“Did you see it?” a young girl exclaimed as she skipped past Gabe in the café. “The nativity,” she said excitedly, “it’s back, sitting right in the center of Town Square. And mother, there’s another new piece.”
“Is it the baby, Jesus?” the girl’s mother asked hopefully as she bent down toward her daughter.
The child shook her head.
“Well, what is it, Annabelle?”
“An angel,” she whispered.
The woman stood up straight and maneuvered, trying to glance out the window, but the café didn’t lend itself well to a view of Town Square.
“What on earth are you looking at, Mable?” a woman in a large purple hat asked, bending down and pulling back the curtain.
“Annabelle said the nativity is back.”
The café quieted and it seemed all ears had turned to her.
“It’s been four years,” a man, Gabe couldn’t see, called out. “You’d think there would at least be a baby in that manger.”
“I think it’s sweet. After all, aren’t we all waiting for Jesus?” Mable placed a hand on her daughter’s shoulder.
Little Annabelle looked over at Gabe and her eyes widened, sparkling with a gleam, and she smiled. She tugged on her mother’s skirt.
“Well, it certainly has brought some hope back to Thistleberry. It seems right fitting that it’s an angel.”
Inspire Books
A Division of Inspire Creative Services
937 West 1350 North, Clinton, Utah 84015, USA
All rights reserved.
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. The eBook contained herein constitutes a copyrighted work and may not be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, or stored in or introduced into an information storage and retrieval system in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the copyright owner, except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
While some of the events described and some of the characters depicted in this eBook may be loosely based on actual historical events and real historical figures, this book is a work of fiction. Other names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
AN ANGEL IN THISTLEBERRY
An Inspire Book published by arrangement with the author
First Inspire Books eBook edition December 2018
Copyright © 2017 by Kelli Ann Morgan
www.kelliannmorgan.com
Cover Design by Kelli Ann Morgan at Inspire Creative Services
www.inspirecreativeservices.com
Kindle Edition
ISBN-13: 978-1-939049-53-7
ISBN-10: 1-939049-53-9
Also by Kelli Ann Morgan
Jonah
Deardon Mini-Series Book One
Lucas
Deardon Mini-Series Book Two
Noah
Deardon Mini-Series Book Three
The Rancher
Redbourne Series Book One
Cole’s Story
The Bounty Hunter
Redbourne Series Book Two
Rafe’s Story
The Blacksmith
Redbourne Series Book Three
Ethan’s Story
The Iron Horseman
Redbourne Series Book Four
Levi’s Story
The Outrider
Redbourne Series Book Five
Will’s Story
Holden’s Heart
Silver Springs Series Book One
Available from Inspire Books
To sign up for Kelli Ann Morgan’s mailing list and receive notice of new and upcoming titles, click here.
To all of my wonderful fans who really
wanted to see Gabe’s story stand on its own...
AN ANGEL IN THISTLEBERRY
by
Kelli Ann Morgan
Table of Contents
Also by Kelli Ann Morgan
AN ANGEL IN THISTLEBERRY
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
More by Kelli Ann Morgan
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Chapter One
Whisper Ridge Ranch, Thistleberry, Montana, November 1883
Snow fell.
The absence of his family enshrouded Gabriel Deardon with a hefty weight. His dreams had left him restless and with a feeling of emptiness. He ripped the quilt from atop of him and sprung out of his bed as quickly as his old bones would allow.
There was work to be done.
His checkered shirt draped over the high-backed chair in his room. He strung his arms through the sleeves, pulled on his worn boots and old, faded hat, then gingerly made his way out into the living area and to the front door. He lifted his heavy wool-lined coat from the rack and donned as he treaded out toward the barn, pulling the collar up around his ears.
The barn door slid open easily now that his nephews had seen to oiling the hinges and he closed himself inside, rubbing his hands together and blowing his warm breath into them. Gloves would be no use for what he needed to do. He lit the lantern, hanging on a hook just to the side of him.
In the far corner of the barn, in a stall scarcely large enough to contain a pony, Gabe glanced over his shoulder before setting down his lamp and moving a few small boxes and barrels aside to allow him access to the discarded work table that sat up against the wall. He pulled back the saddle blanket that had been thrown over several mid-sized crates he’d hidden there.
It would only be an hour or so before the others would arise and the daily chores on the ranch would begin. He bent down to lift the first box and froze when an excruciating spasm blazed the trail from his hip to his shoulder.
“Blast it all!” he cursed, sucking air into his lungs. His hand shot to his back and he forced himself into a standing position once again. After a few moments, he bent his creaking knees and crouched down enough that he was able to retrieve his intended crate, then heaved it up onto the countertop with some effort. He reached in and pulled out a large cut of wood and several tools.
His lower back hurt and his movements were stiff, but he had more important things on his mind than how his body ached and his bones creaked.
There was no time to waste.
Deardon Ranch, Oregon
“The offer is a very good one,” Jonah Deardon spoke quietly as he sat at the kitchen table, his hands folded together and resting against his forehead.
His wife, Emma, slid onto the bench next to him, and ran her hand along the curve of his back, then placed an open envelope down in front of him. “This came today.”
He glanced down at the letter, then turned to look at her.
She smiled, sliding her hand down the length of his arm until it rested in the curve of his elbow, and she leaned down, resting her c
hin on his shoulder.
Jonah picked up the correspondence to inspect it more closely.
The postmark read, Thistleberry, Montana.
“More good news,” he said with a snort, unable to keep the sarcasm from his voice.
“Lucy has invited us to come stay at Whisper Ridge for the holidays. She writes that the property next to the ranch will be sold at auction just after Thanksgiving.”
Jonah leaned his head down to rest against Emma’s.
She missed their children. He sensed it even more now that the holidays were approaching. With work growing more scarce in their little Oregon town, many families had moved away and opportunities for courtship or even developing friendships were increasingly difficult to find. Grown now, with wills of their own, the twins and Owen had left home just over a year ago to visit family at Whisper Ridge, Montana, and had decided to stay. Only their youngest, August, remained at home.
“Have I told you today just how much I love you?” Jonah asked as he bent down and kissed his wife on the end of her nose.
“Yes,” she replied with a smile that still melted his heart, “but I never tire of hearing it,” she finished, raising her head enough he could look into her beautiful face.
“I love you, Emma Deardon.”
“And I you.”
He bent down and placed a light kiss on her lips, enjoying their sweet taste.
With a deep breath, Jonah picked up the letter and pulled it from the envelope. He scanned the contents and ground his teeth together. The property had everything they had been waiting for, but…
“What is it that is stopping you, Jonah? Are you worried about seeing your father?” Emma interrupted his thoughts.
How did she always know what he was thinking?
“Spending the holidays with Gabe Deardon has never been pleasant. I’m not sure I want to expose our children to such a Scrooge on a more permanent basis.”
It’s a little late for that, Deardon, he thought the moment the words left his mouth.
Emma smiled and placed her hands over Jonah’s. “If you’ll remember, darling, even Ebenezer Scrooge had a change of heart.”
Truth was, Jonah missed being with his family—his brothers, his children. Some of the best times he’d had over the years had been with his cousins and their families. It was time to move on. He knew it, but the thought of living next to his father sent a pit to his stomach that he couldn’t dispel.
“Not my father. He’s as ornery as they come.” Jonah pushed his seat away from the table and walked to the edge of the fireplace where Emma had already begun collecting pine cones for a Christmas mantel piece.
“Jonah,” Emma said knowingly, joining him at the mantel, “it’s time. We’ll never get another offer like the one Mr. Druthers has given.”
He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and leaned down to kiss the top of her head.
“I know.” He placed the letter behind the small collection of pinecones. “I know.”
Chapter Two
Thistleberry, Montana
“Did you see it?” a young girl exclaimed as she skipped past Gabe in the café. “The nativity,” she said excitedly, “it’s back, sitting right in the center of Town Square. And mother, there’s another new piece.”
“Is it the baby, Jesus?” the girl’s mother asked hopefully as she bent down toward her daughter.
The child shook her head.
“Well, what is it, Annabelle?”
“An angel,” she whispered.
The woman stood up straight and maneuvered, trying to glance out the window, but the café didn’t lend itself well to a view of Town Square.
“What on earth are you looking at, Mable?” a woman in a large purple hat asked, bending down and pulling back the curtain.
“Annabelle said the nativity is back.”
The café quieted and it seemed all ears had turned to her.
“It’s been four years,” a man, Gabe couldn’t see, called out. “You’d think there would at least be a baby in that manger.”
“I think it’s sweet. After all, aren’t we all waiting for Jesus?” Mable placed a hand on her daughter’s shoulder.
Little Annabelle looked over at Gabe and her eyes widened, sparkling with a gleam, and she smiled. She tugged on her mother’s skirt.
“Well, it certainly has brought some hope back to Thistleberry. It seems right fitting that it’s an angel.” The woman in the purple hat stood up straight and nodded.
“Do you think it was Father Christmas?” The waitress’ shrill voice carried from the table behind Gabe.
The little girl tugged again on her mother’s skirt.
“Certainly, you don’t believe in such nonsense, Cornelia Wilson?” another young woman called out with a giggle.
“Of course, I do,” Cornelia retorted. “How else would that bag of foodstuffs have just appeared on the Doherty’s porch when they’d just eaten their last loaf of dried bread?”
“Or how did a carved bedframe and down-filled mattress show up on the Jensen’s doorstep when they moved into town with nary a chair to sit in?” The girl’s mother chimed in.
Gabe smiled despite himself.
“I see your point.”
“Speaking of those in need, did you hear?” Cornelia started and the others quieted to listen as the young mother moved past Gabe to join in their conversation.
Annabelle stopped in front of his table and looked up at him discerningly. She tilted her head from one side to the other, then she raised her elbow up to rest on his table and leaned in.
“Are you,” she asked with a voice barely above a whisper, “Father Christmas?”
Gabe nearly choked on the sip of apple cider he’d just taken.
The girl giggled as he mopped up the drink from his beard. He set down his napkin and winked at the child, placing a single finger over his lips.
Her eyes grew wide and a knowing smile spread across her features. She nodded. Then, she rounded the table, walked up to him, and stood as tall as she could on her tiptoes. He leaned down, expecting her to whisper a secret, but she placed a light kiss on his cheek.
“Thank you,” she whispered and quickly joined her mother, who was already in deep conversation with the other ladies.
Gabe’s insides warmed his outsides. Annabelle reminded him of his own little granddaughter, Sophia, who’d been named after his mother. From the day she’d been born, they’d had a special bond that had incited him to start something special.
“Several of the men lost their jobs at the mill,” Cornelia was saying as he returned his attention to the chatter. “Dear Mr. Collins was among them. His poor wife. I don’t know what they’ll do. I guess there just isn’t much work for them during the winter months.”
Gabe sipped at the hot apple cider the woman had brought him earlier, his ears perked to the conversation behind him.
“They really depended on the work,” she continued, “and without the money, they’re going to lose their house. Mr. Crumpett owns the deed and, well, you know him. They’ll be thrown out in the cold with all seven of their children. And just before Christmas.” The town busybody tsked loudly.
Shame, Gabe thought. Mr. Collins was like the good kind of fellow in that Christmas book Lucy had given him to read with his grump of an employer. What was his name? Gabe squinted his eyes as if the action would increase his memory, with no such luck.
“Ah, it’ll come to me,” he dismissed quietly.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Deardon, did you need something?” Cornelia asked, popping her head around the table.
Thistleberry had always been a close-knit community, but Gabe had often chosen to keep his distance from the townsfolk here—especially from women like Cornelia, who gossiped as much as the day was long. However, her heart seemed to be in the right place and he’d found a use for her gossip—especially at Christmastime—and smiled to himself as he shook his head, raised his cup toward the woman, then took another sip of his drink.
Resigned to the inevitable, he pulled some money from his pocket and slid it beneath the base of the cup, slipped on his thick coat with the woolen interior, and grabbed his hat from the rack at the edge of his table. He tipped the brim at Lyla, the owner of the place, as he braced himself for the cold weather.
“Oh, Dad, there you are,” Lucy, his daughter-in-law, said as she balanced a couple of boxes in her arms.
“Here,” he said, reaching out, “let me take some of those.”
They walked over to the livery where they’d stowed the wagon.
“Did you get what you came for?” Lucy asked with a twinkle in her eye.
“Yes, ma’am. Just need to make one quick stop on the way home.” He loaded the boxes into the back of the buckboard, then turned back to Lucy and clapped his hands together, rubbing them against the cold.
“Ready?’
“You seem a little…giddy.” Lucy scrunched her eyes and then raised one brow. “What are you up to Gabe Deardon?”
He dropped the smile from his face and donned a scowl. “Me? Giddy? Absurd.”
“Back to one word answers. That’s more like the Gabe I know.” She stepped up onto her tiptoes and placed a kiss on his cheek.
Pleased, heat flooded his face. He cleared his throat.
“Storm’s coming in. We’d better be on our way.” He held out his hand and helped her up into the wagon.
An Angel in Thistleberry Page 1