Five Golden Rings: A Christmas Collection

by Sophie Barnes

  Phin Baldwin had only recently entered her life, and already Ginny knew more about him than he would have liked. On her part, she was fascinated. She’d never kept anyone’s secret before, especially someone who hadn’t personally confided in her. She wasn’t particularly worried, as he was not someone with whom she had constant contact.

  Ginny liked the way the crisp winter wind ruffled the sandy blond hair against his coat and how his dark eyes were so focused on what Mr. O’Brien was telling him. Phin laughed out loud, and the laugh lines at his eyes crinkled.

  Ginny sighed.

  “What are you doing, Eugenia?”

  She had forgotten to keep up her charade of cleaning, and she swiveled to see her father’s full mustache beetle up. Under his scrutiny, she diverted herself by counting the gray hairs that nestled within the mahogany brown that matched her own hair.

  “I saw a smudge on the window.”

  He kept his gaze on her. “I assume you rectified the matter.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “May I also assume you were on your way back to the counter but got weary, and so are now just taking a break until you can make the remaining few feet to your post?”

  She saw the twinkle in his eye, and she arched an eyebrow. “Yes, sir.” As she made her way back, she regarded him over her shoulder. “You have two more gray hairs than you did last time I counted.”

  She had the satisfaction of seeing his hand twitch, and she knew he’d caught himself before he could brush it over the offending gray hairs. He scowled at her. “Well, stop counting them!”

  Ginny smiled and resumed her reading, deciding not to look out at Phin Baldwin any longer. She could only coast in the clouds for so long before she realized she didn’t have wings and came crashing down. She was careful to take Phin in small doses for fear she would become depressed by the knowledge that she’d never have him.

  “Mrs. Clancy should run a bank,” her father grumbled.

  “You enjoy it when she berates you about the prices.”

  “I certainly do not.”

  Ginny looked over to her tall, neat father. He was always impeccably dressed, though modest, as he was a shopkeeper. His hair was parted right in the middle and slicked back with pomade. His gray eyes were intelligent and shrewd, and he rarely missed a beat. He was still an attractive man; it was a shame some woman didn’t come along to catch his fancy. Her father would never admit to loneliness, but Ginny knew better. Her father missed her mother, and sometimes, Ginny was scared that he hadn’t forgiven Marie Overton for dying. Ginny didn’t like to think of her father carrying around that much pain, let alone grief and anger. It had, after all, been more than ten years. Ginny’s older sister Eliza was married to a rancher out in California, and as for Ginny’s brother . . . well, it was best not to speak of unpleasant things. So it was just the two of them. Yet another Christmas would come and go with father and daughter trying to keep up their spirits on Christmas Day.

  The door opened, letting in another customer and once again, Ginny’s head came up from her novel only to remain frozen on a face surrounded by the lovely golden hair she’d just recently been admiring.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Overton. Miss Overton,” Phin Baldwin, love of Ginny’s life, greeted jovially. He went up to her father and shook his hand.

  “What can I do for you, Mr. Baldwin?”

  “I was told by Mrs. Dixon that you have a catalog for women’s garments. It’s going to be Christmas soon, and I’m looking to acquire a lady’s coat. I had a mind to take the stagecoach to Cheyenne or another city, but Mrs. Dixon assured me I could save myself the long trip.”

  As her father and Phin got down to business perusing the Sears and Roebuck catalog, Ginny’s mind was scattered with questions. For starters, whom on Earth could he be buying a coat for? A man didn’t buy a coat for a woman unless he was properly courting her, and one thing was certain: Phin Baldwin was not courting anybody. Since many of the mamas of women her age had their eyes and ears to the grindstone, his reputation as a single man was well-known. He had yet to show any indication that he was willing to get serious and settle down with someone. She, of course, knew better.

  “Ginny.”

  She came out of her reverie in a flash as she realized that her father had been speaking to her.

  “Come here, please.”

  She heard him making apologies for her and willed herself not to blush. “She gets wrapped up in her books sometimes; she’s a daydreamer, my Ginny,” he explained.

  She maintained her composure and joined her father. “Yes?”

  “Mr. Baldwin says he’d like a lady’s opinion before making a final selection.”

  Phin smiled at her, and Ginny mentally chastised herself for feeling her knees buckle. Honestly, he was attractive, but she wasn’t a fool. Ground yourself in reality, she reminded herself. For, even though her father said she was a dreamer, she considered herself more of a realist. Only a realist would have remained behind when Eliza had offered to take her to California, or opened the store every morning and closed it every night that first year after her mother died, when her father was inconsolable. And only a realist knew that dreaming about Phin was much safer than letting her well-guarded heart become too attached, knowing full well he wasn’t for her.

  “Miss Overton, you’re looking lovely today.” He flashed his crooked grin, and those laugh lines crinkled again.

  “That’s nice of you to say, Mr. Baldwin.” Especially as she was wearing an old but serviceable blue calico dress, and her thick hair was already slipping from her pins. A long lock escaped, and she hastily tucked it behind her ear. “Which ones were you looking at?”

  Another customer came into the shop, and Ginny’s father excused himself to attend to him.

  She felt Phin’s gaze on her, felt him studying her as she studied the catalog. He had his eye on a flashy red coat, which made her wonder about the woman who would wear such a garment. Somebody confident, with a personality to match all that fiery color. Maybe tempestuous. Maybe even a disreputable woman.

  His laugh made her look up, and when she met his gaze, she saw amusement there. “You’re a serious little thing, aren’t you?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I’ve been in here for about ten minutes now, and you haven’t once asked me if I’m attending the Christmas pageant.”

  “I wasn’t aware I was supposed to.”

  “Sure. That’s the way it goes. I go into a place with a young, unmarried woman—not so young, on occasion—and within five minutes, I get asked if I’m attending the pageant, if I’m doing all right on the newspaper, if I’m not lonely at Mrs. Dixon’s boardinghouse. It’s all very customary.”

  Ginny didn’t know what to make of him and self-consciously worried the button on her wrist, wondering if he’d made the age comment about her. Twenty-three wasn’t old, but around these parts, it wasn’t young. Was he conceited or playing with her? She wasn’t adept at flirting, so if that’s what this was, they were both in for disappointment. She bit the inside of her lip. “What happens if I don’t ask?”

  She could see she’d surprised him, and his smile curved. “I don’t know. It’s never happened before. We can play this out and see, or you can ask.”

  She lowered her eyes to the catalog page to keep from arching a brow. He was definitely toying with her, and though she was attracted to him, she wasn’t much in the market for being someone’s plaything. Especially when that person had a few other playthings from which to choose. “This red one is certainly going to turn any woman’s head. It’s finely made.”

  He was quiet for a few seconds. “It does make a statement, doesn’t it?”

  She nodded.

  “Would you wear it?”

  She chanced a quick glimpse at him. He was leaning over the counter, his forearms resting on the wood. His head was close to hers, and it struck her how funny it was to have him so close when only moments ago she’d exalted at the proximity
a glass window afforded. He caught the touch of diversion. His voice colored with warmth. “Is that a no?”

  She cocked her head and regarded the coat. It was pretty, but not her preferred style. “If I had a choice, no.”

  “Why not?” He straightened as he brought the page up for closer inspection. “Is there something wrong with it?”

  “Not at all. It’s beautiful, but I much prefer the blue one.” When she saw that he was second-guessing his choice, she said, “Surely, you know this person’s tastes better than I. We can place the order right now, and you still have a month before Christmas for it to arrive. She’ll be very pleased with such a splendid gift.”

  He deliberated for a moment, sticking a hand in the pocket of his long leather duster. “You may be right. I like red,” he shared, “but what do I know? She is more conservative. I’ll take the blue one.”

  Ginny’s father walked over, with the baker’s wife and their daughter. “How’s it going, Mr. Baldwin? Has Ginny helped you make a decision?”

  “Yes, she has, and I’m very grateful. It’s nice to get a woman’s take sometimes, wouldn’t you agree, Mrs. Jameson?”

  The baker’s wife agreed wholeheartedly. “Have you met my youngest, Mildred?”

  The girl, only a couple of years younger than Ginny, colored prettily. “You buy a hot cross bun every morning on your way to the newspaper office.”

  “Nobody makes them like you,” he said. Ginny bit the inside of her lip again to keep from scoffing. As if sensing her containment—he seemed to be able to read her movements—Phin turned to Ginny. “I admit, I’m in love with them. Where I’m from, you only get them at Easter time. Have you tried their hot cross buns, Miss Overton? They’re amazing.”

  “Ginny’s been in the bakery more times than I can count,” Mrs. Jameson said. “She’s like family to us. And before I forget, Ginny, will you be participating in the pageant this year? Pastor Morrow asked me if we could count on you to tend to the children like you did last year. It was such a big help.”

  She could already tell where this was going, and so did Phin Baldwin. He slanted a knowing grin her way before turning his attention back to the Jamesons. She ignored him and replied to Mrs. Jameson. “I’ll go speak to him today. I’d be happy to help.”

  “Will you be attending our pageant, Mr. Baldwin,?” the younger Jameson woman asked.

  Ginny stifled a groan.

  As if a practiced team, the baker’s wife chimed in. “Oh, you simply must, Mr. Baldwin. You’re new to our town, and so you haven’t had the privilege of attending; the pageant is one of the biggest events in Preston, if not the biggest. We outdid ourselves last year, that’s for sure. Don’t you agree, Mr. Overton?”

  “Oh sure.”

  “Mildred was Mary, the most beautiful Mary that ever played the part. Wouldn’t you say, Mr. Overton?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Ginny frowned at her father, who winked at her. She’d been Mary herself, a time or two.

  “So you see, Mr. Baldwin, it simply wouldn’t do for you to miss out. And besides, it’s such a beautiful day, being Christmas and all. It brings out the best in people.”

  Clearly, Mr. Baldwin didn’t know what to say under such a barrage of holiday cheer. Ginny busied herself making a note to place the order for the coat while she waited for the conversation to continue. When it stalled, Mildred repeated her question. “Will you be in attendance that day?”

  Mr. Baldwin cleared his throat and patted his hat against his thigh. “I’ll see if I can make it. Truth is, I might not be in town that week, but if I am, you can bet I’ll be there.”

  He turned to Ginny. “Do you need me to sign anything or pay up front?”

  “I’ll send in the order today. I’ll send over a bill once I know they can send it.”

  His coffee-colored eyes bored into hers with humor. “You’re not going to ask me, are you?”

  Ginny was well aware of Mrs. Jameson and Millie’s interest in the conversation. She was also conscious of her father’s presence. It wasn’t exactly that she was doing anything wrong, but she wasn’t in the habit of having personal conversations with eligible gentlemen. She looked him straight in the eye, and said, “No. Why ask the question when I’ve already learned the answer?”

  He chuckled and donned his hat, tipping his finger against the brim in farewell. “Touché, Miss Overton.”

  He thanked her father for his help and, somehow, ended up leaving at the same time as the Jameson women. When the store was unoccupied once again, Ginny asked her father, “I thought I heard her say she needed canned beans? I didn’t see anything in her basket.”

  “That’s because Mrs. Jameson has a hankering for a big fish.”

  “Hmmph.”

  Her father’s eyebrows rose at her tone, so she cleared her throat. “I think I’ll go send a telegraph to the store in Rapid City to see if they have the coat.” As she made for the back room where she stowed her coat and winter things, she heard her father muse out loud, “Mr. Baldwin’s a nice man. Don’t you think?”

  She was glad she was out of his eyesight because the last thing she wanted to explain was the brightness of her cheeks. She was also glad of one more thing—she had spoken to Phin Baldwin. Now she knew to stay far away from him. He was a danger to her peace of mind.

  PHIN WALKED THE baker’s wife and daughter back to their shop across the street and politely refused their offer of a fresh roll and a cup of coffee. He could see the interest in the daughter’s eye and the calculation in the mother’s, and he considered himself too smart a man to succumb to such a simple trap.

  He waited for riders to pass by before crossing the street and entering the newspaper office. He was greeted by Rick and Ed, the other reporters for the Preston Gazette. Their boss, T. D. Whitemore, was in Europe with his new wife. With as many newspapers and as much money as T. D. had, he had no qualms about leaving one measly paper in a small town to the care of three able men. At the moment, two of those able men were sitting on their bottoms, staring out the storefront window and flicking each other with the tip of their pencils every few seconds.

  Ed leaned in quickly and rapped Rick on the knuckles before turning to Phin. “Saw you walking with Millie Jameson. Have you added her to your list of potential brides?”

  Rick rubbed his sore knuckles. “Who was looking at Millie? I was looking at the cat-ate-the-canary smile her mama had. She looked like she was already planning the menu for the wedding banquet.”

  “I’ll tell you what, son. I sure am glad you came into town when you did. If you hadn’t, it’d be me Mrs. Jameson would be hauling off to the preacher. Everyone knows Millie’s had her eyes on me since she was a girl.”

  Rick guffawed, and took the opportunity to fling his pencil at Ed’s midsection. “You keep telling yourself that.”

  Ed scowled, returned his gaze to the window. “Now that one, that one’s a different story.”

  “Where?” Rick leaned in.

  Phin joined them and peered out in the direction of Ed’s finger.

  Walking along the uneven sidewalk, in a world of her own, was Miss I Prefer The Blue Coat, herself. The wind was pulling at her hair, causing flyaways to dance across her face. She hastily tucked them back into place, only to have them fall out again. She wore a chocolate brown coat with the collar pushed up to cover her neck. She was of average height, and too slender to boot, as if she forgot to eat during the day.

  Phin straightened and crossed his arms at his chest. “What’s the story with her?”

  “Ginny lives with her pa. They’ve lived here since before most of the families moved in. Her mama died when she was only thirteen, and she took care of her pa’s shop when he went into a decline.”

  “When he became a drunk, you mean,” Ed amended.

  “She’s had it rough.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “You weren’t here a few years back. It was big news around these parts. Her elder brother Monty got
himself into some trouble with the law. Both he and the old man turned a little screwy when Mrs. Overton died, only John pulled himself together again. Monty, on the other hand, took to riding with train robbers. He was killed in a shoot-out in a gambling hall in Deadwood.”

  “Why isn’t she married?”

  Ed reclined his head against the back of the seat and regarded Phin. “You interested?”

  “No. Curious. A townful of lonely men, an eligible woman. She attended me at the general store; she seemed like a nice girl. No reason for her not to be married.”

  “Did she bat her lashes at you like the other lovelorn women?”

  Phin went to his cluttered desk and took a seat. “Not at all, and Lord knows I gave her a chance.”

  Ed roared out a laugh. “Never met a woman you didn’t give a chance to.

  Phin looked up, grinned. “Can I help it if they like my smile?”

  “She must have stunned you, then, not falling into a puddle at your feet.”

  “I’m not surprised. Ginny’s not like that. Maybe it comes from not growing up with a woman around the house, but I can’t see her using her wiles. Don’t think she’s flirted a day in her life,” Rick ruminated.

  Ed and Phin exchanged a glance. “How do you know so much about Ginny?” Ed asked.

  “I’ve been friends with her family since we were both little. She’s like a sister.”

  Ed shoved a pipe in his mouth and chewed at the bit without lighting it since smoking wasn’t allowed near the printing press and its chemicals. “I’ll tell you what, Rick. You ever come around my sister speaking like you do about Ginny, and I’ll have to call you out, son.”

  “Your sister’s married. Speaking of sisters, Phin. Did you buy Lisa’s gift?”

  “Yeah. Your lady friend helped me place the order.”

  Chapter Two

  GINNY DIDN’T SEE Phin again until that Sunday. She entered the small church on her father’s arm, and Mr. Overton took notice at the same time as Ginny.