The Christmas Confection

by Shanna Hatfield

  Fred cleared his throat and took another step back. “Those really are delicious buns, Miss Lindstrom. Thank you for making such a wonderful treat today.”

  Unable to find her voice, Elsa nodded and Fred strode back out front.

  Rather than satisfy the curiosity clearly evident on her brother’s face, Elsa turned back to the safety of her baking. If she didn’t get her emotions under control where Fred was concerned, there was no telling what might happen.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Don’t you want to stay?” Ari asked as Fred stood at the door of Granger House, hat in his hands, while six women eyed him with teasing expressions on their faces.

  “No, thank you, Aunt Ari.” Fred backed up a step before his aunts, Filly Granger, Dora Granger, and Ginny Stratton tried to convince him to join their tea party. “I’ll be back to see you home in two hours.”

  “Thank you, nephew.” Ari smiled at him then turned to her sisters. “Although… if we put Mrs. Granger’s amazing hat on Fred’s head, he’d blend right in.”

  The amazing hat in question was one of Dora Granger’s absurd millinery nightmares. The woman had a reputation for wearing the most ridiculous hats and the one she’d just removed was no exception. In lieu of the broad-brimmed hats she typically favored, the lavender-hued creation stood almost three feet high with purple ostrich plumes, squatty silk poppies, twists of purple ribbon, and what appeared to be a bird’s nest perched at the top of the crown.

  Shuddering at the mere prospect of having that thing on his head, he took another step back and bumped into the door. Lest his aunts make good on their threats to force him to join the gathering of women, he reached for the knob and twisted it. Heedless to the cold that swept into the entry, he yanked the door open wide. “Enjoy the afternoon,” he said, tipping his head to the women and hastily retreating outside.

  The feminine laughter trailing after him drew out his smile as he jogged down the porch steps. At the base, he stopped a moment to pat Luke’s faithful dog, Bart, on the head. “How are you doing, ol’ boy?”

  The dog licked his hand while his tail swished a feathery pattern across the snow. “Stay out of trouble, Bart.” Fred gave the dog a final good-natured thump on his side then hurried down the front walk.

  In no rush, now that he’d escaped the prospect of having tea at Granger House with the women, he strolled along the boardwalk back into town. He waved at Arlan as the man walked into the bank across the street.

  Involuntarily, Fred’s hand slid into his pocket and fingered the token Alex had given him years ago. No matter where he was or what he was doing, the little coin reminded him there was always hope. In the dark days that plagued him after his father’s arrest and then his mother’s long illness, he’d needed every reminder he could get.

  Lately, though, Fred felt lighter in spirit and more joyful than he’d ever been. He had a farm of his own, a comfortable home, work he enjoyed, friends he cared about, and a newly-discovered family that loved him. On top of that, there was Elsa.

  Even if Fred refused to ever admit or acknowledge what she meant to him, how much he loved her, it didn’t change the fact he treasured each moment he spent in her presence, cherished each smile she bestowed upon him.

  Elsa was like summer sunshine shining on his soul, filling him with light and warmth. He didn’t know what he’d do when someone else claimed her heart and married the girl. Perhaps then, Fred would finally gather the resolve and strength required to leave Hardman. In spite of the fact the town should hold nothing but bad memories for him, the good far outweighed the rest. He had friends here, true friends, who cared about him.

  If the day ever came when he did feel urged to leave, it wouldn’t be easy to bid the town of his birth goodbye. In truth, Fred hoped that day never arrived. He loved living in the small Eastern Oregon town, loved the people, loved the life he’d created for himself.

  Fred walked through town, seeing the businesses and places through fresh eyes. Lest he walk inside the bakery and spend the afternoon with Elsa, he forced himself to cross the street and stood in front of the mercantile, admiring the display in the window. He really needed to finish purchasing Christmas gifts, especially for his aunts. They’d been so generous to him, both with money and affection, he wanted to give them something special, beyond the few little trinkets he’d picked up the other day when they’d slyly had the sheriff send him to Heppner.

  As his gaze roved over the festive holiday display, he spied a camera and landed on an idea for a gift. If Percy could be talked into helping him, he could even have it ready to give his aunts before they headed back to Philadelphia tomorrow. He’d just have to catch Percy the moment school released for the day.

  Slowly, Fred walked past the store, perusing the items in the window, looking for a suitable gift for Elsa. He wasn’t courting her, at least not officially, and even if he was, the rules of proper etiquette demanded the gift be something rather impersonal. He’d purchased a lovely gift for her in Heppner, but wasn’t sure he’d give it to her.

  For a moment, Fred wondered what she’d do if he purchased a ring and asked her to marry him.

  Shocked by the unbidden thought, he set it aside, knowing that would never happen. He’d never ask and even if he did, she wouldn’t agree to marry someone like him. Someone sullied and hardened by things in his life he couldn’t help or change.

  Fred shook his head to clear his maudlin notions and continued down the boardwalk. He glanced in Abby Dodd’s dress shop window as he walked past. His feet stopped and he stared at a dress the exact shade of blue as Elsa’s intriguing eyes. The color made him think of a midnight sky and the beads adorning the front of the gown looked like glittering stars.

  If Elsa was his, the dress would have been the perfect gift for her. Unfortunately, the lovely baker would never belong to him, no matter how desperately he wanted to own her heart.

  With a final glance at the dress, Fred continued on his way. He waved to Blake Stratton as he and Pastor Dodd walked up the church steps. Most likely, the men were getting things ready for the church’s Christmas program practice that afternoon.

  Fred grinned, thinking about Percy and Anna reprising their annual roles of Joseph and Mary in the nativity play. Percy adamantly refused to allow anyone else to play Joseph and insisted Anna fill the part of Mary. Over the years, it had become something of a tradition that the two of them continue to hold the lead characters in the performance. It wouldn’t be long before Percy and Anna were grown and had to relinquish their roles.

  He admired the devotion Percy and Anna shared. Although many in town wondered what the sweet Jenkins girl saw in the lively red-headed Bruner boy, Fred knew Percy had a good head on his shoulders along with a good heart.

  With a few hours to kill while his aunts enjoyed tea at Granger House, Fred decided to go to the livery. Douglas could always use an extra hand, even if all Fred did was ride a few of the horses on a quick run to stretch their legs.

  He turned the corner to cut through an alley and felt something jab him in the stomach. A glance down confirmed it was the barrel of a rifle. A glance up brought him face to face with a man he hoped to never see again.

  Curly Cornelius had been a member of Joe Decker’s gang years ago. Fred recalled meeting the outlaw once when he was probably around eight or nine. The man’s head was as bald as a billiard ball, so the oddity of the name had stayed with Fred. Right along with the sinking, unsettled feeling he experienced in the man’s presence.

  Fred’s mother would have been aghast to know all the things Joe had exposed him to, including members of his gang. He recalled meeting Curly when his father had arrived home quite unexpectedly one summer day. His father had half a dozen men he called associates in tow. He insisted Mildred fix them a meal then the men rode off southeast of town toward the mountains. Two days later, Joe returned alone and was gone again the next morning.

  It wasn’t the first or last time his father mysteriously appeared, sometim
es with other men, sometimes alone. Most always, though, he’d disappear for a day or two before returning to the house. Fred often wondered if he had kept a hidden cache of loot. A few times he’d even ridden out in the general direction his father had always gone, but with no map or idea of where to go, he’d given up and returned home.

  The sight of Curly Cornelius sent a shiver of foreboding slithering down Fred’s spine. Unlike the last time he’d seen the man, Curly now had a long, deep scar that ran from his eye all the way down his left cheek.

  Suddenly, he wondered if this was the drunk who’d been pestering Elsa. If so, she wasn’t safe. The only reason Curly could have for wanting in the bakery had to be because of Gloria. If Curly believed the rumors kept alive at the Red Lantern that Elsa was really Gloria, he’d no doubt believe each word to be true.

  However, it still didn’t explain what Curly wanted from Gloria, other than the obvious.

  “Decker, you sure look like your old man,” Curly snarled as he pressed the barrel of the gun against Fred’s stomach. “The first few times I saw you, I thought ol’ Joe had risen from the dead and come back to haunt this forsaken, nowhere town.” The outlaw gave him a studying glance. “Too bad you’re even more worthless than Joe.”

  Fred remained unmoving, his face impassive as the outlaw glared at him. Finally, Curly tipped his head toward the back of the alley.

  Smart enough to know better than to turn his back on an enemy, Fred lifted his hands up but kept his eye on Curly as he backed deeper into the alley. Although it was open on both ends, the shadows cast by the buildings on either side left the center of the alley dark and hard to see even in the middle of the afternoon.

  “What do you want?” Fred asked in an even tone that hid the turbulent emotions swirling through him. The presence of the outlaw brought back every horrible, unwanted feeling he’d ever experienced at his father’s hand.

  Curly cackled and slid the gun upward, until the barrel rested above Fred’s heart. “What do you think I want? Tea with those high-stepping fillies you claim are your aunts? By jingo, Decker, you’re even a better hand with the ladies than your pa. You’ve got those three out at your house hopping to do your bidding and all three of them are purty enough to get a man’s blood pumping.”

  Fred worked to keep his expression neutral, wondering just how long Curly had been watching him and what all he’d discovered. Obviously, he’d been around enough to see Fred with his aunts, even if Curly didn’t believe they were related. It was probably better the criminal had no idea the three lovely Baker sisters were truly Fred’s aunts. Who knew what the evil man would do to them if he realized how much they meant to Fred.

  “What do you want?” Fred asked again, inflecting an impatient edge to his voice. He knew the man holding him at gunpoint was a cold-blooded killer who’d think nothing of blowing off his head. The fact he hadn’t already done so meant Fred had something Curly wanted.

  “The gold, you idiot! I want the gold.” Curly pushed the gun into Fred’s chest.

  Summoning a bravado he was far from feeling, Fred grabbed the barrel of the gun and pushed it away. He straightened to his full height and took a menacing step toward Curly. “What makes you think I know anything about any gold?”

  Curly set the butt of the gun on the ground and leaned on the barrel.

  Fred could only hope the gun would accidentally discharge and shoot the man, but he wasn’t counting on such luck.

  Curly tipped back the hat he wore and narrowed his gaze, as though he took measure of Fred.

  The desire to squirm under the man’s scrutiny forced Fred to relax his tense stance and cross his arms over his chest, making him look broader and more formidable.

  “Your pa stole a heap of gold in his day. He had a hideout in the mountains about a half day’s ride from here where he kept it along with some other… treasures.” Curly sneered and swiped his arm beneath his nose before he waggled a bushy, overgrown eyebrow at Fred. “Reckon with you being the spitting image of ol’ Joe and all, you probably know just where to find that hideout and everything that’s buried there.”

  The verification his father had a hideout was news to Fred, but didn’t really come as a surprise. He’d long ago assumed that the times when his father would suddenly appear home, demand a meal, then disappear for a few days, he was most likely taking his latest haul of ill-gotten goods somewhere. The way Curly’s voice caressed the word buried put Fred on high alert. Was there something else his father had hauled out there besides gold?

  Fred didn’t immediately reply to Curly. He needed to buy enough time to talk to the sheriff and figure out how to find his father’s hideout. The silence echoed in the alley as he glowered at Curly, wondering if he could possibly intimidate the man. His gut, along with vague memories, assured him Curly had been terrified of Joe Decker. If he thought Fred was just like his father, could he be intimated by him, too?

  Without time to talk himself out of what could be a foolhardy decision, Fred reached out and grabbed Curly by the coat-collar and slammed him up against the side of the land office. “What I know about the gold and its whereabouts isn’t really any concern to you, now is it?”

  Fred watched the smaller man wince as he tightened his hold. For good measure, he squeezed a little tighter then gave the outlaw a threatening shake before he turned him loose.

  When Curly grabbed for his rifle, Fred kicked it so hard, it slid to the end of the alley on the icy snow, far out of reach.

  Suddenly, Curly’s countenance changed. Fred could see hatred and fear swimming in the man’s beady dark eyes as the outlaw laughed and slapped his leg. “You are just like ol’ Joe. I thought maybe your mother succeeded in making a little lily-livered sissy out of you, but you might just turn out to be a man, yet.”

  Fred ignored his comment and continued glaring at the man. “Even if I did know where to find the gold, why would I share it with you?”

  “Because I’ve got the key to the lockbox and I’m pretty sure you don’t.” Curly dug into the neck of his shirt and pulled out an old brass key dangling from a strip of worn leather.

  A hundred questions flew through Fred’s mind, but he held them back. “How do I know that key opens anything? You could have picked it up anywhere.”

  “I could have,” Curly said, acting oddly agreeable. He leaned back against the wall Fred had shoved him against only moments earlier. “Or I could have one of the keys your father had made. He left one at your mother’s house and the other with me. I’m not sure if he gave one to Gloria or not.”

  Fred recalled finding a small box of keys when he cleaned out his mother’s house. They’d been hidden beneath a loose floor board behind the dresser in her room. He’d never have known they were there except when he moved the dresser, the end of the board caught and lifted. He’d seen the small metal box and immediately knew it had to be something his father had left behind.

  He’d tossed the box into a trunk of things he thought best to keep but didn’t want to see. He’d stowed the trunk out in a corner of the barn’s loft. Perhaps now would be a good time to really examine the contents.

  At least it would be if he could somehow get away from Curly, find the sheriff, and make sure his aunts remained safe.

  His mind circled around to what Curly had said. Gloria? What did Curly know about the missing harlot and why would she have had one of his father’s keys?

  No matter the reason, the fact Curly thought Gloria possessed knowledge about the gold had to be why he was pestering Elsa.

  “Why would Gloria have a key?” he asked, hoping Curly would divulge something useful.

  The outlaw shrugged. “Your ol’ man had a particular liking for that girl, as you may recall. In fact, he used to brag about how you both had a thing for sweet little Gloria.”

  Fred had tried so hard to forget those wretched days of his past, he’d nearly succeeded. Memories slammed into him with the force of an oncoming train. His father dragging him to the Red Lant
ern one night when he was barely fourteen, insisting it was time for him to learn to be a man. After forcing him to drink several rounds of watered-down whiskey, Joe Decker pushed his son upstairs and paid a harlot to show him a good time. Eager to please his father, Fred had spent the next two years drinking, gambling, and patronizing the upstairs business of the Red Lantern. Of all the women Cecil Montague kept in his employ, the one Fred liked the most was a young girl named Gloria. Sometimes when he paid for her company, the two of them would sit and talk, sharing their hopes and dreams. Fred fancied himself in love with her and fantasized of carrying her away from her sordid life and running far away from Hardman. Gloria had encouraged him, pleaded with him to take her away. Then his father returned home and the next thing Fred knew, Gloria was gone.

  A part of him had known his father had something to do with her disappearance, but he’d hoped she’d just run off. He’d questioned his father about Gloria, but the man laughed in his face, telling Fred he’d never see the girl again. It was then he’d seen his father for what he really was — a lying, no-good thief. Fred had taken out his frustration and anger on the townspeople, behaving badly and causing trouble. Then his father came home a few months later on a blustery winter day right before Christmas. The first thing Fred did was confront him, demanding to know the truth about Gloria, about what his father really did for a living.

  And Joe Decker, bully and coward that he was, had two of his men hold Fred while he beat him until he lost consciousness. Fred awoke in the storeroom at the Red Lantern. He’d stumbled out into the cold and made his way to an abandoned mine where he frequently hid from his parents when he needed a quiet place to think. Too injured to care for himself, he’d been ready to give up and die when Alex Guthry found him and took him to her house. From that moment on, Fred’s life had changed.

  He’d realized there were good people in the world and he could become one of them. His father might have been an outlaw and his mother might have been a sharp-tongued, judgmental gossip, but he could be anything he wanted.