Cowboy Creek Christmas

by Cheryl St. John

  They reached a smart, black covered buggy pulled by a beautiful white horse, and Beatrix stopped short. “She is lovely.”

  Colton ran his gloved hand along the animal’s haunches. “She is a he. His name is Gabriel.”

  “Gabriel is beautiful.”

  A biting wind lifted the hair off Beatrix’s neck and sent her shivering. Colton’s breath puffed vapor into the air. Though Austrian winters were cold, there was something harsh about the temperature in Cowboy Creek. As though the air was sharper in America.

  Colton rubbed the horse’s ear between his thumb and forefinger, and the creature bumped its muzzle against his chest. Clearly he was good with animals. A man who was good with animals and children would surely be good to his wife.

  Colton tossed the extra packages up and assisted her into the wagon before settling beside her. She scooted nearer his warmth. He unfurled the tartan blanket over their knees, and she tucked the edge beneath her hip.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “Daniel Gardner, Leah’s husband, owns several houses in town that are newly built and available for purchase.”

  “There is so much here that is new. This is much different than in Europe.”

  Everything in America, especially in Cowboy Creek, was new. There was no sense of history or the past; everything stretched forward toward the future. The idea was both exciting and unnerving.

  “Then we must buy a new house?” Beatrix asked.

  “Yes.”

  “We cannot live in your house?”

  “It’s too small.”

  “A small space is good for me.”

  “Not for me.” He presented her with a brown-paper wrapped package tied with twine. “I saw you admiring these in the store.”

  “Thank you.” Beatrix removed the brown wrapping and exclaimed over the delightful gifts. He’d purchased the muff and the matching fur-lined hat, as well. She tucked her nose into the soft pelt and rubbed the hat against her cheek. “You should not have. They are expensive.”

  She recalled the word he’d used earlier.

  “I wanted to,” he said. “And I knew you’d like them.”

  Her heart warmed. “I do like the gifts, but I liked the clothes iron even better.”

  She spoke in German because she had more words to make him understand.

  His cheeks reddened. “Leah said I should never give a lady a gift that’s for chores.”

  “I loved the iron because you made it. This makes the gift special. I like having something special when I do chores.”

  He concentrated on driving the horse, his hands threaded through the reins. “You should have warmer boots, too.”

  His voice was hoarse, and she looked at him uncertainly, then smothered an indulgent smile. Judging by the pleased expression on his face, she’d finally made him understand that she was happy with his first gift.

  “Opal Godwin and her husband own a boot shop,” he continued. “I crafted some shoe forms for his shop, and he owes me a new pair of boots. There’s a dress store next door. Hannah Johnson is the proprietress. I don’t know much about ladies’ clothing, but the other women in town admire her work.”

  A warm sense of peace rippled over her. She couldn’t recall the last time someone had been considerate enough to look out for her needs. She’d meant to take care of Colton, and the opposite was happening. She must do a better job of seeing to his concerns. Certainly the task would prove easier once they were living under the same roof. She’d have a better idea of what he needed.

  Colton tucked the blankets tighter around her legs and placed a warming brick beneath her feet. Her new husband was a study in contradictions. He was kind and considerate, yet there was also the underlying sorrow she sensed in him. The shadow over his eyes that never quite seemed to lift. Even today, when he was happy, she sensed he held himself at a distance. Whatever burden he carried, he carried in the space between them, and she wondered if she’d ever breach the chasm.

  After a few minutes of driving, he paused before an enormous two-story home with a wraparound porch and twin round cupolas flanking the second floor.

  Beatrix anchored her new fur hat with one hand and tipped back her head. “Are all the houses this large?”

  Perhaps this colossal home explained his distant mood. She wouldn’t be a burden to him. She’d find them a suitable house that wasn’t this large or expensive.

  He turned his quizzical gaze on her. “You don’t like this one?”

  “We should keep looking.”

  They drove past two more houses that Beatrix discounted. They were far too large and extravagant. Instead of pleasing Colton, her refusal of the houses only seemed to make him more frustrated. Uneasy, she decided on a change of scenery.

  “Where is your shop?” she asked.

  “This way. Would you like to see it?”

  Beneath his curious regard, she grew flustered. “Ja.”

  They turned down a street toward one of the more established sections of town. Because of the heat and noise, the smithy was located a distance behind the livery.

  The outside of the brick building was covered in soot and ash, with a chimney rising from the far side. Colton held open the door, and she stepped into his work space. Though most of the brick was blackened from the smelting fire, his tools were hung in neat order along a slotted board attached to the wall. The smells were familiar as well: coal and iron ore along with the mingled scents of hard work and toil.

  Closing her eyes, she inhaled with an almost giddy laugh.

  “This is the most familiar place I have been in America,” she said.

  “How do you mean?”

  She recalled visiting the local blacksmith with her father. “All of the tools are similar. The smells are the same. So many things are done differently here in America, but this is just as I’d expect it to be. It’s like a bit of home.”

  His eyes revealed a flash of vulnerability. “Do you miss your home?”

  She pictured her sisters and her nieces and nephews, and her own eyes burned. She missed them terribly, and yet not one of them had come to see her off. They would not go against her father’s word. Just once in her life she wanted someone to choose her above all else. Peter had chosen to follow his family’s wishes; her sisters had followed her father’s decree.

  Colton had not chosen her. He’d been a kind man doing a good deed, and he’d been saddled with an unwanted bride as payment for his good heart. There was so little that was fair in this life.

  “I miss mountains,” she said. “I find the endless horizon frightening. It’s strange, how far one can see.”

  “I never thought of the prairie that way. I always felt trapped by the mountains.”

  “We crave what we know.”

  “Yes.” His voice sounded a little off, tighter than usual. He pulled a letter from his pocket. He studied the missive intently, as though divining the words through the paper envelope. “This arrived today.”

  She stilled at the heightened tension in his voice. “What is it?”

  “I wrote to my grandparents about you.” He paused. “They’d like to visit.”

  His uneasy attitude left her perplexed. “This is nice, yes? You miss them?”

  “I do miss them.” There was genuine emotion in those four words, and she sensed his loneliness for them, his obvious affection. “I haven’t seen them in a long time. Too long.”

  She missed her own grandparents. Her grandmother had died when she was young, but her grandfather had always been a commanding presence in their lives. She missed the comforting warmth of his love. He’d have been disappointed in her, because of Joseph, but he’d have stood by her and would not have allowed her father to throw her out of the family. He’d cared for her unconditionally, and she mou
rned the sanctuary of his absolute love.

  Surely by the sound of his voice, Colton had known that sort of affection. And yet the longer he stood there, the letter in hand, the greater her worry. She sensed his regret, his sadness, and a sudden burst of frustration caught fire in her heart. He piled his sorrow like bricks between them, blocking her out. He was lonely, and she feared she was the wrong person to bring him comfort. She was the wrong person, and yet she’d come too far to turn back now.

  Colton avoided her questioning smile. “I’m going to put them off for a while,” he said.

  A great dread crushed her chest. She swallowed back a wave of trepidation, and forged ahead. “Because they will be ashamed of me?”

  Chapter Seven

  Colton’s heart constricted painfully. “Why would you think that?”

  “Because of...because of...”

  “No. Not at all.” He caught her hands, regretting his clumsy words. “Never think that. They’re not that sort of people.”

  “How do you know?”

  An avalanche of self-recriminations pounded over him. He’d doused her enjoyment of the day. “I know.”

  “But you do not want them to visit.”

  He scrubbed a hand down his face. The words backed up in his throat. “You’re a new wife. A new mother. I’m still training Walter Frye to run the livery. He’s not ready to take over just yet. I won’t be home much until he’s able to take over more work. I’d rather have them visit when I can be around the house more.”

  “I understand this.”

  The relief on her lovely face more than made up for the small lie. He couldn’t bring himself to tell Beatrix that it was not her that brought shame, but rather himself.

  His grandparents had never blamed Colton for what happened with his brother. Moreover, Colton trusted his grandparents; they wouldn’t reveal his secret. Yet having them here would be a constant reminder of his past. A constant reminder that he wasn’t the man Beatrix thought him to be.

  He recalled his new wife’s delight at the mercantile. Seeing the store through her eyes had brought him a torrent of childish pleasure. The only hitch in her enjoyment had been the clerk’s rude behavior. He’d speak with Mr. Booker about Eugene. The clerk had recently struck up a friendship with the Schuyler boys, which didn’t bode well. The Schuyler boys were drawn toward trouble, and Eugene seemed like the type to give in easily to a bad influence.

  Beatrix ran her gloved fingertip over the metal anvil in the middle of the room. “I miss my grandparents. I miss the way they loved me.”

  “Do you miss Peter?” he asked, instantly shocked by his own audacity.

  What right did he have to question her about her past, when he was unwilling to share his own?

  The question had come from nowhere, and yet, somehow, from everywhere. He was curious about the sort of man who’d marry another woman and abandon both his lover and his child. He was curious about the sort of man who’d let Beatrix travel halfway around the world to wed a stranger. He was curious about the sort of man who’d failed her already.

  He was jealous of the man she’d loved.

  Beatrix went rigid. “No. I do not miss Peter.”

  There was a wealth of emotion in that first word. In an instant he felt her pain, her betrayal. He sensed her resolve. She’d traveled halfway around the world to marry a stranger because she wanted a better life for her baby. She’d fought death itself for her child.

  “I could forgive Peter for abandoning me,” she said, her voice quivering with emotion. “But he left our child. I cannot love a man who does this.”

  Colton caught her against him, embracing her and inhaling her rosewater scent. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

  “No. You have every right. Someday I’ll tell you more. But not today. Today I want to be happy.”

  A new fear settled in his heart. Though happiness had eluded him, he mustn’t let his own sorrow crush her buoyant spirit.

  “We have a lifetime together.” He held her away from him. “I’ll wait.”

  From that very first evening, he’d admired her stark honesty. She’d never shied away from the truth. If she wasn’t ready to talk about all of her past, he’d practice his patience.

  But there was one place where his patience had run thin. They needed a place to live, and he was heartily confused by her refusal of all the choices he’d shown her. “I know you didn’t like any of the houses, but I was rather partial to the first one. The white house with the large porch. Would you be willing to look again?”

  A band of emotion tightened around his chest. There was only one obvious explanation for her reticence. She was reluctant to leave the safety of the Cattleman Hotel for the uncertainty of marriage with him. He’d done nothing to put her at ease, because he didn’t know how.

  She placed her hand on his chest, and the contact was electric.

  “I admire that house,” she said. “But it’s so grand, so fancy.”

  He trembled like a schoolboy, and breathing became a tiresome chore. “It’s not so grand.”

  “Joseph is very small. He does not need much space.”

  Perhaps her hesitation was for the better. Having her near muddled his thoughts. “There will be room for Joseph to grow.”

  A knock sounded, evaporating the misty enchantment of the moment. He and Beatrix broke apart.

  Colton turned, forcing breath back into his lungs. He tugged on the collar of his coat, letting the cool air drift over his skin.

  Turning toward the door, he caught a glimpse of Beatrix’s equally flustered countenance, and a surge of pure masculine pride rushed through him. Neither of them had been unaffected.

  He swung open the door and quickly masked a grimace. Though not exactly the people he wanted to see just then, he kept his expression neutral.

  “Mr. Schuyler, Eric and Dirk,” Colton greeted the man and his two sons. “This is a pleasant surprise.” He turned his body and spread his arm. “Mr. Schuyler, this is my wife, Beatrix.”

  Mr. Schuyler touched the brim of his hat in greeting. “Pleasure, Mrs. Werner. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  Rumors and gossip.

  Colton’s gaze shot to the man’s face, but he read no malice in the words.

  His shoulders relaxed a notch. He moved nearer to Beatrix. “Mr. Schuyler owns a salt mine outside of town. These are his sons, Dirk and Eric. I confess I have trouble telling the two apart.”

  “As do I.” Mr. Schuyler slapped one of the boys on the shoulder. “They’re a year apart in age, and rarely without each other.”

  The Schuylers were all blond-haired, blue-eyed, sturdy replicas of one another. The family was hardworking and had provided Colton with several lucrative jobs since he’d arrived in Cowboy Creek. Though Mr. Schuyler was occasionally difficult in his dealings, he and Colton had come to an understanding of sorts.

  The Schuyler boys were another story. The sheriff in town had had more than one run-in with those two. They were fifteen and sixteen respectively, and known for stirring up trouble and instigating fights with the other boys in town. Mr. Schuyler took an odd sort of pride in his boys’ shenanigans, as though their rowdiness gave him a sense of satisfaction. Colton avoided the pair whenever he could. With Eugene a part of the group now, he’d be doubly cautious.

  Mr. Schuyler leaned against the wall and folded his arms. “You are Österreicher, Frau Werner?”

  “Ja.”

  She took a step nearer to Colton.

  Mr. Schuyler had only inquired if Beatrix was Austrian, and yet the tone of his voice raised the tiny hairs on the back of Colton’s neck. The way she’d placed herself nearer his side had him grappling between satisfaction and alarm. He was relieved she felt comfortable with him, while worried about the tension between her and Mr. Schuyler.

>   He rested his arm over her shoulder.

  The two exchanged a few civil phrases in German, and his tension dropped a notch. Perhaps he’d read too much into the initial exchange.

  Colton eased his hand around her waist and rested his fingers on the gentle swell of her hip. Mr. Schuyler’s gaze flicked toward the affectionate gesture and back to Colton’s face.

  “Congratulations,” Mr. Schuyler declared in English. “On your marriage. Come by the house next Friday for dinner. We can discuss the new drill bits for the mine. I’ll have my wife prepare something that will remind Beatrix of home.”

  Beatrix tensed, and Colton flashed her a concerned look.

  She smiled brightly. “Ja. I would like that.”

  The difference between her cheerful words and her obvious anxiety left him uneasy. Following the odd incident at the mercantile, he was wary of the undertone. Though Beatrix had denied any problem, he’d seen the derision on the clerk’s face. He made a note to speak with Will at the first opportunity. Perhaps his friend had heard more of the exchange. Until Beatrix trusted him, there was little else he could do.

  Colton flashed what he hoped was an apologetic smile. “We’d better put off the dinner for a couple of weeks. We’re moving, and I’m sure Beatrix will want to get settled.”

  “Moving?” Mr. Schuyler exclaimed. “Congratulations again. I’ll send over my boys to help.”

  “There’s no need.”

  “I insist.”

  “If you insist.” Colton buried his annoyance. There was little he could say to that without appearing rude. “Thank you.”

  After more small talk, the Schuylers departed. The two men shook hands, and Colton quietly closed the door behind them. Beatrix crossed her arms and rubbed her shoulders.

  Colton took her hand; her fingers were ice cold. “Are you certain you don’t mind having dinner with the Schuylers one day?”

  “Why would I mind?” she asked, her eyes downcast.

  He recalled Mr. Schuyler’s tone when he’d inquired if Beatrix was Austrian. Certainly her hesitancy had nothing to do with events that had transpired in Europe? The idea was ridiculous. They were thousands of miles away from the Austro-Prussian conflict. There was no reason for any animosity between immigrants. Then again, there were all sorts of prejudices in the world he didn’t understand.