Longing for a Cowboy Christmas

by Leigh Greenwood

  “I can imagine. Someone needs to take Billy to task.”

  “The boy is taking advantage of Martha’s inability to ride herd over her brood. If we can give all the children projects to accomplish in addition to the Advent calendar, it might help tamp down this urge to be spiteful.”

  “What are you thinking about? Drawing, coloring, making something simple?”

  “That’s it! They can make each other a gift. There are fourteen children in all. That would be fourteen gifts they each have to make.” Rebel smiled. “I’d say that will keep them too busy to jump on each other with their fists.”

  “The boys’ gifts will be easy, but what can they make Violet and Jenny?” Nora asked.

  “We should pull in Tally and the other women for input. How about in the morning once we get the kids to school?” The baby squirmed, and Rebel sat her on the rug. “But one idea would be making Jenny and Violet each an ornament for the tree.”

  The door opened, and Jack stomped in. Nora went to greet her husband. Rebel always thought Jack was a handsome man with his long brown hair and gray eyes. But what impressed her most was that he treated people with kindness and respect and never looked down on her for having worked in a saloon. Willow squealed and crawled as fast as she could to him. Jack scooped the baby up in his big hands and nuzzled her neck, which made her giggle.

  He glanced up and smiled. “Miss Rebel, good to see you.”

  “You too, Jack.”

  Nora helped him with his coat and hat, and then he came into the warm parlor. “A bad storm out there, but I got the cattle fed and broke the ice on the water.”

  “Sweetheart, Rebel has come up with a brilliant idea.” Nora sat down next to him on the sofa and told him about the Advent calendar.

  “We’re still working out the details,” Rebel added.

  “I love it.” He untangled Willow’s fingers from his mustache. “I never celebrated Advent when I was a boy, but I think it’s a fine thing to teach these kids. I’ll speak to Malloy and see if he can make a holder for the candles from his forge.”

  Excitement built inside Rebel. “Thank you, Jack. We’ll also need a large wooden calendar with a little door marking each day that’s big enough for a tiny slip of paper.”

  Nora leaned forward, excited. “That sounds like something right up Tobias January’s alley.”

  “He loves working with wood and is very good at it.” Rebel loved the jolly old man with his snow-white beard. He and his wife, Belle, had brought Rebel to Hope’s Crossing in their wagon and were like family to her. Both were getting up in years but were determined to do whatever they could to help out and never let age hold them back.

  Jack nodded. “Tobias will do an excellent job.”

  Rebel stood. “I should get back to Jenny and Ely. Nora, will you open your home for a meeting in the morning? Mine is a bit small, but we can use it if need be.”

  “No, here’s fine.” Nora handed Rebel her coat, scarf, and gloves. “Be careful going home.”

  “I will.” She kissed Nora’s cheek. “Thanks for the tea and the ear.”

  Jack stood. “With luck, this storm will pass soon. Tomorrow should be better.”

  Which storm did he have on his mind? The one outside or the one inside?

  “I hope so.” Rebel drew her bottom lip into her mouth and asked the question that came so often to her lips. “Have you heard anything from Travis? I’m so worried.”

  “No, I’m sorry.” Jack’s gray eyes met hers. “I’m sure he’s all right. Try to stay positive.”

  Rebel nodded and stepped out into the ferocious wind that cut through her clothes like a sharp knife. She pulled her coat closer around herself and kept a tight grip on her scarf. Bits of sleet stung her face and took her breath. She could barely see the tall windmill on the left through the haze. Gathering her strength, she aimed herself toward the sod house that crouched in a row with six others at the right of the line of four small businesses.

  She’d barely made it six steps when the wind whipped her scarf off. Releasing one of the curses she rarely uttered since leaving the Cimarron saloon, Rebel chased after it, careful not to crumble Nora’s cookies. She couldn’t afford to lose a single thing. It took everything she had to provide for the children. Sobs burst from her mouth, and she stumbled, almost going to her knees.

  She fell against the low fence around the church that doubled as a school. When she looked up, a tall man in a Stetson came toward her through the haze. Travis? Her heart leaped into her throat, and her pulse raced. Was it possible?

  He reached for her, but before she took his hand, he vanished into the gray, swirling storm.

  Thick despair choked her. On top of everything else, she was now seeing things.

  Three

  Rebel swallowed her disappointment and rushed inside her gloomy soddy, closing the door against the storm. She forced a cheery smile and hollered to the children. “I brought a treat for you while I cook supper.”

  Jenny came running. “Goody.”

  “Gingerbread or raisin?”

  “Both.”

  It took all her willpower to deny those pleading eyes. “Sorry, just one for now. You can have more for dessert after supper.” She glanced toward the ladder to the loft. “Ely, come down, please.”

  Jenny squinched her eyes together and sighed. “I’ll take gingerbread.”

  Ely dragged himself down from the loft. “What?”

  “Would you like one of Mrs. Bowdre’s cookies?” His sullen eyes crushed her.

  “They’re delicious,” Jenny mumbled around a full mouth.

  “Not hungry.” Ely turned away.

  “Maybe later, then.” Rebel put the remainder on a small plate. “Ely, would you like to read a story to your sister?”

  “I guess.”

  The sod house was extra dark with the boarded-up window adding to the gloom smothering Rebel. The trick her eyes had played on her still shook her to the depths of her soul. He’d seemed so real she could smell the scent of leather and shaving soap. If only she could hear from him, get word of some kind to help her go on. Hearing nothing put all kinds of bad thoughts in her head—the kind that living with an outlaw often turned into reality.

  She closed her eyes and let the memory of him sweep over her for a minute, then went about the business of preparing supper.

  The children’s silence and Travis’s empty chair filled every corner and crevice of the house with loneliness.

  Later, as Rebel sat by the fire sewing the arm back on Jenny’s doll, a knock sounded on the door.

  She wiped her hands on her apron and went to open it. Darkness had fallen, and Martha Truman leaned against the side of the door, breathing hard, her face red from the cold.

  “Martha! What’s wrong? Is it the baby?” Rebel ushered her inside, and Ely pushed a chair forward.

  Martha’s dark-brown strands hung down her face, and her amber eyes held worry. She brushed back the tangled mess and put a hand on her swollen belly, collapsing onto the seat of the chair with a big sigh. The dimples in her cheeks were nowhere to be seen. “It’s not the baby. It’s Henry. I can’t find the boy anywhere. He didn’t come home for supper, and I’ve been all over this town searching for him.”

  Rebel reached for her scarf and coat hanging on a nail next to the door. “Don’t you worry, Martha. I’ll round up some men to help search. You stay here and rest.”

  “He’s my son. I should be out there with you,” Martha protested.

  “Please, let us do this one thing for you.”

  “All right. You’re a good friend.”

  Ely and Jenny crowded around Rebel, their eyes big. “Ely, do you know where Henry might’ve gone?”

  The Truman boy was three years older than Ely and the oldest of his brothers. Henry resented having to ride herd on his siblings and had
been known to hide from his mother before.

  “I saw him take off after school by himself,” Ely mumbled.

  Martha leaned closer. “Where?”

  “Last I saw he was going out of town the back way.”

  Rebel’s breath caught. The men had blasted the back entrance shut to make the town easier to defend. There was now only one way in and out. Each time the stagecoach came, the driver had to make a wide turnaround in the middle of the town and go back out the same way. Henry would’ve had to scale a pile of huge rocks and rubble that stood eight men high. Everyone knew the heap was unstable, and when it rained, huge rocks shifted and rolled down.

  The rowdy twelve-year-old could be lying horribly injured. Or worse, he could be buried beneath the pile.

  “Good Lord!” Martha’s face drained of color. “I told him time and again to stay away from there. Oh dear!”

  Rebel patted her hand. “We’ll find him. Try to stay calm. I’m sure he’ll be fine. Kids are tough.” Especially Martha’s. Again, Rebel wished Sid Truman would take the boys in hand. “When will Sid be home?”

  “Not for a few days. The stage lines gave him the run down south. I sure do miss that man. Others shouldn’t have to help. Our boys are Sid’s and my responsibility.” Martha sighed. “Speaking of, what did Billy and Ely fight about this time?”

  Rebel lowered her voice. “We’ll talk more later. I should get moving.”

  She put the scarf over her head, thrust her arms into the coat sleeves, and grabbed a wool blanket.

  “You’re easy to talk to, Rebel. Will you stand in for me and talk to Henry—if you find him?”

  She’d made a living listening—and pretending. Lonely cowboys in the saloon needed someone to share their troubles with, and she’d discovered they often were willing to pay for a bit of softness. She was glad to put those skills to use with true friends and no longer have to pretend how she felt.

  “He’ll turn up soon. I just know it.” But what kind of shape would he be in?

  * * *

  Rebel lit a lantern and pounded on doors, ending up with six volunteers. The two dogs—Bullet and the hound Scout—seemed eager to climb. Jack held Scout firmly. The dog might prove her worth this night.

  “Miss Rebel, why don’t you go wait with Martha and keep her calm,” Clay gently suggested. “Let us handle this.”

  “I appreciate your concern, but I have to go. Henry might need a soft touch, and I gave Martha my word I’d stand in for her.”

  “Then let’s get to it.” Ridge Steele, the town mayor, tugged a wool scarf tighter around his neck. “Henry won’t survive long out here. Damn, it’s colder than hell with the furnace out.”

  “I won’t be surprised if he’s lying hurt somewhere.” Jack raised his lantern higher, pulling his coat tighter. His hound raised her head to bay. “Come on, Scout. Let’s find Henry.”

  They hurried to the blocked back entrance they’d dynamited, calling out to Henry. They found the boy’s satchel on some rocks. Rebel’s stomach clenched, but she worked faster climbing the pile of boulders and rubble, conscious of more weather coming in, announced by the sleet in her face. She and the men kept calling out every so often but otherwise kept silent, moving upward, picking a path, careful not to fall to the bottom. The dogs stayed next to them. It was a painstaking chore, and Rebel kept thinking that it could be Ely out in the cold.

  A sudden misstep sent her tumbling backward, and she landed hard on her arm. Pain shot through her, and she let out a cry, but even with frozen fingers, she didn’t let go of the lantern. The pile of blasted rock was treacherous enough in the daytime but deadly at night.

  “You all right, Rebel?” Jack called from behind.

  “Yeah.” She collected herself and resumed the climb. Time passed slowly in the frigid air, her breath fogging with each exhale.

  A sudden weak cry reached her. “Stop. I think I hear something. Henry! Call out!”

  “Over here.” The boy’s voice came from the right.

  Jack let his hound go, and the dog picked her way over the rocks toward the sound.

  “Henry, are you hurt?” Rebel called.

  “Yes.”

  “We’re coming!” She wished it wasn’t forty to freezing and black as a witch’s hat.

  After climbing, sliding, and a great deal of cussing, they reached Henry. His leg was trapped by a large rock. Rebel wrapped the blanket around the boy. The hound licked his face with her long tongue.

  “We need a lever. It’s the only way to lift the boulder.” Clay looked around at the pile of rocks.

  There were no trees or hefty branches.

  “Let’s try to roll it off,” Ridge suggested. “There are plenty of us.”

  “Guess we have no choice.” Jack scanned the group and singled out the reverend. “Pastor Paul, why don’t you go back and see if you can find a pole, in case we can’t manage this.”

  “Good idea.” The reverend offered a short prayer and turned back toward the town.

  “Be careful,” Clay warned.

  The men strained and pushed, but the rock barely moved before falling right back into place, causing the kid more pain. Over and over, they gave it all they had—to no avail.

  Rebel’s hands, feet, and body froze in the cold wind. She tried to put the feeling from her mind and knelt next to Henry. Conversation might keep the boy from thinking how miserable he was. “You know, I ran away from home once. I got mad at my father for refusing to let me go to a party, so I thought I’d be by myself where there were no rules. But you know what?”

  “What?”

  “I never knew exactly how scary and dark the night could be. Or how warm my father’s arms were. I found out how much he truly loved me. I think you will, too.”

  Then years later, she’d run away again—all the way to New Mexico Territory—and never saw her father again. Lessons she learned the hard way. But she didn’t tell Martha’s oldest any of this.

  A lock of red hair blew in Henry’s face, and he shoved it aside. “I just want to go home.”

  “You will soon. Is your leg hurting badly?”

  “I think it froze. I can’t feel it anymore.”

  That was probably fortunate, or he’d be in tremendous pain. Rebel kept her questions gentle. “Where were you going? What were you running from?”

  “Just wanted to get away,” Henry mumbled. “Needed quiet, someplace where I don’t have to sit on top of one of my brothers.”

  “I understand that. Sometimes a body yearns to be alone, but you worried your poor mama.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to worry her. Guess she’s mad.”

  “No, just terribly worried.” Rebel rested a hand on Henry’s shoulder. “She’ll be relieved to have you safe.”

  “Reckon so.” Henry wiped his nose on his sleeve. “I miss my pa. He’s always gone.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure he misses you and your brothers, too.”

  “Then why don’t he stay with us?”

  “He has to work,” Clay said quietly. “He’s got a lot of mouths to feed.”

  “Yeah.” Henry shivered in the wool blanket. “I just want to be a kid again, you know?”

  Poor kid. It wasn’t fair to have to be the man of the house at twelve.

  The lantern showed Henry’s pale face smudged with dirt and tears. His hair stood in spikes. “Why did you risk your lives to come save me when I’ve brought nothing but trouble?”

  Rebel took his hand. “You and the rest of the children are our hope for the future of this town.

  “We’ve all taken our lives down the wrong road,” she added. “It’s too late for many of us to turn things around, but you and the others are just starting. If this town survives, it will do so under your care, so we’re going to work as hard as we can to protect and guide you.”

  “I ne
ver thought of things that way,” Henry said, a smile transforming his face. “I’m going to try harder, and I’ll make sure the others do, too.”

  “That’ll be a start.” Clay ruffled the boy’s hair. “This land is changing, and we have to change with it. Like Rebel said, our time is about done, but yours is just beginning. Don’t forget that.”

  Henry’s smile widened. “I’m hope for the future.”

  “Yes, you are.” Rebel put her arm around his shoulders.

  “Hang in there, Henry. Things are bound to get better.” Jack rose and gave the boulder another try, only to have it fall back on the inch it gave.

  Clay joined the other men and they huddled, blowing on their gloved hands, waiting.

  Pastor Paul finally returned with a hefty six-foot pole. They wedged it beneath the rock, and each man put his full weight on the thick piece of wood that looked to be the tongue of a wagon. The boulder lifted just enough for Henry to yank his leg out.

  Screams came next as blood began to flow back into his crushed appendage. He lay sobbing and shuddering on the rubble.

  Ridge and Jack brought their lanterns closer so Clay could check for broken bones. “Don’t feel a fracture.”

  “See if you can put your weight on it,” Rebel urged. But the minute Henry did, he gave a sharp cry and would’ve fallen if they hadn’t held him upright. “We’ll have to take turns carrying him.”

  The trip down was agonizingly slow, but they finally reached the bottom. A crowd had gathered, word having spread.

  Martha rushed forward. “Henry!”

  “I’m fine, Mama,” the boy protested, glancing around sheepishly. It was clear he didn’t want to be seen as a mama’s boy. He clutched the blanket tighter. “Thanks for keeping me company, Miss Rebel.”

  “I’m glad I could. Think about what we said.” Happy she could help, Rebel turned toward home and a warm fire.

  Four

  The Bowdre parlor was a hotbed of noise and activity when Rebel and Jenny arrived for the meeting the next morning. She went straight to Martha and asked about Henry.