Hang Your Heart on Christmas
Heather Blanton
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This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, incidents, and dialogues are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author.
Cover DESIGN by http://www.roseannawhite.com
Scripture taken from the HOLY BIBLE,
KING JAMES VERSION - Public Domain
A huge thank you to my editors and beta readers: (editors) Kim Huther, Vicki Prather, (readers) Jay Critz, Connie Bartley White, Sue Smith Michaels, Cherie Vanoy Critz, Donna Ball, Kathy Shaffer, and Tonie Collins.
Table of Contents
DEAR READERS,
PREFACE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
EPILOGUE
ASK ME TO MARRY YOU—PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
The Evergreen Series by Heather Blanton
The Romance in the Rockies Series by Heather Blanton
Other Works by Heather Blanton
DEAR READERS,
I would like to again say thank you from the bottom of my heart. I have had such a wonderful time taking you all on some incredible journeys in my books. Along the way, we’ve become friends. That has been an unexpected blessing. I so truly appreciate your support, your smiles, your comments on my facebook page. I am moved daily by your family photos, your quests to make your dreams come true, the private thoughts you share with me.
I truly value your time and humbly seek to deliver a tale that you will ponder long after you have closed your Kindle. I pray, too, that this story will allow a glimpse of God’s perfect love.
It is my sincere hope that this little novella blesses you, prompts you to consider what things are truly important in life, and gives you the courage to lay down the things that suck the life from you. Slow down, give thought to the reason for the season, and fall in love with the One who was born to die for you.
Merry Christmas
Heather
Beloved, never avenge yourselves,
but leave the way open for God’s wrath [and His judicial righteousness]; for it is written
[in Scripture], “Vengeance is Mine, I will repay,” says the Lord.
But if your enemy is hungry, feed him;
if he is thirsty, give him a drink; for by doing this
you will heap [a]burning coals on his head.”
Do not be overcome and conquered by evil, but overcome evil with good.
Romans 12:19-21 Amplified Bible (AMP)
PREFACE
The legendary Elfego Baca is the inspiration behind my hero Robert “Dent” Hernandez.
Elfego’s father Francisco was a lawman, and, on occasion, he allowed his son to ride with him in pursuit of some pretty tough hombres. Francisco taught his son to shoot, to ride, to fight, and to wear the badge like a man of justice, not vengeance. He could not have foreseen how well the lessons would stick.
In 1884, nineteen-year-old Elfego learned that the rowdy cowhands from John Slaughter’s ranch were running roughshod over the mostly-Spanish community of Lower Frisco, NM. Raping, pillaging, the usual outlaw behavior. Outraged, Elfego somehow wrangled a badge (real, fake, the details are fuzzy) and headed off to clean up the town.
Not long after his arrival, he was alerted to the ungentlemanly behavior of one Charlie McCarty. Drunk and belligerent, McCarty was howling at the moon, firing his gun indiscriminately, and generally scaring the townsfolk silly. Baca arrested the cowhand straightaway.
As is always the case in these situations, things quickly spiraled out of control and Elfego Baca found himself hiding in a jacal (ha-cal – a flimsy structure like a shack) and being shot at by between forty and eighty very annoyed cowboys. Hundreds of thousands of rounds were fired at him during a thirty-three hour siege. Just the door to the one room cedar-and-mud structure was hit nearly four hundred times!
Elfego survived unscathed.
He did, however, kill one cowboy, shoot one horse (which then fell on its rider and killed him), and wound several of his attackers.
When the siege was over, our young lawman still wasn’t done. He sent a letter to the cowboys who had tried to kill him. It read, "I have a warrant here for your arrest. Please come in by March 15 and give yourself up. If you don’t, I’ll know you intend to resist arrest, and I will feel justified in shooting you on sight when I come after you."
Most of the men couldn’t surrender fast enough.
Elfego’s good fortune and startling bravado was the foundation of his legendary status. He lived a colorful, sometimes controversial, life as a lawman, attorney, politician, and hero. He left behind a statue, and some tall tales. I thank him for being the inspiration behind Hang Your Heart on Christmas.
This story is dedicated to our own brave lawmen and women and first responders. May I encourage you to never give in, never back down, and never lose faith. We’re behind you. Thank you for your courage.
CHAPTER ONE
U.S. Marshal Robert “Dent” Hernandez signed the voucher and slid it back across the desk to the sheriff. “That’ll do it.” Two down ... how many more to go?
Sheriff Ben Hayes leaned back in his chair and regarded Dent with that familiar, pitying expression. “Son, aren’t you tired?”
Dent held his breath to keep from sighing. Ben, with his barrel-chest and graying hair, was a good man, but he was too eager to share his thirty-years of lawman wisdom. “No, sir.” Dent swiped his hat up off the desk. “Bringin’ ‘em in is my job.”
“You know that’s not what I’m talkin about. Your pa wouldn’t want you throwing your life away on his account.”
Dent dropped his hat on his head. “If the men I arrest don’t have a chance to kill somebody else�
�s pa, that’s not a waste.” He touched the brim in good-bye. “I’m gonna go get some lunch. I’ll head out with the prisoners after.”
He stepped out on the now-sun-washed main street of Evergreen and flinched at the mud. Six straight days of autumn rains had turned the normally dusty street into a quagmire. Off to his left, four men, covered head to toe in the muck, sweated and cursed the mess as they worked to pry their wagon loose. Mules strained and tugged. The sucking sound from the wheels drowned out the noise from the rest of the mud-weary traffic.
“Dent,” Ben stepped up beside him, “you don’t take a day off. You don’t rest. You swing through town once in a blue moon, and then you’re gone again. You got roots in this town and they’re dying.”
“That would be a tragedy.”
“You could attend a dance every now and then.” Ben wiggled his eyebrows. “Git your arms around a pretty girl. Bid on a sweet apple pie.”
Dent didn’t care to reply. He continued watching the men mired in the mud. Most excitement this town has seen in a decade.
“That hate’s gonna eat you up, son. One day you’ll wake up fat, old, and alone–like me–and wonder what it was all for.”
That last part surprised Dent. “You’re a good lawman, Ben. You don’t think it’s been worth it? Think about who you’ve helped put in jail.”
Ben sighed and swiped his hand over his face. “You’re missing my point. You can do your job, and have a life, too. I know that now. I didn’t when your pa and I were young.”
The fire that burned in Dent’s belly didn’t agree. One day he would get the final clue. One day he would arrest the men who had shot his father. He could wait. He could be patient. He could not, however, waste time attending dances and sampling pies. “I thank you for your advice, Ben. You know I respect your opinion.”
Ben laid a hand on Dent’s shoulder, a breeze stirring his faded brown hair. “Say the word, and you can be my deputy any time.”
He bit back a derisive snort. Evergreen, a nice, quiet town, was just the place for a middle-aged lawman tired of chasing criminals. Nearing thirty, Dent was not middle-aged or tired. “Well, I thank you for the offer. And I will consider it.”
“Yeah, sure you will.” Ben squeezed his shoulder and went back inside.
At the depot, Dent tugged at the shackles on his prisoners, hands then feet, then stepped back to stand beside Ben. The two lawmen appraised the offenders. “Happy” Jack Briscomb—short, stocky, face bruised from tripping over Dent’s fist—scowled like he was anything but happy. His comrade, Needles Jones, a slender, dark-haired fella with one wayward eye, glared at them as he defiantly clanked the shackles at his wrists.
Ben tagged Dent in the ribs. “Watch him,” he motioned to Needles. “He’s got a bad temper … Why he’s in trouble in the first place.”
“Will do.” Dent walked around behind the men and gave them a nudge. “All right, boys, here comes the train.” The two shuffled over to the edge of the platform. The deafening chug-chug-chug drowned out any further conversation as they waited for the crawling iron horse to enter the station. Amidst the hiss and steam and an ear-splitting whistle, the Cheyenne to Lander slowed and halted.
The conductor jumped down and set the step in place for the passengers. One by one, dusty cowboys, slick salesmen in cheap suits, and harried mothers battling defiant toddlers, emerged from the train. Some embraced their loved ones. Others disappeared into the swirl of bodies. Dent’s gaze darted all around, looking for trouble, intent on preventing his charges from getting any stupid ideas. Trouble could always come anytime, anywhere, from fellas like these. He doubted whether the folks of Evergreen could take the shock.
When a lull in the debarking hit, he shook Hayes’s hand. “I’ll try to stay longer my next time through.”
“I’ll hold you to it.”
Dent pushed his prisoners forward, but had to wait again as a green cotton dress flitted down the steps. “Pardon us, ma’am,” he said, pulling Happy and Needles back by their collars.
He couldn’t help but notice the dress was filled nicely with a pretty, young gal, wearing silver-rimmed glasses. Thick, wavy, auburn hair, held partially in a barrette, hung at her shoulders, wispy curls framed a sweet, but intelligent, face.
Her eyes, a sparkling, mesmerizing blue, passed over the men then suddenly widened with stark terror. In a blur of motion, Needles reached back and grabbed Dent’s gun. Dent felt the revolver slipping from his holster, and grabbed for it. His grip was awkward at best, obstructed by his prisoner’s chains and handcuffs.
Needles jerked the gun free, spun, and fired. The young lady and the women nearby screamed, men gasped. Folks scrambled for cover. Somehow, the shot missed Dent, and Needles, reacting as fast as a riled snake, draped his shackled arms over the terrified woman. Dent moved to lunge. The outlaw clutched the woman tighter and stepped back with her, shaking his head. He raised the revolver and cocked the hammer.
Dent clenched his jaw and stilled.
The young lady paled to the pallor of chalk dust, and appeared to quit breathing.
“You ain’t hanging me, lawdog.” Needles splayed one hand over the girl’s midsection. His filthy fingers caressed her ribs. “Now git me a horse or I’m gonna drop her.”
A deep, black, slithering hate rose up in Dent as he evaluated the outlaw. A greasy creature, he was just the sort who would shoot a woman. He was here now because he’d snapped and shot a blacksmith in Topeka. Unpredictable with that temper of his.
“Hey, hey, hey.” Happy threw his shackled hands in the air and took two steps away from the fracas. “I don’t want no part of this, Marshal. I ain’t in on it.” He swiveled to Needles. “You don’t know what you’ve done. You don’t know who he is.”
Grinning, Needles pushed the barrel of the gun into the cleft between the woman’s breasts, eliciting a whimper from her. “Ask me if I care. Git me a horse, Marshal. I’ll leave the lady and ride out. No harm done.”
The woman’s eyes spoke volumes. Save me, please, she implored silently. He noted absently that her peril should affect him. But all he cared about was how the next few seconds were going to play out.
He flicked his wrist, and the Derringer slid into his hand. His arm shot out like a lightning bolt and he squeezed the trigger. Needle’s head jerked with the report of the gun. Blood and brain matter exploded out the back of his head. The lady screamed, her eyes rolled back in her head, and both she and the outlaw hit the ground.
“Dent,” Ben’s labored, breathless voice came from behind.
Keeping his gun pointed at Needles, Dent glanced back, then looked again. Blood gushed from Ben’s chest. His gaze bored into Dent as he reached out. “Sorry, son … I wish I’d …” Ben’s knees buckled.
Dent rushed to him, heedless of Needles or the woman. “No, Ben,” he caught his friend as he pitched forward. No, not Ben …
CHAPTER TWO
Dent wouldn’t have thought it possible that such a catastrophe could unfold in Evergreen, of all places. If only he hadn’t been distracted, for the breath of an instant, by shimmering, blue eyes.
Sick over his costly stupidity, he pinched the bridge of his nose and dropped down into a chair at Doc Woodruff’s office. Somehow, in one terrible, swift moment, he’d shot his prisoner dead, scared an innocent by-stander out of her wits … and lost the man who had been a second father to him.
The shot still rang in his ears
He touched the blood-soaked bib of his shirt, incredulous.
Ben was dead.
At least, so was Needles. Good riddance.
Dent struggled with the way his grief gave way too easily to the thirst for revenge. He couldn’t arrest ’em all, but he had made another permanent dent in the criminal population. He laughed inwardly at the reminder of the nickname. Courtesy of Ben Hayes, now deceased.
Doc Woodruff sat down in the chair across from Dent, removed his glasses, and rubbed his eyes. “I’m s
orry. Ben was a good man. I can hardly believe he’s gone.” He slipped the glasses back on then scratched the silvery beard at his jaw. “The whole town will miss him, but his death sure leaves us with a problem. We’ve got no law here now. Word gets out—”
“Can’t help ya. I’ve still got a prisoner to deliver to Cheyenne.”
“Lock him up and wire for another deputy to do it.”
Dent chafed at the suggestion. He always finished the job. But he had surely made a mess of this one. How in the heck had Needles grabbed his gun? One pretty face ... one instant of distraction ... then eternity for Ben; which made finishing this job all the more vital. “You know I can’t do that.”
Doc pursed his lips, as if the objection proved a point. “Dent, maybe it isn’t my place to say this, but you’re not exactly winning any prizes for the way you handle your duties. Sometimes, it’s a nice surprise to hear you’ve delivered prisoners who are still upright in the saddle, ’stead of slung across it.”
“I never shot or killed anybody that wasn’t tryin’ to kill me. I don’t start trouble, but I finish it.”
Doc frowned at him, raising an eyebrow in a that’s-not-the-whole-truth-and-you-know-it look. “I’m just saying maybe you could stand to relax a bit. I treated veterans after the war like you—the ones who had seen a lot of fighting. You’re too ready to kill, Dent. Specializing in dying is no way to live.”
Dent readied all kinds of justifications for what he did, but Ben’s words came back to him. One day you’ll wake up fat, old, and alone—like me—and wonder what it was all for.
“Anyway, my point is,” Doc continued, “taking over for Ben for a while might show the folks in Evergreen and elsewhere you’re not such a hothead. That you can cool down and back off when need be. And I think it would be good for you to quit hunting men for a while.”
Hang Your Heart on Christmas: A Clean & Inspirational Western Historical Romance (The Brides of Evergreen Book 1) Page 1
