Cowboy Creek Christmas

by Cheryl St. John

  She quietly exited the room.

  “I recognize this tone,” Beatrix glanced at Colton. “This tone means I should not argue.”

  “Ja,” he teased. “I never argue with Mrs. Gardner when she takes that tone.”

  Though her hunger pains intensified, Beatrix was unwilling to let go of Joseph, even for a moment. She’d carried this precious life near her heart for nine months; she’d waited an eternity for this moment. As though sensing her difficulty, Colton arranged the tray on the other side of the bed.

  She flashed a grateful smile, and he looked away. Her smile faded. She didn’t know what to make of this man, Colton Werner. Her husband. She’d come to America to marry a stranger, an act she’d considered with trepidation. Men weren’t always to be relied upon.

  At least Quincy Davis had desired a companion. Though they’d only exchanged a few letters, they had each wanted the same thing: a partner. Nothing more.

  She doubted Colton had wanted a wife. He’d married her because he thought she was dying and that her child would need a parent. She could release him from his bargain this instant, yet a part of her held back. He’d been so extravagantly kind that she wanted to do something for him in return. She had so little to give, only nurturing, yet she sensed nurturing was what he needed most.

  There was a sorrow about Colton Werner. This gentle giant of a man seemed so alone—he needed care as much as anyone else in her life.

  She turned her head toward Joseph and pressed a kiss against his downy cheek, then met Colton’s gaze.

  “Can you hold him?” she asked, speaking slowly in deference to her accent. “While I finish eating?”

  Colton gently lifted the baby into his arms. His hands nearly enveloped the tiny form. She doubted he even realized what he was about, but he crooned, swaying back and forth.

  Beatrix plucked at the blankets. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  She blushed. “For marrying me.”

  Chapter Four

  “I’m sorry you weren’t able to marry the man you intended.” Colton jostled baby Joseph. “You didn’t come all this way to settle for me.”

  Beatrix’s fears softened at his modest words. “I didn’t even know Quincy. He was the second cousin of the pastor in my village. He’d left for America as a boy. I only knew him from his letters, and he wasn’t much for writing.”

  “I didn’t know Quincy well, either. None of us were aware that he sent for a bride.”

  She glanced away. “He knew I was expecting a baby. Maybe that’s why he didn’t tell anyone. Maybe he was ashamed.”

  Colton took a step nearer. “Never be ashamed of this beautiful life.”

  “You’re not...” Her heart filled with a tenuous hope. “You’re not embarrassed of me? Of Joseph?”

  “I gave you my name. I gave Joseph my name. You should be proud of the life you’ve brought into this world.”

  She’d been living as a pariah for so long, his simple acceptance of her and her baby lifted a crushing weight from her shoulders. Even her sisters had been forced to turn their backs on her. Once her father had shunned her, the men in their family had followed suit. Her sisters would not go against their husbands.

  Was Colton the exception? Would others in Cowboy Creek be as welcoming?

  “I am proud of Joseph,” she replied. “I know this isn’t the bargain you intended.”

  “You survived, Beatrix. That’s what I prayed for.”

  “Danke schön.” He’d prayed for her. He’d stayed with her, and he’d prayed for her. He’d kept Joseph by her side. In the moments she’d felt herself slipping away, she’d clung to the gentle whisper of Joseph’s breath against her neck. She owed Colton Werner her life. “Your German is better than before.”

  “I’ve been practicing. Reading old letters from my grandparents.”

  “Your grandparents are German? That’s how you learned the language?”

  “Yes. When I was younger, my brother died. I was sent to live with my grandparents. They spoke mostly German, although they learned English over the years.”

  The grief in his eyes was raw. “This brother was Joseph?”

  “Yes.”

  She recalled her three brothers who hadn’t survived past infancy and reached for baby Joseph, touching his tiny fingers. “How did your brother die?”

  “An accident,” Colton replied tersely. “It was a long time ago.”

  Why had she asked such a foolish question? That had always been a flaw of hers—she asked too much of people. She and her husband could start with at least a little common ground. Colton knew suffering, and she knew suffering. First, from the loss of her mother, and then, from the loss of her dreams. The youngest girl in the family, her father had expected she’d remain home and care for him once his wife passed away.

  She’d craved something different. She’d seen the love her sisters shared with their husbands and their children, and she’d wanted that love for herself. She’d hoped to escape her father’s plans with Peter, but she’d been foolish in thinking Peter could set her free. Holding Joseph, feeling the pure adoration in her heart, she was determined not to make the same mistakes. A life without love was better than a lifetime of one-sided love.

  Colton noted when she’d finished eating and rested Joseph in the crook of her arm. “You’ll want to be alone for a while.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “You don’t have to make any decisions just yet. No one will hold you to the choice you made before.”

  She locked gazes with his striking, exotic eyes, so beautiful and so at odds with the brutal nicks and scars from his profession that covered his hands and arms. When everyone else in her life had abandoned her, this stranger, this man, had stayed. He seemed so very alone and so very lonely. Was it wrong to hope she could bring some warmth into his life?

  Yet something had brought this humble man into her life in her time of need. Whether it was God or fate or simple chance, she needed her suffering to have some meaning.

  She swallowed back her nerves and gathered her courage. “I can make a good home for us.”

  Colton paused, his enormous hand braced on the doorframe, his eyes downcast.

  An unconscious shiver rippled through her. Growing up, her father had not been opposed to using his hands to strike her. When he’d discovered her pregnancy, he’d used his fist. Colton was a giant compared to her father, capable of doing much more damage.

  Yet she’d seen how the others treated Colton. During the journey to America, lacking the benefit of language, she’d become attuned at reading other signs of intent. The doctor, the midwife, the reverend—they all treated Colton with respect and deference. When people spoke to her father, they tensed, as though preparing for battle. No one grew tense when they spoke with Colton.

  He lifted his gaze. “You don’t have to make any permanent decisions. Everyone understands the circumstances. You have...other possibilities. Someone else may suit you better.”

  She sensed that he truly cared about what was best for her, and hope blossomed in her chest. This man she’d only known for a day cared more for her fate than others who should have cared the most. His consideration was more than she’d ever known. That was enough to build a life on.

  “What about you?” she asked. “Do you have other possibilities? Is there someone who suits you?”

  A self-deprecating grin lifted the corner of his mouth. “No.”

  Relief flowed through her. While she doubted he’d have married her had he been courting someone else, there must be some reason he hadn’t married before now. Perhaps he was simply shy. There was only one last barrier she needed to cross.

  “You named the baby Joseph,” she said. “Can you love him? Care for him?”

  “Yes.” Colton gazed at the infant, his approval evid
ent. Though he hid his feelings well otherwise, he didn’t hide them now. “Any man would be lucky to have such a fine son.”

  His affection for Joseph was the foundation on which she’d build. While she didn’t doubt her abilities to raise her child alone, she’d experienced the intolerance in the world and hoped to shield Joseph from it.

  Peter’s actions had dissuaded her of foolish dreams of romantic love. She wanted only kindness and respect. A peaceful home in which to raise her child. They were united for Joseph.

  “Rest,” Colton ordered gruffly. “You’ve had a harrowing journey. I’ll come back tomorrow. If you still feel the same, we can talk of the future.”

  His tone was deceptively neutral. Clearly he assumed she’d change her mind.

  “Morgen,” she said. “Tomorrow.”

  He leaned forward and brushed the pad of his thumb over the fluff of hair on Joseph’s tiny head. “Morgen.”

  She’d give him a reprieve, a chance to recognize they were well-matched before she pushed her suit.

  Once Colton exited the room, Beatrix propped Joseph on her bent knees. “I choose you, Colton Werner. I must convince you to choose us.”

  She had little faith in her own abilities to win Colton, especially considering the bleakness behind his eyes. He was mourning a deeper loss, a loss she didn’t understand. But she’d seen the way he cared for Joseph, and that was one thing they had in common.

  Her vision clouded.

  What if Joseph wasn’t enough?

  * * *

  Colton had heard rumors about the new lady doctor in town, Marlys Boyd. People said she practiced an odd form of medicine, something that drew from Chinese remedies and Indian herbs rather than the tonics and purgatives that traditional doctors used. He’d never put much stock in rumors, but after seeing the odd assortment of bathing tubs and potions in her office, he was inclined to pay more attention in the future. He turned his concentration back to the task at hand—installing a new door latch and lock on her storage room.

  Kneeling on the floor before the door, he maneuvered the locking mechanism he was currently installing while he cast a surreptitious glance at the doctor’s exotic dispensary. The pantry-like space held baskets of herbs as well as numerous glass bottles and jars. None of the items reminded him of anything he’d seen in the doc’s office. She must consider her unusual potions valuable, though, because she’d requested a sturdy lock on the door.

  After securing the metal box, he brushed the wood shavings from his trousers. Satisfied the mechanism was level, he screwed on the cover and added the handle.

  Once he’d tested the lock a few times, he stood and extended his hand, presenting Dr. Boyd with the key. “This will give you all the security you need.”

  Dr. Boyd sported wavy chestnut brown hair that had been cut short and hung around her ears in an absentminded, although not unpleasant, disarray. She was exotic-looking more than pretty, with intelligent brown eyes. Her gray dress was serviceable, without any added adornment or frippery. Everything about her struck him as smart, logical and straightforward. He admired her no-nonsense attitude, though he found her intense watchfulness slightly unsettling.

  She tested the lock a few times, turning the key smoothly.

  “This does appear secure,” she said. “How is your wife? I admit I’m fascinated by her recovery. I’ve heard of similar cases, and the outcome is rarely positive.”

  “Beatrix is a fighter.”

  “She sounds remarkable. I’m looking forward to meeting her. Reverend Taggart revealed the whole tale when he organized the vigil for her. Of course, we all assumed she was dying. You believed that as well, I presume. I should warn you, there’s been some gossip.”

  Colton ground his back teeth together. “I shouldn’t be surprised.”

  “From what I’ve been told, a lot of people are expecting you to annul the marriage and leave town. Mostly folks are wondering why Quincy Davis didn’t tell anyone she was arriving.”

  Dr. Boyd’s forthright and dogged recitation of the situation had Colton unnerved. Then again, she was only repeating what other folks were thinking. Everyone was curious. Nothing unusual with that. He’d had his own bouts of curiosity in the past.

  After the arrival of the first “bride train,” organized by the town leaders to bring mail-order brides to Cowboy Creek, he’d been shocked by his friend Daniel’s immediate marriage to Leah. Only later he’d discovered they’d been childhood friends. The hasty marriage had made more sense once he’d gathered all the pieces.

  Colton smoothed a splinter near the recently installed locked. “Maybe no one asked Quincy Davis about his plans. He was a private man. With the Murdoch Gang on the loose, he didn’t have much time for gossip.”

  Colton was tired of discussing Quincy in the same breath as his wife. The man was dead. While Colton mourned his loss as he would any other human being, all this talk wasn’t bringing the man back or changing the facts. Colton had married Beatrix in his stead, and that’s all anyone needed to know.

  “You seem annoyed.” Dr. Boyd blinked. “I shouldn’t have pried.”

  “You’re no different than anyone else. Everyone is curious. I’ll give you some advice, though. Don’t wager any money.” Colton replaced his tools in his bag. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “I don’t gamble. There’s no logic in gambling, and I don’t believe in luck.”

  Colton wasn’t a fool; he’d accepted his hasty marriage would inspire curiosity and gossip in equal measures. Acceptance of the inevitable didn’t make him any less uncomfortable.

  “I have to go,” he said. “Let me know if you have any trouble with the lock.”

  “I’ve made you uncomfortable, Mr. Werner. My apologies. I’ve never understood social niceties. I prefer plain speaking to trivial small talk.” Turning away, she straightened a sheaf of papers on a tall counter holding a microscope. “I’ve done some reading on the condition Leah described. A doctor in Europe proposed using a tincture of magnesium on the patient. Dr. Fletcher should have informed me of the woman’s troubles sooner. The chance for experimentation is rare.”

  For one black moment, Colton was tempted to use an oath before a lady. “Beatrix is a person, not an experiment.”

  “When the alternative is death, drastic measures must be taken.” Dr. Boyd crossed her arms. “When there is nothing to lose, there is everything to be gained. And any new information we gather can be used to save lives in the future.”

  “I have another lock to install.”

  Colton understood the need to look ahead to future patients, but Beatrix was a flesh-and-blood person, not an opportunity for a medical breakthrough. He sure hoped the doctor didn’t need anything more anytime soon. While he admired her intelligence, he’d recently discovered an affinity for trivial small talk as opposed to plain speaking.

  “My interest lies with healing.” Dr. Boyd plucked a small square tin from a low shelf. “Thank you for the lock, and congratulations on your marriage—and on your son. Oh, and I have a salve for those scars, if you’d like.”

  At the considerate gesture, Colton’s annoyance dissipated like steam vapor. She wasn’t being deliberately insensitive; she was a doctor who considered all the possibilities, even the most desperate procedures. He should have known better than to take offense. In the war, there’d been a great many breakthroughs out of sheer desperation.

  He was edgy because he honestly didn’t know what to do about his marriage. Beatrix hadn’t been lucid for days. While she hadn’t appeared horrified at the prospect of being his wife when they’d spoken this morning, the chance for rumination might have changed her thinking. She’d nearly died, only to wake up married to a stranger.

  He was exhausted and not thinking straight himself. He’d only kept his appointment with Dr. Boyd to keep his mind off his circumstan
ces. So much for that idea.

  “Beatrix has said she wants to stay married.” Colton set his bag on the counter with more force than he’d intended, rattling the glass plates on Dr. Boyd’s microscope. “But she hasn’t met anyone else. That’ll be one dollar for the lock.”

  He shied away from thinking about Beatrix courting another man.

  “She’ll have an abundance of choices. According to my research on the town, there are plenty of men in the area looking for a wife. Then again, she is an immigrant. There’s the language barrier to consider.” Dr. Boyd slipped the key he’d provided into her pocket. “She could easily be taken advantage of.”

  “No one is going to take advantage of her.”

  “The baby is also a drawback. Men tend to prefer their own progeny. Most likely a result of biology.”

  The back of Colton’s neck heated, and he placed both hands on the counter. “I’ll send you a bill.”

  He had no one to blame but himself for wading into such an uncomfortable topic. He was still sorting out his feelings on the matter. Feelings which were surprisingly strong.

  “Someone needs to look out for the best interests of Beatrix and her child,” Dr. Boyd’s tone was gentle, but firm. “You seem fond of them both, and I sincerely hope she chooses to stay with you. One would hate to see the child raised by a neglectful father.”

  Colton suddenly felt as though all the warmth had been leached from the room. From the moment he’d seen Joseph take his first, shuddering breath, he’d felt responsibility for the infant. The mere idea of someone else raising the child sent his blood alternately freezing and boiling.

  His gaze clashed with Dr. Boyd and saw true concern in her eyes. He raked his hands through his hair and pulled in a deep, calming breath. Whether Dr. Boyd had meant to or not, she’d forced him to consider a situation he’d been avoiding.

  Beatrix had been gazing at him with something akin to hero worship this morning, but he was a fraud. If she ever discovered the truth, he’d never see that look again. He’d accepted long ago that he wasn’t meant to live the same sort of life as everyone else. Since his brother’s death, his rare chances at happiness had always slipped away, and he’d given up trying for more.