A Pioneer Christmas Collection

by Kathleen Fuller

  “Oh my.” She released May’s hand and turned slowly in a circle. “It’s…different.” She speared him with a glance. “Without a husband, how can I be expected to build a cabin?”

  Right. Looks like Drake had another job added to his list. “Bill already cut the lumber.”

  She pressed her lips together. “I’ll make do. Thank you for taking care of…May.” She plopped on one of the bunks, releasing a cloud of dust.

  “I reckon you could sell out and head back to where you came from.” Drake crossed his arms. He refused to allow himself to feel guilty. Annie should’ve made sure things were more to her liking before hitching herself to a man like Bill.

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” She tossed her hat on the rickety table. “After all, didn’t you say Bill died because of his land? Are you offering to buy, or should I wait for the next no-good scalawag to make an offer?”

  “Now, wait one minute.” Did she just compare him to the men who killed Bill? He ought to leave her to her own devices. He turned for the door. “I’m an hour’s ride due east. You can’t miss the house. After I buried, Bill, I’ve been coming every day to tend to the stock. Now that you’re here, I’ve plenty work of my own.”

  “Wait. My apologies. It’s… I’ve got a lot to take in right now. I’d offer you a cup of coffee, but…” She waved a hand.

  “The shelves are fairly well stocked. There’s what’s left of Bill’s cash in May’s bag, and he’s got a running credit at the Grayson’s. You let me know if I can help you in any other way.” He took the steps two at a time until he darted back into sunshine. Closed in spaces always made him feel as if he were in a cage. The six months he’d lived in a dugout were the longest of his life.

  He called to his horse and then mounted in one motion. From this higher vantage point, he could see all the improvements that needed to be made. He shook his head. If he offered, it’d take up most of his day, and he still had a ride home. But the good Lord wouldn’t look kindly on a man who didn’t offer. He’d be back tomorrow with May’s clothes and a hammer and nails.

  With a click of his tongue, he steered toward home, his mind listing the things he could accomplish in a day and the things that would take longer. Between his place and Annie’s, he’d be busier than a three-legged dog after a jackrabbit.

  He laughed, envisioning the first time Annie would try to give May a bath. He still had the teeth imprints in his hand from his one attempt.

  Oh to be a fly on the wall in that dugout tonight.

  Chapter 2

  Annie rolled off the cot, keeping the quilt wrapped around her shoulders. Seemed yesterday’s mild weather had given in to winter’s cold. She padded to the cookstove and added more kindling to the low embers.

  What had she gotten into? She cast a glance to where May still slept. She hadn’t liked letting the child go to bed filthy, but exhaustion won out. Today a bath would definitely be in order.

  With the fire building in the stove, she perused the contents of the shelves and decided on flapjacks for breakfast. Later she’d make their hole in the ground habitable. She had a trunk arriving on tomorrow’s stagecoach with a few of her mother’s things. She hoped they’d help make the place a home.

  She faced the table. May sat staring up at her with big eyes the color of blue bonnets.

  “You can go play while I fix breakfast.” Annie picked up a cast-iron skillet. “Do you have any toys?”

  May shook her head and stuck her dirty thumb in her mouth.

  No toys? “Not even a doll?”

  Another shake of the head.

  Well, Christmas was on the horizon. Annie was a fair seamstress. She’d sew May a doll, and the little girl a dress to match. Just because Annie found wearing pants more convenient didn’t mean that the child shouldn’t have the option to choose for herself.

  What if May didn’t like her, even after Annie took care of her? Annie had no younger siblings and had rarely had neighbor children to play with. She glanced at May. She’d treat the girl like a small adult; she didn’t know any other way to respond to a person. Hopefully it would be sufficient. With her own melancholy and mentally absent mother, Annie definitely knew what not to do in regard to raising a child.

  She dropped a blob of lard onto the hot skillet and listened to the pleasing sizzle. She had a bit of red flannel in her trunk. Maybe May would enjoy making ribbons to decorate greenery around the dugout. As a child, Annie had loved decorating for Christmas. Since it appeared she now had a young’un of her own, she’d introduce the little girl to some of the things she’d loved and give them some time to get to know each other.

  After mixing the batter, she poured some into the hot skillet. Soon the smell of frying flapjacks filled the room. “Okay, May, I’m going to tell you everything I need to do today. You help me remember.” What did one talk about to a little girl with eyes as big as saucers?

  “First thing is to get as much of the dust out of here as possible. That most likely means washing the linens. Then we need to find the hole in the chicken coop and round up them feathered rascals.” She glanced out of the corner of her eye. May’s gaze never left her. Annie smiled. “Then, I think we’ll give you a bath.”

  “I hate baths!” May dashed up the stairs and out the door.

  Annie removed the pan from the fire and raced after her. Outside, she barreled into the little girl and wrapped her arms around her to prevent taking them both to the ground. May pointed toward the gate. Scout dashed from the woods and barked, running to May’s side.

  Squinting, Annie made out the form of four men on horseback. She whirled and dragged May into the dugout. “Stay here.” She grabbed her rifle and headed back outside.

  Annie aimed her gun at the biggest target: a man dressed in black sitting tall on his horse. “State your business.” She narrowed her eyes.

  “My name’s Ben Hayward.” He removed his hat. “I’m here only to welcome you to Prescott, Mrs. Morgan. It isn’t every day that a comely widow moves to these parts. I’ve come to offer my services.”

  She snapped at the still barking dog. “Hush, Scout.” The noise set her nerves on edge.

  “In what capacity? If you’ve come to make an offer on my land, you can turn around and leave. I have no intention of selling.”

  “Mrs. Morgan.” Hayward swung a leg over the horse to begin his dismount.

  “Don’t bother getting down.” Annie’s arm was starting to shake from holding the gun steady for several minutes. “You can talk just as well from the saddle.”

  Hayward sighed. “I haven’t come to make an offer on your land but rather to offer you my hand in marriage.”

  “Whatever for?”

  “Women are scarce out here, and one as beautiful as yourself shouldn’t be left to tend to a ranch alone. I’m willing to care for you and the child while joining our acreage together. It’s a winning situation for both of us.”

  “Are you the skunk who murdered my husband?”

  “Now, Mrs. Morgan, that was an unfortunate accident. I made the man a fair offer, and he pulled a gun on me and my men.” Hayward held up his hands. “We mean you no harm.”

  “Turn around and leave, Mr. Hayward, before I put a bullet through your scheming heart.”

  Drake slowed his horse at the sight of Annie struggling to lift her gate into place. Why didn’t the stubborn woman wait for him? He grunted. Had he even mentioned he’d be back today? He stopped and dismounted. “Let me do that. It’s too heavy for you.”

  She rubbed the back of her gloved hand across her already dirty face.

  Instead of making her unattractive, the fruits of her hard labor appealed to Drake, and he pulled away to focus on the task at hand. It wouldn’t do to pay too much attention to Annie. He was here to do a job, nothing more.

  “Thank you. The sorry thing was already falling, but then one of Hayward’s men knocked it completely down when I refused to marry him. The whole fence looks like it would fall with a brisk wind
.”

  “Marry who? The hired hand?” This couldn’t be good. In town less than twenty-four hours and already Annie had a target on her back. There had to be more to Hayward’s attention than water rights.

  “No. Mr. Hayward.”

  Drake lifted the gate into place. “I take it he didn’t care for your answer.”

  “Nope.” Annie leaned against the fence and helped hold the gate while Drake hammered. “I don’t understand the man’s intentions.” She stared toward town.

  “I’m wondering whether the man’s thirsting for more here than water.” Drake motioned her to step back while he swung the gate back and forth. “That ought to hold. What else would you like me to do?”

  She tilted her head. “Don’t you have work of your own?”

  “Yep, but I can’t rest easy knowing what a mess Bill left you.” Nor, could he, in good conscience, leave her be while a snake like Hayward hung around.

  “I need to give May a bath. Could you round up the chickens and fix the coop? Oh, and there are a couple of pigs rooting in the woods. Can you build an enclosure for them?”

  “Sure.” Easy enough jobs.

  “And tomorrow, I’ve a trunk coming in on the stage. I don’t feel comfortable going into town with Hayward sniffing around. Could you fetch it for me?”

  Drake sighed. He knew offering his help would result in a lot of nonsense. Why didn’t the woman hire someone to deliver the dratted thing? No help for it now. He guessed if it all came down to most desirable job, he’d rather muck out a pigpen, fix a chicken coop, and waste a day riding to town than try giving May a bath.

  Annie marched to the dugout and disappeared inside its dark depths. Within a few minutes, she returned with a plate of flapjacks.

  “Eat,” she said. “I’ll call when lunch is ready.”

  Drake watched her retreat back into her hole. A beautiful but strange woman. He wondered what caused her to let go of the familiar and travel west to marry a man she’d never met. He shrugged.

  He needed to get things fixed as soon as possible and avoid Annie Templeton Morgan as much as possible. He had no desire, or time, to get tangled up with a woman no matter how pretty, and it was none of his concern as to why she married Bill. It was his Christian duty to make sure she didn’t harm herself or the child, and that was best done by making repairs around her property.

  The flapjacks melted in his mouth. Maybe he could work out a way of having Annie cook for him in return for repairs. He hated his own cooking. When he’d finished, he set the plate on a stump and got back to work.

  A shriek rose over the sound of Drake’s hammer. He whirled, hand on the butt of his gun. He relaxed and chuckled.

  Annie had a kicking May slung over her shoulder as she marched toward the creek. This, Drake had to see. He propped his tools against the fence and jogged after them.

  “The water’s cold!” May squirmed until Annie dropped her into the creek.

  “If you hadn’t knocked over the tub, you would have a warm bath.”

  “You’re mean.” May threw a handful of mud at Annie. It hit with a splat and slid down the front of her faded yellow shirt.

  Drake crossed his arms and leaned against a pine tree. The scene before him beat working for sure.

  Annie pulled a bar of soap from her pocket, toed off her boots, and waded into the creek after May. She wrapped an arm around the flailing child and started scrubbing.

  “Your lips are turning blue.” Drake didn’t know what he’d expected, but it sure wasn’t for Annie to join the child in the cold water.

  “No doubt.” Annie grunted and took both her and May under the water. They came up sputtering, and Annie struggled to drag May back to the bank.

  Drake stepped forward and offered her a hand. He froze at the sight of her wet blouse clinging to curves better left disguised. He averted his gaze and pulled.

  “Thank you.” Annie slung May back over her shoulder and headed home. “Next time I tell you to take a bath, I’m guessing you’ll listen, and don’t think you’re going to get out of helping me mop up the mud in the house.”

  Maybe Annie would be all right out here after all. Drake shook his head and followed. He’d never met a more strong-willed person, male or female. Poor little May didn’t stand a chance.

  By the time he entered the dugout after fetching his tools, Annie and May huddled together by the stove. May sat on Annie’s lap, her head tucked under the woman’s chin. Well, what do you know? Maybe Drake had been too easy on the little tyke. Her father, too. All the child needed was a firm hand and then a consoling shoulder when it was all over.

  “I’ll get you something to eat in a bit,” Annie said over her shoulder. “Gotta take the chill off first.”

  “No hurry.” Drake backed out of the small space. “I’ll work on the coop.” He’d have to take his meal outside. Just stepping into the dugout caused his heart to race. There didn’t seem to be enough air to breathe, not to mention the lack of space for a man well over six feet tall.

  The coop sat behind the dugout, out of sight of the road. Drake found the hole. Looked chewed through by an animal. He nailed a couple of boards over the hole. Once he found the chickens, Annie would have fresh eggs every morning.

  He didn’t know how many fowl Bill had, but he found a rooster and three hens among the forest’s foliage. He tossed them into the repaired coop and then stretched the kinks from his back.

  “Now it all makes sense.” Hayward stepped from the trees, a cigar dangling from his lips. “The lovely widow doesn’t want me because she already has you. Well played, Carter. A beautiful woman, desirable acreage—why, you’ve got it all.”

  “What is it you want, Hayward?” Drake’s fingers itched for his gun.

  “Don’t play stupid.” Hayward blew a smoke ring in the air. “I want the mineral rights to this land. Bill flashed gold all over town. The fool even tossed several nuggets on the bar. It’s simple, really, what I’m after. His having a beautiful widow only sweetened the pot.”

  “You can’t have her if she’s already married to me.”

  Chapter 3

  Drake wanted to bite his tongue. What would Annie do if Hayward confronted her with the fact she was marrying him? He struggled to keep his composure. What a blasted fool. How was he going to tell Annie they were getting married?

  “We have ourselves a predicament, Mr. Carter.” Hayward tossed his cigar butt at Drake’s feet. “I want this land we stand on and the creek that runs through it. Somewhere on this land is gold, unless Morgan lied, which I doubt.”

  “Did he actually say he found the gold here?” Drake kept his fingers close to his gun and crushed the burning ember of the cigar under his boot. Drake knew Bill had found gold, but it wasn’t on this land. Most likely it was found somewhere else and brought to Arizona in a saddlebag. Either way, that type of rumor could only spell danger to Annie—and to him.

  “Not in so many words.” Hayward frowned. “But his meaning was clear. When a man buys horses with gold, people take notice. I want this land, and I intend to have it.”

  “Over my dead body.”

  “I don’t kill, Mr. Carter.” Hayward melted back into the shadows. “Until next time.”

  No, he just let his hired hands kill for him. Drake’s blood ran cold. The man was as heartless as a rabid wolf and every bit as dangerous. Drake couldn’t waste any time in coming up with a plan to protect Annie and May. He hadn’t thought to marry, but he would if it kept them safe.

  After a few minutes without seeing any more signs of Hayward or his men, Drake gathered his tools and meandered back to the dugout. He’d decline the offer of lunch and head back to his place. His mind whirled like a dust devil, and he wasn’t any closer to coming up with an answer to his loco remark to shut up Hayward. He needed to find a different solution than getting hitched.

  As he rode home, he expected to feel a bullet rip between his shoulder blades. Tension knotted his shoulders.

  He, a grown
man, had raced away from a woman like she was a porcupine ready to stab him with her quills. He shook his head. If being around a goodlooking woman left him this addled, he definitely needed to get to town more.

  Tomorrow. He sighed. He’d promised her he’d fetch her trunk tomorrow.

  Smoke rose on the horizon. Drake’s mouth dried up. He spurred his horse to a gallop and raced for home.

  Annie pulled a small drawstring bag out of May’s things and peeked inside. Gold? Was there gold on her land? Was that why Hayward was determined to claim it?

  She glanced around the dugout. Where could she hide it? Why hadn’t Mr. Carter mentioned it, or had he not even bothered to go through May’s few items of clothing? From the looks of the child yesterday, Annie would guess not.

  The spittoon. She’d clean it out and stuff the bag in there. With no one around who chewed tobacco, the gold should be safe and left undetected from marauders.

  She didn’t deserve the money. Having never met Bill, much less loved him as a wife should, she didn’t feel she was due the inheritance. But she knew from his letters that he had no one else, and she had nowhere else to go. Her gaze fell on May. She’d take care of the land and the money for the sake of Bill’s daughter.

  Leaving the child wrapped in blankets, Annie donned her clothes and slipped out into the morning cold to take care of the stock and gather eggs. The peace of the morning surrounded her with a gentle embrace. She might feel guilty at enjoying land she felt she had no claim to, but for the first time in her life, she had something that actually belonged to her.

  Scout bounded to her side and sent the chickens into a panic. Annie laughed and glanced at the repairs Mr. Carter had managed to make the day before. The next thing on the list would be to fix the fence. She could do that herself. None of the chores were too difficult if she set her mind to doing them.

  She studied the dugout. Surely there was a way to make the place look less like a junk heap. She pulled her coat tight. But the dugout served its purpose of keeping out the cold. Most likely, it would stay cool in the summer as well. Maybe she could live with its ugliness for a while.