His Christmas Carole (Rescued Hearts Series Book 1)

by Alexis Lusonne Montgomery

  Hap wound the warm Christmas quilt around her body and eased her up onto the pillows. Then quickly he reached inside the wrap, jerked the drawers down her legs and, keeping his head turned, slapped the quilt back into place. He tucked the edges tightly around her and added another layer with the blanket underneath, wrapping her sides and then tucking the bottom under her feet like he’d seen the squaws do with their papooses to preserve body heat.

  He scooted the bentwood chair out of the way and dragged the bed closer to the fireplace. There. Done.

  Between the fires in the potbelly stove and the fireplace, the cabin heated to an almost comfortable temperature. Definitely time to get out of his own damp clothes and then take care of Rustler.

  Still, he lingered, unable to take his gaze off her, needing to be sure she continued to breathe. Afraid she’d stop if he looked away.

  With a sharp exhale, he buttoned his coat, swept up his gloves, and pulled them on. Then he hurried outside to see to Rustler’s needs.

  After the horse’s heroic race to the cabin, Rustler deserved Hap’s whole-hearted attention, with a vigorous rubdown, plenty of praise, and some tasty, hot mash. Instead, the stallion received the briefest care necessary, along with a quick head-rub and Hap’s promise to return later for more.

  Once back in the cabin, he shed his outerwear, peeled down his pants, and sat on the chair to remove his boots and thick socks, thankful his long johns were dry to the touch. Unlike ‘Christmas’, as he’d come to think of her, his socks were dry also, but his feet didn’t feel much better than her frozen toes. Chafing his own cold feet, he studied his guest.

  When had she gone from trespasser to guest?

  When he’d seen her mostly naked.

  Please don’t let her be an escapee from Bedlam. Or married.

  She can’t be married. I’d have noticed a ring.

  The woman moaned and then began to fight free of the blankets. When she couldn’t, she cried out.

  Concerned she’d hurt herself,

  Hap stood, stepping toward her. His pants twisted around his ankles, and he stumbled, landing knees first against the bedframe.

  “Tarnation!”

  His knees throbbed. Could this get any more absurd?

  Twisting to sit on the edge of the bed, he kicked free of his denim pant legs and reached for her. Laying down, he pulled free the blankets until he could wrap his arms around her. He shushed her and whispered, “Safe—you’re safe, Christmas.” He rocked her. “I’ve got you. You’re safe, darlin’. Shhushh now. Go back to sleep.”

  “C-c-cold.”

  He could hardly make out what she said because her teeth rattled so hard he thought he might have to hold her jaws together so she didn’t break a tooth.

  She had a grip on his shirt now. Her face pressed into his neck as she struggled to burrow closer.

  He tried to grab the blanket so he could wrap it around her again.

  “You’re okay now. Relax. You’ll be warm. Hold on to me, angel. You’re safe.”

  She nodded.

  He placed a hand on the back of her head and tucked her tight to his chest. Pushing pillows behind him, he levered himself up against the headboard, kicked his pants to the floor and made sure the bundle of bedding he dragged along covered her completely. Tucking the blankets around his own bare feet was an added bonus.

  Hap continued to rub and croon like he would to reassure any frightened or injured creature. Comfort was universal. Every living thing responded to kind words and soft touches. He’d made up his mind this little scrap of a female would survive. And he would do whatever it took to get the job done.

  He rubbed her wherever he could reach, chafing through the warmed blanket. She clung, burrowing as close as physically possible until she was half on top of him. He kept a reminder running in his mind that she didn’t mean anything by her desire to be close, other than a creature’s need to survive. Any warm body would do. Right?

  Chapter 8

  Rousing, half-awake, Carole realized she was deliciously warm, snuggled against a breathing furnace. She raised her head a bit to survey her body, clothed in a man’s shirt. The big cowboy who’d saved her had her wrapped in his arms and pressed to his chest. At this angle, she couldn’t see his face, but from the even movement of his chest, she knew he slept.

  She should be afraid, but she’d never felt so safe. So protected. Isn’t that a telling thought?

  No matter what, I’m not moving.

  Easing her face back against the warmth of his skin, Carole breathed in the scent of her rescuer. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Surely, he hasn’t saved me just to turn me over to my rotten, money-grubbing cousins? Carole had no intention of waking him and asking questions when she was sure she wouldn’t like the answers—not until there was no other choice.

  Right now, she chose sleep and blessed warmth. Later, I’ll decide what to do.

  The sunlight streaming through the small window woke Carole with one thought on her mind—Please, God, let him be a good man. But even as she thought the prayer, she became aware of the emptiness at her side and

  missed her rescuer’s heat and his woodsy, masculine smell. Pretty pitiful when she didn’t even know his name.

  Was he one of her cousins’ henchmen? Did she need to escape? Or should she ask for his help? After all, he’d pulled her from a landslide and kept her from freezing to death. But then again, her cousins needed her alive to marry one of them as the only way they could gain ownership if High River Ranch.

  After sticking her head out from under the covers, Carole realized he wasn’t in the room, but the cabin’s temperature could now be described as toasty. Her clothes laid over the back of a chair positioned within reach of the bed. The stumpy pine still sat in the far corner.

  Her undergarments lay in a heap around the harp.

  Heat flooded her cheeks. What else had he found?

  The aroma of fresh brewed coffee finally registered.

  She leaned back against the pillow. If he made coffee, he can’t be all bad.

  But what if he’s mostly bad?

  The following morning, Hap gave Rustler a hard rub on his neck. He’d come out to check on the stallion a couple of times during the night to make sure he had water and no life-threatening draughts in the walls needed to be plugged. This morning, the snow had stopped and the sun streaked through as though in a hurry to evade the clouds menacing in the distance. They were headed in their direction like a locomotive in full steam.

  Sonovabeaver. Merry goldarn Christmas.

  No time to ride back to the ranch. Nothing to be done except hunker down and wait out the storm.

  “Thanks for the rescue yesterday, big guy.” He stepped back to close the bottom half-door. “You saved my arse again. The pretty lady’s, too.”

  Rustler snorted and dug into his oats.

  Hap laughed. Nothing put the stallion off his feed, except a flirting filly. He could understand that. He tipped his hat to the horse.

  “Yeah, you’re welcome.”

  Hap closed and secured the top door with the crossbar, then picked an armload of logs off the stack on the porch to replenish the pile stored in the cabin. He’d kept both fires stoked all night until “Christmas” slept without a shiver, and he sweated like he’d been baling hay in August.

  As Hap opened the cabin door, entered, and quickly snapped it closed, the blast of heat welcomed him, unlike the expression on the face of the woman sitting on his bed, the Christmas quilt shrouding her head. She looked like an orphan awaiting bad news.

  Taken aback by her reaction, Hap felt his eyebrow arch in response. He gritted his teeth before saying something he’d regret.

  What caused her concern? She was safe now. Did she think he’d taken advantage of her while she slept? Was that even possible? He’d done nothing but risk life, limbs, and his best horse to save her bottom—her trespassing bottom—and this was how she acted? How she looked at him?

  Hap dro
pped the logs on the hearth, grabbed one, and stoked the potbelly, putting the log in the side door. He reached for two, blue, tin mugs from the shelf over the kitchen area counter and poured coffee from the pot brewing on top of the stove into both.

  Counting to ten, he fought to contain his annoyance, but that didn’t help.

  He turned to her. “You want to tell me what you’re doing out here, trespassing on my land?” He kept his tone neutral, stepping close enough to the bed to hand her a cup.

  She reached out, no longer looking so anxious, and took the mug.

  “Thank you.” With huge, summer-green eyes staring at him, she took a sip of the steaming brew.

  “I wasn’t aware I was trespassing. I got lost, and then my horse ran away when I tried to put her in the shelter out of the snow.”

  “Are you always prepared for Christmas when you commandeer someone else’s property?”

  Carole took a deep breath. She sipped the strong brew, grateful for the moment to think. Confused by his question, she glanced around the cabin. Did he live here? The place seemed deserted when she arrived.

  Her rescuer rested one elbow on the rough-hewn mantel and drank his steaming coffee. Easily over six feet tall, he had a broad-shouldered, rangy build.

  She knew from close-up experience, the man was hard-muscled all over. Just considering how really close she’d been to almost all of that body sent shivers from fingertips to toes. Lordy, they grow them big in Montana.

  His gaze was direct, waiting for her answer.

  He didn’t know who she was.

  If he doesn’t know who I am, then he wasn’t sent by my cousins. Maybe I’m safe. “This is your ranch?” she finally asked.

  “Last I looked at the deed.”

  “And who are you?”

  “Halloran James.”

  Oh. My. Goodness! “Happy James?”

  “Not anymore.”

  She smiled, feeling like he’d just declared Santa Claus was alive and well and making toys at the North Pole.

  Mr. James frowned.

  “You knew my grandfather.” She sighed in heartfelt relief.

  “Depends. Who’s your grandfather?”

  “Raphael Houghten. He owns…er…owned High River Ranch. Our spread isn’t far from here, I believe.”

  “Rascal Houghten?” The big man grinned. “That old bandit was your grandpa?”

  If she weren’t so affronted by his derogatory comment about her beloved grandfather, she’d be stunned at the transformation in his handsome looks.

  Strong, straight, white teeth flashed, showing he didn’t chew that nasty tobacco which turned men’s teeth an odious yellow. He went from breathtaking to heart-stopping in a single expression.

  The amused sparkle in his sky-blue eyes made her gulp back her exclamation. “He was not a criminal!” she sputtered. “And you should show some respect for the dear departed.”

  “He might be your dear departed, but he was a pain in my arse.”

  “I have no idea why you would say such a thing. He spoke highly of you in the last letter he wrote me.”

  “He wrote to you about me?”

  “Yes. I’m Carole Lee Crispin, his granddaughter. His solicitor forwarded his last letter just after he passed on. Grandpa wanted me to find you, meet with you, and trust you to be fair. He said wrote that you came from an honorable family.”

  “Why did he want you to meet with me? What no-good trick did he put you up to?”

  Carole huffed. “Well, if you’re going to continue to cast aspersions on my grandfather’s good name, I see no point in continuing this conversation—”

  “Never you mind his good name. He didn’t have one. Now, tell me what he was up to.”

  “He said I could count on you—”

  “Good grief, woman. Just tell me what he wrote.”

  “He said you would protect me.”

  “Protect you?”

  “Yes.”

  “And who am I supposed to protect you from?”

  “My family.”

  “Your family?

  “Cousins, actually. Third cousins. We’ve never really thought of them as close family—”

  “Those coyotes who rode through lookin’ for Rascal? Said they were his nephews? Your kin?”

  “Distant. Very distant. Not nephews, cousins.” She pushed her hair behind her ears, trying to establish some semblance of order. “A younger brother of my great-grandfather who ran off to Texas. The black sheep no one on my side of the family mentions —he had four sons—and when they heard Grandfather had passed away, they came nosing around to see what they could claim.

  But my grandfather wasn’t specific. I didn’t even know about those disgusting cousins. He just mentioned if trouble showed up, I was to find you, and you’d deal with it, uh…them.”

  “Mighty generous of him to volunteer me like that.” He frowned, shook his head, then took another swallow of coffee.

  “You won’t help me?”

  “I didn’t say that.” He pulled the chair closer to the potbelly stove and sat, knees wide, forearms resting on his knees, rotating the mug in his hands. “But I’m not agreeing to get involved until I know the whole story. So, what’s going on, and why in tarnation are you way out here by yourself?”

  She sat up, straightening her grandmother’s quilt and tucking the sides around her body, giving herself time to gather her thoughts for a convincing argument. She needed his help, and she’d get it—one way or another.

  “My cousins want to force me to marry one of them so they can take over Grandfather’s ranch. He left it to me, but only if I had a husband who would help run the place. Otherwise, everything will be sold at auction, and I’ll only get the money.”

  He frowned.

  Looking him in the eyes, Carole squinted fiercely to make her point. “That ranch is mine! I don’t intend to give up my home.” She pulled one of the bed pillows onto her lap and punched the center.

  “I can understand you feeling that way.”

  “Marrying one of those despicable creatures is not an option.” She doubled her fists into the pillow until her knuckles were white. “They were actually drawing straws to see which of them would make the sacrifice to become my husband!”

  Carole realized her voice hit a particularly shrill tone. She took a deep breath. Maybe two.

  As he drank his coffee, Mr. James watched her as if every word concerned him––as though he cared.

  “That was when I made my decision to escape. I meant to go to town. I just got turned around in the snow and couldn’t find the road. When I found this cabin, I thought I was still on my grandfather’s land.”

  “You mean to tell me Ol’ Rascal set up this inheritance so you’d only get the land if you were married?”

  “That’s what I just told you—”

  “And there’s a deadline to this auction?”

  “In a week. I’ve been stalling, but they’ve been watching me, and I couldn’t get to town. Maybe I could have found someone else, but now I’m running out of time.”

  “And just what am I supposed to do about your situation?”

  Carole hesitated. Under normal circumstances, she’d never be so bold. But desperation drove her. This was the man her grandfather recommended, and he’d already saved her life at a risk to his own. Doubtful she’d find anyone better, and she had something to offer this handsome cowboy that would be hard for him to pass up.

  Taking a deep breath, she uttered the fateful words.

  “Marry me.”

  “Marry you?”

  “Are you already married? I’m so sorry. Grandfather didn’t mention you had a wife. I should have inquired before proposing a marriage of convenience. Are you? Married?”

  “No. And there’s nothing convenient about gettin’ married.”

  His lack of expression worried her.

  “Our marriage wouldn’t be for real—more of a business arrangement. Beneficial to us both.”

  “Ho
w do you figure that?”

  He didn’t look sympathetic, but she had an ace to play.

  “My cousins spoke of water rights, and that the creek which feeds both our properties crosses High River above your land. They talked of diverting the creek by building a dam, and they’d have the right to do so. Isn’t that true?”

  “Only a low-belly snake would do a thing like that—"

  “My point exactly, Mr. James. Those four low-bellied snakes would build a dam in a heartbeat and charge you for access. But if you and I were partners, we would own the water jointly, and you’d never have to worry about water again.”

  He frowned, seeming to consider her proposal seriously for the first time.

  Carole resisted a smile. She could almost see his mind running through all the possible loopholes.

  “So, let me get this straight.” He leaned forward, cup gripped hard in his big hands. “We get married, and you give me permanent water rights. What’s the catch? We’d still have to prove we were married. We’d have to live together for anyone to believe it. The marriage would have to be consummated for the relationship to be legal. Did you consider that fact?”

  “I did consider it. One very big reason I could never, ever, marry one of my cousins. The very thought makes my skin crawl.” She clutched the quilt in a tight grip.

  “But you’d be willing with me?” His gaze narrowed, watching her intently. He set the cup on the table and leaned back in the chair.

  “I would do what needed to be done. Could you?” She lifted her chin with a defiant tilt.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m not any man’s idea of a ladylove. I’ve been told often enough that my red hair and lack of feminine endowments are quite limiting when it comes to acquiring suitors. But I’d hoped men might be more accepting in the West. My cousins disabused me of that notion. They were quite put off, but willing to sacrifice one of their own for the cause.”

  He gave her a disbelieving look and arched one eyebrow.

  Carole adjusted the quilt around her legs. Embarrassed, but determined to see this through, she studied the stitching on the applique and related her concerns. “So, are you willing to sacrifice your sensibilities on behalf of a working alliance?” She looked up to gauge his reaction and reply, her heart hovering in her throat.