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

by Caroline Lee

  Well, for at least as long as it took the overworked server to bring them their desserts.

  Snow then jerked away from him and forced a composed expression upon her face, as she folded her hands in her lap, making room for the apple pie before her.

  Hunter followed her lead, thanking the server and maintaining an air of nonchalance—as if his life hadn’t just changed—and picked up his fork to dig into his apple crumble.

  But he met her eyes just as he bit into the delicious dessert, and knew he’d forever associate the taste of apples with her.

  It was a long moment before she exhaled and picked up her own fork, but when she placed the baked apples in her mouth, she closed her eyes on a moan. An actual moan!

  He felt himself go cold, then hot immediately, as his fork dangled from his hand. It was a miracle his mouth wasn’t hanging open as well.

  Good Lord in Heaven, but she was appealing!

  That prim and proper white gown made her look almost angelic, but the lace accents made her seem a very worldly lady. He vowed to ask about those, just as soon as he could make his voice work. Make all of him work.

  She opened her eyes to see him staring at her, and flushed prettily again. “Sorry.” But then she shrugged and offered him a wry smile. “I adore apples. Autumn is my favorite time of year. You’d think it would be winter—being named Snow, I mean—but by now, all of our apples are starting to wither.” She scooped up another bite. “But at least they still taste delicious with cinnamon and sugar!”

  He was certain he made a noise like, “Gaaawk,” but it must’ve sounded encouraging, because she sighed as she tasted the second bite.

  Get yourself together, man!

  Hunter reached for his water as he tried desperately to calm his racing heart.

  “You’re right,” he finally managed, after several big gulps and clearing his throat multiple times. “These desserts are the best I’ve ever tasted.”

  She hummed in agreement. “Thank you so much for such a delicious gift. Meal, I mean.” She flushed, then pointed at his crumble with her fork. “But they’re only the best because they’re apples! But Briar’s berry pies are delicious too, I have to admit.”

  “Would you like a bite of mine?”

  Her eyes twinkled when they met his. “I would, but I’m not going to, because I want you to enjoy it all.”

  Beautiful, smart, and thoughtful.

  Half in love...? I’m inching toward three-quarters, and I only just met the woman!

  In an effort to distract himself, Hunter threw polite manners to the wind and began shoveling the apple crumble into his mouth.

  It really was good, but he couldn’t help but wonder what she would taste like.

  Desperate to spend more time with her, he took another big gulp of water, wondering if it hid his nervousness. “You know, the place where I’m staying still has apples on their trees.”

  Her gaze snapped up to his. “Really? Here in Everland? There’s a foot of snow on the ground!”

  He shrugged, and for the first time wondered about Doc and her roommates. “I haven’t been into their back yard—it’s walled in—but I could see a bunch of trees back there, and they all had apples on them. They’re a bit smaller, so I thought maybe the dwarf variety—”

  “Wait, apples here in Everland? Where exactly are you staying?”

  “It…doesn’t actually have a name. I’m staying with some nice ladies over on Perrault Street. I assume it’s a sort of boardinghouse, but everyone there seems to work together. I’m not sure which one is the proprietress.”

  And now it was her turn to prop her elbows up on either side of her empty plate and rest her chin in her hand as she thought. “I’ll admit I probably don’t know everyone in Everland. We’ve lived here for years, but due to— Well, it doesn’t matter. Let’s just say I tend to stay where I’m familiar.”

  With her friends and her sister; he could understand that.

  She continued, “But I don’t remember any boardinghouse on Perrault Street. There’s an empty lot there in between two homes, but I don’t think anyone could’ve built there so quickly.”

  He slapped his palm over his heart and lifted the other one, as if taking an oath. “My hand to God, Snow. I’m staying there, and it is a bit strange, but the ladies are nice. Quirky, but interesting. We’ve had some lively debates on theology and theory.”

  “And there are still apples on their trees?” she asked, with a slight frown.

  “Still apples on their trees.”

  Although, now that he thought about it, how?

  And there hadn’t been much snow on the ground in the courtyard, that he’d seen anyway. Oh, he could believe the brick walls were keeping the trees somewhat protected, which might also explain their size…but how did they still have apples?

  Apparently deciding to take his word, she nodded. And then…she smiled. A genuine smile, full of excitement and mischief and delight, and Hunter had no trouble imagining her as an energetic child.

  Or better yet, being the mother to an energetic child.

  What kind of mother would Snow make, and why did he suddenly want so badly to find out?

  She twisted in her chair, looking for the server, her smile still in place, oblivious to the way she was making his heart race. “Well, Hunter, I apologize for my rudeness, but…”

  “But?” he prompted, when she trailed off.

  She turned back to him and winked—actually winked! “But fresh apples? I’m going to have to insist on seeing this Christmas miracle!”

  Another chance to spend time with Snow? To talk to her? To maybe touch her again? To perhaps, possibly, even get a chance to kiss her?

  A Christmas miracle, indeed!

  Chapter 5

  Apples at Christmastime? Snow was a little embarrassed by how excited she was. Her heart was pounding, and she kept having to remember to take in big gulps of air.

  Apples? Don’t lie to yourself.

  It wasn’t because of some silly fruit she felt this way; she was practically walking on air because of him.

  Hunter strolled beside her, and when he’d offered his arm, it had seemed so natural to tuck her gloved hand in the crook of his elbow. Maybe she wouldn’t have considered it a few hours earlier, but after the meal they’d just shared, after she really felt as if she knew him, it seemed right to do it now.

  Plus, it felt amazing.

  He was tall and warm and very sure of himself. She remembered the way Mr. Prince had seemed to fill up the Crowne Mercantile, and she knew Hunter possessed those same qualities.

  Oh dear. Now she was thinking about Hunter with a baby in his arms. Maybe a little girl, bundled up against the cold, wearing a hat with a bobble on top, which Snow had made her. A little girl, with his warm brown eyes and their light hair, and strong fingers so she could one day learn her grand-mama’s lace art.

  “Did you make that gown you’re wearing?”

  His question, out of the blue like that, and still so close to what she’d been contemplating, jerked Snow’s attention from her daydream. “What?” she blurted.

  “The gown. The white is striking on you, but the black lace is what makes it unique. It’s almost as beautiful as you are.”

  She opened her mouth, but all that emerged was a kind of croaking sound.

  He thought she was beautiful?

  When he glanced at her, she could see a dark flush high on his cheeks. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have embarrassed you.”

  “No, I…” She shook her head and inhaled, trying to calm her giddy heart. “The gown was one of my sister’s, from years ago. Her mother bought it for her, but Rose said it suited me better, which made my stepmother, Lucinda, livid.” For a while, Snow hadn’t worn it, but recently, she had given up caring. “I, um…I added the lace.”

  “Did you make it yourself?” He seemed eager to hear the answer. “Did you make the lace on the tree as well, the one decorated in the woods?”

  She had to smile.
“Yes. Mama was famous in New Orleans for her lace-making, and she taught me. It’s called tatting, and it’s what makes my—”

  When she snapped her teeth closed on her secret, he pulled her to a stop. They were standing in front of The Gingerbread House Saloon, but neither noticed nor cared.

  “Makes your what?” he prompted gently, taking both her hands in his.

  Earlier, in the restaurant, he’d held her hand. Actually, she’d held his hand, and it had been wonderful. In that moment, she hadn’t been thinking about her stepmother’s opinions, or the possibility of a future. She’d been thinking about Hunter.

  And loving it.

  No one else in town—not even Lucinda—knew how she made her living. She hadn’t been keeping the secret consciously; she just didn’t care to share her business with everyone.

  Could she share it with Everland’s new preacher?

  Well, why not?

  “My gowns,” she confessed in a whisper, her gaze on his chin. “That’s how I make money, and have for years. There are people who want hand-made, lace-accented christening gowns for their babies, and they’re willing to pay dearly for a Snow White creation.”

  He whistled softly, and when she risked a peek up at him, he was smiling. He squeezed her hands.

  “I can imagine so. I’ll bet the gowns are all white and soft too? So they fit the name?”

  She nodded. “I design each one a little different, and that’s one of my guarantees. They’ll have a unique gown, destined to become an heirloom.” That was one of the selling points of her advertisements, in fact. “I can only do a dozen a year, so they’re quite dear.”

  Or dear enough, at least, that she could manage to support herself and Lucinda—and even Rose, before her books had started selling. And now Lucinda had started selling her potions, maybe they’d finally be able to stop their scrimping.

  Well, wouldn’t that be a Christmas miracle?

  The thought reminded her of the apples, and a grin flitted across her face as she tugged him into motion once more. “You said your mysterious boardinghouse was on Perrault Street?”

  He hummed in agreement, but when she began to take the lead, he gently tugged her into a slower pace and tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow once more.

  When she glanced at him in question, his smile was lazy and content. “I’m not going to run there, Miss Snow, and cheat myself out of any time I might spend with such a remarkable young woman on my arm.”

  A remarkable young woman?

  Snow sighed with delight.

  Lucinda might be a cold-hearted, hateful witch, but maybe she’s right when it comes to blond men.

  No, a man’s hair color was a stupid reason to accept or deny him. And if Lucinda determined Hunter’s worth based on that, then she was stupid too. Everyone in town knew Lucinda White was a little bit quirky, but since visiting that gypsy woman, she’d been talking more and more about curses and power and whatnot. And she did genuinely believe one of Reginald White’s daughters had to marry a man who shared his pale hair.

  But maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to agree with Lucinda when it came to Hunter.

  Because Snow was beginning to suspect Reverend Hunter Woods was the worthiest man she’d ever met, and she’d only known the man a few days!

  “So tell me, Miss Snow,” Hunter drawled as they turned down Perrault, “is tatting difficult?”

  She gave him a simple answer, but when he was still curious, Snow found herself explaining the techniques to him. He didn’t even seem to mind when she pulled her arm from his and began to sketch out the movements in the air in front of her. In fact, he peered intently at the empty space, as if he could see the invisible threads she was manipulating, and even pointed out a few to ask questions about them.

  Soon they were both laughing over the absurdity of invisible tatting, and Snow realized she’d never shared this with anyone else. Not just because no one had ever asked her, but because she’d never felt comfortable around other people who weren’t Rose or Zosia.

  But she was very comfortable around Hunter.

  Hmm.

  “You said your mother taught you this art?” Hunter was still chuckling as they neared the empty lot.

  “Yes. She was…she was a slave who had gained a reputation for her work. My father purchased her and moved her to Alabama, where I was conceived.”

  Hunter’s laughter immediately quieted. “I’m sorry. It must have been difficult to grow up in that environment.”

  Difficult?

  An understatement.

  Snow shrugged. “My father freed me when we were young, as a gift to my sister. He gave me the same advantages she had, although it was clear I was never important to him.” She swallowed, thinking of other children born the same way she’d been. “It could’ve been much, much worse.”

  Unconsciously, she touched her tignon, a reminder of one of the things she had to give up. Compared to what others had lost, being required to cover her hair seemed minor…and at this point, Snow wasn’t sure how she felt about it.

  Maybe Hunter understood, or maybe he was just looking for a way to change the conversation, because he nodded to her red headscarf. “And your…head dress? Did you make that, as well?”

  A slight smile flitted across her lips. “It’s called a tignon. Negro women in New Orleans wear them, and I remember my mama always wearing one. This was hers, actually.”

  “A tignon?” He tried the pronunciation.

  She nodded. “When I was born, my stepmother took one look at me and commanded my mother to always keep my hair covered. She said she wouldn’t allow the world to know Reginald White had given his hair to the daughter of a slave. I don’t think anyone in town has ever seen it, actually.” She chuckled wryly. “I’ll bet they all think my hair is dark.”

  Instead of asking about its color, Hunter proved her appearance didn’t matter to him by asking a different question. A harder question.

  “Your stepmother, she’s the one you live with? She sounds…” He blew out a breath. “Well, it isn’t my place to judge someone I’ve never met, but you said she forces you to do heavy jobs, and she doesn’t sound very loving to a tiny baby and—”

  Snow interrupted him with a dry laugh. “She’s nasty! There, is that the word you’re looking for?”

  When he began to chuckle, she joined in.

  “I’m sorry, Hunter, I shouldn’t tell tales, but she is difficult. And she’s getting worse. She believes she has some kind of—of— Oh, I don’t know, some kind of magical powers lately. I’ve noticed her getting odder over the last months, but I think she might be genuinely going mad.”

  He hummed in commiseration as he tugged her to a stop. “I’m sorry. What makes you think that?”

  Biting her lip, she considered what to tell him. What would make him understand, without having to tell him everything?

  “She makes…well, potions, I suppose. Lotions. Which she believes really work.”

  “What kind of potions?”

  As a man of God, she could understand why he’d be concerned about witchcraft. “She has one called Skin As White As Snow, which is intended to lighten skin.”

  “I wonder if that’s the one my colleague’s wife uses?” He was frowning slightly, but she saw nothing but interest and concern in his warm chocolate eyes.

  “If she does, I’d be surprised to find it works. Lucinda has no training in herblore or cosmetics. She created this lotion in order to lighten my skin. She thinks I can’t be...well, whole I guess, until I have skin as white as snow.”

  His mouth dropped open. “That’s—” He shook his head and tried again. “That’s horrible, Snow. Why would she use your name like that?”

  Her lips twitched ironically. “You misunderstand. She named me Snow at birth, because of my hair. I think she’s just trying to make me live up to my name.”

  Shaking his head again, he tugged her into motion once more. “Your stepmother named you? Of course, she’s not really you
r stepmother, is she? She’s your father’s wife.”

  “But all things considered, I’d rather not acknowledge him as a parent either.”

  When he sent a wry glance her way, a snort escaped his lips. “I can see why. Your real mother isn’t alive?”

  “She died before Father decided he couldn’t live in the south anymore and dragged us out here.”

  Tugging her to a stop again, he captured one of her hands in his, but rather than tucking it away, clasped it tightly. “I’m sorry,” he repeated.

  “This is a terribly maudlin conversation, Reverend Woods.”

  As if he could sense she was trying to change the topic, he offered a gentle smile. “It’s my duty to minister to my flock, Miss Snow,” he said in mock seriousness.

  “Is that what you’re doing? Ministering?”

  When she squeezed his hand teasingly, his eyes widened with what looked like happiness.

  “Well, perhaps a bit more than that.”

  She knew her own eyes were twinkling when she grinned impishly. “Well, how about this Christmas miracle you promised? Where’s this boardinghouse of yours?”

  “Where’s—?” He blinked, then shifted his gaze behind her. “Right there.”

  Still holding his hand, she whirled, only to see—as she’d seen dozens of times before—an empty lot. She glanced sidelong at him, a frown tugging at her lips. She wasn’t sure if she should admit she couldn’t see anything, or accuse him of teasing her. He’d seemed so certain, so either he was fabricating a complex trick, or she…

  Was it possible she was going mad too? Like Lucinda?

  No. No, it was more likely she’d completely misjudged Hunter, and he was the mad one.

  Right?

  “Come on, we’ll go through the foyer to the courtyard,” he said, tugging her forward.

  Foyer? Courtyard? Boardinghouse?

  What in the world was he talking about?

  This was an empty lot—

  And then, it wasn’t.

  Between one step and the next, a house shimmered into existence, right there on Perrault Street, so suddenly Snow let out a little squeak of surprise and pulled away from him. He jerked to a stop, looking at her in confusion, while she stepped backward.