A Texas Christmas

by Thomas, Jodi Jodi Thomas

  “It’s about time you decided to feed us,” Mrs. Abner complained, folding her ample arms across her chest. “These young’uns are a mite lean. Don’t know what the world is coming to for a railroad to strand its passengers in the middle of nowhere and not give ’em nary a bite to eat.”

  Tess straightened her spine, trying her best to ignore the abhorrent woman. She clamped down on her tongue to keep back the words that ached to be said. Smiling brightly, she turned her attention to the orphans. “Soon as I get some ladled up, you’ll be the first to eat.”

  The oldest boy swiped his sleeve across his nose. “Thank you, ma’am.” He got his siblings in line, putting the youngest one first.

  The boy’s actions didn’t escape her. She didn’t know where they learned their manners, but someone had taught them well. The little dears made her heart melt. They’d borne the inconveniences of the blizzard with barely a peep. And when Mrs. Abner griped about the conditions, it appeared to embarrass them.

  Sloan leaned close, his breath stirring the tendrils of hair at her ear. “Mrs. Abner could take a lesson from those children.”

  “My thoughts exactly.” She took a tin plate from the box she’d brought from the caboose and ladled a helping of stew into it. Adding a spoon, she handed it to the first child. “Be careful now, sweetheart, it’s a little hot.”

  Sloan helped the little girl to a seat, holding the plate while she climbed up. Then he placed a blanket on the child’s lap to keep the warm plate from burning her and went back to help the next one. Tess’s eyes watered at his gentle care of the youngsters. The rancher would make a wonderful father.

  After he’d gotten each child situated with a plate of food in their lap, he turned to Tess. “I’ll go sit with Powell while everyone eats. I’m sure Omie is starving. She needs to keep her strength up.” A grin flickered for the briefest of seconds. “So do you, if you don’t mind me saying.”

  Not trusting herself to do more than nod, Tess struggled with tears that hovered too close to the surface. The tall cattleman had a soft heart and knew exactly how to make each person feel special, their needs seen to.

  Just then Mrs. Abner, who had sat like a swelled-up toad on a log while Tess and Sloan had seen to the children, got up and lumbered toward the pot of stew. Tess dragged her attention from Sloan’s disappearing backside and hurriedly moved to man the pot. If she let Mrs. Abner ladle her own stew, she’d probably take every last bit that was left. Gritting her teeth, Tess was determined that would not happen.

  Tess had everyone settled down eating when the door opened and Sloan helped Omie inside before he turned around and left again. The dear woman teetered a bit, unsteady on her feet. Tess hurried toward her and helped her down the narrow aisle.

  She didn’t know how they were going to get Omie to stay in the passenger car instead of going back to Ira’s bedside. The woman positively had to get some rest.

  Tess handed Omie a portion of the stew and took some herself. There was just enough left for Sloan in the bottom of the pot.

  It was doubtful that everyone would get full, but they would all have some, and that was the important thing.

  Maybe tomorrow the storm would move out and help would arrive.

  And maybe they would get the Christmas bell to town in time.

  When everyone had finished eating, she gathered up the dishes and silverware and put them back in the box. Tomorrow she and Omie would heat some snow on the stove and wash them, but not tonight.

  It was pitch black outside. The passengers of the Fort Worth and Denver City Railroad were beginning to yawn. Maryellen Langtry busied herself making the children a bed. And when Tess glanced toward Omie, the old woman was sound asleep with her head resting against the back of the seat.

  Seemed Tess’s quandary was solved. She’d leave Omie asleep where she was. Sloan would keep her company in the caboose taking care of Ira. Or if he had other ideas, she’d stay by herself. She was a big girl.

  Tess got one of the quilts Sloan had brought from his ranch and tucked it around Omie. Finding Roe Rollins, she asked him to keep an eye on things until morning. Then ladling up the last of the stew, she grabbed one of the lanterns and made her way to the caboose and Sloan Sullivan, or Sully, as she’d heard her father refer to the big rancher.

  Sloan drew up his sprawling feet and rose when she opened the door. He cupped a steaming cup of coffee in his hands. His gray eyes swept the length of her. “I was about to come get you. Powell’s fever appears to be back.”

  This was the first time she’d seen him without his hat. It lay on the floor beside the ladder-back chair. In the soft light from the lanterns his dark hair was the color of midnight.

  “I brought you the last of the stew,” she said, setting it on a small table opposite the bunks.

  “There was enough to go around?”

  To cover the embarrassment his sweeping perusal brought, she warmed her hands by the fire before she’d go to Ira. She’d hoped the desperately ill man had turned the corner.

  “Yes. Everyone got a portion.”

  The howling wind pounded on the small windows of the caboose demanding entrance. The sound made her shiver. It was like an angry beast that wouldn’t be denied. She leaned closer to the stove.

  Sloan moved to the table with his coffee, brushing past her in the cramped space.

  “Omie fell asleep after she ate, and I didn’t have the heart to wake her. The poor woman is dead on her feet.” She poured melted snow into a pan. “I asked Rollins to keep an eye on Flynn and Deacon in case you decide to stay here and help me. I hope that’s all right since we didn’t have a chance to discuss it beforehand.”

  Sloan nodded. “Rollins seems capable of handling the situation. I gave him Flynn’s Colt just in case he needed it.” He took a bite of the stew. “This is good.”

  “It’s filling. I didn’t have a lot to work with.”

  “You did better than all right.” His smooth deep rumble brought warmth to her face.

  The flutter of her pulse was like a million butterflies inside. Unsure how to reply, she moved to the chair at Ira’s bedside. Applying wet compresses to her patient, Tess watched Sloan out of the corner of her eye. He was rubbing his leg. It must hurt something awful, but he’d never admit it to her. Guilt pricked her conscience. She’d kept him running from one end of the train to the other ever since he came aboard. It’s no wonder it ached.

  “Your leg . . . I heard you injured it.”

  The wry grin that flickered said he wished she hadn’t noticed. “An accident several months ago, courtesy of a rattler and a spooked horse.”

  “I’m sorry I kept you running all day.” Tess looked at the bunk bed above the one in which Ira lay. “I don’t mean to tell you what to do, but why don’t you lie down for a bit in this other bed?”

  “I could ask the same of you. I’m betting you didn’t get a wink of sleep last night. I did.”

  “We’ll take turns. How about that? No use in us both wearing ourselves out.” She wrung out a piece of flannel and placed it on Ira’s feverish forehead. “Sloan, do you think the people in town might get to us tomorrow?”

  “If this storm ends they’ll sure try.”

  And if it kept right on snowing? Her stomach twisted in a knot. They could run out of food. And wood for the fire. They could all wind up freezing to death while they waited for help. She tried to put her worries out of her mind.

  “Sullivan, why did you stop being a U.S. Marshal?”

  “I’d rather not talk about it.”

  Tess had heard rumors floating around town about a shooting of some kind, but she’d never gotten the details. Didn’t appear she would tonight either.

  “Fair enough. Then tell me this. What do you do to celebrate Christmas?” She was suddenly curious to find out more about the reclusive cowboy. “Do you have family?”

  “No, there’s no one. Christmas is just another day on the calendar to me. Nothing special.”

  How sa
d to not have anyone to share the holidays with. It would be so lonely. She didn’t know what she’d do if she didn’t have the hustle and bustle that arrived with each Christmas.

  “What do you and your family do?” Sloan’s deep baritone seemed to stir the very air.

  “With my grandparents and older brothers and sisters close by, we have quite a rambunctious time of it.” She closed her eyes, her words growing soft as she remembered. “My parents and I rise early, and by the time we get dressed people have started arriving. The kitchen becomes quite lively. Everyone pitches in with breakfast. After we eat, we move to the parlor where the Christmas tree stands. With much laughter and teasing banter we exchange gifts. After that we head to church.”

  Her eyes misted with tears. She blinked them away. She’d not break down in front of Sloan Sullivan. She swallowed hard. “This will be the first Christmas I won’t be there with them.”

  “Don’t be too hasty in counting yourself out. Lots can happen in two days.”

  “I can’t believe day after tomorrow is Christmas Eve. I thought . . .” Her voice trailed off. The lump in her throat made it difficult to go on.

  “You thought you’d be back by then.” Sloan gulped the last of the coffee and set down the cup. “If you don’t mind me asking, why are you on the train?”

  “The Christmas bell. It was my responsibility to go to Boston for it and bring it home.” Again, tears stung her eyes.

  “I can’t imagine whose idea that was.”

  Tess bristled. “It was my idea. I volunteered for the job. I wanted to prove once and for all that I’m not the pampered banker’s daughter. I wanted to lay all that petty talk to rest. Small chance of that happening.” She wearily wiped her eyes.

  “As I said, lots can happen in two days. Look at the bright side.” A lazy grin played on his lips.

  “Which is?”

  “You’re warm and dry and have food in your belly. My daddy always said things are not so bad that they can’t be worse.” He moved to the stove and put some water on to boil. “As for me, I’m spending the night in the company of a most fetching woman. Nothing can be better than that.”

  The unexpected compliment made her heart leap. She had a feeling he never said anything he didn’t mean. Could she take that to indicate she was growing on him? That would be a miracle.

  “That’s awfully sweet of you to say, Sullivan.” She dipped another rag in the cold water and wrung it out. “Mind if I ask you a question?”

  “Shoot.”

  “Why did you treat me like I had the plague, crossing the street to avoid having to speak to me?”

  “It wasn’t anything personal against you. Passing the time of day with a beautiful woman . . . well, let’s just say it’s easier and safer to limit my conversational abilities to a herd of bawling cows. For me, it was best to avoid conversation altogether than having to rack my brain for something to say to the banker’s daughter. We’re not exactly in the same social circle.”

  “Of all the lamebrained excuses! Here you let me think you abhorred the very sight of me. Unbelievable.”

  Sloan shrugged. “Seems pretty silly, I guess. But there’s also another reason. You remind me of someone that I’d do anything to forget.”

  Like a sharp stick, jealousy jabbed at Tess. An old girlfriend? She didn’t like to think of another woman wrapped in his arms. Not that she had any claim on the cattleman or anything.

  “Let’s start over. I’d like to be friends.” Well, more than friends, but if not that, anything would do. Tess rose and offered Sloan her hand. “To friends.”

  “Friends.” His big hand closed around hers. “My Lord, woman, your fingers are like a chunk of ice.”

  Sloan pulled her to the warmth of the stove.

  “I’m fine,” she protested. “I don’t have time to think about myself.”

  He still held her hand. “If you won’t, I will.”

  Tess felt so small standing next to him. She tilted her head to look up at him. She drowned in his gaze. She sucked in a quick gasp of air as his head lowered toward her.

  Sloan Sullivan was going to kiss her. Her pulse raced.

  He released her hand and tenderly ran the pad of his thumb across her bottom lip. Cupping her jaw, he drew her against the length of him. She fit easily into his embrace, her palm resting lightly on the hard plane of his chest.

  His warm breath teased, cajoling her.

  Then silky little nibbles at her mouth prepared her for the fiery, passionate kiss that knocked her world off-kilter.

  A slow sizzle tingled along her nerve endings, vibrating under her skin. This was what she’d waited her entire life for.

  Tess sighed deeply, enjoying the gamut of emotions his kiss unleashed.

  Chapter 6

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.” Sloan dropped his hands to his sides, trying to remember all the reasons why he couldn’t possibly entertain thoughts of letting Tess get close to him. “You have a way of tempting a man.”

  “Rule number one,” his mother had preached with her dying breath. “Stay away from Jezebels and strumpets. And give a wide berth to women of privilege. Ain’t nothing good can come of falling in love with someone outside your class. We’re poor people and we don’t know the ways of people with money. Remember where you came from and you won’t get your heart broke.”

  Kissing Tess had sure felt good though. Her lips had been soft and pliable, her hair strands of spun gold.

  The problem was those damn silky undergarments in her trunk. Every time he closed his eyes, that’s all he saw. And he couldn’t look at Tess without wondering what she wore beneath her dress.

  Tess quickly turned away. “There’s nothing to apologize for, Sullivan. Good heavens. We’re not children.”

  Sloan ran his fingers through his hair. “I reckon you’ve been kissed more times than you can remember.”

  She spun around with fire in her eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean? Do you think I’m a loose woman? Do you think I run around tackling men on the street and kissing the daylights out of them?”

  Oh Lord, how to get out of this mess. The little train car had grown extremely warm. Sloan tugged at the neck of his shirt, trying to loosen it. “Absolutely not. It’s just that you’re a very beautiful woman. You must have your fill of suitors. I didn’t mean to suggest anything.... Let’s just forget this whole conversation.”

  But he didn’t want to forget the heady kiss that curled his toes. He knew it’d fill his dreams for days and weeks to come.

  “Fine.” Tess plopped down in the chair beside Ira.

  “Fine.” He turned, threw open the door to the metal landing between the caboose and passenger car, and stomped out into the cold. Without his hat or his coat. She had made him forget all about the frigid temperature.

  Now he was stuck. He couldn’t very well go back inside. Neither could he go into the passenger car and wake those sleeping travelers. And he couldn’t stay outside for long, although he welcomed the coolness at the moment.

  A moment or two later, the caboose door opened and his heavy coat lined with sheep’s wool came flying out. He caught it before it could land in the snowdrift that stood as high as the platform he was on. Sloan took that to mean he’d just been evicted.

  Tess Whitgrove made him madder than a castrated bull at finding out with one cut of the knife he was now a steer. The high-spirited filly could be so pigheaded. He grinned.

  And so desirable.

  And kissable.

  Sloan groaned in frustration.

  While he pondered his predicament, the door to the passenger car eased slowly open so as not to make noise. The mysterious stranger, Deacon Brown, stepped out onto the landing. The surly man was so engrossed in making sure the door didn’t make a sound that he hadn’t noticed Sloan. Deacon jolted in surprise when his gaze swung around and slammed into Sloan’s.

  Sloan straightened away from the handrail where he’d propped himself. “Mind explaining
yourself, Mr. Brown? What are you doing out here?”

  “I was just . . . I was . . . I couldn’t sleep, so I came out to smoke.”

  “Likely story. Why is it that you’re always sneaking around this train?”

  Deacon’s eyes hardened into bits of black flint as he fished cigarette makings from his pocket. The red-bearded man made a big show of measuring tobacco onto a thin paper. He rolled the paper around the crushed leaves and licked the edge before twisting the ends and sticking it in his mouth. He reached inside his buffalo robe for a match. The odor of sulfur crossed the space between them when he struck it on the railing.

  Cupping his hands around the flame to protect it from the brutal wind, Deacon touched the match to the rolled cigarette before he spoke. “You don’t like me very much, do you, Sullivan?”

  Sloan snorted and slipped his arms into his coat. “And you figured that out all by yourself? I have nothing against an honest man. It’s sneaks and liars I have a problem with. I’ve met your kind before.”

  Deacon shrugged. “Reckon you can believe what you want. It’s a free country.”

  Sloan’s eyes narrowed. “That it is.”

  He didn’t buy the man’s story any more than he could dig out the train from its snowy bonds by himself. Deacon was a man with secrets and would rather lie than tell the truth. Sloan’s initial instincts about him hadn’t changed. In fact, they’d grown stronger with each passing moment.

  Deacon inhaled, then blew out smoke that got swallowed up in the night. “How’s the sick passenger?”

  “Is that why you’re out here? To check on Powell?”

  “I told you, I came out here to smoke.”

  “So you said. And you’re trying mighty hard to convince me that’s your reason. You’re a day late and a dollar short for that.”

  Silence reigned until Deacon finished his smoke. When the man turned to go back inside, Sloan followed on his heels, dusting the snow off his coat as he entered.