She stared at the trees he’d cut and forced her thoughts on decorating the house. That was easier said than done with him standing close enough to touch. And mercy me, she wanted him to touch her.
“Please cut off all the boughs on this smaller tree,” she said. “But leave the top foot or so intact.”
“I’ll take care of it for you.”
She shouldn’t feel anything but gratitude that he’d volunteered to do the task himself. After all, he had taken her with him to pick out what she’d wanted and cut the trees.
And then he’d kissed her.
“I don’t suppose you have an iron tree stand.” Surely he’d think she’d just shivered from the cold.
“Nope. Never seen one before either.”
“Oh, dear.”
She’d not given it a thought when they were in Maverick. But then her greatest need at the time was finding Reid Barclay and putting distance between herself and Marshal Tavish.
“Perhaps Mr. Moss will be able to advise you,” she said.
Her pa had always found a way to stabilize the various trees he’d brought home to their cabin. She smiled, reminded of those simple pleasures again—until her gaze locked with Reid’s and she read the promise of a far different pleasure smoldering in his eyes.
“I’ll see what I can do.” With a dip of his strong, square chin and the ghost of a devilish smile, he returned to the sleigh and climbed in.
“I trust you still intend to take your dinner with the men?” she asked, hoping she sounded more composed than she felt.
“Yes’m, but expect me at the house for supper,” he said, then took off toward the outbuildings without waiting for her reply.
Not that she’d have anything noteworthy to add. Cooking and keeping his house in order was her job—not jaunting off in a sleigh with him and stealing a kiss.
Ellie pushed thoughts of Reid Barclay’s seductive kisses from her mind and hurried to the meat locker to take stock of what was available. She had no idea if the dressed game birds she selected were grouse, sage hen or prairie chicken, nor did it matter for the recipe she had in mind.
She set off toward the house, relieved she had more than enough time this afternoon to prepare supper and make room in the parlor for the tree Reid would bring in later. She’d deck the house in Christmas gaiety and hope that revived her own lagging spirits. And not once would she go woolgathering and imagine that she was trimming the house in preparation for the Christmas wedding she’d longed to have one day.
In fact, if the bride-to-be realized what a cad Reid Barclay was, there’d likely be no wedding in this house. It would surely serve him right to be jilted.
He need not look Ellie’s way for sympathy or passion. No, she knew his type and he deserved a comeuppance.
She’d been beguiled by him twice. She wouldn’t play the part of a love-struck fool again.
“Ain’t surprised a rich boy like yourself wouldn’t know how to set up a tree,” Gabby Moss groused inside the shelter of the barn as he nailed cross boards on the base of the tree trunk.
Reid bit back a laugh. He’d been born dirt poor and couldn’t recall ever celebrating a Christmas.
This one would be no exception.
His marriage was a business arrangement as well as a promise made to the man who’d saved his life. He was doing this as much for them as for himself. Hell, any of his brothers would have done the same to keep Kirby’s daughter from falling into harm’s way.
He just wished his brothers were here too, because then he’d have something to celebrate. They’d have their ragtag family united again, and they’d hold title to his ranch.
He eyed the wooden braces the old man nailed on the cross boards. “You sure those will keep it from tipping over?”
“I’ve been doing this for many a year and ain’t lost a tree yet. Speaking of which,” Moss said, squinting up at him, “it sure took you a long time to cut down two trees.”
Reid shrugged and continued chopping the boughs off the other tree. He sure as hell wasn’t going to tell the old man he’d been out spooning.
“Miss Cade was particular about which one would suit.”
Moss nodded. “She picked a good one.”
They each went about their task with only the nick of an ax on wood or hammer cracking nail to break the silence. As always, Reid’s thoughts strayed back to Miss Cade. How did a smart young lady become good friends with Mrs. Leach, a former madam and crusty old gal to boot?
“Mrs. Leach tell you much about Miss Cade?” he asked Moss.
The old man’s mouth pinched tight. “She didn’t tell me a damned thing about her. Why you asking?”
“She’s living in my house.” Passing herself off as a cook when it was clear she didn’t know much about cooking. “You suppose she’s kin to Mrs. Leach?”
Moss shrugged, seeming nervous all of a sudden. “She never said she was.”
That told him nothing. He whacked off another bough, mindful that Moss had never been the talkative sort either. But he was holding his cards a bit closer to the vest right now. What did he know about Miss Cade that he wasn’t willing to divulge?
“I just got a feeling she’s never done this sort of work before,” he said, pressing the point again.
“Well, she did forget to open that damper.” Moss flicked him a quick glance. “You’d be within your rights to send her packing.”
He shook his head. “I gave Mrs. Leach my word that I’d keep her on until she returned. Hopefully that’ll be sooner instead of later.”
“Your outfit,” Moss said, and Reid was convinced then that the old man had closed the damper on her that day.
Yep, Moss knew more about Miss Cade than he was willing to tell. So much that he was willing to sabotage her first day here on the off chance Reid would fire her. Why would he want her gone?
“But if you know something about her that would bring trouble to the outfit, speak up,” he said.
The old man squinted at him. “If there’s trouble coming this way, it’ll be because there’s talk that Slim, that cowpoke that got away with killing that woman in Laramie two years back, is working here.”
He took the old man’s measure again and saw the same concern in his eyes that he saw in the mirror every morning. What he didn’t know was how much Moss knew about his past.
He was guessing no more than gossip, and that ranged from him being a wealthy English lord to a cold-blooded killer. He damned sure wasn’t the former, and he couldn’t remember the details on the latter.
It was the not knowing those details had robbed him of many a night’s sleep. Had it cost him the only family he’d known as well? It sure looked that way.
Moss gave the big tree a shake and made a satisfied grunt when it held tight. “You want me to tote this up to the house for you while you’re checking them thoroughbreds?”
“Much obliged,” he said. “That mare must be close to foaling.”
“Reckon so.” Moss pointed at the boughs stacked in a pile. “Whatcha going to do with them?”
“They go to the house too. Miss Cade wanted boughs to decorate with.”
Moss gathered an armful. “I’ll fetch them up there then.”
“I’d appreciate it if you’d help keep an eye on the women,” Reid said.
“I’ll do what I can.”
“Fair enough.”
He didn’t want either of them hurt. Though he was going to do just that. He had to marry Cheryl and gain what he’d foolishly lost. And he was honor bound to repay her pa’s kindness to him, Dade and Trey.
Kirby Morris had taken in three homeless boys with nothing but mischief on their minds. He’d taught them right from wrong and made men out of them. He’d made them a family while leaving his only daughter in his cousin’s care. He’d given the boys this ranch so they’d never want for a home again.
But Reid had made a fatal error and lost it and his family. Now that Cheryl was at her guardian’s mercy, he had no choice bu
t to step in and see that she was spared a life of torment. Even if he weren’t being blackmailed, he had to make sure that she inherited what should be hers alone—the Crown Seven.
But he didn’t love her. He didn’t even lust after her. Nope, he had it bad for Ellie Jo Cade, the one woman he wanted but couldn’t have.
With the parlor ready to receive the tree, and a cake just put in the oven to bake, Ellie poured a cup of tea and dropped onto a kitchen chair to rest. It was no wonder women tended to show their age too soon, considering what they did daily to keep their houses in order.
She’d certainly made notes of the “little things” she’d taken for granted and would instruct the young ladies in her classes how to better manage their time.
“Would you mind company?” Hubert asked from the doorway.
“Not at all,” she said. “Would you like a spot of tea?”
He gave her a toothy smile and took a seat across from her. “I’d rather enjoy that.”
Ellie poured his tea, then resumed her chair and allowed herself to relax again.
The man was a pleasure to talk with, and she suspected he was aware of everything and everyone on this ranch. Just the man she hoped to form a camaraderie with.
“I would imagine in the time you’ve been here,” she said, “you’ve gotten to know all of the cowboys.”
“I have made their acquaintance. They are a breed of man unto themselves, rather withdrawn and possessed of a querulous mood at times.”
An apt description from what she could see. “How long has Gabby Moss worked here?”
Hubert took a sip of tea and stared across the room, as if mulling over his reply. “Why do you ask?”
“I’m just curious,” she said, more than a bit annoyed that he’d avoided answering.
“Curiosity is a perilous element. It can alleviate one’s worries or push one into a tangle.”
“Is that the voice of experience talking?”
Hubert inclined his head. “Quite so.”
She studied Hubert in silence. If Mrs. Leach was aware of her pa’s true identity, could Hubert be aware of it too?
Before she decided on a way to ask him without giving away her pa’s identity, the back door opened and icy air gusted into the kitchen. The door slammed, something scraped the walls, and the heavy, uneven footfalls held a distant familiarity.
“Where ya want this here tree?” her pa asked in that oddly gruff voice that sounded nothing like him.
She stared at his cheeks reddened by the cold and his eyes glittering with mischief and felt her heart swell with love. No matter what he’d done, he was her pa and she loved him as only a daughter could.
“Well?” he asked when she didn’t answer right off.
“In the parlor, of course.” She got to her feet and was glad Hubert couldn’t see her knees knocking beneath her skirts. “I see you built a stand for it.”
“Just like I always have done.” This time there was no mistaking the affection in his gaze.
Hubert got to his feet and gave the big tree a droll glance. “If I’m not needed, I will go abovestairs and attend to my duties there.”
“I have things under control here,” she said, and added a prayer of thanks that she and her pa would have a bit of time alone at last.
Honestly, she wanted to give him a piece of her mind for the shenanigan he pulled on her. And she wanted to fall into his arms and get the bear hug she had missed for so long. How could she love him and want to throttle him at the same time?
“Mr. Moss,” Hubert said with a dip of his chin.
“Hubert,” her pa replied.
She slid past her pa and trotted down the hall, anxious to get the tree settled so they could talk. “I have just the place for it at the front windows.”
His uneven gait followed her at a slower pace and tempered her anger like nothing else could. What had happened to him since she’d seen him last? Why was he favoring a leg? Why did his voice sound scratchy and strained?
“Well, I’ll be,” he said. “You got it all set up.”
She faced him then, and was sure she beamed from ear to ear. “I remembered that my pa used to place the tree in a tub and keep water in it so the tree wouldn’t dry out.” She took a step toward him. “I’ve missed you so.”
He set the tree down with a thud and looked around, eyes alert and shoulders tensed. “No more than I have you, but that sure as hell don’t mean I’m glad to see you here.”
Her smile fell as reality came crashing down around her and with it a hurt so sharp and cold she had to wait a moment before she trusted her voice. “That’s why you closed the damper. So Reid Barclay would think I was totally inept and fire me.”
He bobbed his head. “Yep, but I should’ve known it wouldn’t work,” he said in a low, raspy tone. “You’re too pretty for a man like him to let go.”
Her face heated, she didn’t comment on the compliment or on their employer for fear she’d let slip how far she’d fallen. Though her pa was an outlaw, she didn’t wish to flaunt her moral slip to him.
Instead she focused on what was wrong between them when they should be thanking God to have this rare chance to spend a holiday together.
“Why did you do it, Pa? What’s going on here that you don’t want me around?”
“Rustlers,” he said, and she nearly laughed at the seriousness of his tone until she realized he wasn’t joshing her.
“You didn’t steal Reid Barclay’s stallion?”
“Hell, no,” he said. “At the time, I was up to my elbows in blood and guts, butchering an elk.”
“Then how could someone have sworn they saw you ride off on that horse?”
“That’s what I aim to find out. If some polecat is passing himself off as me and stealing horses, I reckon he ought to be the one who hangs for it.”
“As well he should,” she said. “Were you aware Mrs. Leach contacted me because she feared you were about to place your neck in the noose?”
He shook his head, looking like a forlorn elf with his white hair that tended to curl and the long white beard that hid his features and the telling scar on his cheek so perfectly. “Nope.”
It was just above a scratch of sound. “What is wrong with your voice?”
“I was hanged.” He lifted his kerchief and his beard. A reddish welt encircled his neck.
Her stomach heaved as her mind raced with questions. “When did this happen?”
“Nigh on three years ago. I’d have died that time if the boss here hadn’t come upon me when he did.”
“Reid saved you?”
He shook his head and adjusted his kerchief again. “Kirby Morris. He owned this spread back then. Was dying himself, but he saved my hide. Never forgot that I owed him.”
“Was this hanging the end result of the woman who was murdered in Laramie?” she asked, well remembering those headlines that appeared in the Denver Post, and her unwillingness to believe her pa could do such a thing.
“Nope, that happened six months later.” His mouth puckered up in a belligerent knot. “I didn’t kill her. Hell, I didn’t even pull my sidearm that day until I was riding hell for leather out of Laramie with a posse riding my tail.”
“Who shot her then?”
“A cowpoke named Slim,” he said. “I got a glimpse of him, but I didn’t stick around to argue the point.”
She sat down very carefully. “You’re saying you were framed for that woman’s murder?”
“Yep. That’s why I’m here,” he said. “Nigh on a year ago I heard at Mallory’s Roost that Slim was working on the Crown Seven. Thought I’d mosey up this way, hire on as chuck cook, and settle an old score between me and him.”
She realized that Mrs. Leach hadn’t been exaggerating. “Why haven’t you?”
“Ain’t found hide or hair of him yet.”
With luck he wouldn’t either. “Good. If you kill him, you’ll be wanted for another murder.”
He shrugged. “They ain’t goin
g to let Ezra Kincaid off the hook, Ellie Jo. If the law catches me, I’ll hang. Sending Slim to the devil won’t change a thing.”
“Then remain Gabby Moss,” she said, desperate for him to see reason, for him to live out his days in peace.
He shook his head, stubborn as a Missouri mule. “Slim must know who I am and why I’m here. I reckon he stole that horse of Barclay’s using my name. Only one way this can end now. One of us has to die.”
She recoiled from the finality of his decision. If there was just some way to prove her pa was innocent of the murder. But that still wouldn’t absolve him of the years of rustling.
“Marshal Tavish is in Maverick,” she said, taking his large, work-roughened hand in hers. “He knows I’m your daughter.”
He curled his fingers and held on tight to her. “He question you about me?”
“Once.” Shortly after Irwin publicly broke off their engagement, but she wasn’t ready to divulge that ugly part of her past with her pa now. Maybe never. “I told him the truth, that I hadn’t seen or heard from you in years. And I wouldn’t have known if Mrs. Leach hadn’t written to me.”
“Figured she was the one who wrote you,” he said. “Trouble is sure to come here, Ellie Jo. I want you to pack up and head back to Denver now.”
“I’m moving on to California after Mrs. Leach returns,” she said. “Were you able to repay Mr. Morris’s kindness?”
Her pa smiled, looking more like his old self. “Reckon in a way I’m doing that now.”
“How? By cooking on the Crown Seven while you’re looking for a killer?”
He frowned and shuffled his feet. “Ain’t got the time to explain it all right now.”
Knowing him, he’d never find the time to tell her just what was going on around here. “Promise me that we’ll have one last Christmas together.”
He glanced from the tree to her and sighed. “All right.”
“Thank you,” she said, and prayed that nothing would happen to ruin this Christmas for them.
Chapter 7
A Cowboy Christmas Page 8
