Merry Wild West Christmas

by Wanda Ann Thomas

  She flinched and met his stormy eyes. Her fright and anger were no excuse. “That was cruel of me.”

  Ox ignored Pip biting at his denim jacket. “And I’m stubborn. So we’re equal.”

  “Miss Josephine,” Carl said, tipping his porter hat in greeting. “We need to get you aboard the train before you’re frozen through.”

  She managed a smile for her friend. “Once we are settled on the train, I want to hear the latest family news about all your children and grandchildren.”

  He chuckled. “The children want my Flora to give up her laundry business, and she laughs at her chicks fretting over her.”

  Mutter descended the porch stairs, exchanging pleasantries with Carl.

  Ox had eyes only for her. “Take care.”

  “Get on with your life,” she encouraged Ox in parting.

  Thankfully, he remained rooted in place as Papa guided her to the train.

  Wolf watched her with cold, flat eyes. Garrett helped Mutter up the train steps.

  “Didn’t I tell you those Haven boys were good folks?” Carl offered Jo his elbow. “Is Ox feeling ill?”

  Garrett frowned. “He had a rough night. Couldn’t eat or sleep.”

  The strangling grief matched that of losing Jasper. The loss of Ox also meant the end of her friendship with the Havens. “I’m sorry. Please pass on my apol—”

  “Josephine Hopkins!” Ox sprinted onto the platform. Garrett and Wolf intercepted him.

  Reindeer droppings, why did he have to be so brave and wonderful? She limped up the stairs faster.

  “I’m not gonna stop loving you!” he called.

  How she made it to her seat without falling on her face was a miracle. It took all her willpower and strength to keep her eyes on her clasped hands rather than risking a last look out the window as the train jerked out of Aurora.

  Mutter patted her hand. “You can send Ox a letter if you change your mind.”

  “I won’t. This is for the best.” Of course, parting would hurt. But the worst was over. Please let the worst be over.

  A tall, skinny cowboy turned around in his seat and doffed his dilapidated cowboy hat. “Howdy, folks. How long did you last before deciding to hightail it for civilization?”

  Papa blinked in confusion. “Last, where?”

  The cowboy hitched his thumb over his shoulder. “There’s two other families on the train heading home after giving the West a try. The family from Maryland worked a mining claim in Colorado for two years. Another with a brood of seven from Chicago are turning around after just two months. So how long did you folks last?”

  “Miss Josephine is one of the strong ones,” Carl said, shuffling up the narrow aisle as the train swayed side to side. “The same as my Flora.”

  The cowboy glanced at the cane, then back at Jo. “Have a good trip, folks.”

  Jo felt like a fraud.

  Twenty-One

  Ox’s return to his ranch after a six-month absence ought to be a relief. The months of hoping for a letter from Jo that never came while running Hopkins Stables was torture. Her father sent short notes mostly to do with stable business, with brief mentions of Jo visiting a new doctor.

  One week ago, a telegram had arrived, announcing the family was returning to Aurora. His brief joy crumbled with Mr. Hopkins’s sincerest apologies at passing along a painful request. Jo insisted she would remain with family in Cincinnati to avoid another confrontation with him. Mr. Hopkins wanted Ox to promise to depart town and return to his ranch.

  His mind in a painful fog, he’d arranged for family friends to watch over the stables and made the trek north.

  His steps sluggish, he wandered to the vegetable garden overgrown with weeds. The heat of the June sun had warmed the soil, and it was time to plant this year’s crop. He kicked at a brittle yellow cornstalk, then moseyed about aimlessly until he found himself standing by the wooden corral. Not knowing if Jo received good or bad news from the doctors was killing him.

  Sugar Cookie bounded out of the barn, yipping over his shoulder at the sparrow chasing him. “What trouble are you in now?”

  Cookie raced to the corral and rubbed up against Ox. He scratched the dog’s head. Boone, Maggie, and Colt were correct about him needing a dog for company. “I promise to stop moping if you promise to stop chasing the chickens.”

  The black and white Appaloosa trotted over. Ox stroked the horse’s speckled nose. “Howdy, big fellow.” Eventually he’d be able to call the horse by the name Jo had chosen—Nick for Saint Nicholas—eventually.

  The horse sniffed Cookie, then rooted around his shirt pocket. “Sorry, I forgot your sugar cubes.”

  A white piece of material caught Ox’s eye, and he tugged out a square of cloth stitched with dainty red holly berries. The haunting scent of vanilla weakened his knees. Memories flooded in of the tree-cutting outing and Jo laughing and happy as she offered the hanky as a prize in their silly contest.

  Ox slid to the ground, leaned heavily against the weathered corral post, and clutched the hanky.

  A pretty gal who loved Christmas had turned his life upside down.

  His ranch—Haven Homestead—no longer felt like home.

  A lonely future stretched into the distance.

  Twenty-Two

  As the train pulled into the station, Jo noted the sleepy Aurora she had left behind in January was now alive with activity. Red and white Hereford cattle milled in the stockyard’s holding pens. Cowboys swarmed the Rawhide and Wagon Wheel Saloons. Bailey’s Emporium and the Last Chance Trading Post bustled with customers going in and out.

  Though the summer sun shone bright and warm, a cold sweat dampened her face as she searched the train platform for the one face she knew she wouldn’t see. Ox was too honorable to break his word. Some would say her demand he return to his ranch was cowardly or cruel. She had meant it as a mercy.

  For him and for her.

  Her threat to remain behind in Cincinnati had been hollow. Not only did her parents need her, but the whole time away the rugged beauty of the West and the brave people who carved out a life here had called to her heart.

  Papa helped Mutter to step safely onto the station platform, then held out a hand for Jo. “Ready, daughter?”

  Holy night, no! The whirlwind of doctor appointments in New York, Boston, Philadelphia, and Cincinnati had proved as fruitless as her vow to put away her feelings for Ox. She transferred the cane to her left hand and grasped the worn handrail. “Thank you, Papa, but I can get myself safely down the stairs.”

  Making their way across the platform they were greeted by Buck and Sally Goodman. The husband was much shorter than his wife, and she had a large nose that was impossible not to stare at. Friends of Ox, the couple had stepped in to run the stable.

  Interrupting each other’s sentences, they gave Papa an update on the walk to the stable.

  Jo fell behind and was joined by Carl. He patted the strap of the leather mailbag crossing his chest. “Ox Haven mailed dozens of letters, but you never answered. I had high hopes for you two.”

  She winced. “It wasn’t meant to be.”

  “You would get along with my Flora.” His voice was full of affection. “She is proud and stubborn, just like you.”

  “Proud? All I feel is shame.”

  They walked on in silence for a moment. “Your heart is in the right place.” Carl pointed to her cane. “You are afraid you will be a burden to a husband?”

  Emotion clogged her throat. She nodded.

  “Fifteen years ago, my Flora lost the use of an arm after she was trampled by a runaway horse and carriage.”

  She gasped. Her heart always warmed when Carl spoke of his wife and their nine children and twenty-seven grand babies. Flora, who made Christmas fudge for all her neighbors and took in laundry to earn extra money, had a crippled arm? “How horrible.”

  But Carl was smiling. “I was ready to give up my porter job, but she wouldn’t hear of it. Claimed she would divorce me if I though
t she was less of a wife because one arm didn’t work right.”

  “Her spirit and bravery are inspiring. What a beautiful love story.”

  “I thank the Lord every day for my Flora.”

  Jo’s heart thudded against her breastbone. Had she made a horrible mistake by pushing Ox away?

  Carl nodded as if he read her thoughts. “Believe in Ox. Believe in yourself.”

  Her mind spun. “Trust in love?”

  “You already know the answer.” He was smiling his approval as he waved goodbye.

  ∞∞∞

  Later that night, after her parents retired to bed, Jo wore a path between the fireplace and the corner that had held Ox’s tree. The one he had braved a blizzard to cut down, all to ensure she had a merry first Christmas in Aurora.

  She plucked up a few stray brown needles wedged in the floorboards and cradled them on her palm. A jumble of memories jumped at her. His bemused face when he’d unwrapped the pickle ornament. The burlap sack tied with a strip of red calico and the cookie cutters inside. Sharing a kiss as sweet as ribbon candy. She pictured Ox, here by himself, packing away the decorations.

  She turned to her brother’s picture above the mantel, and choked on a sob. “Jasper, I’ve ruined everything.”

  Had she killed Ox’s love? Could he ever forgive her?

  “How am I going to fix this terrible mistake?”

  Twenty-Three

  The next day Jo accompanied Papa to the stable to meet with Buck and Sally to go over stable business. The many doctors she had visited agreed she had the beginning signs of a muscle-wasting disease, but none could offer a clear picture of what the future would hold.

  Jo and Papa and Mutter had seized on the advice offered by a kindly university researcher to remain active and engaged as the best medicine.

  She smiled and waved as Colt skipped out of the stable followed by his yellow dogs. “Miss Josephine, do you want to see the most amazing sight?”

  Sheriff Boone and Maggie appeared in the barn doorway. Baby Charity clung to her mother’s skirt. “Colt loves visiting the horses,” Maggie said.

  Boone tipped his black cowboy hat. “Welcome home.”

  Jo petted the dogs. “How is little Sugar Cookie?”

  “He’s big, big now,” Colt said.

  She chanced a look at Boone and Maggie, expecting to see judgment reflected in their faces after the way she’d treated Ox. “What is the best way to get to Ox’s ranch?”

  Kindness shone in Maggie’s eyes. “You’re welcome to travel with us to Sweet Creek Ranch for the family Independence Day picnic. “We leave in three days.”

  “The whole family will be there,” Boone said, in a matter-of-fact tone.

  Meaning Ox would attend. “Meeting them will be lovely. But I’m afraid I will be blind to everything until I speak with Ox.”

  Boone’s mouth curved with a smile. “We always spend a night at Ox’s cabin when we go home.”

  “Home?” Jo asked.

  He nodded. “No matter where we Haven boys roam, Sweet Creek is always home.”

  Colt hopped in place from one foot to the other. “Will you come to the picnic? We have games and fruit pies and campfires and—”

  Boone ruffled his son’s hair. “And Colt will talk your ear off during the two-day wagon ride.”

  Papa stepped forward and offered his support for the trip.

  “If you are not too exhausted from your travels, we’d love to have your company at dinner,” Maggie said. “We can finalize the plans and you can meet Garrett and Bri’s new son Lars. And White Wolf arrived yesterday and will have stories to share of his winter travel and adventures.”

  “How wonderful.” Jo might have learned the news of baby Lars’s safe arrival from Ox if she had read any of his letters. “Brigetta and the baby are thriving?”

  “Who cares about babies?” Colt screwed up his nose. “All Lars does is eat and poop.”

  Jo laughed along with everyone else. After months of hollowness, the small taste of merriment was heavenly.

  Papa excused himself and joined Buck and Sally, who had been waiting patiently to go over stable business.

  Jo’s emotions were too high to listen to business talk. “I was promised an amazing sight,” she reminded Colt.

  He grasped her hand and tugged her inside the stable, smelling of horses, fresh hay, and oats.

  Colt dragged her toward a stall at the rear of the barn. “Have you ever seen such giant horns?”

  She halted in front of a pen holding an enormous speckled, tan longhorn steer. The bull’s horns must measure five feet across. “Oh my, Texas. I was warned you would grow to be as large as a house.” The image of Ox carrying the calf across his shoulders popped into her mind.

  “Uncle Ox told Mama and Daddy to say he wants Texas to live at his ranch,” Colt said, peering through the gate slats for a closer look at the bull.

  “Reindeer droppings!” She hooked her cane around his arm and drew him backward. “Be careful.” A new home for the bull was a must.

  “How would you like to help me surprise Uncle Ox?” she asked.

  He whooped his delight. “I like surprises.”

  “Me too. First we will need a mile of ribbon.”

  Securing a red bow around the bull’s neck would be tricky, but she couldn’t wait to see Ox’s face when she arrived at his ranch with a late Christmas present. Or would it be an early one?

  “Are you excited to sleep at Great-grandfather and Grandma Haven’s ranch?” Colt tucked his hand in hers. “Daddy says me and Malcolm can sleep in the bunk room like the big boys.”

  Pleasure in his youthful joy dueled with her hopes and fears at facing Ox.

  Would he have angry words for her?

  Would he forgive her?

  The tooting of the train whistle echoed through the barn, reminding her of Carl and Flora’s love story.

  Believe in Ox. Believe in yourself. Believe in love.

  Twenty-Four

  Three days later, Jo journeyed north for Sweet Creek Ranch in the buggy driven by Maggie, and trailed by the longhorn bull named Texas, who sported a large red bow. Colt shared his daddy’s saddle on a tall black horse. The small travel party made quite the procession set against the Wild West backdrop of the blue, blue sky and the Bighorn Mountains.

  She’d got her first taste of ranch life the evening before as a guest at Buck and Sally’s log home. The nursery rhyme “Jack Sprat” came to mind as the couple laughed over jokes and entertained with lively banter. Jo shared Uncle Will’s opinion of ranchers being good folks.

  Colt’s dogs, Jack and Fluff, panted in her ear.

  One-year-old Charity attempted to climb over Jo’s shoulder again. “Da, da,” she cooed.

  “Another hour and we will be at Ox’s place,” Maggie said.

  Jo’s stomach pitched. The unknown was torture. What would his reaction be to her showing up on his doorstep? How would she begin to apologize?

  Maggie patted her hand. “Would you like to take a turn at the reins?”

  She gasped. “Me? I’ve never driven a buggy.”

  “There’s no time like the present to learn.” Maggie pulled the buggy to a stop. “Boone will ride beside Old Dusty while you get the hang of it.”

  Boone didn’t flinch at the arrangement when she and Maggie switched places.

  He went over the basics, then gave the move-out signal. “Dusty has made the trip so many times he’ll practically drive himself up the trail.”

  At the click of her tongue and twitch of the reins, the horse moved ahead.

  She marveled at the feel of the leather strap moving over her palms. Her hands had remained in good working order for months now, but the doctors couldn’t tell her if or when that would change.

  The slow, steady pace calmed her nerves. “Good horse.”

  Maggie smiled and cuddled Charity. “You are a horsewoman in the making.”

  It warmed her heart that Boone and Maggie respected her abilit
ies despite her need to use a cane. “Jasper would be so impressed and jealous if he could see me.”

  “Jasper?” Colt asked, giggling. “That’s a silly name.”

  Boone tugged gently on his son’s ear. “You don’t like it when your friends tease when Aunt Bri calls you Pudding.”

  Colt sighed. “Sorry, Miss Jo.”

  “My father calls me Sugarplum,” she replied in sympathy.

  “That must be why Sugar Cookie loves to lick you.”

  His reasoning tickled her. “Imagine Cookie’s reaction if Papa had called me pork chop.” I’m keeping my promise to enjoy life to the fullest, Jasper. Just like I said I would.

  “Uncle Ox makes yummy pork chops and gravy with little pieces of bacon.”

  “Is that your stomach or mine growling?” Boone teased.

  Colt rubbed his tummy and licked his lips. “Maybe we will have pork chops for dinner.”

  “Don’t get your hopes up.” Maggie glanced at Jo.

  Jo steered the horse around a jagged boulder jutting from the ground. Put a good word in for me with the angels, Jasp. Please!

  ∞∞∞

  The carriage rolled to a stop next to a humble barn. Chickens clucked and pecked the ground in the small vegetable garden. Ox’s black and white Appaloosa trotted around the corral. A milk cow mooed from a stall near the open barn door.

  Stiff from the long carriage ride, Jo limped toward the rustic cabin. Where could Ox be? He missed seeing her drive the carriage and the sight of Texas decked out in a bow.

  Maggie and Charity petted Dusty’s neck, and Colt romped around the carriage while Sheriff Boone secured the longhorn in the holding pen attached to the red-painted barn.

  The guesses to Ox’s location ranged from a hike in the woods to fishing in the nearby stream.

  Maggie smiled in her direction. “I will be right behind you.”

  Stoicism and rugged independence were all fine and well, but she wouldn’t be able to relax until she was sure Ox was well.

  She lifted her hand to knock but paused not sure if her ears were tricking her. Was that music coming from the other side of the door? Intrigued, she pressed her ear to the weathered boards. Not only did she hear a phonograph playing but the tune surprised her as well.