Cowboy Creek Christmas

by Cheryl St. John

  “Shhh,” he soothed. “Let me come nearer. Let me show you there’s nothing to fear from me.”

  She pressed her back tighter against the wall. The old fears remained. She’d angered him. He’d lost a valuable customer because of her. He was so much larger. He’d always been kind to her, and yet she hadn’t known him for long. Maybe she’d just never pushed him to his breaking point before. She had Joseph to think about...

  “I can’t,” she choked out, her voice barely more than a sob.

  She wanted so badly to be brave, but in the past, her boldness had cost her a blackened eye—sometimes worse.

  “You can.” He took another slow step forward. “If we don’t do this now, you’ll never completely trust me.”

  She cringed. “I trust you.”

  The heightened tension sent her muscles aching. She’d put her life in this man’s hands. Leah had assured her that Colton was a good man, and she trusted Leah’s word. And yet men were deceptive, with their honeyed words and false promises.

  “No,” he said. “You don’t trust me.”

  One of his arms slid around her waist. With the other he dragged the limp handkerchief from her hair and smoothed the strands from her face. His touch was cautious, feather light and achingly gentle.

  “Let me hold you,” he soothed. “Let me show you there’s nothing to fear.”

  She glanced at his hands. His fingers were not curled into fists.

  A small part of her anxiety eased. She rested her cheek against his chest. His heartbeat thumped against her ear, strong and restful. She sensed no coiled tension in him. He didn’t force her compliance, merely kept his arms loosely holding her in the circle of his embrace.

  All of her experiences over the past weeks came rushing back.

  He’d stayed by her side with Joseph when the doctor thought she might not last the night. He’d never once raised his voice or lost his temper with her. Nothing Colton had done since she’d met him had ever given her a reason to fear him. There was no reason to believe he was anything but the gentle man she’d married.

  And yet his anger at the Schuyler boys had caused a reflexive action in her.

  She closed her eyes and pressed her temple against his shoulder, hiding her face. He cupped the back of her head and murmured soothing words. After a long moment her mind and her body relaxed into the safety he offered. Relief weakened her knees, and she slumped against him.

  “You’re exhausted,” his breath whispered against her ear. “You need to sit.”

  “There are no chairs.”

  “Then we’ll sit on the floor.”

  He carefully lowered them both to the floor, his shoulder sliding against the wall, cradling her against his chest. She clutched his collar and rubbed her cheek against the rough canvas of his shirt. Humiliation burned hot in her chest.

  “Was it your father?” he asked. “Did your father hit you?”

  Beatrix carefully considered her next words. The past was the past, and there was no use dwelling on what had been before. “Sometimes. My father was a kinder man before my mother died. After she was gone, he bore all the responsibility for me and my sisters. There were eight of us.” She offered a humorless chuckle. “I don’t think he realized how much he depended on my mother. He was a prideful man who took great stock in his reputation.”

  “He took more stock in his reputation than in the safety of his daughter? He let you travel alone. Pregnant. That’s not a prideful man. That’s a weak man.”

  Her father had never said a word against Peter, either for seducing or abandoning her. In his view, men habitually made advances on women, and the responsibility for remaining chaste rested with the woman alone. As though a man’s attention was some sort of test of chastity. Except Peter’s attention had felt authentic.

  She’d been so very alone after her mother’s death. She’d felt as though she didn’t belong anywhere. Though she often visited her sisters, they had their own families and their own concerns. She hadn’t wanted to grow old and alone, waiting for her father to die. She’d seen the fate of the spinsters in the village. Once her father passed away, she’d go to live with one of her sisters. A burden.

  She’d been so very lonely and so very angry at the future she’d been dealt. She’d clung to the illusion of Peter’s affection and attention.

  “I had to tell my father about the baby,” she said. “There were rumors already. One of my sisters had told him about Peter.”

  Colton’s arms tightened around her. “He shouldn’t have hurt you.”

  The buttons of his shirt dug into her palm. She tipped back her head and stared into the glittering intensity of his gaze. Her language slipped into the comfort of German once more. “My sisters had warned me. They told me that I was only a challenge to him. My father kept a close watch on all of us. But I was headstrong. As the youngest, with my mother gone, I was supposed to stay home and take care of my father—to never marry or have a home of my own. I wanted more.” She choked back a sob. “I sold my future to a fool because I was lonely.”

  “He took advantage of you?” Colton asked, his voice hoarse.

  She pressed her nose against his shirt, catching the faint scent of coal fire and ash.

  “No.” The responsibility was hers and hers alone. She’d consented to things she’d known were wrong. “I thought myself in love. I was so naïve. I didn’t understand love. I was infatuated with Peter because he was the first boy who’d ever paid any attention to me. After what happened, he left for Vienna and refused to answer my letters. I think his father suspected something. When I found out about Joseph, I had no choice but to tell someone.” She smiled weakly. “Peter had a choice. He chose to marry a girl from Vienna whose father worked for the government. Peter could be very charming. This union made Peter’s father very proud. She was much better than a girl from the village.”

  “He was a weak fool.” Colton drew back. “You’re safe here. With me.”

  “I know.”

  “You don’t believe me yet, but you will.” He rested his chin on the top of her head. “Why did you marry me? You must have been terrified of me. Of my size.”

  She recalled that first evening, the harsh planes of his face thrown in relief from the lamplight. “When people talked with my father, they were tense and wary. No one flinched or cowered when they spoke to you.”

  He rocked her gently, his enormous hands making comforting circles against her back. Her breath quickened with his touch. As with Joseph, she sensed he performed the soothing movement unconsciously.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to doubt you.”

  “Don’t be sorry. We’re both learning to trust each other. Your reaction was natural.”

  Perhaps, but she’d wounded his pride. This was a man who valued honor, and she’d questioned that honor by flinching away from him, even when he’d told her she had nothing to fear. She smiled up at him, and he brushed the hair from her face, then leaned the back of his head against the wall.

  Each lost in their own thoughts, neither of them spoke for a long while. They sat on the floor of the parlor, with Beatrix secure in the cradle of his embrace. She tipped back her head and stared at his lips. How had she ever doubted the tenderness of this man? From those first confusing days when there was nothing but voices and uncertainty surrounding her, he’d stayed with her. He’d married her when she’d been distraught, and he’d kept his vows even when he could have denounced them. She’d repaid his kindness by treating him like a monster.

  Without stopping to think, she pushed upright and pressed her lips against his. He remained motionless, then his fingers reached out, caressing her cheek and tenderly adjusting the angle between them. She clung to him, winding her arms around his neck, and strained closer.

  He broke away and rained soft kisses down
her temple and cheek, taking a soft nip at the tip of her ear. She laughed and rose on her knees, threading her fingers through his hair. The tresses were rough and soft at the same time, and she delved deeper, wanting to feel him, touch him. His caresses weren’t demanding, more like gentle explorations, and she felt as though she was safe, as though she could pull away at any moment.

  An angry squall sounded from upstairs, and he twisted away from her. “Joseph.”

  “Joseph.” She raised her eyes toward the ceiling. “I know that cry. He must be changed.”

  “You’d better see to him.” Colton stood and reached for her, assisting her to her feet. “Are you all right now?”

  “Yes,” she said, her lips tender from their kisses. “Promise me you won’t make any decisions about working with the Schuylers. It’s different in Europe now. Since the war, things have changed. I won’t have you losing out on business because of me.”

  He cupped the side of her cheek, and the sweet shock of his touch sent a ripple of awareness down her spine. “I’ve chafed your skin.”

  She placed her hand over his, the nicks and scars raised against her palm. “I don’t mind.”

  “Thank you. For telling me about Peter.”

  “This is a new beginning for me. Peter is in Austria, and we are here. He gave up his rights to Joseph. He gave up his rights to me and my thoughts. I don’t want him in our lives anymore.”

  “Neither do I.”

  The cries from the second floor grew insistent, and she backed toward the stairs, one hand pressed against the wall, the other fisted against her stomach. “Promise me that you will speak with Mr. Schuyler.”

  “I promise.”

  She stifled a sigh and made her way toward the crying infant.

  Colton caught her sleeve. “I’ll see to Joseph. Will you play?” He gestured toward the armonica.

  “Would that please you?” She wanted to make him happy, wanted to be a good wife to him—and she knew she was making a mess of it. Maybe this was one thing she could get right.

  “Yes.”

  Preparing the instrument took longer than she’d expected, and she was soon lost in the process. Once she’d arranged her chair and had a saucer of water in place, she worked the pedals, setting the spinning bowls into motion.

  The first few notes were off key, but she soon found her rhythm and lost herself in the music. A long while later, she glanced up to find Colton watching her, his eyes rimmed with red, Joseph cradled in his arms.

  She lifted her fingers from the instrument.

  Colton shook himself, as though waking from a trance. “Don’t stop. That’s the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard.”

  Pride swelled in her chest. “Then I will keep playing.”

  Her playing pleased him, but she sensed he was building the wall again. Brick by sorrowful brick. She trusted him, but she feared he’d lost his trust in her.

  * * *

  Two weeks after the move, Leah opened the front door and waved Beatrix into the parlor of her grand home. “Thank you for coming.”

  “Thank you for inviting me.”

  Leah was radiant as always. She wore a soft blue calico gown with a square neckline. Beatrix brushed at her faded green skirts. Leah’s dress was casual, and Beatrix was certain she’d worn something simple in deference to her guest.

  Of her three serviceable dresses, Beatrix wore her best today. A drab shirtwaist under an olive green jacket. Though the dress Leah had given her was far more suitable for the occasion, wearing the gift in Leah’s presence felt odd.

  A heavily pregnant redheaded woman seated in the wingback chair near the fire struggled to rise.

  Leah flashed her palm. “Don’t get up, Tomasina,” she ordered. “I’ve got everything under control. Can I bring you a glass of water?”

  Tomasina slumped back in her seat. “That sounds delightful. And a scone if you have one. Or two.”

  Leah flashed an indulgent smile. “Beatrix, this is Tomasina Canfield. Tomasina, this is Beatrix Werner. I think I might have a scone or two in the pantry.”

  She disappeared through a door that presumably led to the kitchen.

  “Call me Tom,” the woman declared. “Everyone else does.”

  Tomasina Canfield looked completely unsuited for such a masculine name. She was petite and delicate, with a mass of fiery red curls atop her head and brilliant, green eyes. Her pregnancy was advanced, and her high-waisted, brown wool dress fell over the swell of her stomach in a waterfall of fabric.

  “I met your husband,” Beatrix said. “Mr. Canfield.”

  The other woman’s eyes took on a wistful look. “He’s more anxious for the baby than I am, and that’s saying something. Will has a weakness for babies.” She patted her rounded belly. “He wants ten more after this one. Easy for him to say. All he has to do is rub my feet and order an extra dinner tray when I’m famished.”

  Beatrix’s heart ached a bit. Her pregnancy with Joseph had been filled with worry and trepidation. Those last weeks had been consumed with travel and more fretting. How nice it must be to have a husband who looked forward to the birth of one’s child. To be married to someone eager to become a father.

  As though sensing the change in her mood, Tomasina gestured toward the settee. “Sit. My neck is aching from looking up at you.”

  Beatrix took her place on the settee, and Leah returned with a tray. “The housekeeper is watching the baby. We have at least an hour of peace. What about you, Beatrix?”

  “Colton is watching Joseph, but I’ve never left them alone for more than an hour.”

  “What is he like?” Tomasina asked. “Colton? I don’t know him as well as I do some of the others in town.”

  Beatrix pleated her wool skirts between two fingers. “He’s quiet.”

  “Are you happy?” Tomasina inquired, her expression intense.

  Beneath her questioning scrutiny, Beatrix opened and closed her mouth a few times. “I suppose, yes.”

  “Because if you’re not happy, I can have him taken care of.” Tomasina winked. “I know people, if you know what I mean.”

  Chapter Nine

  “Tom!” Leah admonished.

  She rested her laden tray near Tomasina. With her threat still hanging in the air, the pregnant woman attacked the snacks with gusto.

  “You’re frightening the poor girl,” Leah continued. “Tomasina will not have your husband taken care of. She’s simply trying to discern if you’re content. We women must stick together. If you’re unhappy, we can help. In a nonviolent way, of course.”

  “I’m happy,” Beatrix replied, a slight squeak in her voice.

  Just in case Tomasina did know people. She was happy, mostly. Since Joseph slept for several hours at a stretch, she’d gotten more sleep and was feeling more robust. She had no complaints, other than an occasional tinge of loneliness now and then.

  Leah patted her arm. “We didn’t mean to frighten you. We simply want you to know that we’re here for you, if you ever need to talk. If you ever have a problem. Enough jabbering about husbands. With the babies on a time schedule, we’d better work quickly.”

  “What is this project?” Beatrix asked.

  Leah had invited her over, but she’d only given a brief outline of what she had planned.

  “I’ll take this explanation.” Tomasina set down the last bite of her third scone and brushed the crumbs from her hands. “The ladies are putting together a history of the town, and I’ve decided to act like a lady this once so I can help. Will deserves to have his legacy mentioned, even though he doesn’t want the recognition. Most of the men who settled in Cowboy Creek served in the war. We’d like to document the stories of their friendships in an archive.”

  “They let you do this?” Beatrix asked.

 
Colton was such a private man, she couldn’t imagine him talking about his past, let alone his war experiences.

  “They’re not happy about the plan.” Leah heaved a long-suffering sigh. “But we feel the stories are important. We’ve promised they’ll be placed in a time capsule that won’t be opened for one hundred years. That’s the only way we were able to convince our husbands to agree.”

  Tomasina rolled her eyes. “I had to threaten Will.”

  Beatrix touched her chest. “You threaten your husband?”

  “He can take care of himself.” Tomasina flapped her hand in a dismissive wave.

  Glancing between the two of them, Beatrix frowned. “How can I help?”

  “I know you want to improve your English. This is a way for us all to work together. You can help us transcribe the stories.”

  Tomasina reached for a cookie with a dot of strawberry jam in the center. “Will says that Colton was a hero during the war. Maybe he’ll tell you some of his stories.”

  Learning Colton was a hero didn’t surprise Beatrix. There was an inherent sense of honor about him. She didn’t doubt he was the same quiet, self-contained man during the war.

  “Yep.” Tomasina licked a spot of strawberry jam from her thumb. “I guess he’s got a whole box full of medals. Wonder if he’d be willing to donate one of those medals to the time capsule.”

  “I will ask,” Beatrix said. “But I do not think he will help.”

  She was hesitant to press him. There’d been a distance between them since they moved into the house. Colton worked at the shop well into the evenings. They rarely saw one another. She left a covered dish for him in the kitchen each evening, and sometimes she heard his footsteps tread past her room, but they rarely spoke unless she forced the issue. Even then his replies were brief.

  “Either way.” Leah shrugged. “Colton’s memories would be a wonderful addition to the time capsule, but I’ll leave that up to you. You know him best.”

  Did she? Her head throbbed. Beatrix highly doubted she knew her husband any better than the other ladies in the room.