by A Western Family Christmas Christmas Eve; Season of Bounty; Cowboy Scrooge
“Waste of time and money,” Justin muttered reflexively. Though actually it was the sentimentality of it that made him uncomfortable. Women always did act whimsical and sentimental, but in his experience they could be the most brutally self-serving people in the world.
“Lookee here now,” Hank drawled as a customer approached outside. “This little lady’ll likely be wanting to buy something in the holiday spirit.”
As he looked through the window, Justin wasn’t so sure. He couldn’t see much of the woman but her dark cloak and funny flat blue hat—a ridiculously impractical thing—but the three children with her had a lean, hungry aspect about them, and it wasn’t a hunger for hair ribbons. The bell above the door jangled as the woman blew through backward, swatting the children back and shouting at them not to follow her in. “Just wait out here!” she yelled at them in a clipped tone. Her voice was pleasantly husky, and she sounded as if she were from the North. “Stay put!”
When the door was safely shut, she whirled on her heel and looked quickly from Justin to Hank, who, she could tell by his apron and his position behind the counter, was in charge.
Justin was just as happy to be able to stare at her unobserved. He wasn’t a sucker for a pretty face. God knows, he’d learned the hard way to subsume that weakness. But this woman’s face was exceptional, and every particle of him seemed to snap to attention and take notice. Beneath her funny blue hat, she had curly dark hair and eyes a startling shade of green. Green the color of new spring leaves. Aside from cheeks flushed with color from either the brisk wind outside or her battle through the doorway—Justin suspected both—her skin was pale and soft looking, highlighting the dusting of freckles on her nose and the lush redness of her cupid’s bow lips.
She had the face of an angel, but her expression was something else. Her eyes held a flurry of exhaustion, exasperation, with maybe a dash of expectancy tossed into the mix. She might appear soft and pretty, but something in her bearing suggested steeliness, too. Small wonder. The dust coating her clothes bespoke at least a week of travel, but the three kids with their dirty noses pressed against the glass bespoke a lifetime of affliction.
She marched up to the store keeper and planted her hands on her hips. Justin took advantage of the gesture to admire the way her hands nipped her dusty coat in at her waist, accenting her curvaceousness. “I’m trying to find somebody around here,” she announced. “Can you help?”
Hank smiled, taking his time answering. “Well, now, let me see. I guess I know most folks around here.”
She let out a husky laugh. “I’ll bet! This town’s even less than the last nothing place I was at!”
“Where was that?”
“Otis!”
The name caused a frown to pull at Justin’s lips.
“You havin’ some kind of trouble?” Hank asked her.
“Trouble!” The woman rolled her pretty green eyes toward the brim of her hat and blew at a curly lock of hair that had fallen across her forehead. ‘ ‘Mister, I’ve had nothin’ but. Only I didn’t really know the meaning of the word till I hooked up with these little hellions outside.” She flicked a glance back to the window, where the three towheaded children had disappeared. A look of dread crossed her face. “Damn! Now it’ll take me hours to round those scamps back up again!”
“You said there’s somebody you’re lookin’ for?” Hank asked.
She dragged her distracted gaze away from the window and back to the storekeeper. “I’m supposed to see someone here. Only I’d have thought the man would have the manners to meet the coach we drove in on!”
“Just who is this person you’re lookin’ for?” Hank asked.
“Name’s Justin Murphy. You know him?”
Justin strangled a gasp of surprise. This woman was looking for him? What in heaven’s name for?
“Know him?” Hank’s long face lit up with mischief and he pointedly avoided looking Justin’s way. “Sure I know him! But what do you want with him?”
“Plenty! Where can I find the rascal?”
“Well, he’s got a ranch around here,” Hank declared circumspectly.
“Fine thing when a man doesn’t even meet the stagecoach after you send him a telegram!”
Justin looked at Hank in surprise. Hank, eyes wide, lifted a finger, remembering. Then he turned back into a pigeonhole lined hutch and withdrew a thin piece of paper, which he handed across the counter. “Forgot to mention it, Justin. You got a telegram.”
The woman pivoted toward Justin. “You?”
He nodded uncomfortably. “Guilty.” He tilted his head, studying her face more closely. “Should I know you?”
She crossed her arms, looking him up and down like a buyer at auction inspecting an animal for fitness. “I can’t believe it!”
“Believe what?”
“That you’re Uncle Justin! I’d have never guessed from their description.” She jabbed a thumb toward the empty window. “I was expecting Old Scratch himself to meet us in Wishbone!”
He frowned. No one had ever called him Uncle Justin. Maybe because as far as he was concerned, he had no brother. And as for his brother’s children…
A coldness spread through Justin’s chest, and he very determinedly did not look out the store’s front window again. In fact, for a moment he stood clutching the telegram and staring into the woman’s green eyes as if he could will her away.
“I don’t understand why you’re here,” he said.
The pert woman blinked up at him. “Maybe you should read that telegram.”
He unfolded the missive slowly, without relish.
Regret to inform you of your brother’s death. Left three orphans. Arriving on stage Thursday. Please meet. Ivy Ryan.
Justin crumpled the message. So. Josiah was gone. He’d stopped thinking about his older brother years and years ago. But somehow, knowing he was dead was a lot more desolate than just thinking of him that way.
He forced himself to meet the woman’s gaze again. “I’m sorry, Miss Ryan. You’ve made a mistake.”
He began to walk away, forgetting whatever it was that had brought him into Hank’s to begin with. He just knew he needed to get away from this woman.
She stopped him with a hand to his arm, and her touch was as searing as if she’d poked him with an iron. “Wait just a second, Mr. Murphy. Me and you’s got business!”
“I doubt that,” he said, jerking his arm away.
“You’re not Josiah Murphy’s brother?”
“I was.”
She planted her hands on her hips and fired an angry look at him—a look that telegraphed Ivy Ryan was down to the last thread of her patience. “Look, I got three children out there who—”
“Who are none of my concern.”
“That’s what everybody says about them!”
“I’ve never laid eyes on them.” Except that one glance through the window. Now that he remembered, he was astounded. Those pitiful, scrawny waifs were Josiah and Mary’s children?
“Then isn’t it high time you did?” Ivy fired back.
Justin felt every muscle in his body tense. Finding out that Josiah had died had been confusing enough. Having this stranger flying at him with accusations of being derelict in his avuncular duties was almost more than he could absorb. He’d barely been aware he was an uncle. Josiah had written something about children when he’d informed Justin of Mary’s death, four years ago.
His hands clenched into fists. “What do you want, lady? Money?”
Her lips twisted sourly. “I brought you your niece and nephews, that’s all. Out of the goodness of my heart. I thought you’d want to take responsibility.”
“Why should I? Aren’t there orphanages?”
She gasped. “You are the devil!”
“If Josiah wanted to have children, he should have provided for them.”
“But he didn’t.”
Justin let out an irritated sigh. Just like Josiah! It was hard to believe that he could still feel
the same old anger toward his brother when his brother was no longer even alive. Just like Josiah to rile him even from the grave. “That’s the kind of fool he was, all right.”
“Children shouldn’t have to suffer because their parents are fools, Mr. Murphy.”
“So what was your relationship to Josiah? Was he a neighbor of yours?”
“No, he was…well, I guess you could say he was my fiancé.”
If she’d taken one of the heavy shovels that were hanging from nails off the wall and slugged it into his gut, he couldn’t have found himself more flabbergasted. Furry old Josiah…engaged to this beautiful creature? The iniquities of the world never failed to shock him. First oily, irresponsible Josiah had up and sweet talked the most beautiful woman in Wishbone into marrying him, and then, by some miracle, he’d convinced this woman to take Mary’s place.
He felt sick. Not only that, he felt angry. At Ivy Ryan. She might be pretty, but she obviously didn’t have a lick of sense. “If you were Josiah’s sweetheart, you obviously know these kids of his better than I do.”
“Pull your brake, mister,” she shot back at him. “I said he was my fiancé, I didn’t say anything about sweetheart.”
“Well, if you—”
“I came to Texas to marry the man, but I’d never clapped eyes on him. I was gonna be what you call a mail-order bride. Only it turns out all I was was a mail-order chump. The good folks of Otis took advantage of my arrival to unburden themselves of Josiah’s three kids. Gave me money, in fact, to take them off their hands. Now I’ve used up that money bringing them to you.”
“I’m sorry you wasted your cash, then, because I don’t want them.”
He started to walk past her again, but this time her hand grabbed his arm in a viselike grip. “Want them or not, they’re yours.”
“I have no use for children. I have a ranch to run.”
“Doesn’t being their uncle mean anything to you? They’re your flesh and blood!”
Justin flinched at the stern rebuke in her voice. When he could pull his gaze away from her fiery green gaze, he saw Hank scowling at him disapprovingly.
Maybe some people would condemn him for being callous in the matter of his three young relations, but he and his brother hadn’t been close for years. Hadn’t even been on speaking terms since the day Josiah had waltzed out of his life with Mary, Justin’s bride-to-be. From that day forward, Justin had felt like a man who’d had the brightest light of his life, the very heart of him, snuffed out. By the two people he loved best.
“Don’t condemn what you can’t understand, Miss Ryan.”
The woman went rigid with indignation. “But you can’t just toss them out on the street! It’s almost Christmas!”
He shot her a sharp look. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
She folded her arms and scowled at him. “You’re supposed to think of things like family at Christmas, Mr. Murphy. You’re supposed to care about your fellow human beings…unless you’re like that character, that what’s his name in my old storybook, that Mr. Scrooge! I’ve got an old copy of the book in my bag in case you want to read what nearly happened to him!”
Justin knew that story. A Christmas Carol. He clamped his mouth shut, because for a moment he actually feared the words bah, humbug! would spill from his lips. Who did this woman think she was? What right did she have to stomp in here and berate him publicly?
While he fumed, she inspected him from head to toe, her withering gaze taking in his weathered but clean clothing, his sturdy boots, the hat he’d bought just last month. “You’re obviously a man of some means. Would it break you to help out three children? At least give them a square meal?”
Justin glanced away guiltily and caught Hank gaping at him with a hound dog stare. He narrowed his eyes at the storekeeper, who, at the silent rebuke, scurried over to the coffee barrel as if to hide the fact that he’d been eavesdropping on every single syllable that had been uttered.
“All right,” Justin relented on an angry breath.
Ivy appeared to deflate with relief. “Oh, thank you!”
“Meet my man outside this store in an hour,” he instructed her. “He’ll drive you to the ranch in the wagon.”
“Me ?” Her voice was practically a squeak.
“Yes, of course.”
“But I can’t…I mean, I expected to leave them with you.” She rushed on, only a little hesitantly, “In fact, I thought that because I’d brought them all this way…you might be inclined to pay me for my troubles.”
All of the sudden, Justin saw why Ivy Ryan might have made a good match for his brother—she apparently wasn’t above seizing any opportunity. And he remembered anew just why it was he had sworn off women. They were dangerous. Their sweet looks masked deceptive hearts!
But he understood Ivy Ryan now. And he saw her more clearly, too. Those beautiful green eyes glittered harshly at him, without any trace of warmth. She was as lean and hungry looking as the children had been. Her funny hat, even, when he gave it a second glance, was a cheap looking thing. She had a worn, wary look about her.
“We can talk about a reward, and whether you deserve one, once you’ve delivered the children to my ranch.”
“But I hadn’t intended on going one step past Wishbone, Mr. Murphy. I’ve been traveling for days and I—”
“Then it won’t hurt for you to travel some more,” he barked back at her. “That is, if you’re interested in whether I’ll pay you for your troubles.”
Her mouth popped shut and her chin jutted out stubbornly. She looked angry, resentful, tired and cornered. Finally she cast her eyes down at Hank’s well swept floor. “All right, I’ll escort them to your ranch.”
“Good. And Miss Ryan?” When she glanced up at him, Justin sent her a warning look. “Don’t make those children any promises. I only intend to keep them till I figure out a better solution.”
Chapter Three
A cowboy named Wink Carpenter drove them to Justin’s ranch, the Bar M. The three children were buried under a small mountain of blankets in back, huddled between flour sacks and the coffee, peering out at the landscape, which didn’t seem all that different from the land they’d traveled through on the stage. Ivy sat up front, tensing against the bitter wind. This was not where she wanted to be.
“Not like I had any choice in the matter,” she muttered to herself in consolation. She needed money—story of her life—and her only hope of getting any at this point was begging a little from Justin Murphy. Just for now, she had to do his bidding. Wishbone hadn’t looked like a town brimming with employment opportunities for women, except those of an immoral nature. She’d left Boston to escape a blight on her reputation, not create brand-new ones.
What a fool she’d been! When she’d received the money from the citizens of Otis, she’d unwisely sent precious dollars home to Carol along with a rather sentimental Christmas letter, then spent the rest of the money getting her and the children to Wishbone. She’d been so cocksure that Justin Murphy would pay her for her trouble!
Live and learn, they always said. Why did she always seem to learn life’s lessons too late for it to do her any damn good?
“Mean, stingy ogre!” she grumbled, thinking of Justin Murphy. He was exactly what the children said he was. Though, of course, the children, only knowing their uncle by reputation, couldn’t have warned her how handsome he would be. That had thrown her. His appearance—tall, with dark hair, and brown eyes that were as dark and liquid as warm coffee—had taken her aback. Then he’d opened his mouth and out had come his callous words.
“The old grouch!”
“Ma’am?”
At the sound of the deep voice, Ivy looked over at the burly cowboy Wink, who was perhaps thirty, with long side whiskers on his pudgy face. He’d barely spoken three words at her as he’d helped her up on the wagon and seemed bemused more than anything else by his unexpected passengers.
“Yes?”
“Um, I don’t know if yo
u was aware, ma’am, but you was talking to yourself.”
“Oh!” Ivy felt her cheeks redden. Talking aloud to herself was a bad habit she had picked up while in jail, where she much preferred talking to herself than to the other unfortunates around her, some of whom had looked as if they would have gladly cut her throat if she’d said boo to them. But of course she’d never admit this to Wink Carpenter. Or anyone.
She had come to Texas to escape Boston and start anew, but in no time she had made hash out of her plans. The thought depressed her. Damn Josiah Murphy! she thought forlornly, not for the first time. Couldn’t the useless man have stayed alive long enough to get her back on a train?
Of course, Josiah hadn’t had any money. Unlike his skunk of a brother, who had it but didn’t appear to enjoy parting with it.
Behind her, there was a commotion as the children, packed in the wagon like dry goods, fidgeted. She heard a slap, then a cry go up from Linus. She couldn’t wait to deposit those kids on Murphy’s ranch, though she wondered what kind of life the kids would have there.
“Are there any women on the Bar M?” she asked Wink.
The cowboy’s face fell slack. “Lordy, no! Mr. Murphy’s a bachelor, and likely to remain so.”
Ivy frowned at that rather odd but certainly emphatic answer. A bachelor Justin might be, but why would his employee be so certain that would remain the case? Justin owned his own ranch and was obviously prosperous. Clean. His clothes well turned out. And as for the man’s appearance…well, the less she thought about that, the better. In her limited experience, handsome gents just gave women trouble. And that’s exactly what Justin Murphy had dished out to her, wasn’t it? More trouble.
“The troll!” she couldn’t help muttering under her breath.
Joe Junior had said that Josiah had hated Justin and had spoken his name like a curse. Justin had done something horrible to their mother, because whenever his name had been spoken in her presence, she’d wept bitterly. Joe Junior had further asserted that Uncle Justin must have swindled their father out of all his money, or maybe even killed someone. He was a bad man, and they were traitors to their parents’ memories by merely asking for his help.
