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

by Caroline Lee

  Out among the crowd, Doc snorted. “Any of you people feel like giving Mrs. White here mouth-to-mouth?” She jerked her thumb toward Hunter. “Our last hero sacrificed himself, and he’s not feeling quite up to snuff.”

  As one, everyone in the crowd backed up a step.

  Doc’s lips curled derisively, and she nudged the body again. “A witch? Ha! Some witch!” she scoffed, one fist on her hip. “Still, seems fitting. Narrative causality, and all that.”

  From the porch came the expected, “Narrative caus—”

  “Shut it, Dorcas,” Doc snapped. Then she sighed and gestured. “Well, come on, you people! Jack Carpenter’s with his family—no need to bother him! Let’s get this body over to Mr. Grimm, the undertaker, and we can all get back to our Christmas dinners—after you’ve washed your hands!”

  More than a few of the townspeople were muttering and eyeing Doc and the boardinghouse, but a few stepped forward to help with Lucinda’s body.

  As he watched them disperse, Hunter felt the fight leave him. His shoulders slumped, his head began to ache, and he realized he was leaning into Snow’s embrace.

  He tried to straighten, to take his weight off her, but she was the one who tightened her hold on him.

  “Hunter…” she began.

  When she trailed off, he shifted so he could see her more fully. They were both sitting on the steps now, the blanket stretching across their shoulders. He reached for her chilled hands.

  “It’s over, Snow,” he said gently.

  As a reverend, he’d had to coach more than one daughter through the loss of her mother. But this was different. Although a human being had just died—and Hunter hadn’t been able to help her—she’d been evil.

  “She can’t hurt you anymore, my love.”

  Snow pressed her shoulder against his. “You saved me,” she said simply.

  “I only did what any man would, when faced with losing the woman he loved.”

  “You…” Her wide eyes met his. “You really do love me?”

  Only then did he realize she had no shoes. He reached down and lifted her legs into his lap, tucking them under his suit coat. Then he smiled at her. “Of course I love you, Snow. I think I fell in love with you the moment I heard your voice.”

  She grimaced. “I have a terrible voice.”

  His smile only grew as he lifted her fingers to his lips. He brushed a kiss across them, never dropping her gaze. “You have the perfect voice to glorify God, my love.”

  Her lips twitched then. “I suppose it is Christmas.”

  That’s right! It was Christmas, and he’d forgotten her gift!

  He dropped her hand and scrabbled for his pocket. “I will never, ever forget your gift to me this Christmas, Snow, but I have one for you too.”

  “You gave me an apple, Hunter.”

  “And you gave me your heart, Snow.” He turned back to her, the silk pouch cupped in his palm. “I know it’s fast, and I wasn’t quite sure if I could work up the courage to give this to you—to ask you—” He shook his head. “But I almost lost you today, Snow. I can’t imagine going through life without you. Will you…”

  When he swallowed and trailed off, she prompted him breathlessly, “Yes?”

  He tipped the silk pouch over, and the hand-me-down gold ring tumbled out. “Will you marry me?”

  She held her breath, as he took her hand and slipped the ring onto her finger. She stared at it, her expression unreadable, for a long moment.

  Finally, her gaze switched to his, and he watched her eyes slowly light.

  He saw joy, and hope, and his future.

  “Yes!” she cried, throwing her arms around his neck, which meant she was basically sitting in his lap. “Yes!” she repeated, laughing. “I love you, Hunter Woods, and I would be honored to spend the rest of my life loving you.”

  He tilted her chin up so he could see her full face. “Not nearly as honored as I would be to do the same, my love.”

  She was grinning when she strained up toward him. “Happy Christmas!”

  “Happy Christmas, Snow,” he murmured, right before their lips met.

  Epilogue

  “God rest ye, merry gentlemen—”

  Snow smiled as she joined in with her husband’s voice. “Let nothing you dismay! For Jesus Christ—Our Savior!—was born upon this day!”

  On the other side of the small tree in the clearing, Hunter pulled down the last of the lace ribbon she’d used to decorate her pitiful Christmas tree. He carefully folded it and held it out for her to tuck into the tissue paper she used to store them during the year.

  As she finished, he clasped his gloved hand over hers. When she met his eyes, his were sparkling.

  “Be careful with those, my love. I want them to be in pristine condition for next year’s tree.”

  She glanced around her clearing in the woods. “This one will be even taller. I won’t be able to reach the topmost bow again.”

  He chuckled. “You’ll never go without Christmas cheer again, wife. I’ll be cutting down a tree and dragging it inside for you to decorate.”

  Wife.

  They’d been married that morning, in the first service of the new year. Perhaps not officially married, not until another pastor visited Everland and could officiate, but as the town’s reverend, Hunter and Snow had stood up in front of neighbors and friends, and they’d repeated their vows to one another.

  As far as Snow, Hunter, the people of Everland, and God Himself were concerned, they were married.

  What a perfect way to start a new year!

  “I think that sounds lovely, husband. You’re always more comfortable out in nature anyhow, and this way, you can bring a little nature in!”

  He grinned, his hand lifting to stroke her cheek. “You are brilliant, my love. Maybe one day…”

  When he flushed and trailed off, she hurried to press her hand against his, to press his palm to her cheek. “What?”

  “I’d…um…” He took a deep breath—he hadn’t had any more issues since he’d shared his life’s breath with her—and offered her a lopsided, embarrassed grin. “I’d like children, Snow. I know we never spoke of that, but I’ve always wanted babies, and I hope you—”

  With a joyful cry, she flung herself into his arms, holding tight to the lace in one fist. He caught her with a slight grunt, but quickly steadied them both.

  “Is that a yes?”

  “It’s a yes, please!” She beamed up at him. “I’ve never spoken of it before, and I was a little nervous with you, but I would love a child of my own. I…” She bit her bottom lip, not sure if she should confess all, then threw caution to the wind. “After our first meeting, I started daydreaming what she’d look like, our daughter.”

  He was staring at her lips. “And what would she look like?”

  “She’ll have your lovely brown eyes, and our—”

  A shared trust, Doc had said. A metaphor for physical relationship.

  Well, tonight, she and Hunter were married. They were going to return to her home, the house she’d inherited and purged since Lucinda’s death, and they were going to consummate their marriage.

  Frankly, Snow couldn’t wait. She wanted children, and she wanted to feel Hunter’s hands on her. All of her, and that included her hair.

  “Snow?” he prompted.

  Swallowing, she stepped away from him and tucked the lace packets into the pocket of her coat. She lifted her hands to her tignon and untied the knot which held it in place.

  “Hunter, I told you how my—how Lucinda had me keep my hair covered, right?”

  When he nodded, his eyes following her movements, she began to unwrap the white-and-gold headscarf she’d chosen for their wedding day.

  “My father had pale hair, and Lucinda believed it was the sign of nobility…of somehow being better than everyone else. I suspect that’s where her desire for pale skin came from as well.”

  He hummed in agreement and crossed his arms, considering her words. �
��That seems likely. She had red hair, but powdered it, you said.”

  “Yes, and she passed that hair on to Rose, her daughter. But imagine her anger when I was born with…”

  She took a deep breath and unwrapped the last pass of the tignon, draping the material around her shoulders. His eyes followed her hands as she pulled the pins from her braid, then ran her fingers through the waves.

  Blonde hair—paler than blonde, almost white—flowed through her fingers. She rested her thick hair across her shoulders as well. Then she met his eyes.

  He was breathing heavily, his gaze locked on hers. She knew how that hair looked, against her darker skin. It was…

  “It’s an oddity. An abnormality. It’s why my stepmother named me Snow, even before my own mama was gone.” She shrugged. “Everyone assumes my hair is dark, as it should be, but…”

  In two swift steps, he reached her. His hands went to her hair, and he hesitated only a moment, before lowering his fingers to stroke it, to caress the locks.

  “It’s perfect,” he whispered reverently. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.”

  In his eyes, she saw only sincerity, and knew it was the truth.

  Her husband had seen her—all of her—and still loved her.

  A shared trust.

  Slowly, her lips tugged upward in a smile.

  His fingers were still twined in her hair, but his hands came up to cup her cheeks. She felt his warmth, his nearness, woven in with her very being.

  A metaphor for a physical relationship.

  “I love you,” she whispered, looking into his warm eyes. “Thank you for marrying me.”

  His lips claimed hers, and for long moments, there was no sound, except for the birdsong and the snow, which had gently begun to fall. They were both wearing heavy winter coats, but pressed against him like this, she could feel all of him…and loved it.

  She was the one who pulled away first. “Take me home, husband,” she pleaded.

  He bent down to scoop up his hat—had she knocked it off?—and his lips pulled up in excitement. Grabbing her around her waist, he pulled her to him so quickly, she let out a surprised squeal, and he winked at her.

  “Gladly, wife. But first…”

  And when he broke into song, there in their little clearing in the woods, beside the almost-magical Lake Enchantment, she joined her voice with his, knowing they’d spend the rest of their lives singing for joy.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  On Historical Accuracy

  This is the point in the book where I usually share interesting tidbits I’ve learned while researching. I’ll tell you that yes, all the lyrics for Christmas carols used are accurate for 1880 Wyoming. I’ll also mention that it was commonly thought pristine air would cure lung disorders (like asthma)…which is why southern California became so popular a few decades later. I’ve never heard of southwest Wyoming being particularly spa-like, but in Everland, we’ve created a special world! And besides, I’ve been setting up the “magical” properties of Lake Enchantment for a few books now. Don’t worry; that’ll be relevant again!

  One thing I’d like to mention was how different this book was from other Everland stories. Snow’s story was a hard one to write, and I wanted hers to be sufficiently different from other Everland Ever After tales. I needed her to fall in love fast, so I employed a lot more magic than in other books.

  In the original Snow White story, Snow finds refuge from her evil stepmother among seven dwarves, right? I needed seven somethings for my Snow to stay with when she was in trouble…and I knew I had this convenient Guild of Godmothers in town already. Way back in Little Red, I started laying the groundwork for this story, by giving each of the seven Godmothers a different personality. Doc has had the most appearances, but that’s because she’s my favorite.

  In this book, you got to revisit a lot of previous couples and catch up with them. We also got to see a lot more of the Godmothers themselves, and see them use magic, which hasn’t happened much up ‘til now. I hope the explanations for their abilities all made sense! And don’t worry…you’ll be seeing them again.

  Everland’s brides and their Godmothers:

  Little Red: Grunhilda

  Ella: Flamboyant Bashful

  Beauty: The entire Guild

  The Stepmother: Past members of the Guild (15 years previous)

  Rapunzelle: Helga

  Briar Rose: Doc

  Rose Red: Suzy

  The Mermaid: Doc

  The Prince’s Pea: Dorcas

  Snow: The entire Guild (but especially Doc)

  If you’ve enjoyed Snow and Hunter’s Christmas romance, I urge you to friend me on Facebook or follow me on Bookbub. I frequently post fun stories, links to great books, and cute animal pictures.

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  Please consider leaving a review—it’s bread and butter to an author like me. It’s proven that books with more reviews—and they don’t have to be effusive—sell better, and I appreciate each and every one. Thank you!

  The Gold Ring

  The Twelve Days of Christmas Mail-Order Brides, book 5

  About this book

  Dear Reader,

  This book originally appeared in the multi-author series Twelve Days of Christmas Mail-Order Brides. This is a twelve-book series centered on the mining town of Noelle, CO, which is in danger of becoming a ghost town. The desperate bachelors of the town concoct a scheme to bring in a railroad spur by proving that the town isn’t dying (and is in fact growing) by bringing in twelve mail-order brides to start families. The brides arrive on the first day of Christmas.

  And of course, shenanigans ensue.

  The only way the railroad will build the spur is if all twelve marriages take place, but each couple faces their own challenges. One particular match-up of would-be bride and groom are particularly nasty, but when they skip town, the people of Noelle are still desperate for a marriage to occur, so they approach an unlikely pair…

  Pearl knows she’ll only ever be a whore. Her chance to be anything more was snatched away long ago, and the bitterness has eaten away at her for years. What keeps her looking to the future is the opportunity to take care of and protect the other working girls at La Maison des Chats… Well that, and one particular customer who holds her heart, even if he would never consider a life with someone like her.

  On Christmas Eve, a dozen new brides arrive in Noelle, and are forced to take up residence in La Maison. Pearl is happy to be able to offer comfort and support, because the poor things need her help…even if their very presence is a sharp reminder that she can never be one of them.

  But when the reverend’s scheme to get the women married off falls through on only the second day of Christmas, it looks as though the town will never be stable enough to entice the railroad spur they all desperately need. So Pearl agrees to a deception that will not only save the town, but bring her what she desperately wants: a marriage—even a pretend one—with the man she loves.

  Little do they know just how dangerous this deception will turn out to be…

  For the first time, I dedicate a book to a something inanimate: The song “The Twelve Days of Christmas.” Not only would the series not exist without this song, but it’s been stuck in my head for the last nine months.

  FIIIIIIIVVVE GOLDEN RIIIIINNNNNNNGGGGGGGS!

  Chapter 1

  Noelle, Colorado

  December 24th, 1876

  “Fools.”

  Draven hadn’t intended to mutter the insult aloud, but it hardly mattered. None of the f
ools in question were able to hear him, being on the far side of the room as they were. He’d been leaning here against the bar at the Golden Nugget Saloon for the last hour, nursing his second whiskey and watching the men of Noelle, Colorado turn into a bunch of wet hens.

  However, the snort coming from beside him reminded him he wasn’t alone. Storm Thornton sat on a stool facing the bar, his shoulders hunched over his drink, and his eyes locked on the bottle in front of him. He hadn’t so much as glanced over his shoulder at the men trying to clean up the saloon, but Draven knew his sometimes-friend was paying as much attention as he was.

  “Was that you agreeing or disagreeing?” he asked, his elbows resting on the bar.

  Storm grunted. Again, difficult to understand, but Draven didn’t push it. The half-breed was a man of few words most of the time—at least to the citizens of Noelle—and he had to be feeling antsy tonight.

  After all, he’d just found out he was getting married.

  The front door pushed open, and Reverend Chase Hammond backed in, directing two poor sods—was that Liam Fulton and Orvis Weston, the miner?—carrying a tree.

  A tree. In the saloon.

  Draven would’ve thought Seamus would be pissed to see them dragging so much greenery into his place, but no; the little bartender was rushing around same as the others, polishing and sweeping and making space.

  For a Christmas tree.

  Draven cursed under his breath and straightened slowly. Christmas Eve wasn’t anything different from every other night of the year, as far as he cared. And for the two years he’d been here in Noelle, the most Christmas-y the town had gotten was when Madame Bonheur hosted that fancy dinner with her girls and charged the men five dollars a head just to eat with ‘em.