They cleaned up, then Finnie and Cinco sat on the sofa, while Quint lit some candles and read the story of the first Christmas from the battered Bible, which had once belonged to Finnie’s mother.
The familiar words made his heart happy, and he vowed to write another letter to his parents back home tomorrow. Although they wrote each other frequently, it had been many years since he’d been home for Christmas. Even though he was technically on assignment, this Christmas was feeling more like home than he’d felt in very a long time.
When he finished, he looked up to smile at Finnie, who'd pulled her feet up on the sofa, and caused her to look much younger than she normally did. Not that she ever looked old, by any means!
Cinco was tucked up beside her, snuggled under one of her arms while he’d listened to the story. The sight of the two of them, cuddled up like that on Christmas Eve, made Quint feel…whole.
With her soft brown hair and eyes, she could easily pass as the boy’s mother, despite Cinco’s black curls and darker skin. In fact, the boy looked to be a perfect cross between Finnie and Quint.
That realization made Quint’s throat go dry, in the best sort of way. He’d never considered a future with a child, but spending all this time with Cinco had made him realize how much fulfillment he found in helping to raise the boy.
But to have a child like Cinco, Quint would need a wife…
A wife...like Finnie.
8
She couldn’t remember ever feeling this at peace. By early evening on the 24th, with a full belly and Cinco snuggled up next to her on their new couch, Finnie thought she might be able to fall asleep. But her mind wasn’t tired at all. In fact, it was humming in anticipation.
Of what? Christmas? Or something more?
“Are you two ready for bed?” Quint asked as he closed Mama’s old Bible, a satisfied grin on his face.
Cinco sat upright, blinking in indignation. “Sleep? It’s Christmas!”
Finnie’s lips curved upright. “He’s right. And we still have more cookies to eat.”
“Excellent!” the boy declared happily.
Placing the Bible down on the now-clean table, Quint cleared his throat. “Not only that, but there are presents.”
When the boy sucked in an excited breath, his eyes wide, Finnie met Quint’s gaze. The way his lips twitched made her feel warm inside. When was the last time someone had given her a Christmas present? Even when Pa had been alive, he’d been too drunk half the time to think of something like the holiday. But Quint…he’d gone out and gotten something—the sofa looked as if it’d come from old Miss Witherspoon’s home—which was not only practical, but beautiful too. She rested her hand on the maroon brocade and tried to resist the urge to stroke it lovingly. It was the nicest piece of furniture she owned, and that was including the simple bedrooms upstairs as well. And Quint had purchased it for her, just because he thought she’d like it.
He was talking to Cinco again. “In my family, we had a tradition of exchanging presents on Christmas Eve. St. Nicholas came during the night, so we’d hang our stockings up, of course, but before bed on the 24th, we’d share our gifts with one another.” He paused, then reached up to rub the back of his neck, almost in hesitation. “I thought… That is, if you didn’t mind, I thought it might be nice to do that this year.”
“Exchange presents?” Finnie asked, unable to keep the surprise from her voice. She’d gotten both of them little gifts, but hadn’t expected anything in return. The sofa was enough of a surprise!
Quint was quick to reassure her. “I’m not saying I need anything, no! I just… I got a few things, and I thought, if you didn’t mind me giving them to you tonight…”
He had gotten her gifts? He liked her enough to get her more? Finnie’s breath caught at the realization. Marshal Quint Diamon liked her! As much as she liked him?
“Wait, wait,” Cinco interrupted, swinging his legs off the loveseat. “St. Nicholas? He’s that guy who flies around with the deer, delivering the baby Jesus, right?”
The innocent question broke through the whirl of Finnie’s thoughts, and she ended up chuckling happily. “No, the Virgin Mary delivered the baby Jesus.”
“St. Nicholas delivers gifts to good boys and girls,” Quint explained. “It’s a tradition, at least where I grew up, to hang your stocking by the fireplace, and it would be filled by Christmas morning.”
The boy was peering at them suspiciously. “I don’t believe he’s real.”
Quint shrugged. “You could always hang up your sock and see what happens.”
When Finnie realized Cinco was about to take off his shoes, she stopped him. “A clean one, please. I pay good money to have your clothing washed, you know, and St. Nicholas would probably prefer that.”
The boy rolled his eyes, but scampered off upstairs. Quint glanced at her. “I’ll just go get…go get your gifts,” he said, backing out of the room towards the stairwell.
He was acting so differently tonight. Was it the snow? The fact they were trapped in here together? The fact it was Christmas? Or something else entirely? Finnie wasn’t sure, but she couldn’t deny the lightness in her heart as she scurried about, digging out the gifts she’d bought for Quint and Cinco.
They reconvened on her new sofa, beside their Christmas tree.
“These are for you, Cinco,” she declared, dropping a heavy package at the boy’s feet. “I’m really proud of the hard work you’ve put in with Quint, learning how to read.”
Eagerly, the boy scrambled to unwrap the books she’d had Gomez order. Abigail Blake had offered plenty of suggestions for early readers, and as Cinco sucked in a breath, Finnie knew she’d done well.
“They’re for me?” the boy asked, wide-eyed, as he sat cross legged on the floor, the books in his lap. “I’ve never had my own books before.”
He was so damn precious. A few short months ago, Cinco had been skin and bones, unwilling to speak to many people, cowering in fear of fists and harsh words. Now he was strong and sure and had a place for himself. Finnie smiled softly.
“I don’t have a lot of extra money, Cinco, but with you helping me out here at the High Stakes, I think we can make a pretty good life together. I promise you’ll never go hungry again, and I’ll make sure you get all the tools you need to grow up smart and healthy.”
The boy threw himself into her arms, and she wrapped him in a hug. With his head buried into her chest, she kissed his hair. “I love you, Cinco.”
He mumbled, “Love you, Finnie,” and it made her heart soar.
But when she glanced as Quint, watching the two of them with such unguarded affection, her throat went dry. Did he feel the same way about the boy, or was it more than that?
Flustered by his intensity, she shook her head. “I got something for Quint too. Wanna help me give it to him?”
“Yeah!” Cinco popped upright and grabbed the little box she’d labeled with Quint’s name. “Here you go!” he said as he laid it on Quint’s lap. “It’s from Finnie. Not me, ‘cause I didn’t know about giving presents.”
She poked him in the side. “It can be from both of us, silly.”
Quint’s brows were way up around his hairline. “You got me something?”
She shrugged. “You got me a piece of furniture,” she mumbled dismissively as she waved towards the box. “Seems the least I could do.”
He tore open the brown wrapping paper to reveal a box of cheroots, the same kind he favored. He’d always made a point of not smoking in her saloon, but she knew from that night outside of Gomez’s store he preferred them, so she’d even figured out the brand.
“Also, this,” she said in a hurry, before she lost her nerve, and thrust out a little sack she’d sewn. “It ain’t much, but…”
Curiously, he placed the box of cigars on his lap and peered into the sack. His eyes lit up when he saw the contents, and she knew she’d chosen correctly.
“Peppermints! How’d you know I have a weakness for them?”
“Thank you, Finnie,” he said in a low voice, looking down at the neatly stacked cheroots and the peppermints. “These are really nice gifts.”
The way he said it made her all warm inside, pleased she’d chosen things he appreciated. Of course, she had no idea how to respond, but she was saved when he cleared his throat and looked up.
“Now it’s my turn, right?”
He placed the box of cheroots on the table and reached for a long package. “This one’s for Cinco, but only because, as Finnie says, you’ve progressed so far in the last few months. I called in a few favors after you were so interested. Mr. Prince lives down in Everland, Wyoming now.”
Eagerly, the boy ripped into the paper, and both he and Finnie sucked in a breath when they saw what was revealed: the boy’s first rifle, a custom-job single-shot Prince .22 long.
With fingers that shook slightly, Cinco traced the barrel. “I can… Thank you, Quint.” He swallowed, then twisted to look up at Finnie. “Will you teach me how to shoot? How to hunt?”
She smiled, happy to hear he remembered her stories of hunting. “I could, but I think you oughta ask Quint there. He got it for you, and it’s not every boy who can take shooting lessons from a real-life marshal. Everything I’ve heard about him tells me he’s one of the best, you know.”
Wide-eyed, Cinco turned to the man, whose lips were curved upwards as he listened. When he saw the boy staring at him in question, Quint dropped his chin in acknowledgment. “I’m better with a revolver, but I’d be happy to help teach you.”
The boy squealed and threw himself off the sofa, stretching out on the floor to examine his new presents. Quint cleared his throat again and reached for two small packages.
“These are for you, Finnie,” he said quietly.
She wasn’t sure what to expect. But once they were revealed, she couldn’t speak. Sitting in the piles of paper in her lap was a small bottle of real, honest-to-goodness perfume, and a stack of lacy handkerchiefs.
It was difficult to keep her hands from shaking as she picked them up to stare at them. In all her life, she’d never once owned something so delicate, so feminine. She switched her shocked gaze to Quint. Was this how he saw her? As someone worthy of such delicacy?
He looked a little worried. “I thought…” He swallowed and tried again. “I thought you deserved a little finery in your life, Finnie. You work so hard, and you never seem to take time for yourself. I know your style of dress is what works for your business, but—”
Panic flared. “But it’s not womanly? Is that what you’re saying?” She wore skirts, sure, but there were trousers under hers right now to stay warm. And of course, there was a complete man’s costume upstairs right now, hidden in her wardrobe, along with her black hat and bandana. “This is who I am, Quint! I can’t be more—”
He surged forward, sorrow in his expression, and stopped her by placing his hand on her arm. As always, that burst of warmth spread to her heart.
“Finnie,” he said low and intently, “I like you just the way you are. And if my gift in any way makes you uncomfortable, I will return it to Helena on my next trip. I didn’t intend to make you feel less. I wanted…” He winced and shook his head. “I wanted to give you more. More options. I wanted to make you feel…”
He shrugged, and she discovered she was holding her breath. He wanted to make her feel…what? Feel more? Well, he’d accomplished that.
And she believed his words. He did like her as she was, and the gift wasn’t him trying to change her. Besides, it was the most elegant thing in this building, as far as she was concerned. Taking a deep breath, she nodded and loosened the glass stopper on the perfume bottle.
The scent of rosewater wafted gently through the room, competing with the sugary cookie aroma. Roses. The fanciest and most feminine flower she could think of!
Dabbing a little behind her ears, the way she remembered Mama doing all those years ago, Finnie offered him a smile. He was right; she didn’t have any frippery in her life. And now she did, thanks to him.
“Thank you, Quint.”
Thank you for making me feel like a woman.
Later, after they’d given Cinco the carved horse from Hart and the boy had been sufficiently excited, the three of them sat down at the table with the rest of the cookies and a deck of cards.
Back when the two of them had been recuperating from their wounds, they’d discovered Cinco was a damn fine poker player, despite his youth. To Finnie, it was further proof the kid was sharp as a tack.
But instead of dealing right away, Quint began flipping cards until he pulled out the five of clubs and the five of diamonds. He placed them face-up in the middle and tapped the club. “Do you know why you were named Cinco?” he asked.
Frowning, the boy shook his head. “Dunno if it’s even my name, or just what I remember.”
Quint shrugged. “I don’t know either, and we might never know. But it means ‘five’ in Spanish, right?”
“Si,” the boy agreed.
Quint moved his hand over the other card and tapped the diamond with one long finger. “I was my parents’ fifth child, so they named me Quint. Quint is from the Latin word for ‘five’. ”
While he had their attention, he slid a third card out of the deck, a five of hearts, and placed it in front of Finnie. “And ‘Pompey’ is also from Italy. It’s a name which means ‘fifth’ as well.”
Cinco whistled. “That’s…wow.”
Finnie shook her head. “I never realized! Not only that…” She reached out to tap the five of hearts in front of her. “My real name’s Alfina. Pa just called me Finnie, because in our first saloon, the ante was always a fin, which is what the cowboys called a five-dollar bill.”
Quint began to chuckle. “So we’re all called ‘five?’ ”
Cinco reached forward and scooped up all the cards, repositioning them in a row in the center of the table. His dark finger stabbed at each suit as he spoke. “Three of a kind.”
She couldn’t help it; Finnie reached across the table and closed her hand around each of theirs. “Three of a kind,” she whispered.
Quint twisted his hand in her grasp, until his fingers were entwined with hers, and he grinned. “Three of a kind,” he agreed.
9
The only way Quint knew it was Christmas morning was by his pocket watch; there was no sunlight, dawn or otherwise, coming through the window. The snow was still coming down, thick and heavy, and he was glad for the extra quilts Finnie had stripped from the unused guest rooms to share. In fact, Cinco had slept in her bed last night so the two of them could cuddle for warmth.
Was it odd to feel jealous over that fact?
He would give his eyeteeth to be the one snuggling with Finnie on Christmas morning, and that realization made him thoughtful as he pulled on his boots and tromped downstairs.
He and Finnie had stuffed Cinco’s sock and hung it next to the big iron stove last night. The room was cold and still when Quint entered, the Christmas tree glittering dimly in the corner.
Well, it’s Christmas morning. Let’s have some cheer.
So by the time Finnie came downstairs carrying a still-yawning Cinco—who was dressed in the same rumpled clothes as yesterday—the fire was crackling cheerfully in the stove, and the room was much warmer. Quint was frying up some bacon, and had even managed to recreate a cinnamon-and-honey tea his mother used to make on special occasions.
Finnie hummed appreciatively as she sunk down on her new sofa, a mug of the tea in her hand. “This smells delicious!”
Cinco had no time for food or drink; he’d woken up considerably since discovering his full sock. “St. Nicholas is real, Quint! Look, Finnie, look!” He jabbed his finger towards the stocking and jumped a little on his good leg. �
��Can you get it down, Quint? Can you? Please!”
Chuckling, Quint unhooked the material and handed it to the boy, who crowed gleefully and threw himself down on the braided rug beside the tree. “Look! Candy! And an orange, and a new whistle!”
The orange had been Quint’s idea; St. Nicholas had always left him and his sisters’ an orange in the toes of their stockings, and he wanted Cinco to have that memory as well. Finnie must’ve picked up the candy when she’d purchased Quint the peppermints he enjoyed so much.
Now she raised a brow in his direction, her smirk hidden behind the mug she grasped. “A whistle. That’s just great. Remind me to thank St. Nicholas for trapping me inside with a six-year-old and a whistle.”
Tweeeeeeeeet! Cinco blew enthusiastically. “Isn’t it great? Since it’s still snowing, I guess I’ll have to practice all day today!” Tweeeeeeet!
Quint winced theatrically as Cinco blew the wooden toy with great enthusiasm. “Or you could, you know, read one of your new books.”
“Alright,” the boy declared with a wave of his hand, “but after I try this out some more.”
After a few more puffs, Finnie gave up and crossed to the stove beside Quint. “I figure we could stuff our ears with cotton if he follows through on his threat.”
His wince was real this time. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking—”
“Nah,” she reassured him as she began to pull out ingredients and arrange them on the counter. “It’s worth it to see him so happy.”
Thinking back on Christmases with his family, Quint had to smile. That pretty much summed up his parents’ goals, near as he could figure it. Without thinking, he reached out and snagged her hand. She looked startled, dropping her gaze to their linked fingers. He remembered last night, the way she’d so naturally taken his hand, and when her lips softened in a small smile, he knew she felt that way today too.
“Thank you, Finnie.”
She met his gaze, eyes wide. “For what?”
“For this.” He smiled gently. “I haven’t had a real Christmas in a long time. Thanks for letting me share my traditions with you. This is the nicest holiday I can remember.”
Three of a Kind: Black Aces, Book Two Page 8
