The Brides of Evergreen Box Set

by Heather Blanton

  Angela had said she’d overheard this conversation, so Joel feigned ignorance. “How did we bring that about?”

  “By cheatin’.” Fairbanks.

  Granger didn’t roll his eyes, but a lifted eyebrow and tight jaw spoke volumes about his thoughts. “Jess, they didn’t cheat and you know it. Fine bit of riding. You’ve got two of the most talented riders here I’ve ever seen.”

  “I say they cheated.”

  Granger scratched his jaw, clearly pondering a reaction to the foul-tempered rancher. “Well, if you don’t want to honor your own rules, I’m happy to have these two men at my ranch. Mr. Chapman’s lovely bride would be a bonus.”

  Fairbanks’s face mottled with fury. “You’re not only trying to sabotage my ranch, you’re trying to steal my daughter. Just like you stole her mother from me.”

  Granger’s face turned to granite. “I didn’t steal Lucinda.” His voice lowered, and Joel heard warning in it. “You started those rumors when she left you. You can’t beat on a woman, treat her like less than a human, and expect her to keep loving you back.” He leaned forward. “I wish every day she would have left you a whole heck of a lot sooner. If I’m ever convinced in my mind that her death was no accident, I’ll come for you.” He jabbed him in the chest. “Bank on it.”

  The two men locked bitter gazes like rams battling on a mountainside. Fairbanks blinked first, lowering the tension. “Get off my ranch and stay off.”

  “I’ll be taking my bull with me.”

  Fairbanks had been bested, but still had some heat left. When he turned those steely hazel eyes on Joel and Long Feather, Joel saw the fire of humiliation burning in them.

  “You two are a piece of work. My ranch not good enough for ya? I don’t know what I was thinking hiring a redskin half-breed.” He glared at Long Feather. “I ran your whole village off this land. I took it.” Fairbanks pounded his chest. Spittle flew from his mouth. “I took it and now you work for me. I own you, scalp and all! You’ll do as I tell you and when I tell you to lose, lose!”

  We were supposed to lose?

  Long Feather didn’t say anything. He didn’t seem inclined to engage the angry bear. The empty growling didn’t faze him, but it bothered Joel. No one should be talked to like this. “Mr. Fairbanks, Long Feather has raised and trained some outstanding horses for you—”

  “You,” the bear changed targets. “What was my daughter thinking bringing home—”

  “I know, a cripple.” Joel heard the refrain in his sleep. Fairbanks didn’t quite seem to know how to deal with an interruption and Joel took advantage. “Half a man. Good for nothing. I’ve heard it all before, Mr. Fairbanks. You should learn a new song. And you don’t have to worry about offering me a job. I’m pretty sure I’d rather work for Mr. Granger.”

  Sneering, Fairbanks slowly turned away. Joel thought he might actually have silenced the old man and he slipped a weary glance at Long Feather. Suddenly, Fairbanks snatched a quirt free from a nearby saddle and lashed Joel across the face. Startled, he stepped back, tripped over his prosthetic, and went down on his rear end. Horses pranced, Angela screamed and grabbed her father’s hand.

  Where had she come from? Fairbanks shoved her off violently and came at Joel again, lashing and slashing. Angela fell, and the milling horses nearly stepped on her.

  “A married man, to boot!” Fairbanks railed. “Have you no shame, either of you? You’re a disgrace, Chapman. And she’s a whore.” Long Feather lunged to get between Angela and the general as Joel fought to block the whip. “Well, this is for you, Angela, and your mother and your lovers—”

  His face stinging wildly from the lashing, Joel grabbed the general’s arm, stopping it just short of another strike. Unblinking, he stared into the old man’s eyes as he climbed to his feet. A death grip on Fairbanks’s wrist, his jaw set like iron, Joel allowed a fury to grow in his soul worse than any he’d ever felt fighting Indians.

  A crowd had formed and they sensed a primeval battle. The young challenging the old for leadership. Long Feather pulled Angela away from the duel.

  “I am a man,” Joel said. “I am a whole man.” Fairbanks wouldn’t care, wouldn’t ever respect him, but Joel had to respect himself. And he had to have Angela’s respect. “I am more of a man than you will ever be. And I’m not going to hurt you, out of respect for your daughter, but if you ever lay your hands on her again, or talk that way to her or Long Feather, I will lay you out, old man.”

  He thrust Fairbanks’s arm away and waited. The crowd of cowboys and guests watched in uncomfortable silence. Would the old lion give way?

  Fairbanks glanced around at the crowd and Joel sensed the fire leaving the old man’s veins. “Fine,” he snarled.

  35

  Angela sat on the bed and opened up the box of special Christmas ornaments—the ones her mother had brought for her every year of her life. Twenty-three of them in there now, wrapped in kitchen towels, rags, scraps of cloth.

  She could hear the fiddle and the piano from downstairs playing O Tannenbaum to the guests crowding the great hall. Revelers all ready to decorate the Fairbanks’s Christmas tree—without General Fairbanks. Furious, humiliated, the bear had retreated to his cave.

  She couldn’t help but have some pity for her father. Years of living a certain way couldn’t be undone with the snap of the fingers—or by the right man standing up for himself. Perhaps he would soften. Public humiliation could do that to a man.

  But Angela knew now more than ever that she loved Joel. She’d probably fallen in love with him on the stagecoach—the way he’d tried to hide his furtive glances at her had been both gentlemanly and endearing. Today, though, when he had reclaimed his self-respect, her heart had swelled with love and pride to the point of bursting.

  Tears of gratitude welled in her eyes even now. Oh, Lord, he’s such a good man. Thank You. Thank You.

  Someone knocked on the door and she quickly wiped her eyes.

  “Angela, it’s me.”

  Joel. “Come in.”

  He peeked around the door then slipped in. He’d laundered his uniform and was quite a striking figure in it, even with his cane. “Madame, they miss you at the party,” he said, trying to sound formal.

  “I had to find these.” She lifted the box.

  Curious, he stepped over to her and sat on the bed. “What are they?”

  “Every year of my life, my mother bought me a Christmas ornament.” She unwrapped one and showed him a tiny dancer, a blue, glass ballerina. “I miss her.”

  “I never asked. How did she die?”

  “A fever. Could have had a million causes. Doc said most likely a tick bite.” Such a pointless death. And Angela was sure she would feel it every day till she saw her mother again in Glory.

  Joel dropped an arm around Angela’s waist and pulled her closer. She laid her head on his shoulder and he took a deep breath. “I could stay like this forever, but I have something I want to ask you.”

  She straightened and looked up at him.

  “Long Feather and I talked to Mr. Granger before he left with his bull. He’s offered to go into business with us. He’ll provide the land and all the stock for a ranch, for a cut of the profits and some horse training. Oh, and he’ll provide a foreman. I think it’ll work. We still have some details to hammer out, but we’re moving in a good direction.”

  “Oh, Joel, that sounds wonderful.” The rumored affair her mother had had with the man tainted her feelings toward him, though. Yet, while her father had always believed the affair had happened, both Angela’s mother and Mr. Granger had denied it. Where did the truth lie? This generous offer made her wonder. “I’m curious. Do you think he’s doing this to help you or exact some revenge on my father?”

  “Does it matter?” When she didn’t answer, he nodded. “I asked Long Feather. He said, and I quote, ‘Granger is an honest businessman. Not bad for a white man.’”

  “I guess that will have to do then.” And at least Joel would be staying. Th
e thought made her giddy.

  “Angela—” he slipped to one knee and her heart instantly started galloping in her chest. He picked up her hand and she set the ornaments aside.

  Oh, Lord, please let this be what I think it is.

  “This thing we started, as far as scandals go, I guess we’ve created a firestorm. And we have to make it right. And we can now. But I want you to understand something. Scandal or not, I have fallen in love with you…and I want you by my side. Forever. Would you marry me? Now, tonight? There’s a parson downstairs right no—oh, wait, I almost forgot.”

  He rifled through his pockets in a panic and Angela, her mind reeling, had to wonder if this was really the moment to be seeking—

  He held up a ring, a simple gold band. “Martha gave it to me with my uniform. She said it was your mother’s.”

  Angela gasped and touched his hand. “Joel…”

  “So…?”

  She nodded, positively on the verge of exploding with joy. He slipped the ring on her finger but paused. “You’re sure? This leg of mine is never going to grow back—”

  She cut him off with a finger to his lips. “I don’t love you for your legs. I love you because you can dance.”

  Laughing, he pushed the ring on her finger and then kissed her. A long, deep, possessive embrace of eternal promise. From downstairs, the sweet, haunting notes of O Holy Night drifted to them, reminding her of the Child whose birth they were celebrating, the Child and His Father who loved the world so much. She thought she could truly understand that love now.

  She whispered against Joel’s lips, “Thank you.”

  He pulled back. “For what?”

  She hadn’t meant to say that out loud, but she smiled with the answer, a wonderful, beautiful answer. “For seeing past my sin. For loving my child and me. For making us your family.”

  He cupped her cheek. “I promise you,” he shook his head, “it wasn’t hard. Merry Christmas, Angela.”

  “Merry Christmas, Joel.”

  36

  Long Feather sat atop Celia and surveyed the empty hills around him. A bite in the morning air and the silence of the dawn allowed the inner voices to speak louder than he wanted.

  I think now she meant she loved one Cheyenne too much.

  One Cheyenne. But she’d called it a flirtation and then run, he argued with himself.

  She had bucked.

  Because she was afraid. Afraid she would have to choose between him and her God?

  He drummed his gloved fingers on the saddle horn and thought about that. He would not ask her to choose. He wanted her to serve her god and love the Cheyenne, but her heart was big. She could love Long Feather, too. His people needed her. And he would make her understand he needed her. Only her.

  He would find her and tell her this and then leave the decision in her hands.

  “I guess it is a big change we’re contemplating.” Joel’s voice jerked Long Feather from his deep contemplations and his friend chuckled. “I guess it will be the biggest change for you, though?”

  “An Indian helping run a ranch?”

  “No, I meant an Indian owning a ranch,” Joel corrected. “My guess is you’ll be the first in Wyoming.”

  “Half a ranch.”

  “We’re partners. Equals. Seems appropriate,” he said, glancing down at his leg. “We don’t fit in anywhere, but we work well together.”

  Long Feather nodded, slowly at first, but then with more conviction. “We are our own people.” He was not white, but he was not completely Cheyenne anymore. Owning a ranch had changed that. Not tainted it, exactly, but added something to his spirit. Good or bad, he did not know. “I will help get our herd cut out of Granger’s stock, and hire some cowboys, but then there is a journey I must make.”

  Joel’s eyes widened. “A journey? You’ll be gone long?”

  “Not so long.” He sighed and decided to share the reason for his journey. “I may come back with a woman,” he said, avoiding his friend’s gaze. “I may not.”

  “Miss Laurie, the missionary?”

  Long Feather barely nodded. He felt foolish. He’d given Joel such confident advice. Now, he did not own his heart and he was going to ride off after a woman who may reject him—buck him—again.

  Joel was quiet for a long time. Finally, after tossing his reins back and forth and staring at the hills for several minutes, he stopped and shifted in the saddle to face Long Feather. “Talk to her about Jesus. Listen to her words about Him.”

  Long Feather recognized the wisdom of the man’s suggestion. Moreover, he acknowledged maybe Miss Laurie wasn’t the only one who had run from something. He gave his friend a wry smile. “I will listen with my heart.”

  Epilogue

  Two nights later, Angela sat alone in Mr. Granger’s richly and warmly appointed parlor. Whereas the Bar FB tended toward plain, austere, almost cold, the Granger place featured dark leathers, gleaming wooden walls, colorful rugs—she looked up into the dead eyes of half a bear hanging from the wall—and trophies. Mr. Granger liked his trophies. He also liked Christmas quite a bit. A nine-foot-tall tree bedecked with ribbons, holly berries, and ornaments stood in the center of the room. Firelight danced and glowed in the delicate glass orbs hanging from its branches.

  The ranches epitomized in her mind the stark differences between their two owners.

  The news that she carried an illegitimate baby had worked two words from her father: get out. So, she and Joel had left the morning after the rodeo, both of them glad to go, and Mr. Granger had welcomed them with open arms.

  The two nights she and Joel had been here he had invited all the hands in for dinner, brandy, and fellowship. He would do so through Christmas Day, sharing his wealth and his hospitality. Her father, on the other hand, would send the bunkhouse cook two turkeys to roast for the men on Christmas Day. And that was all the generosity he ever spared for them.

  Angela was sad for her father. He had missed the best things in life—like true love. He’d pushed away anyone who could have cared about him and couldn’t see the tragic play his life had become.

  Mr. Granger was a kind and generous man. It wasn’t hard to see how he might have tempted her mother—if the relationship had ever happened at all.

  A man cleared his throat and she looked up at the entryway. Mr. Granger stepped into the light, hands behind his back. “Enjoying the Christmas tree in the quiet?”

  “Yes. It’s been a busy few days and it’s peaceful to sit here.”

  He scratched his nose, as if debating his actions, but then ambled across the room and joined her on the settee. “I, uh, I would like to clarify something in case you were wondering.”

  “What might that be?”

  “Your mother and I, we never…we were never together.”

  “Oh.” Angela was glad, she supposed, but she also found herself wondering if her mother had been happy. Looking back, she doubted it. With the eyes of an adult, she could recall now too many sad expressions, tense conversations, slammed doors, and red-rimmed eyes.

  “But I loved her.”

  Angela straightened on the sofa, shocked by the declaration.

  Mr. Granger hunched his shoulders in embarrassment. “I told her. All the time. But she wouldn’t cross that line…then you went away to finish your last year of schooling. She was lonely. Jess seemed to get angrier and more violent as his ranch grew. I begged her every day to leave him. She had to beg me every day not to kill him.” He flexed his fingers here, as if imagining the encounter. “When she did finally leave, she’d only been gone a few weeks when she got struck by the fever.” Sighing, he sat back on the settee, stared off into space.

  Seeing her mother in a new light—a lonely, abused woman who could have had someone in her life like Joel, and she did believe Mr. Granger was a good man—saddened Angela. She regretted her years away at school now. She had missed so much time with her mother—but what ifs didn’t do anybody any good. “At least I had those last months with her.”<
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  “She was mighty happy you decided to take that one year off from school. You had time together…” They fell silent for a moment, each lost in their memories. “Anyway,” he said in a lighter tone, “she showed me something one Christmas, a gift for you. She said she got you one every year.” Mr. Granger reached into his trousers pocket, struggled for a moment, and finally pulled free two small, white boxes. Almost shyly, he handed them to Angela. “I wanted to keep her tradition going, but you didn’t come home last year.”

  Puzzled, Angela opened a box. A lovely, little Christmas ornament, an angel twisted from gold and silver wire, gleamed in the low light. She gasped. “Oh, Mr. Granger, you didn’t have to do this.”

  “I know. But she would have liked this idea, I think. When she was sick, she asked me if I’d watch over you. Gave her my word.”

  A lump tried forming in Angela’s throat. Sniffing, she opened the second box. Mr. Granger pointed at the little bear ornament made from wood, bone, and feathers. “Got that one this year. In case you came home. Medicine man over on the res made it. Said it would keep away evil spirits or some such nonsense. I just liked it.”

  “Mr. Granger, I don’t know what to say. Thank you.” She studied the big man in the firelight, his face lined with age, marred by unrequited love. Her eyes welled up with tears.

  “Angela, people will always talk. You can’t stop ’em. I wanted you to know, to hear it from me, your mother and I had nothing to be ashamed of. I would have swept her off her feet the minute she was divorced and out of that house—” He swallowed, shook his head. “I woulda done it proper. Wasn’t in the cards, though.”

  Moved beyond words, Angela hugged Mr. Granger. Startled, he didn’t react at first, but after a moment, patted her back. “My pleasure. My pleasure. And you and your husband and that baby can stay as long as you need to. I kinda like your company.”

  She sat up and wiped her eyes. “Thank you.”

  “I’m out the door five minutes and you’re moving in on my wife?”