A Western Christmas Homecoming: Christmas Day Wedding Bells ; Snowbound in Big Springs ; Christmas with the Outlaw

by Lynna Banning

  Why was she still angry with him after all this time? Didn’t she realize that she had deserved someone who was more her match? Someone stronger, with more grit than Timothy. Someone a heck more like himself. “If he had really wanted to stay, he would have.”

  “You’re implying I should be grateful that you whisked him away?”

  “Yeah. Maybe you should.” Tim was too easily swayed. She would have been bored after a month of marriage. Russ figured he’d saved her from a pile of grief and he wasn’t one bit sorry about it. “It proved his mettle.”

  A moment passed as she mulled over his words. “Teddy once said the same thing.”

  “There you go.”

  She met his gaze. “No one calls me Abby here. When we moved here, I asked Teddy to introduce me as Abigail. It’s more professional.”

  “Hmph. I like Abby.” She’d always be Abby to him.

  Amusement flashed in her eyes. “You would.” Then her entire demeanor softened as she lowered her shoulders. “I suppose I like it too. And, Russ...I’m glad you felt you could come to Teddy...come to us for help. Friends are...so very important.”

  As long as they don’t shoot you, he thought bitterly. How long had it been since then? “What day is it?”

  “Early Wednesday. Morning has just broken. I found you yesterday in our storage room.”

  Four days then. McCabe was shot on Saturday. Word would be out about him.

  She studied him, her dark brows knitting together. “The important thing now is that you are better. You are going to be all right.” She stood. “I’ll see to some breakfast for us.”

  He wasn’t used to having anyone worry over him—not since his own mother. Yet he couldn’t deny that it felt good to be among friends he could trust, friends who cared. “Sounds good. I’m starving.”

  A wry smile formed on her lips, revealing dimples on each cheek.

  He remembered those dimples. At thirteen, they’d been inconsistent with the rest of her sharp-edged personality and she hadn’t showed them much anyway. Now? Hmm...

  “Starving it is? Then you must be feeling better. Perhaps you won’t even mind my cooking.”

  How difficult could it be to whip together toast and eggs? “You’ve got to be teasing.” And then it struck him. Abby? Teasing?

  Her cheeks flamed pink. “No. Actually, I’m telling the truth.” She scooted from the room.

  * * *

  Abigail hurried down the stairs. She’d never had a conversation like that with Russ. Not ever. In the past he’d taunted her. It was a game he played very well and she’d been the one to lose. Every time. This...this had been different. He’d even owned up to his part in making her life miserable! Was it because he was sick now? Or had he changed?

  She stopped at the bottom of the stairs. Or...had the years changed them both?

  While she was frying two eggs, Teddy came in the back door, dropped his coat and hat on a chair and greeted her. He watched her for a moment. Did he notice her face? It still felt hot.

  “Is that for Russ? He’s awake?”

  “Yes.” She slid the eggs onto a plate and handed him the tray she had prepared. “Give him a chance to eat before you pester him with questions. Who knows how long it’s been since he had a decent meal. Besides, I want to hear what he has to say. I’ll be up as soon as I have a bite.”

  Fifteen minutes later, she entered the bedroom. From the sound of things, Teddy had been filling Russ in on his year of being married. The plate she’d sent up was empty.

  “More?” she asked.

  Russ shook his head. “But thanks. It was good.” His gaze remained on her a trifle longer than necessary before he looked back to Teddy. “Guess you both are wondering why I’m here.”

  “We’re interested in your version,” Teddy said. “Sheriff Baniff already let us know his.”

  “I’d hoped word hadn’t spread this far yet. Your sheriff is probably not like our marshal in Barton, but that doesn’t mean he won’t do his job by the book and send me back there.”

  “You don’t trust the man there?” Abigail asked.

  “He listens to the wrong people. And the wrong people—or person—has an iron grip on that town. All I could think about when I found out I was being arrested was to get away. I hopped the first train I could.”

  “Which happened to be heading this way,” Teddy said. “Tell us what happened. From your one letter, I thought you were set for life in the mining business.”

  Russ held his side, coughed and then winced. “That was what...three years ago? It was about the time Tim married and turned rancher. He sold his share of the mine to a man named Johnson and together Johnson and I started the Barton Silver Mining Company. A year later, Congress started buying and coining silver again. Things really took off then.”

  “I remember printing an article about that act,” Teddy said.

  “I went a little crazy at first. I’d never had a surplus of money before. I spent a lot of time in Denver enjoying...things. I rounded up investors so that I could get shelters built for the workers and their families and started up a company store. While I traveled, Johnson saw to the books and kept an eye on things at the mine.

  “Then six months ago, I heard about grumbling among the workers. Johnson said he’d implemented a few changes. He told me not to worry and that it would take time for the men to adjust. But things went from good to bad, and then to worse. I met with the foreman, Ben McCabe. He complained about the prices at the company store and the fact that the equipment was falling apart. He was plenty agitated. He threatened to talk to the newspaper.”

  “Was it true?” Teddy asked.

  “I told him I’d check on it when I got back from a trip I’d planned. That was a mistake. I shouldn’t have put it off. He went to the newspaper about things. Adding fuel to the fire, by the time I returned to Barton an accident had occurred that injured two workers. McCabe was in the office arguing with Johnson about it. Johnson had no intention of listening or changing anything. He taunted McCabe and McCabe rushed him. Johnson drew his gun and shot.”

  Russ shook his head. “It was murder. McCabe wasn’t armed. I said as much. Johnson turned to me and said he wasn’t going to hang for it. Then he shot me.”

  “If what you say is true,” Abigail asked, “how are you the one charged with murder?”

  “When I came to, Johnson was gone, his gun was in my hand and I was bleeding all over the floor. I got to my feet and headed to the doctor’s house. While the doc patched me up, I heard Johnson in the next room talking to the marshal. He mentioned my argument with McCabe and then he said I shot him. The marshal believed him. The minute the doc turned away, I took off and kept going until I ended up here.”

  Teddy ran a hand through his hair. “Well, this is a mess.”

  “It’s my mess. I’ll straighten it out. Just as soon as I’m strong enough. I should have seen it coming. I placed too much trust in Johnson.”

  Abigail had never known Russ to take the blame for anything. That alone made her trust his story. He wasn’t just Teddy’s friend. She wanted to help him. “I wish Mayor Melbourne could help you. He’s our attorney here.”

  He met her gaze. “I thought you wanted me out of here as fast as possible.”

  “You heard me?” She’d thought he was too out of it for her words to register. “I was frightened. All we’d heard from the sheriff was that you killed someone.”

  “I don’t want you in trouble on account of me. A few days. That’s all I ask and I’ll be gone.”

  “Where will you go?” she asked.

  “To Denver on the back roads. There’s a lawyer there I trust.”

  “Until then, you are welcome here.” Teddy stood. “I better get busy on Saturday’s paper.”

  Her brother left, and when she turned back to Russ, his eyes were drifting closed. Her
brother believed him, and as suspicious as she had been at first, she believed him too. She took his tray and headed down the stairs.

  Chapter Six

  Thursday morning, Abby appeared with a basin of warm water, soap, and a washcloth and towel. “I thought you might give this a try yourself.”

  Her cheeks held an interesting pink glow as she backed away from him. Abby? Embarrassed? She had bathed him before when he was ill, but now that he was conscious, she wouldn’t help? He found a certain humor in the whole thing.

  He sat up, bracing himself against the stab of pain he knew would come. It was duller than yesterday. He wrestled with his shirt, wincing once as he tried to free his arm of the sleeve. The effort exhausted him. The humor he’d found only moments before evaporated. He hated feeling weak. “A little help here?”

  She hesitated at first, but then stepped closer and helped him with his sleeve. When she had freed him of his shirt, he breathed a sigh of relief and flopped down again, closing his eyes.

  “Can you manage now?”

  He opened his eyes. She had inched toward the doorway. Her cheeks were now definitely red. The entire situation obviously flustered her.

  “What if I said I couldn’t?” The challenge slipped easily off his tongue.

  She frowned. “I’d say you were lying to me.”

  She reached into the water, grabbed the washcloth and threw it at him. It landed on his chest with a big sopping wet slap.

  “Oomph!” He jerked, doubling over and tightening his muscles as his wound rebelled in an explosion of red-hot pain. “Abby!” he gasped. “I was only teasing!”

  “As was I!” She turned and tromped down the stairs.

  He lay there, letting the pain subside, a bit stunned. What had just happened? Little Abby...still full of sass, but all grown up. A slow smile stretched his cracked lips.

  He squeezed the excess water from the washcloth and started in washing himself. It wasn’t the same as a good soak at a bathhouse, but he wasn’t complaining. In the end, he smelled a lot better than he had before. The activity wore him out. After that, he dozed.

  A few hours later, a man’s voice put him on alert—vaguely familiar, but not Ted’s. Abby entered the room and introduced the tall, dark-haired man beside her as Doctor Graham. He examined the wound and then redressed it, satisfied with the healing.

  “Thank you, Doc. For everything.”

  Graham leveled a look at him. “Gunshot wounds raise a lot of questions. Since the Whites have vouched for your character, I’ll keep quiet. However, if the sheriff asks about you, I won’t lie.”

  “Sounds fair enough.” Looked like he’d better get his strength back as fast as possible and get out of town before anyone else had a chance to discover his existence.

  A little after the noon hour, Ted brought him a meal of meatballs and noodles in a creamy sauce. “From my wife for Abigail. I brought extra for you.”

  “I think marriage agrees with you, my friend. You’ve got that satisfied look about you.”

  Ted grinned. “Best choice I ever made. You might like it yourself.”

  “I’m doing just fine on my own.”

  “Yes. I can see that. Shot up. Living off an old friend.”

  He let the jibe roll off his shoulders.

  Ted tossed two newspapers on the bed. “Thought you might want to catch up on things.”

  Looked like a Denver paper and an issue of the Gazette. “Thanks. Where’s Abby?”

  “She’s chasing a story idea for our Christmas edition.”

  Hmm. It would have been fun to tease her again, maybe ask her to read to him. “Would you have pen and paper? I need to post a letter.”

  “Is that wise, my friend?”

  “I’ll hold on to it. Maybe post it the day I leave for Denver.”

  Ted looked at him meaningfully. “And post it from a different town?”

  Right. Anything posted from here could put people here at risk. “All right.”

  Ted found some notepaper for him and then headed back down the stairs to work. Russ dug into the meal in front of him. He grabbed the Denver paper. Had news of his escape reached there? The paper’s date was a week before the trouble at the mine, so it was little help. Since news had made it to Oak Grove, he would have to assume that it had reached Denver and he’d count on a harder time getting to the attorney without being recognized.

  In the activity downstairs, he heard the squeak and groan of the printing press along with Ted occasionally giving direction to the boy, Jamie.

  Russ read for a while, and then dozed. Then he woke and wrote a short letter to the foreman’s widow telling her how sorry he was about her husband’s death. He wrestled with whether to tell her the truth and to warn her about Johnson. After hearing Johnson’s version of the incident, she probably wouldn’t believe him anyway. In the end, he decided that the less she knew, the safer she would be. He put a few bills in the envelope, vowing to himself to send more money when he could. He tucked the letter in his vest pocket for safekeeping.

  * * *

  Abigail attached the large red bow to the Gazette’s front door and stood back. “How is that?”

  “Better,” Patty said. “Now it looks ready for Christmas.”

  Abigail blew on her hands and then stuffed them into her rabbit fur muff. “Let’s go then. Lots to accomplish this afternoon.”

  Their first stop was in front of the mercantile, where they questioned neighbors who walked by about Christmas plans and hopes. Patty interviewed the children while Abigail listened and then suggested ways for her to phrase her questions for better results. The girl caught on quickly. With her outgoing personality, people eagerly responded.

  “Our last stop of the day,” Abigail said as they approached Mrs. Corwin’s small house. Jamie’s mother lived almost a mile from the town. A hound lay on the porch.

  Mrs. Corwin came to the door. Her red hair held streaks of gray, and her face was lined from the sun. “Oh, it’s you, Miss White...and Patty! Come in. Don’t let that fool dog in with you.”

  Once inside, Abigail pulled out her notepad. “Reverend Flaherty mentioned that you’ve had items disappear lately. Can you elaborate?”

  “Maybe you should ask Mrs. Eddy.” She sent a sharp look through the window to her neighbor’s house on the hill.

  “That is our next stop.”

  They spoke for a few more minutes and then said their goodbyes and headed to the widow Eddy’s. The dog took an immediate shine to Patty, limping along beside her.

  Mrs. Eddy poured tea and set out a plate of cookies for them.

  “These are scrumptious,” Patty said. “Would you share this recipe in the Christmas edition of the Gazette?”

  “Why, if you think people would enjoy it!”

  “Perhaps you could bake some for the Christmas Party,” Abigail suggested. “You are planning to come, aren’t you? Jamie could drive you and his mother into town.”

  Mrs. Eddy’s gracious attitude soured immediately. “We don’t socialize. Not since she accused my goat of stealing her things!”

  Before long, Abigail and Patty headed back to town.

  “What a waste!” Patty said. “Three years and the feud is still going on. Those two could be keeping each other company, especially in the winter. Christmas is the perfect time of year to forgive old hurts.”

  Abigail remained silent. How could she respond when she’d held her grudge against Russ for five years? Had she been as unbending and unforgiving as the two women? The thought made her uncomfortable.

  When they arrived at the fork in the road, Patty surprised her with a brief hug before departing toward home. She was the most demonstrative girl Abigail had ever known. But the hug felt nice, and not nearly as awkward as the first time she’d done it.

  Chapter Seven

  Dusk approached, and R
uss heard the door bells jangle. Then Abby spoke to Ted, her voice muffled. Odd, how he anticipated seeing her, even more so after her display of spirit that morning. Now that he felt better, he realized there had been many times over the past few days that he’d woken and she was sitting by his bed, reading or writing. Guess he’d gotten used to having her around.

  When she entered his room, she had a package tucked under one arm, which she held out to him.

  “A present?” He worked his way into a sitting position. Then he tore off the tan paper wrapping, revealing a crisp new carefully folded shirt.

  She slid into the bedside chair. “I knew I wouldn’t be able to get all the blood and dirt out of your old shirt and I didn’t want to take it to the laundry. Someone might question that bullet hole.”

  “Where did this come from?”

  “The seamstress in town.”

  “Wasn’t she curious why you’d want a man’s shirt?”

  “I told her it was for Teddy and that he’d been complaining that his old ones were too tight.”

  That surprised him. Lying wasn’t in her rule book. It was one of the things he’d respected about her. “Thought you hated lies—even little white ones.”

  “I do. But Teddy has been complaining. He is gaining weight on Hannah’s good cooking. However, he is in need of shirts with more room around the middle. I asked her to make this one larger at the shoulders. You’ll have to try it on to see if she got it right.”

  “I’ll pay you back. I promise.”

  Her deep brown eyes held his as she leaned forward. “I don’t care about the money. Just clear your name, Russ. That’s more important than anything else. You don’t deserve to be on the run the rest of your life.”

  That wouldn’t happen. He wouldn’t run. He’d face his accuser, and he’d either get his life back or he’d hang. “I don’t deserve to be at the end of a rope either.”

  “I would never want that.”

  Her words, her earnest tone, jolted him. “You believe me—that I’m innocent,” he said in wonder. “Now there’s a miracle.”