Книга - The Gift Of Family: Merry Christmas, Cowboy

The Gift Of Family: Merry Christmas, Cowboy
Linda Ford

Karen Kirst


HOLIDAY HEARTSMerry Christmas, Cowboy by Linda FordA wild snowstorm strands Colt Johnson in Eden Valley, where the storekeeper’s daughter exudes welcome warmth. She’s even offered to give the two orphans in his charge a Christmas to remember. An outcast, Colt doesn’t dare hope for more—even though Becca’s love would be a Christmas wish come true. Smoky Mountain Christmas by Karen KirstCole Prescott’s Gatlinburg visit will be just long enough to free his wife from their mistake of a marriage. Then he meets the daughter he never knew he had. Little Abby needs a father, especially at Christmastime. And all Cole wants is a chance to make a life with Rachel and Abby at last….







HOLIDAY HEARTS

Merry Christmas, Cowboy by Linda Ford

A wild snowstorm strands Colt Johnson in Eden Valley, where the storekeeper’s daughter exudes welcome warmth. She’s even offered to give the two orphans in his charge a Christmas to remember. An outcast, Colt doesn’t dare hope for more—even though Becca’s love would be a Christmas wish come true.

Smoky Mountain Christmas by Karen Kirst

Cole Prescott’s Gatlinburg visit will be just long enough to free his wife from their mistake of a marriage. Then he meets the daughter he hadn’t known he had. Little Abby needs a father, especially at Christmastime. And all Cole wants is a chance to make a life with Rachel and Abby at last....


Praise for Linda Ford

“A lovely story of love, forgiveness and

accepting God’s guidance in difficult times.”

—RT Book Reviews on The Cowboy Tutor

“A tender love story with characters

who are strong-willed and caring.”

—RT Book Reviews on Dakota Father

“Ford’s sweet, charming love story has well-written characters that demonstrate strong faith, even though they stumble along the way.”

—RT Book Reviews on The Cowboy’s Baby

Praise for Karen Kirst

“Second in the Smoky Mountain Matches series, this story creates a great sense of place,

with a bit of suspense.”

—RT Book Reviews on The Bridal Swap

“Kirst’s debut knocks it out of the park.

It’s a gem of a story with a thrilling romance.”

—RT Book Reviews on The Reluctant Outlaw


LINDA FORD

shares her life with her rancher husband, a grown son, a live-in client she provides care for and a yappy parrot. She and her husband raised a family of fourteen children, ten adopted, providing her with plenty of opportunity to experience God’s love and faithfulness. They’ve had their share of adventures, as well. Taking twelve kids in a motor home on a three-thousand-mile road trip would be high on the list. They live in Alberta, Canada, close enough to the Rockies to admire them every day. She enjoys writing stories that reveal God’s wondrous love through the lives of her characters.

Linda enjoys hearing from readers. Contact her at linda@lindaford.org or check out her website, www.lindaford.org, where you can also catch her blog, which often carries glimpses of both her writing activities and family life.

KAREN KIRST

currently lives in coastal North Carolina with her marine husband, three boys and Andy the parrot. When she’s not writing or dreaming up characters, she likes to read, visit tearooms, play piano, watch romantic comedies and chat over coffee with friends. She’s incredibly blessed to be able to do what she loves, and gives God the glory.


The Gift of Family

Merry Christmas, Cowboy

Linda Ford

Smoky Mountain Christmas

Karen Kirst










www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Merry Christmas, Cowboy

Linda Ford


To those seeking a home and acceptance.

May you find a place of welcome

especially in the Christmas season.


For there is no difference between the Jew

and the Greek: for the same Lord over all

is rich unto all that call upon him

—Romans 10:12


Contents

Chapter One (#ufeea19af-45f2-505b-b98e-96f0cdd4c655)

Chapter Two (#u109103e5-998a-5f09-abf5-469a223b9679)

Chapter Three (#ua13c8f0e-9bbb-53f4-a4b6-a9aee221ed2f)

Chapter Four (#ud4495fa1-b70f-5722-8688-1087df6d58d3)

Chapter Five (#u0070834c-47a4-560f-ba3d-3fea69afbc57)

Chapter Six (#u3e378d57-1f2a-5f9c-a06f-e54318ceebdd)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)

Questions for Discussion (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One

Edenvale, in what is now Alberta, Canada.

Winter 1880

He was about two minutes from freezing to death.

Colt Johnson grunted defiance, though the sound never left his icy lips. There’d be no freezing today. Not with two children burrowed against his chest and swathed beneath his heavy winter coat.

He reached the Eden Valley store, managed to dismount while still clutching the children and left his long-suffering horse at the rail so he could stagger to the door. His stiff hands struggled to turn the knob. The rattle of his efforts alerted the storekeeper, and through the frosty window Colt made out the shape of a person moving toward him.

The door opened. Colt blinked and tried to clear his vision as he stared into the face of the most beautiful white woman he’d ever seen—blond hair so curly that bits of it escaped her braids and hung around her face. Her eyes were as blue as a midsummer sky, and her smile rivaled the sunshine.

Simply looking at her made his insides start to warm.

This must be Macpherson’s daughter. He’d never seen her before, having stopped only briefly at the store as he rode toward the hills and the cabin where he meant to spend the winter.

“Step in before we all freeze.” Her voice was sweet as birdsong.

He didn’t move, as much from not knowing how to react to her presence as because of the cold frosting his veins.

She grabbed his arm and pulled him forward, then shut the door behind him. “Brr. It’s cold out there.” She wrapped her arms across her chest and peered out the window.

Colt couldn’t disagree, but he spared no more time considering the woman as he hurried toward the stove, sat on the first chair he reached and threw open his coat.

Marie’s big eyes regarded him solemnly, full of trust.

“Are you okay?” Colt asked.

She held her little brother protectively to her chest and nodded. The little guy managed only a whimper.

It had been a long ride in cold that worsened with every mile.

The young woman sprang toward a stack of blankets and whipped off several. “You all need to get warm.” She draped the blankets before the fire to warm, then held them toward Colt. “Give me one of the children.”

But Marie pressed tight to Colt, and her eyes filled with fear.

“I’ll take care of them.” He took the offered blankets and wrapped them about the pair. With the fire’s heat and the children on his lap, his front side soon began to warm, but his back remained as cold as the outdoors.

“You’re shivering,” the woman said. “Lean forward and I’ll slip this blanket over your shoulders.” She stood behind him and waited.

He couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Had she been so concerned about the weather she’d failed to take note of him...his black eyes, black hair and swarthy skin? A half-breed. White women did not have anything to do with the likes of him...at least not well-bred women. He could tell this woman fit that category by the way she moved—graceful as a deer at a brook—the way she spoke—her voice gentle and sweet—and even the way she dressed—her clothes sparkling clean.

Her hands touched his shoulders, spreading the blanket.

Without deciding if he should or not, Colt leaned forward, allowing her to tuck the warm material around him. His throat tightened with a combination of fear, surprise and longing at the way she patted his back as she adjusted the blanket. When had he felt the gentle touch of a woman’s comfort? Anyone’s comfort, for that matter? He pushed the question to the far reaches of his mind.

“You’ll soon be warm.” She moved around to face him.

At that moment, Macpherson entered the store from a back room. His presence brought stoic indifference back to Colt’s thoughts. He didn’t require comfort. He was full grown and on his own.

“I’ll need to build more shelves to accommodate supplies.” Macpherson rubbed his hands together.

Colt couldn’t say if the man was cold or expressing pleasure at having to store more supplies.

The ruddy-faced man, with a shock of hair that was as red as it was brown, jerked to a halt. “We have visitors. Didn’t hear you come in.” He squinted at Colt. “Say, didn’t you stop here day before yesterday to get some supplies?”

“Yup.”

“You’re the young man who bought that book, Flora and Fauna of Western Canada. Your choice surprised me.”

Colt gave the man a steady look, refusing to reveal any rancor at the comment. Did Macpherson think it strange a half-breed could read? “Like to know the names of things.”

“Uh-huh.” Macpherson’s gaze darted to the children and back to Colt. “Don’t remember you having any young ’uns when you stopped here earlier.”

“They ain’t mine.”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “Whose would they be?”

With long-suffering patience, Colt tamped down his irritation. Macpherson didn’t need to get all suspicious.

“I didn’t steal them, and if I had, I wouldn’t likely show up at a white man’s place of business, would I?” He kept his voice low and calm, but the way Macpherson blinked and straightened, he knew he’d managed to get his point across.

His daughter gasped. “Pa, surely you don’t think such a thing. Why, he wrapped his coat about the children, braving the cold to protect them.” She flashed Colt a bright smile that melted every remnant of frost in his body and all resentment in his brain. “It was very brave and noble of you.”

Macpherson made a rumbling sound in his throat. Colt wondered if it was meant as warning to his daughter or to him.

“Didn’t mean to suggest anything wrong.” But Macpherson’s expression showed no sign of relenting in his judgment. “Just wondering whose they are and why you have them.”

“Zeke Gallant, a trapper west of here, married a Blackfoot girl. These are their children.”

Macpherson nodded. “I met the pair a couple years ago. They had a baby with them.” He smiled at Marie. “I guess that would be you.”

Marie gave a shy smile then buried her face in Colt’s shirtfront.

It amazed him these children trusted him so easily. After all, he hadn’t seen Marie but once or twice, and Little Joe only once when he was a tiny mite.

Macpherson’s smile flattened as he waited for Colt’s explanation, but Colt was momentarily distracted as the fine young woman reached over and patted each little head. She was so close, he could see the light catching in her hair and smell the fresh, clean scent of her skin and clothing.

“Where are the Gallants?” the storekeeper prompted.

Colt jerked his attention from the woman and steeled himself to reveal nothing of his thoughts. He didn’t immediately answer. He didn’t like to mention the harsh reality he’d discovered. Not with little Marie watching him with big dark eyes, and listening to every word. Thankfully, her little brother had fallen asleep against Colt’s chest...double reason to be grateful. He guessed when Little Joe woke up and saw he wasn’t at home, he would let them all know his displeasure.

Colt’s ears still rang from the racket the tiny boy made in protest to being taken from his home and parents.

“My ma and pa are dead.” Marie dropped the announcement into their midst with a distinctive, husky voice. Not that it took her voice to give away her mixed race. Dark hair and black-as-coal eyes proved it. There would be no hiding the fact that this pair was part Indian.

Macpherson’s eyes widened at the announcement, and his daughter again leaned closer and reached for Marie as if wanting to hug her. She settled instead for stroking Marie’s head.

“I’m so sorry.” Her words seemed filled with tears.

Against his better judgment, Colt looked into her face. Indeed, her eyes were watery, but she favored Colt with a trembling smile that shook him to the core. Was the light so poor she hadn’t noticed what sort of man he was? Had she failed to notice the obvious heritage of these children?

He jerked his attention to Macpherson. Saw the curiosity and concern in his expression as he regarded the children. Colt explained what he’d found when he stopped at his friend’s place. “Their mother was already gone. Buried under a tree. Zeke was barely alive when I got there. Figure his concern for his kids kept him going long past what his body wanted. I buried him next to his wife this morning.” Some wouldn’t dignify the union by calling the Indian woman anything other than a squaw, but Colt didn’t feel that way.

“Pa said someone would come for us. He happy to see Colt. Said Colt will take care of us.”

The young woman squatted to eye level with Marie.

Colt stiffened, drew back. He darted a glance at Macpherson, expecting the man to step forward and push Colt away from his daughter. But the man’s gaze rested on Marie, his expression—near as Colt could decipher—full of sympathy.

Colt wasn’t sure if he trusted the compassion he saw. He’d witnessed very little of it in his lifetime. He waited for the expression to shift and grow hard.

He pulled the children closer. If necessary, he would move on. If they were fortunate, he’d find shelter in a barn. Otherwise, the river was nearby. The trees would offer some protection. He had the skills to build a shelter of branches. They’d survive.

Except the children deserved more than he could offer them in an outdoor camp. They at least needed food and more warmth than a fire struggling in the wind would provide. But, he reminded himself, this pair must learn to survive the opinion of white folks, the uncertain welcome of the natives. They would need to be tough.

The woman remained unaware of Colt’s troubled thoughts and tense waiting.

“My name is Becca.” She stroked Marie’s head. “What’s yours?”

Marie stared into the blue eyes, likely as mesmerized as Colt by the sweet voice and warm smile. “Marie,” she answered.

“Marie. What a nice name. How old are you?”

“Four.” Marie held up the correct number of fingers.

“A big girl now. With a little brother. What’s his name?”

“Little Joe. He’s two.” Marie held up two fingers.

Little Joe, disturbed by his sister’s movement, jerked awake. He sat up, looked about, wrinkled his face—

Colt balanced Marie on one knee as he pulled Little Joe to his shoulder, hoping to prevent what he knew would follow. But Little Joe turned as wriggly and uncooperative as a newborn calf and as loud as a pen of angry mountain cats. Colt’s ears rang from the boy’s cries. He had his hands full trying to make sure Little Joe didn’t launch himself headfirst to the floor.

Miss Becca stood to her full height and stared at the boy, as amazed by the noise one small boy could make as Colt had been the first time he’d heard the racket.

Little Joe squirmed away and stood on the floor, his mouth open wide as he bellowed his displeasure.

“Shush.” Colt patted the boy’s back and tried to calm him. Being mixed race was already enough to see them turned out into the storm. This noise would make anyone with ears reconsider an offer of shelter.

“Little Joe, it’s okay. Don’t cry.” But the kid merely sucked in air and released it in a louder scream.

“Ouch.” Colt covered his ears. “That hurts.”

Macpherson shuddered and backed away while his daughter stared.

Marie giggled. “Mama said he was loud enough to call down rain from the sky.”

Colt could barely make out her words in the din.

“I’d have to agree,” Becca said. “But we don’t need rain, do we, Little Joe?”

Little Joe paid her no mind. The volume didn’t diminish at all.

Marie went to her brother and patted his back. She murmured Indian words Colt recognized from his past as speech meant to comfort. They were always spoken for another, but he remembered a time he’d allowed himself to pretend they were for him. He shook his head, driving away the useless memory.

Little Joe stopped screaming and clutched Marie’s hand.

Becca’s sigh filled the air. “That’s better. Thanks for calming him.”

“He’s my brother.” Marie gave Colt, then Becca, a dark-eyed look of fierceness as she pulled Little Joe closer to her side.

Becca smiled, which filled her eyes with beams of sunshine. “He’s a fortunate boy.” She turned her blue gaze to Colt. “I don’t know your name.”

He gave it. Would she ask him to leave now?

But she only smiled and said, “Nice to meet you.”

Colt kept his face expressionless and slid a look at Macpherson. Would he ask Colt to leave? The man’s face showed a thousand things Colt could only guess at, but his gut informed him the man did not feel any welcome toward his guests.

“We’ll be on our way as soon as the children are warm enough. I’ll get more supplies before we leave.” He hoped the promise of a sale would allow them to stay for a brief period. He’d never been one to pray. Didn’t seem to be any point in praying to a white man’s God. Truth was, he wasn’t sure whose God he should pray to, but at the moment, he petitioned the only God he’d heard much about...the white man’s.

Please stop the storm and guide me to a shelter for these kids.

“Nonsense,” Becca said. “No one will be going out in this weather. There’s plenty of room here, isn’t that right, Pa?”

“I certainly wouldn’t expect man nor beast to venture out in this storm.” The words were spoken kindly enough, but Colt didn’t miss the slight hesitation before they came, any more than he missed the protective look Macpherson fixed on his daughter.

Colt could assure the man he would not harm her in any way. He would only speak to her when necessary, and he’d stay a goodly distance away. He knew better than to ever look at a white woman in a way to invite the ire of a white man.

Marie pulled Colt’s head down to whisper in his ear. “She’s nice.”

Colt nodded, but kept his attention on the child. Nice white women did not associate with half-breeds.

* * *

Becca watched the black-haired man with his head bent over Marie, listening to her murmured comment. She couldn’t hear what the child said, but she ached for the gentle way he held her. Almost as much as she ached for the plight of the children. Orphaned, half-breed children didn’t face a happy future, from what she’d observed. If it was in her power, she would do something, but what could she do? She’d promised Ma on her deathbed that when she turned eighteen, she would return east to family back there. She was set to keep that promise. Her trunk stood packed and ready near the door, waiting for the stage-coach due tomorrow. The first leg of the journey would take her to Fort Macleod. From there she would go south to Fort Benton. Eventually a train would carry her to her destination, though it pained her to think of leaving Pa alone.

Colt lifted his head, as if aware she watched him. His gaze collided with hers. A jolt raced through her veins at the intensity in his black, almost bottomless eyes. Except they weren’t. Looking into them, she felt her heart hit something solid. Something deep inside, almost hidden. She knew somehow, that he was a person one could trust through thick and thin. A heart could find perfect rest in his care.

She shifted her attention to a display of hardware behind his shoulder and wondered when she had grown so silly.

Marie turned to Colt. They studied each other, then she grabbed his hands, opened his arms and indicated he should lift her and Little Joe to his lap. He arranged one on each knee and pulled a blanket around them. Marie glanced up at Colt and smiled, as if being in his arms made her feel safe.

Becca’s eyes stung at how tender he was with the children.

Colt looked up and caught her watching. Again, she felt that unexpected jolt of surprise, and something more that she couldn’t name. Meeting his gaze, however, made her aware of an unfolding inside her. How unusual for her to take so much note of a customer. Or even a visitor.

She must stop thinking about Colt and focus her attention on these orphaned children. Because of her promise to her mother, she could not offer them all the things she longed to—shelter, acceptance and love—but while the storm raged outside, she could give them a taste of what her heart longed to provide.

Pa cleared his throat. She realized she’d been staring at the trio far too long, and turned toward her father. He went to the window to look out.

“Good thing you got here when you did. The wind has picked up. Anyone out there now would be in danger of freezing.”

“We was pretty cold,” Marie said.

Colt grunted. “You mean to say you weren’t cozy and warm under my coat?”

Marie quickly corrected herself. “Most of the time.”

“It’s okay, little one,” Colt said. “I knew you were cold. But there wasn’t anything I could do about it.”

“I know. It’s okay.”

Becca chuckled at the way Marie tried to reassure him.

Pa wandered about the store, paused to adjust the cans of tomatoes, and secured the lid on the barrel of crackers. “I hope this doesn’t last too long.”

“We’re all safe, Pa.”

He sat on a chair by the fire. “The stagecoach won’t run if this keeps up. You won’t make it to Toronto as we planned.”

“I’ll be safe here. I can go later.” She didn’t object to a delay in her travel plans—although Pa insisted that the sooner she went, the better. But she hated to leave before Christmas.

“I promised your mother you’d leave when you turned eighteen.”

“I’ll be eighteen for a whole year.” She smiled encouragement at her father, then glanced at Colt to see his reaction to the conversation.

He watched them with guarded interest.

Deciding to change the topic, she asked him, “What are your plans for the children?”

He paused as if to measure his words. “I thought the children should go to Fort Macleod. I hear there’s a teacher there who takes in orphan children without any regard for their race.”

Suddenly, the first leg of her journey didn’t seem so lonely and frightening. With Colt and the children along, she’d barely have time to think about all she was leaving behind.

Colt fixed his dark eyes on her, bringing her thoughts to a crashing halt.

“Miss Macpherson, seeing as you plan to take the stagecoach, I hope you’ll agree to take them with you and turn them over to the teacher.”

“Me?” She couldn’t tear her gaze from his.

“Makes sense,” Pa said.

Becca did not think it made any sense whatsoever. She saw herself clutching two sad children, tears flowing silently from three pairs of eyes, as they huddled alone and cold in a stagecoach racing farther and farther away from everything familiar. Though perhaps the tears wouldn’t be silent on Little Joe’s behalf. She blinked, reminded herself of her promise to her mother, and managed a soft answer.

“Of course.”

“So much depends on the weather.” Pa again wandered about the store, poking at supplies.

Marie shifted to look into Colt’s face. “You not take care of us?”

“I’ll make sure you’re safe.”

His reply satisfied Marie, and she snuggled against his chest.

Colt had the most peculiar expression on his face. As if unsure how to handle the children, and yet he was so gentle and natural with them.

Becca couldn’t stop watching him.

Pa cleared his throat, and guilty heat burned across her cheeks. Pa always guarded her closely, making sure she didn’t spend too much time in the company of the men who visited the store. Not that he’d ever had to run interference before.

“It will soon be supper time,” Pa said.

“Of course. I’ll see to it.” She hurried into the living quarters, grateful to escape the three visitors. She stared around the kitchen. What was she to prepare for them? Would they enjoy clustering around the table? When had she ever been so disturbed by unexpected guests? It wasn’t as if they hadn’t had occasional visitors over the few years they’d been here. But none that stirred her heart the way this man did.

The innocent children, too, of course. Only it wasn’t the idea of the children sitting at the table that had her thoughts all aflutter.

She grabbed her apron, tied it about her waist and put a pot on the stove.

Tomorrow she would depart on the stage. She glanced toward the window. If the storm let up. Otherwise—she sucked in air that seemed strangely empty—they would be stranded until such time as the weather improved. No doubt she should be somewhat dismayed at the idea of a delay. But she smiled as she browned bacon, peeled potatoes and cubed them into the pot for thick, nourishing potato soup. She turned to get a can of milk from the shelf. Out of habit, her glance slid to the picture of Ma on the small side table beside the burgundy armchair where she’d so often sat to read or knit.

“Ma,” she whispered. “It’s only a delay.” And only if the storm lasted. “I haven’t forgotten my promise.”

Yet her insides felt as tangled as a sheet left too long on the line. Yes, she’d go to Toronto because she’d promised to do so. Her mother had wanted her to enjoy more opportunities than the frontier provided. More social life, more suitable acquaintances. But she wouldn’t regret a delay in her travel plans. Surely Ma would understand that some things couldn’t be helped—like the weather.

And if her heart welcomed the delay, who was to know and judge?

The soup was about ready and the table set when Becca heard a scream that caused her to drop a handful of spoons.

Clutching her skirts, she dashed for the doorway to the store. “What’s wrong?”

The two children stood before the outer door. Marie held the blanket out to her brother, but he tossed his arms about, refusing her efforts to comfort him.

Pa stood by his chair, looking as startled and confused as Becca.

She glanced about. “Where’s Colt?” Had he walked out on these children? If so, he wasn’t the man she’d judged him to be.

Her question made Little Joe scream louder. She closed her eyes and grimaced. “He’s so loud.”

Pa shook his head. “I can’t hear you.”

At least, that’s what she guessed he said. She moved closer to him and shouted, “Where’s Colt?”

“Said he had to take care of his horse. I told him to put the animal in our barn.”

“He’s coming back, isn’t he?”

Pa nodded. “Don’t think he has much choice. He wouldn’t get far in this weather.” He escaped into the living quarters where the din of Little Joe’s crying would be softer.

There must be a way to calm the boy. Before she could think what to do, the door swung open and shut again. A cold wind blasted through the room, carrying a generous dose of snow.

They all turned to look at Colt as he brushed himself off.

Little Joe let out a wail and ran to him as fast as his little legs allowed. He didn’t slow down when he reached the man, but crashed into his legs.

Colt swung the boy up in his arms. “Young man, you are going to have to learn to stop without using my legs as brakes.”

Little Joe buried his face against Colt’s chest and peeked out from the corners of his eyes.

No mistaking the gleam of victory.

Becca laughed. “You little scamp. You’re just pretending.”

Colt quirked a black eyebrow. “What’s he pretending?”

She fell into Colt’s gaze and had no idea how to answer him.

Colt shifted to consider Little Joe. “What have you been up to, young fella?”

At the grin on Little Joe’s face, Becca laughed and smoothed his hair. “You’re going to do just fine.” So long as he found somewhere he felt safe and loved.

Little Joe wriggled to be put down, and Colt released him. The boy darted from one thing to another in the store, touching gently but never pulling at anything.

Becca remained at Colt’s side, watching. “They seem like fine kids.”

“I think Zeke had been warning them to be good. If they misbehave, people will say it’s because they’re savages.” His voice deepened as he said the word.

“Well, those people would be wrong. They’re simply children learning how to operate in the world.”

Pa appeared in the doorway. “I moved the soup off the heat. Thought it might burn.”

“I forgot.” She dashed to the door, pausing to call over her shoulder, “Supper is ready. Come on in.”

Colt looked like she’d shot him rather than invited him to join them for the meal, but she didn’t have time to ask for an explanation if she meant to save the soup. And provide Colt and the children with a good meal. Plus something more from her heart—welcome and blessing.


Chapter Two

Colt stared after Becca. The idea of going into their private quarters sent a quake up his spine.

“Everything is ready,” Macpherson said. “Who’s hungry?”

“Me hungry.” Little Joe headed after Becca.

Marie hesitated, watching Colt. When she saw he wasn’t moving, she came to his side. “I’m not hungry.”

He knew it couldn’t be true. Except for some cold biscuits, they hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and his stomach growled as if to remind him of how long ago that was. He was at a loss to explain why Marie felt she had to side with him, but seems she did. If he refused the invitation, she would, too.

“I’m kind of hungry,” he said, and took a tentative step toward the door, and then another.

Marie followed hard on his heels.

Macpherson stepped back to usher them into their living quarters. Colt faltered. These were white people. He’d been taught in every way possible that he had no place with them. Sure, he could eat with the cowboys, or the servants, but not at the table with—

“Grab a chair.” Macpherson indicated where they should sit.

Colt swallowed hard and made his stiff legs carry him to the table. He sat gingerly on a chair.

“If you all bow your heads, I’ll say the blessing.” Macpherson waited for them to obey, and even Little Joe did so.

Colt closed his eyes, more to contain a thousand surprised and uneasy feelings than out of any reverence. Though his conscience reminded him of the times he’d sat in the back of a church and listened hungrily to the words of love from the preacher. Words that he guessed did not apply to him.

“Amen.”

Colt jerked up his head and looked directly into Becca’s flash-of-sky eyes.

“I hope everyone likes potato soup.”

He nodded, tried to force a word to his tongue, but couldn’t. In desperation he grabbed the glass of water before him and downed it.

“I like soup.” Marie’s eyes never left the ladle as Becca filled her bowl.

“Me like, too.” Little Joe reached for the bowl.

Becca grabbed his hands to keep him from sticking them into the hot soup as she filled his bowl. She ladled soup into Marie’s bowl, then filled Colt’s.

He murmured his thanks. “Smells good.” And it did.

She filled her pa’s bowl, and then her own before she sat down and checked the temperature of Little Joe’s soup. “Still too hot. Here, start with a slice of bread.”

“Okay.” Little Joe didn’t seem to have any problem with that and ate it heartily, then tackled the soup. He had a little trouble coordinating the spoon, but Becca didn’t appear to notice.

Colt would have been content to eat in silence, but it seemed a practice the Macphersons didn’t hold to.

Becca paused with her spoon halfway to her mouth. “I hope everyone is safe in this storm. I can’t help thinking of Russell Thomas.”

Macpherson spoke directly to Colt. “Old Russell lives out in the mountains all summer, but comes to town about this time of year to hole up in a rough cabin that has cracks so big between the logs, you could throw a cat through ’em. We haven’t seen him in town yet but he knows the country better than most. He can take care of himself.” He addressed the latter reassurance to his daughter.

Little Joe’s eyes widened. “Frow cat?”

Becca laughed. “It’s an expression. No one really throws a cat.”

Both kids looked relieved.

Colt forced his eyes not to shift in Becca’s direction. But he couldn’t stop his thoughts from going that way. When had he ever heard a woman laugh so often, so readily? And when had he ever heard such a joyful sound? Maybe in the woods on a sunny day, when every bird within twenty miles seemed determined to sing the loudest and cheeriest.

“Won’t keep out much of this wind and snow, but it’s better than being without shelter.” She sounded so worried, Colt half decided to go find the old man right then and there and bring him to town, never mind the storm.

Macpherson chuckled. “He knows how to survive better’n most men. He’ll show up here in a day or two asking for more tobacco.”

Little Joe finished his soup and looked longingly at the empty bowl. Becca obligingly gave him more.

Colt cleaned his bowl and ate two thick slices of bread. He refused offers of more, even though his stomach craved it.

Becca gave a low-throated chuckle. “I wonder how Miss Oake likes her first taste of winter here.” She directed a sweet smile toward Colt. “Miss Oake came out to join her brother at the OK Ranch. She was a teacher back east but said she craved a little more excitement. I wonder if this is enough adventure for her.”

Her pa answered. A good thing because Colt could think of nothing but blue skies and cheerful birds.

“I expect she’s enjoying a cozy fire and a good read. She had a heavy case of books with her.”

Little Joe’s head rocked back and forth, and he tipped forward.

“Looks like it’s bedtime,” Colt observed.

“No.” Little Joe jerked up. “I not tired.”

But even Colt could see that he could no longer focus his eyes. “I’ll take them to the barn.”

Becca leapt to her feet. “You’ll do no such thing. Pa?”

Macpherson pushed his chair back. “You and the children can bunk here.” He sounded as if none of them had a choice.

Here? In their living quarters? Surely he didn’t mean that. “Thanks. I’ll throw down my bedroll in the storeroom.”

“Nonsense.” Becca sounded determined. “There’s no heat there. We’ve had people spend the night before. They don’t seem to mind sleeping on the floor.” She waved her hand to indicate the space in the living quarters between the kitchen table and the easy chairs, and gave him a challenging look as if to ask if it didn’t suit him.

“That will be fine,” he mumbled, his tongue thick and uncooperative. His skin would itch with nerves all night at sharing white people’s quarters.

“I’ll put Little Joe down right away.” She chuckled as the little guy’s head bobbed from side to side. But when she lifted him from the chair, he turned into a squirming, screaming ball of fury.

Colt sighed. “Sure does have a powerful set of lungs.” He grabbed the boy as he wriggled from Becca’s grasp.

Marie looked about ready to fall asleep in her chair as well, but with a deep sigh, she climbed down and went to Little Joe’s side. Again, she murmured Indian words to calm her brother, then led him to one of the chairs, climbed up and pulled Little Joe after her. The pair cuddled together.

“He’ll be okay. I will take care of him,” Marie said.

“That’s so sweet,” Becca murmured.

“Yup.” Colt hoped his voice revealed none of his churning feelings. Little Joe would likely never know how his sister buffeted the harshness of life for him. But understanding what lay ahead for both, he wished he could find a home where they would be admired as much as Becca admired them. Just listening to her laugh as she dealt with them caused cracks in the walls he’d built around his heart.

* * *

A shattering cry jerked Becca awake. It took two seconds to remember the source of such a piercing sound. Little Joe. She blinked away sleep and tried to guess the time of day...or was it night? Stumbling from her bed, she danced about on the cold floor.

The stove top rattled. Pa was up. She’d slept the night through.

She hopped to the window, scraped away the frost and peered into the gray light. Snow piled against the glass. The wind battered the side of the building. The snowstorm continued.

Shouldn’t she be disappointed?

But she wasn’t. Instead, she hurried into her clothes and fixed her hair, pausing to study her reflection in the misted mirror. The cold made it impossible to stand still long enough to assess her likeness. Not that she needed a mirror to tell her what she knew already. Skin that stayed porcelain white—a fact that had pleased her mother, but mattered not at all to Becca. Hair that refused to behave itself. She braided it tightly, then dashed from the room and huddled near the stove, stretching out her hands toward the growing heat.

Little Joe’s cries had settled into sobbing misery.

Becca glanced toward Colt and the children. The three of them were bleary eyed.

“You look like you never slept.”

“I tried.” Colt sounded resigned. “But have you ever tried sleeping with two kids kicking you in the ribs all night?”

“Can’t say as I have.” She grinned at him, enjoying the mental picture of him spending the night with the children. It wasn’t the kicking she imagined, but the way Marie leaned against him, as trusting as a kitten with its mother.

“I expect they’re hungry.” She pulled out griddles and sliced bacon to fry. She mixed up batter for griddle cakes, and to complete the meal, she opened a jar of applesauce she’d preserved a few weeks ago.

As Becca pulled out dishes to set the table, Marie jumped from the easy chair she shared with Colt and Little Joe. Her brother scrambled after her. “You stay with Colt,” she told him.

Little Joe hesitated, as if deciding whether or not he wanted to comply, then nodded. “Okay.” He gave Colt an expectant look and Colt stared at him.

“What do you want?”

“Up.”

Colt’s face registered surprise, then he lifted the boy and settled him on his knee.

Becca studied them a moment. He met her gaze, his eyes full of dark depths. She got the feeling Colt found every welcoming, accepting gesture unexpected and wasn’t quite sure how to handle it. She wondered about his parents and what sort of things he’d encountered to make him so wary. Though she’d seen enough of how people acted toward those who weren’t like them to guess at the way he’d been treated. It brought a stab of pain to her heart. She turned away to hide her reaction.

Marie stood at her side. “I will help you.”

She realized Marie meant she would like to set the table.

“How nice. Thank you.” Becca bent over to give the child a quick hug, then handed her the plates. The least she could do was prove to these children that not everyone would treat them poorly.

“Breakfast is ready.” The words were barely out of her mouth before Little Joe flung himself from Colt’s lap and grabbed his hand, tugging at him to hurry.

“Eat. Me hungry.”

Colt laughed. “So I see.”

Becca’s eyes widened. She’d never heard the man laugh before, though he had a shy smile and quiet chuckle that seemed to escape often, and likely without his permission. But his laugh did funny things to her insides—making them smile in secret. She jerked her fanciful thoughts back into order as Pa settled at one end of the table and waited for her to sit so he could say the blessing. Guilt stung her cheeks at the way Pa studied her. She sat and bowed her head.

As Pa asked God to bless the food, she asked Him to guard her thoughts. She knew what she must do—honor her promise to her mother. There was no room for wishing for something else.

The food was well received. After several helpings, Little Joe finally slowed down with a sigh.

“All done.”

Becca shook her head. “I can’t believe you ate all that.”

He nodded, flashed a wide grin and patted his tummy. “Full now.”

Colt snorted. “Better plug your ears.” He addressed Little Joe.

“Why?” Marie asked.

“I know there isn’t room for all that food in a little-boy stomach. It has to go somewhere, so I figure it will start coming out his ears.”

Little Joe clamped his hands over his ears and scrunched his face in deep concentration.

Becca laughed. “He’s joshing you.” She sent Colt a scolding look and almost choked as he laughed—his mouth open, his eyes flashing.

He reached over and tapped Little Joe on the shoulder, gaining his attention. “It won’t really come out your ears.”

Little Joe slowly removed his hands, checked his palms. “No food.”

Colt chuckled. “It’s all in your tummy.”

Little Joe looked relieved.

Pa cleared his throat and reached for the Bible he kept on a shelf near the table.

“If everyone is done, we always read a chapter every morning. As my father often said, it’s a good way to start the day.”

Becca settled back to listen. She would miss Pa’s morning reading when she left. Yes, she read her own copy of the Bible, but hearing Pa’s slow, strong voice was part and parcel of her faith.

He read a chapter from Matthew, then closed the Bible. “We always pray for the day ahead of us.”

As Becca bowed her head, she allowed herself a glance at Colt. He watched Pa with an expression combining surprise and what she could only guess was admiration.

“God in heaven, bless us this day. Protect any travelers in the storm. Please see fit to bring an end to this storm so Becca can begin her journey. Take Colt and the children on whatever journey You have for them. Amen.”

Pa drained his cup of coffee and suddenly tipped his head to one side. “Listen to that. The wind has stopped blowing. I do believe the storm has ended.”

For the first time in her life, Becca resented the sun that broke through the clouds and turned the frost on the window to a thousand sparkling diamonds.

Pa rubbed his hands together and looked pleased as he went to the store, hoping for customers.

Colt pushed away from the table to follow her pa from the room. Little Joe scrambled from his chair and raced after him. “Me go, too. Me go with you.”

Marie followed her brother, her eyes echoing his words.

Colt turned slowly to contemplate the children, then faced Becca. “I have to go.”

“Go? As in leave?”

He shifted his weight from foot to foot, as if anxious to be on his way.

“Don’t go,” Marie begged, clinging to his hand.

Little Joe puckered up, ready to set his ear-splitting cry on them again.

Colt swept the boy into his arms. “Don’t cry. Please.”

“You not go?”

The poor man looked torn between a desire to flee and the demands of two little children.

“They’ve lost so much already,” she murmured. “You could at least stay until the stage comes.”

His expression could have been set in stone for all he revealed. Then he nodded. “Very well. I’ll see them safely on their way first.”

“You stay?” Little Joe demanded.

Colt nodded, and Little Joe patted his cheeks lovingly. “You good boy.”

Laughter filled her throat at the child’s innocent approval, and she knew her eyes brimmed with amusement.

Colt looked her way, saw her barely contained laughter and grinned crookedly.

“Must be nice to be appreciated,” she managed, though her words seemed a little garbled by the welling laughter.

“Guess there’s a first time for everything.” Suddenly he turned away and strode into the store, Little Joe clutched in his arms.

“Anything I can do to help?” she heard him ask Pa before the door closed between them.

If she didn’t miss her guess, he sounded desperate.

“I’ll help with dishes,” Marie offered, pulling Becca’s attention from the activity in the store.

But it did not stop her from trying to guess what sent Colt skittering away so fast.

* * *

First time for everything.

As if he felt neglected because only a two-year-old child saw fit to show appreciation. A self-pitying statement if he’d ever heard one. Dare he hope she’d think he was only joshing? But he feared he’d seen a flicker of something in her eyes before he ducked from the room. Whether it was pity or something else, he would not consider.

The storm was over. He should be on his way, but the kids would soon be off to the fort with Becca where they’d be treated kindly...as kindly as mixed-race children could expect, and he knew from experience it was hit or miss—mostly hit of the physical sort, as it turned out.

The outer door blew open and a weathered, bewhiskered man entered the store.

“Seems we survived the first big blow of the season.”

“How do, Petey. You planning to head out soon?” Macpherson glanced out the window. “Don’t see the stagecoach.”

Colt watched the pair. So this was the driver. Seemed his promise to stay until the kids were on their way would be short-lived.

Petey strode to the stove and held his hands toward the heat. “Came to tell you I ain’t going ’til after Christmas.”

Macpherson straightened and stared at the man. “You don’t say.” He didn’t sound pleased by the announcement.

“Rufus invited me to stay with him.”

“At the livery station?”

“Rufus and me go back a long ways. ’Bout the closest thing we have to family. Figure we should spend Christmas together.”

“Of course.” Macpherson strode to the window and peered out.

Colt didn’t move. Tried to become invisible, but Little Joe squirmed and chattered, drawing Macpherson’s attention and a glower.

Petey glanced at the little boy then at Colt. “You taking that kid out in this weather?”

Macpherson answered. “They’re going to the fort on the stage.”

“Then it looks like you’ll have visitors for Christmas.”

Macpherson did not look pleased at the prospect, but moved to tend to Petey’s order.

A few minutes later the man left with a bundle of goods that Colt figured would be used to celebrate the season.

Colt and Macpherson stared at each other, then Macpherson headed to the living quarters. Colt hung back, Little Joe playing in his arms. Christmas was a family time. Even Petey knew that. Colt wasn’t family. He’d buy a few supplies and be on his way.

Macpherson paused in the doorway. “You better come along.”

Colt knew what to expect. He’d be leaving within the hour.

“Don’t suppose you heard Old Petey out there.” Macpherson sounded weary as he spoke to Becca.

Becca had been supervising Marie washing the table. Her smile faded. “He’s here already? I thought—”

“He’s spending Christmas with Rufus at the livery barn. I can’t imagine why he’d choose to stay cooped up in the tiny room at the back of the barn when he could enjoy Christmas at the fort.”

Becca clapped her hands. “That’s the best news I’ve heard in a long time.”

Colt stared in disbelief and confusion.

Macpherson grunted. “Why is that?”

“I can spend Christmas here with you.” She spoke directly to her pa, then shifted her gaze to the two children who had gone to the corner to play. “And I can give them the best Christmas ever.”

Her words hit Colt like a blow to the stomach. It meant he’d have to say goodbye to them right away, but he acknowledged it would be best for them. Only it would be lonely for him.

He was being plumb ridiculous. He’d been alone most of his life, even when he found shelter with a family.

“You are most generous,” he murmured, letting his gaze rest momentarily on her face, taking in her sunny smile and sky-colored eyes. He would never forget her. Recalling her features would warm many cold, lonely nights. He jerked away to confront Macpherson.

“I’ll get those supplies now and be on my way.” He headed for the door, expecting Macpherson to follow.

But before her pa could take a step, Becca sprang forward and grabbed Colt’s arm.

“You can’t mean you intend to leave.” She kept her words low so the children wouldn’t hear, but nevertheless, they rang with accusation. “They’ll be so upset, they won’t be able to enjoy Christmas. You must stay and help me make it special for them.” She pleaded silently, her eyes soft, then her face filled with determination. “Didn’t you promise them—and me—you would stay until they were on the stage?” When he didn’t answer, she turned to her pa. “Tell him to stay. Tell him we need him to make this work. Tell him—” She ran out of steam.

Macpherson studied his daughter for some time, then shrugged and turned to Colt. “Really doesn’t make sense to ride out on your own unless you’re in a hurry to get someplace.”

Was he? Part of him said he should leave now before he was driven away. Leave with his pride intact. His heart untouched.

“Please stay,” Becca murmured.

Her voice made him forget all the sound reasons for going.

“For Christmas?” Was it really what she meant?

“We’ll make it the best Christmas ever.”

Did she realize she hadn’t added “for the children”? Was it worth risking all the solid walls he’d built around his soul to find out?

“I’ll stay.”

A large portion of his brain told him he would be less thankful before this sojourn ended, but he could only hope he’d be able to say it had been worth whatever pain it brought.


Chapter Three

Colt meant to see that no one regretted having him spend Christmas here, so when Macpherson returned to the store, Colt followed hard on his heels, scooping Little Joe into his arms again before the boy could start his ear-splitting cries. Marie seemed content to keep Becca company.

“Can I do something to help?” he asked the older man.

“Thanks. I could use a hand.” Macpherson prepared to move a barrel to the other end of the counter.

Colt put Little Joe down. “Stay here.”

“If I take the bolts of fabric off this table, I can shift it closer to the corner and give me room for a better display of tools.”

“I’ll do that.” Colt lifted the bolts to the counter. Little Joe stuck to his heels like a tick on a warm dog. He wanted to warn the boy not to get used to Colt being there.

Even at the fort they could expect to be shunned by both races because of the blood of the other flowing through their veins. Colt learned a person fit nowhere but in his own skin. He’d found his place by doing what he liked best, what he was good at—caring for horses and riding the high pastures.

The table was empty, and Macpherson indicated Colt should help shove it into the place he’d chosen. That done, he handed Colt a rag. Little Joe tagged along after Colt’s every step.

“Might as well clean it while it’s empty.” The older man grabbed a broom and swept the floor.

“Nice prayer this morning,” Colt said. The man’s words stuck in his brain. Did he really mean them, or had he simply uttered them out of habit?

“My pa, God rest his soul, believed a man could only order his days aright if he put God first.”

“You really think God cares about a man’s daily activities?”

“I do believe so.”

Colt wondered if that only applied to a select few. “I suppose it’s only for white men.”

“Nope. For everyone. Seems to me if God makes all men, then He must like different skin colors.” Macpherson scooped up the pile of dirt and dumped it in the ash bucket.

“Hmm.” No doubt the sound contained more of Colt’s doubts than he meant it to. But he’d seen the caution and warning in Macpherson’s expression as he watched Colt when his daughter was around.

Macpherson leaned into the counter and considered his words. “Maybe it’s like a farmer with his animals. Think about it. Sheep, goats, chickens, pigs, horses, cows...each is so different, yet of great importance to the farmer.” He shrugged. “Here, give me a hand putting the fabric back.”

Colt welcomed the task providing, as it did, an opportunity to consider Macpherson’s words without having to comment on them. He’d seen no evidence that God cared for a man of mixed heritage.

Or—he jerked up and stared at the display of harnesses and yokes—was he mistaking man’s actions for an indication of what God thought? Interesting concept. He’d have to give it some study.

They finished rearranging things to Macpherson’s liking. The man circled the room, as if hoping to find something else to do. Little Joe trotted after him. Finally Macpherson went to the counter and sighed. “I have accounts to deal with. You might as well take the little guy into the living quarters. Maybe Becca can find something to amuse him.” Every time either one of them turned around, they practically tripped over Little Joe.

Colt’s thoughts reined to a skidding halt. He could not get his brain or his feet to function.

“We go.” Little Joe grabbed his hand and led him toward the door.

Colt followed like one of those mindless sheep Macpherson had mentioned. He stepped into the living quarters and stared at Becca bent over the table with Marie.

She glanced up. “You’re just in time. I’m showing Marie one of the books I read as a child.”

Little Joe trotted over to his sister, pushed a chair close and climbed up beside her, chattering away about the pictures.

Becca’s expression indicated she waited for a comment from Colt.

“That’s nice.” Certainly not very profound, but it was the best he could do. Thankfully, she seemed satisfied.

“This is one of my favorites. It’s a Bible story book. Maybe you’re familiar with it.” She waved him over to examine it.

He managed to make his feet move to the table and bent over the children, aware Becca did the same thing next to him.

She turned a page. “Look how worn the edges are. That’s because it was my favorite. The story of Jesus born in a manger.”

“Will you read it to us?” Marie asked.

“I’d love to.” Becca straightened and looked at Colt as she told the story. Once she turned a page, but she never referred to the book.

Colt suspected she had the words memorized perfectly, but he didn’t turn from her gaze to look at the page, so he couldn’t say for certain. He was trapped by her voice and blue eyes...and something more that he couldn’t name. A sense of being drawn forward by a woman who would remain forever out of his reach. At the same time, a memory pulled him to the past.

“I spent Christmas one year with a family at the fort.” The words came slowly and without forethought. He simply spoke the memory as it formed in his mind.

“The mother read this same story.” Her three children had gathered round her knees. Colt had been allowed to listen from a distance. But the words enticed him then, even as they did now.

“I like the story,” Marie said, pulling Colt back to the present.

He stepped back until the big armchair stood between himself and Becca.

Marie continued. “Papa told us this story just before Mama died. He said Mama went to live with Jesus.” A sob escaped her lips before she clamped them together. Silent tears tracked down her cheeks.

Becca gave Colt a despairing look, as if hoping he could somehow fix Marie’s pain. He couldn’t. Tears made him itch with discomfort as he recalled being cuffed across the head for shedding a few of his own when he wasn’t much bigger than Marie.

But Becca seemed to know what to do. She lifted Marie from the chair and sat down, cradling the little girl in her lap. She rocked back and forth, making comforting sounds.

Little Joe scrambled from his chair and edged close to his sister to pat her leg. “Not cry. Not cry.”

“It’s okay little guy,” Becca soothed. “She’s not hurt.”

Marie struggled to contain her tears, but seemed powerless to stop their flow.

Little Joe wrinkled up his face. An ear-piercing wail rent the air.

“Don’t cry,” Colt ordered, which only made him cry harder.

Becca tried to pat both children but couldn’t quite manage. She shot him a look so full of appeal he couldn’t resist. He sat on the chair next to her, pulled Little Joe to his lap. Imitating Becca, he patted the boy’s back. Little Joe’s cries softened to shudders as he clutched Colt’s shirtfront. Colt tried to decide if this felt right or if it threatened his careful self-containment.

Marie sat up. “I’m better. Thank you.” She stood before the table and paged through the storybook.

“You done, too?” Colt asked Little Joe, then tried to put him down, but he burrowed his fingers into Colt’s shirt and hung on.

Becca chuckled at the sight. “Guess he needs to be held a little longer.”

Colt settled back. “Guess so.”

Becca gave him a look brimming with warmth and—he swallowed hard—approval? She chuckled again.

“He seems very content.”

“Huh?” Oh, Little Joe. Of course. “Probably worn out from kicking me all night.”

Becca laughed, and Colt allowed himself a grin.

But Little Joe wasn’t prepared to sit quietly for long. He wriggled down and began to trot about the room. He stopped in front of a small table near one of the chairs and reached for a picture. Glass. If he broke it—

Colt leapt to his feet and crossed the room in three strides, capturing the picture before Little Joe got it.

“This isn’t for little boys,” he explained to the startled child.

Little Joe giggled. “You run fast.”

“Guess so.” He looked at the picture. A beautiful woman in a fancy outfit.

Becca crossed the room to his side. “My mother.”

“I see the resemblance.”

“She’s the reason I’m going east. Here, I’ll put it out of his reach.” She took the framed photograph from Colt and set it on top of a cupboard.

Colt tried to sort out his scrambled thoughts, but they were so tangled he needed a rake to arrange them. With a mother like that, Becca didn’t belong in the untamed West. No wonder she planned to leave. Yet she seemed the sort of woman the West needed. She seemed unfazed by the storm, as well as the challenge of frontier life. She was gentle, accepting of half-breed kids...

He allowed one thought to surface. She’d been kind to him as well, as if oblivious to his mixed race.

Little Joe ducked behind the chair and poked his head around. “Peek.”

Becca nudged Colt. “Someone wants to play with you.”

“Me?” He sucked in air. She thought he should play with the boy? The idea both thrilled and frightened him.

Little Joe poked his head around the chair on the other side. “Peek.”

Colt laughed.

Becca grinned. “He’s adorable. They both are.”

Colt sobered. “Too bad everyone won’t see that.”

“What do you mean?”

He shook his head. He wouldn’t voice his reasons in front of the kids, knowing how much it hurt to hear the words people would use to describe them. Instead, he hunkered down and crab-walked forward until he was at the front of the chair. He waited for Little Joe to poke his head around the corner.

“Boo.”

The boy jumped and then giggled. “You scared me.” Mischief flashed through the child’s eyes seconds before he rushed forward to tackle Colt, catching him off balance. The pair tumbled to the floor, and Little Joe bounced happily on his chest.

Marie sidled up to them, searching Colt’s face as if to make sure he wasn’t upset.

“Come here, you.” He grabbed the girl, pulled her down beside him and tickled her.

Becca sank down in the chair, so close her skirts brushed his arm. She chuckled, her eyes brimming with amusement and—he would not make the mistake of thinking she smiled approval on him. But when had he ever felt so...so...

As if he’d arrived where he belonged?

The children’s laughter washed through him. Becca’s smile melted the edges of his heart.

He shifted the kids to the floor, pushed to his feet and brushed himself off—more because he needed to collect and arrange his thoughts than because he’d found any dirt on the floor. He strode to the window. Every nerve in his body screamed to leave right now.

While every beat of his heart longed for each minute to last forever.

Thankfully, Macpherson chose that moment to step into the room. “The temperature is dropping.” He glanced around the room, and Colt wondered if he resented having his space invaded by three visitors. But Macpherson smiled.

“I think some games for the children would be a good idea.” The man might not approve of Colt, but at least he didn’t seem to look at the children with the same narrow-eyed concern.

“Games?” Marie’s eyes widened with hope.

Becca clapped her hands. “Oh, yes. Pa, do finger puppets for them.”

“Very well.” He pulled pen and ink from the cupboard.

“I’ll show you on my own finger.” Macpherson dipped the pen into the ink and drew a simple face on one finger.

“This is a little boy. He can hide.” He curled his fist and the puppet boy disappeared.

“He can dance.” Macpherson sang a little ditty, and the finger danced.

“He can talk.” He held the finger to his ear and listened intently, nodding as if he understood a whispered secret.

“Who wants to go first?”

Marie edged forward and held out her hand.

“I can make one or a whole family. Which would you like?”

“A family. A mama, a papa, a little girl and a littler boy.”

Colt realized the importance of Marie’s choice—her own family. He couldn’t look at Becca, but heard her suck in air. It drew his attention. He glanced her way to see if she was okay. Her blue eyes glistened with tears, and she pressed her lips together. She looked at him and gave a watery smile.

He returned her smile, wondering if his lips trembled just slightly.

“There you go,” Macpherson said, and Colt jerked his attention back to Marie, who thanked the man and stared at her fingers. A slow, dazzling smile filled her face, and she pressed her hand to her chest.

This time Colt dared not look at Becca. Instead he forced his attention to Little Joe, who stood before Macpherson with a fist held out.

Macpherson took the tiny hand and drew a face on the index finger. Little Joe backed away, staring at his finger. He circled the room holding the finger up, turning it toward objects then back toward him.

Macpherson chuckled. “It doesn’t take a lot to amuse children.”

“Or make them happy.” Becca’s voice rounded with emotion.

Marie sat cross-legged on the floor, murmuring softly to her finger people.

“I wish they could be protected from the harshness of life.” Becca spoke softly, so only the adults would hear her comments.

Her pa went to her side and wrapped an arm about her shoulders. “Life is generally what we make of it. If what I’ve seen of this pair is any indication, their parents have prepared them to face things with calm assurance. That’s bound to go a long way.”

Colt shifted to block Becca and her pa from his view, and wished he could likewise block their words from his mind. Sometimes a child didn’t have any opportunity to make good or bad of his life. Other people did that for him.

He concentrated on slow, deep breaths. He was no longer a child. Now he could make what he wanted of his life. A few days ago he had no doubts about what that was—an isolated cabin and a pen of horses to work with over the winter.

Now long-buried, long-denied wishes seemed determined to reestablish their useless presence. All because of two children who needed a home and acceptance. Their requirements so clearly mirrored what he’d wanted, but never had, as a child.

I am no longer a child. I no longer need or want those things.

He didn’t succeed in putting his thought to rest.


Chapter Four

Becca ached to pull the children to her lap and hold them close. If only she could protect them from the cruelties she knew they’d face.

The children weren’t the only ones she wished she could help. She’d seen the hurt in Colt’s face before he turned away. It pained her to think of the sort of memories that brought such a reaction. A shudder started in her chest, and she stepped away from Pa. With his arm across her shoulder, he might feel it and ask the cause. She began lunch preparation, determined the children and Colt would leave this place with memories of kindness and good food. She stared at the stove a moment, trying to think how she could make the meal special. Smiling, she pulled out pots.

Her mother had always made tomato soup for special occasions. She would do the same, though she’d never managed to make it as good as Ma did.

A little later the soup was gone, as was the bread she’d served with chokecherry jam.

Little Joe had purple jam smeared on his face, along with a look of satisfaction.

Marie managed to eat more neatly, and smiled at Becca. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

Colt’s head jerked up, and his dark eyes bored into her. What had she said to make him look at her that way?

He shifted his attention to Little Joe. “I think a little boy is ready for a nap.” He swung from his chair and lifted the child.

“Put him on my bed.” She rushed ahead and opened the door.

Colt hesitated.

“He’ll get a good rest here.” Still, the man did not move. “Is something wrong?”

Colt’s gaze found hers, and she saw confusion.

“Oh, give him to me and I’ll put him down.” But Little Joe fussed and clung to Colt.

Marie marched ahead and climbed on the bed. “I’ll take him.”

Little Joe went eagerly to his sister, and the pair cuddled together. Becca covered them with a quilt, then turned to speak to Colt but he’d disappeared.

“Pa, where did he go?”

Pa yawned and stretched. “Said it was a good time to check on the horses. He’ll be back when he’s done.” He went to his room and closed the door. He’d sleep maybe an hour before returning to the store. If a customer came, Becca would wake him.

Suddenly she was alone. Would Colt take all afternoon to complete his chores? She wanted to ask him some questions.

After she finished cleaning the kitchen and doing some chores of her own, he stomped into the store. A few seconds later he stood in the doorway.

“Come on in.”

His gaze darted about the room. “Where’s your pa?”

“Resting.” She tilted her head toward the closed door.

Colt began to back away.

“Don’t go. Sit and visit awhile.”

He swallowed loudly.

She thought he would turn tail and run, but he slowly crossed the threshold.

She sat in one of the big chairs and waved him toward the other, but he slowly circled the room and came to a stop in front of Ma’s picture. “Is your ma back east?”

“No. She died two years ago.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know, or I wouldn’t have mentioned it.”

“There’s no way you could know without asking.”

He nodded. “You ever been east?”

“Once. When I was fifteen. Ma had been sick quite some time, and Pa sent her to Toronto to see a doctor.”

“Did you like it there?”

She thought of the strangeness of the city...the dirt, the noise and the way people rushed about. “Not really.”

“So why are you going back?”

“My mother asked for my promise as she lay dying. The least I could do was agree.”

He turned toward her, his eyes watchful. “The least? Why do you say that?”

“Because it was my fault she didn’t get better.” The words she’d never confessed to another soul fell from her lips.

The way he raised his eyebrows requested an explanation.

“I was unhappy in Toronto. I missed Pa. I missed the open prairies and the sight of the mountains. I asked Ma to let me go home. She agreed and we returned, but she wasn’t better. She never got better.”

“I see.”

The way he said it made her curious. How could he possibly know what it was like? “What do you see?”

“You blame yourself for her dying, though it seems to me if you believe what the Bible says, you have to believe it’s God’s doing.”

The words jolted through her with the power of a flash flood, upending roots of guilt and regret. “If I hadn’t been such a crybaby, she would have stayed and gotten better.”

“You know that for a fact?”

“Certainly.” She faltered. “I always thought so.”

“Maybe you thought wrong.”

She stared at him, not really seeing him. Rather, seeing the accusations she’d flung at herself. Had they been unfounded? No one had ever said Ma should stay and get more treatment. No one had ever suggested she might get better if she stayed in Toronto. Had she blamed herself needlessly? How could Colt have seen it so quickly? Yet she wasn’t sure she believed it. If only she hadn’t cried to return home.

Time to change the subject before she was forced to examine her opinions more closely.

“Tell me about your parents.”

He jolted as if shot and turned away, staring at Ma’s picture. “Ain’t nothing to tell.”

“How can that be?” Had they been so cold and uncaring he didn’t allow himself to mention them?

“I don’t know who they are. Never met them.”

“Never?” Shock rattled her thoughts. “Colt, how dreadful.”

He shrugged and turned away. “It’s neither here nor there.”

“But—” Of course it was. No wonder he carried a wounded look.

“How long do you think the kids will sleep?”

She understood what he didn’t say. As far as he was concerned, the subject was closed. But she ached for him and wished she could say something to comfort him, although words could not adequately convey her sympathy any more than they could erase the pain of not knowing who his parents were. She wanted to ask who had raised him. Had he known happiness as a child? But she sensed he wouldn’t welcome any probing.

“I really can’t say.” If the kids slept an hour or better, it would give her a chance to question Colt further. Perhaps he guessed at her curiosity, for he crossed the room.

“I’ll check the stove in the store.” The door closed behind him.

She sighed, suspecting an equally solid door had closed in his mind. He clearly did not want to talk about his parents. She sensed the depth of his pain and wished she could help him.

A little while later, Marie stood in the door, Little Joe at her side.

“We’re awake.” She glanced around the room. “Where’s Colt?”

Little Joe, seeing his friend missing, opened his mouth and let out a wail that threatened to lift the roof from the building.

“He’s in the store.” Becca pointed, knowing they likely couldn’t hear her.

Marie headed that direction, a yowling Little Joe in her grasp.

The door swung open and Colt stepped in. He swept Little Joe into his arms and let the boy burrow his head against his shoulder. The crying ended in a couple of relieved sobs.

How on earth did he expect her to pry these children from him and take them to the fort when they wouldn’t let him out of their sight for a moment?

But she had a few days over Christmas and intended to use it to give these kids a chance to adjust to the truth: their parents were dead, but there were still people who would care for them and love them.

Pa stepped from his room, stretching and yawning. He shook the kettle. “Anyone care for tea?”

“Me, me,” Little Joe crowed.

Becca would put her few days to the best use possible. She pulled cookies out of the pantry and made tea, weakening the children’s with canned milk.

Pa downed his before it had a chance to cool, and grabbed a couple of cookies. “Might have customers show up.” He headed for the store.

When Colt shoved his chair back, the sound reverberated through Becca like thunder.

“I’ll go see if your pa needs help. I heard him say something about shelves.” He headed for the door.

Little Joe scrambled after him.

Colt stopped and squatted to the boy’s level. “You stay here with Marie. I’ll be right there.” He pointed toward the door.

Marie joined them and took Little Joe’s hand. “I’ll look after him.” Her voice trembled.

Becca guessed Marie hated to let Colt out of her sight as much as her brother did, but intended to be brave for Little Joe’s sake.

Colt straightened slowly, his gaze finding a place on the floor to study. Then he lifted his eyes to Becca, and she saw regret and resignation. He clearly understood the children’s fear. And no doubt knew better than most what their future held.

He squatted before them and pulled them both to his chest. “I won’t ever leave without telling you first, so if I say I’m going to help Mr. Macpherson, you can count on me coming back. Okay?”

“Okay.” Marie straightened and pulled Little Joe to her side. “You go help. We’ll help Becca.”

Colt chuckled. “There you go. We all have something to do.”

Becca’s throat tightened with emotion. If only she had the power to change what the future held for these children.

* * *

Colt had no trouble getting Macpherson to let him tackle making shelves in the storeroom. He concentrated on sawing lumber to the right length and affixing sturdy shelving to hold a dizzying array of goods.

“The country is opening up,” Macpherson said as he moved crates and adjusted boxes. “The Gardiners have a lease and are establishing a large ranching operation. I expect I will get the most of their business.” He held the end of a board while Colt nailed it to the supports. When it was in place, Macpherson shook it hard.

“Needs to be good and solid.” He nodded with satisfaction when the shelf didn’t budge. “The OK Ranch was here first, but they’ve had some problems with managers. The Gardiner place won’t be having any such problems. Not with Eddie Gardiner himself running it. Calls the place Eden Valley Ranch.”

Colt measured and cut another board, but curiosity overtook his normal silence. “Why is Eddie Gardiner so important?”

“He’s the son of some rich lord, or something fancy like that, back in England. I hear they’re rolling in money.”

A fine rich man. The sort who would look down his nose at half-breeds, and likely kick them in passing.

Macpherson continued talking. “I rode out that way during the summer. Impressive place, indeed. Those buildings will stand for a hundred years or more.” He looked about the storeroom. “They have a supply shed as big as this room. The whole place is laid out like a little town. Very impressive. You ought to go have a look.”

Colt gave a noncommittal grunt.

“Say.” Macpherson studied Colt as if seeing him for the first time. “You any good with horses?”

Colt grinned. “Some think so.”

Macpherson chuckled. “I expect that’s your way of saying you got a reputation to uphold.”

“Could be.” He measured for the next shelf.

“If you’re as good as you say, you might consider signing on with the Eden Valley Ranch.”

Colt gave a snort of laughter. “Don’t recall saying I was good.”

“That’s what made me figure you were.” Macpherson grinned at Colt.

Colt kept his attention on his work. Seems Macpherson liked him a whole lot better when he wasn’t around his daughter. Nothing surprising about that. Colt didn’t suppose it would ever change. Yet the way Becca smiled at him, the way she spoke to him, her look and words so inviting...

He realized he grinned foolishly at a length of board and stilled his silly thoughts. But it took more than the normal habit of pushing aside his feelings to quiet his heart.

A customer came into the store, and Macpherson left to wait on him.

Colt continued working steadily throughout the afternoon. But his disobedient thoughts kept harking back to Becca—the way she spoke so gently and kindly to the children, the way she smiled at him.

He paused, a hammer dangling from his hand. His experience warned him that the children’s future would be unlike this visit here. How happy would they be? At least the teacher would give them a home. He could only hope—and perhaps, pray—they would find much more in her care.

Marie stepped into the room and smiled up at him. “Miss Becca says to come for supper.”

Colt hesitated. Was he only making things worse for her and Little Joe by accepting Becca and her pa’s kind invitation? But what could he do? He’d given his word.

His choices were either stay and guard his heart, or leave and break his word—and likely two tiny hearts. Really no choice at all. He followed Marie into the store.

Becca stood in the doorway, favoring them all with a shining smile. “It’s ready and waiting. Marie helped with the potatoes.”

“Well, then.” Macpherson rubbed his hands together. “We’d best see if she did a good job or not.” He nodded at Colt. “Come along.”

Colt’s feet felt like lead and his heart clenched with a well-developed caution, but how could he refuse with Marie looking pleased with herself and Becca smiling a welcome? It wasn’t as if her father seemed reluctant. Maybe he should accept this blessing for now. Then he would go back to being Colt Johnson, a loner half-breed.

“Let’s taste those potatoes.”

He scooped Little Joe into his arms and followed after Marie and Macpherson. The warmth of the room, full of savory smells, welcomed him as no other meal had. Only he knew it wasn’t the room or the scents. It was Becca’s smile.

Simply the politeness of a well-bred woman, he reasoned. No need for him to think it meant anything else.

They sat down and waited as Macpherson said grace, then Becca saw to passing the food around. A richly flavored pot roast, boiled potatoes in odd clunky shapes, gravy and turnips.

Marie watched him carefully as he took a scoop of the potatoes and poured on gravy.

“Yum. These are the best potatoes I’ve ever had.” And they were. He understood it had nothing to do with the flavor of the food, but everything to do with two pairs of eyes—Becca’s blue ones and Marie’s black—observing him. As if his opinion mattered a great deal.

He tried in vain to bring his thoughts into rational order, but they tripped along their merry path, undeterred by his silent warnings.

He pushed aside the mental warfare to address the eager-eyed child. “You did a fine job, Marie.”

She wriggled with pleasure and turned to Macpherson for his opinion.

“I do believe Colt is right. Best potatoes ever.”

Marie practically glowed, and Becca looked as pleased as if she had received the praise herself.

A most generous woman. A very unusual woman. He couldn’t see her fitting in back east, though his only way of judging that was through the people he’d met from that direction. Mostly stiff, judgmental individuals who saw Colt and those like him as oddities, or much worse.

His skin tightened as he recalled the name a pair near the fort not so many days ago had applied to him. Dirty savage.

The meal over, he sprang to his feet to walk to the window. Marie scampered from her chair and insisted on helping with the dishes.

He listened to Becca instructing her, sweetly and patiently. Kindly.

“It’s dark already.” He hoped forcing his thoughts to the outdoors would eliminate any possibility of thinking of things he shouldn’t be.

Becca hung the towel and came to his side to look out into the night.

“Look at all the stars. They’re so beautiful. I wonder if it was like this the first Christmas night.”

He forced his gaze to remain on the scene through the window. It took supreme effort not to look at Becca. But even without seeing her, he pictured her starry eyes and beaming smile.

How was he going to get through the next few days without letting her sweetness shatter the protection he’d built around his heart?


Chapter Five

Becca barely contained her desire to dance across the floor. Christmas at home with her pa, Colt and the children. If she never got another Christmas present in her life, she would die content with this one.

She couldn’t stop grinning as her mind twirled with plans. But her joy stuttered as she watched Colt retreat to the far corner and hunker down beside the kids. She guessed it wasn’t a desire to play with them that took him there, but why did he act as if staying would be an ordeal?

Well, she’d prove to him it wasn’t. She’d make this the best Christmas ever for him, too.

She waited until the children curled up on their mats and fell asleep to signal Pa and Colt to the table. “Let’s make plans.”

Colt leaned back as if he wanted no part of this. “I wouldn’t know what to do.”

“What would you normally do?” She hoped he’d share a special memory.

He blinked hard then grinned. “Normally I would ride out to the prettiest place I could find and enjoy nature.”

“Alone?” She sounded as shocked as she felt.

“Nature is the best company I know of.”

She tilted her chin upward. “I intend to prove you wrong. We’re pretty fine company, aren’t we, Pa?”

“Your ma seemed to think so.”

Becca’s smile slipped at the mention of her mother, then she dismissed any sadness and regret. She’d been offered a reprieve. Even if it was only temporary, she intended to make the most of it.

“You must have done something fun and special during Christmas. After all, you’re—how old are you?”

“Near as I can figure, I’m about twenty-one.”

Near as he could figure? Didn’t he know anything for certain about his past? “There you go. In twenty-one years you must recall something special.”

His jaw tightened and he looked stubborn. She wondered if he meant to deny any such knowledge, then he gave a little chuckle.

“I was once given a wild, rank horse. I expect it was more of a joke than any kindness, but by spring I had a mount that many a man envied.”

She sighed in a way meant to be long-suffering. “Not exactly the kind of thing I think would be useful in planning Christmas for the children. I have a few ideas, though.”

She turned to Pa. “With your permission—”

“Child, do whatever you’d like. I’m sure we’ll all be pleased.”

She nodded. “I do believe you will.” Her head buzzed with ideas.

Pa yawned. “Time for bed.”

Becca sprang to her feet. “Good night to you both.” She paused at her room. “I can hardly wait until morning to put my ideas into effect.”

* * *

The next morning, Becca hurried from bed, her head full of plans. Colt had not looked nearly as enthusiastic as she would wish, but she’d soon change that.

As soon as breakfast was over, she asked the others, “Have any of you made taffy?”

The children shook their heads, and when she shifted her gaze to Colt he blinked.

“Me?”

“Have you?”

“No.” He sounded far more cautious than curious, which made her even more determined to make this the most fun he’d ever had.

“My ma taught me how to make pulled taffy. She made it every year for Christmas. I didn’t realize how good she was at it until we went to Toronto and her family begged her for a taffy pull.” She spoke to Pa as he headed for the store and the hope of customers. “Did you know she was the best candy maker?”

“It’s why I married her. Didn’t you know?” His eyes twinkled and she laughed.

“But didn’t you say it was because she made the best rice pudding? Oh, wait, wasn’t it because she baked the best biscuits, or was it because she had such a nice reading voice?”

“Yup. And lots more.”

Becca held his gaze a moment as they both silently acknowledged how much they missed her. Then Pa stepped into the store.

“Pa, don’t you want to take part in the candy making?”

He paused and sucked in air. No doubt the activity carried bittersweet memories for him. But Becca wanted so much for him to remember the good times they’d had and cherish them. A wish she had for everyone in the room.

“Call me when it’s time to pull it, and I’ll come back if I’m not busy with customers.” He turned to smile at Becca. “It will remind me of all the times I helped your mother.”

“She’d want to know you remembered all she taught you.”

She and Pa smiled shared love of her mother, then he closed the door behind him.

Becca glanced at Colt. He jerked his attention to a spot behind her, but not before she caught a glimpse of hunger, as if he liked hearing her talk about her mother...maybe he enjoyed hearing about a regular family. She made herself another promise—she’d show Colt what it was like to be in a family.

She pulled out the kettle Ma had always used. “The first time I remember Ma making taffy, I was about Marie’s age. We had just moved west. Ma had a job as a teacher in Fort Benton. She made taffy for the children on the last day of school before Christmas. I remember feeling so proud because all the children seemed to think she’d done something special.” She poured the sugar, water and vinegar into the kettle as Marie watched her every move. Colt stood back, Little Joe in his arms.

“Bring him closer so he can watch.” She saw eagerness in both expressions but Colt did not move, even though Little Joe wriggled, trying to force him to do so. She held Colt’s gaze, feeling his caution and reluctance. Her determination to give him good memories intensified. “Better pay attention in case you ever want to make this.”

At that he relaxed and chuckled. “Horses seem to think carrots are candy.” But he sidled closer to observe the ingredients in the kettle, close enough that she could feel him alongside her, even though they didn’t touch.

“It’s beginning to boil. Now we don’t stir it or jar it until it’s reached hard-ball stage. In the meantime, we get ready.” She pulled out the large pan her mother had always used. “It needs to be buttered. Marie, why don’t you and Little Joe do that?”

Colt put Little Joe at the table beside his sister, and Becca showed them how to dip their fingers in the butter and spread it on the pan.

“Can’y ready?” Little Joe asked.

“No, now we wait.”

When the boy moved toward the stove, Colt lifted him into his arms and held him where he could see but not grab the kettle.

“It takes time to cook,” Becca warned the anxious trio. She dropped a bit of the candy mixture into a cup of cold water. It dissolved as she pressed it with the spoon. “Not ready yet.”

“Why do you do that?” Colt asked.

She explained that it indicated how hot the syrup was. “When it stays in a little ball, then it’s ready to take off the stove.” She noticed with warmth that he forgot to be reserved with her. “It takes a bit of practice to recognize the right degree, but Ma taught me well. I’ll try and do the same for you just in case you decide to treat the horses.” Or maybe decide to get some people friends. But she kept that thought to herself rather than drive him back into his shell.

She’d gladly—willingly—be his friend. But she couldn’t even offer that. She’d made a promise to her mother and was obligated to keep it. She checked the syrup again. “See how the little ball stays in shape?” She tipped the cup of water toward Colt for him to study. “When I take it out and press it, it holds its shape.” She held out her hand. “See for yourself.”

Colt extended a finger, and she slipped the candy onto it.

Flesh on flesh sent a jolt through her. She wanted to prolong the touch, examine her reaction, analyze the accompanying emotions—excitement, aliveness—but Colt, oblivious to her reaction, pulled away and felt the candy.

“That’s amazing.”

Yes, it was, though she understood he meant how the texture had changed. But what amazed and pleased her was the way he’d forgotten to be nervous and distant around her.

Little Joe leaned forward, his mouth open, his tongue out, begging to taste the sample.

“Can he eat it?” Colt asked.

“Certainly,” Becca answered.

Colt let the boy lick up the candy, and Little Joe smacked his lips. “Good.” He angled toward the kettle. “More.”

“It’s not ready yet. But it’s almost time for the fun part.” She poured the mixture into the prepared pan. “We all have to wash our hands while it cools.”

They washed and then waited, rather impatiently, for the candy to cool.

Pa came in and sat at the table, anticipating the time for pulling.

Becca turned the candy from the edges several times so it would cool equally. She tested it. How hot could the children handle? “It’s still a little warm. Pa, what do you think?”

“I’ll partner with Marie and show her what to do. You can show Colt and Little Joe how to pull it.”

That wasn’t exactly her question, but she readily agreed. Pa took half and showed Marie how to stretch and double it. Becca did the same with Colt as he held Little Joe in his lap. They held the candy mixture gingerly. She folded her end toward his, and their hands brushed. She was again so aware of him that her insides felt liquid. “We are working in air to make it light. Sometimes, if there’s any left overnight, it turns all creamy. Yum.” Think of candy. Think of how everyone will enjoy this. Think of anything but this silly reaction to a simple task.

Somehow she managed to explain every step until the candy was too stiff to work further, and they put it on the pan and cut it. “We could wait for it to cool and harden more. Or—” She let her voice trail off and laughed as three faces looked at her with wide-eyed begging. It felt so good to see all of them relaxed and enjoying themselves. Step one in making this the best Christmas ever for them.

“Or we could have some right now.” She grabbed the big knife and sliced off a piece. She handed a small piece to Little Joe. He plopped it into his mouth and his eyes grew big.

“Good.” Drool dribbled from his lips.

She grabbed a wet cloth and patted it away. “Anyone else want some?”

Marie nodded and received a piece.

“I do believe I’ll have some,” Pa said.

She cut a piece for him, then faced Colt. His eyes brimmed with eagerness, but his mouth remained flat. As clearly as if the words were written on his forehead, she understood he wanted to enjoy himself but feared to venture too close, perhaps cross a line that had always brought repercussions.

“It’s very tasty,” she teased, cutting off a piece and waving it before him.

“I wouldn’t know. Never had the stuff before, but I’m game to try it.” He’d asked for it without really asking.

Laughing, she let him take it from her fingers. She waited as he sucked the treat. Her heart felt light with success when his eyes widened with pleasure and he made appreciative noises.

They ate several more pieces until she suggested they should save some for the next day. “Wouldn’t want anyone to get a tummy ache.” She washed the children’s hands and faces.

“Pa, didn’t you put a box of my old trinkets in the back closet? Maybe Marie and Little Joe would like to play with the things we saved.”

“I suspect they would. I’ll fetch it.” He went to the closet past the two bedrooms and returned with an old satchel. He brought it to the table, where he opened it and began to pull out items.

Becca grabbed a little rag doll. “Ma made me this for Christmas one year. It was the first year we were in Fort Benton.” Her heart full of sweet memories, she smiled at Pa. “Just before she met you. Before you married her and became my new Pa.” She handed the doll to Marie. “Would you like to play with it?”

Marie took it gently. “I’ll be very careful.”

Becca let her gaze find Colt. But instead of the pleasure she expected, she saw a harsh expression.

“What’s wrong?”

“What if she damages it?”

“I don’t expect she will, but if she does it’s only a toy.”

“A special toy,” Pa said.

Becca shot him a questioning look.

“I think Colt is asking, will the child be punished if something happens?”

Becca’s insides twisted. “Do you think I would be angry with her?”

Colt’s eyes narrowed, and she sensed a heap of pain.

Her annoyance died as quickly as it came. “It’s what you’ve experienced, isn’t it?”

“Anger can make people very cruel.”

He didn’t need to explain further. She didn’t want him to. Her imagination filled in the details and they weren’t pleasant, but she knew Colt had experienced the cruelty of anger. Knowing the forms that could take brought the sting of tears to her eyes. She blinked them away, but not before Colt noticed.

The hardness in his face fled. “A person learns to be tough.”

“Sometimes a person can learn to be too tough.”

Pa paid them scant attention as he explored the contents of the bag and pulled out a wooden horse with moveable legs. “Do you remember this?”

“Uncle Martin sent it to me from Toronto one Christmas. I played with it for hours at a time. Look, Little Joe.” She showed him how she could make the horse walk across the table, then handed him the toy.

He scrambled from Colt’s lap, and the two children sat on the floor nearby playing.

Pa took the satchel back to the bedroom and set it on his bed. He stayed there, his back to them as he looked through the contents.

The bedrooms opened off the kitchen so Becca was able to watch him. She wondered why he chose to look at her toys in his room. Then she saw his shoulders rise and fall in a huge sigh, and a tiny suspicion grew in her thoughts. She knew he missed Ma. But perhaps he was also remembering the first time he saw her. Recalling all the fun they’d had together. Maybe even regretting their promise for her to leave. She didn’t want him to be sad when she left, though they’d both find the separation difficult.

If only they hadn’t promised Ma. If only Becca hadn’t insisted they return home.

Was she in any way responsible for Ma’s death because she’d begged to come back? She’d never asked, never considered it a possibility. And now it was too late. Responsible or not, she had given a promise and she meant to keep it.

But glancing at Colt, she wished she could stay. Yes, Colt made it very plain he meant to move on, but surely he’d come back. For supplies, if nothing else.

Perhaps if she stayed, another reason for him to return might develop.

If ifs and ands were pots and pans, there’d be no work for tinkers’ hands.

Ma had said it often when Becca got caught up in wishing for things to be different. It was a good reminder for her again now. There were things she could not change.

She could not change her promise nor, likely, Colt’s desire to be alone.

But she could make this a Christmas they’d never forget.


Chapter Six

When had he felt so immune to anger? Colt watched Becca studying her pa. Pain and regret filled her expression. She loved her pa and didn’t want to leave him, but because of her guilt and a promise, she would.

Too bad the stagecoach wouldn’t stay parked for the winter. It would mean he could stay, too.

What was he thinking? He knew better. He’d already extended his stay longer than was wise. Not that he had much choice. He’d given his promise to help the kids have a good Christmas. He wasn’t sure it was a promise wisely made. Would having such a memory make the reality of the future better or worse?

Becca sighed and turned toward the children, a smile erasing her worries as she watched them play.

An unfamiliar warmth flooded Colt’s chest. She truly seemed fond of these little half-breeds. How was it possible? She was a white woman—a fine white woman with proper upbringing.

Yet she shared her quarters, her table and even her toys with him and the kids. And she went out of her way to amuse them. She made plans to brighten their days, going so far as to make candy.

When had he ever partaken of such pleasure? Only his thoughts weren’t of the candy, but of Becca’s sweet smile. Guilt cooled his insides. A man could be shot for looking too long at a woman like Becca. Good thing a man couldn’t be shot for his thoughts. He pulled his lips in to hide a grin. But there were men who would shoot him simply for being so bold as to sit at the same table. If he had a lick of sense, he would immediately head toward that mountain cabin.

Instead, he watched Little Joe playing with the toy horse. After all, if he tried to leave Becca would fuss, and it didn’t seem fair to cause her concern after she’d been so kind.

Little Joe turned and held the horse out to him. “Make horsee run.”

Grateful for the diversion, Colt sat cross-legged on the floor beside Little Joe and played with him. Marie moved to the table and talked to Becca about the doll.

An unfamiliar peace settled about Colt’s shoulders. It was temporary, but maybe for a few minutes he’d let himself experience what it felt like to be part of a family, and maybe even, foolish as it was, he’d pretend he belonged.

Little Joe trotted the horse up Colt’s leg and arm, across his neck and down again, making funny little horse sounds. The feel of the little boy’s hands and legs as he climbed over him did strange things to Colt’s guarded thoughts. Peeled away layers. He discovered he liked being touched. Didn’t realize it was something he’d missed until this very moment.

Little Joe trotted the horse up again. This time he went over Colt’s head. The horse tangled in Colt’s hair. Little Joe tugged.

Colt squinted against the pain of having his hair pulled.

“I’ll get it.” He tugged and twisted, but the toy would not come free.

“My horsee.” Little Joe whined and screwed up his face in preparation for a yowl.

“Don’t cry,” Colt begged. He’d never be able to get the toy out of his hair if he had to cover his ears.

“Do you need help?” Becca asked.

He couldn’t look at her. “I can get it.” He yanked, bit back a groan, yanked again. The toy did not come free.

“You’re only making it worse.” She stood behind him. “Let me.”

He felt her with every nerve in his back. He itched to put more distance between them. She touched his head. His scalp tingled, and he knew an unusual sense of comfort. He held his breath, expecting her to jerk the toy free without consideration for his tender scalp, but her fingers gently separated strands of hair from the toy. Each touch was like a kiss. A blessing. A calming massage. He closed his eyes against the pleasure. He should never have allowed her to do this.

A smile caught at the corner of his mouth. She hadn’t exactly waited for permission.

“Got it.” She handed the toy to a tearful Little Joe and stepped back.

Marie stood before him. “He didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I know. He was only playing.”

“You aren’t angry?”

“No.” He couldn’t even manage to be angry at himself. Whatever line he had crossed was worth it for the pleasure of her touch. He’d gladly face whatever repercussions came.





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