Cowgirl Under the Mistletoe

by Louise M. Gouge

  “Elly, what a thing to say.” Joel contradicted his scolding words by beaming with pride at her. “How can you expect a bachelor to know how to decorate a home?”

  She laughed softly, a well-modulated, musical sound. “Well, I am sure I’m not the first lady to notice the lack of more delicate touches.”

  “No, you’re not, Miss Sutton.” Micah felt the strange need to take control of this conversation. Being a pastor didn’t mean he had to let an old friend manipulate him. “Our church organist often drops similar hints.”

  Miss Sutton’s smile dimmed slightly. “Does the lady visit often?”

  Micah had to pucker his lips to keep from laughing. He’d been the object of some aggressive marriage-minded women, but he hadn’t expected a finishing school graduate to be so obvious in her flirtation, never mind her brother’s machinations.

  “She visits at least once a week when she brings over some of her excellent cooking to feed this starving bachelor.” Only a tiny bit of guilt pinched his conscience, but it was enough to require that he clear up the situation right away. “Dear old Mrs. Foster is like a mother to everyone in the church.” He wouldn’t mention that she was also a Union war widow. No need to bring up the evils that had divided the country twenty years ago and sent Micah’s abolitionist uncle north to fight for the Union, a stain on the family that many of their Southern neighbors were unwilling to forgive or forget.

  “Isn’t that just lovely.” Miss Sutton’s full smile returned. “Every church needs for its older women to set a good example and teach the younger ladies their Christian duty.”

  “Indeed.” Micah waved toward an inner doorway. “Please permit me to show you to your rooms.”

  They followed him through the narrow hallway to their side-by-side bedchambers. Stepping into hers, Miss Sutton viewed the furnishings Mrs. Foster had so generously provided. “How utterly, delightfully quaint. I just know I shall simply love staying here.”

  Micah hoped his smile didn’t look more like a grimace. “Please make yourselves at home. Tonight we’ll have prayer meeting over at the church, so perhaps a restful nap and another meal at the hotel would make for a convenient supper.” Micah had debated with himself about where to take them for their noon meal after they arrived. He’d decided the hotel would suit Miss Sutton more than Williams’s Café, although he felt disloyal to Miss Pam for thinking that. It had proved to be a wise decision.

  “Nonsense.” Miss Sutton unpinned her elegant traveling hat and set it on the mahogany dressing table. “I will fix supper for us. You just show me your kitchen.”

  “Once you taste Elly’s cooking, you’ll never go back to that hotel.” Joel again beamed with pride. “Not to say dinner wasn’t satisfactory, but hotel food can never hope to compete with home cooking.”

  “I’m not sure I have anything on hand—”

  “Nonsense,” Miss Sutton repeated. “If you’re lacking anything I need, we can send that errand boy who brought our luggage.”

  “Fine, strong boy, that Adam,” Joel said.

  “He is.” Micah had managed to hail Adam as they’d left the train station. On his noon break from classes at the high school, he’d cheerfully agreed to bring the Suttons’ two trunks and four suitcases to the parsonage while Micah took his guests to dinner. But the lad would have other responsibilities as soon as school was dismissed for the day. Still, he couldn’t refuse Miss Sutton’s offer to cook. If need be, he would go to the mercantile himself. “Let’s see what I have on hand.”

  They made their way up the hall to the cozy kitchen. While the lady continued to exclaim over the quaintness of this and that around his home and Joel continued to beam with pride in his sister, Micah worried the edges of the envelope in his frock coat pocket. The letter had been slipped under the front door in his absence, and he’d managed to scoop it up before his guests saw it and became curious. From the ill-formed letters of his name on the envelope front, so at odds with the fine linen stationery upon which they were written, Micah couldn’t begin to guess who it came from. Curiosity and a hint of concern prodded his decision not to delay reading it. Did one of his parishioners have an urgent need? Perhaps they’d waylaid Adam and asked him to deliver the missive when he brought the trunks.

  “If you’ll excuse me for a few minutes, I’d like to check the sanctuary for tonight’s meeting and make sure my sermon notes are in order.” He headed for the back door. “As I said before, please make yourselves at home.”

  “You run along, Reverend Thomas.” Miss Sutton continued her search of the kitchen cabinet as though it were her own. “I’ll have supper prepared in plenty of time so we can eat before prayer meeting.”

  “I’ll come with you.” Joel took a step in Micah’s direction.

  “You’ve had a long trip.” Micah held up his hand to stop him. “Why not rest so you’ll feel like attending the meeting.”

  “Ah.” Joel blinked. “Very well.” Disappointment clouded his face.

  Micah was beginning to wonder what had happened to this man he’d known all his life. After those few minutes of warmth at the train station, he’d become more like a politician than a cherished old friend. Perhaps the trip had exhausted him and this was merely his way of soldiering through until he could get some rest. A mild suspicion that perhaps Joel’s sister was part of his exhaustion slipped into Micah’s thoughts. He quickly dismissed it as uncharitable toward the young lady, though he had to confess her lively chatter had worn him out a bit, too.

  Leaving the house by the kitchen door, he strode across the wide yard that separated his home from the church. Before he reached the back entrance, Grace hailed him from the road. After a morning with Miss Sutton, he welcomed his good friend’s appearance.

  “Got a minute, Rev?” She dismounted from her horse and tied it to one of the hitching rails that extended along the front of the property, then strode toward him across the church’s side lawn. Only a hint of snow lay between the blades of brown grass.

  “I always have time for you.” He beckoned for her to follow him into the church.

  In his small office, made even smaller by his large oak desk now moved into it from the extra parsonage bedroom, Micah waved her to the seat across from him. “What can I do for you?”

  She took an envelope from her vest pocket. “Just wanted to bring you up to date on our escaped outlaws.” She pulled a letter from the envelope and passed it over to him. “After not seeing hide nor hair of them since their escape in early October, seems they’re finally getting serious about this revenge business.”

  * * *

  The Rev rarely showed shock or surprise, but right now he actually gaped as he read the note. He reached into his coat pocket and produced an envelope identical to hers. Grace bit her lip to keep from showing her alarm. It was one thing for Hardison to seek revenge against her for stopping the robbery. Another thing entirely to threaten this godly man, who’d only tried to help him. Had often visited him in jail. Had sat behind him during his trial, still trying to save his sorry soul, to no avail.

  “I haven’t had a chance to open this.” The Rev did so now and laid the letter beside hers.

  Even upside down, Grace could read the message, written in the same chicken scratch as hers.

  Prepare your best funeral sermon. You will use it often in the coming days.

  The Rev huffed out a humorless laugh. “He didn’t sign it, but there’s no mistaking who wrote this. Not only did Marybeth injure Hardison’s shooting hand, she ruined his writing. These messages are far too intelligent to be from Deke Smith. Deke probably can’t even spell funeral.” This time his laugh was lighter but still without humor.

  “At least he’s not threatening you.” Grace’s relief for the Rev was short-lived as she realized that Marybeth Northam had probably received a note as menacing as her own. “I’ll ride out to Four S
tones Ranch and see if Marybeth got one of these.” She gathered her letter and tucked it away in her pocket.

  “Surely he wouldn’t harm a woman who—” As always when the topic arose, a bit of red appeared on the Rev’s tanned cheeks.

  “A killer like Hardison won’t care about that.” A sick feeling stirred in her stomach at the thought. She stood and put on her hat, the Rev also standing politely. She started to settle her gun belt, which had gotten too high on her hips as she sat, but decided to wait until she got outside. Right now, the Rev was watching her with concern, and she didn’t want that look to change to disapproval, no matter how uncomfortable the heavy belt was.

  “Be careful.” Now his gray eyes turned soulful, and his warm, kindly smile sent one of those silly, foolish feelings through her. “Don’t let Hardison surprise you with an ambush.”

  She had to stamp out for good her reactions to his kindness, so she settled her gun belt on her hips after all, hoping he’d stop looking at her with whatever that intense look was. “That’s what they pay me for.”

  Before he could escort her to the back door, she stepped across the tiny room and outside. Over at the parsonage, she could see that Miss Sutton through the kitchen window. So she’d already become the lady of the house. All the more reason for Grace to make herself scarce, especially now that Hardison hadn’t threatened the Rev. She wouldn’t entirely relax her concern for him, but surely Hardison would only target those who’d directly been responsible for taking him down and ending his gun fighting days.

  As she rode south out of town toward Four Stones Ranch, she pondered the maliciousness of the outlaws. For Hardison to send that note to the Rev was nothing short of returning evil for good to someone who’d offered true friendship to the scoundrel. A man couldn’t get more rotten than that. Not only did Grace plan to protect her friends and loved ones, she had every intention of making sure the Rev never had to bury anybody but Dathan Hardison and Deke Smith.

  At Four Stones Ranch, she rode around to the back door, as everybody did in these parts. A body only went to the front door if he was a stranger, was coming to a party or didn’t know the local customs. She was met by three barking sheepdogs with wagging tails. The friendly critters weren’t much in the way of watchdogs, but they had proved to be pretty good at herding cattle, the reason Colonel Northam had brought them over from Scotland to begin with.

  This being a cold day, smoke streamed from the chimney over the kitchen. Grace looked forward to some hot coffee and maybe a sweet roll, the usual hospitality offered by folks around here. She’d been so busy checking on various people in town regarding the threatening letters that she’d forgotten to eat dinner.

  She dismounted and tied Mack’s reins to the rail, then strode to the back door. Charlotte Northam saw her through the mudroom glass and beckoned her inside.

  “Welcome, Grace.” The short, slightly plump lady—a second mother to Grace and her sisters—pulled a chair out from the kitchen table. “Have a seat. Marybeth will be downstairs in a few minutes. She and Rand have decided to move back to their place since everything’s been quiet these past two months. Susanna and Nate have already gone back home.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” Grace took a seat and accepted the steaming cup of coffee her friend offered. A gray cat wound around her legs, and she reached down to scratch it behind its ears, trying to calm herself. “Hello, Fluffy.” She took a sip of the hot coffee and let it slide down her throat. “When Susanna and Nate hear my news, they may turn around and move right back.”

  “What news?” Marybeth waddled into the kitchen, both hands on her round belly. Rather than sitting with her usual poise, she plunked down into a chair across from Grace and expelled a weary sigh. Poor thing. She had maybe a month to go before the baby was due.

  With some effort, Grace dismissed the sad reminder that she would never be in that condition. Giving birth might be hard, even dangerous, but in her quiet, most truthful moments, especially after spending time with her baby nephew, she admitted to herself how much she longed for a child of her own.

  Instead of harboring such useless thoughts, she needed to stick to business. She pulled Hardison’s letter from her vest pocket and shoved it across the table.

  Eyes wide, Marybeth opened and read it, with Charlotte Northam right behind her.

  “Lord, help us.” The older lady put a hand to her lips, and her eyes reddened. “I have no doubt they mean to make good on their threats.”

  Marybeth just sat there staring.

  “So you didn’t get one of these letters?” Grace asked.

  “No.” Marybeth heaved out a long sigh. “At least not yet. Mother Northam, do you know where Rand is?”

  “He and Nate took a load of hay out to the cattle in the near pasture.” She took a step toward the door. “I’ll get him.”

  Grace stood. “Let me go. I can do it faster.”

  “Thank you.” Charlotte moved back to her daughter-in-law and hugged her shoulders. “Don’t worry. Our menfolk will take care of everything.” She glanced up at Grace. “And Grace, of course.”

  Grace couldn’t take offense at being second fiddle to the Northam men in their mother’s eyes. They were like brothers to her and her sisters, and she admired them as much as their own womenfolk did. “Where’s the Colonel?”

  “Oh, that husband of mine!” She sounded a mite peevish. “He took the train to Denver on business, in the middle of winter, of all things, when a snowstorm could come along and close La Veta Pass for weeks. And after promising the children he wouldn’t miss their Christmas play at the church.”

  “Hmm.” Grace let it go. Maybe she’d be peeved with a husband under the circumstances, too. Of course, she’d never have a husband, so it was pointless to speculate. “I’ll go see the boys.”

  “Tell them to watch out.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Grace touched the brim of her hat and headed out the door.

  Before she reached the barnyard, Adam Starling drove up in the wagon he used for deliveries. Mrs. Winsted’s fourteen-year-old grandson, Everett, sat on the bench beside him. Upon seeing her, Adam ducked his head.

  “Howdy, Adam, Everett.” Grace ambled over to the wagon and surveyed the boxes containing flour, sugar and other staples. “You boys delivering groceries?”

  “Yessum.” Adam didn’t look her in the eye but jumped down and reached into the wagon for a box. His hair hung over his collar, and his dark boyish beard and mustache gave him a disreputable look.

  Everett Winsted, tidy in every detail, including a fresh haircut, gave her an engaging smile. “Howdy, Deputy.” The boy’s round face and big blue eyes formed a picture of innocence, and he had a respectful manner to boot. Soon he’d be able to deliver groceries for his grandmother all by himself and wouldn’t have to keep company with the likes of Adam Starling.

  “Need any help?”

  “No, ma’am.” Adam still averted his eyes. “We can manage.” He started for the back door, followed by Everett.

  She watched them for a few seconds, especially Adam. If that wasn’t a guilty boy, she’d hang up her badge and take up knitting. She mounted Mack and headed out to the near pasture.

  Rand saw her at a distance and stopped forking hay out of his wagon to meet her at the fence. Nate joined them.

  “Howdy, Grace. What are you doing out this way on such a fine day?”

  With the cold wind starting to pick up, the day was anything but fine. Grace just handed him her letter.

  Reading over his brother’s shoulder, Nate emitted a low whistle, but Rand sagged against the fence. “Marybeth.” Without another word, he started toward his horse, which grazed on the hay near the wagon.

  “She knows. I went to the big house first.”

  Rand paused, and Grace gave them a brief report, including Adam and Everett’s delivery.
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br />   “You go on, Rand,” Nate said. “I’ll take care of the hay.” As his brother rode away, he looked at Grace. “Would you mind going back and asking Adam to finish this, if he’s still there?” He waved a hand toward the unfinished job of feeding the cattle herd. “I need to get to Susanna and the little ones and move them back up to the big house.”

  “Sure thing.” Grace withheld her opinion of Adam. He was indeed a hard worker. But from the way he avoided her, wouldn’t even look her in the eye, she had no doubt he was responsible for the thefts at the mercantile. Which probably meant he was also in cahoots with the outlaws. With his recent sloppy appearance, maybe he was trying to look like his evil friends.

  Riding back to the Northams’ ranch house, she considered several motives for Adam’s descent into crime. Maybe he was tired of working so hard. Or—she tried thinking charitably as the Rev always did—maybe the boy needed money for his father’s illness. The old man would benefit from seeing a specialist in Denver, but the family couldn’t afford it. Hardison was rumored to have a stash of money he’d stolen over the years. He could have offered Adam a hefty reward for helping him take revenge. A desperate sixteen-year-old boy who felt the weight of family responsibility on his young shoulders would have a hard time resisting such easy cash.

  The question was, how could Grace learn the truth without giving away her suspicions to the boy? And without making the Rev cross with her? His good opinion was precious to her, and she hated the idea of losing his friendship over a boy who appeared to have taken a wrong path in life. Not that she didn’t already need to cool that friendship due to Miss Sutton’s presence.

  Back at the house, she caught the two boys as they were driving away.

  “Adam, Everett. Wait up.” She cantered over and gave them her best friendly smile. “Can you all give a hand to the Northams by finishing up feeding their cattle?” She hooked a thumb over her shoulder. “Out in the near pasture?”