by A Western Family Christmas Christmas Eve; Season of Bounty; Cowboy Scrooge
Damn, but the woman was contrary! It was no wonder she wasn’t married. Not that he put a great store in that institution himself. Not after Marilyn Trusslow Tyler, his deceitful former wife, had taken their two-year-old son and run off with the child, along with his best friend and coworker, Benjamin Fontaine, leaving Gabe with nothing but heartache and painful memories.
Nope. Gabe had no use for marriage. But fatherhood was a whole different matter. He missed his boy like crazy, had searched for Robby high and low these past eight years, to no avail. But he wasn’t giving up. He’d stay on the road as long as he needed to, spend whatever it took, until his boy was found.
Chapter Two
“You say she slammed the door in your face?” Hiram Walker shook his head, slapped his hand down on the bar and laughed out loud. The freckles on the redhead’s face looked even more pronounced. “That’s Miss Eve, all right. She don’t cotton to anyone staying with her during the Christmas holidays.”
Gabe tossed back his whiskey, then said to the bartender, “And why is that? Is the woman a heathen, or just plain nasty?” After meeting her, he figured the latter.
The bartender refilled his glass. “Nope. She’s a God-fearing woman, goes to church most Sundays. But she’s got her ways, some peculiar thoughts on things, and she don’t like Christmas, due, I suspect, to the fact that her parents up and died on Christmas, ten years back. And Miss Eve especially don’t like boarders this time of year. Shuts that house up tighter than a virgin’s thighs.”
Well, isn’t that just peachy? “But I need a place to stay.” He was going to be up the creek if he couldn’t find one.
“I could probably put you up with one of the working girls, if you’ve got the money to pay. Doubt they’d put you up outta the goodness of their hearts, whores being whores, you understand?”
Remembering the appealing warmth of the boardinghouse, the fresh, clean scent of the woman who ran it, Gabe shook his head. When it came to sharing a woman’s bed, he was pretty discriminating, which probably accounted for why he hadn’t shared one for quite some time.
“With the weather the way it is, there’s no telling how long I’ll be here. And I don’t relish living with a lady of the evening, even one nice enough to share her room. Thanks, anyway.”
With a shrug, Hiram continued mopping up the bar. “Suit yourself.” He glanced up then, smiling at the nattily dressed man who had just entered the saloon. “Hey, Mayor! How’s things?”
Gabe cranked his head to stare in the young man’s direction. The gentleman who waved back couldn’t have been more than twenty-five, which seemed rather young for someone to be holding such an important position. “That’s your mayor?”
“Yep. Burt Moody’s young, I’ll give you that, but he’s doing a right good job here in Cedar Springs. He’s even come up with a plan for garbage collection. Don’t that beat all?”
Yes. It did. And Burt sounded like someone who just might be able to help convince the stubborn Miss Barlow to rent Gabe a room. With that thought in mind, he headed in the man’s direction.
A short time later, Gabe and Burt Moody were walking down the street toward the Methodist church, chatting like old friends.
“Can’t hurt to have a minister with us when we approach Miss Eve about her boardinghouse policies,” the mayor said, stepping around a pile of fresh horse droppings and frowning. Burt had tried to institute a law requiring horses to wear diapers while in town, but the measure had failed with members of the town council.
“We pride ourselves here in Cedar Springs on being hospitable to strangers. Our town motto is Come One, Come All, and it just doesn’t look right when one of our citizens turns away a stranger in need.”
“I appreciate you offering to help, Mayor.” Ever since Gabe had mentioned that he was one of the Boston Tylers, an influential banking family, young Burt Moody had fallen all over himself to be accommodating. It seemed Burt had political aspirations beyond being mayor of Cedar Springs.
The Tyler name had always opened doors on both coasts, though Gabe rarely mentioned the connection, unless he was in desperate straits.
Like now.
Eve had just taken the last batch of oatmeal-raisin cookies out of the oven when the front door knocker sounded several times in quick succession.
“Who on earth can that be now?” she muttered, wiping her hands on the pristine white apron that covered her shirtwaist and navy serge skirt. Not another stranger looking for a room, she hoped, though she had to admit the last one had certainly been handsome, even if he had been rude and overbearing.
Hurrying to answer the summons, she opened the door a crack to discover Reverend Brewster standing on the porch. Henry Brewster was Cedar Springs’s Methodist minister, and her clergyman, and she hoped he wasn’t calling to take another collection for the Widows and Orphans Fund. She’d given half a dollar at last Sunday’s service, money she could hardly afford. Standing next to him was Mayor Moody, whose former profession as a Bible salesman had brought him to town several years ago. Odd that they should choose to call upon her today, she thought. The weather wasn’t exactly conducive to socializing.
Opening the door wider, she was dismayed to discover the handsome drifter standing behind them, and the pleasant smile she wore melted. ‘Hello, gentlemen,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound quite as peeved as she felt at the moment, because she was pretty darn irritated.
“Sorry to bother you, Miss Eve,” the reverend began, pulling off his hat to reveal his balding pate, “but we were hoping we could come inside and have a little chat. It’s mighty cold out here, and my bones just aren’t what they used to be.” He looked over her shoulder with undisguised yearning toward the cozy lamp-lit interior.
“Of course. Where are my manners? Come right in. I have a nice warm fire going in the parlor.”
“We hope you don’t mind, but we’ve brought along a friend,” he added. “Mr. Gabriel Tyler, formerly of Boston.”
Her smile was as sour as vinegar when she greeted the stranger, who now had a name. “Come in, Mr. Tyler. I see you’ve brought reinforcements with you this time.” There was not an ounce of welcome in her voice.
Gabe nodded, not at all embarrassed by that fact. “Yes, ma’am. Desperate men take desperate measures,” he replied.
Once the gentlemen were seated in the parlor on the floral chintz-covered sofa, Eve removed herself to the kitchen and filled her best china pot with coffee. Arranging her oatmeal-raisin cookies on one of her mother’s rose-patterned plates, she carried it out on a polished silver tray, setting it down on the table in front of them.
No one was going to accuse Eve Barlow of lacking in manners again. Inhospitable, my foot! she thought.
“These were just baked, gentlemen, so please help yourselves.”
“Mighty kind of you, Miss Eve,” Burt Moody said, licking his lips as he reached for a cookie. The Cedar Springs mayor had a serious sweet tooth, as could be attested to by the matchmaking mamas in the community, who had taken the young bachelor under their wings, supplying him with every type of confection available in the hope that he wouldn’t remain a bachelor for long.
To date, Hetty McMartin’s pecan pie was heading to the top of the list, and everyone expected Burt to choose her daughter, Holly, as his intended.
“I won’t take up any more of your time than necessary, my dear,” Reverend Brewster said. “But it’s come to my attention that you’ve turned away Mr. Tyler during a blizzard, and I’ve come to see if you won’t reconsider your decision about renting him a room.
“Mrs. Brewster and I would offer the unfortunate man a place to stay, but we’ve got a full house, what with the children and grandchildren home for the holidays. I’m sure you understand.”
“I’ve already informed Mr. Tyler of my position on renting rooms during the holiday season,” Eve stated, unwilling to make eye contact with the dark-haired stranger, though she could feel his deep blue eyes boring into her. He was even more handsome th
an she’d originally thought, now that she’d gotten a closer look at him.
Daniel Stedmon had been handsome, too, she reminded herself, trying desperately to ignore the fluttering in her stomach and failing miserably.
“Christian charity doesn’t go by the calendar, young woman,” the clergyman said, and Eve’s cheeks blossomed pink in embarrassment.
“Ma’am,” Gabe interrupted, “I wouldn’t have bothered you at all if there’d been any other means open to me. I was offered a room at the saloon, but my good Christian conscience just wouldn’t allow me to accept.” He did his best to look innocent, if not downright pompous.
Eve was surprised by the man’s revelation but tried not to show it. Most men wouldn’t have turned down an opportunity to share a whore’s bed. Maybe there was more to Gabriel Tyler than met the eye, but she doubted it. Men, being men, were mostly cut from the same cloth.
“No indeed, young man,” Henry Brewster said to Gabe. “You did the moral thing by coming to me. We don’t condone what goes on upstairs above the saloon, but until an ordinance is passed preventing that sort of unseemly behavior, there’s little our good mayor can do about it. Isn’t that right, Mayor?”
“Quite,” Burt said through a mouthful of cookies.
“Perhaps if women were treated as equals to men, gentlemen, they wouldn’t need to work on their backs to earn a living.”
The reverend gasped, then coughed into his hand, while the corners of Gabe’s mouth twitched, though he remained silent.
“You are probably right in what you say, Miss Eve, but now is not the time to debate such a provocative issue,” Burt stated. “Mr. Tyler’s problem is most pressing, and we’d like you to aid us in the solution of it. He comes from a very prominent family, and I am quite willing to vouch for his good character.”
Burt didn’t even know the man, but he was willing to vouch for his character? That was rich, Eve thought, noting the intractable expressions all three men wore. She heaved a sigh of resignation. “Oh, all right. Mr. Tyler can rent one of the rooms, but I insist that he be gone by Christmas Eve. I want no one staying here then. And he must agree to live by the rules of this house.”
Reverend Brewster was all smiles. “Splendid! I knew you’d come to the right decision, Eve, and I’m proud of you for it. Your soul is once more secure.”
For some reason, Eve didn’t find much solace in that.
Grabbing a handful of cookies off the plate before he stood, the young mayor shoved them into his coat pocket “These cookies sure are good, Miss Eve. I’m taking some with me. Hope you don’t mind. And thank you. I’m sure Mr. Tyler is very appreciative.”
Gabriel Tyler’s expression was more smug than appreciative. In fact, it looked downright victorious, which irritated the heck out of Eve, who hated to be outdone by anyone, especially in her own home. “You’d best fetch your things, Mr. Tyler,” she told the drifter. “I’ll go upstairs and make sure your room is set to rights.”
“Why, thank you kindly, ma’am,” he said. “I left my saddlebags on your front porch, in the hope that you might change your mind. I’ll just go and get them.”
The nerve of the man to be so certain! Eve thought, biting back the rude comments on the tip of her tongue. Bidding the Methodist minister and Cedar Springs’s mayor goodbye, she waited while her new boarder retrieved his belongings, hanging his sheepskin coat on the oak hall tree. As soon as he returned, she said, “Please don’t think you can get around me as easily the next time, Mr. Tyler. I very rarely go back on my decisions once my mind is made up.”
“A rigid mind is a sad thing, Miss Barlow. One should always keep an open mind and learn to be flexible. Life is much more pleasant that way.”
She chose to ignore the rebuke, though it galled her to do so. “Dinner will be promptly at six o’clock. If you are not seated at the dining room table by then, I shall assume you are not hungry, and you will not be served. I maintain a schedule, Mr. Tyler, and have good reasons for all of my decisions. And I assure you that I do not make them lightly.”
“Duly noted, Miss Barlow. Now, would you care to show me to my room? I need to take a bath, wash this trail dust off and change my clothes. Only my horse smells worse than I do at the moment, I’m afraid.”
“A bath!” She nearly choked on the word. He wanted to take a bath? To get naked in her home? “Mr. Tyler, I—”
He arched a brow. “Is there a problem, ma’am? You do have a bathing room, don’t you?”
“Of course I have a bathing room. I take a bath every day, as a matter of fact, but I’m just not sure that…well, that it would be seemly for you to be undressing in my home when we’re here by ourselves, and—” She knew she sounded irrational—most of her boarders bathed—but most of her boarders did not look like Gabe Tyler.
Gabe threw back his head and laughed. “I can hardly take a bath with my clothes on, now can I, Miss Barlow? And I wasn’t suggesting we share the bathtub.” Though the prospect was quite intriguing. It might be interesting to see just how straitlaced and prim Miss Eve Barlow really was beneath her corset and stiffly starched petticoats. In his experience, still waters ran deep. Even those in the bathtub.
Her jaw unhinged at the very idea. “I should hope not. I have a very good reputation, Mr. Tyler, and I intend to keep it.”
“Well, your reputation is safe with me, ma’am.” For the time being, at least.
She gasped, clutching the cameo at her throat, as if it were some talisman that could protect her from this man. “You presume much to speak in such a fashion, Mr. Tyler. Any more of that kind of talk, and
I will be forced to evict you from this house. And don’t think I won’t. Reverend Brewster and Mayor Moody will do you little good the next time.”
“I apologize. I’d heard you were a spinster, and I just naturally assumed that you were a—”
“Mr. Tyler! I’m warning you.”
Gabe grinned, then took the key out of her hand. “Did anyone ever tell you how pretty you look when you get riled up, Miss Barlow? See you at dinner.” He disappeared through the door and was gone, leaving Eve staring openmouthed after him.
Chapter Three
“May I ask you a personal question, Miss Barlow?”
Eve looked up from the pot roast on her plate, her eyes wary. “No, you may not, Mr. Tyler. I think your earlier comments were of much too personal a nature.”
Why did some men think they could get around a woman so easily? Because they could. Eve answered her own question, thinking back to how Daniel had taken advantage of her naiveté, how he’d broken her foolish heart, then left her to become the object of pity and gossip.
“How come you don’t like celebrating the Christmas holidays? Talk around town is that you hate it, like in that Dickens novel. Though you’re much prettier than Scrooge. Mighty good pot roast, ma’am,” he added, throwing her completely off. “May I have a touch more?”
She handed him the platter of meat, potatoes and carrots, and watched him smother it all in thick milk gravy. The man had a hearty appetite, and she was pleased that he liked her cooking, even if he was obtuse.
“Are you deaf? I just told you—”
“Look, we got off on the wrong foot, I admit that. But now that we’ll be living together, for the time being,” he added when she opened her mouth to protest, “I think we should try to get along. I thought maybe if I knew something about your background, it’d help me to understand why you’re so prickly.”
She banged her glass of milk down on the table, and it nearly sloshed over the sides. “I am not prickly, Mr. Tyler. Normally, I am quite an even tempered, agreeable person, but…” She swallowed, wondering how much she should confide. “But this holiday season gets to me, puts me out of sorts. A lot of terrible things have happened to me during the Christmas season, and I just dread having it come every year. Now, are you happy that you’ve pried that out of me?”
Leaning back in his chair, he studied her. Her complexion was flawless
, like ripe peaches and newly churned cream. The glow from the candles she’d placed on the table illuminated her dour expression, and Gabe wondered if she ever smiled. He thought it would really be something to see Eve Barlow smile, as pretty as she was.
“How old are you? You don’t look old enough to be a spinster. Most spinsters I know are ancient, dried-up old prunes.”
“Well, I assure you that they didn’t start out that way. And if you must know, I am twenty-eight, or will be come Christmas Eve, and certainly old enough to be considered ’on the shelf,’ as they say.”
His eyes widened. “Ah. I wondered about the name. Thought maybe you’d been named after the biblical Eve.” She was certainly tempting enough.
“My mother thought it was wonderful that I was born on the eve of the Lord’s birthday and wanted to honor him by naming me for it,” she explained, hoping that would be enough information to satisfy his curiosity. Noting that he was finished with his supper, Eve stood to clear the dishes, surprised when he followed her into the kitchen, carrying his own plate.
Most of the men she knew wouldn’t lift a finger to do what they considered to be women’s work. Apparently Gabe Tyler wasn’t most men.
“If you’ve got a towel handy, I’ll dry.”
“I don’t normally make my boarders do chores, Mr. Tyler. But I appreciate the offer just the same.”
“These aren’t what you would call ’normal’ circumstances, ma’am. And call me Gabe,” he said, reaching for the linen towel hanging on the rack by the sink. After taking a moment to consider his words, she handed him a plate.
“So, you were named for the holiday. What else happened to make you hate it so? Most women are beside themselves during the Christmas season. I just find it interesting that you’re not.”
She gritted her teeth and counted to ten. “You don’t intend to give up, do you?”
“No, ma’am. I’m sure you know by now that I’m a pretty persistent fella when I put my mind to it.”
