Hang Your Heart on Christmas: A Clean & Inspirational Western Historical Romance (The Brides of Evergreen Book 1)

by Heather Blanton

  Dent blinked, startled by the question. All those days and nights on the trail, he’d thought only of Amy and Israel. “Yes sir,” he whispered.

  “Letting that boy go was a mistake. In that moment, you became judge and jury. That’s not your job.”

  “But he couldn’t get a fair—”

  Lynch threw up a swollen, arthritic hand, stopping him. “It was a mistake. You’ve made plenty of them before.” He leaned forward on his desk and laced his fingers together. “Do you know what the difference is this time?”

  “No sir.”

  “This time you know you made a mistake ... and you care.”

  “I suppose that’s true.”

  “We’ll find Israel and I promise you, he will get a fair trial. He’s a fugitive, but you said he could have shot you and he didn’t. I’ll see that’s taken into consideration.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Now, tell me about the mayor. That’s no small thing arresting an elected official.”

  “I have reason to believe he attempted to kill me but hit Miss Amy Tate instead. He had a Springfield rifle in his possession when I arrested him and it had recently been fired. The bullet Doc pulled out of her shoulder matched it. Coker was a sniper in the army. He could have made that shot. And I have a witness who saw him heading out to my ranch. He’s confessed to extortion as well, but I can’t prove it … yet.”

  Lynch chewed on that for several minutes, scratching his head and tousling his silver hair. “He shot the woman you love but you didn’t kill him. That shows a remarkable amount of restraint for you.”

  Dent hung his head and twirled his hat a couple of times, aware his explanation would sound feeble. “Don’t reckon it’s much of a reason, but she made me promise not to. And she’s been telling me about God.”

  Lynch raised a hand to his mouth. Hiding a smile?

  “Sounds like she’s made more progress with you in three months than I made with you in eight years.”

  Dent had no response. He didn’t understand what Amy had done to him, much less God. Which was why he had to let the badge go. Till he figured things out. Justice had to matter now.

  “Dent, I’ve always believed if you could move past letting everything be about catching your father’s killer, and let it be about the pursuit of justice,” the judge held up a finger, “through the courts … you could be a fine lawman.”

  Dent bounced his heel softly on the oak floor. He could be a lawman. He wanted to be a lawman. “I still want justice for my father … I mean, I finally want justice … and not revenge. Either way, his murder isn’t driving me anymore.”

  Judge Lynch seemed to think that over for a second then slowly slid the badge back to Dent. Surprised, Dent hesitated, reached for it, but closed his hand and pulled back. The judge’s eyebrows peaked.

  “Just how long is an interim sheriff supposed to serve?” Dent shot him a wry smile. “With pay?”

  Judge Lynch chuckled, then let the humor erupt into full-fledged laughter, his great barrel chest moving like a continent. “The election is in September. You have some reason to hang around Evergreen that long?”

  “Maybe longer.” Dent rose. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.” He slipped over to the door, opened it, and waved for Amy to join him. She pulled herself away from the portrait of a governor and hurried over to him. Taking her hand, he led her over to the judge. “This is—”

  “Miss Amy Tate, I presume,” Judge Lynch said, gaining his feet. A wide grin on his wrinkled face, he reached across his desk to shake her hand. For some reason, the old man looked enormously satisfied. “I am delighted to make your acquaintance.”

  “And I yours.” Amy dipped her head. “I’ve heard a great deal about you.”

  Still grinning, Judge took his seat again. “If I had known all it would take to settle Dent here was a pretty face, I would have found one for him a long time ago.”

  Dent stared down at Amy. “Beggin’ your pardon, Judge, but she’s a whole lot more than that.”

  Amy flushed bright pink and Dent squeezed her hand, desperately wishing he could kiss those adorable rosy cheeks. He still couldn’t get over how she made him feel: scared of her yet desperate for her; like he could conquer the world, yet so unsure of himself.

  Judge Lynch cleared his throat. “Yes. I can see that now.”

  “So, there’s somethin’ I wanted to ask you, Judge.” Dent took a deep breath. “We’re getting married. Would you do the honors?”

  “Well, I’ll be danged.” The judge slapped his blotter and jumped to his feet. “You just try to stop me.” He skirted his desk, moving faster than Dent had ever seen, and embraced Amy, his black robes all but swallowing the girl. “You bet I will.”

  He turned his bulk on Dent and gave him a huge hug as well. Both men laughed and slapped each other on the back, but quickly separated and switched to a vigorous handshake, as if the embrace had caught them both off guard. Dent sure was surprised.

  “You bet I will,” the judge repeated, stepping back. He inclined his head in the direction of the badge. “And I’ll hold on to that for you, in case you ever want it back.” He winked at Amy. “But somehow, I think Evergreen has got itself a new, permanent sheriff.”

  If you liked Hang Your Heart on Christmas, your review would be so greatly appreciated! Authors live and die by your kind words, and I would be eternally grateful!

  I truly hope this story blessed you and reminds you of the reason for the season: Christ is the giver of life, and he wants to give it to you in abundance! Holding on to hurts, insults, wrongs, and grievances only empowers those who have crossed you. Forgive them, move on, and live in the Light and freedom of Christ’s love! It’s the perfect time of year to start anew …

  If you don’t know Jesus, it’s so easy to meet Him! Please follow this link to discover the simple steps to Salvation and a relationship with Christ. You’ll never regret it. http://peacewithgod.net/

  If you liked Dent and Amy and would like to see more of them, keep reading! I’ve included an excerpt right after the recipe! And if you would like to get the skinny on my future projects, please sign up for my newsletter at http://eepurl.com/crDmv5 or join me on Facebook at either https://www.facebook.com/authorheatherblanton/ or https://www.facebook.com/heatherfreyblanton

  You can also follow me on Twitter at https://twitter.com/heatherfblanton

  You can always subscribe to my newsletter as well. http://bit.ly/2fFy570HeatherNewsletter

  And for a special dash of Christmas spirit, please enjoy this wonderful vintage recipe:

  Kisses

  Young Housekeepers Friend, 1864

  Beat the whites on fine fresh eggs to a stiff froth,

  then mix with it fifteen spoonfuls of fine white sugar,

  and five or six drops of essence of lemon.

  Drop them on paper with a teaspoon, sift sugar over them

  and bake them in a slow oven.

  Recipe courtesy of http://www.thecompletevictorian.com/ThePantry.html

  And now, a peek at Book 2—

  Wait on the LORD, and keep His way,

  and He shall exalt thee to inherit the land:

  when the wicked are cut off, thou shalt see it.

  Psalm 37:34

  ASK ME TO MARRY YOU—PROLOGUE

  “Dear God, thank You for a wonderful . . . day,” Little Audra’s eyes fluttered closed, but she blinked, trying to finish her prayers. She shifted on her knees and rested her head on her mattress. “Thank You for Pa taking me up to Powder River with him. Thank you for Cookie, the fastest horse alive.” A yawn struck her. “Thank You for our ranch and the mountains and the wide open spaces.” On the verge of dozing, Audra smiled and her little heart swelled with contentment. “Oh, I love this ranch.”

  Her thoughts stopped for a moment as sleep softly pulled her into its warm embrace.

  I love you, Audra, whispered the Lord. What can I give you so yo
u’ll know I’m here?

  “Please don’t let that mean Mr. Fairbanks ever get our place. I heard him fussing with Pa today.”

  This man shall not possess your land. Your very own husband will be your protector.

  Audra smiled at the promise. It reminded her of the one He’d given to Abraham. She smiled even wider as big, familiar arms slipped around her and lifted her. “Here now, little gal, you can’t sleep like that.”

  Pa. “I love you, Pa.”

  “I love you, too, punk.” He kissed her forehead then slipped her beneath her covers. “Sleep tight. Don’t let the bed bugs bite.”

  CHAPTER 1

  Audra Drysdale threw down the empty bucket in disgust and just stood there. The heat from the burning barn, though, wouldn’t allow her to stay. The flames hissed and snarled, driving her back. Wrestling a sob into silence, she turned her back on the inferno and trudged the hundred yards or so to the house.

  She’d been warned. A woman alone couldn’t run a ranch. When Bobby and Dale—her last two hands—got back from town and saw this, they’d quit her, too. For three months she’d fussed, fumed, fretted, and all but begged for her men to stay. To no avail. This would be the nail in the coffin.

  She plopped down on the porch step, ready to wallow in misery and self-pity . . . only, that wasn’t who she was. Her pa hadn’t raised a quitter.

  She’d prayed so hard these last several months, God, You promised me. You said my own husband would be my protector. You said Fairbanks would never get this place. Please . . . save my ranch. You promised . . .

  Over and over she’d prayed for Him to do something. Pa had made her believe God didn’t abandon His children, and that He had only good planned for them. Which was why Jess Fairbanks was not going to get her or this place. The dirty old man had laid his groping paws on her, trying to convince her to marry him. The memory made Audra’s skin crawl.

  God did not intend for her to marry him. She was certain of it.

  Then what? What’s the plan, God?

  She lifted her gaze over the flames to the inky sky. No, she wouldn’t marry Fairbanks, but a man would solve all her problems.

  CHAPTER 2

  Winston Drysdale’s law office always smelled of something cool, apple-mint tobacco maybe, and aged leather chairs. But her uncle’s silence frustrated her. Audra drummed her fingers on the arm of the chair and waited for him to catch up.

  He tapped his jaw, as if that might rattle understanding loose in his eighty-year-old brain. “Audra, I don’t understand what you’re asking me.”

  She’d too often been guilty of praying and then running out of patience, waiting for God to answer. But she really didn’t think she was jumping ahead of Him this time. This plan made perfect sense—and the idea had to have come from God. “My barn burned down last night.” She spoke a touch more slowly, hoping that would help. “I know Fairbanks is responsible. My last two hands are on the verge of quitting because they don’t think I can protect them. I can keep my hands, even hire some back, if I produce a husband.”

  “Produce a husband?”

  “And I’m sure that will make Fairbanks back off, too.” Which was, perhaps, the bigger of the problems.

  The grizzled old man merely blinked.

  “Uncle,” Audra sat up and laid her hand on his desk. “You bring wives out here for the ranch hands. I don’t want to ship myself off to some man and leave my ranch. I want you to find me a man who will come here. I don’t see any difference between a mail-order bride and a mail-order groom.”

  “Audra, dear, I do what I do because those boys can’t read, and I don’t want them thinking they have to settle for some gal from Kit’s place. It’s gratifying to be able to help them sort through the ads, read the responses. I find them nice girls to marry.”

  “So find me a nice husband. You’re famous for your matchmaking.”

  “You want—no, need—you need a man who either has no home or is willing to leave his home. Those are not small hurdles. Nor do they recommend him as a prize catch.”

  “I don’t have to marry a saint. It’s a marriage on paper only. He’ll have his own room. I just need a sort of proxy. Me in male form. Someone to give voice to the orders but, of course, I’ll be running things.”

  Winston scratched his gray head, sending silver spikes in every direction. “You think having a man out at your place will get your boys to stay? And Fairbanks to let this go? You know he’s wanted your ranch somethin’ fierce for a good long time. And then when you blossomed into such a pretty thing . . .” He trailed off, sounding uncomfortable.

  “He thought he would get the best of both worlds.”

  Winston’s brow dipped. “Yes, and he’s old enough to be your pa. Turns my stomach. Foolish old fart.”

  Audra batted her eyelashes at her uncle. “A husband would solve my problems.”

  “In the short term. Maybe.” His pale blue eyes drilled into her. “Then what? You’re gonna be saddled with a husband who is a perfect stranger. What if you can’t stand him?”

  “I thought about that. I want you to write up something that says the ranch is still mine. All mine.”

  “That agreement wouldn’t be worth the paper it’s written on. You know Wyoming property laws.”

  “No one would know that except an attorney. A year should be enough time to hire the hands back, straighten out Fairbanks, and get the ranch in top condition again. Then my husband can abandon me. I’ll even give him a horse and maybe some seed money.”

  Winston rubbed his chin and sighed. “You’re like a daughter to me, Audra. You know that. I can’t let just anybody into your house, callin’ himself your husband. I would have to find the right man, and that could take a considerable amount of time.” Absently, he picked up a letter from his desk, glanced at it, but went back to it with keen interest, narrowing his eyes. “Maybe . . .” he whispered.

  Curious, Audra leaned forward. “You’ve got someone?”

  Exasperation deepened all the lines in her uncle’s face. “If you aren’t the biggest load of trouble your pa ever made.” He sighed loudly. “I’ll let you know something when I know something.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Dillon Pine heard the clang of a jail cell door and jumped off his cot. His father had promised an attorney would be coming, but Dillon had not expected to sit in a Cheyenne jail for two solid days. Of course, this was no small charge, but still, two days? What good was money if it couldn’t get a man out of jail quick-like? His father had probably dallied intentionally, an attempt to teach his wayward son a lesson.

  He peered through the bars and down the hallway. A long, lanky old man in a black suit strode toward him. Dillon grinned with deep relief. “Winston, it’s sure good to see you. I mean that, old friend.” The two shook hands. “I was beginning to think I’d been forgotten.”

  The old man eyed the cell, looking amused by Dillon’s predicament. “Pretty scroungy accommodations for a Pine.” But the amused glow left his creviced face as he pulled a folded paper from his breast pocket. “But you may not like the terms for getting out any better.”

  “Anything would be bet—” Dillon stopped himself. Winston was troubled and that didn’t bode well. “Am I in that much of a mess?”

  “Son, you’re charged with conspiracy to commit murder. I might be able to get it reduced. In fact, I’m pretty confident that I can, but I could prove you were in China at the time of the murder and I’d say you’re still looking at three to five years.”

  “What?” Dillon felt his heart stop. “That’s crazy. I have an alibi. I was at O’Herlihy’s and I have witnesses.”

  “The witnesses have recanted or gone missing. The O’Herlihy Brothers do not recall seeing you in their establishment.”

  Dillon’s jaw dropped. “They’re hanging me out to dry.”

  “Not exactly. They’re just more interested in protecting one of their own.”

  “Three years.” D
evastated, Dillon stumbled over to his cot and collapsed onto it. “All I tried to do was buy some whiskey wholesale.”

  Winston let out a long, slow breath. “I have talked to the judge and offered him a deal. You plead guilty to a lesser charge and I’ll get you probation. You have no prior arrests. You’re not violent. Your family has a good name. A good name that we would all like to keep out of the papers. The judge and your father are agreeable.”

  Dillon looked up. “Sooo . . . I might not have to go to prison?”

  “The terms of the probation are rather unusual. Not without some precedent, but you’re not going to like them.” The old man gave a here-goes-nothing shrug. “A young lady is in need of a husband. I recommended you.”

  Dillon stood up so fast his head nearly hit the lantern overhead. “What?” He lunged for the bars and grabbed hold. But panic gave way to rational thinking. Surely Winston was pulling his leg. He laughed with relief at his overreaction. “That’s not funny. You had me going.”

  “It’s no joke.”

  Time slowed to a crawl as Dillon tried to gauge the truth from the old man’s somber expression. Realization brought no comfort. “You’re crazy.” He spun and paced in the cell. “That’s not probation. That’s . . . that’s . . . obscene. It’s slavery is what it is.”

  “Calm down.” Winston patted the air. “Hear me out.”

  Pondering, Dillon scratched his eyebrow, licked his lips, swiped his hand over his mouth, and finally nodded. “Okay, but you’re crazy. There’s no way I’ll agree to this.”

  “My brother passed away three months ago and left a successful cattle ranch to his daughter. A rival cattleman wants the place and thinks he can get it by running off her hands. The spineless, narrow-minded weasels don’t want to work for a woman anyway, so all but two have left her. They’re riding out tomorrow unless she comes home with a husband today.”