Cowboy Christmas

by Carol Finch, Elizabeth Lane

  Spurred by the thought, he shoved a glance through the needle-heavy branches behind him and glimpsed the ranch in the distance. He tilted his head and studied the sky, gauging how long before the sun would set.

  Not long. He’d have to prod Allie to make her decision soon. He hadn’t seen or heard from her, in awhile, and an unexpected ripple of unease tumbled down his spine.

  Might be he was overreacting, but suddenly, he needed to see her. Know that she was safe. It’d be just like her to get so wrapped up in her tree-choosing that she’d wander off farther than she intended.

  And damned if he hadn’t left his Winchester strapped to his saddle.

  He debated going back for it, just in case, but discarded the idea as soon as it took shape. Retracing his steps would take too much time and would only delay his finding her. Besides, he likely wouldn’t need it anyway.

  He kept telling himself he wouldn’t.

  But his steps quickened through the snow. Suddenly, from somewhere high above him, a hawk noisily flapped his wings and took flight, jogging branches and leaving behind a soft dusting of snow in his wake. Mick didn’t know if he’d startled the bird, or if something else did, but when another hawk flew off, too, his unease sharpened.

  Something was out here, in the woodlands. Maybe it was Allie, or a bear, or something smaller, like a wolf, but something had disturbed the hawks.

  In the next moment, a sharp gunshot confirmed it.

  Chapter Nine

  Allie’s heart jumped into her throat.

  Oh, God. Mick!

  Had he fired the shot? Or had someone shot at him? Was he hurt? Dying? Already dead?

  She whirled toward the sound, but the echo rippling through the pines proved confusing. Had the shot come from farther out—or right here in the woodlands? In truth, it seemed to come from behind her, or was it more toward her left? Was someone watching her? Was Mick looking for her?

  The questions slammed back and forth inside her brain. Though her frantic gaze clawed through the branches, she couldn’t see anything. Couldn’t hear anything. And without thought to the wisdom of what she was doing, without a care to her own safety, she picked up her skirt hems and ran through the snow back to their horses, her terror building at what she’d find when she got there.

  Mick pressed his body against the trunk of a ponderosa pine. With the tree’s high crown of branches that kept him covered in shadows, his vantage afforded him an unobstructed view of the two men mounted on horses not ten yards in front of him.

  A gray-feathered grouse had dropped from the sky and landed dead in the snow. Supper, evidently, for Reggie and his gang. Which meant they were holed up somewhere nearby.

  “I told you not to fire,” Reggie snapped, though he was the first to holster his revolver and slide out of his saddle. “You forget how close we are to the Wells’ spread? Someone could’ve heard.”

  “The bird just flew up in front of me, Reg. I had to shoot.”

  Sighing his disgust, Reggie stood over the fowl. “You have any idea how to cook one of these?”

  “Carl will know.”

  Mick digested the information. Seemed the three-man gang was still together, with one of them—Carl—left behind. To likely guard the money they stole while Reggie and this one ventured out.

  He studied Reggie’s accomplice. He had some Indian in him, but he wore the clothes of a white man. Mick committed him to memory. The police chief would need to know as many details as possible to help with his investigation.

  Reggie grasped the grouse by the legs and straightened. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Hold on. I’ll tie the bird to my saddle. He’s too heavy to carry.”

  “Hurry it up.”

  Reggie stood facing the other man’s horse, his back to Mick. Mick knew he had to do something, and do it fast. He couldn’t just let the two ride out. They had to account for their crimes, for stealing Allie’s library money, especially, and who knew how long it’d be before the law would catch up to them?

  But Mick was keenly aware he wasn’t armed, and the outlaws were. Second after valuable second passed while Mick debated the two simple weapons he did have….

  Using more guts than brains, he stepped out from behind the ponderosa with the lariat swinging in his hand. He’d learned how to rope plenty of ornery calves during the past few years, and throwing the hemp around a man standing stock-still and unaware only a few yards away was going to be as easy as pie.

  The loop found its mark, and Mick jerked the rope hard; the noose tightened around Reggie’s torso, pinned his arms to his sides and knocked him flat on his back in the snow. He yelled out an enraged oath. Mick held the rope taut with his boot clamped against the slack.

  The other outlaw went for his revolver, just like Mick expected.

  “Drop the gun, or you’ll have an ax in your chest by the time you take your next breath,” he snarled. “And it’ll be your last.”

  The outlaw froze. His eyes locked on the lethal tool Mick held up, aimed and ready to throw.

  “Do it, Boone,” Reggie said, his glance jumping between them. “Drop the gun like he says.”

  “The hell I will,” Boone said, but he looked as nervous as a prostitute in church.

  “We got to figure he’s not alone.” Reggie’s voice hissed. “Even if he is, you fire that gun again, and this place’ll be crawlin’ with WCC cowboys in no time.”

  Boone licked his lips. But still he didn’t move.

  “I got a deal to make with him,” Reggie added, sounding more desperate than he did before. “And I can’t hardly talk when I’m all laid out like this, can I? So do what I’m tellin’ you, Boone, and do it now.”

  Mick took plenty of comfort in knowing Reggie didn’t have an inkling of Allie being out here, too. Mick prayed she had the sense to stay away, even though she would’ve heard the gunshot, same as he did….

  The weapon dropped into the snow, and Boone’s expression revealed he wasn’t too happy in letting it go. Mick didn’t like he was still on his horse, but Reggie had started clawing at the rope around him, and Mick had his hands full keeping him tied up and under control.

  “Stand up, Reggie. Real easy. Then take that holster off and throw it, as far as you can.” Mick took a step toward Boone’s half-buried revolver, the urge running strong in him to be armed. “I’m not interested in any kind of a deal, so save your breath and just do what I tell you.”

  The outlaw managed to get to his feet, carefully unbuckling his holster. “Listen, Mick. You and me, we got cheated out of that ransom money three years ago. Remember? With Woodrow?”

  Mick’s lip curled at the ugly memory of their combined stupidity. “I remember.”

  “The Gibson woman, she got lucky, that’s all. The posse got to her before we could get our money.”

  “I remember that, too.” The law, saving Mick and Reggie from themselves.

  “Yeah, well, we could do it again, you know,” the outlaw said. His holster dangled from his fingers, then fell to the ground. “We can do it right, just the two of us.”

  Mick narrowed an eye. “You asking me to gang up with you on another heist, Reggie?”

  “Something like that.”

  Boone stiffened. “What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

  “Shut up!” Reggie snapped, shooting him a look that would melt coal.

  “Seems to me you got plenty of her money the other day, Reg,” Mick said coolly. “When you stole it from her on the Manitoba.”

  A slow grin curved Reggie’s mouth. “And there’s plenty more where that came from. If you’re interested.”

  Interested?

  Mick was interested, all right. For reasons Reggie was too brainless, too greedy, to fathom. Before Mick could peel any more information from him, movement from the trees stopped him.

  Allie stepped into the clearing, looking like she’d come to life right out of the pages of some high-fashion magazine. Only the rifle against her shoulder destroyed
the illusion; the steadiness of her grip and the determination in her expression revealed she hated Reggie enough to use it.

  “You’re going to give that money back to me, Reggie,” she said with a calm that raised the hairs on the back of Mick’s neck. “You’re going to tell us who you’re working with, too.”

  The outlaw paled, but recovered fast from his surprise. “I ain’t tellin’ you nothing.”

  “Then you’ll die right here.”

  She issued the warning with cold-blooded intent. Knowing it, hearing it, scared the hell out of Mick.

  Wasn’t right a woman should have to avenge the wrongs done against her like this. That she planned to do so with his own rifle while he stood by and watched stuck in his craw even more.

  “Come over here, Allie,” he said softly. “Give me my gun.”

  “I can do this,” she said, not taking her eyes off Reggie. “Your job is to not let them get away.”

  Therein lay the trouble. Mick couldn’t keep Reggie hog-tied with Boone still on his horse, ready to bolt any minute, and it didn’t matter neither of them wore their shooting irons. What mattered was that Mick was at more of a disadvantage than they were.

  Worse, Allie couldn’t shoot both outlaws at the same time. If it came to that. And it likely would, any second now.

  A fierce need to feel a weapon in his hand surged strong within him, and he dared another step toward Boone’s, still half-buried only a few feet away.

  Reggie’s attention followed him.

  Understanding flickered in his venomous eyes.

  Then…like twin bolts of lightning, they both dove for the guns—Mick for Boone’s, Reggie for his own. The rope fell loose. Reggie twisted and kicked out, making a vicious connection with Mick’s jaw. Pain exploded like liquid fire through his bones; his head snapped back, and he rolled backward in the snow.

  From the feathery fringes of consciousness, through the flames of pain, a gunshot registered in Mick’s brain. Hoofbeats rumbled across the earth…and then, everything fell silent.

  He didn’t know how long he laid there, all sprawled out in the snow, but when he came to, Allie’s face swam into focus.

  “I think we should call Doc Shehan,” she said, sounding worried.

  She laid a hand against his cheek; the cool leather from her gloves soothed the throbbing in his jaw. He wanted to tell her he was fine and not to bother the good doctor. After all, it was Christmas Eve.

  But the blurred shape of someone else’s face distracted him. All around him, low voices rumbled.

  “He’s coming to.” Trey. He was here, with Allie? “Looks like he’ll live.”

  Damned right he was going to live. Mick groaned and tried to sit up. Jack slid an arm around his shoulders and saved him the trouble of doing it himself.

  “Take it easy, Mick. Is your jaw broke?” he demanded.

  Mick opened his mouth to find out. Closed it. Wiggled it. Did everything all over again, only faster. He hurt like the dickens, but the jaw seemed to work the way it should.

  “He’ll live,” Trey repeated, but he sounded more relieved this time.

  “Oh, thank God.”

  Mick swiveled toward Allie’s soft voice. He wondered how long she’d been kneeling beside him, hanging onto his hand in a death grip. For the time it took the WCC outfit to come running?

  His arms ached to take her against him, but a few matters needed clarifying first.

  “Where’s Reggie?” he asked, sounding hoarse.

  “Dead.” She gave him a solemn nod of assurance. “Over there.”

  Mick turned. The body lay within reaching distance; blood stained the snow crimson.

  “I killed him,” she said, matter-of-fact.

  He frowned. “I figured.”

  “But the other one got away.” Allie shifted her glance toward the horizon and sighed in obvious regret.

  “Boone,” Mick recalled.

  “Yes.” She turned back. “Boone.”

  Mick marveled at what she’d done. The courage she’d shown. The strength. “Couldn’t be helped, Allie.”

  Her mouth curved downward. “We still don’t know where the money’s at, though, and that’s what I wanted most. The money back.”

  “The police will find them.” Mick was convinced of it. “They’ll get the answers we need. The money, too.”

  And whoever set her up, Mick added silently. If it was the last thing he ever did, he intended to find the mastermind behind the theft.

  “I hope you’re right.” But she looked unconvinced.

  “I am. Come on. Let’s go home.”

  He stood, shakily, bringing her with him.

  She bit her lip. “What about Reggie?”

  Trey rose, too. “Jack and I will take care of him.”

  She appeared relieved. Then, she cocked her head toward Mick. “But we can’t leave yet.”

  He frowned. “Why not?”

  “We still have to find a tree. Remember?”

  Damn. He hadn’t.

  “I’ve found the perfect one,” she said. “I know right where it is.”

  How could he deny her? It was Christmas, after all.

  Twining her fingers with his, she led him out of the clearing and deeper into the pines.

  Chapter Ten

  Later That Night

  Wrapped in the golden glow of a single lamp, Allie sat nestled in the corner of the parlor’s velvet couch with her knees pulled up and her hands curled around a cup of warm mulled cider. A thick woolen afghan covered her lap. Her belly was still full from the festive dinner Zurina had served earlier: roasted lamb—cordero asado, she’d learned—with potatoes and all the trimmings, followed by a delightful Basque almond candy called turron for dessert.

  It had been a Christmas Eve she would always remember. The exotically different foods, the laughter, the exuberant songs—all were Basque traditions that had given her special insight into Mick’s life. They’d helped shape him into the man he’d become.

  Afterward, when the table was cleared, they decorated the tree, and the fragrant scent of fresh-cut pine still lingered throughout the room. Ribbons and strung popcorn draped the stately branches; strands of cranberries glistened like rich jewels in the lamplight. She couldn’t recall ever seeing a tree more beautiful.

  Now, the Wells’ household had retired for the night, but Allie couldn’t sleep. Not after such a glorious and tumultuous day.

  Who would’ve guessed she’d ever kill a man in her lifetime? Who could’ve known?

  But pull the trigger she had, and with few regrets. Reggie would’ve killed Mick if she hadn’t kept him from it. He might have killed her, too….

  But oh, when word of what she’d done sailed across the miles to Minneapolis, her already shredded reputation would never be the same. The gossips would smack their lips, rub their hands together and the scandal would catch fire all over again.

  Allie Gibson, outlaw killer.

  Allie. Not Allethaire.

  She stared down into her cooling cider. Funny how she’d come to think of herself as a new person. A stronger one. Tonight, the wine flowed freely, but she’d had no desire for its numbing effects. She’d had no pain to chase away. No fears to bury, if only for a little while.

  She had Mick to thank for that. She had only to look into his dark eyes and feel his power, his strength. Somehow, knowing he was near, his strength became hers, too.

  Even more important, though, never once had he considered her guilty of stealing the Ladies Literary Aid Society’s money. Instead he’d protected her and vowed to find the truth, and she trusted he would—one day soon. He showed her what a safe and happy life in Montana Territory could be like. The friends that could be made. She’d seen, too, the closeness he enjoyed with his family. The loyalty the entire WCC outfit paid him and Trey.

  He’d built a simple but powerful life, without the pretenses of the big city. And, at some point during the time she’d been with him, a longing had bloomed inside her to sha
re his happiness with him.

  Yet what right did she have to want such a thing? Because her life in Minneapolis was over?

  Or because she’d fallen in love with him?

  At some point, that had happened, too. The realization filled her heart with hope and warmed her blood, leaving her not at all sure what to do about it.

  The cheerful chimes from the clock on the mantel struck once, twice, announcing Christmas Day was already two hours old, and what had she done to prepare for it? She had no gifts for anyone. Not her father. Not Zurina or Trey. Not even Mick.

  Especially Mick, who had given her so much. Tenderness and caring and kisses that filled her with a hunger the likes of which she’d never before experienced.

  Therein lay her restlessness. A disturbing and frightening uncertainty of where to go from here.

  If not for the hard work she’d spent formulating her plans for a beautiful new library, she had nothing to show for her accomplishments the past several years. Nothing to share, to give to the people who deserved it most….

  Her heart skipped a beat.

  Her eyes widened.

  Slowly she put aside her cider and sat up.

  Or did she?

  The library was her greatest effort. Her pride and joy. When before had she been able to give a finer gift?

  To those who deserved it most!

  Filled with a sudden rush of excitement, of renewed anticipation for Christmas, she flung back the afghan, scrambled off the couch and fled upstairs to her room.

  Mick frowned at the light peeking out from beneath Allie’s door. The dawn of Christmas Day would crest along the horizon soon. Time for his usual routine of morning chores, but he couldn’t fathom why she’d be up at this early hour.

  Curious, he nudged her door open and found her seated cross-legged and barefoot on the bed, looking feminine and appealing in her pink nightgown and robe. Her blond hair flowed loose and easy down her back. Papers covered the quilt in a neat crescent in front of her, and she wielded her pencil with an intense concentration that kept her from noticing he was there.