Smokin' Hot Cowboy Christmas

by Kim Redford

  “You’re thinking there aren’t enough exits, aren’t you?”

  “Right. I wish I’d been here to help them. Back then, they couldn’t have called volunteer firefighters.”

  “No. They would have been on their own, but they were resourceful.” She squeezed his fingers to comfort them both.

  “True. They may all have made it out alive.”

  “I don’t know what we’ll find inside, but let’s go see.”

  “Okay.”

  She walked with him to the front door, dreading going inside and yet feeling it was her responsibility…after all these years.

  “I’ll go first. I want to make sure the wood isn’t rotten or termite-eaten.”

  “Be careful.”

  She watched as he edged up the stairs leading to the front door, crushing blackberry vines under his boots. When he got to the porch, he turned and beckoned her forward. She carefully stepped where he’d stepped until she reached the landing and stopped beside him in front of a beautiful hand-carved door that matched the Victorian architecture.

  He pulled a key out of his pocket. “Craig replaced the missing doorknob, so it’s easier for us to enter now. It’d been boarded up.”

  “And no one else has been here, as far as we know, in all these years except Craig and Fern…and now us.”

  “That’s right. Are you ready?”

  “Yes.”

  “Remember, a firefighter is here to help…at last.”

  Chapter 27

  Rowdy took a deep breath before he inserted the key, turned the lock, and pushed open the door. He switched on his flashlight, stepped into the schoolhouse, and swept the single room with light. No rodents, raccoons, or other small animals were in evidence, although cobwebs hung from the ceiling in the corners. He caught the scent of dust, decay, and smoke that was trapped inside because the building had been shut up for so long…and if he wasn’t mistaken, a touch of sadness still lingered in the air.

  “It’s safe.” He glanced back at Belle. He was well aware he’d been overly cautious and protective since they’d arrived at the grove, but everything about the place set him on alert. He couldn’t tolerate even the thought of something negative happening to her. He well knew that she was having enough trouble dealing with her bust of a Christmas party primarily because folks in the county had decided they didn’t want her to succeed before they’d even met her. And he’d let them suck him into their scheme, so what did that say about him? Or them? He didn’t feel good about it, that was for sure…and by now his friends probably didn’t either.

  The Buick Brigade was right on the money as usual. They’d reached out to Belle first and welcomed her with cookies. Nobody else had. What if Belle found out about the hoax that had been played on her? And left? It’d be a major loss to the community—not to mention how it would break his heart.

  Maybe this schoolhouse mystery could somehow heal not only an old wound but this new one as well because the situation with Belle was turning out to be a festering sore for them all. They’d made a mistake, but surely they could find a way to right it.

  She sneezed as she followed him inside…footsteps causing the old wooden floorboards to moan and groan and squeak, disrupting the stillness of the room and sending dust flying.

  He slowly and carefully cast an arc of light around the inside. It wasn’t big here. It wasn’t fancy. It was utilitarian. From the outside, he’d expected Victorian gewgaws, but no. Wooden walls. Wooden ceiling. Wooden floors. And wooden benches that had seats and backs made of single boards with circular saw marks that indicated the time period of construction because that type of saw hadn’t been used in a long time.

  Most of the benches had been knocked over and lay on their sides. A single, straight-back chair with charred rungs had been tossed on its back near the fireplace, where the floor was scorched and blackened from the fire.

  None of that surprised or shocked him because he’d seen a lot of fire damage and the resulting chaos over the years. Hats. It was the hats that did it. He felt his gut twist and turn at the sight. It’d been winter because there’d been a blaze in the fireplace. They’d have worn woolen hats and coats to school. On one side of the fireplace, three round hats still hung on the rows of pegs that had been pounded into the wooden wall. All the other hats lay on the floor near the fireplace in various stages of decay from completely burned to partially burned to twisted and crumpled and stomped on.

  Belle stopped beside him and put a hand on his arm. “They used the hats to put out the fire, didn’t they?”

  “It was a good idea to smother the blaze.”

  “Do you suppose they didn’t think they’d ever need the hats again because they weren’t going to make it?”

  “No. I’d say the hats were just handy and somebody was smart enough and quick enough to think of using them.”

  “I hope that’s it.” She leaned down and looked closer. “They’re all small, you know.”

  “I know.”

  “Little kids.”

  “I know.”

  “Do you suppose they got out in time?”

  “Smoke would have been their biggest danger, because the fire didn’t spread and burn down the building.”

  “Somebody stopped it.”

  “And that somebody probably had a coat or blanket or something bigger to completely smother the fire.”

  “But was it in time?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Me, too,” he said.

  “I wish this memorial grove made me feel better about the final outcome.”

  “Yeah. It’s like nobody escaped. They only had the one exit, and if that door was stuck or the kids were too little to reach the knob or—”

  “What about the teacher? She’d have been tall enough, aware enough, determined enough to make sure they all got out alive. Wouldn’t she?”

  “Yes…if she wasn’t overcome by smoke inhalation,” he said.

  “And so they closed the building on their deep sorrow and planted a memorial grove in honor of their loved ones.”

  “We don’t know that for a fact. Maybe they all got out, but no one wanted to use the building again. Bad luck is bad luck.” He knew all about trying to ward off bad luck, for all the good it did.

  “And the memorial grove?”

  “It kept folks away from taking a chance on the schoolhouse.”

  “I don’t know…I just don’t know,” she said. “Maybe they put a sacred memory to rest, and now we’ve disturbed it.”

  “No. I don’t think so…or maybe…but the Buick Brigade sent us on this quest, so they want something to happen, something good, I’d wager.”

  “It’s almost Christmas.” She squeezed his arm. “Do you suppose that’s the time of year when the fire got out of control?”

  He felt chilled at the thought. She wasn’t the only one growing cold despite their warm clothing. How cold had it been that fateful day? No doubt it’d been cold enough to warrant a blaze in the fireplace…and afterward, there’d been no Christmas cheer for anyone.

  He played his light across the walls around the fireplace and then focused the beam on the floor in front of them. A single book…splayed open on its back with broken spine and charred pages…lay there forlorn and alone.

  “If their kids got out alive, they’d never have trusted them here again, would they?”

  “No.”

  “They’d have taken them to town for their educations.”

  “Yes.”

  “One thing,” she said. “There’s tragedy here, I know, but there’s also love…of learning, of community, of friendship, of a dedicated teacher.”

  “That’s a good way to look at it.”

  “And now, after a hundred years, it’s been placed in our hands.” She turned to stare at him
with wide eyes. “Why?”

  “I can’t answer that question. I wish I could, but I can’t.”

  She turned away from him, splashing light across the walls, the floor, the benches, and back to the fireplace.

  “Do you want to go? We’ve seen it. I don’t know what else we can do here.”

  She turned back to him, dropping her hand to her side so that her flashlight illuminated uncharred words on the splayed book.

  He didn’t say anything while she stood there, shoulders down in an attitude of contemplation, and her focus stayed on the lighted book.

  After a while she straightened her shoulders, as if coming to a decision. She reached down and picked up the book. It crumbled to dust in her hands. She glanced at him…and gave a sweet, sad smile.

  He didn’t know what to say, so he simply stood there, waiting, watching, wondering. He felt as if the impetus had moved from the Buick Brigade to Belle Tarleton. Some type of Christmas magic, maybe.

  “I don’t want to leave this schoolhouse like we found it.” She walked to the front door, looked outside, and turned back. “It’s beautiful here. Special.”

  “It’s that, if not for—”

  “I want to set the benches upright. Do you think that’d be okay?”

  “I don’t know. It’s not our place.” He rubbed his jaw, not really wanting to get more involved here. They’d said they’d come see it. They’d done it. They could move on…except now Belle had a gleam in her eyes as she looked around the room. Perhaps that was good. He hoped so.

  “This was a place of learning before the fire.” She walked around, light flashing before her, picking out a bench here, a hat there, a book tossed in a corner. “Why can’t it be that way again?”

  “Craig owns it. I guess he can do whatever he wants with it.”

  “He doesn’t love it.”

  “Well, no. He’s got his horse ranch and Wildcat Hall. And Fern.”

  “I already love it.”

  “You just got here.”

  She walked directly to the fireplace and placed the flat of her palm against the blackened brickwork. “I want to heal it. I want it to live again. I want it to be what it was always meant to be.”

  This was so much more than he’d counted on, but then again, he’d already thought about healing old and new wounds. Maybe she was trying to replace the loss of her Christmas party with the schoolhouse.

  “I came to Wildcat Bluff County for several reasons. Business, yes. But I also want to help others…in particular, youngsters.”

  “That’s a noble cause.”

  “I don’t know about noble, but I think it’s important. Kids reach out to me at Lulabelle & You like I have all the answers. I don’t. Sometimes, maybe…but I’m only one person. This county is special, and it’s full of folks who could share their love, knowledge, and expertise in all matters creative as well as just life experience.”

  “There are a lot of good folks here.” He was beginning to think he might have to fess up soon before she gave them all undeserved halos.

  “I thought I’d build my outreach center at the new ranch, but what about beginning here?” She twirled the light around the room, illuminating everything so that it appeared as if it were suddenly coming alive.

  “It’s not that I’m against the idea, but this schoolhouse belongs to Craig.”

  “Fern was already thinking along these lines.”

  “And then there’s the time, energy, and money that’d need to be invested to bring the place up to current standards…and just to make it usable.”

  “It looks like it’s in good shape.” She crisscrossed the room, as if examining it for flaws or problems.

  “I’d need to check the structure, but it appears basically sound. Still, there isn’t any electricity, running water, air-conditioning, heating. We’re talking none of our modern conveniences.”

  “I didn’t think of all that.” She stopped, looking down, shoulders slumping again.

  “I’m not saying it couldn’t be done…if somebody wanted to take on the project and they had permission, at least a rental contract, from the owner. I’m saying it’s a big expenditure of time, labor, and money.”

  “You’re right.” She stopped beside the chair in front of the fireplace. She tried to place it upright, but it kept tipping over because the legs were so badly damaged by the fire. She finally gave up. Next, she knelt to pick up a hat and then stopped and glanced at him.

  “You want to set everything right here, don’t you?”

  “Yes.” She stood up. “It just seems like it should be done. I want to take back what was lost and offer it to others.”

  “Like I said, it’s a noble idea.”

  “But?”

  “We still don’t know what happened here. Is there a good reason to leave the past in the past?”

  “You mean the schoolhouse and grove should remain as they’ve been for so many years?”

  “I don’t think we have enough information to make any type of decision right now. We haven’t talked with Arn yet.” He didn’t want her to be disappointed later if her idea wasn’t workable.

  “That’s true.” She patted the fireplace and then stepped back. “I believe this one-room schoolhouse wants to be loved and used again.”

  “Maybe so, but—”

  “That won’t happen today.”

  “No, it won’t.” He glanced around the room, wanting to find a way to help her. “I guess what we mainly need first is information.”

  “That’d help.”

  He checked the watch on his wrist. “It’s about four. Arn sometimes plays checkers at the Bluebonnet Café along about this time.”

  “Is that in Sure-Shot?”

  “Yes. We aren’t far away. Do you want to see if he’s there and will tell us something?”

  “That’d be great. And it’d be quicker than going to his ranch another day.”

  “Sure would be…if we could even find time later.”

  “Let’s do it.”

  “Better head out.”

  “Okay.” She took a deep breath, as if drawing strength from her surroundings. “Now that I’ve been here, I’ll never forget this place. And I want it to know that I’ll be back when the time is right.”

  “Maybe after Christmas, when we have more space to take on new projects, would be a better time to think about it.”

  “Maybe.” She gave him a little smile. “I wonder what the Buick Brigade would think about waiting until the new year dawns.”

  “I can’t hazard a guess.” He walked over to the front door, wanting her to have what she wanted but not knowing if it was feasible. Arn might have some helpful insights if he’d be willing share his knowledge.

  She followed him to the door. “I don’t really want to leave just yet, but I suppose it’s time.”

  “We’ll return.”

  She looked back into the room and gave a little wave before she turned, walked out the front door, and headed down the stairs.

  Oddly enough, the schoolhouse didn’t feel nearly as forlorn as when they’d first set foot inside. He shut and locked the door behind him.

  Chapter 28

  Belle sat quietly in the front seat as Rowdy drove away from the grove, slowly, carefully making his way down the deep ruts. He was a big, solid presence beside her, comforting in her moment of disorientation. She felt as if she’d just returned from a fairy tale where magic conceals what’s real and only truth can set it free. But what was the truth…and could she find it now that she was back in the regular world?

  She glanced behind and saw nothing more than the impenetrable barrier to the grove and schoolhouse. If she hadn’t known what lay beyond, she’d never have guessed its existence. How had it stayed hidden all these years? She had many more questions than she had answers. Maybe Arn of t
he Crazy Eight Ranch could set her on the path to enlightenment.

  “You haven’t been to Sure-Shot before, have you?” Rowdy asked.

  “No. I heard about it. It’s a small Western town, isn’t it?”

  “Sure-Shot was named for Annie Oakley, the famous sharpshooter and exhibition shooter who was called ‘Little Miss Sure-Shot’ on the Wild West show circuit.”

  “Really? I wonder if she ever lived in the town.”

  “Doubt it. She was a celebrity in her day, so everybody knew her name.” He turned west on Highway 82. “We’ll be there pretty quick.”

  She noticed that the fence lines that stretched along both sides of the road were white round pipe or four-slat wooden enclosures instead of barbwire, so she knew they’d moved from cattle country to horse country. One ranch after another flashed by, announcing their names—from whimsical to practical—in black sheet-metal cutouts or burned into wood arches that towered over entryways.

  Thoroughbred horses with rich coats in a variety of shades grazed in some pastures, while in others, brown-and-white-painted ponies sought shelter from the sun under the spreading limbs of green live oaks. Crimson barns and metal corrals, along with houses ranging from redbrick, single-story fifties ranch-style to two-story contemporaries in cream-colored stone, had been built well back from the road for privacy and convenience.

  Soon Rowdy turned south at a sign with Western-style letters that read SURE AS SHOOTIN’ YOU’RE IN SURE-SHOT! under the black-and-white silhouette of a smoking Colt .45 revolver.

  She pointed at the sign, chuckling. “That’s fun.”

  “Yeah. And it gets the point across to anybody who might be wondering about the town’s name.”

  “No doubt.”

  “Sure-Shot originally catered to cowboys on their cattle drives from Texas to Kansas and back again. There were dance halls and saloons, along with other businesses like mercantile, café, blacksmith, livery stable, bathhouse, bank, and freight depot.”