Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Hardman Holidays, Book 6
A Sweet Victorian Holiday Romance
by
USA TODAY Bestselling Author
SHANNA HATFIELD
The Christmas Confection
Copyright © 2017 by Shanna Hatfield
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. Please purchase only authorized editions.
For permission requests, please contact the author, with a subject line of “permission request” at the email address below or through her website.
Shanna Hatfield
[email protected]
shannahatfield.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Will a sweet baker soften a hardened man’s heart?
Born to an outlaw father and a shrewish mother, Fred Decker feels obligated to atone for the past without much hope for his future. If he possessed a lick of sense, he’d pack up and leave the town where he was born and raised, but something… someone… unknowingly holds him there. Captivated by Hardman’s beautiful baker, Fred fights the undeniable attraction. He buries himself in his work, refusing to let his heart dream.
Elsa Lindstrom adores the life she’s carved out for herself in a small Eastern Oregon town. She and her twin brother, Ethan, run their own bakery where she delights in creating delicious treats. Then Ethan comes home unexpectedly married, the drunks in town mistakenly identify her as a missing harlot, and a mishap in the bakery leaves her at the mercy of the most gossiped-about man in Hardman.
Mix in the arrival of three fairy-like aunts, blend with a criminal bent on dastardly schemes, and sprinkle in a hidden cache of gold for a sweet Victorian romance brimming with laughter and heartwarming holiday cheer.
~*~
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To those who sweeten the world with their smiles…
Chapter One
1901
Sweat drizzled across Fred Decker’s broad brow, leaving streaks through the dust coating his face. Before the salty drops could reach his eyes, he swiped his arm across his forehead, wicking away the gathering moisture then returned to digging holes for the fence posts he installed on his property.
The tumble-down house and eighty acres he’d recently purchased were in desperate need of improvements, and that was one of the reasons he’d wanted the place. Fred had to keep his head and hands busy or he’d find himself dragged into the turbulent waters of unbidden thoughts and feelings. Each day, he pushed himself to work until weariness seeped into his mind and body, forcing him to rest at night. If he failed to drive himself to exhaustion, his past relentlessly plagued him through the hours of darkness.
After setting the sturdy post in the hole he’d just dug, Fred packed dirt around it. Once he completed construction, the fence should remain standing long after he entered his final resting place beneath the rich Eastern Oregon soil. Not that he had any plans to wind up there any time in the near future.
With a final tamp around the post, Fred stepped back and surveyed his efforts. The posts he’d set created a straight line along the edge of the pasture. With a few more hours, the fence would be completed, but it would have to wait until tomorrow.
He stretched his arms over his head then twisted from side to side before he wiped his forehead again and glanced at the sun. Afternoon slowly surrendered to evening. He’d promised Tom and Lila Grove he’d join them for supper. If he planned to make it on time, he needed to see to his chores.
Fred gathered his tools and strode across the stubbly pasture to the barn. Summer heat had burned the grass, but he could envision how lush and green it would look next spring. By then, all the fences on his place would be strong and he could begin building the herd of beef cattle he planned to raise.
The first thing he did after taking ownership of the property was to make sure the barn stood sound and secure. He could live in the derelict house for a while, but he sure didn’t expect his animals to have anything less than the best accommodations he could provide.
He stepped inside the barn, grateful for the cool interior. Although it neared the end of September, the weather felt more like mid-summer. Fred didn’t mind though. He enjoyed the sun on his back and the blue sky overhead.
Quickly storing the tools on a shelf above the workbench he’d built in the front corner of the barn, Fred picked up a bucket from a hook by the door and set it near an empty stall. He walked down the center aisle of the barn and pushed back the door on the far end where it opened into a small pasture. Mabel, his milk cow, glanced up at him as she chewed her cud.
“Come on, Mabel, you know it’s time to come in,” he said, reaching over and scratching the neck of his horse, Festus, as he waited for the cow to amble to the barn.
The cow offered a soft moo as she moseyed inside. The big bay horse trailed Fred, nudging his shoulder with a soft muzzle, as though he wanted to play.
“Festus, you behave or no special scoop of feed for you tonight.”
The horse shook his mane and nudged Fred again, making the young man laugh as he strolled inside the barn. He scooped feed into a bucket for the horse and gave the cow her nightly ration then folded his long legs to sit on the small milking stool.
The ping of milk hitting the inside of the bucket drew out a barn cat he’d dubbed Maude. The cat had been in the barn the first day Fred explored it. Frightened and half-starved, the feline had hissed at him and hidden up in the loft. An entire week of patient coaxing had been required for Fred to get close enough to touch her, but the cat eventually warmed up to him.
Now, she scurried out of hiding the moment she heard the first drops of milk in the bucket. Fred alternated squirting milk into the bucket and squirting it in an old pie tin for the cat.
Maude greedily lapped up the warm, creamy liquid then glanced at Fred with bright green eyes, eager for more.
“You’re turning into a little pig, Miss Maude,” Fred said, giving the cat’s dish a few more squirts of milk. “As fat as you’re getting, you’ll have to roll down the barn aisle.”
Festus blew out a puff of air, offering his opinion on the matter.
Fred glanced over his shoulder at the horse with a narrowed gaze. “You’re one to talk. I saw you snitching out of the feed sack.”
The horse tossed his mane and returned to eating his dinner while Fred finished milking the cow. He turned Mabel into the pasture then took a minute to brush
Festus’ mane and tail, leaving him in a stall.
“I’ll be back soon, Fes. Don’t get into trouble while I’m gone.” Fred mixed mash with a splash of warm milk and carried it out to where he’d built a covered pen for his lone pig. Harriet had been the runt of a litter and about to be killed by a farmer who didn’t have time to baby her. Fred offered to take her before the farmer ended her short life. With a little tender care and attention, Harriet changed from a scrawny piglet into a fat, thriving swine.
He chuckled as the pig pranced back and forth by the gate to her pen, ready for food. “Calm down, Harry,” Fred warned as he poured the mash in the feed trough. Harriet buried her face in her food. “You eat like a gluttonous beast.”
The pig looked up and grunted at him before returning to her meal. Fred watered her, checked on the chickens in their newly constructed coop, and then carried the mash bucket to the pump outside the barn. He strained the milk, rinsed both buckets and set them back in the barn, then took the milk to the springhouse he’d just finished rebuilding.
Fred hurried to the house, entering through the kitchen door. He kicked off his boots and yanked off his socks. He hadn’t bothered to wear a shirt, since the day was unseasonably warm, but he dropped his denims to the floor then grabbed a towel and bar of soap.
He headed back outside, clad only in his cotton drawers, and made his way to the creek that ran through a grove of trees at the edge of what he planned to turn into his yard next spring.
His drawers fell to the bank and he left his towel there before stepping into the creek. Out in the middle, the water ran deep, providing a place he could submerge himself. He headed for his favorite spot where a large, flat rock rested on the creek bed, and sat down. The water was cold, but not bitingly so, warmed by the heat of the day.
Fred dreaded the winter months ahead when he’d have to heat and haul water for a bath inside. The one thing he could not abide was being dirty when he climbed into bed. He’d found washing off the dirt and sweat from the toils of the day helped him sleep. It was a habit he’d gotten into years ago. However, thoughts of breaking the ice in the creek in the middle of winter to bathe made him shiver.
What he really needed to do was add a bathroom like some of the other folks in town had recently constructed in their homes. He’d helped a few friends install theirs. As he rubbed soap across his broad chest, he considered how much cost and effort it would take to build an addition to his home to house one. That would most likely have to be a project for the spring. Fred had enough work to keep him busy before winter snows arrived. The next task on his list, once he finished the fence, was to put a new roof on the house. If they had a wet autumn, he’d have to find more buckets to catch the leaks that currently dripped from the ceiling every time it rained.
Fred mulled over his mental list of projects as he soaped his arms and then lathered his hair. He ducked his whole body into the creek, scrubbed the soap from his hair then sat up again, rubbing the water from his eyes.
He gave his head a shake, sending water droplets arcing in the sunlight before he stood and walked out of the creek. Hastily drying himself, he wrapped the towel around his waist, snatched up his drawers and soap, and returned to the house.
It didn’t take him long to dress and head out the door. He saddled Festus and was on his way to town in a matter of minutes.
As he rode along, he gazed at old man Otto’s farm. Harvest had begun on the apples, but shiny red globes still hung from the branches of many trees along with golden ripe pears. A hill in the distance glowed orange with pumpkins. Fred hoped the troublemakers in the area wouldn’t sneak into the patch and steal or smash the older man’s pumpkins as they had the last several years. Guilt assailed Fred for the times he’d led the hooligans sneaking around town at night, causing all sorts of mischief.
Those days were behind him, but the memories of the harm he’d done lingered.
Determined not to let his maudlin musings suck the joy from such a beautiful autumn day, Fred focused his attention on the landscape around him. The trees had just begun to transform from summer’s emerald splendor to the jeweled-tones of fall.
He admired the gold and ruby tips on the trees he rode past, wondering what it was about the autumn season that people found so enjoyable. Perhaps it was the thought of profitable harvests, or the end of summer’s heat. Or maybe it was all the delicious things to eat like the bounty of produce collected from gardens, baked apples, pumpkin pie, and cinnamon buns.
As though his thoughts conjured the scent, Fred took a deep breath and inhaled the aroma of cinnamon in the air as he rode into town and turned onto Main Street. A smile lifted the corners of his mouth as he took another breath.
His stomach rumbled with hunger, but he slowed his horse as he rode past the mercantile owned by the Bruner family. Percy Bruner waved at him from the front window where he and his sister, Alice, set up a colorful display of seasonal merchandise.
Fred returned his wave then glanced both ways at the cross street before continuing down Main Street. A slight tug on the reins drew Festus to a stop in front of the bakery. The cinnamon-infused air compelled Fred to inhale another deep breath.
A glance in the big, paned front window assured him the beautiful baker had not yet gone home. He caught sight of her disappearing into the back room from behind the long front counter.
Elsa Lindstrom and her twin brother, Ethan, purchased the bakery more than a year ago. The previous owners did a tolerable job of preparing edible goods, but Elsa could turn simple ingredients into sweets and confections that threatened to bring a man to his knees. Although it had been accepted as a fact that Filly Granger was the finest cook in the county, Fred had no doubt Elsa Lindstrom was the best baker in the state.
Any number of delectable offerings created by her delicate hands had pleasured his tastebuds. Yet, the treat he longed for the most, the one that made his mouth water with anticipation, was one he’d never savor. What he wanted more than anything was to experience the flavor of Elsa’s kiss.
With a sigh, Fred urged Festus down the road. No good would come from his interest in the baker. None at all. But the moment she’d stepped off the stage and onto the Hardman boardwalk last year, she’d unwittingly captured Fred’s attention.
A reasonable explanation of why he’d been immediately drawn to the woman eluded him. Elsa wasn’t a petite little thing like Ginny Stratton, nor was she tall and statuesque like Filly Granger or Alex Guthry. Rather average in height and build, she might have gone completely unnoticed.
However, an abundance of wheat-colored hair she wore braided in a crown around her head, the unique midnight hue of her dark blue eyes, and the rays of sunlight that shone from her smile caused people to give her a second glance.
Fred possessed no more immunity to her charms than any other man in town, perhaps far less, but that would remain his secret alone.
With one last glance back at the bakery, he continued on his way to Tom and Lila’s house.
At the next street, he turned at the corner and rode to the next block then turned to his right. The two-story Grove home looked welcoming. Circles of pale yellow glowed from lamps in the windows, blending into the orange and gold evening as the sun began its descent.
Fred swung off Festus and tied the reins to a hitching rail outside the front yard’s picket fence. For a moment he gazed up at the house he’d helped construct. His former classmate and cohort in countless pranks had come a long way from their schoolyard antics. Tom married a wealthy woman and now owned Hardman’s newspaper.
Regardless of his sudden change in prosperity, Tom remained ever practical, humble, and a good friend. One Fred was grateful to have. In addition, he’d found a friend and supporter in lovely Lila Grove. The woman had inherited a fortune when her parents passed away, but instead of flaunting her wealth, she settled into a simple life as Tom’s beloved wife.
Fred was impressed Lila insisted on seeing to her own home rather than hiring a full sta
ff of domestic help. He thought it spoke well of her character and ambition. Then again, Lila, like her cousins Luke and Ginny, tended to live beyond the societal norms expected of a well-to-do family.
He pushed open the gate and started down the walk when he heard someone call his name. Fred stopped and turned, watching Tom jog across the street.
“You’re almost late for your own supper,” Fred teased when Tom strode through the gate and hurried up the walk, hand extended in greeting. He shook Tom’s hand with a grin. “Working late again?”
“Yes. There was a problem with the press and then the new boy I hired spilled ink everywhere.” Tom thumped Fred on the shoulder as they strode up the porch steps. “I hope you’re hungry. When I was home for lunch, Lila was planning quite a feast.” Tom opened the front door and motioned for Fred to enter.
Fred removed his hat and held it in his hand as he stepped inside the foyer. A hint of newness, of fresh paint, wallpaper glue, and oiled wood, tickled his nose as he hung his hat on the hall tree near the door and glanced around at the polished floors, flocked wallpaper, and gaslights on the walls. “Are you two all settled in?”
“Finally,” Tom said, tossing his hat on a hook and removing his suit coat, draping it over the oak banister of the stairs. “I helped Lila unpack the last box Monday evening.”
Fred chuckled. “It’s a good thing we finished the house last month, then. If it had taken any longer, you and Lila would have to spend the holiday season surrounded by stacks of her boxes.”
Tom nodded in agreement. “When she said she wanted to have all her things shipped out here from New York, I never imagined it would fill an entire train car. How many trips did we have to make to Heppner to the train station?”
“Twelve, but who’s counting,” Fred said, as he followed Tom to the kitchen where the soft mumble of voices drifted down the hall.
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