by Caroline Lee
The red-head whirled, one long finger pointing at her companion’s nose. “It might not’ve, Dorcas! You can’t take risks like that. The Guild’s Council will have to meet to determine if you should be allowed—”
“Narrative causality! Narrative causality!” The woman apparently named Dorcas was jumping up and down in the middle of Andersen Avenue now, screeching. “Narrative causality!”
“Don’t you dare evoke that with me, Dorcas!”
Against his shoulder, Antonia started, then twisted to stare at the strangers. Micah tightened his hold on Pea, wondering who the hell these women were, and why they were determined to ruin what had previously been a lovely moment with his intended bride.
“All I’m saying is it was vital to dispose of that old run-down building! The orphanage had to be moved into the center of town, to make it a central part of the girls’ stories—”
The grumpy one interrupted, “Not for another hundred and fifty years! You knew that! We had decades to gradually influence the town’s layout. You took drastic measures unsanctioned by the Guild, and now—”
But Dorcas was already jumping away, out of the red-head’s reach. “Godmothers think in the long-term, Grumpy!” she called over her shoulder. “Narrative Causality!”
The grumpy one growled something unflattering under her breath, before scowling once more at Micah, and hurrying after her friend. “You might not be a Godmother for long, Dorcas!” she hollered.
As the two turned down the alley behind MacKinnon’s new restaurant, Micah thought he heard a faint “narrative causality!” drift back.
The street seemed still for a few hushed heartbeats. Crazy women.
Micah bounced the baby farther up on his shoulder, and she tugged on his ear. “What was that about?”
Pea was frowning after the two women. “I’m really not at all sure, but I’ve met them before.”
“How come I’ve never seen them? And what the hell is a Godmother?”
Pea’s attention turned to him and she finally smiled. Dios mio, he loved her smile. He loved the way her beautiful pea-green eyes crinkled slightly at the corners, and he loved the way her expressive eyebrows lifted slightly. And he loved the way her lips reminded him of her kisses.
“I don’t understand that part either, but remind me to have a conversation with Antonia and the twins in another few years, about unexpected favors from strange women.”
He dropped a kiss to her nose. “Deal. I like the idea of you being around to help me raise them.” Especially now that Rojita wanted to concentrate on starting her own family.
As if conjured, his band of ragamuffins came careening around the corning of Perrault Street. Tom and Jack were tussling with Eddie Bellini—while running, which was impressive—and the twins had their heads close to two of Herr Doktor’s little girls, giggling about something. One was absent-mindedly holding Blue’s hand, as he licked a peppermint stick clutched in the other. Rojita wouldn’t be happy if he ruined his dinner, but it was hard to be angry with a sticky, tousled, beaming four-year-old.
When the group saw Pea, a collective squeal rose, and his kids broke away from the others. She stepped out of his arms and lifted hers just in time to catch Blue and one of the girls, then was nearly toppled when Tom threw himself at her.
“Pea’s home!”
“Where’d you go? Was it nice?”
“Did you bring us anything?”
“Don’ eber weave us ‘gain!”
“We missed you awfully!”
“Are you staying with us? Want to share my pillow, Pea?”
She was laughing too hard to answer any of their questions, but she gave each of them a kiss and a long hug—even sticky Blue, who grabbed hold of her hand and wouldn’t let go.
Micah had thought his heart was as full as it could be, but he’d been wrong. Watching her love these children, the way she hadn’t been loved as a child…surely this was as full as his heart could get—?
“Are these the Zapato orphans?”
The deep voice behind him startled Micah out of his musings, and he swung around to find a stranger standing on the boardwalk. A stranger who was carrying a rifle case which looked suspiciously like Pea’s missing one. A stranger who stared, horrified, at the ruin of Micah’s brow. A stranger wearing the nicest suit Micah had seen outside of Dmitri’s fancy dress uniform, with a fine hat and shiny shoes.
A stranger who looked at him with eyes which matched his own.
Micah’s throat went dry. He wasn’t sure what to say, but he knew this man. He was the man from the photograph. The man Micah now remembered. Father.
But Pea, bless her, knew what to do. She rose to her feet—still holding Blue’s hand—and took Antonia from him. Micah gladly passed her the baby without looking away from his father. He took a step towards the older man, but that was as far as he could go.
He was here? The great Andrew Prince had come to Everland, instead of demanding Micah return to New York?
It was the older man who finally broke the silence. “Michael.” That was all he managed to get out, and even that one word sounded as if he were choking as he said it.
Taking pity on him, Micah smiled gently. “I’m called Micah here, Father. I’ve been Micah for twenty years.”
His father’s eyes had lit up when he heard Micah call him “Father.” Now he began to nod. “Micah Zapato. You took on the name of the couple who raised you. I owe them a great debt of gratitude, and since the station master told me the orphanage recently burned down, I would like to pay to replace it.”
The offer—so similar to what Rojita had suggested he ask for—surprised Micah. “The plans have already been drawn up for a replacement building here in town.”
Behind him, Pea gasped. “That’s wonderful, Micah!”
“Yeah.” He turned just enough to smile at her. “It will be a beautiful building.”
Tom piped up, “I get my own room!”
Micah smiled. “Six bedrooms, and the large one in the front is for me and my wife, or so I’ve been told.”
When Pea blushed and shifted the baby in her arms, he almost chuckled. Might have, had his father not cleared his throat then and reminded everyone of his presence.
“Then you must allow me to become a patron of the new orphanage. I have more money than I can ever spend, and this is the least I can do to honor the Zapatos’ memory.”
It was more than Micah could’ve hoped. He glanced at each of the children’s hopeful faces, and knew his father had answered all of his worries. Still, money couldn’t solve everything.
“We called them Grandmother and Grandfather,” he said gently. He wanted Andrew to know Abuela and Abuelo had been so much more than the couple who’d raised him. “They’re family.” Just like Rojita and Antonia, and all the other kids. And Pea.
His father swallowed slowly, then nodded again. “Family. Yes.” His gaze flicked to Pea, holding the baby. “I’ve recently been reminded that family is more important than position or prestige or power.”
The hesitance when he said it eased Micah’s tension. His father was just as nervous about this first meeting as he was. So he stepped to the side a bit, and held out his hand. “Would you like to meet them?”
Andrew’s eyes widened. “Meet the children?”
“Meet my family.” Micah rattled off their names—the girls curtsied in perfect harmony, so it was impossible to tell them apart—before pointing to the upstairs window. “Rojita, my older sister, is cooking enough dinner for all of us, and her husband Hank—the Sheriff—should be home to enjoy it soon.” He extended his hand to Pea. “And last, but not least…”
Pea extricated herself from Blue’s grip and stepped forward. “Hello, Mr. Prince.” She sounded hesitant, and Micah wondered what had happened when they’d met in Denver.
But his father’s gaze dropped to where she was holding Micah’s hand. “I think, all things considered, you’d better call me ‘Andrew.’ I brought you back your rifle, a
s my way of telling you that I do not accept your resignation, but it seems like you’ve already found a new position.”
“Yes, sir. One I think I’ll like even more.” She smiled shyly. “But you still need to meet the rest of our family.” She shifted her shoulder so the baby turned to look at Andrew. “This is Antonia.”
The little one—with hair as dark as Micah’s and Pea’s—chose that moment to gift Andrew with one of her gummy smiles. She pulled her fingers out of her mouth long enough to beam at him. “Baamamabababama!”
Micah’s father blinked in surprise. Then slowly, so slowly it was hard to fathom, the older man smiled. His smile was so much like his son’s that Micah’s breath caught in his throat. Father. How had he ever feared this man’s reaction? How had he ever wondered if this man would accept his family, his way of life?
“This is my home, Father. This is where I belong, and where I want to stay. This is my family.” He rested his hand on Pea’s hip, the baby between them. “But…” He took a deep breath. “But you’re welcome to stay here with us, for as long as you’d like. Everland is a wonderful town, and I’d like you to get to know it, as we get to know one another. You probably have to go back to New York, but I want you to know…”
Micah swallowed, then glanced at Pea. She was beaming up at him, and when he felt a presence on his other side, he looked down to see Jack standing there, supporting him. This is what family is about, after all.
He exhaled and smiled happily, as the baby cooed. “I want you to know, Father, you’ll always have a place here, if you want it. With us.”
His father didn’t react right away. Instead, he looked away from Micah to take in the bustling, healthy town, with neighbors calling back and forth and the children scampering home to supper. He glanced up at the perfect sky, and down at the neat boardwalks, before nodding slowly.
Then he stepped forward with his arms open. “Well, it seems like I haven’t just found my son, have I? I’ve found a whole new family.”
Pea was laughing when the older man wrapped them all in a hug, but Micah couldn’t manage a sound. Instead, he buried his face in his father’s shoulder and fought to hold back his tears.
Had he thought his heart full a moment ago? Impossible! This was as full as it could get.
And when the baby babbled, “Mamamababammama!” he knew he was wrong yet again; his love wasn’t finite. His heart would grow as his family grew, and he was sure he would find more to love, each passing day.
Here in Everland.
Keep reading for a sneak peek from Little Red!
And what’s going on with Draven? You can find out this Christmas, when he’ll return.
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From Little Red: an Everland Ever After Tale
Her back hurt. Why did her back hurt? Rojita cracked her eyelids just a bit, wincing at the way the full brightness of the late-winter sun lanced straight through to the back of her brain. Never mind, better to just keep them closed.
She was lying on the frozen ground; the sharp rock or stick or something under her rear end told her that. And just as soon as the dull ache in her back faded, she’d get around to shifting off of it. In the meantime… why did her back hurt at all?
She’d been riding hard, and then—oh yes, the horse had stopped suddenly. Had she been thrown? Wiggling her toes in her boots and flexing her fingertips, Rojita gave a little sigh of relief. Nothing hurt worse than her back, which meant that nothing was broken, and at least she could walk. The mean-spirited animal—no doubt a trait inherited from its master—must’ve tossed her off in such a way that she’d landed almost-safely.
Where was the blasted animal? How long had it been since the accident? Had it wandered off, leaving her here in the Wyoming wilderness with no hope of rescue? Was El Lobo even now picking along her trail—having gotten another horse, of course—creeping ever closer to doing her unspeakable harm? Had this delay cost Abuela the orphanage?
Rojita groaned, and then winced at the sound. She couldn’t be that weak, could she? Abuela and the children were counting on her getting to Everland before Lobo, even if they didn’t know it. She had to stand up, to find that darned horse, and to start riding before he caught up with her.
“It’s about time you woke up, Red. I was getting worried.”
Too late. He’d found her. He was here.
She kept her eyes closed, wondering if she could fool him into thinking that she was still unconscious. Everything that she knew about the man said that he was ruthless, but surely he’d wait until she was awake to do any harm that he had planned?
“I can see you wiggling over there. Anything broken?”
He had a deceptively nice voice. Warm and smooth; comforting like café con leche on a cold day. It was a shame, to waste such a voice on a gunslinger like El Lobo. He wasn’t warm or comforting or nice, but he sure sounded like it. That voice was probably his secret weapon; he could convince anyone that he was a kind-hearted, law-abiding citizen, and then he’d swoop in and defraud their widows of land that they’d purchased legally and rightfully.
But Rojita wasn’t going to be fooled. She knew him for what he really was, thanks to Abuelo’s warning. She knew about the men he’d goaded into drawing on him, and how he shot them down without a flicker of conscience. She knew about the lawmen he’d killed in Mexico, and about the way his name was used as a curse by law-abiding folks throughout Texas. And since he’d found her in Salt Lake City, she knew about his cruel smile and calm certainty that absolutely no one would stand in his way of getting what he wanted.
Unfortunately, she was what he wanted, and Rojita had to suppress a shiver at the thought. Think! She was going to figure out a way out of this. She’d been to school in a big city; surely she was smart enough to outthink a common bandito like Lobo. Just because he was at a complete advantage here didn’t mean that she couldn’t beat him to Everland after all.
“Come on, Red, wake up. I managed to run down your horse—you’re welcome, by the way. All we’re waiting on is you.”
Her horse? Her horse? She’d stolen it from him. Lobo would know that, and would be… angry, wouldn’t he? So why did he sound exasperated instead?
Unless… Her eyes snapped open, the bright Wyoming sky not bothering her nearly as much as it had a minute before. Unless this wasn’t El Lobo.
With a gasp, Rojita jerked herself up onto her elbows, twisting to find the source of the caramel-warm voice. She had just a glimpse of a small fire and a man hunched behind it, before the pain made everything go black again.
Don’t worry, that’s not El Lobo she sees! Read more of Little Red to find out who it is!
ACKNLOWEDGEMENTS
First of all, thank you to all of my fans; readers who enjoy sweet historical western romance crossed with fairy tales! I couldn’t do what I love without your support. I owe a grand debt to my critique partners Alyssa Mierta, JA Coffey and Merry Farmer, and my mentor and dear friend, Kirsten Osbourne. Also, my editor CM Wright is pretty awesome.
Thanks are owed to my Cohort. If you’re on Facebook, and you adore the Ever
land tales enough to want to help brainstorm the next one and promote the current one, drop me a line about joining Caroline’s Cohort. The more, the merrier!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Caroline Lee is what George R.R. Martin once described as a "gardener author"; she delights in “planting” lovable characters in interesting situations, and allowing them to “grow” their own stories. Often they draw the story along to completely unexpected--and wonderful!--places. She considers a story a success if she can re-read it and sigh dreamily... and she wishes the same for you.
A love of historical romance prompted Caroline to pursue her degrees in social history; her Master's Degree is in Comparative World History, which is the study of themes across history (for instance, 'domestication of animals throughout the world,' or 'childhood through history'). Her theme? You guessed it: Marriage throughout world history. Her favorite focus was periods of history that brought two disparate peoples together to marry, like marriage in the Levant during the Kingdom of Jerusalem, or marriage between convicts in colonial New South Wales. She hopes that she's able to bring this love of history-- and this history of love-- to her novels.
Each one of the books in her Sweet Cheyenne Quartet has reached the Best-Sellers list on Amazon, and all are available in e-book and paperback formats.
Caroline is living her own little Happily Ever After with her husband and children in North Carolina.
You can find her at www.CarolineLeeRomance.com.
