Dreaming of a Western Christmas: His Christmas BelleThe Cowboy of Christmas PastSnowbound with the Cowboy

by Lynna Banning

  All they needed was music.

  Or maybe not. Joe began to hum a toe-tapping tune.

  Then he whisked her inside the stable door.

  With a long, lingering gaze at her mouth, he unbuttoned the coat behind her. His lips passed within inches of hers when he peered over her shoulder in order to see what he was doing.

  She inhaled the scent of his breath, then as quick as that, he stepped away.

  “I’ll milk the cow,” she said because she needed to do something other than stare at his lips and imagine the kiss that might have happened with the two of them standing bow to button.

  That kiss, she guessed, would have changed her life.

  Some things happened that way. On the surface commonplace, but once experienced they would take a lifetime to forget.

  “Better warm your hands by the stove first so you don’t make the poor critter bolt.”

  Joe opened the stove door, added two logs. Once again, she was grateful for him being here. Left on her own, she didn’t know what she would have done. The poor beasts would have been cold and hungry...the cow in misery for want of milking.

  With her hands warmed, she took the milking stool from the wall, set it beside the cow, then sat down.

  Joe mucked out the horse’s stall.

  “I’m sorry you lost your folks, Joe.” She was not truly prying into his private business since Maudie had blurted out that he was an orphan. She could hardly ignore the fact.

  He nodded. “I was nine when a fever took them both. Luckily, Cornelia Landon found me. As fiercely as I missed my own ma, there were only a couple years of my life that I lacked a mother’s care. Cornelia was everything my own mother would have been, and I love her all the more for it.”

  “I only hope the children find someone like her.”

  Joe worked around her, raking the cow’s stall. In a few moments the stable smelled of fresh hay and straw.

  “I’ll need to get to town as soon as the weather allows...report the wagon accident to the sheriff.”

  “I think there’s some snowshoes behind all that rubble in the corner.”

  A selfish part of her wished that the snow would last for a long time and that he would be forced to spend Christmas with them.

  Mentally, she shook herself for wanting to play house with Joe. The storm would end and he would go home to his ranch. Daydreams would not do her or the children a lick of good.

  She realized music was filling the barn. Joe was playing a harmonica...a decent rendition of “Here We Go A-Wassailing.”

  The tune was lively. Sitting on the stool, she could not help but tap her toe...to pull on the cow’s udders in time with the music.

  With each note, she timed a stream of milk into the pail.

  Behind the harmonica, she saw Joe’s lips curve in a grin.

  “Here we go a-wassailing...” she sang, because it was nearly Christmas and she had yet to sing out in the spirit of the season.

  One should not become so caught up in worry that one forgot to live the joy each day brought. And since Joe arrived, there had been an abundance of joy.

  Without missing a note, Joe reached one hand toward her.

  This was one moment that she would celebrate the joy.

  She rose from the stool and touched his hand. His palm felt rough, warm as it curled around her fingers.

  He twirled her about, making her skirt swirl wide around her ankles. She dipped to a curtsy, then rose when he slid his hand about her waist and drew her back up.

  She sang and he played. If she had spent a happier interlude, she could not recall it.

  Twirl, two-step, prance from one end of the stable to the other, laugh, then pick up her song. Before she knew it, she was breathless and her hair had come undone. It bounced merrily down her back and over her chest.

  She noticed Joe looking at it. Maybe she ought to tuck it back up, but truthfully, it gave her a delicious shiver knowing that he was looking.

  His steps slowed, then stopped. He tucked the harmonica into his shirt pocket.

  He touched a wave at her temple, followed the curve of the strand with the backs of his fingers, over her collarbone to the upper curve of her breast.

  He stopped there, but let his hand linger, sifting her hair between his thumb and finger.

  The pressure of his knuckles against her chest riveted her attention in a way it had never been riveted.

  “I like you, Mary.”

  “I like you, too, Joe.”

  The glimmer in his eyes kept the tune going in her mind even though she had quit singing.

  “May I kiss you?” he asked.

  That would be a mistake. She shook her head. No, most definitely not... “Yes.”

  His lips came down upon hers, sweet...tender. For some reason her mind brought up an image of a snowflake settling on a red rose.

  She lifted up on her toes, wrapped her arms around his neck, answering his kiss. The snowflake in her mind melted, dripped down the rose petal with a sizzle.

  Chapter Five

  The clock downstairs chimed midnight. Ready for bed but unable to sleep, Mary sat at her vanity while she brushed her hair one hundred strokes, then, absently, one hundred more.

  She’d gone and done it now. Tasted forbidden fruit.

  The memory of Joe’s kiss would follow her about like a ghost for a very long time, maybe even forever. No doubt, she would be going about her life, mending a sock or hanging out laundry, then, boo! There he would be haunting her...making her wish for a life that could never be.

  Some pages were better left unturned, she had always believed, and now she knew why she believed it.

  From now until her dying day she would be feeding off a memory.

  “But it can’t be denied,” she said to the confused-looking woman staring back at her. “That if one must feed off a memory, better a sweet one than a bitter one.”

  In the mirror’s reflection, she saw her bedroom door open.

  “Miss Mary.” Maudie stood in the doorway clutching her rag doll tight to her chest. “I’m scared of the wind.”

  And who would not be? The snow had quit an hour ago, but the wind screamed about the house like a banshee gone berserk.

  It was reassuring to know that Joe slept on the couch with Amelia beside him in the cradle.

  She opened her arms. Maudie rushed forward and she scooped the child up. Standing, she twirled about then toppled with her onto the bed.

  “Would you like to sleep with me tonight?”

  “I could pretend you are my ma.”

  Snuggling Maudie close, she drew the blankets about them.

  Mary’s heart ached for them both. If she had a future to offer the child, she would do more than pretend. “Yes, my princess. For tonight I’ll be your ma and you’ll be my little girl. But only for tonight. You know I can never really be. You need both a ma and a pa.”

  “Mr. Joe could be my pa and you could be my ma.”

  Wind shook the window in its frame. Maudie shivered so Mary hugged her tighter.

  “Close your eyes, sweetheart,” she said, kissing the soft hair that tickled her nose. “I’ve got you.”

  But for how long? Until the next Blankford came along?

  If Mary, a woman grown, felt the haunting need for a simple kiss, how much more must this little girl feel the need for the love of a family?

  It only took a moment for Maudie’s breathing to change to the slow, even pace of slumber.

  Mary prayed herself to sleep, asking for a Christmas miracle that would give Maudie and the other children families to love them.

  * * *

  Strapping on the snowshoes, Joe wasn’t sure what was more challenging, the blinding snow of yesterday or the piercing wind that blew this morning.

  In the end, it didn’t matter. His business with the sheriff could not be put off another hour.

  He squared his shoulders, then set off toward town, but even his buffalo hide coat didn’t keep him from shivering.


  Still, all he had to do was remember Mary tucked inside his coat...the slide of her appealingly round body against him...relive her kiss and, howdy-do, that would at least keep his mind warm for the trek to town.

  There was something about her...sweetness, a quick sense of humor and yet deep concern for the welfare of needy children. Miss Mary Blair was a woman of uncommon inner beauty. And she had shown all this to him in that kiss. He’d tasted the very spirit of her.

  He had to admit that she had shaken him, left him sleepless all night long. No kiss had ever moved him that way.

  That had to mean something...to his life...for his future.

  Couldn’t figure why that should be so, since he’d only known her a few days.

  He nearly stumbled over the snowshoes when it occurred to him that his mother hadn’t known him at all when she’d brought him home, and yet they had loved each other from the very first hour.

  He’d always been so cautious with his feelings, his commitments. Even with the women he had courted, he’d stopped short of fully giving away his heart.

  Scarred by grief at a young age was what his mother feared. She had cautioned him on more than one occasion that he might be so determined to avoid loss that he would never have anything to lose.

  He reckoned she might be right, but then again, maybe it came down to neither Veronica nor Adele being the right woman for him.

  Their kisses had been pleasant, but they’d never left him sleepless.

  As much as he wanted to keep warm by dwelling on Mary’s lips, the reason for his trip to town pressed upon him.

  Once in town proper, he was surprised to see folks out and about. Life in Willow Bend went on in spite of the weather.

  It was with some relief that he found the sheriff sitting in his office, a fire blazing in the stove and a pot of coffee on the boil.

  “Landon,” he said, rising from his chair behind the desk. “What brings you into town in this weather? How’s your ma and your brother?”

  “I’m here on ranch business, and the family is doing well.”

  The sheriff poured him a cup of coffee, then they sat across the desk from each other.

  Joe told him what he had found in the snow and about Amelia.

  “I know the family,” Sheriff Burtrand said, his bushy brows drawn. “Newcomers. Woman was real nice. Her husband wasn’t a bad sort, but headstrong as a goat. When he took a notion into his head, no amount of arguing good sense could keep him from acting on it. Must be why he took his family and headed out with a blizzard coming on. It was a lucky thing for that baby that you also lacked the common sense to stay at home.”

  Hell, ranch business was ranch business, and it needed doing, but he sure as shootin’ would not have taken a wife and baby along.

  “Do you know if Amelia has other kin who might want her?” he asked.

  “Poor mite...not that they ever spoke of. Won’t take long to get her placed, though, being a baby and with Christmas upon us.”

  All of a sudden Joe’s coffee turned on him. He had spent a good amount of time caring for Amelia and the thought of handing her over to some stranger didn’t set well.

  Damned if he didn’t want her for himself...to bring her home to Ma and Clay!

  As far as that thinking went, he couldn’t help but imagine Ma’s joy if he were to bring home all the orphans.

  But they weren’t stray puppies or kittens to be brought home willy-nilly. Orphans deserved two parents.

  “How have things been at the parsonage?” Burtrand refreshed Joe’s coffee, then his own. “No trouble with Blankford?”

  “Would there be?”

  “Depends on whether he’s sober or not. I got a lot of complaints about him riding out the blizzard at the saloon.”

  “But why would he cause trouble?”

  “He wants little Maudie. Says she reminds him of the girl he lost. Now, with his wife gone, he wants the child bad. To my mind, what he really wants is someone to do for him. He’d work that little girl to the bone. He was hopping mad when the reverend turned him down for adoption. Between the two of us, Joe, I don’t think he’s right in the head.”

  Joe turned hot and cold all at once. The papa bear inside him rose up on hind legs, fur bristling and teeth bared.

  “I’d better get back.”

  “How long are you planning to stay around?”

  “I was going home tomorrow, but it looks like I ought to stay until Reverend Brownstone gets back.”

  “I’m not saying Blankford would cause trouble, but I will sleep better knowing you’re there.”

  “The sooner I take care of my business at the bank, the quicker I can get back to the parsonage.”

  He turned to walk toward the door, jittery nerves making him want to run. On the way back, those snowshoes were going to feel like fifty-pound weights.

  “Hold up a minute,” the sheriff said. “There’s a bag of toys and such that the townsfolk collected for the orphans. It’ll save me a trip if you take them with you.”

  Burtrand went into a back room, then returned with a bulging gunnysack and handed it to him.

  Joe slung it over his shoulder and nodded his thanks.

  The playthings inside would keep the children busy on Christmas morning. Unfortunately, he knew from experience that once the fun wore off, they would still be longing for homes of their own.

  * * *

  Mary was falling in love. Sitting in the chair by the fire, she rocked Amelia and watched her nap. Her heart swelled. It also ached.

  Her love for this baby could only be temporary. She stroked Amelia’s plump pink cheek and hummed “Silent Night.”

  The irony hit her all of a sudden and she had to laugh. There was nothing silent going on in this house.

  With Christmas a few days away, Joe had decreed that it was time to bring home a tree, and it had been bedlam ever since.

  Lovely bedlam, though, with the boys hopping about, running up and down the stairs, whooping and knocking over the coat rack in their eagerness to get out the door.

  Finally, with the last male rushing out of the house, things grew suddenly quiet.

  Maudie, domestic to the bone, had decided to stay and bake Christmas treats for the boys when they returned.

  What a lovely life this would be if it were real.

  She shook herself, adjusting her thoughts.

  This was real—just real for the moment. Moreover, many people did not even have this.

  “You are blessed beyond belief,” she whispered.

  For a barren woman to have the opportunity to love and tend children was a wonderful thing.

  “Maudie?” she called. “Let’s get to making those treats so the boys can have something to warm them when they get back with the tree.”

  Maudie spun away from the window, where she had been watching Joe and the boys walk toward the woods.

  “You could have gone with them,” Mary said, wondering if Maudie might regret her decision to stay.

  She shook her head, curls bouncing about her face. “I used to watch Mama make Christmas treats. She liked to sing when she did it.”

  “Let’s go into the kitchen, Miss Maudie, and have a fine time.” She reached out her hand and the little girl ran to her.

  She could only hope that Maudie’s mother was looking down and that she was happy to see her daughter smiling.

  In the kitchen she set Amelia in the cradle near the stove. She gathered flour, eggs and the rest of what they would need.

  A cloud must have passed across the sun, for the light in the room suddenly dimmed.

  Odd, it had been a perfectly clear day. She turned to look out the window.

  The sky was bright blue. Evidently the cloud had sailed harmlessly on and they could count on good weather for the rest of the day.

  “What shall we sing, Miss Maudie?”

  “Angels we have heard on high,” she began in a fresh youthful voice.

  “Sweetly singing o’er the plains,�
� Mary joined in.

  The back door opened with a crash.

  “I come for my girl.”

  Chapter Six

  Joe and the boys had cut down a tall, beautifully limbed tree. Truth to tell, he’d had as much fun in the picking as they had...and it couldn’t be denied that he had been the one to want the ten-foot-tall fir.

  Looking at it now, being towed home by his horse, he only hoped it would fit in the house without too much trimming.

  A finger of guilt poked his gut, because he ought to be back at the ranch hunting up a Christmas tree with his brother, Clay. But he couldn’t ignore the duty he had here to watch over the children and Mary.

  Everything else came second to that.

  And he’d had a spitting good time with the boys...more fun than he could recall having in a very long time.

  “Somebody left the kitchen door open,” Dan remarked.

  “Maybe Mary burneded our cookies, Pa,” Caleb whined in distress.

  Apparently, it wasn’t burned cookies that distressed the dog. All of a sudden he growled, bolted, then tore across the snow toward the house.

  “Wait here, boys!” Joe called out behind him while he sprinted after the dog.

  At the kitchen door he saw the wet tracks that the dog’s paws left on the floor, along with those from a pair of big boots.

  “Back up,” he heard Mary order from the parlor, her voice low, firm. “I don’t want to hurt a drunk, but I’ll run you through and don’t think I won’t.”

  “I’ve flattened heftier women than you...better armed ones, too.”

  Barreling out of the kitchen, Joe took in the scene at a glance—Mary halfway up the stairway with a bread knife gripped in her fist, the blade reflecting a bolt of sunshine streaking through the parlor window. Behind her, Maudie holding Amelia, both of them crying. Bounder-Rover in front of them all, teeth bared and snarling.

  Joe launched at Blankford’s back, tackled him around the hips and yanked. In a commotion of flailing limbs they rolled down the stairs.

  Blankford was bigger than he was, but older and drunk. It only took a shift and a thump to get the fellow belly down with his arms pinned up behind his back.

  Glancing up, he noticed Dan standing nearby holding a long dishcloth.