WESTERN CHRISTMAS PROPOSALS

by Various

  At bedtime, Grannie’s thoughts always turned to Granddaddy.

  Belle knew all about their courtship. Sometimes more than she thought she ought to know.

  Granddaddy had been married before and came to Grannie with his late wife’s young son in tow. He was a grateful man to have found love again. A lustful one, too, according to Grannie.

  For Grannie had found love and marriage after she had given up hope of it. During their fifty-two-year marriage, they had been everything to each other.

  In Grannie’s eyes, the missing ring was her link to him—the physical evidence that their love had existed. The theft had left her broken for a time. It was not until they began the mission to recover it that she’d become herself again.

  Belle only wished that Grannie had not imposed Christmas as the day she would either live or die. Of course, this was not something that Belle believed—at least, she didn’t think that she did.

  But the fact remained that the mind could have a powerful influence over a person. Thrive or die—it did have something to do with attitude.

  Even without truly believing Grannie’s life was at stake, Belle would have undertaken this hunt for the ring, if only to give her grandmother purpose. The older woman had grieved deeply for her husband.

  “I wonder what your parents are doing...” Grannie lay down on the bed and pulled the covers to her chin. “Still mining silver in Nevada I suppose.”

  Still putting everything before her.

  Her parents had been adventurers, always looking for an easy fortune. Her grandparents were the ones who had raised her, and she had taken their surname when she went to live with them. From the time she was an infant, her grandparents had not put a single thing above her well-being.

  “Sweet dreams, Grannie.” She kissed the top of her grandmother’s soft white hair, then stood up. “I’ve already got a sewing job. Miss Beulah wants me to refashion one of her gowns for the Christmas pageant.”

  “She wants to look good for the new sheriff. Better watch out that she doesn’t steal your man.”

  “I don’t have a man! And if you are speaking of Roy Garner, I’ve barely said boo to him.”

  “With your voice—but like I always say, an old woman sees what an old woman sees.”

  “In this case she sees the impossible. I think it’s you who have gone soft on him.”

  “Not soft, but I see possibilities. A thief can be redeemed—forgiven. Whereas people like your parents who desert their children lack moral character. There is a difference. Even given his crime, the sheriff is devoted to his babies. In that, he is a better man than some. I wonder what your life would have been if your parents were more like him.”

  “Grannie, my life with you and Granddaddy was wonderful. I was a happy child. But, as far as Roy Garner goes, you aren’t saying that you want to quit what we have set out to do?”

  Grannie sighed. The blanket rose under her chest. “Not at all. He has my ring and I do need it. I only wonder...”

  “What?”

  “What would happen if my enchanted ring circled your finger?” Grannie’s impish blue eyes twinkled in the lamplight.

  “Nothing enchanting. The ring is nothing more than a symbol of lasting love. It doesn’t make Roy Garner any less of a criminal.”

  “Belle Annie, love is enchanting.”

  “For you, maybe.” Belle turned down the lamp beside the bed.

  Enchanted ring, my foot. Just because Granddaddy had purchased it from a gypsy did not make it enchanted.

  “I’m going downstairs. Ring the bell beside the bed if you need me.”

  Grannie had never jingled the bell. This was for Belle’s peace of mind.

  Granddaddy had passed away suddenly, alone in an upstairs bedroom while everyone else was below chatting by the fireside.

  As much as she tried to remind herself that Grannie was in good health, Granddaddy had also appeared to be well.

  Where her grandmother was concerned, she was a bit overcautious, but better to be careful than not.

  “Good night, my dear. I love you, too.”

  This was something that Grannie said every night before she fell asleep. Belle knew the comment was not addressed to her.

  Downstairs, she passed by Jim Flynn, who sat beside the fireplace in a big stuffed chair, blowing rings into the air with the smoke of his cigar.

  “Good evening, Jim,” she said, then sat down in a chair that was placed beside the large and inviting bay window.

  “Same to you, Miss Key.” He smiled and saluted her with the glowing stub.

  With her sewing project on her lap, she started to thread her needle but became distracted by the beauty of the night beyond the window.

  The storm had moved on, leaving a blanket of pristine white on the ground. The full moon glittered off it while the icy wind whistled under the eaves of the house.

  A movement caught her eye—a flash of pink darting across an upper window of the sheriff’s house.

  She watched for it again.

  A few seconds later she saw Delanie sitting upon her father’s shoulders while he galloped about the bedroom like a human pony. Even from here she could tell that the little girl was laughing.

  He swiped the child down from her perch on his shoulder, then tossed her in the air and caught her with a tickle to her ribs.

  After a moment, Roy Garner did the same to Lorraine, who wore a pale blue nightgown.

  The man certainly was a puzzle. Apparently Grannie Em had no trouble in figuring him out—a decent man who had done a wrong thing. Evidently, once the wrong thing was resolved, she would be happy to forgive him.

  For Belle, Roy Garner was more complicated than that. She did not understand him in the least.

  How could a man who had a heart black enough to steal a widow’s wedding ring be so loving toward his children? He certainly did keep that nefarious heart well hidden.

  But it was only fair to remember, she thought, watching him kiss Lorraine on the forehead, that Roy Garner was not the first person to steal the ring.

  Her step-uncle, Gaston Lemar, had been the first. A month after Granddaddy’s death, he’d snatched it from Grannie’s finger and run out the door. That had been only the first of many thefts Grannie’s stepson had committed.

  She and Grannie had come to find out that US marshal Roy Garner had taken the ring into custody when he arrested Gaston and then greedily kept it for himself.

  Had the marshal done the morally correct thing and handed it over to someone in authority, lives would be different.

  Grannie would not have given her mortality a deadline and Belle would not have spent valuable time chasing a criminal.

  It would save effort if she simply asked Roy Garner for the ring. But no, he would only deny the theft. What thief would not? Then, once he knew they were looking for the treasure, they would have no hope of finding it.

  She and Grannie needed to keep the element of surprise on their side.

  While she watched the bedroom window, not feeling a bit guilty for spying under the circumstances, the lamp dimmed. She saw the sheriff’s dark silhouette walk to the bedroom door, turn and blow kisses, three to each little girl.

  She tried to remember her own father doing the same. If he had, it was done from several states away.

  More confused than ever, she glanced over at Jim, hoping to have a conversation with him while she sewed.

  No such luck. He’d fallen asleep with the cigar dangling from his fingers, the smoldering tobacco only inches from the rug.

  With a sigh, she stood, crossed the room and plucked it out of his hand.

  “Good night, Jim,” she whispered, then stuffed the cigar out on the brass plate beside his chair.

  She returned to her sewing and tried to con
centrate on the stitches and not the puzzling man who was probably now tucking his sons into bed.

  * * *

  “It’s December fifteenth,” Roy muttered, walking carefully along the icy road. “Only nine days until the cursed pageant.”

  “Just as well it’s only nine days,” Belle Key said, walking beside him. “They’ll have less time to form their alliances.”

  “It was good of you to come along, Miss Key. I appreciate your help.”

  “Oh, I don’t know that I’m coming to help so much as this meeting ought to be too interesting to miss. And I do so love everything Christmas.”

  “Remind me to stop at the bakery and bring home a treat for your grandmother. It was a generous thing, offering to come over and watch the children. Being alone with that crew can try anyone’s patience.”

  “I’m sure she will find something to do to keep her busy.”

  With a flashing dimple, she grinned at him. Black fur edged the hood of her coat, framed her face. Her cheeks and nose bore the pink blush of cold weather.

  All of a sudden she lowered her lashes and glanced away. “To keep the children busy is what I meant, of course.”

  “They’re always busy, mostly with mischief. But I swear, I’d rather be home with them than running this meeting. No help for it now, though, since this seems to be my job.”

  “Would you have taken it had you known you’d be the town arbitrator?”

  “Sure would have given the offer a second thought, but in the end, it’s the children’s welfare that’s important. So yes, I’d still be here.”

  A gust of wind billowed Miss Key’s skirt. She pressed her hands to the front to flatten it.

  “But you must miss the excitement of hunting outlaws. Making sure thieves and other wicked folks face the justice they deserve?” Her brows arched, accenting her question.

  He had a notion that she was asking one thing but meaning another.

  “I don’t miss weeks and months away from home.” He shook his head. “But at least I was good at what I did. I sure don’t know anything about organizing a Christmas pageant. I had a nightmare last night involving Valentine’s Day.”

  Belle Key laughed. The sound tinkled past the closed door of a hat shop.

  What would she think if he were bold enough to call her Belle—or Belle Annie? He liked the sound of Belle Annie. Belle Annie Key. The way the names flowed together made him want to smile.

  The walk from home to church was short, but slippery. He offered Belle his arm for support. After a hesitation, she placed her hand in the crook of his elbow.

  It had been a long time since he’d strolled like this with a woman. The delicate pressure of her fingers on his arm felt natural, comfortable.

  As much as he’d loved Colette, she had always been a bit reserved with him. He always figured it was because each time he came home after a long absence, it was like they had to get acquainted all over again. Sometimes he felt like an awkward left foot disturbing the order of her well-run home.

  “If you don’t know what to do, just make something up and stick with it.” Suddenly, she became quiet, apparently deliberating something in her mind. “I reckon I can help you.”

  “I could kiss you, Miss Key—you’ll be my ally?”

  “Your ally?” she sputtered, clearly distressed.

  Maybe he hadn’t expressed his gratitude in the most polite of ways.

  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said I’d kiss you—that was forward. But I do thank you, and I’d like to call you Belle.”

  “If we are to be, um...allies...in this Christmas pageant, that would be acceptable.”

  “I can’t tell you how grateful I am for your help.”

  Looking at her pretty, slightly dubious frown, he decided that, actually, he would take great joy in kissing her, and not simply out of gratitude.

  He wanted to feel good about that, but somehow, kissing a woman seemed disloyal. How long, he wondered, would Colette have waited to get on with her life had it been he who died?

  Given his line of work, this wasn’t the first time he’d thought about it.

  “Here’s the church. I reckon it’s time to put my head in the mouth of the lion.”

  Her smile burst to life again, her dimples winking and her eyebrows arching over clear green eyes. “I suppose it is.”

  Chapter Five

  Stepping inside the social room, Belle felt light-headed. What had she done? Had she lost all sense of reason?

  She had agreed to become her adversary’s ally. There had been talk of a kiss and still, she had done it.

  Worse, she could not deny that the thought of kissing Roy Garner had influenced the unwise choice.

  Or, was it unwise?

  Perhaps the wise thing would be to stick close by him, discover what she could about the ring.

  She had learned a few things at her scholarly grandfather’s knee. Such as successful warfare being based upon deception.

  Of course, she had never expected that particular wisdom to be of value in her life.

  It could be that befriending Roy Garner was the right thing to do.

  Belle would support the sheriff—until she did not.

  When that day came, she would hand Grannie her ring, and her future. Then she would expose the sheriff for the faithless public servant he was.

  Upon entering the meeting room, Belle heard the drone of conversation, but when folks spotted Roy, they fell silent. Every eye stared at him—and her.

  She was uncomfortable under the scrutiny but he simply shot the stares back. For as much as they judged him, he clearly assessed them, taking their measure.

  No doubt, this ability to gauge people was what had made him a successful marshal. She just hoped he didn’t see what was behind her own smile.

  The only thing to do in this moment was to earn his trust before he delved too deeply.

  Roy sat down. Belle took a seat beside him.

  “I think the nativity decorations need to be pink and blue this year,” announced a woman sashaying her wide hips into the room, carrying a platter of what smelled like cinnamon cookies. “It’s time for something new.”

  “I say traditional red or nothing at all,” Jim Flynn disagreed. “If you’re going to go and change things, Flora, we might as well skip the pageant altogether.”

  “That’s a narrow-minded thing to say, you old coot!” A slim woman stood, wagging a finger. “Nothing could be better for a sweet new baby than pink.”

  “Except that the baby was a boy!” a male voice added.

  “There must be some way to use both?” Roy suggested.

  In silence, the group appeared to be sizing him up, no doubt determining what they might or might not get away with.

  “Both?” Mrs. Farley seemed aghast. “I hardly think it would look harmonious.”

  “Who cares about the colors of the decorations? The problem is that we have no baby for the manger. Seems a crime to me that none of you young women felt the need to think of this nine months ago.”

  “Only an unmarried fool would say such a ridiculous thing. I’m quite certain that if any of us had produced this ‘prop,’ we would not expose it to the cold.”

  The young woman who was speaking looked indignant and with good reason, in Belle’s opinion.

  “I’ll let my lamb play a part,” a middle-aged fellow volunteered.

  He scooted his chair slightly to the right so that he sat beside the man who favored shivering infants. So did another man.

  This could only be the beginning of the infamous forming of alliances.

  Roy stood up. So did Belle. She stepped close to the sheriff, flanking him the way an ally, false or genuine, ought to.

  She couldn’t help but notice the way
his posture suddenly straightened, his scowl narrowed on the men.

  “The next person who suggests endangering infants will regret it.”

  “My word,” Belle said with a great smile all around. She made sure to engage the eye of everyone in the social room. “I can’t recall when I’ve been a part of a group with so many good ideas.”

  Folks looked at each other, clearly skeptical of her opinion as well as each other’s.

  “All we need to do is to knit them together, weave all the ideas like a prettily colored blanket.”

  “Who are you?” a frowning man asked.

  “My assistant.” Roy cast a scowl over the crowd. “I don’t know hell’s business about pageants. Miss Key does. You’ll listen to her or I’ll do what I do know how to do.”

  Murmurs of confusion and looks of askance spread about.

  “Put you in jail, he means.” Belle shrugged, smiled.

  “Until you cool off and see the wisdom of working together and not against each other.” Roy slid half a step closer to her.

  A frizzle of sexual awareness arched between them.

  Oh, my! This was the very last thing she wanted.

  Judging by the half-confused glance he gave her, he noticed it, too.

  When it appeared that tempers might be heating, Belle volunteered to sew a baby doll for the manger.

  After some argument it was settled that the baby would be wrapped in blue with a pink blanket.

  “And lots of green boughs,” Beulah Banks suggested, her gaze settling appreciatively on Roy.

  Not that it mattered to Belle—no, not a whit. Beulah Banks could walk up and take the kiss the sheriff wanted to give away and Belle would cheer.

  Indeed, she would—heartily.

  “Lovely!” Mrs. Farley declared, nodding. “We’ve got a start, and not a bloodied nose among us.”

  * * *

  “Do you think the peace will hold?” Belle asked, walking up the icy steps of Roy’s big house.

  She didn’t worry about slipping as she might have, because his big hands supported her, one under her arm and the other about her waist. My word, but the man was uncommonly strong and sure-footed.