The Gift of Family: Merry Christmas, CowboySmoky Mountain Christmas (Cowboys of Eden Valley)

by Ford, Linda

  Colt could assure the man he would not harm her in any way. He would only speak to her when necessary, and he’d stay a goodly distance away. He knew better than to ever look at a white woman in a way to invite the ire of a white man.

  Marie pulled Colt’s head down to whisper in his ear. “She’s nice.”

  Colt nodded, but kept his attention on the child. Nice white women did not associate with half-breeds.

  * * *

  Becca watched the black-haired man with his head bent over Marie, listening to her murmured comment. She couldn’t hear what the child said, but she ached for the gentle way he held her. Almost as much as she ached for the plight of the children. Orphaned, half-breed children didn’t face a happy future, from what she’d observed. If it was in her power, she would do something, but what could she do? She’d promised Ma on her deathbed that when she turned eighteen, she would return east to family back there. She was set to keep that promise. Her trunk stood packed and ready near the door, waiting for the stage-coach due tomorrow. The first leg of the journey would take her to Fort Macleod. From there she would go south to Fort Benton. Eventually a train would carry her to her destination, though it pained her to think of leaving Pa alone.

  Colt lifted his head, as if aware she watched him. His gaze collided with hers. A jolt raced through her veins at the intensity in his black, almost bottomless eyes. Except they weren’t. Looking into them, she felt her heart hit something solid. Something deep inside, almost hidden. She knew somehow, that he was a person one could trust through thick and thin. A heart could find perfect rest in his care.

  She shifted her attention to a display of hardware behind his shoulder and wondered when she had grown so silly.

  Marie turned to Colt. They studied each other, then she grabbed his hands, opened his arms and indicated he should lift her and Little Joe to his lap. He arranged one on each knee and pulled a blanket around them. Marie glanced up at Colt and smiled, as if being in his arms made her feel safe.

  Becca’s eyes stung at how tender he was with the children.

  Colt looked up and caught her watching. Again, she felt that unexpected jolt of surprise, and something more that she couldn’t name. Meeting his gaze, however, made her aware of an unfolding inside her. How unusual for her to take so much note of a customer. Or even a visitor.

  She must stop thinking about Colt and focus her attention on these orphaned children. Because of her promise to her mother, she could not offer them all the things she longed to—shelter, acceptance and love—but while the storm raged outside, she could give them a taste of what her heart longed to provide.

  Pa cleared his throat. She realized she’d been staring at the trio far too long, and turned toward her father. He went to the window to look out.

  “Good thing you got here when you did. The wind has picked up. Anyone out there now would be in danger of freezing.”

  “We was pretty cold,” Marie said.

  Colt grunted. “You mean to say you weren’t cozy and warm under my coat?”

  Marie quickly corrected herself. “Most of the time.”

  “It’s okay, little one,” Colt said. “I knew you were cold. But there wasn’t anything I could do about it.”

  “I know. It’s okay.”

  Becca chuckled at the way Marie tried to reassure him.

  Pa wandered about the store, paused to adjust the cans of tomatoes, and secured the lid on the barrel of crackers. “I hope this doesn’t last too long.”

  “We’re all safe, Pa.”

  He sat on a chair by the fire. “The stagecoach won’t run if this keeps up. You won’t make it to Toronto as we planned.”

  “I’ll be safe here. I can go later.” She didn’t object to a delay in her travel plans—although Pa insisted that the sooner she went, the better. But she hated to leave before Christmas.

  “I promised your mother you’d leave when you turned eighteen.”

  “I’ll be eighteen for a whole year.” She smiled encouragement at her father, then glanced at Colt to see his reaction to the conversation.

  He watched them with guarded interest.

  Deciding to change the topic, she asked him, “What are your plans for the children?”

  He paused as if to measure his words. “I thought the children should go to Fort Macleod. I hear there’s a teacher there who takes in orphan children without any regard for their race.”

  Suddenly, the first leg of her journey didn’t seem so lonely and frightening. With Colt and the children along, she’d barely have time to think about all she was leaving behind.

  Colt fixed his dark eyes on her, bringing her thoughts to a crashing halt.

  “Miss Macpherson, seeing as you plan to take the stagecoach, I hope you’ll agree to take them with you and turn them over to the teacher.”

  “Me?” She couldn’t tear her gaze from his.

  “Makes sense,” Pa said.

  Becca did not think it made any sense whatsoever. She saw herself clutching two sad children, tears flowing silently from three pairs of eyes, as they huddled alone and cold in a stagecoach racing farther and farther away from everything familiar. Though perhaps the tears wouldn’t be silent on Little Joe’s behalf. She blinked, reminded herself of her promise to her mother, and managed a soft answer.

  “Of course.”

  “So much depends on the weather.” Pa again wandered about the store, poking at supplies.

  Marie shifted to look into Colt’s face. “You not take care of us?”

  “I’ll make sure you’re safe.”

  His reply satisfied Marie, and she snuggled against his chest.

  Colt had the most peculiar expression on his face. As if unsure how to handle the children, and yet he was so gentle and natural with them.

  Becca couldn’t stop watching him.

  Pa cleared his throat, and guilty heat burned across her cheeks. Pa always guarded her closely, making sure she didn’t spend too much time in the company of the men who visited the store. Not that he’d ever had to run interference before.

  “It will soon be supper time,” Pa said.

  “Of course. I’ll see to it.” She hurried into the living quarters, grateful to escape the three visitors. She stared around the kitchen. What was she to prepare for them? Would they enjoy clustering around the table? When had she ever been so disturbed by unexpected guests? It wasn’t as if they hadn’t had occasional visitors over the few years they’d been here. But none that stirred her heart the way this man did.

  The innocent children, too, of course. Only it wasn’t the idea of the children sitting at the table that had her thoughts all aflutter.

  She grabbed her apron, tied it about her waist and put a pot on the stove.

  Tomorrow she would depart on the stage. She glanced toward the window. If the storm let up. Otherwise—she sucked in air that seemed strangely empty—they would be stranded until such time as the weather improved. No doubt she should be somewhat dismayed at the idea of a delay. But she smiled as she browned bacon, peeled potatoes and cubed them into the pot for thick, nourishing potato soup. She turned to get a can of milk from the shelf. Out of habit, her glance slid to the picture of Ma on the small side table beside the burgundy armchair where she’d so often sat to read or knit.

  “Ma,” she whispered. “It’s only a delay.” And only if the storm lasted. “I haven’t forgotten my promise.”

  Yet her insides felt as tangled as a sheet left too long on the line. Yes, she’d go to Toronto because she’d promised to do so. Her mother had wanted her to enjoy more opportunities than the frontier provided. More social life, more suitable acquaintances. But she wouldn’t regret a delay in her travel plans. Surely Ma would understand that some things couldn’t be helped—like the weather.

  And if her heart welcomed
the delay, who was to know and judge?

  The soup was about ready and the table set when Becca heard a scream that caused her to drop a handful of spoons.

  Clutching her skirts, she dashed for the doorway to the store. “What’s wrong?”

  The two children stood before the outer door. Marie held the blanket out to her brother, but he tossed his arms about, refusing her efforts to comfort him.

  Pa stood by his chair, looking as startled and confused as Becca.

  She glanced about. “Where’s Colt?” Had he walked out on these children? If so, he wasn’t the man she’d judged him to be.

  Her question made Little Joe scream louder. She closed her eyes and grimaced. “He’s so loud.”

  Pa shook his head. “I can’t hear you.”

  At least, that’s what she guessed he said. She moved closer to him and shouted, “Where’s Colt?”

  “Said he had to take care of his horse. I told him to put the animal in our barn.”

  “He’s coming back, isn’t he?”

  Pa nodded. “Don’t think he has much choice. He wouldn’t get far in this weather.” He escaped into the living quarters where the din of Little Joe’s crying would be softer.

  There must be a way to calm the boy. Before she could think what to do, the door swung open and shut again. A cold wind blasted through the room, carrying a generous dose of snow.

  They all turned to look at Colt as he brushed himself off.

  Little Joe let out a wail and ran to him as fast as his little legs allowed. He didn’t slow down when he reached the man, but crashed into his legs.

  Colt swung the boy up in his arms. “Young man, you are going to have to learn to stop without using my legs as brakes.”

  Little Joe buried his face against Colt’s chest and peeked out from the corners of his eyes.

  No mistaking the gleam of victory.

  Becca laughed. “You little scamp. You’re just pretending.”

  Colt quirked a black eyebrow. “What’s he pretending?”

  She fell into Colt’s gaze and had no idea how to answer him.

  Colt shifted to consider Little Joe. “What have you been up to, young fella?”

  At the grin on Little Joe’s face, Becca laughed and smoothed his hair. “You’re going to do just fine.” So long as he found somewhere he felt safe and loved.

  Little Joe wriggled to be put down, and Colt released him. The boy darted from one thing to another in the store, touching gently but never pulling at anything.

  Becca remained at Colt’s side, watching. “They seem like fine kids.”

  “I think Zeke had been warning them to be good. If they misbehave, people will say it’s because they’re savages.” His voice deepened as he said the word.

  “Well, those people would be wrong. They’re simply children learning how to operate in the world.”

  Pa appeared in the doorway. “I moved the soup off the heat. Thought it might burn.”

  “I forgot.” She dashed to the door, pausing to call over her shoulder, “Supper is ready. Come on in.”

  Colt looked like she’d shot him rather than invited him to join them for the meal, but she didn’t have time to ask for an explanation if she meant to save the soup. And provide Colt and the children with a good meal. Plus something more from her heart—welcome and blessing.

  Chapter Two

  Colt stared after Becca. The idea of going into their private quarters sent a quake up his spine.

  “Everything is ready,” Macpherson said. “Who’s hungry?”

  “Me hungry.” Little Joe headed after Becca.

  Marie hesitated, watching Colt. When she saw he wasn’t moving, she came to his side. “I’m not hungry.”

  He knew it couldn’t be true. Except for some cold biscuits, they hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and his stomach growled as if to remind him of how long ago that was. He was at a loss to explain why Marie felt she had to side with him, but seems she did. If he refused the invitation, she would, too.

  “I’m kind of hungry,” he said, and took a tentative step toward the door, and then another.

  Marie followed hard on his heels.

  Macpherson stepped back to usher them into their living quarters. Colt faltered. These were white people. He’d been taught in every way possible that he had no place with them. Sure, he could eat with the cowboys, or the servants, but not at the table with—

  “Grab a chair.” Macpherson indicated where they should sit.

  Colt swallowed hard and made his stiff legs carry him to the table. He sat gingerly on a chair.

  “If you all bow your heads, I’ll say the blessing.” Macpherson waited for them to obey, and even Little Joe did so.

  Colt closed his eyes, more to contain a thousand surprised and uneasy feelings than out of any reverence. Though his conscience reminded him of the times he’d sat in the back of a church and listened hungrily to the words of love from the preacher. Words that he guessed did not apply to him.

  “Amen.”

  Colt jerked up his head and looked directly into Becca’s flash-of-sky eyes.

  “I hope everyone likes potato soup.”

  He nodded, tried to force a word to his tongue, but couldn’t. In desperation he grabbed the glass of water before him and downed it.

  “I like soup.” Marie’s eyes never left the ladle as Becca filled her bowl.

  “Me like, too.” Little Joe reached for the bowl.

  Becca grabbed his hands to keep him from sticking them into the hot soup as she filled his bowl. She ladled soup into Marie’s bowl, then filled Colt’s.

  He murmured his thanks. “Smells good.” And it did.

  She filled her pa’s bowl, and then her own before she sat down and checked the temperature of Little Joe’s soup. “Still too hot. Here, start with a slice of bread.”

  “Okay.” Little Joe didn’t seem to have any problem with that and ate it heartily, then tackled the soup. He had a little trouble coordinating the spoon, but Becca didn’t appear to notice.

  Colt would have been content to eat in silence, but it seemed a practice the Macphersons didn’t hold to.

  Becca paused with her spoon halfway to her mouth. “I hope everyone is safe in this storm. I can’t help thinking of Russell Thomas.”

  Macpherson spoke directly to Colt. “Old Russell lives out in the mountains all summer, but comes to town about this time of year to hole up in a rough cabin that has cracks so big between the logs, you could throw a cat through ’em. We haven’t seen him in town yet but he knows the country better than most. He can take care of himself.” He addressed the latter reassurance to his daughter.

  Little Joe’s eyes widened. “Frow cat?”

  Becca laughed. “It’s an expression. No one really throws a cat.”

  Both kids looked relieved.

  Colt forced his eyes not to shift in Becca’s direction. But he couldn’t stop his thoughts from going that way. When had he ever heard a woman laugh so often, so readily? And when had he ever heard such a joyful sound? Maybe in the woods on a sunny day, when every bird within twenty miles seemed determined to sing the loudest and cheeriest.

  “Won’t keep out much of this wind and snow, but it’s better than being without shelter.” She sounded so worried, Colt half decided to go find the old man right then and there and bring him to town, never mind the storm.

  Macpherson chuckled. “He knows how to survive better’n most men. He’ll show up here in a day or two asking for more tobacco.”

  Little Joe finished his soup and looked longingly at the empty bowl. Becca obligingly gave him more.

  Colt cleaned his bowl and ate two thick slices of bread. He refused offers of more, even though his stomach craved it.

  Becca gave
a low-throated chuckle. “I wonder how Miss Oake likes her first taste of winter here.” She directed a sweet smile toward Colt. “Miss Oake came out to join her brother at the OK Ranch. She was a teacher back east but said she craved a little more excitement. I wonder if this is enough adventure for her.”

  Her pa answered. A good thing because Colt could think of nothing but blue skies and cheerful birds.

  “I expect she’s enjoying a cozy fire and a good read. She had a heavy case of books with her.”

  Little Joe’s head rocked back and forth, and he tipped forward.

  “Looks like it’s bedtime,” Colt observed.

  “No.” Little Joe jerked up. “I not tired.”

  But even Colt could see that he could no longer focus his eyes. “I’ll take them to the barn.”

  Becca leapt to her feet. “You’ll do no such thing. Pa?”

  Macpherson pushed his chair back. “You and the children can bunk here.” He sounded as if none of them had a choice.

  Here? In their living quarters? Surely he didn’t mean that. “Thanks. I’ll throw down my bedroll in the storeroom.”

  “Nonsense.” Becca sounded determined. “There’s no heat there. We’ve had people spend the night before. They don’t seem to mind sleeping on the floor.” She waved her hand to indicate the space in the living quarters between the kitchen table and the easy chairs, and gave him a challenging look as if to ask if it didn’t suit him.

  “That will be fine,” he mumbled, his tongue thick and uncooperative. His skin would itch with nerves all night at sharing white people’s quarters.

  “I’ll put Little Joe down right away.” She chuckled as the little guy’s head bobbed from side to side. But when she lifted him from the chair, he turned into a squirming, screaming ball of fury.

  Colt sighed. “Sure does have a powerful set of lungs.” He grabbed the boy as he wriggled from Becca’s grasp.

  Marie looked about ready to fall asleep in her chair as well, but with a deep sigh, she climbed down and went to Little Joe’s side. Again, she murmured Indian words to calm her brother, then led him to one of the chairs, climbed up and pulled Little Joe after her. The pair cuddled together.