WESTERN CHRISTMAS PROPOSALS

by Various

  “How do you know?”

  “He just told me.”

  “You hear his voice?”

  “As clear as I hear yours, but in the heart, not the ears.”

  “Grannie, I don’t think I’ve ever been more confused in my life. Everything made so much sense when we started out. We knew what we were doing, the right and the wrong of it. All I know now is that we need that ring.”

  “I’m beginning to believe that you need it as much as I do.”

  “Of course I do! I need it for you so that you can focus on living and not dying.”

  “No, my little love, you need it for the love charm.”

  “The ring is a charm for you and you alone.”

  “That’s not what the gypsy said. ‘Given on Christmas, it has the power to bring together lovers when they would not have joined on their own.’ It’s just a shame that it also comes with a curse—but in the end the love is worth it.”

  “Twaddle, Grannie. You are far too sensible to believe that—what is the curse?”

  “When one of the parties is dead, the survivor must wear the ring at Christmas or meet their loved one in the Great Beyond.” Grannie pointed toward the ceiling.

  “You didn’t die last Christmas.”

  “Your grandfather convinced the gypsy to give me one more year, given that last Christmas I was all but dead inside anyway. I feel alive again this year.”

  “Grannie, the truth is I don’t believe the ring is enchanted—or cursed.”

  “Christmas is coming. We’ll see.”

  “You don’t seem worried.”

  “That’s because I’m confident we will find it and if we don’t, you will simply have to ask for it.”

  “He’d only lie. No one wants to be caught out a thief.”

  “The man we set out to ruin would deny it. Now I suspect he’s not that man.”

  “He has the ring. We do not.”

  “To be fair, he doesn’t know we want it.”

  “I don’t want to be fair, Grannie! I want to know that you know you are going to live. The sheriff needs to answer for his part in this mess.”

  “Don’t sound so self-righteous, Belle. The man has saved our lives. If he confesses his crime, he deserves forgiveness.”

  A sneaky voice, speaking rather forcefully in her mind, pointed out that this was true.

  “Christmas, Belle. Don’t forget what it stands for.”

  “Your wedding ring becomes charmed?”

  “Not just that. Christmas stands for love—things being made right.”

  “Let’s just say we do forgive him—that I suddenly...foolishly...fall madly in love with the man. At some point he’ll discover what we were up to and he will not forgive me. I do not need that heartache.”

  Even though she had led a wonderful life with Grannie and Granddaddy, the pain of her parents’ rejection still stung. If she did fall in love with a man—with Roy—and he rejected her... Well, it would only be sensible to avoid that misery.

  “There is no love without heartache, Belle Annie. But in the end, of course he will forgive you. It’s not as though he has nothing to be forgiven of.”

  What a mess this all was. If only Gaston had not taken the ring in the first place, Roy would not have taken it in the second.

  Belle would be merrily sewing her way through the holidays and Grannie would be content with her ring and memories of Granddaddy.

  “Do you think he feels guilty for what he did?” she asked.

  “Yes, I do. But there’s more to it than that. There’s something else he regrets.”

  “What makes you say so?”

  “It’s there in his eyes, a sadness especially when he looks at his children. I don’t know what it is, but I feel it. You’d see it, too, if you looked hard enough.”

  The sound of footsteps coming down the stairs prevented her from asking more about Roy’s supposed torment.

  The villain-hero walked into the parlor carrying an armful of blankets. His amber-brown eyes barely showed over the top of the load. But barely was enough to feel his gaze linger on her.

  Concern for her well-being was what she read in his expression, as though rescuing her went deeper than him simply doing his job as sheriff. She sensed that he was greatly relieved to see her standing unharmed in his parlor.

  “I’m taking these down to the jail for Mrs. Farley and the other ladies,” he said. “The girls and I made up rooms for each of you. One upstairs for you, Belle, and another behind the kitchen for you, Mrs. Key. Make yourselves at home.”

  Gray ash still smudged the bridge of his nose. “Oh, and there’s a hot bath in the kitchen. More water warming on the stove if you need it.”

  With that said, he left the warmth of the room for the dark and the cold outside.

  “Your Roy is quite a man, Belle.”

  “He’s not my—”

  But what if he was and she was about to ruin him?

  Then again, what if he was not, and she failed in her duty to Grannie?

  Chapter Seven

  It was two in the morning before Roy finished transforming the jail into a temporary home.

  He’d lit the stove, reassured the women that it was safe and made up three beds.

  It felt like he’d been awake forever. If he didn’t fear freezing to death, he’d fall face-first into a snowbank and sleep where he was.

  Wind shoved at his back, hurrying him along. Glancing up, he watched a bank of clouds slide across the face of the full moon.

  It would be snowing by sunrise. With any luck the children would sleep later than normal.

  In the distance, he saw smoke rising from the burned house, the coals beneath glowing red in the dark.

  He thanked his lucky stars for the coming storm since it would prevent his sons from exploring where they shouldn’t.

  If Colette were here, she’d be worried about the danger that the smoldering ruin presented. Even now it was simple to imagine her uneasy spirit guarding the front door, making certain the boys did not wander into mischief.

  She’d have her eye on Roy, too, with a thing or two to say to him on Judgment Day if harm came to her children.

  “I’m feeling the need to go on with my life, Colette,” he admitted, watching the swiftly moving cloud bank cover the stars.

  Saying so made him uncomfortable. Laying one’s wife to rest in the ground happened quickly, but severing the marriage bond took longer. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  She had never been one to hold a grudge. He didn’t reckon she did so now, even though he should have been home when she passed.

  For some reason, thinking of Colette led to thoughts of Belle.

  Hell’s business, that was disloyal.

  Idiot, a small voice in his mind muttered.

  Odd that he couldn’t be sure if it came from his own thoughts condemning him or from Colette’s heavenly voice offering a teasing approval.

  He hoped it was approval, because he was ready to move on, past the guilt and the grief toward new hope.

  When he thought of new hope, once again, a vision of Belle flashed into his mind.

  He ought to court her. She was pretty, devoted to her grandmother, and the children liked her. Not only that but she made him feel like living again, like smiling and laughing out loud.

  It was true that he didn’t know her all that well, but beginning tomorrow, he was going to.

  Also, come tomorrow, he was going to figure out what to do with the blamed rings.

  The decision about his wife’s wedding ring was easy. That would go to Lorraine.

  But the other ring? It troubled him.

  It was a pretty thing, old and delicate. He figured it must be important to someone.

/>   From the beginning he’d known that person was not Gaston Lamar, or the slatternly-looking woman he had been trying to sell it to.

  Two things had happened while he was arresting Lamar. The first was that the woman snatched the ring from the thief. Roy took it back and shoved it in his pocket with the intention of handing it over to a judge.

  But then in the middle of her caterwauling and Lamar’s vows of innocence, the second thing happened.

  The town sheriff informed him that his wife was near death.

  He’d turned the arrest over to the sheriff, mounted his horse and forgotten about the ring.

  In dealing with the tragedy at home, he hadn’t given the jewelry a thought. Not until he began to pack up the household and had come upon it in the bottom of a bureau drawer.

  A couple of months ago, he’d wired the prison where Lamar was incarcerated and asked them to question him about it, find out who it belonged to.

  Not to anyone’s surprise, the thief continued to claim it was his.

  Now Roy had a ring that didn’t belong to him and a guilty conscience that did.

  He needed to do something with it, but what? Sell it? Donate the money to charity?

  He was too tuckered out to make that decision now, but it had to be made and soon. A charity would be able to make good use of extra funds at Christmas.

  * * *

  Even though her hair was clean and her skin scrubbed, Belle could not sleep.

  The pair of nightgowns heaped in the corner still smelled of smoke, of fear and near death.

  Standing beside the bedroom window, she looked out at the ruins of the boardinghouse. Steam curled from it like mournful ghosts. Snow had been falling for a while now. It wouldn’t be long before it covered and cooled the smoldering heap.

  She’d heard Roy return home just before the storm hit. It sounded like he had gone into the kitchen. When, after a time, there had been only silence, she figured he’d gone to his bedroom. To his sleeping children.

  And they were sleeping. She knew because she’d checked on them while their father was out.

  The first time, Jack had been restless and Delanie frightened. After she told them a story of elves and sung a song about reindeer, they settled down. When she checked on them the second time they were awake but staring about the dim room. Thankfully, the third time she checked on them they dozed as sweetly as the little angels they resembled.

  Roy Garner was a lucky man.

  A sudden gust of wind rattled her bedroom window. She turned away, paced in circles around the rug five times before she realized what a waste of time it was.

  Since the smelly clothes in the corner were preventing her from sleeping, she gathered them up and took them downstairs.

  A good washing was in order. She wasn’t properly dressed to go out of the bedroom, but since the household was asleep, propriety hardly mattered.

  Going into the kitchen, she realized her mistake. Someone was up, just not awake.

  Roy sat on a dining chair, his head resting on the table and cradled in his arms.

  His shirt was off, crumpled in his fist.

  Ashes dirtied his neck, accented the curve of muscle and bone. A fine dusting of gray coated his dark, curling hair.

  He looked exhausted—paying the price for saving her and Grannie Em.

  What kind of man was she intending to ruin?

  No one would have faulted him earlier tonight for doing the sensible thing and keeping safely away from the flames.

  He should have. For the sake of his children he should have. He had come close to dying, himself.

  Zebras, pandas and cattle came in black and white; apparently people did not. She was quickly learning that a man could be wicked and sainted at the same time.

  How was a woman to know what to do?

  Launder his shirt. She could do that, along with her own remaining wardrobe.

  Carefully, she pried the fabric from his fingers. The last thing she wanted to do was wake him.

  For the sake of his needing sleep, of course, but also, she wanted this chance to freely look at him.

  Which was probably not wise.

  It was also downright rude.

  But my word! The man was something to look at.

  She shouldn’t wonder—but what woman would not be imagining how it would feel to touch the swell of his biceps, feel the scrape of beard shadow on his cheek, stroke the ash-dusted arch of his brow?

  Perhaps it was her duty to care for him. To take a damp cloth and wipe away the smudges under his eyes—to wash away the path of sweat that tracked down his naked back—

  Or to quietly step away and simply wash his shirt.

  Quietly, she put a large kettle on to boil, then dumped in the clothes.

  “Obliged,” came Roy’s deep, weary-sounding voice from behind her.

  She turned, holding a wood paddle in her hand. He was sitting up, scraping his hand across his jaw.

  “You’re obliged?” She stirred the pot of clothes. “I’m the one who is beholden to you.”

  “Only doing my job, Belle.”

  Like earlier, his gaze upon her was almost tender, intimate. She had a feeling there was more to it than that.

  “Just because you were doing your job doesn’t change the fact that you risked your life to save mine and Grannie’s. The least I can do is wash your shirt.”

  And your face and your back and your—

  A smile lifted Roy’s mouth. His teeth looked extra white against the ash covering his face.

  Had he guessed her thoughts?

  Not likely, but he did seem to have thoughts of his own. His gaze drifted from engaging her eyes to studying her bare calves and feet.

  She removed the pot from the burner then hurried around the table and sat down, hiding her exposed parts.

  Still, she held the advantage as far as exposed parts were concerned. She could hide her legs under the table while his chest remained in view.

  Delightfully in view.

  “Sure do hope this is a generous town,” he said, still smiling. “I don’t have enough shirts for all you ladies.”

  “I can sew—it’s what I do to support me and Grannie.”

  “It’s a shame I didn’t keep my late wife’s clothes. I think they would have fit.”

  It was a generous offer but one she would have refused. Surprisingly, she didn’t want him to look at her and see his wife. She wanted him to see her.

  Admittedly, not all of her. The last thing she wanted was for him to see deeply into her jumbled thoughts.

  “So what brought you to Pinoakmont? It’s not the kind of town most people dream of settling down in.”

  “A man.” That was not a lie.

  “Maybe I can help you find him.” For just a second, she thought regret flashed across his expression. For another second, she was glad to see it.

  “Not for me, for Grannie Em. It’s someone she loved, but really, I don’t know that we will find him.”

  He grinned. The warmth in his expression enveloped her. She smiled back as though there was nothing but friendship between them.

  Friendship with the desire for more.

  And she did want more. The realization hit her with equal parts joy and regret.

  Had she met Roy Garner under different circumstances, she would be the happiest woman wearing a man’s shirt with no clothing to call her own in the state.

  She clenched her fingers to keep from swiping away the ash on the tip of his nose.

  “Your children are delightful.”

  “They are a handful, but yes, a delightful one. It’s all to Colette’s credit that they are. My job kept me away from home most of the time.”

  “Your career was important to you?
”

  He nodded, glanced at the snow drifting past the window.

  “Always figured it was an honorable thing, keeping folks safe from criminals. But, Belle, I never figured the cost would be so high.”

  “Putting thieves away is important.” It was. She was more than happy that US marshal Roy Garner had put Gaston behind bars where he could no longer hurt Grannie.

  “So is protecting your family. My wife became ill. I found out about it right in the middle of an arrest. By the time I made it home, she was gone.”

  “I’m so very sorry, Roy.”

  She leant across the table and squeezed his hand. When she let go, ashes smeared her fingertips.

  “It happened last December. My children missed so much. I wasn’t there—Santa wasn’t there. I failed them all.”

  He reached across the table, but drew back.

  “You were making a living, doing what you thought was right for your family—sometimes doing right doesn’t work like we want it to. It’s not anyone’s fault.”

  “I try and think that way but sometimes—well, thank you for reminding me.”

  “All we can do is move on, give those little ones the best Christmas ever.”

  “We? Is that an offer of help?”

  “Naturally. Christmas is the most wonderful time of the year! I reckon we all need a bit of holiday cheer. I’d like to help make it merry and bright for the babies.”

  And, she had to admit, for him.

  “I could kiss you.” This time he did not refrain from squeezing her hand.

  Suddenly the implications of what she had just volunteered to do hit her. So did the mental image of him kissing her. It bloomed in her imagination, more heated and consuming than the first time.

  Also, in volunteering to promote Christmas cheer, she added another complication to her already twisted goal of justice.

  If she found the blasted ring, she could not expose Roy. Not without ruining another Christmas for the children.

  On the other hand, if she did not find the ring and expose him, what would happen to Grannie?

  All of a sudden she felt confused, foggy in her mind. The distance between right and wrong narrowed.

  The only thing she knew for certain was that, given the freedom to do what she wanted, she would sit up all night with Roy, find an hour of contentment in his good-humored gaze.