Hero for Christmas

by Pierson, Cheryl

  "No," he said flatly. "No, he's dead. I made sure of that."

  She shifted away from him carefully, raising her eyes. His expression was solemn, but not apologetic.

  "Murder, you'd probably say. But my only regret is that I wasn't there to do it earlier, before he killed Zeke and Laura. I'm not perfect, but Will and I agree on one thing. Loving someone means standin' to fight with them, for them, and dyin', if it comes to that. Believing in them, no matter what. And believing in yourself."

  Angela rose on her elbow. He searched her face, as if expecting to see condemnation, a flash of defiance telling her he was prepared to pretend it didn't matter, one way or the other. After a moment, he went on. "That's why I didn't think Will should be alone with his thoughts out there in the dark. He figures he coulda done something more. Doesn't realize that sometimes things happen – things you can't change, or think you can't, at the time. Just like there's things you think you might've changed, if you'd only been willin' to bend a little. Some things can't ever be fixed. Or forgiven." He looked away. "Bein' young as he is, he hasn't learned that yet."

  "Does he know who you are?"

  "No. He was just a little guy. No older than Charlie." He shook his head. "Six years. I shoulda come back sooner. None of them know me."

  Angela couldn't bear the tortured remembrance. Her hand went to his stubbled cheek in a gentle caress. She bent and brushed her lips across his in a gesture that left her warming at her own forwardness.

  "Nick, I'm so sorry." She drew away, embarrassed, but he crushed her close to him, putting his mouth to hers again, in firm assurance that this kiss – this sudden bond between them – was no mistake. Hot and slow, as unhurried as if they had all night – as if they had forever – his tongue played across her lips. He teased her mouth open, and as her lips parted, she touched her tongue to his, deepening the kiss. She moaned softly, surrendering to him, trusting him. It was as natural as breathing, that kiss, as was the promise of what would follow. And as Angela laced her fingers in Nick's dark hair, she didn't want it to ever end.

  "Angela," – he breathed close to her mouth – "you must be an angel…alive and real…makin' me believe—" He stopped, letting his breath out on a wistful sigh before he reluctantly released her.

  The heated look in his eyes held her immobile for an instant. He didn't want to let her go. But, he'd promised to be a gentleman. She moved out of his embrace. Heat coiled in the pit of her belly, desire sharp within her. "I need to see about the children," she said, unable to meet his deep gaze a second longer. She rose and hurried for the door, away from Nick Dalton and her feelings for him.

  By now, the children should be bedded down and fast asleep. But she needed some time to collect her thoughts. Time to put some distance between herself and Nick. Thoughts of the kiss warmed her face with pink heat. She licked her lips, her heart taking off again like a runaway horse. His kisses were nothing like Tom's. Tom had never made her feel like she couldn't get a deep breath, like she never wanted it to end, like her heart was no longer her own.

  She'd brew some willow bark tea for Nick, since he'd turned down the laudanum she offered him earlier. As she stepped into the front room, she pulled the door shut behind her. Immediately, the fresh scent of pine arrested her attention. A scrawny fir tree stood propped in the corner beside the front window. It leaned unevenly, as if it were seeking support from the wall just behind where it stood, listing in a bucket the children must have found in the barn. The little tree was pitiful, bare; regret welled up inside her.

  How she wished she'd remembered sooner that it was Christmas Eve.

  Will had built the fire up before he lay down on the far side, leaving Charlie and Leah closer to the warmth. Now, they all slept soundly. Angela wondered if they expected, with the trusting belief of all children, that Santa would visit them tonight.

  They had wanted a tree badly, to go to that trouble, as tired as they were. They'd been through so much. Her thoughts turned to Nick Dalton. Why was she running from him? He needed her as much as these children did.

  As much as she needed him.

  Angela regarded the sleeping faces, the faint resemblance to their handsome uncle clear. Though their hair was as bright in various degrees of gold as his was black as a raven's wing, and the blue of their eyes shades lighter than his, the high cheekbones and expressive mouths were common to all of them.

  As were their hearts. They all shared the need for love.

  She turned for the kitchen, the thought stunning her. Feeling close to the children she could understand. But Nick Dalton? They were nearly strangers, yet somehow, she felt closer to this man after mere hours than she'd felt to her husband in two years of marriage.

  I might've done a couple of good things to go along with the rest.

  This was one of those good things. Bringing these children here, where their broken hearts might mend, where Nick, himself, might find a kind of peace.

  She put a kettle of water on to boil. Where would he go when he healed? What would become of the children? Did she want them to go? She couldn't explain the pull she felt toward Nick. That she felt this attraction, this closeness, with a stranger, an outlaw, was difficult to admit. Yet, it was undeniably strong, and she yearned to be near him.

  How would she feel when he healed, and left for good? She stood and stared at the empty wall over her stove…blank like her existence had been until earlier this evening when she'd begun to feel again. It was going to hurt like hell when he rode out of her life…when the youngsters were gone. She thought of the happy chatter between Leah and Charlie as they'd played checkers earlier, of Will's tumultuous needs as a young man, the way they had all tried to please her and Nick in the small things.

  And Nick…the look in his eyes when he'd spoken of the deaths of his sister and her husband haunted Angela more than she could bear. Nick needed her, though he might not realize it yet. That bit of knowledge gave her the courage to let her ideas stray toward bold territory.

  She couldn't let him go.

  But how could she hold him here with her? She shook her head. He didn't love her. Still, there was more of a leaning toward love in her heart for him than there had been for Tom. Was it possible he might feel those same beginnings?

  Would he consider…

  She swallowed hard at her own brash thoughts.

  Would he consider…staying? Helping her hold onto this farm?

  She steadied her breathing and tried to think of something else. Anything else. But as she brewed the tea, her thoughts raced. Did she have the courage to ask him to stay?

  Christmas. What did she own that she might put under the tree for the children? This had been a poor year, and she had never had any luxuries to speak of; but how could she bear to see the disappointment in their eyes come morning?

  There was always the box.

  Chapter Nine

  Keepsakes. Things she had intended to pass down to her own children one day. Hesitantly, she went to the pantry and took the wooden chest down from the top shelf. It had been a long while since she'd looked through these treasures, but she knew them by heart. She'd memorized the weight, the shape, the intricate details of each one. Tomorrow, she thought, they'd have a real Christmas. A family Christmas, though they weren't really her family. And she wasn't theirs. Could they ever be?

  That would be up to her. And Nick.

  She paused a moment, her hand resting atop the rough wooden lid. Above all else, she wished for a family.

  She opened the brass catch and lifted the lid of the box. On top was a metal star her father had fashioned to go on their tree when she was a child. She smiled, thinking of her childhood Christmases. She hadn't celebrated these last two years, after losing Tom. But tomorrow would be different. They'd decorate the tree tomorrow, and she'd cook a holiday feast. She put the star aside on the cabinet.

  Under the star lay a tortoise shell vanity set, complete with brush, comb, and mirror that had been her grandmother's. Beneath it
rested a beautiful white lace pillowcase, too special, until now, for everyday. Treasures Leah, no doubt, would never expect to find waiting for her in the morning. She smiled, picturing the quiet child's surprise, before moving on to the next item.

  The pocketknife that had belonged to her Uncle Bob—all that remained of him these years later, returned to her mother after he'd been killed at Vicksburg. Will was old enough for a knife.

  Her expression softened again, thinking of how Charlie's face would light up when he discovered the small, fold-up checkerboard with miniature pieces that fit into a compartment of the carrying case. My favorite, he'd said earlier. The perfect gift.

  As the tea brewed, she wrapped each parcel in one of the bright-colored bandanas she normally used as napkins, tying the tops off with a length of twine. Tiptoeing to the front room, she laid each of the beloved packages beside its intended recipient.

  Now, for Nick. She started back to the kitchen. Opening the box again, she searched through the few remaining items until she found what she was looking for. She wrapped it in a red bandana as she had the other presents, her heart pounding. What would he think? What would he say?

  She shook her head at her own doubts, and poured him a cup of the medicinal tea. She would know, soon enough, what Nick thought of her gift – and what her future would hold.

  She opened the bedroom door quietly. The cup trembled in her hand, and she steadied it. As she came near the bed, Nick opened his eyes and gave her a lopsided grin.

  "Do you know what those dear children did?" She set the red bandana package and tea on the night table, not waiting for his reply. "They brought in a Christmas tree."

  Nick's eyes narrowed. He tried to sit up and stifled a groan. "A Christmas tree?"

  She nodded.

  His voice was low and rich when he spoke, and Angela couldn't mistake the wistful hope she heard. "Maybe he does remember."

  "What do you mean?

  Nick threw off the covers and moved to the side of the bed, his bronze face unnaturally pale from the exertion.

  "You need to lie down—"

  "I've got to know." He looked up at her. "I just want to see it," he said, glancing away. "Then I'll get straight back to bed."

  She understood, suddenly, why it was so important. "Was that what you and Laura argued over, Nick?" She knelt beside him, touching his cheek. "A Christmas tree?"

  Finally, he raised his gaze to meet hers as he sat fully upright on the side of the bed, mustering his strength. "Laura…she became a Quaker when she married Zeke," he said "She wouldn't have a Christmas tree. Said that's how Zeke wanted it. I shoulda just let it go, but…I kept thinking about how much she'd always loved it, growing up…how her little ones would, too. Will and I, we'd gone out to cut one earlier. Never dawned on me that…well, that there'd be rules against a tree. Will wanted one so much. They said no." His eyes held a faraway look. "I thought he was too young to remember. I just want a look at it, Angela."

  Nothing else would do, Angela realized. This was something he needed more than rest. She grasped his arm and helped him up. They made their way to the bedroom door, Nick's weight heavy against her as they walked.

  He leaned against the doorjamb for support, breathing hard with the effort it had taken him to get those few steps from the bed. His fingers tightened at Angela's waist as his gaze fell on the bedraggled little tree.

  The fir seemed to glow with a light of its own, the scent of pine pungent and homey in the small space. The children slept in peace, oblivious to the two adults and the transformation of the plain tree they'd brought in earlier.

  "Where'd those gifts come from?" Nick asked softly.

  Angela looked up at him, flustered. "Oh, I – I did that. They'd be so disappointed if they didn't find something there in the morning. It's not much."

  He shook his head. "I don't believe that. You've opened your heart to us, Angel." His fingers trailed through her hair. "To all of us. You aren't capable of giving something that would amount to 'not much.' I think, with you, it's all or nothing."

  Nick looked back toward the children, his eyes resting on Will. Angela glanced over her shoulder at the faraway bed when she felt Nick falter slightly, his legs still weak from the loss of blood.

  "Don't worry," he whispered, stroking her hair again. He pushed away from the doorjamb. "I'll sleep fine now." His voice carried a peacefulness that hadn't been there before. When she met his gaze, her heart leapt at the light of hope that shone in the blue depths. "I think he remembered, Angela."

  "We'll make it special tomorrow," she said. "Decorate it and all. But for now, let's get you back to bed." When he didn't move, she added, "I…have something for you. Something I want to give you."

  "Yeah," he grimaced, still looking at the tree. "Willow bark tea."

  She smiled as he leaned on her again, finally turning toward the bed. "Something else, too."

  Chapter Ten

  They crossed the room and he sank onto the bed then laid back on the pillows with a grimace. She helped him drink the tea and then set the cup aside with deliberate care. She lifted the red package from the night table. When she handed it to him, her fingers shook.

  "For me?" He raised a dark brow. "Can't remember the last time I got a Christmas present, Angela."

  "You might not want it." She met his eyes. "And if not, I'll understand."

  "They say good things come in small packages." His gaze still held hers, and she saw a flash of anticipation in the cobalt depths before he looked down at the gift. He pulled the twine, parting the folds of red and black material.

  "This may be more than you bargained for." Her voice was a throaty whisper.

  The fabric fell away. The gold pocket watch stared up at him, as if challenging him to accept it. His reverent touch moved over the surface of the heirloom watchcase, his thumb tracing the worn design etched on the top, and Angela saw he understood the full importance of what it meant for her to let it go. To give it to him.

  "It was my grandfather's, then, my father's," Angela murmured. She sank down beside him. "You may already have one."

  "No," he answered quickly, looking up at her at last. "No, I've never owned one. Never been offered one. But, are you sure?"

  "You'll need it – to know when to come in for lunch."

  He looked down at the gold case again. "I'd never take this out to the fields or the corral. Just tell by the sun…" His voice trailed off and he reached to touch Angela's cheek.

  "Are you proposing to me, Angel?" he asked, making his voice light. There was the slightest trace of doubt in his blue eyes.

  "If you'll have me."

  "That's my line, isn't it?" He pulled her down to him, serious now, brushing her lips in a light kiss. "I don't have anything to give you, sweetheart. Nothing."

  The apology in his expression made her swallow hard, her heart clenching at his declaration. "You have yourself," she whispered, "and those children need a home, Nick."

  He nodded, looking away from her briefly. "Yeah, I know. I've thought of that. But what about you and me? Are you willing to gamble on me, Angela? Take a chance? We'll have some pretty long odds at making it work. God knows, you deserve better than me."

  She pressed a finger to his lips. "There are different kinds of good, Nick. Remember? And different kinds of love." After a moment, she added, "And I happen to like our odds."

  He shook his head. "Seems you might be getting the short end of this deal," he said. "An ex-soldier-of-fortune and the chance to raise three kids who aren't even yours. Not much of a Christmas present."

  He was going to stay. He was really going to stay! Blood rushed through her veins, her heart pounding so loudly she didn't see how he could keep from hearing. She steadied her voice before she tried to speak, afraid she'd embarrass herself by babbling. "I'll be getting exactly what I wanted for Christmas. A family. "

  He took her hand firmly in his, and she felt the affirmation, the hope, and the wonder in his touch. She grasped his f
ingers and held on tight. He erased any last shred of doubt when he smiled at her.

  "Miss Angela! Mr. Dalton!"

  "Leah," Nick said, starting up from the bed.

  "Lie still. I'll see what's going on." Angela placed a staying hand on his shoulder. "Probably no more than discovering Santa's been here."

  "Santa came!" Charlie piped up.

  "Shhh!"

  Angela and Nick shared a grin at Will's grown-up attempt to maintain order.

  "Give me a hand, Angela," Nick said, moving to rise again. "I don't want to miss this."

  "Hold on, we're coming!" Angela helped Nick to his feet.

  He gasped in pain, but when she shot him a questioning look, he nodded toward the door. "I want to see their faces. It's a first for them."

  "We'll make it quick," she murmured, and by his slow grin, she knew her heart was in her eyes and every ounce of worry she felt for him was showing.

  As they made their way into the front room, Nick resumed his earlier stance beside the doorjamb for support.

  Leah was already brushing her flaxen hair, admiring herself in the mirror by the firelight, the pillowcase draped over her shoulders, like the wings of an angel in the snow.

  On his knees, Will examined the knife, his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

  "Look!" Charlie cried, carrying the portable checkerboard to where Nick stood. "Just look! My very own checkers!"

  "I reckon ol' Santa knew you've been mighty good this year." Nick raised his eyes to Will and Leah. "All of you."

  He lifted the pocket watch in the dim light. "A night for miracles," he said quietly. "But I got the biggest, best one of all." He turned to Angela, his fingers tightening at her waist. "I promise, you won't be sorry, Angela. It's gonna be good for us. For all of us."

  "Open it, Nick." She nodded toward the watchcase. "The inscription says, To thine own self be true. My grandmother had it engraved for Grandfather when she gave it to him." Shyly, she added, "I think as long as we're true to ourselves, and to each other, we'll be all right."