Walters lay half-conscious on the plank floor, and Brand strode back inside. “Charlie, I need a word with you.”
The colonel followed him to a quiet corner of the room and listened intently, his expression growing increasingly grim with every word Brand spoke in his ear. Finally he nodded.
“All right. Dammit all, sure am sorry about Marcy.”
“Give me ten minutes, Charlie. One dance, all right?”
“All right.”
Brand turned away and watched Suzannah across the room, dancing a Virginia reel with a lanky captain. He headed straight for her. He waited until she and her partner sashayed down the double row of couples and then he moved forward, elbowed the captain out of the line and stepped in to swing her in the center.
“Brand!” She went white, then rosy-cheeked. He grabbed her hands and they began circling.
“I’m cutting in,” he intoned. “Look natural.”
“But—”
They parted, each retreating back to the line of dancers, where they stared at each other across the expanse of polished wood flooring. The reel ended and he marched across the narrow space separating them.
The band struck up a slow two-step, and Brand pulled Suzannah into his arms. Her hair was caught up with a yellow ribbon; it smelled of violets.
“Brand...?”
“Don’t talk, Suzannah. Dance with me.”
He held her too close, but he didn’t care. She was warm and alive and he couldn’t have uttered another word if someone held a gun on him. He just wanted to hold her. Touch her.
“I want you to meet my fiancé,” she whispered.
“Already met him.” He sucked in a breath. “Don’t marry him, Suzannah.”
“But I’ve come all this way, nearly three thousand miles.”
“Doesn’t matter. He’s bad news.”
“Brand, it does matter. You don’t know him. Besides, I made a promise to marry John. A lady does not break a promise.”
“Break it anyway.”
She looked up into his face. “I cannot. People would know, and I would be ruined, don’t you see?”
“Nope. Women out here in the West don’t ruin so easily.”
“I cannot go back on my word. I simply cannot.”
“Yeah, you can. Nobody would know.”
“I would know.”
At that moment Lieutenant Walters reentered the ballroom, surreptitiously rubbing his jaw, and Colonel McLeod stepped to the refreshment table and rapped a spoon against a glass to quiet the crowd.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I have an announcement.”
Here it came. Brand pulled Suzannah tight against him, dropped his head to brush her hair with his lips and released her. Charlie would make sure John Walters did not desert her at the altar as he had Brand’s sister, Marcy. If she was still dead set on marrying the man, he could at least make sure Walters did not abandon her.
Charlie cleared his throat. “I have the pleasure of announcing the forthcoming marriage of Miss Suzannah Cumberland and Lieutenant John Walters. The ceremony will take place tomorrow morning, Christmas Day, at eleven o’clock in the post chapel.”
Lieutenant Walters sent the colonel a startled look. Amid the cheers and bustle, Brand caught Charlie’s eye and gave him a thumbs-up. It was a done deal. He’d protected Suzannah, but he felt lousy. Walters wasn’t worth her little finger.
Before the lieutenant could reach her, Brand bent his head and murmured near her ear, “I’m not leavin’ until this is over.”
She raised her head. “But why?” she whispered.
“Because I care about you, dammit. I care what happens to you.”
“Brand, would—would you give me away tomorrow? Please?”
He went dead inside. Give her away? That was the last thing, the very last thing, he wanted to do. He steeled himself to say no, but when she looked up into his eyes he couldn’t do it.
“Yeah, I’d like to talk you out of this, but if you’re really set on doing it, I guess I can walk you down the aisle.”
As soon as the words were out, he set her apart from him and headed for the whiskey.
* * *
Christmas Day dawned clear and cold, with blue skies and a hint of snow in the air. Suzannah dressed slowly, wondering why her favorite yellow dress, now her wedding-day dress, felt so heavy, as if it were made of woven iron.
Today was Christmas! The holiday she had loved since she was a girl, before the war. Good things happened at Christmastime, even miracles. Gifts were exchanged, and today promises would be made.
She shook the thoughts out of her head, stepped in front of the mirror to arrange her skirts and pinched her cheeks to add color. Then, with a funny, trembly feeling in the pit of her stomach, she opened the door, stepped out and paused at the head of the stairs.
“Oh, my dear,” Violet McLeod exclaimed. “You look perfectly lovely!”
Suzannah could only nod and press the woman’s wrinkled hand. Her throat had been so tight all morning she couldn’t speak, and now that it was almost time for the wedding, she had to admit she was frightened to death. Mama said all brides were nervous, but right now that didn’t help one little bit. She felt so fluttery inside she thought she would be sick.
But at least she would not have to face this alone—Brand would be there.
She picked up the bouquet Mrs. McLeod had cobbled together out of roses and honeysuckle and took one last look in the mirror.
Did all brides look this pale? Her eyes were huge, and they looked haunted somehow. She glanced quickly away and moved to the door.
Brand was waiting at the bottom of the staircase, wearing an army uniform. When she reached him, his smile seemed a bit lopsided.
“Thank you for being here with me,” she breathed.
He nodded, ran his gaze over her hair, her dress, on down to her shoes, and nodded again. “Suzannah, you look beautiful.” He bent his arm and lifted her hand into the crook of his elbow.
The post chapel was next door to the colonel’s residence. Very slowly Brand walked her to the entrance and paused at the door. He bent his head toward her.
“Don’t do this, Suzannah. Don’t throw your life away on this man.”
“I must,” she murmured. She forced herself to look down the aisle to the altar where John stood waiting with the chaplain. She did want to marry John, didn’t she? After all, she had come three thousand miles to do so. She must see it through.
“I guess I am ready,” she breathed.
“Well, I’m sure as hell not,” he replied. She tugged him forward and started down the aisle, her hand resting on his arm.
“Just give me a sign and I’ll stop this,” he murmured.
“No.”
“I have two horses saddled out front. Saddlebags and everything. Come with me.”
“I cannot.”
“Suzannah, I want you with me,” he breathed. “I’ll marry you if that’s the only way I can keep you.”
She bobbled her next step. “I cannot,” she repeated. “You know that.”
He took another step forward. “I love you, Suzannah. Never said that to a woman before, but I’m sayin’ it now. I love you.”
She bobbled that step, too. “Brand...stop.”
“No. I won’t stop. I’m fightin’ for my life here.”
Tears stung into her eyes. “I am f-fighting for my life, too.”
“No, you’re not. You’re runnin’ away from your life.”
She couldn’t have answered if she had wanted to. Her heart was splitting in two—one part was a woman who would be an army officer’s wife, and the other was a woman who would risk everything for love with an unpredictable, bossy, rough-edged man who didn’t know what he wanted in life.
They arrived at the altar, and he hesitated.
“Brand...Brand, you must let me go now.” She stepped forward, away from him, and turned to face John Walters. Brand saw with satisfaction that the lieutenant’s chin was cut.
; Brand couldn’t look at her. The chaplain cleared his throat. “Who gives this woman in marriage?”
Brand snapped his jaw shut and refused to answer. He’d be damned if he’d give her away like she was a sack of cornmeal.
The chaplain lifted his Bible. “Dearly beloved...”
Brand spun, retraced his steps back down the aisle and strode out the chapel door into the weak sunshine. He didn’t think he could stand watching Suzannah pledge to love and honor that man. He felt sick when he thought about it.
He sagged against the trunk of a poplar tree and waited for it to be over. Minutes went by.
He closed his eyes. More minutes went by.
How long did it take to get married, anyway? Sure wished he’d stuck a whiskey flask in his back pocket. His shoulder hurt where it pressed against the tree. Funny, he’d forgotten all about that bullet wound.
A bird started singing over his head. Sparrow, maybe. Pretty. Made his eyes sting.
And then there she was, standing in the chapel doorway in that yellow dress, looking so beautiful it made him crazy. She was clutching her flower bouquet.
He straightened and pushed away from the tree trunk.
She was alone. Had something gone wrong? He took a step forward, and suddenly she caught up her skirt and started toward him. He met her halfway.
Half laughing, half crying, she threw herself into his arms and kissed him hard. “Brand. Oh, Brand.”
“Suzannah,” he whispered against her lips. “Suzannah.”
“I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t marry him. I c-couldn’t because it’s you I want. And oh, Brand, could we leave right away?”
He swallowed hard, folded his arms around her and kissed her, then kissed her again. “Honey, this is one helluva fine Christmas gift we’re giving each other. All I’ve got is whiskey and jerky for the journey back.”
“I love jerky,” she said dreamily. “And I love you, Brand. Imagine that!”
“That’s good, because if you remember I only have one very small tent. Not really enough room for two.”
“I remember,” she sighed. “As I recall it was actually the perfect size.”
The chaplain appeared in the chapel doorway, his face puzzled, his Bible still clutched in his hands. He watched the two figures on horseback as they moved away from the fort and headed south, and then he smiled.
One horse was riderless, and on the other sat a man engulfed in a cloud of yellow silk. Then a wide-brimmed tan hat sailed up into the air over their heads, and laughter rose into the warm, sweet air.
* * * * *
The Cowboy of
Christmas Past
Kelly Boyce
For my sister Alyson—best bud, confidante, partner in crime and lover of all things Christmas. This one’s for you.
Author Note
When my editor asked me to take part in this year’s Christmas Anthology I was thrilled! I had never written a novella-length story before, but was up for the challenge. It helped that I actually wrote the story over the Christmas holidays—a little hard not to get into the spirit with Christmas carols and tree decorating going on!
The spark for Levi and Ada’s story came to me while trolling Pinterest (I do this a lot...). I came across a picture of a cowboy on a horse, head down, riding into a fierce snowstorm. I wondered what he was doing out in this storm. Surely, only the direst of circumstances would bring someone out in such weather. Which naturally led me to wondering what those circumstances were, and who was this guy, and where was he going? Or maybe more importantly, who was he going to? And why?
From there, the story of second chances unfolded and I enjoyed my holiday spent with The Cowboy of Christmas Past.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter One
Colorado, December 1876
The cold air bit into Levi, icy talons cutting through his sheepskin jacket, past the flannel shirt and underclothes he wore to slice at his skin. He urged his horse onward. The mare’s labored breathing gave credence to the pace he’d set and the length of time they’d been at it, but he had little choice. A storm brewed at his back and the injuries he’d incurred had done him no favors. He didn’t have much time left. If he didn’t find the cabin soon, he might as well have let the hungry bear finish him off.
“C’mon, Cleo. You make it up this last rise and I swear it’s a straight shot after that.”
The horse snorted its displeasure, and he couldn’t blame the mare. He hadn’t exactly planned on arriving at Ada’s doorstep half-dead when he set out on this journey. Originally, all he had wanted was to set eyes on her, see her one last time before he headed for Salvation Falls to start his life over now that his prison sentence had been commuted.
A prison sentence he never should have served.
But things had gone awry from the moment he arrived in Glennis Creek only to find she’d left town and moved up into the mountains after the death of her husband. Del at the livery wouldn’t tell him any more than that. Instead, the old coot had counseled him to quietly move on out of town before the folks heard of his unwanted return.
He’d complied. Fact was, if Ada wasn’t there, he had no reason to stay.
Widowed.
He shook his head. It changed nothing.
Liar.
The warm bundle hidden inside his jacket squirmed, interrupting his thoughts. A grunt escaped and pain shot through him like a jab from a hot poker as one little leg knocked against his wound. A couple hours’ ride out of town he’d found himself face-to-face with a rather ornery bear. Cleo had bucked him off and run—not that he blamed her. He’d have done the same thing. He’d barely had time to scramble to his feet before the bear’s sharp claws tattooed their intentions across the left side of his chest. His coat had taken the worst of it, but not all. It hurt like hell and wasn’t getting any better.
“Hold still, will ya? We’re almost there.”
At least he thought so. It had been a good eight years since he’d traveled this terrain. A good eight years since he’d traveled anywhere, for that matter. Unless one counted the times they let him out of his cell to feel the fresh air on his skin and stretch his legs. He pushed the thought away. He’d spent far too long living a life forced upon him by the lies of others. He wouldn’t give them another day.
Provided he had another day.
When he’d left prison ten days ago, he’d figured on heading to Salvation Falls, a burgeoning town with a rail stop. One of the men serving time with him had been from there. Abbott Connolly hadn’t lived long enough to see it again, but he’d painted a real pretty picture, and after eight years of staring at prison walls for a crime he hadn’t committed, Levi could do with something pretty to look at.
Maybe that explained why he’d headed for Glennis Creek instead. The prettiest thing he’d ever seen had been there, and some part of him that liked to rub salt in the wound wanted to see it one last time.
See her.
See what the years had done to her after he lost her to another man.
Levi pulled his glove off with his teeth and slipped a hand under his tattered coat to check his wound. Damp. He retracted his fingers, now tinged with his blood. He’d bled through his makeshift bandage.
He gritted his teeth and glared at the furry face that poked out from beneath the warmth of his coat. “Thanks.”
There was no accounting for how much blood he’d lost, but it had been enough to make his head woozy and his reflexes slow. If he didn’t find shelter fast, death would come courting and there wouldn’t be a thing he could do about it. Maybe he should welcome it, but he’d never quite gotten the hang of giving up, and he wasn’t up to learning anything new today.
The mare crested t
he hill and Levi’s body shuddered along with the horse. Not much farther now. He peered across the white expanse in front of him. In the distance, the peaks of the mountains jutted into the late-afternoon sky, streaked with purple and orange and mottled with ominous, dark clouds.
“I promise there is a warm barn waiting for you at the end of this.” He nudged Cleo with his heels and the mare reluctantly trudged on. They’d been riding for most of the day, first to Glennis Creek and then away. The ride up the mountain should have taken two hours at best, but the bear attack had waylaid him and after he managed to pick himself up and put himself back together, he had to track his horse through deep snow. He’d found her by the creek, none the worse for wear. Unlike him.
He’d pushed the horse to her limits and owed her a decent time to recuperate before heading on to his new life. A home where the view wasn’t restricted by metal bars and high walls. A decent job with a regular wage. Permanence. A house to call his own.
An empty house.
His jaw tensed and he shook the thought away, but the anger that came with it lingered. Nine years ago, he’d held all of those things in the palm of his hand. He’d turned over a new leaf, given up his outlaw ways, the only life he’d ever known. Told his pa to take his band of idiots and desperadoes and move on to another town without him. He’d wanted no part in it. Never had.
His pa hadn’t taken the news well.
You’d think after twenty-three years of living with the man he’d have caught on to the fact Delroy MacAllistair didn’t cotton much to being told what to do. Even less to having his only son turn his back on the family business. If one could call robbing and looting a business. His father had, but it had hardly been a lucrative one. It seemed they were always scrabbling to get by, dividing up the take between the group until there was barely enough left over to get a decent meal, a cheap bottle of whiskey and a roof over their heads. More often than not, Levi had spent his nights under a blanket of stars, shivering in the cold and damp and wishing for all he was worth for a home like regular folk. A place to put down roots and make a life.
Dreaming of a Western Christmas: His Christmas BelleThe Cowboy of Christmas PastSnowbound with the Cowboy Page 11
