Mail-Order Christmas Baby

by Sherri Shackelford

  The negative balance at the bottom of the page was like a physical blow. With a gasp, she slammed the book shut. No wonder Otto had warned her about spending money. Her hands trembling, she flipped back through the pages. The decline in revenue carried from column to column in nauseating succession.

  One of the numbers snagged her attention. She often used actual prices of goods and services in her teaching. The exercise taught her students that math was as important to a farmer as to a banker. She probably knew as much about feed prices as Mr. Carlyle from the feed lot, and the price of feed listed here was too high. Even in winter, when the cattlemen supplemented their hay, she’d never seen the price that high.

  A cry sounded from the second floor, signaling that Gracie was done with her nap. Heather rested the ledger in its place and closed the door behind her. She’d offer her assistance to Sterling later.

  If someone was gouging the ranch on prices, he needed to know.

  * * *

  Sterling normally didn’t mind the cold, but he’d spent the entire day in a downdraft. His hands and feet were stiff, and his face was sore and chapped. By the time he put up his horse, darkness had fallen. The screeching cat he’d hauled all the way back from the Hendersons’ hadn’t improved his demeanor.

  There was a single lantern shining in the window of the parlor, and his mood improved upon seeing it. He stepped through the back door and took off his boots, then lit the wick on the lantern. The cat had quit screeching once they’d moved inside, and he opened the top of the basket.

  The tabby was older than a kitten, but not quite an adult. The lanky animal shot from his confinement and darted beneath the stove. Sterling let him go. He’d figure out the lay of the land soon enough.

  There were two place settings at the table, and he dropped onto the straight-back chair, stunned. Heather had waited for him and he hadn’t shown up. She’d even left a lamp lit for him. He got a hitch in his chest that felt more uncomfortable than his frozen toes. How long had it been since someone had been concerned over his return?

  Heather’s words chimed in his head. I don’t want to feel that way ever again, and I don’t think you do either.

  He’d steeled himself against the loneliness of living a transient life. He’d been focused on earning enough money for his future because he never expected to inherit the ranch. He and Dillon had accepted that their separate defections had lost them any chance at the legacy. Over the years he’d worked and saved, studying various ranching techniques and searching for the perfect plot of land. The telegram calling him home had caught him off guard.

  He’d never ruled out the notion of starting a family of his own someday, but he’d simply never gotten to a place in life where the idea had moved up the list of importance. He sure hadn’t expected a baby in the Wells Fargo delivery—that was for certain. He and Heather had been forced into an untenable position by the lie, and he’d done what he thought best considering the circumstances.

  Who stood to benefit by playing such a precarious game? Leaving the child with strangers was a dangerous gamble because there was no guarantee of the outcome. Either of them might have just as easily walked away from the responsibility. Having been born and raised in Montana, he was fully aware of how quickly fortunes shifted. They were all one winter storm, one epidemic or one telegram away from disaster. Heather stubbornly refused to accept that, at any moment, the person who had dropped the child into their lives might just as easily return for her.

  For him, the ever-present threat loomed large. Yet Heather was settling into the odd sense of normalcy they’d created from the unusual circumstances they’d inherited. While she was gradually moving into a state of permanency, he was girding himself for the coming storm.

  He was terrified of losing her and Gracie.

  He stepped into the parlor with the intention of turning down the wick, and discovered Heather sound asleep on the damask settee. He set the lamp on the table and crouched before her. She had one hand curled beneath her chin, and the other tucked against her stomach. Her lustrous hair fanned the pillow like liquid fire, and her stockinged feet peeked out from beneath her skirts.

  She’d never shown any sign of regret in marrying him, but he was ever vigilant. Gracie had been up again the previous evening. He’d heard the floorboards squeaking as Heather soothed the child back to sleep.

  Rather than waking her now, he gently lifted her into his arms. Exhausted, she sighed and her head lolled against his shoulder. He carried her up the main stairway and rested her on the counterpane in her room. She stirred and murmured something unintelligible, and he soothed her back to sleep with a few nonsense words. He unfolded the blanket from the base of the bed and covered her, then checked on Gracie.

  The child was sprawled on her back in the crib, the blankets a tangle around her legs. He straightened the covers and tucked them over her tiny body.

  In his own room, thoughts swirled around his head, preventing him from fully resting. Nothing was permanent. And if nothing lasted, then this situation was no different from anything else, no more special. He’d been holding back because he sensed their time together was temporary. If he was right, if their time together was truly limited, then he’d live in the moment, just this once, and forget about the uncertain future.

  Heather deserved that much.

  * * *

  The following morning Sterling lit the stove and placed the kettle on the burner, his eyes gritty. The coffee was percolating when Heather came downstairs.

  She paused in the doorway. “I thought you’d be at work already.”

  “I figured I better warn you about our new houseguest.”

  He reached beneath the stove and retrieved the new tabby cat.

  “He’s precious!” Heather exclaimed, fussing over the animal.

  His discomfort from the previous day faded into a distant memory. Her obvious pleasure at the unexpected gift had made the miserable trip worthwhile. The tabby cat reacted in kind, purring and rubbing his cheek against her chin.

  “The Hendersons promised that he was a good mouser,” Sterling said.

  Heather held the cat aloft, a studied look wrinkling her brow. “I think he’s going to be a wonderful addition to the household.”

  Gracie toddled over and grasped her skirts. “Kitty.”

  Heather knelt before her and held out the squirming animal. “You may pet the cat, but you must be gentle.”

  Her face screwed up in concentration, Gracie extended her hand and patted the cat’s head with firm pressure. “Night-night, kitty.”

  “What shall we name her?” Heather asked.

  “Kitty!” Gracie clapped her hands. “Kitty.”

  “I suppose that’s as good a name as any,” Heather replied.

  There was plenty to do, but Sterling lingered in the warm kitchen. Heather released the cat and the feline darted beneath the stove once more. Sterling reached for two mugs and filled them, then retrieved the creamer. She took the seat across from him and poured a generous helping into her cup. The cream swirled and blended, and she retrieved a spoon, completing the process with a quick stir.

  “Thank you for Kitty,” she said. “That must have been a miserable trip in the weather.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said. “The trip wasn’t so bad.”

  After two weeks, they’d reached an awkward sort of practiced conversation. The idea chafed. He wanted more than this strained talk. He wanted, at the very least, to feel as though they were more than strangers.

  He was frustrated because he didn’t know how to proceed with Heather. She didn’t respond to his compliments. He had no tangible complaints. She was polite and kind, but there was always a distance between them.

  She cupped the mug in both hands and blew a draft of air over the top. “I’d like to invite Irene and her family for T
hanksgiving.”

  “That’d be nice.” He contained his surprise, fearing he might frighten her off the subject. Hosting an event meant she was growing more comfortable with her surroundings.

  “Do you think you can manage a turkey?” she asked.

  “Yep. The boys usually bring home a couple around that time.”

  “I can invite them too.”

  “They’d like that.”

  “I checked the cellar. There are plenty of potatoes. I can make the sugar stretch. The dinner won’t set us back.”

  “Heather, you don’t have to pinch pennies,” Sterling said. “Buy whatever you need.”

  “I saw the books.”

  He kept his flare of annoyance well hidden. “When I said nothing was off-limits to you in the house, I meant what I said.”

  The truth was bound to come out at some point, and his pride did not put food on the table.

  “I wasn’t trying to pry,” she said. Her gaze remained fixed on the steaming mug of coffee before her. “I was dusting in the dining room, and I’ve always liked numbers. I guess I was drawn to look at them.”

  “I inherited a bad situation, that’s true, but I don’t want you to worry. I’ve been working hard, and I should have us in the black by spring.”

  Having the truth exposed lifted a weight from his shoulders. The future was nothing beyond this moment, and while they were together, the problems facing him were all manageable. The situation was precarious, but he hadn’t lost yet.

  “I want to look them over,” she said. “The books.”

  “How come?”

  “I think your father was overpaying for supplies.” She stood and approached the pie safe, then retrieved a pie. “Would you like some?”

  “You don’t have to placate me.”

  “I’m not trying to placate you. I’m trying to apologize.”

  “For what?”

  “For snooping around your ledgers.”

  “I don’t care if you read the ledgers. We’re husband and wife. I want you to know I’ll always take care of you. I have some money saved. I never said anything because I didn’t want you to worry.”

  His life in this house had always been colored with antagonism. His pa’s rule had been absolute, his decisions accepted without question. Everyone had coped in their own way. His ma had claimed her power by hosting lavish parties, Dillon had rebelled and Sterling had attempted to keep the peace.

  Memories of the past seemed to permeate the walls. Nothing had ever worked quite right in this house. There’d always been undercurrents of anger. As he and Dillon had grown older, they’d been pawns in the struggle between his parents. Their loyalties had been recruited and exploited. Following the death of his ma, the challenge had shifted. His pa had turned the full force of his attention toward Dillon, determined to mold him into an exact replica of himself.

  The changes Heather and Gracie brought to the house chased away the past. The air seemed lighter and the walls brighter. He didn’t need to be the peacemaker anymore. They were allies, working together against the forces battering the success of the ranch and their future together. The role was new and foreign and not entirely comfortable. After years of being accustomed to one way of living beneath the roof of the Blackwell house, the sudden shift was unsettling and felt unnatural. He simply wasn’t accustomed to what was normal.

  “I’ve set some money aside for you and Gracie,” he said. “It’s from my ma. She had some family money. If something happens to me, and the bank takes the land and the house, you’ll be taken care of.”

  Heather tucked a lock of hair behind one ear. “But you should use that money now.”

  “I won’t. Not until I know your future is secure.”

  She tugged her lower lip between her teeth and drummed her fingers on the tablecloth. He hadn’t anticipated an argument.

  “I’m grateful you’re looking out for us,” she said. “But we’re a family. We look out for each other.”

  “Knowing you and Gracie are taken care of if something happens to me is important.”

  “I understand. But at least let me look at the books.” She straightened her back and assumed an air of authority he imagined she’d perfected in the schoolroom. “If someone was taking advantage of the Blackwell Ranch, you can get the money back.”

  “I doubt that. But if you’re all fired up to look at a bunch of numbers, be my guest. I’ve been meaning to take a closer look myself. Just haven’t gotten around to it.”

  Rearranging the numbers didn’t change the bank balance. He’d spent half his savings on clearing his debts around town. The townspeople had placed the blame on his pa’s declining health, and he hadn’t argued the point. Let them think whatever they wanted to think, as long as the bills were paid. The back taxes on the land had taken more negotiation, but he’d managed to put off the bulk of the payment until spring.

  “Thank you,” she said, appearing relieved and slightly flushed. “You’ve done so much for us, and I want to do something for you.”

  “I should be thanking you,” he said easily, deflecting her gratitude. “I know about the talk in town, and I have a fair idea of what people are saying. I don’t want you to worry.”

  Nothing had gone the way he’d planned since his return. He hadn’t expected to inherit anything, and instead he’d gotten a ranch on the verge of collapse. He hadn’t expected to marry anybody, and he’d gotten a baby delivered with the parcels. He hadn’t expected to feel the rage he’d felt on Sunday when he’d heard what folks were whispering behind their backs.

  A becoming flush of color spread across her high cheekbones. “Irene mentioned the trouble.” She rubbed at a spot of jam marring the checked covering on the table. “She’s trying to discover the source.”

  “The Foresters are good people.”

  “I think most everyone in town wants the best for us. I truly do, but some of these rumors feel particularly vicious, and decidedly personal.”

  He’d thought the same thing when Otto had first brought the problem to his attention. His pa’s position in the town had caused the occasional trouble based on jealousy over the years. But the days of land grabbing were a thing of the past, and civilization was gradually claiming the state. The gold in the stream had been extracted and squandered years before.

  Despite the changes time had wrought on the town, the land had retained its value over the years. The stream brought fresh water from the mountains and an abundance of trout. A thin thread of coal kept the fires burning in the winter. His pa had made plenty of enemies over the years, but Sterling had assumed all hard feelings had gone with him to the grave. Except when money and land were involved, there were always enemies to be had. Had his pa gotten caught up in something more sinister?

  “I can sell,” Sterling said. He’d started over before, and he could start over again. If someone wanted to slander both of their reputations, there was no telling what they might do. “There’s nothing holding us here. I can sell and we can start over someplace else.”

  “What about Dillon?” She half stood, then sat back down. “Doesn’t he have a say?”

  “He’s not here. If he wanted a say, he’d come home.”

  “You can’t sell the land.” She scooted away from the table and faced the stove, then pivoted again. “The Blackwells are an important part of Valentine.”

  “Our importance is in the past. You and Gracie are my future.”

  Her eyes reddened, and she blinked rapidly. “No. I won’t let you sell. Stay and fight. You know ranching, and I know numbers. Between the two of us, we’ll make the ranch better than it was under your pa.”

  “But at what personal cost?” he persisted. “If leaving is better, then we should leave.”

  He left other things unsaid. Leaving Valentine put distance betwee
n them and whoever had introduced Gracie into their lives.

  “I’m not letting some anonymous bully run us out of town,” she announced. “If someone wants to slander us, there has to be a reason. You owe it to yourself to stay and fight.”

  She’d used the word us, firmly placing them both on the same side. The idea was heady. Whatever truce he and Dillon had established over the years had been uneasy at best. There was always the underlying tension their pa had stoked between them. Sterling felt as though he’d been pressing on a wall his entire life, and the foundations had suddenly given way. He didn’t have to fight against someone, he had someone fighting by his side.

  “If all goes well,” he said, “we should have a real turnaround in our fortunes come spring.”

  A thread of hope wove through his troubled thoughts. They had little in common beyond Gracie and a vague plan for the future, but for now, that was enough to build on. He didn’t need to move mountains; he only had to survive until spring.

  “Then we wait until spring,” she said, echoing his thoughts. “I’m good with pinching a penny. I’ll help wherever I can.”

  He stretched out his hand and covered her fingers with his. “Thank you.”

  He sensed that her loyalty, once given, was not easily retracted. He’d been challenged more than once over the past few months, and he’d taken those challenges as isolated, solitary trials. At least for now, they had each other.

  She moved toward the door, putting some space between them. “We sure have a determined enemy for a couple of average people.”

  “I reckon so.”

  Gracie tugged on his pant leg. He glanced down and she stuck her fist in her mouth, her inquisitive gaze an exquisite reflection of innocence.

  What part did the child’s abandonment play in their current troubles? If any. He’d been content to let the mystery of Grace’s origins rest. He was afraid if he dug too deep and discovered something, he might lose her and Heather both. Heather had only settled for him because he was a last resort. She’d stayed because his name was listed next to hers on a document someone had forged.