All a Cowboy Wants for Christmas: Waiting for Christmas / His Christmas Wish / Once Upon a Frontier Christmas

Chapter Three

Cold air enveloped Marlee as she slipped out the kitchen into the alley behind the general store. Stars spread across the black sky. Lantern light glowed in some of the windows that faced the alley, allowing Marlee to get her bearings. Across the narrow dirt lane stood animal pens and outbuildings.

She stood by the door listening, but heard nothing. In the dim light she spotted no one in the alley. Relieved to have the place to herself, she set off.

At the corner of the general store she turned left, intending to make her way to Main Street. Ahead of her, something moved in the shadows. Alarm rose in her as all the things that could happen to her blossomed in her head.

A drunk cowboy. A criminal escaped from jail. The whole town, surely, in bed asleep. No one who’d hear her scream. Why hadn’t she thought of those things before she left the safety of her aunt and uncle’s store?

Marlee stood very still, hoping the shadows from the building behind her would make her invisible. Her eyes and ears strained for any sight or sound. Nothing. A thread of relief ruffled through her. Perhaps whoever it was had gone. Or maybe no one at all had been there. Had it all been her imagination—

“What are you doing here?” a deep voice demanded.

Marlee jumped and her heart thumped in her chest. Good gracious, it was a man. Close by. And not sounding all that pleasant.

Should she run, try to reach Aunt Viola’s kitchen before he caught her? With her long skirt and petticoats, she knew she’d never make it in time. Marlee drew herself up. There was nothing she could do but talk herself out of this.

“I might ask you the same,” she replied, trying for the same haughty tone she’d heard Mrs. Montgomery use on servants and underlings.

She knew she’d failed when she heard footsteps drawing nearer.

“Don’t come any closer,” she said. “I’ve—I’ve got a—a gun.”

The man continued walking, as if her threat had only enticed him.

Marlee pulled her handbag from her wrist and struggled with the drawstring. “I’ll use it,” she called. “I mean it. Don’t come closer.”

He covered the distance between them in two long strides. The heat of his body washed over her.

“You shouldn’t make threats you can’t back up,” he said, leaning down.

Marlee stepped back and bumped into the wall as light from the neighbor’s window shone onto the face of her would-be attacker towering in front of her.

Her knees weakened. She thought she might swoon—but not because her life was in danger.

Carson Tate.

He glared hard at her, then recognition registered in his features—but not pleasure at seeing her.

“You’re Willard’s niece,” he said. “I saw you this morning at the train station, then in the store.”

Oh, fabulous, Marlee thought. The two times she’d looked her worst—and he remembered them both.

He introduced himself, then frowned again.

“I know you’re new here,” he said, “but you shouldn’t be out on the street alone at this time of night. And don’t pretend you have a gun, when you don’t.”

“But I do,” she insisted.

A little snicker slipped from his lips and he yanked her handbag from her grasp. His grin froze as he held it, feeling its heft.

“What the hell?” he muttered. Carson reached inside and pulled out a Derringer pistol. “You’ve got a gun in here,” he declared.

“I told you I did,” she said.

“You’ve got a gun,” he repeated, more outraged this time. “What are you doing with a gun in your handbag? It’s dangerous. You might shoot somebody.”

“That was the plan,” she informed him.

“Is this thing loaded?” he demanded, and opened the chamber. “Empty. Did you really think you could scare somebody away with this thing?”

“Well, it hasn’t worked so far,” she admitted.

“Do you even know how to use this?” he asked.

Quincy, Mrs. Montgomery’s butler, had asked her the same question when he’d learned of her trip to Texas and offered the little gun.

“You just point it and pull the trigger.” It was the same answer she’d given Quincy. Carson didn’t seem as satisfied as the old butler had been.

“There’s a lot more to it than that,” he told her, and his tone lightened a little. “And it helps if you put the bullets in.”

Carson dropped the pistol into the pocket of his coat.

“It’s really not a good idea for you to be out here by yourself at night,” he said, then cupped her elbow and urged her through the alley.

Heat rushed up Marlee’s arm. Even through the fabric of her cloak she could feel the strength in his hand, his fingers. They walked to the rear entrance of the general store. Carson lingered near the door but didn’t open it. Instead he eased closer to Marlee.

A strange heat, deeper than would be expected on a cold winter’s night, wafted from him and, somehow, penetrated her cloak. It drew her nearer.

Carson leaned down and touched his lips to hers. She gasped but he didn’t stop and she couldn’t find the strength to pull away. His arms encircled her. She stood in his embrace, lost in his kiss.

He stepped back. Cold air rushed between them, bringing her back to reality. She hurried into the kitchen and closed the door behind her.

He’d kissed her—and he’d stolen her gun.

Marlee worked alongside Audrey and Becky the next morning, washing the breakfast dishes. She struggled to keep up with their well-practiced routine, but her cousins didn’t seem to notice. They chatted about most everything, but Marlee couldn’t keep her mind on the conversation as the events of last night played over and over in her mind.

When she’d awakened this morning, she’d wondered if she’d dreamed the whole thing—meeting Carson in the alley, the warmth he gave off, the kiss he’d given her. She’d never been kissed before, really kissed. It had all seemed like a fairy tale—until she looked in her handbag and saw that her pistol was gone.

Marlee picked up the cups Audrey had dried and took them to the cupboard.

She had to get her gun back. It belonged to Quincy, and he’d only loaned it to her for the trip. He’d expect it back when she returned in January. For a moment she considered reporting it to the sheriff, but then she’d have to explain why she was in the alley alone late at night, and eventually her account of the incident might lead to the kiss.

Oh, that kiss.

A wave of warmth rushed through Marlee at the memory. She grabbed a dry plate and rushed to the cupboard, sure her cheeks had flushed pink.

The nerve of that Carson Tate, she thought. He’d put her in a difficult position. Now she had to find him and demand her gun back. Only—

What if he kissed her again?

Memories of last night whipped through Marlee again, warming her cheeks anew. What if he tried to kiss her? Should she let him? She hadn’t exactly put up a struggle last night. Maybe that meant—

“Marlee? Marlee!” Becky shouted.

She spun and found her cousins by the back door putting on their cloaks and bonnets. They looked as if they’d both called her name several times.

“We can’t be late for the meeting,” Becky said.

Marlee didn’t dare ask questions, given that she suspected Becky had explained everything earlier when her thoughts had been occupied with Carson.

“We’ll stop by Flora’s place first,” Audrey said.

Marlee hung her apron on the peg, and grabbed her bonnet and cloak as she hurried out the door after them.

Flora’s Bake Shop smelled of cinnamon and vanilla and made Marlee’s mouth water as she walked through the door with her cousins. The display cases held cookies, cakes and pies.

“Everything’s ready,” called the young woman behind the counter. She was several years older than Marlee, with dark hair and wearing a blue dress and a crisp white apron. She placed a package wrapped in brown paper and tied with a string on the counter, then paused. “Oh, you must be Marlee. Welcome.”

“This is Lucy Hubbard,” Audrey said, taking the package and leaving coins on the counter. “She’s the best baker Flora has ever had in her shop.”

Lucy managed a tired smile. “I’m certainly the busiest.”

“Flora’s been in Papa’s store twice this week, stocking up on sugar,” Becky said. “She doesn’t want to run out, with the festival coming.”

“All the merchants in Harmony have their hopes pinned on Christmas this year,” Lucy agreed. “Hope it goes well this morning. Give my best of Mrs. Tuttle.”

Marlee and her cousins headed west through town. They’d gone no more than three steps when Becky reached for the package her sister held.

Audrey yanked it away. “These cookies are for the ladies. We can’t eat them. Mrs. Tuttle will smell it on your breath and you’ll never hear the end of it.”

“She’s the mayor’s wife,” Becky explained. “The festival was her idea.”

“Mayor Tuttle wasn’t excited about the idea,” Audrey said. “Nothing much excites the mayor.”

“Can you blame him? Being married to Mrs. Tuttle?” Becky blurted out.

Audrey and Marlee both gasped, then all of them broke into laughter.

Main Street was moderately busy this morning with shopkeepers sweeping the boardwalk and arranging crates and barrels of merchandise just outside their doors. Marlee was surprised to see that Harmony had so much commerce. She spotted a dress shop, a millinery store, two more mercantiles and several restaurants. The Bank of Harmony occupied a large space across the street, and beside it stood a building with Tate Enterprises written in gold letters on the front window.

Marlee’s breath caught. That must be Carson’s office. Was he inside now? Working? Or, perhaps, thinking of their kiss?

She felt her cheeks flush at the memory, then forced it aside. She should be thinking of how she’d get Quincy’s pistol back. At least now she knew where to go to demand its return.

Becky took up a running commentary on the people who occupied the businesses on Main Street, filling Marlee in on the history of the townsfolk, and throwing in a little gossip as well.

“Dorrie Markham owns the dress shop. It was one of the first businesses to open in Harmony,” Becky said. “And Lucy Hubbard. She’s got a secret past.”

“You don’t know that for sure,” Audrey told her.

“She moved here from Colorado, telling nobody anything about herself,” Becky said. “Then, not a few weeks later here comes Ian Caldwell asking for a job as deputy sheriff. And he’s from Colorado, too. Now, is that really just a coincidence? I don’t think so.”

Marlee remembered that Audrey’s beau was also a deputy in Harmony. “What does Chord say about this?” she asked.

“Ian hasn’t given a single word of explanation,” she replied. “But it’s obvious that Ian and Lucy are in love.”

“Only they try to hide it,” Becky said. “At least, Lucy does.”

They passed the last of the businesses on Main Street and stepped off the boardwalk onto the road that led out of town. On the left, a white clapboard church, set under towering trees. On the other side were a number of large homes with front porches and fences, surrounded by trees and shrubbery.

“That’s Carson Tate’s house,” Becky said, pointing to a two-story home painted dark blue and white. “It’s the biggest one in town.”

“Which doesn’t suit Mrs. Tuttle in the least,” Audrey added, as they paused in front a nearby house. It was nice, but not as grand as Carson’s. Around them, other women smiled and nodded as they went through the open gate and up the walkway to the front porch.

“Usually, everyone here is just as nice as can be. Usually,” Audrey said in a low voice. “But today, well, there might be a bit of tension in the room, but—”

“What my sister is trying to say,” Becky said, “is that this is a meeting of the ladies who are organizing Harmony’s first ever Christmas festival, and things might get heated. The mayor and town council were against it, but the ladies pushed until they got the town’s approval, and now we’re stuck with it.”

“Stuck with it?” Marlee frowned. “But you said the festival was going to be wonderful.”

“It will be, if everything goes as planned,” Audrey said. “The entire town is going to be decorated, merchants have stocked up on Christmas gifts and decorations. Restaurants and the bake shop have bought more food. The Barrett family will perform concerts. Everybody in town has put a lot of money into making this festival a success. If something goes wrong, every merchant, businessman and shop owner could go broke. And that would be the end of Harmony—for good.”

Chapter Four

“Mrs. Tuttle, I’d like you to meet my cousin from Philadelphia, Marlee Carrington,” Audrey said.

Mrs. Tuttle looked and dressed the part of wife of the town mayor. Her graying hair was fashioned atop her head and secured by several jeweled combs. The garnet-colored dress she wore fit her generous figure well.

“We’re happy you could join us,” the older woman said.

Marlee left her cloak with the young maid waiting nearby and walked with her cousins through the wide doorway into the parlor. The large room was decorated with floral prints of dark blue and gold. Heavy drapes hung at the windows. Beyond, through another doorway was the dining room with a large table, chairs, sideboard and a hutch filled with china.

Dozens of ladies were in the parlor and the dining room, chatting as they helped themselves to coffee and refreshments. Audrey presented the package of cookies they’d picked up from Lucy at Flora’s Bake Shop to the serving girl tending the table, then took Marlee to make introductions.

The faces and names became a blur. Marlee concentrated on memorizing as many as she could. She smiled and exchanged pleasantries, somewhat surprised that everyone was so welcoming.

Presently Mrs. Tuttle headed toward the front of the room. Marlee squeezed between her cousins on the settee.

“Welcome, and thank you for coming this morning,” Mrs. Tuttle said. “I would also like to welcome our guest, Miss Marlee Carrington, niece of Viola and Willard Meade, here visiting with us from Philadelphia.”

All the ladies turned Marlee’s way and favored her with smiles. It was a little odd to be recognized in a meeting, since she’d been but a secretary to Mrs. Montgomery. Marlee smiled at the ladies in return.

“As you all know, the town will be decorated for Christmas a full week before the holiday, and the biggest celebrations will take place during the all-important three days prior to Christmas Eve,” Mrs. Tuttle said. She gestured to the woman seated nearest her. “Melva, would you give us your report?”

Marlee remembered that this slight, dark-haired woman was Melva Walker, wife of Harmony’s barber.

She rose and consulted the tablet in her hand. “Everything our town merchants ordered for the festival arrived as expected, in good condition. Stores will be fully stocked and our restaurants’ larders will be filled to overflowing.”

A murmur went through the gathering and heads nodded in agreement.

“Volunteers will put up the town decorations. Chord Barrett assures me his father will return from Colorado in time for our musical performances,” Melva said. She looked out at the ladies and announced, “I believe we’re all prepared.”

A polite round of applause rippled through the room.

“Good,” Mrs. Tuttle said, as Melva sat down. “How are we progressing with the donations for the orphans’ asylum? Heddy, would you kindly—”

“Excuse me, Mrs. Tuttle?” a woman called from the back of the room.

“That’s Harriet,” Audrey whispered. “Her husband owns Goodwin’s Dry Goods.”

Harriet, a slip of a woman with iron-gray hair, stood. “I agree that the town is prepared for the festival. I think we’re overly prepared.”

A few gasps rumbled through the gathering.

“My husband has spent a fortune on Christmas decorations, Christmas toys, Christmas everything,” Harriet said. “We’ve gone out on a limb for this festival and we’re worried the town won’t get the turnout we’re expecting. What if we’re stuck with all these Christmas things that we can’t sell? We’ll be ruined.”

The gasps in the room grew into grumbles.

“Mama and Papa are worried about this same thing,” Audrey said quietly.

“They are?” Becky asked, her eyes wide with alarm. “We could lose the store? Our home? Where would we go?”

“I’ve been worried about the same thing,” another woman called.

“My husband says this festival is too risky,” someone else added. “He was up last night pacing. This whole thing might be too hard on his heart.”

“I’m sorry to say this,” Melva said, “but lots of folks are worried and asking if the town can get enough visitors to make this profitable.”

The room erupted.

Becky gasped. “Is Papa worried like that? Could he get sick? Could he even—die?”

“Nothing bad has happened yet,” Audrey said. She reached across Marlee and patted her sister’s hand. “Calm down.”

“We discussed this,” Mrs. Tuttle called, and the ladies quieted. “We decided there are plenty of townsfolk, along with ranchers and farmers from outlying areas, to ensure we’ll have a wonderful festival.”

“I can’t calm down,” Becky whispered. Big tears pooled in her eyes. “If anything happened to Papa, I don’t know what I’d do.”

Marlee’s heart went out to her younger cousin.

“I just don’t believe there’re going to be enough visitors to town,” Harriet declared. “True, a family might come during one of the festival days, but what about all the other days?”

“We discussed this, too,” Mrs. Tuttle pointed out. “Folks will come to hear the Barrett Family Singers. We’ve secured them for a number of performances.”

“I think we ought to cancel,” Melva shouted. “Now, while we can still return all this Christmas merchandise.”

“What about the restaurants?” someone asked. “They can’t return all the extra food they bought.”

Another round of chatter rose in the room.

Tears flowed down Becky’s cheeks as she leaned across Marlee and grasped Audrey’s hand.

“We have to cancel this festival,” she said. “We have to.”

“Becky, please,” Audrey said. “You’re getting yourself all worked up and nothing has happened yet.”

“But it might,” she insisted. A big sob tore from her throat.

Marlee took Becky’s hand. “Nothing bad is going to happen to your pa,” she said. “The Christmas festival is going to be wonderful. I helped Mrs. Montgomery with a dozen charity events in Philadelphia.”

“You did?” Becky asked, blinking back her tears.

“Yes. Hundreds of people turned out,” Marlee said.

“They did?” Becky asked, sniffing.

“They did?” Audrey echoed.

“Yes, of course,” Marlee said. She patted Becky’s hand. “So don’t worry about your papa. Everything will be fine.”

Becky shot to her feet. “Marlee knows how to fix the festival!”

A stunned silence fell over the room. Every head, every eye turned toward Marlee.

A knot jerked in Marlee’s stomach. Oh, good gracious, she hadn’t meant to butt into the ladies’ festival preparations. She’d only wanted to comfort Becky.

Mrs. Tuttle glared down at her. “Is that so, Miss Carrington?” she asked.

“Marlee works for a rich lady in Philadelphia,” Becky called. “She’s done hundreds of festivals just like this one.”

“No, Becky,” she murmured. “I said I’d done a dozen, not—”

“And thousands of people have come to them,” Becky announced.

“It wasn’t thousands,” Marlee whispered, “it was—”

“You’ve done all that?” Audrey asked. “Really?”

“Well, yes, but—”

Chatter rose from the ladies once more, a cacophony of questions, comments and demands for information.

Mrs. Tuttle raised her hands, quieting the group.

“Please, Miss Carrington, do tell us what you think,” she told her.

“Come on, Marlee,” Becky said, grabbing her hand and yanking her to her feet. “Tell them.”

She’d never been called upon to speak at a meeting before, to offer an opinion or a suggestion. In Mrs. Montgomery’s employ she’d been relegated to keeping notes. She couldn’t recall a time when she’d even spoken aloud. But what could she do?

Marlee faced the group and drew in a calming breath. Dozens of faces stared up at her, waiting for her to speak. Marlee’s heart raced. She hardly felt adequate to speak to the ladies. She’d only been in Harmony a short while, and she could only imagine how much effort the ladies had already put into the Christmas festival. But she had, after all, organized a number of charity events before and she did, in fact, know what to do.