Western Christmas Brides

by Lauri Robinson

  And now she was whimpering into his shirt.

  “Would you like for me to hold her again?” The matronly woman sitting on the other side of the aisle reached out her arms. “Sometimes a baby just needs to be held by a woman.”

  This seemed to be true with his niece. During the two months that he had been her guardian, he’d seen her calm to a woman’s touch even if she didn’t know the lady at all. For some reason, women were always eager to help him with her.

  “Many thanks,” he said, then placed Emmie into her comfortable-looking arms. “Again.”

  It was hard to say who was more comforted by the embrace, Emmie or the woman. Within moments they were both dozing, gray head bent to chestnut brown.

  Maybe Kit and his brother had been held that way by their mother at one time, but he sure couldn’t remember the occasion. Wilson claimed to remember it—on the night she abandoned them at an orphanage. What Kit remembered was that Mama was laughing and leaning on the arm of some strange man when she walked away.

  Growing up in an orphanage had been hard on Wilson. He was always pushing at the rules. One night when Kit was thirteen and Wilson fifteen, they ran away and joined up with a circus, which suited Wilson fine, but Kit didn’t care for it. When Kit was seventeen, he joined an acting troupe, which was a little more respectable than the circus.

  Over the years before he’d died, Wilson had kept in touch, often because he needed to be bailed out of some scrape or another.

  Neither Kit nor Wilson ever saw their mother again. Word was that she had come looking for them, but they had been gone a year by then.

  Shaking his head, he laid his mother’s memory to rest—or rather, the lack of her memory.

  Kit opened the book again, thumbed to the chapter titled “Herding Cattle.”

  As an actor, he’d played a cowboy many times, and indeed he’d often dreamed of being a real one. He knew the swagger and the drawl. “Howdy, ma’am” was nearly second nature to him. But getting a cow to do what he wanted it to? That was going to take some research—and practice.

  The problem was, Miss Olivia York was expecting a man of experience.

  He’d assured her that he could clean a barn, tame a wild horse and build a fence—all in a good day’s work.

  And he’d done all those things in Cody Billings of Montana. He’d known every line of that play; the character was a part of him—too bad he didn’t know how to build a real fence.

  He knew it was wrong as can be to lie to Miss York. But he was certain he could learn all those things—he had a book and was a quick study.

  Miss York needed a ramrod and Emmie needed a home. So Kit, known last week as Burton Kitson James, had quit acting and begun life as a cowboy.

  Well, he hadn’t really begun as yet, but he soon would and he’d make sure his boss lady was not disappointed.

  With any luck she would not notice that he was book-learned. He’d do his best to put on a good show. If she discovered his lie she’d send him packing quick as the swish of a horse’s tail.

  She would notice Emmie, though. He hadn’t mentioned he had a three-year-old during their correspondence.

  The decision to keep her a secret was as rash as any his late brother had ever made, but Kit had worried that he might not get hired with a young child in tow. Emmie needed a home. He needed a job. A sweet little ranch would give his niece the security she deserved.

  If he made himself indispensable to the ranch, pleased Miss York with his hard work, perhaps he would keep this job for many years.

  “Building fences,” he muttered, then flipped the well-worn pages to that chapter.

  Chapter Two

  “Old Blue’s a finicky cuss.”

  Livy laughed because Sam made the pronouncement the same as Pa would have to the many horses they used to have on the ranch, just in a higher voice.

  Unlike Pa, though, Sam thought it was funny that the animal refused to move.

  It might have been funny if they weren’t still a good distance from home and if the temperature hadn’t dropped to well below freezing.

  “Have your own way,” she said to the animal, then dismounted. “Let’s see if he’ll walk with only you on his back, Sam.”

  With a tug on the reins and an encouraging click of her tongue she led the horse forward...two steps.

  “Come on, Old Blue. Sam can’t weigh much more than forty pounds.” Clearly, that was forty pounds more than the critter wanted to carry. “I’ll light the stove in the barn first thing when we get home.”

  Old Blue shook his head, jangled the reins.

  “That means no,” Sam clarified.

  “There’s no help for it. We’ll have to walk.” She lifted Sam from the saddle, ducking her head this way and that to avoid the poke of the pine needles on the severed Christmas-tree branch that her brother had insisted on dragging home.

  The blamed critter followed along without hesitation now that no one was riding him.

  Brrr! Cold seeped through her boots and up her legs. It wouldn’t take long for Sam’s small feet to be at risk of frostbite.

  Heavy clouds threatened overhead. They had come as a surprise since the day had been clear. An icy wind blew them in quicker than anyone could have predicted.

  “Let’s hurry!”

  Seeing a snowflake, Sam snaked out his tongue and caught it.

  “Snow’s coming, Livy!”

  Clearly, to a four-year-old boy snow was fun. To his twenty-two-year-old sister, it was as dangerous as a striking rattler.

  “I’ll have to carry you,” she said, winding the horse’s reins around her wrist and reaching down to lift up her brother. “I don’t want your feet getting wet.”

  “I’m too big!” he complained but allowed her to pick him up.

  He wrapped his arms around her neck and clamped his legs about her waist. Every few steps she had to adjust his weight. He really was too big to be carried and continually slipped over the curve of her hip.

  “You’ll have to drop the branch.”

  “I want it.”

  “My back is hurting, Sam. Please just put it down.”

  “No! It’s for Ma and Pa.” His voice cracked. His small chest hitched.

  Livy’s back ached, her muscles screamed and even her teeth began to clack. She could not imagine carrying her brother all the way home. But she could not put him down and have his feet get wet in the quickly mounding snow.

  “How’s your coat? Still dry?”

  Sam shook his head. “I’m cold.”

  Apparently, they were going to die three miles from home because of a finicky horse and a branch that her brother refused to leave behind.

  But—was that the jangle of tack she heard? The creak of wagon wood?

  She spun about, spotted a man urging his team through shifting drifts of snow.

  Bundled in heavy clothes, with a Stetson pulled low over his face, she did not recognize him.

  Still, she had never been more relieved to see anyone—stranger or not.

  When the wagon drew to a stop beside her she noticed that he carried a blanket in front of him. Yes, a wriggling blanket with a spray of brown curls bubbling out of the top.

  “Howdy, ma’am.” The stranger’s voice sounded smooth, pleasing and friendly. She felt warmer already. “Your horse come up lame?”

  “Came up stubborn, more like it.”

  The man thumbed his Stetson back on his forehead, revealing his eyes.

  Oh...well...my goodness, they are arresting. She needed to say something quick so he didn’t wonder why she stared at him as though she had just been struck by Cupid’s arrow.

  Wasn’t that the most foolish thought to ever invade her mind? It was Edwina who used to go on about love at first sight and all kinds
of like nonsense. Of course, Edwina had never been left under a walnut tree waiting for a kiss.

  But really, staring into those rich brown eyes made her feel like she’d just indulged in a pound of butter.

  Well, she doubted she was the first woman to go dumb at the sight of them and she certainly would not be the last.

  Besides, if a woman had to be rescued, wasn’t it nice to have it done by an attractive fellow? Why, this was nearly like a fairy tale.

  And while she stood here speechless, it occurred to her that kissing him would be even nicer than kissing Frank Gordon had been.

  “I wonder if you might be Miss Olivia York? If you are, I’m your new hired man.”

  My word!

  * * *

  Kit paused with his hand on the barn door, glancing back at a large space. For all its size he didn’t notice any drafts seeping through the timber walls. There must have been a lot of livestock boarded here once.

  Now that he’d lit the stove on the north wall and the one on the south, the place was snug, cozy even.

  His horse seemed content, munching hay beside his boss lady’s stubborn old nag. The chickens, roosting in their coop, didn’t seem to mind the sound of the wind whistling under the eaves.

  During his time on the road with the traveling show, he’d stayed in far worse places than this.

  The bedding in the loft was clean and fresh smelling. He couldn’t complain about it. It was a nice space for a man on his own.

  But there was Emmie to be considered. The drop from the loft to the barn floor had to be ten feet or more. Far enough that it would keep him restless all night long.

  That was as far as his complaints went. He and Emmie had a warm place to bunk down and he was mighty grateful for it. He couldn’t help but shiver, worrying about other folks who might be caught out on the road in the unexpected snowfall.

  With a sigh of relief, but a concerned glance back at the loft, he opened the door, bent his head against the wind and pushed toward the ranch house.

  White gusts blew sideways, twisted and swirled. All that was visible of the house was a vague outline of the roof.

  Before he could lift his hand to rap on the door, it swung open. Miss York handed him a steaming mug while he kicked the snow from his not-yet-broken-in boots.

  “I hope you like hot cocoa,” she said, leaning against the door and closing it behind him.

  He preferred coffee but—

  Hell—Miss Olivia York was every bit as beautiful as he’d imagined she was under that big furry hat. She had a smile as warm and welcoming as the drink she had just placed in his hand.

  Blamed if she was anything like he’d imagined on the train ride here. For some reason he’d pictured her as an older lady, probably a spinster no longer capable of keeping up her land—or her spread, as Cody Billings would have phrased it.

  It wasn’t a hardship that she was not a spinster—that her pretty brown eyes crinkled at the corners in welcome. Nope, he didn’t mind that one bit.

  “I likes cocoa, Uncle Kit.” Emmie, sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace with a boy not a whole lot older than she was, grinned at him. A chocolate halo circled her mouth.

  “I hope you don’t mind her having it, but I think we all needed a good warming.”

  Sure were a lot of things he didn’t mind just now. Being in a snug little house with a woman who looked sweeter than a Christmas sugarplum was one of them.

  “Supper won’t be ready for an hour, so make yourself comfortable.” Miss York nodded toward the couch facing the fireplace.

  When was the last time he’d stayed anywhere besides a hotel or a rented room? The house might be a humble place, but it was warm and happy.

  Love lived here. He felt it coming from the timbered walls, smelled it wafting from the kitchen that his boss had just bustled into.

  The couch sure did look inviting, but not more inviting than Olivia York’s smile.

  He followed the swish of her skirt and a slight fragrance of vanilla into the kitchen.

  “I just want to say, ma’am...”

  She was bent over, poking at something in the stove. Her hips moved and her skirt shimmied with the effort. His mouth went dry and he forgot what it was he wanted to say.

  She straightened, turned to look up at him, her head tipped just so.

  “I appreciate you hiring me on.” Cody had said that once, and the next line had been—what—something? It was too provocative, as he recalled.

  “Well, I just want to thank you.” This was his own line, spoken with complete sincerity.

  He only hoped she did not discover who he really was.

  “I didn’t know you had a child, Mr. James.”

  “Emmie is my niece, my late brother’s girl.” Here was where she would send him packing. Who could blame her? How was a hired man to get his work done with a little one underfoot? “I should have made you aware of her, I know.”

  “It does change things a bit, I’ll admit.”

  He held his breath while she gazed out the window at the snow.

  Hopefully, Miss York was as kind as her sweet expression indicated she was. He sent up a prayer that she would let them stay on until Christmas. It would break his heart if Emmie had to spend the holiday in a rented room. This was, for all intents and purposes, her first one. His brother had never understood the importance of celebrating the day.

  Poor Emmie didn’t even know who Santa was until last week.

  “The barn isn’t fit for a child.” Miss York turned. She stared up at him, biting her bottom lip and frowning. “And I doubt if she will feel comfortable being separated from you.”

  She blinked, then looked suddenly away from him. In a whisper of petticoats she walked to the kitchen door. Her gaze settled on the children, soft and indulgent.

  “There’s an extra room down the hall that will suit much better—for the both of you.”

  “Again, I’m mighty grateful.”

  “As am I.” She leaned her shoulder against the doorjamb, tapping two slender fingers on her bosom while she watched the children laughing at the drip of chocolate dribbling down the boy’s chin.

  She glanced quickly at him then away. The ghost of an expression in her eyes made him feel unsettled. Must be his imagination, though. She’d just offered him a room in the house.

  “Our parents passed away a little less than a year ago. It’s good to see Sam being silly.”

  “I’m deeply sorry for your loss, Miss York.”

  “Yes, well, love does go on regardless of what sort of separation it is, don’t you believe?”

  “It’s only been a couple of months since my brother died, but yes, I still feel him.”

  “I think that since we are going to be sharing a roof for a while, you ought to call me Livy. Everyone in town does.”

  For a while? He hoped she meant a long while. He’d have to do his best to make his services indispensable. Emmie needed a steady home, not a constant change of location. He’d seen firsthand, experienced it even, what happened to children raised on the road. That was not a future he wanted for his niece.

  Besides that, he’d noticed that Livy’s pretty hands were chafed, redder and rougher than they ought to be. His job as her ramrod would be to take over much of the work she was apparently doing.

  He would take pride in earning his money in that way.

  “Lovely name, Livy. I’d be obliged if you called me Kit.”

  She smiled. He smiled back. Then something happened that he couldn’t quite understand—a quiver in his chest that he’d never felt before—a sense that they would always be together.

  She cocked her head at him. The shadow of a frown dipped her brows. Her sweet smile turned baffled looking. Could it be that she’d also felt a tug of des
tiny?

  Could it be that the romantic aspect of his nature, the one that had led him into acting, was imagining the spark between them? Creating drama where there was none?

  Perhaps the sensation was simple gratitude because he and Emmie had a roof over their heads, one that he wanted to keep for a good long while.

  But then again, he’d felt gratitude for many things in his life—this was different.

  He was pretty damn sure there had been a spark.

  Chapter Three

  It was late. The children were sleeping.

  Time to get to work. Luckily, the storm had moved on as quickly as it had blown in.

  Closing the front door behind her, Livy could see the barn bathed in moonlight—all pretty and snow spangled. She walked toward it, thinking that a fresh downfall made the world glitter—just like Christmas made one’s soul glitter.

  Just like having a handsome man in the house made a girl’s heart glitter, or that was how it felt.

  What a shame it was that after he made the ranch presentable enough for Edwina’s visit, she would have to let him go.

  After coming into the barn, she leaned against the door to close it, took a deep breath then sighed.

  Something tender had happened earlier. It had happened when Kit said, “Livy.” It seemed that he was suddenly no longer a stranger—like he had never been a stranger.

  That was odd.

  Even odder, she had the distinct feeling that her father had been standing behind Kit, grinning with his hand on Kit’s shoulder.

  This was confusing.

  Luckily, washing laundry was not.

  She lit a fire under her laundry kettles then went to get acquainted with Kit’s horse while the water came to a simmer.

  This barn used to be full of horses. Selling them was how Pa had kept his family clothed and fed. It hadn’t been a grand business like some were, but they had gotten by.

  “I’m glad you came along when you did.” She stroked the animal’s mane, ran her fingers along his muscled neck. “I sure do hope your master is good at what he does. I feel bad about leading him on about the length of the job, you know, but I’ll be mighty humiliated if my cousin finds out I’m a fake. Worse—she will think Sam would be better off with her.”