curved staircase, wondering what her family was doing at that moment, when the front door opened.

  It was him. Reggie didn’t see her at first, he was so busy stamping the snow off of his shoes and pulling his overcoat off. The butler hurried forward to take the wet outerwear, and Annie pressed herself against the wallpaper, hoping Reggie wouldn’t notice her staring at him.

  He looked… tired. Exhausted, really. His hair was wild, as if he’d been pulling at it. She could see the darkness around his eyes, and wondered if he’d bothered to eat anything today.

  Guilt settled into the pit of her stomach, seeing him like this. He’d been on his feet since last night, saving lives, and she’d begrudged him that. She’d felt abandoned, just because she had to negotiate a fancy tea without him. Like he was necessary to her, and not to those poor people.

  He looked up and met her eyes, and maybe he saw something in her expression, because he started up the staircase towards her. He halted two steps down, so that they were eye level, and Annie had to stop herself from reaching up to brush the hair off his brow. Up close he looked even more drained, but she could still catch the gentle whiff of sandalwood that followed him around. It was hard to remember not to lean towards him, to breathe him in.

  They stood like that for a minute or three or ten. She wondered what he was thinking. She wondered what she was thinking. Her mind was almost as mushy as porridge around him, it seemed, which wasn’t good for someone who had to think about every word out of her mouth.

  And then he smiled crookedly, revealing the little gap between his teeth and that adorable dimple, and her mind turned to complete mush.

  “I was worried about you today, Annie.”

  She smiled shyly, and his words caught up with her brain. Wait. He’d been worried? Why had he been worried? He was the one doing grand things. She’d just been sitting in a parlor fancier than anything she’d ever seen, trying desperately to answer politely whenever some perfect miss tried to speak to her.

  “Why were you worried?” Darn. Her expression must’ve given something of her self-doubt away, because his smile faltered.

  “I… the ladies at those sorts of events…” He looked flustered, and broke eye contact with her, running his hand through his hair. She resisted the urge to sign to him, to tell him to stop it, to look at her and answer her question, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t because she’d had to put her sign behind her. Now she had to think every sentence through carefully before uttering it.

  He took a deep breath and tried again. “They are the sort of people who prize perfection, Annie. I was worried you would be hurt.”

  “Because I don’t speak perfectly?” He winced, but she couldn’t tell if it was because she’d mispronounced something, or because her question had hit close to the truth.

  “That’s not it…” His use of a contraction told her he wasn’t paying attention. He was thinking about lying to her.

  “Yes. I am not good enough. I cannot speak perfectly.”

  Even after everything she’d done, every part of her that she’d given up, she still wasn’t perfect. She would never fit in.

  And when he met her gaze again, damn him, she saw the pity in his chocolate eyes. Pity? He pitied her for trying to fit in? Annie felt like she’d been slapped. There’d been pity in the expressions of the ladies today at the Singletons’ tea, but none of them hurt nearly as much as knowing he pitied her.

  Her shoulders straightened instinctively, and she managed to ignore the pull in her lower back the movement caused. She didn’t need his pity. “But Wednesday is the musicale. If you come, perhaps you can make sure that I am good enough for the ladies at these events.” Although it was becoming obvious—after only a day in New York—that she’d never been good enough for them. For him.

  “I…”

  She wasn’t sure what he was going to say. Couldn’t ever be sure, because—damn her this time!—his beautiful lips were blurring as her eyes clouded with tears. So she groped for the banister, and turned up towards her room. “Good
night, Reggie.”

  Chapter 4

  Yesterday had been one of the worst days of his life. Reggie groaned and pulled the pillow back over his head, not wanting to see the noon sun that was piercing through the curtains. He’d spent his life in this room, but there was so little of him here. Even the pillows and the curtains had been chosen by his mother, years ago, to fit some ideal of “beauty.” No, his life was at the clinic, as far as he was concerned. He only came to this room to sleep, which he finally had, well after dark yesterday.

  They’d lost twelve men. Four had died on their way to the clinic, and most of the others succumbed to their wounds while waiting for him and the other doctors to see them. Two had actually died on his operating table, and that had been—he squeezed his eyes tighter—it was always bad. To be concentrating so intently on a wound that the nurse had to tell him his patient was dead. Cursing, he threw the pillow across the room, not wanting to think about those men.

  Think instead of the twenty men who had lived, who would go home to their families for Christmas. Who hopefully had survived the night, thanks to him and the other doctors and their ability to identify who had the best chances of success and prioritize their care. Twenty families, who would be grateful to him and the clinic.

  And then to stumble home, too tired to think straight, and be met by her. Annie had been beautiful and poised and hurt badly by him, although he wasn’t sure how. The look of pain in her eyes—the way her expression had fallen when he’d expressed his concerns—had been almost as bad as losing those men. Despite his exhaustion, he hadn’t been able to forget the look in her eyes—the look he put there—and had ended the night in his father’s study, drinking his brandy.

  It hadn’t helped, but exhaustion eventually won out. And now he was going to have to drag himself out of bed and back to the clinic. Reggie sighed, and began his day considerably later than usual. One of the servants—probably Mrs. Smalls—had brought in a cold tray sometime during the morning, and he munched from that while he got dressed, wondering if Annie was already off shopping with his mother. Wondering if she’d forgiven him for whatever he’d said… or hadn’t said.

  Reggie worked late at the clinic again, and then ate dinner alone at a little cafe on the way home. They knew him there, and as he picked at his mashed potatoes, he questioned what it said about him, that he’d eaten so many of his meals alone here. He knew that he was avoiding seeing his mother and Annie, and didn’t like the way it made him feel even guiltier. Yesterday he’d missed the tea that his mother had specifically instructed him to attend, but he felt worse about abandoning Annie. And then, when he’d seen her last night, he hadn’t even bothered to ask her how the tea had gone. Maybe she’d loved it… but judging from the way her shoulders had slumped and the circles under her eyes, it’d been a hard day for her, too.

  He avoided her the following day as well, heading back to the clinic early. But his mother had left a note that his attendance at the Tillworths’ musicale that evening wasn’t optional, so he finished up with his patients early that day to head home. Luckily, nothing major had come up, and everyone was healing nicely. They’d gotten word from Mr. Gudowicz that his wife figured she was going to birth their fifth any day now, and Reggie reminded himself to stop by to check on her, since this was a dangerous pregnancy. But not tonight; he couldn’t risk irritating his mother further. While she didn’t have the ability to make his life completely miserable anymore, he did his best not to disappoint her more than once a week. And it was Christmastime, and the Tillworths’ musicale was a tradition.

  So he was home, dressed in a black dinner jacket—his childhood friend Gris Lorillard had started calling it a “tuxedo” and it looked like the name had stuck—and lounging in the parlor when his parents finally joined him. His father nodded benevolently, as if he never doubted his youngest son’s attendance, but Reggie didn’t like his mother’s viper smile.

  “I’m so glad that you could join us, Reginald.”

  Reggie sighed, and stood to kiss her cheek, knowing that she didn’t hold a grudge as long as she liked to pretend. “I’m sorry, Mother. We had an accident—”

  “I know, dear.” Of course she did. “I just hate to change plans.”

  “Did you and Tori have a good time shopping with Annie?” It was as close as he could come to asking how their young guest was doing. He knew that if he asked outright, his shrewd mother would make more of his interest than there actually was. Which was complete nonsense. Surely, he admired the girl. Appreciated her independence, certainly, but that was it.

  …Wasn’t it?

  “Your sister and I enjoyed ourselves, but it was hard to tell with her, dear. Two days of shopping at the finest establishments the city has to offer? I assumed that a farm girl like her would be thrilled. And she was polite enough, I suppose, and thanked us. She even smiled. But she seemed… like she wasn’t sure if she wanted to be there.”

  Father patted her hand and crossed to the front window. “She’s deaf, Marjorie. She probably didn’t know what was going on.”

  Reggie found himself bristling at that. “She’s deaf, Father, not dumb.” She wasn’t stupid or mute; she understood what was happening around her. “She was probably just tired from the journey.”

  When his mother smiled, he didn’t like the knowing glint he saw in her eyes. “Yes, dear.” And then she patted his cheek like he was a schoolboy, and he scowled at her. He’d known that she’d assume his defense of Annie meant more than it did.

  But when she stepped into the room, he forgot about pretending he wasn’t interested in her. Annie was… beautiful. Poised and coifed and perfect in her unpretentiousness.

  Reggie hadn’t known that he’d stepped around his mother until he realized that he was reaching towards their young guest, and forced his arm to drop back by his side. She was dressed in a simple, off-the-shoulder gown in a blue that made her eyes shine and put the sky to shame. Her hair was piled on top of her head in a mass of artful curls, and somehow they’d gotten some of it to poof up in the front like all the ladies were doing these days. The only jewelry she wore was a single tear-drop pearl hanging low enough on her chest that Reggie’s gaze was naturally drawn to her décolletage. He frowned slightly, thinking of men’s eyes on her. Other men’s eyes.

  But when he glanced back up at her face, and saw the way she was biting her lower lip, he forced a smile for her sake. And it worked; she slowly, shyly, offered a smile in return. Had she forgiven him, then, for however he’d hurt her? He couldn’t tell, and didn’t want to give Annie the chance to remember that she was irritated with him.

  Ignoring his parents, he crossed the room to offer her his arm. When she hesitated, and met his eyes, Reggie made sure that some of his admiration spilled into his smile. “You look lovely, Annie.”

  He watched her flush slightly, and dip her chin down, as if she wanted to look away. Was she uncomfortable with the compliment? Did she think that he was just being polite by offering it? He wasn’t; she really was lovely. Now that he thought about it; the loveliest young woman he’d seen in a long time. So he raised his brows in silent question, and watched her swallow, as if girding herself. Then she placed her small hand on his arm. He could feel the warmth of her through her gloves and his jacket, and his body reacted.

  He hid his surprise by turning her towards the foyer, where Hodgkins waited with the ladies’ wraps. While he helped Annie into a thick fur stole, he analyzed his body’s reaction to her nearness, her scent. He was a doctor; he’d been through school and years of practicing medicine. He was used to the human body and its oddities. But ultimately, it was controlled by the brain. Had to be controlled by the brain, at least on some level.

  By the time they arrived at the Tillworths’ home, having sat beside Annie in the carriage for the ride, Reggie had to admit the truth; his brain was controlling his body, his feelings. Reggie gave up pretending that he wasn’t attracted by his brother’s fascinating, breathtaking student.

>   Oh yes, he was very interested in Miss Annie Murray.

  Which is why he made sure to sit beside her at the musicale, ignoring his mother’s mutterings about propriety and society. Who cared what all these stuffy old bats thought? Annie was in a strange place, surrounded by strange people, and she needed him. He wasn’t about to abandon her again.

  The large parlor was beautifully decorated for the season, as always. There were two huge trees standing on either side of the piano, each bedecked in silver and white strands of crystal. There were red flowering plants throughout, and the air was thick with the smell of pine and berry. Reggie watched Annie’s eyes as she took it all in, and smiled when she smiled.

  He nudged her, and pointed out the miniature crèche scene on one of the sideboards, and she made a little sound of delight that he found charming in its sincerity. Then she turned that smile on him, and his throat went dry. She wasn’t looking at him like she needed him, like he was her hero… she was looking at him as an equal, a friend. Someone with whom she could share confidences.

  And he liked it.

  “I like the garlands.” It was becoming easier to understand her slow, thick way of speaking. He liked that she could communicate with him, but it didn’t sound quite right. Like she was pretending with her voice to be something she wasn’t.

  So he pulled out his notebook, and loved the way her eyes lit up in pleased surprise, like they had the other day in the carriage.

  Does it look like your home?

  Eagerly, she took the pencil from him, and leaning slightly towards him, scribbled on the paper right below his words: Nothing like it. Our home is simple. The notebook was still on this thigh, and he could feel her hand pressing against his trousers as she wrote. Beautiful at Christmas. Smells delicious. He saw her smile. But I’ve celebrated with your brother & Serena. This is similar.