Caroline Lee's Christmas Collection: Six sweet historical western romances

by Caroline Lee

  But she’d spent the last months pretending that she didn’t hate him, and hopefully the Blakelys hadn’t realized her distaste. So she tried for an interested smile, and asked Jeremy, “When is he coming?”

  *Friday! Stephanie told me this morning. He will be here Friday.*

  Oh joy. He had to be coming right in the middle of her crisis with Nate, didn’t he? As if her life wasn’t too complicated already, with trying to figure out how to send Nate away—trying to decide if she even wanted to send him away—without Steven oozing his way back into it.

  Well, she told herself as she settled Jeremy down for his lessons, you’ll just have to avoid him. Actually, most of her issues could be solved if she just locked herself in her room, avoiding all men. But then she’d have to spend more time like last night, alone and thinking about Nate’s touch. How had the man made her melt so suddenly? How had that kiss managed to be more than she’d ever imagined? More than she’d ever experienced? Thinking about Steven, she almost snorted. Much more.

  Steven’s kisses had been demanding and overpowering. He’d been interested in taking pleasure, and the pleasure he gave in return was overwhelming. Nate’s kiss had been breathtaking, because he poured so much of himself into it. There was no take there, only giving; of himself, and his longing. It had aroused her, yes, but the emotion behind Nate’s kiss had almost brought her to her knees. She’d had no idea that a man and a woman could share that much with each other.

  It was almost sinful to compare the two men. Steven was tall and athletic, although going pudgy as he got used to the good life of a successful lawyer. He was suave and debonair—or at least thought he was—and knew how to make people like him. But his charming exterior hid a spoiled boy who blamed others for his shortcomings and happily used the people around him to get what he wanted. Not unlike his mother, Wendy supposed.

  Nate, on the other hand, was honest and noble, and always had been. He was tall as well, but lithe and sinewy, and dark as Steven was pale. He’d spent his life thinking he was worth less than other men, and because of that he’d grown into the most worthy man she’d ever known. He was kind and generous and intelligent. So few people got to know the real him, but Wendy did, and she knew that he was worth ten Stevens.

  The morning went about as well as could be expected, considering that she was exhausted and worried sick over Steven’s return. She’d done her best to push thoughts of Nate from her mind, but he’d pop back in when she least expected it. Carefully manipulating Jeremy’s hands to form a new sign reminded her of the way Nate taught her to fish all those years ago. The sun reflecting on the snow outside reminded her of quiet winter mornings drinking coffee with him and making plans for the day.

  It seemed like trying to ignore him just brought Nate to her mind even more. She’d had a wonderful day with him yesterday, before it had ended so abruptly. Part of her wanted him to go back home and leave her to wallow in her misery here in the hell her pride had created. The other part of her desperately wanted him to stay with her, to try to learn to love her despite everything. And she knew that was incredibly selfish, but couldn’t help it. She wanted a Hero, and that galled her to admit.

  She was wrung out by noon, but still had hours to go. She spent Jeremy’s rest time trying to nap herself, but was unsuccessful. And then, in the late afternoon, Martin appeared at the nursery door, with a letter on a silver tray. Wendy ignored him, assuming he was there for Miss Dunn. She was trying to convince Jeremy to focus long enough to master these last few signs, and then they could go out for a walk in the snow. She was surprised, therefore, to hear Martin’s polite little cough right behind her.

  Turning, he presented the letter to her. She saw no alternative but to take it. He bowed slightly, and left the room as quietly as he had entered.

  Although she hadn’t written to him in almost a year and a half, Nate hadn’t stopped writing to her. Sometimes she’d thrown out his letters without even opening them, not brave enough to read all about home and how much he missed her. Sometimes she’d poured over his news and reminisces, as a kind of penance.

  His handwriting was almost as familiar as her own. And here it was, her name boldly scrawled across the note in her hands. She held it, dreading to know what was inside. Was he leaving? Or worse, was he staying? Did he think about that kiss, or had it meant nothing to him?

  “A letter, Miss Murray? Whoever would be writing to you without using the post?” Of course Miss Dunn had noticed the exchange; her narrowed eyes missed little.

  “Maybe it’s that Indian man Mama saw her with!” Stephanie smirked at her older sister.

  “Oh yes, Miss Dunn. I heard Mama tell Papa that the man was a savage. He probably doesn’t understand how to use the post.”

  Wendy’s jaw had tightened to hear the two girls parrot their mother’s bigotry. But she met Miss Dunn’s eyes, and saw that she’d get no help there.

  “An Indian, Miss Murray?”

  It was difficult to tamp down the anger this time. How dare she use that scornful tone! How dare them all! But through sheer force of will, Wendy calmly placed the note in the small pocket of her skirt, and smiled tightly. “I’m sure I don’t know who wrote me, Miss Dunn. But it is hardly the time to read correspondence now.”

  The nanny narrowed her eyes again—which made her look like a near-sighted vulture—and then nodded stiffly. “True. Girls, attend me, please.” And they were back to their lessons on embroidery or God knew what.

  Wendy gave a sigh of relief and turned back to Jeremy, who’d been waiting about as patiently as a young boy promised a romp in the snow could wait. She smiled at him, and decided that she was done for the day as well. “Good job today, Jeremy.” He beamed proudly, still fidgeting in his chair. “What do you say we skip the rest and go for a walk?”

  He was out the door before she could turn around. With as much dignity as she could muster, she followed him, and when the door closed on the girls’ quiet gossiping, she sighed. Relieved to be alone, if only for a moment, she took out Nate’s letter and pushed her eyeglasses up to the bridge of her nose.

  Dinner Wednesday?

  I’ll pick you up.

  Please don’t say no.

  -N.

  Please don’t say no. It was what they used to say to one another when they were younger, and asking the other for a favor. Well, honestly, Wendy was usually the one who used it: “Can we go fishing today? Please don’t say no!” or “Let’s take that new horse out for a ride. Please don’t say no!” Nate would always sigh, like he had way too much to do to fritter his time away with her, but he’d finish up whatever chore he’d been engaged in, and take her wherever she asked. Every single time.

  Please don’t say no. Of course she wouldn’t. With a phrase like that, reminding her of all the things he’d done for her over the years, of course she was going to say yes. And if she was being honest with herself, dinner with Nate wasn’t going to be just for his sake.

  She wanted to see him, to spend time with him, to laugh with him like they used to. She liked being with him, and liked the way he made her feel. Certainly, her life would be easier if he’d go back to Cheyenne and leave her to her own private misery… but she didn’t actually want that.

  Sighing, she went to fetch her coat and bonnet. Perhaps an hour chasing after Jeremy in the park would help distract her from her roiling thoughts. If nothing else, it should tire her out sufficiently that she shouldn’t have any trouble falling asleep later. She would be able to collapse into bed, and not think about Nate—or Steven—at all.

  She snorted quietly. If only she’d be so lucky.

  Chapter 8

  Thank God he’d quit drinking last night; the last thing he needed was a splitting headache this morning. As it was, Mrs. Gardner had plopped his plate of fried potatoes down a little too hard this morning. He’d caught her smirk, and resisted the urge to glare back. Instead he’d eaten his breakfast—which didn’t come close to Molly’s—with as much dignity as he c
ould muster, listening to the quiet chatter of the other boarders.

  Afterwards, he’d cornered his hostess to ask for suggestions on clothing stores and haberdasheries. Cheyenne had gotten so big in the last ten years that he couldn’t buy everything he needed at one ‘general store’ even out there, so he figured St. Louis would be worse. Luckily, Mrs. Gardner gave him directions and recommendations. Then he asked her for a pen and paper.

  It took him three tries to get the invitation to Wendy right. The first time was too abrupt; “Dinner Wednesday.” He’d known a woman as independent as Wendy wouldn’t be pleased with a command like that. In the second version, he’d ended up pouring out his jumbled feelings and hopes; by the time he got to the end of the first page of paper, he’d known it was too much. He wasn’t ready to spill it all out to her. So finally, he compromised on a simple invitation, and a reference to their past.

  He hoped it would work.

  After sending it off with a kid—he’d tipped extra to make sure the urchin didn’t ‘lose’ it along the way—he decided to distract himself with a tour of the city. St. Louis was huge, grander than anything he could have imagined. As he’d noticed with Wendy on Sunday, the sheer scope of the city made him uncomfortable… but also fascinated him. All around him there was signs of human ingenuity, and more people crammed in one place than he could imagine. He was used to wide open spaces and no one to talk to and having to rely on himself. He wondered if any of these people could survive a year out in Wyoming.

  He wondered if someone like him could survive a year in St. Louis.

  Because after getting fitted for a new ditto suit and bowler hat—both of which would be delivered tomorrow to Mrs. Gardner’s—Nate was considering that possibility. Hopefully not a full year, but he was thinking about staying as long as it would take to convince Wendy to come home with him. Back to his home, at least. Of course, the city was her home, so maybe she’d want to stay here… forever. Did he love her enough to give up his home, his livelihood, to stay here with her? What would he even do here in the city? Was there a place for an Indian horse-breeder used to the freedom of the range, crammed here into this labyrinth of metal and flesh?

  The only open expanse in the city—that he’d seen, at least—was the river. The Mississippi was bigger than anything he could have imagined, and he wondered if Ash remembered it. His brother had spent his early life here in this city, and sometimes spoke of the pollution and noise and crowds… but not this magnificent river.

  The industrial district alongside the river was just as interesting as he’d expected. He must have walked for miles, up one street and down another, never quite sure where he was, fascinated by the machines and mechanisms around him. Sometimes he stopped and chatted with groups of dirty, hard-working men, asking them to explain what they were doing. Those men were roughest and dirtiest in the coal-processing district. The factories firing bricks and making paint created clouds of dust that made it hard to breathe, especially to a man used to Wyoming’s clear air.

  But the most interesting district was the area where alcohol was being produced. Nate stayed away from the liquor distilleries—he stomach roiled at the smell—but the beer breweries were fascinating. Since he’d skipped lunch, Nate tried a street-vendor’s offerings and paired it with a beer from the Anheuser-Busch Brewing Association. He’d had their beer before—apparently it was shipped all over the country on refrigerated rail cars—but it tasted better here, at the source.

  Afterwards he kept walking, out of the industrial districts and along the shaded avenues. The snow had held off all day, but the sky turned gray, and he was glad for his thick coat and scarf. As the afternoon shadows lengthened, he found the gate to a Fairground, and paid the minimal entrance fee to check it out.

  When he thought of a ‘fairground’, he imagined a big open field, like where they celebrated Independence Day in Cheyenne. But here it apparently meant something different. There were carefully manicured walks and trees, like a fancy park, and huge buildings he didn’t bother going inside. He found a ‘zoological park’, and spent an hour and a half wandering around, staring at the animals that could brave the cold. He’d never imagined anything like this, and thought how much Pete and Noah would have liked to see it. If he ended up staying here, he might have his nephews come visit him in a few years.

  The thought of not seeing his home for a few years soured him, and he left the animals behind. Shoving his hands deep into his pockets, he stared at the trio of toughs lounging by the building’s entrance until they decided to go find an easier mark to target. Then he ambled on.

  It was almost full dark when he found the racetrack. He’d actually been looking for the park’s exit, wondering what Mrs. Gardner was serving for dinner that night, when he’d stumbled upon the open expanse. There was a large grandstand on the far side, but the track was tranquil and still at this time of night. This was a place of horses, a place where he could be comfortable, but the snow blanketed the circle and the middle field, unmarked by hoof prints. He rested his elbows on the fence and stared out at the silent expanse.

  “Peaceful, isn’t it?”

  Nate turned to see an older man strolling towards him. He was well-dressed, in a fine hat and long coat, and joined Nate at the rail. Nate studied him, and deciding that he didn’t pose a threat, turned back towards the racetrack. “Yes, sir.”

  “Nights like this, it’s hard to imagine that this place can be a bustling cauldron of life.”

  Nate nodded slowly. “I was thinking something similar.”

  They were both quiet for another minute, their forearms propped on the rail in similar poses, enjoying the stillness. Then the older man spoke. “You know racetracks, son?”

  He’d been to the races a few times, to see Barker horses when they ran. It was a popular gambling pastime in Cheyenne, but never this organized. “No sir. Just know horses.”

  “Really?” He straightened, and gave Nate a curious perusal. Then, apparently liking what he saw, he stuck out his hand. “I’m Charles Green, the President of the Fair Association. I run this place.”

  Raising a brow, wondering what such a highfalutin gentleman was doing wandering around a racetrack at night, Nate shook his hand. “Nate Barker, from Cheyenne.”

  “Pleased to me you, Mr. Barker.”

  “Call me Nate.”

  Green nodded. “And I can see, Nate, that you’re wondering why I’m standing here in the snow with you.” Nate didn’t quite nod, but it was close. “This is my fairground, and despite the way it’s been collapsing lately, I can go anywhere I damn well please.” He turned back to the track. “And this is my favorite part of the entire venture. I’m going to make this racetrack the real draw of the Park. The grounds, even the animals in the zoo, are losing their appeal to the people of St. Louis. But the races… the races will win their hearts.” He sighed. “And I like it best at night, when there aren’t actually any races happening.”

  Nate was quiet for a moment, in case the older man wasn’t done rambling. Then, “I guess I can understand that, sir.”

  Green laughed then, and shook his head ruefully. “Thank you for indulging an old man.” Turning, and studied Nate once more. “Barker… you wouldn’t happen to be related to Ash Barker, the horse trainer outside of Cheyenne?”

  He couldn’t help the way his brows rose. “He’s my brother. I catch and breed ‘em, Ash trains ‘em.”

  “Remarkable! I met two racehorses last year from your ranch. They’d changed hands several times, but the current owner still knew who’d bred them.” Nate shrugged, not entirely surprised Barker horses had found their way this far. “They were good animals. Good racers, although I understand not originally trained to be so.”

  “No sir. We train ‘em as cattle-horses, but they follow commands, and mustangs like to run. So some of ‘em we breed for speed.”

  “Really…?” Green’s voice had turned speculative. He was lost in thought for a minute, and then seemed to come to a decis
ion. “Son, I’d like you to come to my office tomorrow afternoon. I have a proposition for you that might make you a pretty penny.”

  Nate straightened then, not sure how to respond. The other man must have noticed. “I told you I was going to make this racetrack the next big thing. To do that, I need race-horses. Oh, there are more than enough here in St. Louis, but the track needs a collection of racers to start with. Animals we can pit against the locals, animals they can bet against. I need them to win, but not all the time. It sounds to me that your horses, bred for speed but not for racing, could be trained to be what I need.”

  A hesitant nod. “Yes, sir. Sounds like that.”

  “Good! Meet me tomorrow at, oh, say ten o’clock.” Green gave Nate the address, who despite his astonishment at the turn of events, memorized it. “What would you say to a contract whereby you supply me with racers for the first, say, two years? I’ll make it very profitable for you.”

  Nate couldn’t help the way he glanced around the empty track, thinking about the dilapidation of the zoo animals’ cages and the bear pit. Green noticed, and chuckled. “Oh, it might not look like much now, but this place is bustling in the fall, and during the Veiled Prophet Parade last week. But fairs are on their way out, son. Racing is going to be the next big St. Louis attraction, and I’m going to make this Park the center of it all! In a few years, the zoo and the trees won’t matter nearly as much as this track, right here.”

  Standing there in the winter night with a man he’d just met, Nate couldn’t help but be swayed by his zeal. And of course, even if the venture failed, it’d mean more money for the Barker ranch. So he stuck out his hand again, and the older man shook it.