Silver Belles and Stetsons

by Caroline Clemmons

  “You're looking good enough to eat—like a Christmas cake with icing.”

  She smiled and dipped into a curtesy. “I will take that as a compliment, kind sir.”

  He pointed over her head. “See that?”

  “You mean the mistletoe?”

  “Yep, now it's Christmas.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  He lowered his head and captured her mouth. His lips were warm and soft and tasted like heaven. Why, oh why, had she ever refused him?

  Fitting her mouth to his, she wrapped her arms around his waist. And then the heat began, slow and simmering. Her blood warmed and curled through her veins, slow and sweet as honey. Her breasts peaked and ached. And lower, lower, she wanted him, wanted him in that most complete sense between a man and a woman…forever more.

  He lifted his head, breaking their kiss and gazing into her eyes. “Marry me, Abby.” He nuzzled her neck. “Marry me, please.”

  “Clint, I have to tell you something. I should have told you before, while Kevin was ill, but it wasn't the right time.” She drew herself up and looked into his eyes. “I love you, Clint. I had to tell you because I didn't know if I could ever love again.” She lowered her eyes. “But I do, Clint. I love you,” she repeated.

  “That's good enough for me, Abby.” He grabbed her around the waist and spun her around. He threw back his head and laughed. Then he calmed and set her on her own feet. He swiped his face with his hand. “How soon can we marry?”

  “Oh, Clint, are you certain you want me? I carry a heavy load from before—”

  “I don't care. I've my own demons to wrestle with.” He brushed her lips. “We'll wrestle them together and—”

  “Ma?” Kevin's falsetto voice called to her. She heard footsteps and pulled away.

  “Oh, Ma, I didn't know you and the Sheriff were spooning.” He covered his mouth and giggled. “There's someone here to see you.” Kevin hitched a thumb over his shoulder.

  Who could it be on Christmas Eve? Most of the boarders had gone to spend Christmas with family or friends.

  “Not spooning, Kevin, we were just—”

  “Well, if that ain't special now,” the mocking voice carried from the kitchen doorway.

  Lucas! She would have known his voice anywhere.

  Her long-absent husband elbowed his way past Kevin and stood in the foyer. He looked the same, except deeper lines bracketed his mouth, his straggly hair looked greasier than ever, and his eyes appeared unfocused, as if he'd been drinking.

  “I don't know who you are, Mister, but I'd appreciate it if you'd unhand my wife.” Lucas demanded with a sneer.

  Clint backed up a step but kept his hand on her elbow. “I'm Sheriff Graham, and I assume you're Lucas Sanford.”

  “Yep, I'm Mister Sanford to you.”

  “Lucas, what are you doing here?” Abigail asked. “It's been six—”

  “Don't matter how long it's been, you're still my wife.” His gaze skittered over Kevin, and she knew he'd been drinking. “And I suppose this brat is mine, though he don't look nothing like me.”

  Kevin's head jerked up as if he'd been slapped. He turned to her with a question in his brown eyes. “Ma?”

  Clint placed his hand on the butt of his pistol. “Well, now, Mister Sanford, it was nice of you to stop by—”

  “Shut up, Sheriff.”

  Abigail felt Clint tense. He drew himself up, and she could see he was ready to spring.

  Clint turned and faced down Sanford. Abigail had gone still and her eyes were wide in her face. Kevin stood between them, his mouth gaping open.

  “You're a thief, Sanford. I have a circular on you. You stole several thousand dollars from Mr. Kerr when you lived here.”

  “Well, ain't you the smart-ass lawman,” Lucas snarled and moved quickly to grab Kevin around his neck. “And I'd come for a friendly Christmas visit, for a little reunion with my family.” He snorted. “ʻCept you had to mess that up, Sheriff, calling me a thief and all that.”

  “Lucas, let go of Kevin,” Abby said, her voice rising. “Why have you come?”

  Lucas ignored her question and pulled Kevin tighter, almost strangling him. Kevin squirmed and struggled, obviously desperate to get away. Lucas cuffed him and tightened his hold until the boy's eyes bulged.

  “Sheriff, if'n you don't want nothing to happen to the boy, you best take your hand off your pistol and unbuckle your holster. Let it drop real slow like and kick it and your gun over here.” Lucas pulled his pistol and put the muzzle against Kevin's temple.

  “Lucas, don't, please don't hurt him. He's your son.” Abby's voice bordered on hysteria and she twisted her hands.

  “Ma, I don't—”

  “Shut up, kid.” Lucas dug his fingers into Kevin's windpipe and cocked his pistol. “Sheriff, your gun.”

  Slowly and with his mind churning for an opening, he unbuckled his holster, dropped the belt with the gun still in its scabbard, and kicked the holster toward Sanford.

  Sanford, in turn, kicked the holster to the other side of the hallway. Too far away for Clint to make a grab for it. He cursed himself under his breath for not being better prepared. For not drawing his gun the minute the low-life, thieving bastard had shown up.

  “That's better, Sheriff. Now we can have a little talk without any interference.” He looked at Abby. “And don't think Juan or Elisa will come to help you. I made certain to tie them up before coming in. They weren't too happy to see me, and I didn't want to see them neither.” He spat on the floor.

  “All right, Lucas, what do you want?” Abby had lowered her voice and except for her hand plucking at the cameo at her throat, Clint could see she was struggling to keep a tight rein on her fears.

  “What do you think I want, now your dear Pa is dead? The money he left you. I want my share.” He snorted. “Hell, I want my share and yours, too. Everything you've got. And I know where the safe is.”

  “Father didn't leave me any money, just the house so I could raise Kevin. He left his money to the Presbyterian Church.”

  Sanford's head jerked back. “Don't tell me no lies. I know you've got money. Your Pa had bundles of it.”

  “Hey, Sanford, I was here when the will was read. What Abby is telling you is true. Her father left his money to the church. Her brothers and sisters were plenty mad about it.”

  “Why don't you horn out, Sheriff, this ain't your party.” He leered at Abby and winked at him. “Tell you what, Sheriff, she weren't much use to me in the biblical way, so's you can have her. I just want the money.”

  Clint fisted his hands, wishing he could bury them in Sanford's sneering face. Wishing he could wipe the knowing smirk from the man's mouth, once and for all. If only Sanford would loosen his hold on Kevin.

  “And if Abby doesn't have any money to give you, what will you do, shoot your own son?” Clint asked.

  Sanford stared at him and looked down at the boy. “Nah, I wouldn't shot my own kin, if'n he is mine. I'd just take him with me. Teach him how to be a man.”

  Abby lunged forward, her arms outstretched. “Nooo, you can't take him. You can't.”

  Sanford tightened his grip on Kevin's neck again and lifted his pistol, aiming it straight at Abby's heart. “Get back, woman. If'n he's my kid, I have a right to him. Ain't that right, Sheriff.”

  “Not if you're locked up in prison for stealing,” Clint replied.

  “Yeah, well that ain't gonna happen.” He waved the pistol and his brown eyes glittered.

  Clint would wager he was more than half drunk. It was a small chink in Sanford's armor, but it was something. At least his reflexes might be slower.

  “I know you've got money in the safe. I'll just take what ya got and go. Whatever you have.” He pulled his lips back in the semblance of a smile. “That's my Christmas present to you, woman.”

  “And you'll let Kevin go.”

  He shook his head. “Not right away. Maybe later, somewhere outside of town. He's my guarantee the sheriff won't be coming a
fter me anytime soon.” He stared at Clint with his unfocused glare. “Not if'n y'all don't want the kid hurt.”

  “But Lucas, you can't take him. It's cold and he's been sick and—”

  “Shut up! Quit your whining! You'll do as I say. Now let's get to the study and open the safe and see what you've got for me.” He loosened his hold on Kevin's neck and nudged him. “Get going, kid.”

  “I'm not going with you, Mister, and you're not my Pa!” Kevin turned on Sanford and dug his elbow into Sanford's side.

  Clint knew there wouldn't be a better time. He made a flying lunge for his gun holster.

  Sanford cursed, straightened, and backhanded Kevin. The boy shrieked and went skidding across the floor, cupping his jaw.

  Abby rushed to her son's side.

  Clint came up with his gun and pointed it at Sanford.

  Sanford's gun went off and Clint felt the searing, white-hot pain tear into him. He fired at Sanford, and the man dropped his gun, grabbing his gut and groaning.

  “Stay back.” Clint gritted his teeth and clamped his jaw. “Abby and Kevin, keep back until I see if he's still alive.”

  “But Clint, you're hit,” Abby said.

  “It's just my shoulder. I'll be fine.” With an effort of will, he kept his pistol trained on Sanford. He stumbled to his feet and crossed to the man. Slowly and carefully, with his pistol leveled at the downed man, Clint leaned over and felt for a pulse in Sanford's neck.

  He exhaled and lifted his head. “He's dead.”

  Abby flew to his side and started tearing her apron into strips. “Kevin, get Doc Rodgers. Tell him the sheriff took a bullet. Hurry!”

  Kevin nodded and took off running, slamming the front door behind him.

  “Ah, Abby, I wish, I wish—”

  “What do you wish?” She cradled his wounded arm, appalled at the blood seeping from his wound.

  “I wish your husband hadn't come and ruined Christmas.”

  “Oh, Clint,” she half sobbed. “My poor Clint, I need to bind your shoulder until the doctor gets here.”

  “Kiss me first, Abby. Just so I know the nightmare is over.”

  Epilogue

  Four Months Later

  Abigail clasped her bouquet of crimson Indian paintbrush, white primroses, and her favorite Texas wildflower, bluebonnets. She stood at the top of the aisle of the Methodist Church and let her gaze wander over the church.

  Leanna was to the left of the altar, serving as her matron of honor. Across from her was Clint, her bridegroom, and Jim, acting as his best man. Paul and his wife, Sarah, sat in the front pew. Will Junior and Viola hadn't been able to come. Elisa and Juan, along with Rosa, sat behind Paul and his wife. All her boarders were here, along with a sprinkling of Clint's rancher friends and new acquaintances from the Methodist Church. Everyone who mattered was here.

  She inhaled and swished her long, off-white skirt. She and Elisa had outdone themselves, sewing a beautiful satin wedding gown, liberally overlaid with delicate white lace. She fingered the single strand of pearls at her neck, Clint's Christmas gift to her.

  Her gaze rested on her intended. His shoulder had healed and he stood tall and handsome in his new gray, broadcloth suit with a string tie. He smiled at her, his sweet, lop-sided smile.

  And the look of awe and pure love in his eyes took her breath away.

  It had been so hard, after that terrible Christmas Eve, to not marry Clint right away. But she'd wanted to give Kevin time…time to understand what had happened. Her son had needed to work through his fear and hurt and come to terms with who his father had been. And then move past the sorrow and pain...to a new beginning.

  Because in all the most important ways, Clint was Kevin's father, not her late husband.

  She held out her arm and said, “Kevin, are you ready?”

  “Yes, Ma, I'm ready.” Her son, attired in a miniature version of Clint's suit she and Elena had sewn, stood beside her. He straightened his spine, lifted his chin, and took her arm.

  The other handsome man in her life…her son.

  Music from the pipe organ swelled, announcing her as the bride and cueing her to start marching down the aisle. The wedding guests stood.

  “What are we waiting for, Son?” She curled one hand around Kevin's hand on her arm. “Give your Mama away to Clint…my bridegroom.”

  Kevin glanced at her and then at Clint. He grinned. “You bet, Ma!”

  ~ The End ~

  About the Author

  Hebby Roman is the multi-published author of both historical and contemporary romances. Her first contemporary romance, SUMMER DREAMS, was the launch title for Encanto, a print line featuring Latino romances. And her re-published e-book, SUMMER DREAMS, was #1 in Amazon fiction and romance.

  Hebby was selected for the Romantic Times "Texas Author" award, and she won a national Harlequin contest. Her book, BORDER HEAT, was a Los Angeles Times Book Festival selection.

  She is blessed to have all her family living close by in north Texas, including her family's latest edition, her granddaughter, Mackenzie. Hebby lives in Arlington, Texas with her husband, Luis, and malti-poo, Max.

  Visit her website at: http://www.hebbyroman.com

  Facebook at: https://www.facebook.com/AuthorHebbyRoman.

  Amazon Author Page

  Cowboy Christmas

  by Margaret Tanner

  Cowboy Christmas

  By

  Margaret Tanner

  Copyright © 2015 Margaret Tanner

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events, or locales is purely coincidental.

  Chapter One

  South Dakota, 1870’s

  Pain stabbed through Holly O’Leary’s forehead. A million stars exploded before her eyes when she tried to move. She flopped back on to the floor of the wagon. She wasn’t injured, but her back ached, a deep throbbing pain that had nothing to do with the accident, and everything to do with her advanced pregnancy. Gritting her teeth she struggled to raise herself.

  She let out a scream, pain tore through her as she tried to sit up. The canvas on one side of the wagon was rent in two, the ends flapping wildly in the wind.

  Once she could focus her eyes, she glanced through the gap. The wagon was tilted precariously over a steep drop to the valley below. It was held in place only by a partially uprooted tree. A strong gust of wind would cause it to topple off, and plunge down the steep slope.

  Further down the heavily treed slope she was horrified to see her husband Denis, impaled on a shattered tree. Death would have been instantaneous, as a branch had speared through his chest.

  The impact of the crash had sheared the shaft from the front of the wagon, and the horses had toppled over to their deaths also. She had to get out of the wagon, but because of the angle it was wedged at and her advanced stage of pregnancy, she couldn’t climb or jump down.

  On hands and knees she crawled to the back of the wagon to peer out. Impossible for her to climb down unaided. It was too high off the ground. Flopping back on a pile of blankets, tears coursed down her cheeks as she sobbed with pain and fear. If she died her baby would perish also. Maybe this was their punishment for flouting God’s law by making a mockery out of their marriage vows.

  Surely Denis’ sin was the greater, but she hadn’t known of the deep, dark secret that he carried. To be honest, had she known she would probably still have married him because she was desperate. Working in a tavern playing the piano and cleaning up after patrons was poorly paid, so it would not have bee
n long before she would have been required to service the customers upstairs like the other soiled doves.

  Denis’ offer of marriage had been a lifesaver. He had been twenty years older than her twenty one years, but reasonably presentable. Clean and prosperous looking.

  She scrubbed at the tears with her knuckles. Fool that she was not to have thought how strange it was for him to want to wed her after only a few meetings.

  He hadn’t been a bad husband, but was cold and distant. Only later had she found out why. He had provided well for her, and was excited about the baby. Once she found out the true reason he had married her, she felt defiled, filthy and degraded.

  Her sobs grew louder, shaking her slight frame, making her backache worse. The throbbing in her head had subsided to a dull, persistent ache now.

  Why had she been so foolish as to not realize why Denis never touched her even though they shared the one bed for months? How, on the few occasions he claimed his husbandly dues, he had always been drunk.

  He was hot tempered, volatile and argumentative in drink, but had never raised his hand to her. Probably didn’t care enough to bother. She was a convenience for him. A wife gave him respectability, a baby even more so. It hid his terrible secret. He had a lover, well, quite a few lovers as it transpired.

  Her stomach curdled, bile rose up into her throat, spilling out of her mouth. She wiped it from her chin with the sleeve of her gown. His interest wasn’t in women. It was men! The biblical word to describe such deeds would have made her ill had she spoken it out loud.

  Maybe it was for the best that they died out here in the wilderness. Denis’ argument with the wagon train master before they even made it to the Black Hills, and his rash decision to go it alone was meant to be. A sudden peace settled around her. No more guilt over her marriage. No struggling to care for herself or her child. Better if she closed her eyes, and let the serenity of death wash over her. Better for a baby to die in the comfort of a mother’s womb rather than suffer in this cruel, cold world.