A Family For The Holidays

Her Guardian Groom

Paid to accompany two orphaned siblings to their grandfather in Nebraska, Lily Winter is dismayed to discover the old man has gone missing. And when the children’s inheritance makes them a target, buying protection is Lily’s only option. Until a handsome gun-for-hire suggests another solution: marriage.

Undercover US Marshal Jake Elder can’t reveal his true identity without blowing his mission. Nor can he leave the town’s pretty new arrival unguarded. But while uncovering a plot against her charges is difficult and risky, falling for Lily is all too easy. Especially once their marriage in name only gives Jake a glimpse of how wonderful Christmas—and their future as a family—could be.

“Don’t trust anyone, Miss Winter.”

“Even you?”

“Especially me.”

Jake glanced away from the curiosity in her shrewd gaze. While he admired the wholesome honesty in her striking blue eyes, this was no place for a tenderfoot.

“Why warn me away if I can’t trust you? Isn’t that a bit contradictory?”

“If you stay in this town, you’re in danger. You were hired to keep those children safe. If something were to happen to them, could you live with yourself?”

She blinked rapidly. “No.”

“Then, trust your gut, Lily Winter.”

“Trust my gut, but not you.”

He let out a gusty sigh. She had the kind of pure innocence about her that made a man think about a different way of life. The unexpected thought shook him to the core, and he forced the weakness aside. Strong feelings were a distraction. He was a man who gave 100 percent to the job, and there wasn’t anything left over for anyone else. That sort of man was no good for raising a family.

“I’m not the man for you, Miss Lily. Never forget that.”

SHERRI SHACKELFORD is an award-winning author of inspirational books featuring ordinary people discovering extraordinary love. A reformed pessimist, Sherri has a passion for storytelling. Her books are fast-paced and heartfelt with a generous dose of humor. She loves to hear from readers at sherri@sherrishackelford.com. Visit her website at sherrishackelford.com.

A Family for the Holidays

Sherri Shackelford

www.millsandboon.co.uk

And ye shall know the truth,

and the truth shall make you free.

—John 8:32

To Barb. I miss you.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Epilogue

Dear Reader

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Frozen Oaks, Nebraska, 1885

Lily Winter’s gaze flicked over the gunfighter and rapidly skittered away. Her brief glimpse of his unyielding profile sent a chill snaking down her spine.

The afternoon stagecoach had long since banked the horizon, dissolving into a bleak winter haze. Fat snowflakes drifted from the sky and swirled around her feet. Chafing her hands together, she blew a puff of warm air over her aching fingers. Her two young charges, Sam and Peter, huddled against her on the wooden bench outside the livery. The rest of the stagecoach passengers had either remained on the stage after the speedy change of horses or hastily escaped the biting wind. Only the three of them remained unclaimed.

The sharp air brought tears to her eyes, blurring her vision, and she blinked rapidly. Obviously there’d been a misunderstanding about their arrival. No need for panic.

Her vantage point allowed an unimpeded view of Main Street, and hearty shoppers darted in and out of storefronts. Their progress offered tantalizing glimpses of light and the promise of warmth. The shelter of the hotel restaurant and a cozy drink beckoned—save for one slight impediment.

The gunfighter had taken up residence on the boardwalk before the restaurant.

As though deliberately taunting her, he’d kicked back in a sturdy wooden chair, his legs outstretched, one heel propped on the upper railing, his ankles loosely crossed. His hat sat low on his forehead, shading his eyes.

Peter tilted his head and caught a snowflake on his eyelashes. “Can we have a snowball fight later?”

“We’ll see,” Lily replied, her attention distracted. “Maybe later.”

“Hmph.” Peter crossed his arms. “Maybe always means no.”

“Maybe means maybe.”

She pressed one hand against her roiling stomach. The noisy inn where they’d stayed the previous evening had not been conducive to sleep, and the constant pitch of the stagecoach had sent her breakfast churning. Since she was a child, moving conveyances had made her nauseous.

“Are you warm enough?” she asked Peter, adjusting his wool cap over his ears.

“My nose is chilly.”

Offering what little shelter she could against the cold, she wrapped her arm around the boy and hugged him closer.

Sam’s shoulders slumped. “Has something bad happened to our grandpa?”

“He’s late,” Lily said. “There’s nothing unusual about being late.”

At eleven years old, Sam had already experienced too much tragedy for such a youngster. While on a missionary trip to Africa, the siblings had lost their parents to a cholera epidemic. Upon their return to St. Joseph, Missouri, a judge was assigned as their temporary guardian. Their lone remaining relative, a paternal grandfather, was eventually discovered living in Frozen Oaks, Nebraska.

Fortunately for the pair, their parents had been wealthy. Children without ways and means were left to their own devices. A grim fate. Money didn’t make the grieving any easier, but the alternative was far worse.

Sam leaned into her warmth. “I’m glad you stayed. The lady who chaperoned us on the ship left us as soon as we docked.”

Lily started. “That’s unconscionable! I’m not leaving until I know for certain the two of you are safe and warm and curled up by the fire at your grandfather’s house.”

Though her role as chaperone was fleeting, Lily took her provisional responsibility seriously.

She’d answered an advertisement seeking a spinster to accompany the children on the last leg of their journey. At twenty-two, she figured she qualified. The judge had been skeptical, but she’d eventually persuaded him of her suitability. The salary for the trip was generous, and that money was the key to her future. She’d already put half the down payment on the boardinghouse that she wanted to purchase, and she desperately needed money for the other half.

Her chest tightened. Time was running short. If she didn’t apply the rest of the money soon, Mrs. Hollingsworth was liable to rescind her offer.

Peter gazed up at her with his enormous brown eyes. “Maybe that outlaw over there robbed grandpa’s stagecoach and left him for dead.”

Lily bolted upright. “He’s not an outlaw.”

At eight years old, Peter possessed a vivid imagination that was both enduring and worrisome. She’d reined in his grisly storytelling more than once during their lengthy travels from St. Joseph.

“There’s no reason to be scared,” she asserted, despite having reached a similar conclusion. “I’m sure a lot of men carry guns in this part of Nebraska.”

Sam snorted. “He’s an outlaw, all right. There’s a sign on the edge of town ordering everyone to check their guns with the sheriff. No exceptions. But he’s sitting there as bold as brass with a couple of six-shooters strapped to his hips. This whole town is probably filled with gunfighters. The outrider told me that folks in these parts don’t believe in law and order.”

Lily’s heartbeat picked up rhythm. There’d been a deep crease between the judge’s eyes when he’d reluctantly agreed to hire her as chaperone. With a sad shake of his head, he’d muttered something about fortune favoring the foolish.

“The outrider was trying to scare you.” She cleared her throat. “What sort of outlaw lives in a town called Frozen Oaks? Gunfighters live in places called Tombstone or Funeral Mountain. Only a milksop would settle in a place with such a ridiculous name.”

The gunfighter lifted his head and met her gaze. Her pulse thrummed.

“Perhaps he has special permission to carry a weapon. Maybe he’s been deputized or something.” She lowered her voice. “We shouldn’t gossip.” Just in case he had exceptional hearing. Better safe than murdered.

“Do you think he’ll shoot us?” Peter raised his voice in a hopeful lilt. “This place is more exciting than Africa. And colder, too.”

“He’s not going to shoot us.”

Gracious, that boy had a vivid imagination. A movement at the far edge of town caught her attention, and she spotted a wagon.

“That’s probably your grandfather now.”

The buckboard turned away, shredding the last ragged vestiges of her hope. Lily shifted in her seat, searching for a more comfortable position. They’d been forced to abandon the luxury of the train in Steele City some ten miles away. Ten miles on the stagecoach might as well have been a hundred. The boys had thought the bumpy ride great fun, but she was tumbled and aching from the journey.

In deference to her bruised backside, she stood and held out her hand. “Come along. There’s no use waiting in the cold.”

“You heard Miss Lily.” Sam rose and yanked on Peter’s collar. “Don’t just sit there. Let’s go.”

“Be nice to your brother,” Lily admonished gently. “You two are blessed to have each other.”

The siblings didn’t realize how fortunate they were. When she was barely fifteen she’d lost her mother and her older brother, Benjamin, to rheumatic fever. Her father, a man who normally relished life, had sunk into a deep melancholy from which he’d never fully recovered. The loss had crushed him. He and Benjamin had been two of a kind. Her brother had always been up for an adventure, just like his father before him.

It only seemed natural that her mother would dote on Benjamin, as well. They were all so alike—full of enthusiasm and always seeking another challenge, and yet so different from her. Once she’d even asked her parents if she was adopted. Her mother had only laughed.

“You two have each other,” Lily stressed. “Trust me, being all alone is far worse.”

As part of her father’s never-ending quest to escape his memories, they’d moved into the St. Joseph boardinghouse. She’d thought his grief had abated until he’d volunteered for the railroad munitions crew. He accepted the most dangerous assignments, and it soon became apparent that he desperately wanted to be reunited with his wife—and with Benjamin. Eventually he’d gotten his way. A reckless mistake had buried him beneath a mound of rubble.

Following his death, her need to own the boardinghouse had become an obsession. Until she had the deed in hand, Mrs. Hollingsworth, the current owner, could toss her out on a whim. Ownership of property was permanent and lasting. A safe and sensible investment in her future.

“I miss my parents,” Sam said. “But I’m glad you’re here, Miss Lily.”

“So am I.” Her gaze misted over. “The two of you have been extremely brave these past few months. Your parents would be very proud of you.”

“Do you really think so?” Sam hopped from foot to foot beside her. “Peter and I are supposed to grow up and follow in their footsteps. That’s what our mother always told us. We are meant to serve others in this life.”

“And so you shall. But I’m quite certain your parents meant for you to be children first. They’re at peace now, and they’d want the same for you.”

Her father was at peace, as well. Lily took comfort in knowing he’d been reunited with her mother and brother. She’d always sensed she was a poor substitute for the people he’d lost.

“Miss Lily,” Peter began. “Do you have a husband?”

“’Course she doesn’t.” Sam huffed. “Otherwise she’d be a missus.”

“I don’t have a husband or a beau,” Lily said lightly.

Over the years she’d occasionally engaged in light flirtations with gentlemen passing through the boardinghouse, but she’d never been tempted by anything more. She neither felt nor inspired fervent love, nor was she particularly interested in the experience. She simply wanted a safe place to call home each night. Nothing more, nothing less.

Her father had chosen an early grave rather than life without his wife and son. Even in death Benjamin had inspired more devotion than Lily. She’d survived the pain, but her heart had turned brittle and fragile. From that moment on, she’d protected her embattled emotions with militant fervor. She’d erected a stronghold around her heart and sealed the entrances.

There was no love without loss, there was no joy without sorrow, and there was no reward without sacrifice. She’d simply chosen to forgo the nonsense. Happy endings only existed in fairy tales, and hoping for something different was a sure path to misery.

She was a practical person who sought practical solutions. She’d certainly never known love to be the practical solution.

Taking a fortifying breath, she inhaled the chill air into her lungs. “We’re obviously not going to find your grandfather sitting out here in the cold.”

She tightened her grip on Peter’s mitten-clad fingers, and they marched across the street. Sam trailed behind them. They skirted past a wagon hitched with two enormous draft horses snorting vapor into the glacial air.

“Aw, shucks,” Peter said. “I was hoping we’d see a showdown.” His shoulders sagged, then perked up when he realized their path led them directly before the suspected gunfighter. He tugged her down to his eye level and spoke in her ear. “How many men do you think he’s killed?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t care. He’s not my concern. You are.” Lily was made of sterner stuff than this cowardly hesitation. She wasn’t letting some ruffian force her to sit in the cold. “Your grandfather probably lost track of time. Maybe he’s even waiting for us in the restaurant.”

Living in St. Joseph had made her soft. She was being ridiculous. Not even the most villainous outlaw threatened women and children in broad daylight.

Despite that bracing thought, her step faltered on the second riser leading to the raised boardwalk. She sucked in another restorative breath and squared her shoulders. Just to be safe, she tucked Peter behind her as she halted before the gun-toting man.

He didn’t rouse.

Lily cleared her throat. “Excuse me, sir. I need to p-pass.”

Hesitating, she opened and closed her mouth a few times like a voiceless marionette. With his head tipped forward, the gunfighter’s hat shaded his eyes. Had he fallen asleep? What if she startled him and he drew his gun on her?

The outlaw stirred.

She scrambled back and bumped into Peter.

With chilling deliberation one boot lowered. Her heart clattered against her ribs. The outlaw’s heel thumped against the boardwalk. As the second boot dropped, Lily muffled a yelp. She couldn’t see his eyes or gauge his intent. When the front two legs of the chair hit the ground, a hollow thud sounded.

Her temporary bravado deserted her. Leaning slightly to one side, she searched the street for a sign indicating the sheriff’s office. Why hadn’t she thought of that earlier? The sheriff’s office was a much more practical place to start.

The outlaw unfolded from his chair and rose to his full, dizzying height. Holding her ground, Lily swallowed hard. She tipped back her head and glimpsed his face. Her breath caught in her throat. There was nothing forgiving about this man.

“Wow!” Peter exclaimed. “You’re tall.”

“Shush,” Lily ordered. “It’s not polite to comment on someone’s appearance.”

Even if the observation was accurate. Especially if the observation was accurate.

The man crossed his arms over his chest and squinted down at her.

She held her ground. “Isn’t it a bit inhospitable for sitting outside?”

“I like the view.”

She glanced in the direction he’d been facing and noted the shuttered windows and chipped paint facade of a barbershop.

“Lovely.”

He brought to mind the outlaw from the dime novel she’d borrowed from Peter the previous evening when she couldn’t sleep. Except this gentleman was taller and more broadly built than the cowboy on the book cover. He was unshaven, with a shaggy mop of whiskers covering his chin. The coffee-colored hair hanging beneath his hat touched his shoulders. His eyes were dark, as well. Dilated against the overcast sky, his pupils nearly blotted out the rich, bronzed hue. Though his general build was pleasing, tall and lean, he had the look of a fur trapper who’d been too long without company in the wilderness.

Despite his unshorn appearance, his dark wool coat and canvas trousers were clean and well-kept. He certainly didn’t smell like the fur trapper who’d stayed overnight at the boardinghouse. She’d spent two days scrubbing the rank odor from the bedding. This gentleman had a crisp, masculine scent that hinted of leather, wool and something else. She inhaled deeply and caught the pungent snap of gunpowder.

The realization brought her up short. This wasn’t an ordinary chap.

“Well, um.” She searched for an innocuous comment. His implacable stance sent a frosty draft through her that had nothing to do with the winter wind. “Your town is quite pleasant.”

“It’s not my town.”

His expression was strangely taut, as though he was sizing her up. For a coffin. She quickly squashed the thought. Her imagination was running away with her. After three days of nonstop travel, two by train and one by stage, an aching fatigue gripped her. All of the dime novels and newspaper serials she’d read along with the siblings’ ghoulish yarns had infected her thoughts.

Peter snuck a peek around her hip and she urged him back once more. The gunfighter raised his eyebrows. His continued silence left her unnerved.

Peter muttered something. Lily gave his hand a warning squeeze. The boy twisted from her restraint.

“Are you an outlaw, mister?” he demanded. “Is your face on one of them wanted posters?”

“Peter!” Lily splayed her arms. The slice of toast she’d managed to choke down that morning lurched in her stomach. “Children have such vivid imaginations.”

The outlaw squinted. “What’s your business here, miss?”

“My b-business?”

What was wrong with her? Her lips weren’t working properly in the cold.

“Why are you in Frozen Oaks?”

The horizon wavered, and stars twinkled around the edges of her vision. She swayed on her feet. The gunfighter took her elbow and she recoiled from his touch. Something flickered in his expression. A hint of regret that gave her pause.

Sam tugged on her sleeve. “You don’t look so good, Miss Lily.”

“He’s right,” Peter solemnly agreed. “You’re as white as chalk.”

The gunfighter’s face swam before her, and her ears buzzed.

“I’m fine,” Lily managed weakly. Her eyelids were leaded and she struggled to keep them open. “Let’s go inside.”

She urged the children ahead of her and reached for the door. If she could just make it inside the warmth of the restaurant, everything would be all right.

Her hand collided with the outlaw’s chest instead of the handle.

He caught her fingers in his warm grasp. Tipping back her head, she studied his face. His eyes reflected concern and a tinge of compassion. In an instant she softened toward him. He didn’t appear frightening at all. He seemed just like any other mortal man. Albeit a taller-than-average mortal man. The hazy afternoon threw his austere features into sharp relief, and an indefinable emotion tugged at her chest.

The next instant her thoughts scattered. Her heartbeat grew sluggish and each step tugged at her feet as though she was wading in molasses. Why hadn’t she eaten more breakfast that morning?

“I don’t feel very well.”

She mustn’t leave the children. As panic chased her into the darkness, the outlaw’s strong arms reached for her.

“No, no, no,” the outlaw muttered. “Please don’t faint on me, lady.”

Blackness descended and she dissolved into paralyzing ether.

That judge had been wrong. Fortune did not favor the foolish.

* * *

In an instant the woman’s eyes tipped back and she crumpled. Surging forward, Jake Elder caught her slight frame against his chest. The brim of her stiff bonnet caught on his shoulder and flipped off. The strings snagged around her collar. He adjusted her in his arms and tucked her head into the crook of his neck. The scent of lilacs teased his nostrils.

The two boys stared up at him with similar wide brown eyes that marked them as brothers. Since they were bundled head to toe in woolens, he had difficulty gauging their ages. Judging by their conflicting expressions, the taller one was old enough to be terrified by the sudden turn of events, and his little brother was young enough to be enthralled.

Thankful the hostile weather had kept most folks inside, Jake frantically searched the deserted street. He’d rather be rounding up murderous outlaws than this bunch. Killers were predictable. They didn’t faint at the least provocation.

Was he really that menacing?

The younger boy blinked. “I’m Peter and this is Sam. What’s wrong with Miss Lily?”

“Miss Lily fainted.” Her name rolled off Jake’s tongue. The floral moniker suited her. As he adjusted her in his arms, his chin brushed against her silky blond hair. “Sometimes ladies faint.”

“It’s true.” Sam nodded sagely. “In St. Joseph, our mom had a whole couch just for fainting. She kept it in the parlor.”

Which was probably a better explanation than anything an adult might concoct.

“Exactly.”

“You never answered Peter’s question,” the older boy spoke. “Are you an outlaw?”

“That depends on what you consider an outlaw.”

Peter cupped his hand over his brother’s ear and whispered loudly, “I think that means he’s an outlaw.”

Jake rolled his eyes.

He’d done his job well. Everyone in town thought he was a gun for hire, and he’d never corrected the assumption. Gazing into the troubled faces of these two young boys, he loathed his deception.

Except this was not the time to dwell on the subject. “Let’s get Miss Lily out of the cold.”

The boys were wary, but with no other choice, they reluctantly agreed.

Avoiding the restaurant entrance, Jake made his way toward the hotel lobby. The fewer people who saw them together the better. The desk clerk rarely left the back room unless she was summoned by the bell.

Anonymity was key in his profession.