Merry Wild West Christmas

by Wanda Ann Thomas

  He wouldn’t want to be babied either.

  The few times he’d brought up the subject of Mr. and Mrs. Hopkins’s plan to take an extended trip with Jo to consult with Eastern doctors, she had quickly changed the subject.

  Christmas was two days away. Then New Year’s Day.

  There was no harm waiting until after the holidays to press the matter.

  Seventeen

  The mouthwatering aroma of the roasting Christmas goose wafted through the house. Pots and pans rattled in the kitchen as Mutter and Papa prepared the traditional side dishes of cranberry sauce, gravy with giblets, glazed carrots, boiled onions, and fluffy mashed potatoes.

  The white and silver snowflake-pattern china sparkled under the glow of candlelight. Glass stemware added to the cheer of the dining room. Jo fitted a white linen napkin into a snowflake napkin ring and placed it just so on the matching tablecloth.

  She stood back and sighed. “Isn’t it lovely?”

  Ox paused from polishing a silver fork. “Beautiful.” But his gaze was fixed on her.

  How was she supposed to slow down her feelings for him when he looked at her like that? “Putting out the special Christmas china is my favorite part of Christmas.”

  “Is there anything you dislike about today?” he asked, grinning.

  Pip scurried past followed by a yipping, playful Sugar Cookie.

  His Royal Highness’s kingdom had been disturbed. “Poor Pip might think differently, but it will be too quiet when you and Cookie leave to join your family.”

  Ox’s eyes twinkled brighter than the polished silverware. “Are you admitting you will miss me?”

  She plucked the fork from his hand. “Maybe I’m fond of puppies.”

  “Maybe I’m only fond of your mother’s cooking.”

  She bumped his elbow in reprimand and they shared a laugh.

  He sobered first. “Bri and Garrett made me promise I’d extend another invitation to you and your folks.”

  “Mutter and I don’t want to chance a relapse after the wonderful progress Papa has made.” She had shied away from accepting the invitation, not wanting to give his family false impressions when she was unsure of her own heart.

  “I told them not to get their hopes up.”

  His sad smile would not do. “Today is supposed to be filled with happy thoughts.” She pulled him by the hand into the parlor, rooted through the brightly wrapped presents beneath the tree, and held out a box in triumph. “Here, open it.”

  He cast a doubtful glance toward the kitchen. “What about your folks?”

  “They saw it when I wrapped it.” She pressed the gift into his hands.

  “I don’t even know where to begin arguing with that logic.” He worked to free the bow.

  “Be careful. It’s breakable.”

  He examined the string holding down the lid from all sides. “I might have to put you to work roping cattle.”

  She smiled at the compliment. “Papa says my present-wrapping talents would do my great-grandmutter proud.”

  Using a pocketknife, he soon had the box open. Pushing aside the tissue paper, he grinned and drew out the glass ornament. “You shouldn’t have.”

  “I couldn’t resist.” With Aunt Elsa’s help, the pickle ornament had arrived in the nick of time. “For your tree.”

  “My little bitty cabin is barely big enough for me.” He was smiling, but his voice held a note of apology.

  “You don’t fool me. You love your ranch. You must be missing home.”

  “No more than you, I expect. But we do what we have to for those we care for.”

  Her large boisterous Ohio family would be gathered at Aunt Elsa’s house. But if they had remained in the city, Papa would still be coming home exhausted from long days of work at the lamp factory.

  She met his gaze. “Aurora is becoming special to me.”

  “And I’m growing quite fond of Christmas.” His brown eyes reflecting his joy, he reached around the tree and plucked a small gift from hiding. “Since we’re exchanging gifts.”

  “How sweet of you.” The burlap sack was tied with a strip of red calico.

  “Maggie gave me a hand.”

  A clinking sound came from the bag. Intrigued, her breath caught as she opened the sack. Cookie cutters tumbled out. She couldn’t wait to use the gingerbread man, Christmas tree, Santa sleigh, and stocking-shaped cutters. “You know me well.”

  “For when you have your own home.”

  But would she ever have a home, and a husband, and children? Dare she dream for so much? Jasper had had dreams. She fumbled the metal cutters back into the sack. “I shouldn’t have talked Mutter and Papa out of purchasing a hope chest.”

  He captured her hands, and his thumbs caressed her knuckles. “Only happy thoughts today, remember.”

  “Thank you for understanding.” He was a good man.

  His thumbs skimmed her inner wrists. “Listening to holiday songs on the phonograph will cheer us both up.”

  She pressed closer. How was it possible to feel reckless and cautious at the same time? “First I have another gift to share.”

  “I got you only the one present.”

  The loud beating of her heart competed with the crackle of the Yule log. “Could we share a Christmas kiss?”

  “I might could arrange it,” he drawled, but there was nothing lazy about the yearning darkening his eyes.

  She swallowed. “I’ve never kissed a beau, so I might not be good at it.”

  His mouth whispered across her jaw. “How about if we practice?”

  Her insides fluttered. “I’m supposed to be kissing you.”

  His quiet laugh purled over her nape. “That’s the rumor.”

  “Let’s see who smiles now.” She cupped his face, and joy mingling with longing, she pressed her lips to his mouth.

  Ribbon candy couldn’t taste as sweet and delicious. “Merry Christmas,” she murmured against his firm mouth.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he answered, his voice husky. “You kiss good. But I don’t mind practicing some more.”

  “I’ll have you wishing every day was Christmas if I’m not careful.”

  He drew her hands to his mouth and pressed soft kisses to her fingers. “Actually, I’m anticipating New Years. 1893 has the promise of being a mighty fine year.”

  A tremble went through her.

  He believed in them.

  Why couldn’t she dismiss her nagging doubts?

  Eighteen

  The new year dawned with blue skies and the promise of a long sleigh ride in the company of the Haven family. Sheriff Boone and Garrett rode horseback. Colt and Charity sat between Maggie and Bri on the back bench bundled in blankets. From her vantage point on the front bench, Jo’s attention was captured by the grandeur of the white-capped mountains and Ox’s deft handling of the reins.

  For the thousandth time, she wiggled and flexed her fingers inside her fur muff. She’d awoken this morning to numbness in both hands and prayed it was from sleeping on them the wrong way. She was able to dress and brush her hair without any trouble, but the tingling continued to linger. Crippling fear struck. What if her condition grew worse?

  Papa and Mutter wanted to take her to see the best doctors in the East. She’d spent the week resisting the plan and assuring them she felt perfectly healthy.

  “Are you freezing?” Ox asked, concern edging his voice.

  She balled her hands and forced a smile. “The down quilt is as cozy as can be.”

  His brow remained furrowed. “We could turn back.”

  Why had she encouraged his attentions? She hated the idea of being a burden to him or anyone. “Really, I’m warm as—”

  “But we just got started,” Colt protested. “Mama promised I could go sliding if we made it to the snow hills.”

  “Son, it’s not polite to interrupt,” Maggie scolded gently.

  Jo swiveled around in her seat and offered the cherub-faced boy an encouraging smile.

 
“Sorry for inter—” He struggled a few more times with the word, then heaved a large sigh. “Sorry, Miss Josephine.”

  Bri patted his knee. “You can go sliding another time, Pudding.”

  Sheriff Boone slowed his horse. “I sure could use a mug of hot cocoa.”

  “And warm apple tarts,” Garrett said, from the opposite side of the sleigh.

  Her stomach clenched at the solicitude she feared was meant for her more than Colt. How much had Ox told his family? “My vote is with Colt. Sliding first then hot cocoa.”

  “Hooray!” Colt’s smile outshone the sun.

  Turmoil swirled in Ox’s brown eyes. “Do I get a vote?”

  “Please, don’t make a fuss,” she whispered.

  He considered the request for a painfully long moment. “I vote to go on a while longer.”

  Sheriff Boone and Garret cast their votes by urging their mounts ahead. At a signal from Ox, the horses picked up speed, the sleigh runners making a merry shushing sound.

  Colt squealed in delight. “Go faster, Uncle Ox.”

  Jo pressed closer to Ox and her thoughts echoed Colt’s words, but without the same excitement. Faster, faster, faster. And maybe later today, or tomorrow, or next week the numbness in her hands would be a distant memory.

  By noon, a bank of heavy gray clouds encroached, and the decision was made to cut the adventure short. The smell of snow and the dropping temperatures added urgency to their flight. Sheriff Boone and Garrett, their jacket collars turned up against the wind, reached the stable first.

  They stood beside the double barn doors with Papa as the sleigh glided to a stop.

  Colt bolted from the bench and jumped into his daddy’s waiting arms. “Can I help brush the horses?”

  Boone gave Maggie a hand down. “If Uncle Ox doesn’t mind. I’ll walk Mama to Bri’s, then return to fetch you.”

  Ox chuckled. “Miss Jo and I will be along shortly with Colt.”

  Bri stood. “Ja, Mr. Hopkins, you and your wife are invited. I will have cocoa and tarts waiting for everyone.”

  Papa nodded his pleasure. “Josephine, please relay the invitation to Mutter and instruct her to break out the schnapps I’ve been saving.”

  Jo attempted to push off the bench, but her feet felt like frozen blocks. Panic shot up her spine. “Ox, help!”

  He tossed aside the reins and cradled her numb hands. “We need to get you warmed up.”

  “Is Miss Josephine hurt?” Colt asked.

  Maggie and Bri wore worried expressions as they shushed the boy.

  Jo remembered the staring and pointing that Jasper had hated. “I want Mutter.”

  Ox scooped her in his arms and strode for the house.

  She pressed her face against his chest. His heart thumped as rapidly as hers.

  Be brave, be brave, she lectured herself. I promise to be brave, Jasper.

  Nineteen

  Ox removed the last ornament from the molting fir tree he had chopped down and set up in the Hopkins’ front parlor a few short weeks ago. Wooden crates waiting to be packed with nativity sets, snow globes, and nutcrackers littered the once festive parlor. The smell of sugar cookies drifting in from the kitchen had been replaced by the pungent odor of sauerkraut.

  Cookie yapped and chased the cat upstairs where Mr. and Mrs. Hopkins had retreated to organize suitcases for the family’s train trip to New York. But it was just an excuse to give him and Jo time alone.

  He watched her out of the corner of his eye. The initial paralysis she had suffered a week ago after the sleigh ride had been temporary. One leg remained weak, but she was determined to do her share of the work.

  “I could sure use a tall glass of milk and some of that leftover banana bread,” he said casually. “How about you?”

  She hobbled to the fireplace with the help of a cane and stroked the framed picture of her brother. “Jasper, how many times do I have to remind Mr. Haven that I won’t be coddled?”

  “Are you saying, a charging buffalo would be less obvious than me?”

  But she didn’t smile like she used to when he teased. “I’m going to keep working until everything is put away. We might be gone for months.”

  His chest tightened. Come tomorrow, the one o’clock train would carry Josephine away. “How about we leave some of the decorations out as a welcome home treat?”

  “Next Christmas will come soon enough.” She dragged a wooden soldier nutcracker from the mantel with her free hand, limped to a packing crate, and threw it onto the straw.

  “I thought it would cheer you, on account of your wishing every day was Christmas.”

  “What is it to you if I’m ready to put away childish fantasies?”

  “Your joy of Christmas is…is…dang, I can’t think of the right word, but I love that about you.”

  The cane crashed to the floor and her hands covered her ears. “Don’t speak to me of love.”

  Her pain and anger lashed his heart. He crossed to her. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

  She reared back. “I don’t need—” Her arms flailed for purchase, and panic flashed through her eyes.

  He caught her up before she toppled. “I’ve got you.”

  “Put me down!”

  “We can get through this together.”

  Her palm thumped against his shoulder. “Didn’t you hear me, you dumb ox? I don’t need or want your help.”

  The twin wounds of insult and rejection were a double-barrel shotgun blast to the heart. He set her on the couch with care. “Don’t do this. Don’t shut me out.”

  Backed into the corner of the settee, her eyes were as fierce and wild as an injured lioness. “Go. Leave.”

  “Please don’t do this.”

  The commotion drew Mr. and Mrs. Hopkins downstairs.

  “Sugarplum, what’s wrong?” Mr. Hopkins asked over Jo’s shoulder as he frowned at Ox.

  A bang sounded in the kitchen and Sugar Cookie chased Mr. Pip into the room. The cat scrambled onto an armchair, then leaped into Mrs. Hopkins’ arms. “Bad kitty.”

  Ox corralled Cookie. “Sorry, ma’am.” The carefree puppy wagged his tail and licked his face. “I’ll clean up whatever mess was made. But first I need to fix matters with your daughter.”

  “Mutter, I want to retire to my bedroom.” Jo bent and swiped at the cane but instead knocked it farther out of reach.

  Ox retrieved the cane. Cookie sniffed curiously at the curved handle. “Let me help…please.”

  “My cane,” she said, with tear-stained eyes and an outstretched hand.

  He reluctantly surrendered it. “Cookie and I will finish packing the decorations while you rest up.”

  She hugged the cane and dipped her chin. “Please go.”

  Mrs. Hopkins handed the cat off to her husband. “Walk Ox to the door, while I assist our daughter.” She offered Ox an apologetic look as she helped Jo stand.

  “Give her time,” Mr. Hopkins said in parting.

  The door closed shut behind him, and Ox stood frozen in place on the porch, buffeted by the harsh January wind. He tucked Cookie inside his coat and stared at the empty train platform.

  A train would carry Josephine Hopkins away this time tomorrow, taking his heart and happiness.

  Dumb as an ox. He was as stubborn as one, sure as shootin’.

  He’d find a way to patch things up before she rolled out of town.

  Or his name wasn’t Ox Haven.

  Twenty

  The sound of the train chugging into town usually cheered Jo, but stubborn-headed Ox would be waiting for her on the other side of the front door. He had returned six times yesterday, begging, then demanding to see her. To make matters worse, her parents had switched sides to champion his cause.

  He was an honorable, hardworking, kind man who utterly loved her, they had argued. What was left unsaid—they would fear less for her, knowing their lame daughter would have someone to care for her once they passed.

  She could accept the facts, so why c
ouldn’t they? A wheelchair might be in her near future. Ox needed an able-bodied wife to help run his ranch and raise a family. Or she might be resting in a grave beside Jasper in a few short years.

  The last gasp of the train whistle sounded. A tremble shook her.

  “Ready?” Papa asked.

  She looped her arm through his elbow, gripped the cane in her free hand, and hiked her chin. It was up to her to be the sensible one. “You must convince Aunt Elsa to allow Nellie to come to New York with us. Two days won’t be enough to hear all about her engagement to the undertaker.”

  Mutter tied the blue velvet bow of her winter bonnet. “We will be too busy visiting doctors to entertain Nellie. Much as I love the dear, I find her nervous energy taxing.”

  Pip rubbed up against Papa’s leg. He stroked the cat’s back one last time. “Good-bye, boy. Be good for Ox.”

  “What a dear man Ox is for agreeing to take care of Pip, the house, and the stable in our absence,” Mutter said again.

  Jo inhaled a steadying breath.

  “We’re off,” Papa said and opened the door.

  A blast of freezing air hit her face. Pip scurried outside.

  “Get back here, you rascal,” Mutter called.

  On the doorstep, Ox scooped up the cat and cradled him to his chest. “I wanted to say good-bye.” His voice was hoarse, and his normally cheerful face was edged with pain.

  Mutter pressed the house key into his hand. “Here is Ox coming to our rescue again.”

  The key went into his pocket, but his eyes remained on Jo. “I’ll be waiting on your return.”

  Jo’s fingers itched to stroke his wind-chapped cheek. She clutched the cane tighter and directed her gaze to the train platform, where Garrett and White Wolf were helping Carl load their baggage on the train. “You should court Trudy. That’s what you should do.”

  “How can you suggest that? Please look at me.”

  “This is why I refused to talk.” Her throat constricted painfully at the strain of speaking with a flat voice. “I don’t want to hurt you more.”

  “You aren’t fooling me. Despite what you said, I’m not a dumb ox.”