A Stockingful of Joy

by Hannah Howell

  “Thought we’d be shot dead on the spot,” Stephen said quietly after they had put a little distance between themselves and the Martins. “Sure we’re safe?” he asked, casting a very quick glance over his shoulder.

  Tyrone nodded, and took Deidre’s hand in his. “I don’t think they’ll make life very pleasant for us, but they can’t take anything from us now. The game has been lost and Walter knows it. He won’t like it, but he’ll make do with what he has. John’s the one who worries me. He’d as soon shoot you as look at you, but I believe his father will keep him in line.”

  “You’ve beaten them, but they haven’t actually been defeated, have they?” Deidre asked.

  “No, sorry to say,” replied Tyrone. “That’ll take time. We can work against them now, however, and we will. I think it’s past time those of us who are against them band together. Walter’s been picking us off one by one. Our blindness made it all the easier for him. That will stop now.”

  Stephen murmured an agreement, and some of the anger Deidre felt, an anger stirred by the cold arrogance of the Martins, was eased. It flared back to life again when they went into the land office. After just a moment of dealing with the clerk named Will Pope, Deidre decided that Stephen was right in thinking that the man worked for the Martins. He was belligerent, arrogant, rude, and openly bullied the other clerk. Deidre was a little amazed that the man made so little effort to hide his affiliations.

  “How do I know these are real?” asked Will, a smirk barely visible beneath his greasy blond mustache.

  “They look official to me, Will,” the too thin clerk named Ted said as he nervously peered over Will’s shoulder. The air whooshed out of him, he paled, and hastily stepped back after Will viciously jabbed his elbow into his stomach. “Maybe not,” he rasped, and stumbled back to his small desk in the far corner of the office.

  “Judge Lennon accepted them.” Tyrone slapped the signed statement from the judge down upon the counter.

  “That old man?” Will drawled, but his anger was revealed by the flush upon his cheeks, and his eyes were narrowed so much they nearly disappeared into the fleshy folds of his face.

  “That old man is a highly respected judge in this county, even in the state. And, before you think of just losing that little piece of paper,” Tyrone said in a hard, cold voice as he leaned closer to Will, “maybe you ought to know he’s sending statements like this and an interesting personal note to everyone he knows, including some officials who may start to wonder what’s going on down here.”

  “Ain’t nothing going on down here.”

  “No? That’s fine then, although, if I were you, I’d start making sure my fingerprints weren’t all over any of that nothing. Now, I’m going to stand right here and watch carefully as you put those papers where they belong and mark them clearly. Then you’re going to sign a paper saying you’ve seen them, seen the judge’s acceptance of them as legal and binding proof of ownership, and that you personally filed them away.” Tyrone took another paper out of his pocket and set it on the counter.

  Will Pope hesitated, then softly cursed, and did as he was told. The Martins might have their hooks in the man, Deidre mused, but it was obviously not deep enough to make him stand firm against two angry Callahans and a wealth of legal papers. She had to hide a smile when a sullen Will signed the paper that neatly took away all chance of his denying the Callahans’ claims, and Tyrone had the other clerk come and sign as a witness to it all.

  Once outside of the office, Deidre hooked her arm through Tyrone’s and smiled up at him. “That last twist of the knife was a very nice touch.”

  “It was Stephen’s idea,” Tyrone said, then grinned. “It was good, though. A nice touch indeed.”

  “Yes, and it might not hurt to boast of it, spread the word, shall we say? After all, if everyone had done the same when they had filed with the land office, maybe the Martins wouldn’t have found it so easy to steal so much.”

  “Damn,” both brothers muttered, and Deidre almost laughed at their identical looks of admiration mixed with the usual male irritation over a woman having a clever insight that they had not yet achieved.

  When they got back to Stephen’s house, Deidre was a little surprised to be left there while Tyrone dragged Stephen back out again. She was settled before the fireplace in a comfortable chair with hot chocolate and food, so it was not quite so bad. Nevertheless, Tyrone had been extremely secretive when she had asked him where they were going. Curling up in the chair and luxuriating in the warmth from the fire, she told herself there was no reason to feel uneasy. Even if she was not imagining the air of secretiveness about Tyrone, it did not have to mean anything bad or dangerous. Maybe, she mused with a sleepy smile, he was going to buy her a Christmas present.

  * * *

  “I hope there is a good reason why you’re dragging me out into this cold again,” Stephen muttered as, huddled in his heavy coat, he strode back into town at Tyrone’s side.

  “Deidre and I will be headed back to the ranch as soon as I do this and I realized that this is my only chance to get her a present,” Tyrone said, feeling an odd mixture of excitement and anxiety over what he planned.

  “Ah, yes, the pretty Miss Kenney. Just what do you plan to do about the fair Deidre?”

  “Why do you need to know?”

  Before Stephen could answer, they entered the huge mercantile store. Tyrone strode over to where Old Carl kept a glass case filled with an odd selection of jewelry, some pawned or sold by people in need of cash or supplies, and some bought from merchants and traveling salesmen. Ignoring the palpable curiosity from both his brother and Old Carl, Tyrone’s gaze fixed upon a small, delicate gold ring set with a single pearl.

  “That one,” he said to Carl, studying it closely when the man took it out and handed it to him. Relieved to see that it might just be small enough to fit Deidre, he nodded. “I’ll take it.”

  “Is that just a present or is it a farewell gift or, by some chance, is it an engagement ring?” asked Stephen as Old Carl went to find a small box to put the ring in, and Tyrone counted out the money to pay for it.

  “Does that matter to you?”

  “Well, being the youngest brother, it could cause me a twinge or two to discover that my oldest brother is such an idiot he would let a woman like that get away.”

  Tyrone grinned then said, “You hardly know her.”

  “From all you’ve told me about your travels and from meeting her, however briefly, my gut says you’d be a fool to let this one slip away. That, and the way you look at her.”

  “How do I look at her?”

  “Like she’s a sumptuous dessert you can’t get your fill of.”

  “That says it about right.” Tyrone paid Old Carl, stuck the ring box into his pocket, and left the store.

  Keeping pace with Tyrone, Stephen asked, “So, are you getting married or not?”

  “Well, I intend to ask her on Christmas morning. Maybe even Christmas Eve. You’ll know if she accepts me when you come to Christmas dinner.”

  “Oh, she’ll accept.”

  “How can you be sure?” Tyrone appreciated the vote of confidence, although it did not ease all of his uncertainty.

  “Because, Brother, she looks at you the same way you look at her.”

  * * *

  All the way home to his ranch, Tyrone kept surreptitiously glancing at Deidre, trying to see what Stephen and Jason did. He could see a warmth in her gaze, now and then, but was not sure it meant any more than friendliness or desire, something he had no doubt she felt as strongly as he did. Now that he was prepared to talk marriage, he realized that he wanted more. He wanted a firm declaration of feelings, ones that ran a little deeper than desire. That touch of cowardice surprised him, but he accepted the need. It explained his nervousness, his uncertainty.

  Once at the ranch, he turned Deidre over to the capable Mrs. Horne, the housekeeper at the Sweet Kate for over ten years. He personally saw to the stabling of the horses, i
gnoring his men’s less than kind opinions of the sturdy packhorse. The animals had served him well and had more than earned some special care and attention. A hot bath and the promise of a hot meal greeted him when he returned to the house. He wasted no time in washing up and changing into clean clothes. Tyrone found himself almost embarrassingly eager to dine in his home with Deidre, to show her the house and see her reaction to it.

  A little of his uncertainty faded when, after a hearty meal they had both enjoyed to the point of groaning, Tyrone took Deidre on a tour of his house. Her appreciation was fulsome, and, he knew at a glance, heartfelt. When she started to talk about how lovely it would all look swathed in Christmas finery, he laughed, swept her up into his arms, and carried her to his room.

  “Tyrone,” Deidre said, gasping softly with laughter as he tossed her onto his huge four-poster bed and sprawled on top of her. “What will Mrs. Horne think?”

  Although she did nothing to stop his skilled, swift removal of her gown, she frowned, a little disturbed by her weakness for the man. Deidre liked the plump, blunt-speaking Mrs. Horne. She did not really want to behave so badly that she ended up disappointing the woman or gaining her disapproval.

  “Ah, Deidre, she won’t condemn you for this,” he said as he tossed aside her dress, then paused to start yanking off his own clothes, feeling almost desperate to lie in her arms, flesh touching flesh. “I am about to tell you a family secret. Mrs. Horne was my father’s mistress for over five of the ten years she has been here. If he hadn’t died, I think he would have married her.”

  “You’ve never—” she began, then blushed, afraid she had overstepped by asking about his past amours.

  “You’re the first woman to grace this bed.” Naked, finally, he crouched over her and began to finish the delightful chore of undressing her. “And, by God, you do grace it.”

  When Deidre was naked, her glorious hair undone and spread all around her, Tyrone stared at her. She looked perfect there, flushed with desire and waiting for him. Suddenly, he knew that the bed would never again look so welcoming unless she was in it. As he eased himself down into her arms, he found himself praying that this would indeed be but the first night of many spent in this bed. It frightened him a little to recognize just how badly he wanted that, wanted her. He had never felt so vulnerable before. Tyrone knew that, if Deidre rejected him, it would make those past heartaches seem like no more than pinched vanity. When he felt her passion flare, he relaxed a little. This he understood. This he could control in some ways. As he joined his body to hers, savoring the deep, totally satisfying feel of it, he decided that, if he had to, he would use this passion they shared to hold her until he could win her heart.

  Chapter Twelve

  DEIDRE SET THE GIFT she had bought for Maura beneath the tree in the parlor, then stepped back to view her work. She had spent most of the day decorating the house. Tyrone’s men had graciously gone out and found her what she considered the perfect tree plus a vast quantity of pine boughs to use for decoration. Although busy wading through the correspondence and paperwork that had accumulated during his absence, Tyrone had occasionally wandered by to lend a hand and, she thought with a faint smile, to steal a kiss or a heated embrace.

  Taking a deep breath and savoring the scent of pine, she rejoined Tyrone on the settee near the fire. They were alone in the house, Mrs. Horne having left to spend the holiday with her son’s family in town, and the hands whose families lived too far away or, sadly, had no kin, were in the bunkhouse. They had tomorrow free to do as they pleased, huge quantities of food, and a few bottles of whiskey to celebrate with, and even a small gift each from the Callahans. She and Tyrone had supped, shared a scandalously satisfying bath, and now relaxed before the fire, warm, content, and wearing only their robes. Deidre felt dangerously happy.

  “Are you sure you can manage the cooking for tomorrow?” Tyrone asked as he draped his arm around her slim shoulders and tugged her close to his side.

  She touched a kiss to his cheek, then picked up her wineglass from the table next to the settee. “Mrs. Horne did a great deal of preparatory work. It will probably be one of the easiest meals I have ever cooked.” She smiled faintly and sipped her wine. “I was the housekeeper at the Kenney home for many years.” Suddenly afraid she had gone past the bounds of propriety in all she had done today, she stared into her wine, unable to meet his gaze. “I fear I have a true love for this holiday. I did not mean to get so carried away today.”

  He briefly tightened his hold on her, giving her a quick hug. “It looks great. I’m glad you got carried away.”

  “Oh, I must give you your present.” She set down her wine and hurried over to take a small package out from under the tree.

  “It’s only Christmas Eve, Deidre.”

  “You should always open one gift on Christmas Eve.” She stood before him and handed him the package, suddenly feeling nervous and shy. “I know I only got you the one, but traditions should be followed.”

  “Ah, Deidre, you helped me keep my lands, all my father built. That was more than enough.”

  “That was business, at least to begin with. I hope you like it,” she whispered, realized she was wringing her hands, and quickly clasped them behind her back.

  Tyrone smiled at her and wondered if she knew how that stance caused her robe to open wide enough to reveal the gentle slopes of her breasts. He decided to cater to his more roguish side and not tell her. She looked adorable, standing there tensely waiting for him to open her gift. Unable to hurt her feelings, he prepared himself to act suitably impressed and grateful, no matter what was in the package.

  The breath caught in his throat when he opened the shallow, long box. Inside, resting on thick blue velvet was a knife, but no ordinary knife. The handle was a rich, burnished wood inlaid with scrimshaw The delicate artistry upon the ivory depicted an old whaling ship on one side and whales on the other. Tyrone had the feeling it was an old knife, probably an heirloom. He knew it was not something she would have found in any of the places they had stopped in and looked at her with appreciation touched with curiosity.

  “It is a beautiful piece of work.” He picked it up, weighing it in his hand. “How did you know I had a liking for such things?”

  “Well, I wasn’t really sure. The knife you carry with you gave me a hint. An elaborately etched blade and a heavy wood handle decorated with silver? No common knife that. Even the sheath was fancy.”

  “Where did you find such a fine piece out here?” He frowned slightly. “It must have been costly.”

  “I suspect it was, but I didn’t find it on my way here. It was Da’s,” she said quietly.

  Tyrone stared at her even as he carefully put the knife away and set it on the table next to him. She had given him one of her father’s knives, a possession she no doubt prized, for her deep love for her father was clear to see and hear each time she spoke of him. That had to be proof that she felt a lot more for him than simply passion. He reached out and pulled her into his arms, settling her on his lap as he gently kissed her.

  “Thank you,” he whispered, resting his forehead against hers as he inwardly winced over the inadequacy of the words. “I have something for you, as well.” When she sat back a little, he tugged the small box from his pocket and handed it to her.

  Deidre slowly opened the little box and gasped. The beauty of the delicate pearl ring prompted some of her reaction, but, mostly, she was seized by a heart-clenching uncertainty. Was this the sort of gift a man gave his lover? Was this, perhaps, a farewell token for good times shared? Or, did it mean more, the sort of more she had hoped for?

  “It is beautiful,” she said, her voice not much more than an unsteady whisper.

  Praying it would fit, Tyrone took the ring and slipped it on her finger. He breathed an inner sigh of relief when the fit proved perfect, then held her hand, staring down at it. It was odd how the sight of that ring on her finger, a ring bought almost on impulse, clarified his thoughts and feelings.
The ring was not just a token of the love he now recognized, but of possession. Deidre was his. He grimaced and nervously met her gaze. Or, she would be if he could just spit out the words and convince her to say yes.

  “Marry me, Deidre,” he said, softly cursing his ineptitude and tightening his hold on her when she jumped so quickly with surprise, she nearly tumbled off his lap.

  It took Deidre a moment to overcome her utter shock. This was what she had ached for, yet she had never thought it would happen so abruptly, completely without warning. She had imagined a more tender scene, perhaps a few words of love or, at least, ones of need and caring. Then she tensed. The total lack of any of the softer words was unsettling. She loved him deeply and unrelentingly, and, while she was willing to accept that he might not feel the same just yet, she needed more than passion. She bit back the strong urge to just say yes and let the chips fall where they may.

  “Why?” she asked, holding his gaze and struggling to interpret the look there.

  “Ah, Deidre, for so many reasons.” He pulled her into his arms again, smiling faintly when she quickly relaxed against him.

  “Because I was a virgin?”

  “I’d be a liar if I said that didn’t matter, but it’s not the reason.”

  “The passion?”

  “Oh, God, yes. What man wouldn’t want to hold fast to something as glorious as what we share?”

  “Passion fades.”

  “I know, but I doubt ours will. I won’t drag out sordid tales of my dark past, but, trust me, I’ve had experience enough to know that what we share is special, extraordinary. I knew it from the moment I first kissed you. True, cad that I was, I simply set my mind to seducing you with no thought to the future or the consequences.”

  “Cad that you are, you did a very fine job of it,” she murmured, smiling faintly, for something in the way he held her, in the tone of his voice, told her that he did care for her. She needed the words, however.