Sheriff Reagan's Christmas Boots

by Lynnette Bonner

  The front door creaked and low voices rumbled.

  “Kin!” The parson’s voice was none-too-gentle. “Law is here to see you.”

  Kin fought to think through the blackness that claimed all the memories of the night before. Had he done something stupid? Well...more stupid than drinking Ewan’s home brew?

  Tommy rubbed his head, a sure sign that his agitation was on the rise. “Tommy w-will stay here.”

  Coming.

  He rolled to a sitting position and gripped the edge of the bed to steady himself. Spikes of pain made flashes of light cross his vision. He scrunched his eyes shut.

  Bang!

  Kin flinched, seeing Tommy do the same across the room.

  Bang! Bang!

  The parson’s fist was like to bend the hinges!

  “Wake up, son. Sheriff Callahan is here.”

  Tommy crawled farther onto his bed and curled his knees to his chest and his arms about his head.

  “Coming!” Saying the word aloud made him realize that he might have only thought it the first time.

  He fumbled his arms into his shirt sleeves and tugged on his pants and boots. Before he left the room, he paused to look at Tommy. “PC would never hurt you, Tommy. Not like those others before. Besides…” Kin crooked him a smile. “I’m the one he’s mad at.”

  Tommy nodded vigorously. “Yep. He m-mad at you. Mad. Mad at you. Tommy stay here.”

  Kin reached for the doorknob. “That’s ’cause you are smarter than me, Tom. A lot smarter.”

  Tommy cackled as he stepped from the room.

  The parson and the sheriff were sipping coffee and speaking in low tones at the table when he approached, still working on his sleeve buttons.

  Both men gave him a once-over.

  “Morning.” He squinted against the light coming through the window and turned for the coffee pot at the back of the stove. If he was going to jail he might as well go with a mouthful of the parson’s good coffee in his gullet, because he’d tasted the sheriff’s and his was downright awful. He sank down at the table and propped his head against one hand. “Whatever I did, Sheriff, just come out and say it because I got no memory of last night’s doings.”

  Parson Clay’s jaw bulged and he folded his arms. But at least he held his silence.

  The sheriff scrubbed one hand over his cheek. “I’m not here to arrest you. I’m here to ask you why you bought my apples and then put them back in my cellar.”

  “Oh. How did you find out?”

  “My wife saw you coming out of the cellar. But she reported that everything in the cellar was just as she’d left it, including the two bushel baskets of apples.”

  “Oh.” Kin’s heart fell. Did Mrs. Callahan think him a thief, now? The thought was intolerable, yet he couldn’t go to her with an explanation without revealing that the sheriff had been about to sell the apples to buy her present. Just like he couldn’t tell the sheriff that his wife was making apple pies to sell so she could buy him boots.

  “Well?” the sheriff urged.

  Kin stalled by taking a large gulp of coffee. He fought through the muddy sludge of his memories from the day before searching for some plausible reason for his returning the apples. His thoughts stumbled onto the reminder of Mrs. Callahan throwing her arms around his neck, giving him a kiss, and then inviting him to Christmas. That could work. It was thin, but...it was all he had.

  Both the sheriff and PC stared at him, waiting for a response.

  He swallowed another gulp of scalding coffee. “It’s just...well...you see...the parson is going back east to visit his family over the holiday. And your wife, sir, she...invited me to your house for Christmas. And she promised me apple pie. And she...well...she makes a mighty fine apple pie. I didn’t want to miss out on that on account of you selling those apples to buy her some lace. Because...lace wouldn’t be nearly as...tasty.”

  There was a moment of pause. Then both men burst out laughing.

  “You spent twelve dollars so that you would be able to have a slice of pie come Christmas?”

  Kin shrugged. “Well, and so’s I wouldn’t be tempted to spend it on drink.” He tossed a guilty look at the parson in time to see the man’s laughter fade into pinched lips.

  “Guess you left a dollar too many in your pocket then, didn’t you?” Hurt rimmed the edges of the words.

  Kin ducked his head, guilt slicing through him. The parson was a good man who’d offered him nothing but kindness ever since Pa’s death had thrown them together. But the man’s patience with his drinking was wearing thin, these days. And Kin couldn’t really blame him. He was a might impatient with it, himself.

  The sheriff stood and lifted his hat from the chair spindle. He reached out and clapped Kin on one shoulder. “Well, I’ll be certain you get the largest slice of pie, come Christmas, son. The very largest one.”

  The sheriff and the parson were grinning at each other again.

  Hopefully they would just chalk all this up to the stupidity of youth and not see through to the lie beneath. He didn’t want to ruin Christmas for the Callahans.

  “Well, I’d best be going.” Sheriff Callahan pushed his hat back onto his head. “I need to ride out to the Kastain place. Seems someone broke into their barn and stole a shovel and a bucket, last night.”

  “Oh no!” Parson Clay stood. “Did they lose anything else?”

  The sheriff shook his head. “No. Whoever it was left their cow in her stall, thankfully.” He lifted a hand in farewell and stepped through the door.

  And as Kin watched him go, he realized there was another spill of honey he’d just stepped in. He’d told Mrs. Callahan that he had other plans for Christmas, so she wasn’t expecting him. But he supposed he could come up with an excuse to the sheriff later for why he couldn’t make it for Christmas after all. He just had to hope that the sheriff didn’t say anything to her about it in the meantime.

  For now, he’d just have to avoid Mrs. Callahan so he wouldn’t have to tell more lies.

  And he’d make a point to let her know he wasn’t stealing from her after Christmas, when the truth could come out without spoiling anything.

  He glanced up to find the parson’s piercing green gaze drilling into him.

  He sighed.

  Time for another lecture.

  Chapter 9

  Charlotte had placed her order for the seven dollar boots with Mr. Giddens. And for two weeks she’d baked pies and delivered them to Dixie’s by the back door so she wouldn’t have to walk by the front windows of the jailhouse where Reagan might see her and question what she was doing.

  She never had gotten a satisfactory answer from Reagan on what Kin Davis had said about why he was in their cellar. Reagan had merely said he’d spoken to him and that he wouldn’t be prowling around their cellar again. Then he’d made a cryptic comment about Kin and Christmas just before he’d been called away to deal with another instance of things going missing from someone’s property—in that case the Hines had arrived at their store one morning to find that half a jar of penny candy was missing, along with a few candles and some soap.

  And she’d hardly had a chance to pass more than a few words over dinner with Reagan since. Even then, he’d been so busy chasing about after this petty criminal that he was distracted and a poor conversationalist. She missed him. Hopefully he would catch whoever was responsible soon, and their lives could return to normal.

  Today she had awoken with excitement coursing through her. Yesterday she’d delivered the last pies needed to complete her payment to Mr. Giddens. And Dixie had promised to have her money waiting for her just after the breakfast hour. They’d also made plans to discuss the future of their new pie-making venture. Charlotte had been combing through her recipe books for other types of pies she could bake because she was down to only a few apples at the bottom of the last basket. The lumberjacks would probably appreciate some variety in their desserts anyhow, so it wasn’t such a bad thing.

  Taking up her
list and dawning her shawl, Charlotte slipped out into the drifting snowflakes and crunched across the squeaking snow toward town.

  After the frigid walk, the warmth of Dixie’s diner was a welcome comfort. Charlotte couldn’t wait to wrap her hands around the warmth of a cup of tea.

  Only patrons occupied the dining room, but that wasn’t unusual. She would find Dixie, Susan and Belle in the kitchen. And after her recent days of practical solitude, she was looking forward to some conversation.

  “Dixie?” She pushed through the heavy batwing doors into the steamy kitchen.

  And froze.

  Across the room, two men with bandanas pulled up nearly to their eyes and hats tugged low stood holding the three women at gunpoint. Belle’s raised hands dripped soap suds. Dixie’s hands rested protectively over her baby. And Susan’s hands were covered in flour. A batch of bread dough lay partially kneaded on the sideboard. Charlotte took in all this with a blink.

  And then, one of the outlaws swung his gun in Charlotte’s direction. She automatically lifted her hands.

  His eyes were wide, and that was when Charlotte realized these weren’t men at all, but youngsters. He motioned with his gun for her to join the other women in the corner.

  Charlotte scuttled over to do as she was bid. What did they want? And were these the petty criminals that Reagan had been hunting down for the past couple weeks?

  “You.” The taller of the two pointed at Belle with the gun barrel. “Rinse your hands. You’re going to fill a basket with food.”

  Charlotte and Dixie exchanged a look. That was a girl’s voice. These were just a couple of children!

  Belle glanced at Dixie.

  Dixie nodded for her to follow instructions.

  Belle pumped some water, rinsed her hands, and then lead the way to the shelves that composed Dixie’s larder and followed the girl’s instructions to fill a basket with flour, lard, salt, and bacon.

  “Sugar,” the other one said, a boy by the sound of his voice. “Don’t forget to get some sugar.” He moseyed toward the table, all the while keeping half an eye on their little huddle, yet seeming to search the room for something too.

  “Yes, sugar.” The girl motioned with her gun. Belle added a packet of sugar to the basket.

  The boy lifted one of Dixie’s pots from it’s hook above the stove. “We should take one of these pots. Would certainly make cooking easier.”

  The girl gave a dip of her chin and he set the pot on the table. His focus honed in on something on the sideboard, and beside her, Charlotte heard Dixie give a little intake of breath.

  He reached for a small milk tin and gave it a shake. Metal jingled inside and he smiled satisfactorily.

  Charlotte’s eyes fell closed. Her boot money.

  Dixie suddenly stumbled sideways and bent double, gripping the back of a chair with one hand and her belly with the other. She blew out a long breath that was part moan.

  Charlotte’s brows shot up. “The baby!” Anger surged, sure and certain. These ruffians had sent Dixie into labor! She snatched up the nearby broom and swung it at the boy before she even thought twice. It connected solidly with his shoulder.

  “Ow!” He stumbled backward, tripped over his own feet, and sprawled to the floor. His gun tumbled away and slid beneath the wood stove. The red bandanna slipped and just as suspected he was a peach-cheeked boy, probably no older than fourteen. His expression revealed shock over Charlotte’s attack.

  She left him lying there and turned her ire on the girl next. “Look what you’ve done!” Unfortunately, the girl was too far away to reach with the broom. “You’ve sent my friend into labor. You both ought to be ashamed of yourselves!” She chucked the broom aside. “Just take whatever you intend to take and be gone!”

  The girl snapped her fingers at the boy. “Get up. Leave the money. We ain’t here to steal. Only to take what we need to survive.”

  The boy rose with a grumble and readjusted his bandanna. “I weren’t gonna take it all. Just a dollar or two so’s we could buy some things proper, ’stead of stealing everything.”

  “Well, we ain’t taking it! Get your gun.”

  He glanced toward the stove. “Can’t. Stove’s too hot.”

  Dixie blew out another groan.

  Charlotte motioned toward the broom. “Use that.” She couldn’t believe she was helping the kid retrieve his gun, but at this point she just wanted them gone so they could find Doc and get Dixie upstairs. She rubbed Dixie’s back and bent to peer into her face. “You doing okay?”

  Dixie only glowered at her and Charlotte realized she probably deserved that.

  Though the boy put the tin of money on the table, he kept glancing toward it, attention only half on the job of sweeping his gun from beneath the stove.

  Charlotte didn’t care at this point. She just needed them to leave so she could help Dixie and find Doc.

  The girl stepped away from the shelves with her knapsack so full that she could barely sling it over one shoulder. “We got what we came for. Come on!” Keeping the room covered by her pistol, she poked her head out the door and checked the street. “All clear. Let’s go.”

  The boy gave one last glance at the tin of money, snatched it up and followed the girl out the door.

  Charlotte’s heart sank. All her hard-earned money.

  But she couldn’t bring herself to care about it right now. She was simply thankful that they were gone. “Come on, Dix. Let’s get you upstairs. Belle, find Flynn.”

  Dixie released a long breath, hand on her baby as she bent double.

  Charlotte rubbed her back, feeling a little bit terrified. She wished mother hadn’t been so stingy with her information about childbirth. Every time Charlotte had asked her about it she had brushed a hand through the air and exclaimed, “Oh, it will all be clear enough when the time comes, dear.”

  What if Dixie was too far gone to be able to move? If she had to deliver this child right here in the kitchen, she had no idea what to do!

  But Dixie suddenly stood and smiled wanly. “All right. I think I can move now.”

  Charlotte realized Belle was still frozen in place. “Belle!”

  Eyes wide, Belle nodded. “Yes. On my way.” She lifted her skirts and spun toward the dining room door then back to the outside door, and then froze again. “Where should I start my search?”

  Dixie waved a hand toward McGinty’s. “I believe he’s next door treating one of Ewan’s tenants, if he hasn’t been called elsewhere. Start there.”

  Belle scurried out to the street, slamming the door behind her.

  Charlotte eyed Dixie. “Ready?”

  “Yes. I think I can make it upstairs now.”

  Susan was washing her hands at the sink. “I’ll be up in just a few minutes with warm water.

  Charlotte gave her a nod. “Come on.” She nudged Dixie toward the dining room door.

  They were halfway up the stairs when Dixie paused, gripped the hand rail, bent forward and loosed a long breath.

  Charlotte hoped she couldn’t feel her hand trembling as she rubbed her back again. “What do you need me to do?”

  “Just. Give. Me a. Moment.” Dixie panted.

  Charlotte didn’t want to give her a moment. She wanted to get her upstairs and into her bed and turn her over to Rose. If delivering a baby in the kitchen was bad, delivering one on the stairs was infinitely worse.

  Slowly, Dixie unclenched her hand from the rail and straightened.

  Charlotte literally bit her tongue so she wouldn’t rush her on her way.

  At that moment the main doors of the boardinghouse burst open and Doc rushed into the entry.

  Oh, thank you, Lord. Charlotte released a sigh of relief.

  “Dixie!” Doc was grinning from ear to ear. “You doing all right, darling?” Doctor bag in one hand, he rushed up the stairs.

  Dixie ignored him. It seemed it was taking all her concentration to climb the stairs.

  Doc thrust his bag into Charlotte’s han
ds. He scooped his wife into his arms. “How long has she been in labor?”

  She was supposed to know that? “I-I w-we were in the kitchen and these kids broke in and—”

  “What?”

  Charlotte gave up on trying to explain that right now. He wouldn’t be able to do anything about it, anyhow. “She went into labor in the kitchen about twenty minutes ago.”

  Dixie gave a wave of her hand. “Just get me to my bed, Flynn, before another contraction comes.”

  “How far apart are your contractions? You been counting like I told you to?”

  Dixie glowered at him. “I’ve had a few other things going on, Flynn.”

  He glanced back at Charlotte as he hefted Dixie past the last step to the landing. “Right. Kids broke in, you said?”

  “They didn’t harm us. Just wanted food, I think.” And her money. Now that Flynn was here to take care of Dixie, Charlotte felt the full impact of what she’d lost. Reagan’s Christmas present. Sure she could bake and sell more pies, but the money wouldn’t come in soon enough for her to have the boots under the tree on Christmas morning. Disappointment lodged in her throat. Now what was she going to give Reagan?

  Charlotte realized she still stood halfway down the stairs with Doc’s bag in her hand. She rushed to catch up to Flynn and Dixie. “Flynn, is there anything you need me to do? Susan’s heating water in the kitchen.”

  He shook his head. “Thanks for bringing her this far. I’ll take it from here.” He bent and somehow managed to turn the door handle all while still holding Dixie.

  Unaccountably, disappointment surged through Charlotte. Only a moment ago she’d been terrified that she might have to deliver this baby, now she was disappointed to be dismissed.

  “All right. I’d better go let Reagan know about the ki—.” The door clicked shut in her face.

  Shoulders slumping, she set his doctor bag by the door and turned for the lobby.

  Chapter 10

  Kin leaned against the corner of Dixie’s boardinghouse, looking down toward McGinty’s. He brushed a hand over the bills in his pocket and swallowed. He’d spent the past few weeks fishing long hours and then selling the meat in the logging camps come evenings. He’d been doing pretty good at not spending the money on liquor—keeping himself busy.