Wild West Christmas: A Family for the RancherDance with a CowboyChristmas in Smoke River

by Jenna Kernan

  The engineer’s eyes went round, the fireman dropped his shovel and the conductor began to choke. Apparently they all knew Mr. John W. Pinter, or at least they knew his name.

  “Boys,” said the engineer, “if anything happens to that little lady, we’re all fired.”

  The fireman lifted his shovel and Dillen struck him on the head with the butt end of his pistol, hard enough to send him staggering back as he dropped the coal shovel in favor of clutching his head.

  “Stop!” shouted Alice.

  All three men and one weary horse turned their attention to her.

  “I would like to speak to Mr. Roach in private, please. I’m sure my grandfather will be very grateful for your consideration.”

  “But he’s armed,” said the conductor.

  She turned to Dillen. “Put it away.”

  He did.

  “Now follow me.” Alice made her way along the track, stopping before the cowcatcher of the enormous snorting iron horse. Both Dillen and Dasher trailed her.

  “I’m sorry about last night,” he said.

  Not half as sorry as she was. “You made your regret fairly obvious, Mr. Roach.” Alice lifted her stubborn chin and stared past him to the rivets securing the front panel of the engine.

  “And I’m sorry I left you last night and that I left you in Omaha.”

  Alice met his gaze, seeing her own grief reflected back at her. Snow accumulated on the wide brim of his worn, stained hat and filled the notch in the crown. She wanted to tell him that he did not need to stop a train to tell her he found her lacking and unsuitable as both wife and mother. Instead she said nothing, using all her energy not to weep in front of him.

  Dillen rubbed his neck. “I always figured you’d be better off without hitching yourself to my sorry carcass. I’ve accepted that I’m not ever going to be able to make the kind of money your granddad has.”

  “I never expected you to.”

  “You still don’t understand.”

  Alice brushed the snow that clung, sticky and wet, to the lace veil of her wool hat. “I’m trying, but, Dillen, if you love me, why let me go again?”

  “Alice, why can’t you see? You want me to accept your help.”

  “Yes!”

  “But you never needed mine.”

  “What?”

  “I didn’t just leave because of the money.”

  Why, then? Her stomach heaved at the possibilities, and she clasped both hands across her middle, forbidding herself the humiliation of being unwell before him.

  “Oh, Alice, how do I make you understand? If you’d ever come to me ragged or needy, just once... If there was one single thing I could give you that you didn’t already have... But there’s nothing I’ve got that you need.”

  She stared in horror for a moment.

  “I want you. But I need a woman who needs me, too.”

  Alice realized that this entire time all he wanted, all he needed, was the same thing that she did—to be essential to him.

  “But you have everything I need in this world.”

  His face showed disbelief, for what could he have that she could not buy?

  “I need you to give me a home to call our own. I need you to give me love in the long cold nights. And I need you to give me children to adore. I don’t want an empty palace. I don’t want things. I’m sick to death of things. All I need in this world, Dillen Roach, is your arms around me and the love in your heart.”

  Dillen stared at her in wonder. Her heart hammered as she waited for him to speak or to act. Was it enough? But for a long moment he just stood as the snow drifted silently down upon them from above. Then he opened his arms to her. Alice stepped forward happily.

  “I can give you those things.”

  She nodded, her tears wetting his sheepskin jacket. “And I’ll take them all, gladly.”

  “I love you, Alice. Please don’t go.”

  “Never,” she whispered.

  Alice closed her eyes as the sorrow melted from her heart with the snow on her cheeks until she felt only the warmth of his embrace and the joy welling inside her like a hot spring.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Alice had taken note of the names of the engineer and his fellows before she departed with Dillen, riding double on Dasher. Had she really tried to throw away her grandmother’s cameo brooch in Mrs. Pellet’s home? Yes, she had, because all this time she thought it was those things, those wretched, glittering alluring things that had kept Dillen from her these two long years, when all the time it had been her inability to let Dillen help her. The need to be needed. We all have it. Why hadn’t she seen that her armor of wealth had made him think he wasn’t fundamental to her happiness?

  Dillen stopped at Mrs. Pellet’s home to pick up the boys. Alice longed to linger in the cheerful parlor. It was already festooned with evergreen swag and garlands accented with bright red bows. Beside the window was a Christmas tree that stood ready for the woman of the house to decorate after her children were tucked safely into their beds. The boys rushed to Alice in welcome, and their exuberance filled her heart to brimming.

  Mrs. Pellet ushered out her family and drew closed the two pocket doors, leaving Alice and Dillen with Cody and Colin. Dillen did most of the talking, explaining to the boys that he planned to marry Alice and that they would be a family from here on out.

  “What do we call you?” Cody asked Alice, ever the practical one.

  “Well, I am not going to try to replace your mother. She was my dearest friend and I loved her very much. So I will understand if you wish to continue to call me Alice. If you ever wish to refer to me as your mother, I would be honored.”

  Dillen glanced at Colin. “You have any questions, little man?”

  “Where will we live?”

  Dillen took that one. “We’ll stay in the ranch house until the thaw.” He glanced toward Alice. “After that we’ll be looking for a spread of our own.”

  The snow was now falling so heavily that Dillen rented a sleigh from the livery, leaving Dasher safe and snug in a stall. They arranged to return for the sleigh after they completed their business.

  The first was the telegraph office, where Dillen sent a message to Alice’s father asking for his daughter’s hand. Alice was fearful that her father would not recall Dillen or would deny his request because her mother did recall him.

  Dillen took them to dinner while they waited, and the reply arrived as the boys were finishing their pumpkin pie. Cody, at least, seemed to sense the importance of this moment, for he lowered his fork and watched Dillen with anxious eyes.

  Alice laced her fingers together beneath the white tablecloth and prayed as Dillen scanned the message and then grinned. The breath left her and her head dipped for a moment as she sagged with relief.

  “Read it, Uncle Dillen,” demanded Cody.

  “‘Permission granted. Stop. Take good care of my precious girl. Stop. Will inform Mother of your plans. Stop. Fremont Truett.’”

  “Guess we’d better go find a preacher,” said Dillen.

  “Now?” asked Alice.

  “Heck yes, now. When you’ve waited as long as I have to wed the gal you love, the wedding can’t come soon enough.”

  Alice longed to kiss him, but refrained from public displays of affection and settled for squeezing his hand under the table.

  The church was Presbyterian instead of Episcopalian, but Alice did not care. Reverend Middleton was gracious in his agreement to marry them on short notice just prior to the Christmas Eve service. And that was how Alice Pinter Truett, heiress to a considerable fortune, wearing a simple dove-gray dress and with no adornment save a borrowed veil, wed Dillen Roach, a man of considerable pride and integrity. In her hand she carried a prayer book, and in her heart she carried love and
hope.

  The little church was full to bursting with the members of the congregation. Bathed in soft candlelight and decorated with sprigs of evergreen, the interior glowed with the enchantment of Christmas services. Alice could not think of a more lovely setting to exchange her vows, and Dillen told her that he had never seen a more beautiful bride. With the simple exchange of words, a kiss and two signatures, they were married. In that moment, four people became a family and one wandering cowboy set down roots deep and strong.

  Alice believed in him, and that gave him the confidence to accept what she offered: her help, her heart and her courage.

  He was the luckiest cowboy alive.

  * * *

  Something hit the bed with enough force to bring Dillen upright. The next jolt struck him square in the chest as Cody joined Colin on the bed Dillen now shared with his wife, Alice.

  Alice groaned and her eyes fluttered open as Cody slipped into the gap between them. Dillen peered at the gray light filtering through the window above the half curtains. Pellets of ice struck the pane, and the room was cold enough for him to see his breath.

  “Wake up!” said Colin, nudging Alice. “It’s Christmas! Santa came! He came!”

  Alice had been up late decorating the tree and filling the nosegay ornaments with treats. Dillen had busied himself whittling a slingshot for Cody and painting the hobbyhorse he’d already finished for Colin.

  Then he’d kept her up even longer. A grin broadened across his face.

  “All right, I’m up. Come on, boys. Let’s get the fire started and give Alice some privacy.”

  Colin swung onto his back and Cody led the charge from the room. Dillen glanced back to Alice.

  “Do you think Santa brought you anything?”

  “I already have everything I ever wanted.”

  “Still, Saint Nick wouldn’t forget you.”

  Dillen had the fire started and the coffee on before Alice appeared, her hair in a loose braid and wearing a simple blue woolen dress that was as relaxed and pretty as its owner. The boys dug into their stockings as she started a breakfast of eggs and ham. Cody and Colin ran from the hearth to the kitchen to show her the caramels and the peppermint and sassafras sticks that Santa had brought them. The bounty continued as she set the table and sliced the bread, the stockings disgorging licorice whips, jacks for Colin and a sack of marbles for Cody. Alice insisted they eat before they indulged in the treats Santa had provided, but when the boys took their places, there was a distinct smell of licorice at the table. Dillen bowed his head and gave thanks. Everyone echoed his amen and Alice was quite horrified at how fast the food vanished and festivities commenced.

  Dillen kept the fire blazing as the boys opened their gifts. Both Colin and Cody feigned appreciation for the knickers and jackets, showed minimal interest in the hosiery, but the riding boots were a great success. Cody was in ecstasy over the slingshot, which Alice worried was a horrendous idea. Both she and Dillen extracted promises from Cody that he would not shoot either his little brother or any songbirds. Colin proved a great horseman on his new hobbyhorse, which he rode all about the house wearing new boots.

  Alice placed the goose that Dillen had provided in the oven with potatoes and onions. Mr. Roberts arrived to give the boys each a handful of lead soldiers that looked as ancient as the foreman. He stayed long enough to have a cup of coffee and admire what Santa had brought. Then he was off to the home of his niece for Christmas dinner.

  After Mr. Roberts’s departure, Alice settled in her chair. The boys approached, hands behind them, and Alice’s smile broadened as she glimpsed the bundle past Cody’s narrow body.

  “We made you a present,” said Cody.

  Alice protested. “You already gave me my gift, my lovely satchel.”

  “It’s for the tree,” said Colin. “For the top.”

  “Don’t tell her that!” growled Cody as he quickly handed over a gift wrapped in one of the dish towels.

  “For me?” Alice kissed them both on their foreheads and then drew back the edges. “Whatever can it be?”

  “It’s an angel,” said Colin.

  Cody groaned and glanced to Dillen, who just smiled and shook his head.

  Alice drew back the cloth to reveal a carved wooden angel with white feather wings. “Oh, she is beautiful!”

  Dillen came to stand beside her, one hand on her shoulder. “A tree topper,” he said. “I tried to make one like the one I saw on your tree at your grandfather’s home, except there’s no gilding and the head isn’t porcelain and it’s goose feathers.”

  “We glued them on!” said Colin, bouncing now with excitement.

  “It is the most beautiful angel I have ever seen.” She kissed the boys and then her husband. “Please put it on the top of our tree.”

  “We can get another someday,” said Dillen. “A store-bought one.”

  “No. That angel shall top every tree from here forward. Our first tree.”

  Dillen grinned in pleasure as he took the ornament and lifted it into place, using the wire he’d fastened to the back to secure it to the fir tree.

  Alice stood by his side, admiring their angel. “Angels are usually blond,” she said.

  “My angel is one of a kind, and she’s got light brown hair.” He gave her a squeeze and dropped a kiss on her head.

  The boys stared up at the angel as if mesmerized. Alice broke the spell.

  “And now I think it is time for a little music. Cody, the fiddle, if you please.”

  Cody scrambled to retrieve the fiddle from the corner table beside the sofa. Dillen tuned his fiddle and rosined up his bow as Alice settled the boys beside her on the sofa.

  “What song would you like?” asked Dillen.

  “Boys?” said Alice, deferring to them.

  “You pick, Mama,” said Cody. It was the first time he had called her that and her reaction surprised her. She burst into tears and hugged the boys as she stared up at her husband, who seemed on the verge of tears himself.

  “Oh, I can only think of one carol to sing right now. What about ‘Joy to the World’?”

  Dillen lifted his fiddle and bow. Next their voices filled the little ranch house with music and her heart with gladness. Alice was home for Christmas after all.

  * * * * *

  DANCE WITH

  A COWBOY

  KATHRYN ALBRIGHT

  Dear Reader,

  I am delighted to bring you Kathleen and Garrett’s story that takes place in the backcountry of Southern California—one of my favorite places. They’ve each had their disappointments and regrets and truly deserve a “happily ever after,” if only they can forgive the hurts of the past. Perhaps, in this season of miracles, they can. After all, love is the greatest gift.

  A big thank-you to my agent, Mary Sue Seymour of The Seymour Agency, and to Harlequin editors Linda Fildew and Charlotte Mursell. You are each a treasure on this publishing journey.

  I love to hear from my readers. You can find me online at www.kathrynalbright.com, Facebook and Goodreads. Stop by and say hi.

  Merry Christmas!

  Kathryn Albright

  This story is dedicated to my first critique group—Maggie, Nina, Barb and Cheryl.

  I couldn’t have come this far without you.

  Thanks for always being there!

  Look for

  The Gunslinger and the Heiress

  Coming January 2015

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

&nb
sp; Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter One

  Southern California, 1882

  Garrett Sheridan latched the gate after the last of the Corriente steers pushed through into the small holding yard. Sweat dripped down his temple and veered toward his eye, the salt stinging as he squinted. He swiped the moisture with his arm and then resettled his hat. Temperatures might be in the fifties but he’d worked up a lather getting the small herd up the Old Slide Trail to the enclosure behind Ham’s butcher shop.

  Next to him, Eduardo tilted forward in his saddle, the expression of anticipation on his face making him look younger than his twenty years.

  “Gracias, Eduardo.” Garrett tugged off his leather gloves, dragged the folded wad of money from inside his vest and counted out a third of the vaquero’s earnings. The rest, Eduardo had insisted when he hired on, should go directly to his mother. Garrett counted that out, too, and tucked it in his hip pocket. “Daybreak Monday.”

  A wide grin split across Eduardo’s face. He reined his mount away from the corral and took off at an easy lope down the main road toward the saloon and an evening of gaming and drinking with his friends from the surrounding ranches. He’d find his way to his parents’ home by morning.

  Garrett might have only eight years on Eduardo, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt that carefree.

  He stroked Blue’s neck and then led him to the water trough. While the horse drank his fill, Paul Ham stepped from his shop. They’d already negotiated the price per head on the cattle, so Garrett figured this was more a social call—and he had an idea what it might be about. Still, he waited for Paul to get past the idle talk of the weather, knowing the real issue would come soon enough.

  “Saw smoke out your way.”

  “Took down a dead tree at Gully’s Creek. Burned the rotted part.”