WESTERN CHRISTMAS PROPOSALS

by Various

  “And Santa will bring you coal,” Lorraine added helpfully.

  “Ain’t no such—”

  “Jack, keep an eye on your brother.”

  Jack looked away from the scene speeding by the window. “Is too such thing as Santa.”

  Lorraine’s chin trembled. She sniffled, dragged her sleeve across her nose.

  “You’re just scared you won’t get anything because we’re moving into the new house and you’re always naughty.”

  Not always, Roy thought. Only since the boy’s mother died a year ago.

  Santa had not come that year. Colette had passed of an infection turned putrid the week before Christmas.

  When he’d gotten word that she was sick, he rode across Texas hell bent for leather. Even so, he hadn’t made it home until the day before the New Year.

  He’d tried to salvage belief in the jolly old man by making up some story about him being delayed by a powerful windstorm. Robbie must have noticed that the wind hadn’t kept Santa from coming to anyone else’s house.

  But damn it, Santa’s absence had been the least of his problems. His wife had died. He hadn’t been there.

  Roy carried that shame every day. It didn’t matter much that his absence could not have been helped.

  As a US marshal, his job required him to be gone from home most of the time.

  Colette had been the one in charge of everything. Until a year ago, he had been all but a visitor to his own home.

  “Well,” Delanie declared, her small brow furrowed. “I’ve never seen him.”

  “You can’t see the wind either, darlin’,” he explained, hoping the doubters would be convinced. “Doesn’t mean it won’t blow you over.”

  The woman with the feather stuck in her hat turned, arched a brow at Robbie. “I’ve seen him.”

  She then shot a glare at Roy as though she blamed the boy’s disbelief on him.

  She wasn’t far off in her accusation. Had he been home, he would have seen Colette’s wound festering and got her what help could be had.

  Had he been a better husband, his wife and Santa might still be alive and well.

  * * *

  As soon as Marshal Garner herded his children off the train, Belle Key leapt up from her seat.

  “Hurry, Grannie Em,” she said while attempting to lift her grandmother from the bench. “He’s going to get away!”

  “Not with that brood to slow him down.” Grannie chuckled.

  Grannie was slower getting to her feet these days, but once she was up she was as agile as a woman ten years younger. Much swifter than any other eighty-year-old Belle had met.

  “Do you suppose he has our treasure in his pocket, Belle Annie?”

  “He’s more cunning than that, I think.”

  With her hand under Grannie Em’s elbow, Belle helped her to the stairs that led from the passenger car to the platform.

  Climbing up hadn’t been too difficult, but going down? It seemed a mite steeper than it had before.

  If Grannie Em were injured in a fall, she might never get her treasure back.

  That would be an unqualified tragedy. Equal in its way to losing Granddaddy.

  If they managed to get the wedding ring back, maybe it would help ease the pain of loss. Even after a year and a half, remembering his smile, the pleasure reflected in his blue eyes when he told a story, brought her to tears. They would come on suddenly, leave her heart spent. But at the end of it, she always felt a kiss on her forehead and his love surrounding her.

  No wonder, after fifty years of marriage, her grandmother’s grief had been so deep.

  “Just look at him, running in circles after those children of his,” Grannie murmured.

  From the top step Belle gripped her grandmother’s arm, watching while the marshal tried to corral his flock.

  It didn’t appear to be an easy task, since he was also trying to get the attention of a baggage porter.

  If it weren’t for the fact that the marshal was a thief, she might pity him.

  When she and Grannie Em had begun their pursuit, she hadn’t realized that he was the father of four. It was hard to know if this made the task of recovering the treasure easier—or harder.

  The fellow deserved to be thrown in jail for his crime. But if that happened, what would become of the little ones?

  Creating fatherless babies was not what she and Grannie had set out to do. Justice was all they wanted; that and the return of Grannie’s precious ring.

  “Come along, Belle.” Grannie moved her foot impatiently, reaching her toe for the lower step. “We can’t let him gain ground on us.”

  That did not appear likely. The trunks had been unloaded and the marshal had set a child on top of each one.

  The boys fidgeted, the older girl spread her skirt daintily across a trunk lid, while the youngest girl sobbed pitifully.

  Delanie—yes, that was her name—pulled on her father’s coat, but he was busy speaking to someone about renting a wagon.

  Drat, Belle was also going to need a wagon. Even though the town of Pinoakmont was small, the walk to the boardinghouse would be too much for Grannie Em.

  They hadn’t even stepped off the train, and already Grannie was beginning to shiver. Low clouds, heavy and dark, were a clear promise that snow would soon be falling.

  The thief had better not be taking the only rental wagon right out from under them.

  “All right, Grannie, one step at a time.”

  All of a sudden nothing else seemed quite as important as getting Grannie down these steep stairs. Recovering the treasured gem meant nothing if her grandmother was not here to rejoice in it.

  Belle backed down the steps, watching carefully as her grandmother lowered her foot.

  “Please, let me give you a hand” came her adversary’s agreeable-sounding voice from behind her.

  If this descent were not so critical, she’d turn and kick him in the shin—search his pockets.

  Of course she could do nothing of the kind without giving their cause away.

  “Thank you ever so much,” she said, wondering if her smile reflected her true feelings: anger, resentment and especially annoyance that after riding in front of them for a full day, she found that she rather liked those children and felt some sympathy for Marshal Garner’s plight.

  Which she knew something about because she and Grannie Em had taken the time to learn a few things about him before they began this pursuit.

  They knew that he was a widower. That he had retired from being a US marshal and taken the job of sheriff in Pinoakmont, where he’d purchased a large home.

  Somehow they had failed to discover that he had children. Now the move to this small town made sense. No doubt he wanted to raise his brood in a safe place.

  One could hardly fault him for that. But the thing that she struggled to keep in mind was that while she had some compassion for this “highly respected upholder of the law,” she could not let it sway her from doing what was right. The thing to bear in mind was that pity for one’s prey would not do.

  She needed to keep Grannie’s well-being first in whatever she did.

  It was a piece of good luck that she had been able to rent rooms in the boardinghouse across the road from the house the new sheriff had purchased.

  Keeping up with his doings and finding a way to take back what belonged to Grannie was going to be ever so much easier with him close by.

  The distressing truth was, unless Grannie Em recovered her wedding ring by Christmas Day, she was not going to live to see the New Year.

  At least that was what Grannie believed, and Belle was convinced that what one believed was often what came to pass. Even if it made no sense.

  With Grannie Em safely on the ground, Belle turned about to dis
miss the marshal.

  But, my word! She hadn’t paid attention to how handsome he was. Until she stood looking up into his eyes, she hadn’t noticed what a warm shade of brown they were. How they seemed to look out at the world with a mixture of humor and mistrust.

  She understood that look of wariness, because she was shooting it back at him.

  All of a sudden, she smiled, hoping that he hadn’t noticed her lapse in manners and begun to wonder if she was up to something. A man of his former occupation would no doubt be perceptive.

  “Grannie,” she said with the slightest squeeze to her grandmother’s waist. “Thank this kind man for his help.”

  “I would—” Grannie squinted her eyes at Sheriff Garner “—if I didn’t have to pee so bad.”

  Grannie hurried toward the station house.

  Belle rushed after her but glanced back. For pity’s sake, she had lavatory urgency in common with Marshal Garner. That would not do.

  Of all things, Marshal Roy Garner was watching them, grinning.

  And of all the foolish things she could do, she grinned back.

  Chapter Two

  By the time Roy got the children and the trunks aboard the wagon, it had begun to snow. Not a picturesque patter, but a real blower that promised to be a powerful storm.

  Getting the family to the shelter of the new home became suddenly urgent.

  He clicked to the team but then pulled them up short.

  The pretty woman from the train and her grandmother were just coming out of the station house. A pair of snow-splattered trunks remained on the platform.

  He’d been told by the liveryman that he was lucky to have rented the only wagon available.

  Hell’s business, he doubted either of the women could drive a team even if there had been one to let.

  “Can I take you somewhere?” he called, hoping the ladies’ destination was not far away. Already, the children were shivering and complaining.

  Distance be damned. He, as a man and the new sheriff, could hardly leave them to freeze.

  “We’re staying at Mrs. Farley’s Room and Board,” the young woman said. She looked relieved at his offer, but wary, too. “It’s not far—only at the edge of town.”

  While he helped them into the wagon and loaded their belongings, he wondered if something had happened in the young woman’s past to make her mistrustful. Had someone treated her wrong?

  While her past was none of his business, in his line of work he tended to wonder about everyone he met.

  “I’m so-o-o-o cold, Papa,” Delanie complained.

  “Her lips look blue,” Robbie pointed out.

  “Come here to me, child.” The elderly woman, sitting beside him on the bench, turned and reached her arms toward Delanie. “Nothing quite as good as the bosoms of an old grannie to keep a little one warm.”

  “Arms, don’t you mean, Grannie Em?” the granddaughter asked. She sat on the other side of him and he wondered what the heat of her blush would feel like if he touched her cheek.

  The thought instantly shamed him. Until this moment he’d never imagined touching a woman other than his wife.

  “Not arms—no, bosoms are much warmer—softer, too. Children sink right in.” The old woman snuggled his youngest against her chest. “Isn’t that right, princess?”

  “Her teeth ain’t clattering no more,” Jack observed, peering over the seat and looking like he wished there was more room on Grannie Em’s lap.

  “You all new to Pinoakmont?” he asked, trying to sound friendly and not nosy. This natural urge in him to know all about a person was something he needed to learn to control.

  This was a new town, a quiet place full of friendly, obliging folks. He wasn’t chasing criminals any longer.

  “Yes,” the younger one answered. “Are you?”

  “My pa’s the new sheriff,” Robbie answered for him. “We came here ’cause no criminals are likely to come.”

  “One never knows about that,” Grannie Em stated, arching her brows.

  “It seems a peaceful place so far,” Roy answered.

  “So far,” the young woman agreed, but the tone of her answer seemed odd.

  “Look, Papa, there’s your new jail,” Lorraine said, wagging her finger at the sheriff’s office.

  It was a solid-looking place in the middle of the block. Shutters were nailed shut over the windows, indicating the building had not been used in some time. He was relieved to see that there were not any wanted posters tacked to the door. From what he understood, the position of sheriff had gone vacant for nearly a year before he’d accepted it.

  To the left of the office was a charming bakery with lamp glow brightening the windows. Inside, folks gathered at tables, sipping warm drinks that he imagined might be coffee—good, hot, black coffee.

  To the right there was a lending library. A woman came out escorting a pair of young boys.

  She noticed them, smiled and waved as though she knew who he was, or who the women with him were. But no one in this wagon had been here before.

  Pinoakmont must be friendly to strangers. He hoped the town turned out to be as agreeable as it seemed so far.

  At the end of the next block, the road split. The right fork passed by a church whose tall white steeple became obscured, then invisible while he gazed at the snow swirling about it.

  The left fork skirted a park. The tree-studded spot looked as pleasing as the rest of the town. The pond in the center of the park would be good for skating, then come summer, for swimming.

  His children would come to be happy here.

  He steered the wagon by way of the west fork. The roads became one again just beyond the church and the park.

  From head to toe the business area of town was four blocks long, two blocks before the fork and two blocks after.

  If one went simply by appearance, one would wonder if crime had ever blighted this picturesque place. He couldn’t help but think the folks of Pinoakmont had wasted their money when they hired him.

  He expected to have plenty of spare time. Time to watch his children grow, to make up some of what he had lost with them while he was out chasing criminals.

  “There’s Mrs. Farley’s,” the young woman, whose name he had been wondering about for a full twenty minutes, pointed out. She indicated the building coming up on the right with a daintily gloved finger.

  The wooden sign hanging over the porch, painted with the words Mrs. Farley’s Room and Board, creaked in the wind.

  “As luck would have it, I believe that is my house right across the road.”

  “Isn’t that a surprise?” the nameless beauty remarked.

  “And so very convenient,” added her grandmother.

  Years of being a US marshal, and natural inclination, had taught him to read personality at a glance. There had been times when lives depended upon a quick assessment.

  That wasn’t the case now. He hoped that here in this little town his skill would be a useless one.

  But these women had a secret. He felt it to his bones and saw it in the knowing glances they shot each other in odd moments, like this one.

  His experience told him that something about them was not what it seemed.

  If they had something illegal in mind, he’d know it soon enough—if they didn’t it was none of his business.

  It was time to quit seeing everyone through the cynical eyes that he used to have. This new life in Pinoakmont would not pit him against criminals every day. That’s why he had chosen to raise his children here.

  “Since we are to be neighbors, I reckon we should call each other by name.” Dropping the reins, he extended his hand to the younger lady. “I’m Roy Garner.”

  “My name is Belle, Belle Key.”

  Belle Key gave h
is hand a curt, firm shake, then quickly withdrew her fingers.

  He turned his handshake to the older woman. Delanie had all but disappeared into the folds of her coat.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

  “My name is Emily Key. But you, my young neighbor, may call me Grannie Em, as may the children.”

  The children stared at her, wide-eyed in amazement. They’d never had a living grandparent.

  He sure hoped the Key ladies were not up to anything illicit. The last thing he wanted was for his children to form attachments, only to have them broken.

  The children seemed enamored of Grannie Em. And there was something about Belle Key that made him feel unsettled, but in a pleasant way.

  Helping her down from the wagon, with his hands at her fine little waist, something stirred inside him—something he thought had died when he’d buried Colette.

  * * *

  Roy gazed out the parlor window of his new house thinking that Colette would not have approved of it. She would have complained that it was too big. Too hard to keep on top of what mischief the children were getting into.

  Life would have been easier for her had she married a banker or a butcher. A man like that would have been home more often, done his part around the house.

  “Papa!” Lorraine screeched from upstairs. “Robbie’s trying to take my bedroom!”

  “There’s five bedrooms up there,” he called, but figured the problem would not be resolved until he went up to settle it.

  The ruckus came from the room he had picked for himself.

  Coming in, he grabbed Robbie’s hand half a second before it curled around Lorraine’s braid, but not before his sweet little girl landed a blow to her brother’s shin.

  “Pa-a-a!” his son wailed. Not, Roy figured, because of the pain inflicted, but because of the injustice of it all.

  Clearly, the kick deserved a yank of braid.

  “You,” he said to Robbie, then he pointed to Jack. “And you, will take the room next to this one.

  “Ain’t fair, Pa. I got here first.”

  The beginnings of a triumphant smile tugged at Lorraine’s cute little mouth. Sure did look like her mother’s smile.