by Jillian Hart
She was disappointed. It wasn’t his neglected farm or the shanty with yellowed curtains and the mud on the floor. Dirt could be scrubbed away, curtains could be washed and garbage could be picked up. It was a man’s heart that mattered. She wanted to find the good in the man she’d promised to marry. She should be excited about their upcoming wedding.
Why couldn’t she be? She’d been dreaming of standing beside her betrothed in the church on Christmas Eve day. Right now she should be having fun planning ways to decorate Tom’s shanty—to take down the limp, yellowing curtains and make fresh ones out of cheerful yellow calico. To clean every inch of the dust and dirt that had accumulated until the floor shone. To piece a patchwork quilt for the bed in the corner and braid cheerful rag rugs for the floors. She wanted more than anything to make a home and a life with Tom. But why didn’t it feel right?
“You remember what I said.” The doctor pinned the end of gauze, his work done. “Don’t overuse this arm. Any swelling or numbness, you come straight to me. I want to see you in two weeks just to check all is well and before you ask, don’t think about the bill.”
“I was hoping I could start working off my debt.” She hopped off the chair, wishing her arm didn’t ache so. “There’s a layer of dust on your bookcases I’m itching to get at.”
“Don’t I know it. I’m so busy these days, I can’t get everything done.” Doc Frost’s smile was inordinately kind. “The dust will keep until your bone is mended.”
“I’m not sure how much time I will have after I’m m-married.” She could hardly say the word. What other sign did she need that she was not ready to become Tom Rutger’s wife?
“If that’s the case, then the bill will be your husband’s responsibility.” The doctor winked, unhooking her coat from the wall peg. “Not sure how good of a duster he is, but beggars can’t be choosers.”
“Sorry, but not even humor can distract me when I’ve made up my mind.” She took the garment from him, the wool soft against her fingers. “I’ll be back with a dust cloth the day after Christmas. Here’s fair warning. Not you or a legion of doctors will be strong enough to stop me.”
“Well, if that’s the case then I’d better stand back when I spot you coming.”
“Good decision.” She stepped into the front waiting area, where she’d spotted Elijah standing not thirty minutes before.
Every kind thing he’d done for her came back in one sweet wave. She needed his friendship right now, and maybe that was the problem. Maybe she found Tom lacking because in the back of her mind, without meaning to, she compared him to Elijah.
What man could measure up to the handsome marshal? That wasn’t fair to Tom, and it wasn’t right. That wasn’t the kind of woman she wanted to be.
She thanked the doctor a final time and said goodbye. The boardwalks teemed with shoppers and errand runners now that the skies were clear. The hustle and bustle filled the street with a feeling of anticipation, and the jingle of bells on passing sleighs served as another reminder of the holiday. Christmas was days away.
So was her wedding.
“Where do you think you’re going?” A rich, deep voice spoke from behind her, layered with friendliness and something that sounded like concern.
“Elijah.” He made the day brighter. He hiked toward her, a brown-paper package in one hand, his capable shoulders broad and with a confident ring to his gait. In a dark Stetson, black coat and denims, he looked like everything good in the world, everything a man ought to be.
Everything a friend should be, she corrected herself. Even if her spirit sighed a little when he was near, he could never be anything more. She had promises to keep and he was not part of them. “I was heading back to my room. How about you?”
“Still on the hunt for Toby.” A dimple dug into his lean cheek. “I can’t get that boy out of my mind.”
“Neither can I. There was something completely sweet about him.” She remembered the boy and how he’d talked of his ma. “I think he was loved by his family, and it has to be hard for him to be alone. I’m glad you’re looking for him, Elijah.”
“Well, I’ve got to take a break for a bit.” He paused, then said, “Speaking of which, I have a proposition for you.”
“Really? I’m not the kind of lady who normally speaks to men with propositions,” she quipped.
“Sure, but this here is an entirely appropriate proposition for an engaged woman.” He held up a package he carried. “Here I have two sandwiches. One for me, and one as payment for a favor. I’m looking at two houses for sale, and I’m no expert on these things. I could use a woman’s opinion.”
“And you would pay me lunch for my opinion?” She so wasn’t fooled. The strip of bacon she’d had for breakfast was long gone, and her stomach had been rumbling for the past hour. Tom hadn’t offered her a meal, but perhaps he would feel more devoted to her once they were wed. She could only pray so. “I’m absolutely certain my opinion is not worth that much.”
“Sorry to disagree with a lady, but you are wrong.” The deep notes of Elijah’s voice rumbled, tugging her one step closer.
She knew what he was doing, helping her the same way he’d helped Toby. Marshal Elijah Gable went around making a difference, helping where he could, committing random kindnesses and never expecting anything in return. It was the man he was.
“I am no good when it comes to comparing one house with another.” Elijah leaned one muscled shoulder against a support pole, handsome enough to make any eligible female in the vicinity go dizzy. “I can run down an outlaw, outshoot and outride any criminal I’ve come across, but give me two kitchens to compare and I’m lost.”
“I have every confidence in you.” She’d like nothing more than to spend time with him, and she suspected her feelings just might go a little deeper than she thought. Really, how could she not care for him? Maybe without ever meaning to, and that was her problem. It was hard to see Tom’s merits when Elijah’s outshone him. She had to do the right thing. “I’d like to help you, really I would, but I have to consider Tom’s feelings. We’re marrying in two days.”
“Sure, I know that.” Elijah winced. “That doesn’t change the fact that I could use help house hunting.”
Oh, she knew exactly what he was up to, trying to feed her when her own fiancé hadn’t given it a passing thought, but a girl had her pride. “You’ll have to find someone else to give you her opinion on kitchens. You know I’m grateful for your friendship. You’ve done so much for me, but I have to think about what Tom would want.”
“Right, you’re not a single lady anymore. You need to think of your betrothed. I understand. It’s not appropriate, you spending too much time with a bachelor.” He took a step back. “I’m disappointed. Sure you don’t want a sandwich anyway?”
“No, I’m sure you can find someone to share your lunch with. Maybe a pretty lady you’re sweet on?”
“Me? No.” At least she hadn’t guessed, Elijah thought to himself. He’d hidden his feelings for her better than he’d thought. “Guess I’ll see you around, Miss Eberlee.”
“Good day to you, Marshal.” Admiration and apology telegraphed across her porcelain face, a mix of emotions that he felt, too.
He walked away feeling like something was missing, that he’d fallen short. There would be no more spending time with her; he’d known it was coming. If only that knowledge could stop the ever-growing affection ruling his heart.
Love was all about timing. It was two people having the right feelings, felt in the right way at the correct moment in time. Even if there’d been no Tom Rutger and no engagement, Elijah feared he’d never be the man for Christina. What would a young lady like her, as beautiful inside and out, want with a lawman like him?
Tom was one blessed man. Elijah prayed the farmer knew it and after the wedding would treat Christina with the love and care she deserved.
* * *
“Elijah, did you get one of the houses?” Clint Kramer stopped his horse on the snowy s
treet.
“Sure did.” His new house had been nothing but empty echoes, and he wasn’t sure how much a bachelor would fill it up. His fear was that his home would always feel empty, missing what mattered most. He leaned against the boardwalk’s railing. The feed store behind him wasn’t busy—only a few farmers were about, getting their feed purchased and errands done before the holidays. “I’m an official home owner and you and me are officially neighbors.”
“So you decided on the house down the street from me? Good.” Clint nodded his approval. “Wise choice. Are you moving in today?”
“Got furniture shopping to do.”
“Say, I’ve been keeping an eye out for that boy.” Clint leaned forward in his saddle. “I thought I had him, spotted him on the crowded boardwalk about a block from here, but it turned out to be a kid ducking school. I just came back from the schoolhouse.”
“Thanks for looking.”
“Don’t spend all your days off working, buddy. My office can do the looking instead.” Clint gathered his reins. “Well, my shift is nearly done. Want to meet at Bitsy’s diner for supper tonight? Five o’clock sharp.”
“Sounds good.” Much better than eating at the boardinghouse where Christina was sure to be.
“We’ve got to celebrate you being a homeowner, and just in time for Christmas.” Clint nudged his horse forward and tipped his hat. “See you later, Elijah.”
“See ya.” He came to the end of the boardwalk, stepped into the snow and spotted small footprints close to the side of the feed store. Fresh prints.
Could be any kid, he thought, except that school was still in progress on this last school day before Christmas break. He knelt to take a closer look at the print. About the right size, he decided, going down on one knee. Treads had worn off the shoe, just like Toby’s had been, and that looked like the imprint from a string holding one shoe together.
Gotcha, he thought. His pulse beat a little faster as he followed the tracks round to the back of the store.
“Hey! What are ya doin’ in my sled, boy!” A man’s harsh shout echoed in the back lot. A man—was that Tom Rutger?—tossed down a fifty-pound sack of feed from his shoulder. “Put that down. Don’t you steal from me.”
Elijah bolted into a full-out run even before he saw a mop of dark blond hair bob up from the back of a homemade sled. Panic rounded the boy’s green eyes. Brown paper crinkled and groceries went flying as the kid launched out of the sled. Quick as a flash, Tom reached beneath the sled’s seat and a horsewhip snaked through the air, hissing and snapping.
“Ah!” Toby cried out with surprise. A stolen tin of crackers tumbled from his hand into the snow. The whip drew back, to lash again.
“Rutger!” Elijah shouted. “Don’t you dare.”
The whip sagged and Tom swore profusely in anger at missing the boy. Elijah darted around the sad-eyed mare, with more than a dozen healed whip marks on her flank. Something would have to be done about that later. All Elijah could see was Toby hightailing it down the alley. “Wait, Toby. It’s me. Elijah.”
“What’s going on out here?” Devon Winters, the store owner, poked his head out the back door.
“Fetch the sheriff,” Elijah ordered over his shoulder.
Toby ducked into the residential street, fast footing it between houses. Elijah gained ground and caught the boy by the collar behind a ramshackle stable. “Toby, why are you running from me?”
“I didn’t w-want to get arrested.” His little face scrunched up in defeat. “I’m a crook.”
“Yes, I’m aware of that.” Elijah propped his hands on his knees to catch his breath. “You nearly wore me out. I’ve caught criminals a lot slower than you.”
“I am a criminal.” Big emerald eyes rounded with fear. The cold wind stirred his unkempt sandy hair, tousling it around a lump, bruised and purple, near his temple. “I don’t like it much.”
“What do you think your ma and pa would think of you stealing?” Elijah kept his tone gentle.
“They’d be mighty disappointed even if I only took things cuz I was hungry.” Toby’s head hung. “That’s why I do two good things for every bad one. I help real old ladies by carrying their heavy shopping bags. I shovel boardwalks. I know it don’t make it right, but I don’t got any money. No one will hire me cuz I’m a kid.”
“I see.” He thought of Arthur Lawson’s mysteriously shoveled boardwalk in front of the mercantile. He couldn’t say why that touched him, but it did. There was only one solution. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to come with me.”
“Are you gonna put me in chains?”
“No, as long as you promise not to run. I can’t let a hardened criminal like you roam the streets of this law-abiding town.” Elijah placed a hand on Toby’s shoulder. A hard ridge of bone seemed to poke through his clothes.
Across the way, voices rose on the wind, the feed store owner arguing with Tom Rutger, who’d gone red in the face. Apparently the man had quite a temper. Elijah tried not to think what a life married to Tom might be for Christina while he steered Toby by the shoulder away from the scene.
“Did he get you with his whip?” Elijah asked as they crunched through the icy snow.
“Nope. I was too quick for ’im.”
“I’m glad you didn’t get hurt.” Elijah wasn’t sure if he could have stayed calm otherwise. He thought of the boy he’d been at Toby’s age, growing up safe and loved with his family. That was before tragedy struck, before they were homeless, before they lost Ma. Every child’s life should be safe and secure and happy. “Where did you learn to run like that?”
“At the orphanage. I could outrun everyone. I used to go round and round the yard next to the fence just practicing until I was so fast no one could catch me.”
“Who would be chasing you?”
“There was this one big boy. He was a bully. He’d pound on you if he caught you. Sometimes it was the lady in charge. If something bad happened, like a dish got broke or you spilled your bucket of water on wash day, she’d take the cane to the first kid she could catch.”
“I see.” The way Toby blew out a troubled sigh made him believe the boy. Toby may be many things, but he didn’t seem to be a liar. “So you don’t have any family anywhere? Not even a cousin or a grandmother?”
“Don’t know. The orphanage couldn’t find none.” Toby stopped, stock-still in the lane. “What’s jail like?”
“Well, there are bars on the doors and windows.” Elijah nudged him down an alley. “The good part about jail is you get three meals a day.”
“Good meals or bad ones?”
“Good ones.”
“Marshal?” Toby’s hand crept into Elijah’s. “Am I goin’ to your jail?”
“For now. Nothing scary is going to happen to you, I promise.” He guided the boy between buildings and they emerged onto the boardwalk next to the Range Rider territorial office. “We have to wait and see what the sheriff says. He has jurisdiction over the town. I’m a lawman for the territory. So you’ll wait here with me to see what he wants to do. How does that sound?”
“Okay. I’m real sorry. I don’t like stealin’.”
“I know.” He remembered being homeless and sleeping under the stars rolled up in blankets, hunger gnawing through him, making it impossible to sleep. He opened the door. “Go sit by the stove and warm up. We’ll see if I can’t talk Burke, the other marshal, into running up to the bakery for us. How does that sound?”
“Real fine, sir.” Toby looked so little as he ambled across the office and sat by the red-hot stove.
Elijah had no idea what he was going to do with the boy. Send him back to an orphanage? No, that didn’t sound like the best option. Unless he could think of something else, it was the only one he had.
* * *
Christina missed Elijah, wishing she could have gone with him to look at houses. She didn’t mean to wonder how he was, but he filled her thoughts even when she tried to stop them. Just like she couldn’t help pictur
ing what spending the afternoon with him would have been like. They would have laughed, they would have talked, they would have shared smiles and little jokes.
That’s the connection she wanted with Tom. Every time she thought of him, her heart felt like a boulder, sliding farther and farther down in her chest. She had to believe once she knew him better and saw more of his heart, her doubts would vanish.
There was only one problem. She didn’t love Tom. How did you make your heart fall for someone? Could you think your way into love? Or was her lack of feeling a sign that their marriage wouldn’t be a happy one?
No, not that. Her step faltered and she grabbed a railing for support. Please let him be the man I need, she thought. Please let him be a good husband. A flake of snow danced in on the wind and brushed her cheek. Was it a reassurance from heaven? Or a warning? She’d been so certain that Tom would be exactly the man she’d read about in his advertisement.
Across the street, she spotted a familiar gray mare. Tom was still in town? She crossed the street, wanting to see him, needing to see if she could will her heart to feel. She spotted him through the window in the sheriff’s office. Was something wrong? She skidded to a stop on the boardwalk, watching through the perfect frame of glass as Tom launched out of a chair, fury like a rash on his face. He stormed toward the door in a temper, threw the door open so hard it crashed against the wall and rattled windowpanes.
She stared at the raging man, big and frightening. “Filthy little beggar,” Tom yelled over his shoulder. “And I’m the one you bring in? What kind of rotten sheriff—” He spotted her, he skidded to a stop and clenched his rough hands into angry fists. “What are you doin’ here?”
“Walking back from the church,” she said, staring at him. He vibrated with rage and yet before her eyes he willed it from him like a chameleon. The strain washed from his face. His eyes went from rampant to placid.
