Cowboy Christmas

by Carol Finch, Elizabeth Lane

  But, of course, she kept her craving to herself. She’d just have to get through her humiliating confession alone, without liquid courage.

  She lifted the cup to her lips with her hand trembling. At least Mick was here, gathered in the Wells’ parlor with everyone else. From the frequent glances he slid her way, she knew he wasn’t leaving anytime soon. He stood with Jack and Nubby in front of the fireplace, and his stance appeared relaxed. But from the moment Zurina had kindly invited her to take a seat on the velvet couch, he’d hardly moved. As if he refused to let her out of his sight.

  Once they alighted from the sleigh, she had thought to beg a private moment with her father, but in the end, thought better of it. The simple fact of her presence here at the WCC entitled everyone to know of her purpose in coming to Montana for the first time in three years, without announcement of her intentions. She could only hope the ugly news of the embezzled library funds hadn’t yet clawed its way from Minnesota.

  Allethaire wanted them all to hear the truth from her own lips. She figured everyone in the room had a vested interest in the circumstances, one way or another.

  Unfortunately.

  She took another sip of the black brew and discreetly watched Zurina hand Margaret Butterfield her own pink-flowered china cup. As darkly beautiful as her brother was handsome, Zurina had grown into the role as the matriarch of the Wells dynasty with enviable grace and confidence.

  Of course, it’d been Margaret who had driven out to the ranch as soon as the snow let up to inform Trey and Zurina about the train robbery, and that Mick had whisked Allethaire off the train to avoid arrest. Her father had arrived soon after, accompanied by the local police chief, George Huys.

  Both men stood with Trey, who worked one-armed while filling crystal glasses with whiskey. His curly-haired daughter slept peacefully on his shoulder, and though a small crib occupied a far corner of the room, he clearly preferred to hold her instead. Fatherhood, Allethaire could tell, suited him.

  A good dose of self-pity welled up inside her. He’d found a happy life with Zurina and their baby. Family, friends, respect, prosperity—and roots firmly planted right here on the ranch.

  A home to be envied.

  Allethaire had nothing of the sort. Nothing to embrace and cherish and work to keep for the rest of her life.

  Instead she faced a future rife with scandal. All her attempts to succeed in her own way had somersaulted into disaster. She could never go back to Minnesota, could never have the life she dreamed of having there.

  And soon, when her father heard of what she had done, how she’d failed, his disappointment and frustration would be more than she could bear.

  Thrashing waves of hopelessness tore through her, filling her with sadness, with fear, and blinking fast, she lifted her cup yet again in a pitiable attempt to hide her pain.

  By the time she swallowed and carefully returned the china to its saucer, she realized the parlor had grown silent. That everyone had found a seat. That they’d turned their attention toward her. And waited.

  Everyone, except one.

  Her father moved with the authority and power of a prized stallion. He paused only long enough to unbutton his jacket before he settled in the chair across from her. Handsome and distinguished as always, his white hair and moustache impeccably trimmed, he leaned back and crossed his ankle on his knee.

  His troubled gaze hooked with hers.

  “All right, Allie,” he said quietly. “Start from the beginning.”

  Chapter Eight

  Like an old faucet spewing water in fits and spurts, the words came.

  They kept coming, too. Growing stronger the more Allethaire talked. Her thoughts turned logical and organized into sequence. Her brain cleared. By the time she’d finished, her heart had lifted, her pain was gone and she came to one startling and unwavering conclusion.

  She’d done nothing wrong.

  Nothing, nothing.

  Maybe it was just being forced to bring the entire chain of events out into the open, with every detail explained so that her father would understand. Or maybe it was the lack of rancor in his questions and in his expression that helped convince her she wasn’t the failure she thought she was. Whatever the reason, she had nothing left inside her. No more secrets to keep.

  But the silence that fell afterward had her swallowing hard—and bracing for the worst.

  Until, in the span of another heartbeat, the room erupted into a cacophony of voices, a startling and unexpected mix of support, dismay and outrage. Vehement expressions of a need to help. To fight. And though she expected it, searched and looked for it, no one uttered a single accusation. Not a word of criticism.

  Not a single, solitary hint of one.

  “Ach, you poor, poor dear,” Margaret said in her German accent, her round face full of sympathy. “What a terrible thing for you to go through.”

  “Yes, how awful for you, Allie.” Zurina added her own heartfelt commiseration. “How could those people think you’d embezzle one dime from them?”

  “We’ll do everything we can to find Reggie and his gang.” Trey’s vow rang firm.

  “Just say the word, George.” Jack’s grim glance slid toward the police chief. “We’ll start right now.”

  Nubby gave a quick nod. “You just about got yourself a full-blown posse, right here in this room.”

  Their loyalty moved Allethaire, and emotion pushed up into her throat.

  “Not so fast, boys.” Mick set his glass down and moved toward her. His hand clasped her shoulder, and the warmth of his touch, his strength, soaked into her. “There’s a few things we have to keep in mind.”

  Her father steepled his fingers under his chin. His silence commanded Mick to continue.

  “Reggie’s smart,” Mick said. “He’ll know we won’t be able to track him. He’s got the snow in his favor.”

  “Mick’s right,” the police chief said. “Hell of a lot of territory to cover, and it’s plenty cold, besides. We can’t just go charging out of here until we have more to go on.”

  “He’s working with somebody in Minnesota.” Mick nodded his conviction. “That’s how he knew Allie would be on the Manitoba and that the money was in her trunk.”

  George consulted his notes. “So far, our best suspects are Jenny and—”

  “No, not Jenny,” Allethaire and her father interrupted in unison, both shaking their heads in finality. Allethaire would go to her grave believing the woman who had been like a mother to her was innocent of any wrongdoing. Ever.

  The police chief swung his glance between both of them, jotted a notation, then checked his notes again. “Which leaves the Ladies Literary Aid Society…and Charles Renner.”

  “Damn him!”

  Allethaire jumped at her father’s explosive outburst. He bolted from his chair and jabbed a finger at George.

  “It’d be just like Charles to do something like this to me. Wire the Minneapolis police chief immediately and have him investigated. He’s your man, I’ll warrant!”

  “But—”

  “He’s got connections to the bank where the Ladies Literary Aid Society kept their funds. He’s just devious enough to use my daughter against me!”

  “But—”

  “Revenge, George! Revenge!” Her father fairly shook with impatience and frustration. “Why didn’t I see it before now?”

  Allethaire leaned forward in alarm. “Are you sure, Daddy? He was always the perfect gentleman to me. He was very enthusiastic about my library idea, too, and—”

  “I’ll just bet he was.” Her father’s lip curled with contempt. “He was merely a wolf in sheep’s clothing, Allie. I’ve know him years longer than you have, so you can trust me on that.”

  She blinked and sat back. Handsome, charming Charles? Always efficient, full of ideas and quick to help? A wolf, driven for revenge?

  She didn’t know what to make of it. It didn’t seem possible, and yet…her father was almost never wrong, and she did trust hi
m. Trusted him more than she trusted herself.

  “Well?” He swung back to the police chief. “What are you standing there for, George? Get moving!”

  “Yes, sir. Certainly, sir.”

  Everyone in the room knew that when Paris Gibson barked an order, obedience was the best recourse. It was all part of his power, his influence and ability to accomplish great things.

  Clearly the Great Falls police chief was no different. Flustered, he stuffed the notepad into an inside pocket of his jacket and headed for the hallway.

  “On second thought, I’ll ride into town with you,” her father said suddenly. “I’m going to hire a private detective. Charles won’t get away with any of this!” He headed for the hall, too, and the coat tree heavy with their wraps. On an apparent afterthought, he swung back toward Allethaire. “You’re coming with us, aren’t you, honey?”

  “I’d like her to stay here, at the ranch.” Mick spoke before Allethaire could. That he dared to defy the almighty Paris Gibson left her taken aback.

  “You would?” she asked.

  “Yes, I quite agree.” Zurina exchanged a quick glance with Mick and hastened forward. “Really, Paris. She’s hardly had a chance to thaw out from her ride in from the line camp. After what she’s been through, she needs a hot bath and a good long nap.”

  A bath? A nap? Allethaire pressed her fingers to her lips to hold in a squeak of longing.

  Mick’s fingers curled around the back of her neck in a possessive gesture that revealed he had no intention of letting her leave. “Plans are to go out today and find a tree to decorate. Allie hasn’t had much of a chance to enjoy Christmas so far, and I’m hoping she’ll want to help.”

  Her heart fairly sang with an anticipation she hadn’t felt in so very long. She barely kept from jumping up from the couch and throwing her arms around Mick’s neck.

  “I would love to help decorate,” she said quietly instead.

  “Well, that settles it.” Margaret hefted her bulk from the couch. “George, I will follow you into town. I have too much work to do at the restaurant.” She patted Allethaire’s arm and winked. “I have brought your trunk, dear. The Manitoba’s conductor asked that I make sure you get it. It is so heavy, I think you have brought plenty of your belongings and can stay a long time.”

  A long time. Here, in Montana, at the WCC.

  Allethaire didn’t know what to make of that, either. But, oh, it was almost too much to hope for.

  “I expect you to come visit me in town.” Margaret winked. “Folks around here love your pa so much, and they will want to get to know and love you, too.”

  “Thank you,” she said, touched by the offer. By the kindness of her words, especially. “I’d like to do that.”

  Looking pleased, Margaret headed toward the coat tree, too.

  “Well, Allie?” Her father waited, his thick brow arched. “You’re sure you don’t mind staying?”

  She thought of his apartment, of how it’d be well-appointed yet fashionably austere and would possess none of the warmth and friendliness of the Wells’ home.

  But most of all, his apartment wouldn’t have Mick.

  “I’m sure.” She stood and hugged her father. “If Trey and Zurina will have me, I’d like to stay here.”

  “Of course, they’ll have you,” Mick growled. “Or else.”

  His sister laughed, and so did his half brother, and before Allethaire knew it, everyone left.

  Leaving her to bask in the strangely pleasurable sensation of being left behind.

  By midafternoon, the sun shone high and warmed the air to just the right temperature, making a ride out to the nearby bluffs a pleasant excursion.

  Mick slid a covert glance toward the beautiful woman on the horse beside him and amended the thought.

  Having Allie with him hiked a “pleasant excursion” up to a downright perfect one.

  He couldn’t believe his good fortune. He’d spent the rest of the morning and part of the afternoon doing chores to give her time to have that bath Zurina promised and whatever else a woman did to while away a good portion of the day. But when Allie emerged from the house, dressed in her chinchilla-trimmed hat and coat, looking refreshed and relaxed and so gut-wrenchingly elegant, well, Mick figured the wait was worth every minute.

  Not once in all the weeks and months that she’d been on his mind did he think he’d ever have the privilege of being with her like this. The freedom. That she’d even agreed to stay at the ranch and not with Paris was a big surprise. That she wanted to ride with him, just the two of them, to pick out a Christmas tree for Zurina proved to be the biggest surprise of all.

  “It’s all so majestic, isn’t it?” she said in an awed voice.

  His ruminating fell apart. “What is?”

  “Being out here.”

  She sat in the saddle with ease, and her body rocked gently with the horse’s gait. Mick’s staring wouldn’t stop. A woman with her grace and bearing, with the Bear Tooth Mountains and the pristine snow as a backdrop…she made a fetching sight a man couldn’t forget.

  “Not sure ‘majestic’ is the word I’d use,” he murmured, thinking more along the lines of what he’d like to do with her while they were all alone out here on this majestic range of his. Lusty things like finding someplace warm and private and making long, slow love to her. Giving them both a Christmas gift neither would forget…

  As if she knew the way of his thoughts, her mouth softened in amusement. “It’s very majestic, Mick. Being out here is like having our own winter scene for Currier & Ives.”

  “For who?” The unfamiliar names distracted his fantasy.

  “Currier and Ives.” She blinked in surprise. “Haven’t you heard of them?”

  His defenses marched into place. The question struck a raw spot that had been growing more inflamed of late.

  “Never,” he said, hating to admit it. “Should I have?”

  “Their work is all the rage.”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  A moment passed. He could feel her watching him.

  “I understand. Well, they’re printmakers, Mick. Their colored lithographs are quite lovely and increasingly popular with the American public.”

  But not with a Basque cowboy who had never in his life set foot outside the territory to see one. Nor had most of his people, his Basque family, who had grown up living poor with very narrow, very uncultured lives.

  With no hope of changing. As long as sheepherding dominated their survival and consumed their hope, their lives wouldn’t get better. They’d never experience or enjoy the finer things in life that those who were wealthier and more well-bred took for granted.

  Like Currier and Ives lithographs—or whatever the hell they were called.

  His mood darkened from another onslaught of guilt. He’d been given a whole slew of privileges on account of the Wells bloodline he’d inherited, a wealth he had yet to truly earn, and he had a responsibility, an increasingly fierce need, to share. To give some of those privileges back to the people who’d made him the man he was.

  And the need in him wasn’t going away anytime soon.

  “I’ll show you one sometime,” Allie said. “If you’d like.”

  They approached low-lying foothills. Beyond them, higher up, his people lived their unassuming existence, the core of which would include staying warm and having enough food to get them through the harsh winter.

  He knew those things, of course, since he’d once lived in those hills, having grown up with Zurina in a small Basque community hidden behind the pines, too far away to see.

  But it was there. An entire community with no future.

  “Mick? Is everything all right?”

  Allie’s question reminded him he’d yet to respond to her offer to see one of those pictures she liked so much, but what did it matter? How would it help?

  He scowled and reined in. “Yeah. Everything’s just fine.”

  Looking skeptical, she reined in, too. She opened her
mouth, then closed it again. Swiveled her glance toward the foothills. And swiveled it back toward him.

  “All right,” she said carefully, as if she understood what haunted him but didn’t quite know what to do about it.

  Mick dismounted and went for a change of subject. “We’d best get started on finding a tree. It’ll get dark fast out here.”

  She dismounted, too. “Zurina wants a big, fat one.”

  He squinted an eye over the dark green expanse of junipers, firs and pines spread out for miles around them and above them. All shapes and sizes, too many to count.

  “Shouldn’t be a problem,” he drawled, going for his ax.

  Snow crunched beneath her fur-trimmed boots. She stopped in front of a Douglas fir, stepped back and set her hands on her hips, giving the thing some serious consideration.

  “How about this one?” she called back to him.

  A corner of his mouth lifted. It was fat, all right. And twice as tall as she was. She had an eye for pretty trees, but no comprehension of the logistics.

  “Too heavy for my horse to pull,” he said. “And way too big to get through the front door.” His gloved fingers worked at unhooking a coil of rope from his saddle. He didn’t even mention not having an ax big enough to cut through the trunk. “Keep looking.”

  Snow crunched again. She disappeared from sight, but he could hear her moving around.

  “Come take a look at this one, Mick,” she called again, her voice faintly muffled through the branches. “Oh, never mind. It’s too big, too.”

  “Don’t go out far, Allie. I’ll join you in a minute.”

  He left her to her devoted search. Obviously she took great pride in the honor of choosing a tree in Zurina’s place. With Trey busy with ranch chores, Zurina hadn’t wanted to take her baby into the cold and had opted to stay home and unpack Christmas decorations until Mick and Allie returned with the perfect tree in tow.

  Mick hobbled their horses, hefted the coiled rope onto his shoulder and grabbed his ax. Allie’s footprints in the fresh snow would make finding her easy, and he took his time in perusing the pines along the way. He didn’t much blame her in being fussy in her choosing, but he had to make sure the job got done in plenty of time to get back to the ranch before dark.