Acclaim for the authors of ALL A COWBOY WANTS FOR CHRISTMAS:

JUDITH STACY ‘Opposites attract in this sexy, passionate Western about a fighting man insistent on getting his way and a courageous woman who is not afraid to best him at his own game.’ —RT Book Reviews on JARED’S RUNAWAY WOMAN

‘These light, charming, heartwarming novellas bring the style of Western courtship to light, and deliver just enough romance, Western aura and engaging characters to satisfy a reader’s appetite for a taste of the wild and tender West.’

—RT Book Reviews on Stetsons, Spring and Wedding Rings anthology, featuring Judith Stacy

DEBRA COWAN ‘Cowan does an excellent job of bringing her characters to life and keeping the readers guessing about the bad guys.’ —RT Book Reviews on WHIRLWIND REUNION

‘Three talented authors prove there’s nothing quite like a wedding, or the feelings of optimism and love that go along with the celebration. With their different outlooks on the occasion they deliver stories connected to their single-title series with pathos, tenderness and humour. These sweet, gentle, emotional tales will lift your spirits and your heart.’—RT Book Reviews on Happily Ever After in the West anthology, featuring Debra Cowan

And introducing new and exciting voice

LAURI ROBINSON.

You can find her sexy and unforgettable cowboy heroes and heart-racing romances in Mills & Boon® Historical Undone! eBooks

All a Cowboy Wants for Christmas
Waiting for Christmas
Judith Stacy
His Christmas Wish
Lauri Robinson
Once Upon a Frontier Christmas
Debra Cowan

www.millsandboon.co.uk

About the Author

JUDITH STACY fell in love with the West while watching TV Westerns as a child in her rural Virginia home—one of the first in the community to have a television. This Wild West setting, with its strong men and resourceful women, remains one of her favourites. Judith is married to her high school sweetheart. They have two daughters and live in Southern California. Look in on Judith’s website at www.judithstacy.com

Dear Reader

For me, the best part of Christmas is the gifts. Not the kind that come wrapped in colourful paper with big bows—though those are always nice. The gifts most meaningful to me are the ones that don’t come in packages. They are the joy I feel from donating to the homeless shelter, hearing the sweet voices of the children’s choir performing traditional carols, and seeing my loved ones gathered around the red and green lights twinkling on our Christmas tree.

In WAITING FOR CHRISTMAS, this same joy is experienced by Marlee Carrington, who reluctantly travels to Texas to spend the holidays with distant cousins and meets handsome businessman Carson Tate. They’re drawn together by the town’s Christmas festival, yet Marlee’s past makes her reluctant to commit to a future with Carson. All of that changes when Marlee receives a special, long-awaited gift that only the man who loves her can bestow.

WAITING FOR CHRISTMAS also brings the return of Ian Caldwell and Lucy Hubbard. Readers met this troubled couple in MAGGIE AND THE LAW, and again in A HERO’S KISS, and have anxiously wanted to know how things turned out for them. Their story is concluded here.

Best wishes to you and your loved ones for a warm, happy holiday season.

Judith

DEDICATION

To David, Stacy, Judith, Seth and Brian.

Thanks for always making this fun.

Chapter One

Harmony, Texas, 1889

Five weeks. Just five weeks, then she could leave.

Marlee Carrington gripped the handle of her carpetbag and reminded herself that five weeks wasn’t so very long. She’d certainly managed to live longer than that in places far worse than this wild, uncivilized land called Texas.

Around her on the platform the passengers she’d spent the long journey with hurried to meet friends and loved ones, their expressions bright with joy despite the gray winter sky. Porters carried luggage from the baggage car. The locomotive hissed, shooting steam into the cold, crisp air.

Marlee stepped away from the crowd, keeping to herself.

The town of Harmony, what little she could see of it from the railroad station, spread westward. The wide dirt street was bordered by watering troughs and covered boardwalks, and lined on both sides with wooden buildings, a few of them two stories tall. She’d expected as much, but seeing it sent a tremor of uneasiness through her.

The arrival of the train had attracted a great deal of attention. Townsfolk flocked to the station. Young boys and girls raced through the crowd. Several dogs followed them, barking.

All manner of people moved about. Rugged-looking men dressed in coarse clothing, some with long, unkempt beards. They hustled about, intent on their work, driving horse- or mule-drawn wagons to the train station, yelling, cursing. And all of them had pistols strapped to their sides. Some carried rifles—right out in the open, in broad daylight.

Marlee gasped. Good gracious, what sort of place was this?

Four weeks. Maybe she would only stay four weeks.

Shouts drew her attention to a group of men near the baggage car involved in a heated discussion over something. Marlee glanced at them, then looked away, not wanting to draw their attention by staring, afraid—

Well, she didn’t know what, exactly, she was afraid of. She was just afraid.

In the crowd of people still streaming toward the train station, Marlee spotted a number of men who, judging by the nicer clothing they wore, were probably merchants and businessmen. They joined the fray around the platform, shouting directions to their drivers and the porters unloading the box cars.

Clutching her carpetbag tighter, Marlee ventured to the edge of the wooden platform and craned her neck, searching for a familiar face in the crowd. She expected her aunt and uncle to meet the train. She’d hoped her cousins, Audrey and Becky, would come, too.

A jolt of unease shot through Marlee. Would she recognize them? Years had passed since she’d seen them—she’d been only a child when they’d made the trip to Pennsylvania to visit.

The sea of strange faces seemed to double, the shouting intensified, the children raced faster, dogs barked louder. A wave of anxiety crashed over Marlee.

What if her aunt and uncle had forgotten she was coming? What if they’d left town? What if they hadn’t really wanted her to visit them, after all? What if they were just being nice when they’d invited her here? What if they’d changed their minds and fled, leaving her stranded here in this frightening place amid a town full of strangers?

Marlee drew in a quick breath, forcing herself to calm down.

No, of course her aunt and uncle hadn’t left town. They simply were late arriving at the train station to meet her. That’s all it was.

Surely.

They’d asked her to come here and spend the Christmas holiday with them. That meant they truly wanted her here.

Didn’t it?

Didn’t it?

“Oh, dear …” Marlee mumbled and turned away.

Her heart beat faster in her chest, racing along with her runaway thoughts. She’d only been here a few minutes but already she didn’t like it. She didn’t belong here. She didn’t fit in. No one—not even her cousins, probably—would accept her.

An idea struck her.

She could leave sooner than planned. Much sooner. In a week. She could make up a story about receiving a telegram from Mrs. Montgomery stating that Marlee was desperately needed during the Christmas holiday after all, and she could tell her aunt and uncle and cousins that she was leaving.

For a moment, Marlee let the vision play out in her head. She could return to Philadelphia, to her home—though it wasn’t her own home, of course. Yet the Montgomery mansion in which she had a small room was the closest she’d come to feeling as if she had a home in many years.

She’d worked as the personal secretary to the wealthy and socially prominent Mrs. Montgomery for several months now. It was a job she was lucky to have gotten immediately upon graduating from the Claremont School for Young Ladies, with an education she was lucky to have received.

Girls with her background—no father, a working-class mother, a childhood spent shuffling from one distant relative to another—seldom received so golden an opportunity. Mrs. Montgomery had taken a chance in hiring her. Marlee had not—and would never—give her one tiny reason to regret her decision.

Another wave of anxiety washed through Marlee, this one stronger than the last, remembering how circumstances had forced her into the journey that had landed her in this place.

Mrs. Montgomery had decided to spend the Christmas season with friends in Canada. Marlee had assumed she would accompany her, as she always did to handle correspondence, schedule social events and organize her charity work. For a few hopeful days, Marlee had thought the dear old woman would take her along, that this Christmas might somehow be different from all the rest.

But Mrs. Montgomery had decided that this holiday visit would be for enjoyment only and had informed Marlee that she would not be needed.

Marlee paced the platform as the vision filled her mind of what awaited her in Philadelphia, if she cut short her visit here in Texas.

Mrs. Montgomery’s grand home would seem awfully sad and lonely at Christmas. A few of the servants had been left behind, but they had families nearby to spend the holidays with. One of them would surely invite Marlee to their home. But she wouldn’t feel wanted or accepted there. Wouldn’t that be the same as spending the holiday here in Harmony? How would that be different from all her other Christmases?

Well, for one thing, Marlee told herself, there wouldn’t be any gun-toting men in buckskins. Or dogs roaming the streets. Or children unaccompanied by nannies. She wouldn’t be forced to live with family members she didn’t really know, in a town that surely had strange customs, with no friends, nothing that would make her feel welcome, wanted or accepted.

Marlee’s heart soared as another thought struck her.

She could leave. Now. Right now.

She could go inside the station and buy a ticket back to Philadelphia. She could make up a story about receiving a telegram from Mrs. Montgomery stating that Marlee was desperately needed over the Christmas holiday after all, and she could ask the station master to notify her aunt and uncle that she was returning home. And she could leave.

Marlee turned and headed toward the ticket window when the roar of the crowd seemed to dip and the chaos around the station diminished. She spotted a man striding toward the railroad station. Heads turned. People moved aside and let him pass.

He was tall—good gracious, he was tall—dressed in dark trousers, a crisp white shirt and a dark blue vest. Though the air held a chill, he wore no coat, just a black Stetson pulled low on his forehead.

He carried no gun. Was he unafraid here among all these men who brandished weapons? Maybe he was simply arrogant. Or was it confidence?

The man moved with great purpose through the crowd, then vaulted onto the platform with practiced ease. The men gathered there hurried to him. He turned, and for an instant, faced in Marlee’s direction.

Was he looking at her?

Her breath caught and her heart raced—but for an entirely different reason this time.

Handsome. A strong chin, thick brows and blue—they were blue, weren’t they?—eyes that seemed to slice right through her. Marlee’s heart raced faster, somehow. Her knees trembled, sending a strong quake through her. She stood mesmerized, unable to take her eyes off him.

Her thoughts scattered.

Was he simply looking in her direction? At something behind her? Or was he gazing at her?

Another thought jolted her back to reality.

Good gracious, she probably looked a fright. She’d spent days aboard the train. Her dark green traveling dress was limp and wrinkled. She’d done what she could to freshen up as the train neared the station, but she no doubt looked pale and drawn. Was her hair disheveled? Her hat straight?

The man shifted his weight drawing attention to his wide shoulders, his long legs.

A few days wouldn’t be too long to stay here in Harmony, would it?

Marlee watched as the man turned back to the men who crowded around him. He spoke, and they quieted. He spoke again and one of them answered, then they all nodded in unison. He pointed and they turned, and with one final word, the men headed off to do his bidding.

A longing, deep and strong, bloomed in Marlee. Such command. Such presence. Such power and strength.

The man, whoever he was, was important. Very important.

And everyone in the town of Harmony knew it.

She watched as he moved down the platform, talking to the train conductor.

Two weeks. Two weeks here wouldn’t be bad—not bad at all. In fact—

Squeals of delight jarred Marlee from her thoughts, forcing her back to reality as two young women raced through the crowd and dashed up the steps onto the platform.

“Marlee!” one of them cried.

“We’re so glad you’re here!” the other said.

Her cousins. Audrey, only one year younger than Marlee’s own twenty years, and Becky barely a year younger still, wearing gingham dresses and matching bonnets. Both girls threw their arms around Marlee and hugged her tight. Becky pulled the carpetbag from her grasp.

“We thought this train would never get here,” she declared.

“How was your trip?” Audrey asked. She leaned back a little, looked closer at Marlee then let out a little squeal. “You look so much like Mama. Doesn’t she, Becky?”

Her sister gasped. “She does! And that means you look like us!”

Marlee saw the resemblance immediately. All three of them were tall and slender, with light brown hair and deep blue eyes.

“It’s like we’re really sisters,” Becky declared, and gave her another hug.

“You must be starving,” Audrey said, and linked her arm through Marlee’s as they crossed the platform. “Mama’s been cooking all morning.”

“We’ve fixed up a room for you,” Becky said.

“It’s small,” Audrey pointed out.

“But it’s so pretty,” Becky said. “Audrey made new window curtains.”

“Becky hooked a new rug,” her sister said.

“I love your dress,” Becky declared. “You have to tell us about what the girls in Philadelphia are wearing.”

“Wait until you hear what the town is doing for Christmas this year,” Audrey said.

“This is going to be the best Christmas we’ve ever had,” Becky declared.

With a cousin on each side of her, Marlee descended the steps and headed toward town. She glanced back over her shoulder and spotted the man still talking to the conductor.

Five weeks. Five weeks, as originally planned. Five weeks in Harmony, Texas. It really might be the best Christmas she’d ever had.

Chapter Two

“This Christmas is going to be marvelous,” Becky declared, as Marlee walked with her cousins down the boardwalk away from the train station.

Marlee spotted a few women wearing simple dresses covered by long cloaks. Some carried market baskets; most tended the small children who swarmed around them. The street was filled with carriages, horses and wagons.

“Here we are,” Becky announced and gestured to a large display window filled with blue speckled pots and pans, an array of colorful blankets and knitted hats and scarves. Harmony General Store was painted on the glass.

Marlee followed her cousins inside. She’d read about the store her aunt and uncle, Viola and Willard Meade, owned in the letters she’d received from them over the years. It was exactly as she’d imagined, with aisles and shelves filled with merchandise, everything organized and spotless. But she hadn’t expected the place to look so warm and inviting.

“She’s here!” Becky shouted.

Customers turned to stare. At the rear of the store, the woman behind a counter looked up and smiled. Marlee knew immediately that this was her aunt Viola. Tall with slightly graying hair, she resembled Marlee’s own mother.

“Oh, Marlee, welcome,” she said, as she hurried down the aisle. She threw her arms around her. “We’re so blessed to have you here this Christmas.”

“Thank you. I’m pleased to be here,” Marlee said, and decided there was no sense mentioning that only a few minutes ago she’d seriously considered jumping aboard the next eastbound train to escape this place.

“Your uncle Willard is seeing to the arrival of the new merchandise,” Viola said. “You girls show Marlee her room and get her settled.”

They passed through the curtained doorway into the family living quarters, a large room with a wooden table and chairs, cupboards, a sideboard and a cookstove. Ruffled curtains covered the windows. A narrow staircase led up to the second floor. The room was warm; the aroma of baking ham hung in the air.

“We used this for storage,” Becky said, as she headed toward the rear of the room. “But we emptied it so you could have a place of your own.”

Marlee lingered in the doorway as Becky and Audrey went in ahead of her. The room was small, but larger than the quarters she’d been assigned at Mrs. Montgomery’s Philadelphia mansion—and much more inviting.

Dark green curtains hung on the windows, bringing out the warm colors in the patchwork quilt and rug. A bureau stood against one wall, and on another a small writing desk and stool; a rocker with a soft cushion sat in the corner.

Emotion rose in Marlee. They’d put this room together for her? Her? It seemed too good to be true.

“It’s lovely,” she said, in little more than a whisper. “Absolutely lovely.”

“We picked green because it’s Christmas. We even decorated a little,” Becky said, pointing to the bureau where a golden star was nestled among evergreen boughs. “You’re going to love our Christmas this year. We’re having a big festival. The whole town is going to be decorated.”

“We’re going to have music almost every night,” Audrey said.

“Real musical performances at the social hall,” Becky said, then gave her sister a teasing smile. “Performances that will include a certain man.”

Audrey blushed. “Nothing is going on between Chord Barrett and me.”

“Nothing?” Becky said. “Well, he certainly finds every excuse possible to stop by the store a dozen times every day.”

“He’s just seeing to his duties,” Audrey insisted, then said to Marlee, “Chord is one of the town’s deputies.”

“A deputy and a musician?” Marlee asked.

“Chord’s whole family is singers and musicians,” Becky said. “The Barrett Family Singers, they call themselves. Malcolm and Selma—that’s Chord’s ma and pa—gave all their children musical names. Chord’s younger brother is named Allegro, but everybody just calls him Al.”

“Then there’s Melody, Lyric and Aria,” Audrey said.

“Piccolo and Calliope are twins,” Becky added. “The family has performed everywhere. Malcolm is in Colorado lining up more performances for them.”

“Chord doesn’t travel with the family as much as he used to now that he’s a deputy sheriff,” Audrey said.

“And because he likes to be in Harmony near you,” Becky pointed out.

A little grin crept over Audrey’s face, but she ignored her sister’s words.

“You get settled, Marlee, and rest up a bit from your trip,” she said. “We’ll all have supper after the store closes.”

She and Becky eased out of the room and closed the door.

Marlee unpinned her hat and took off her shoes. She needed to unpack, but the bed looked awfully inviting. She lay down and fell asleep.

Marlee came awake with a start in a pitch-black room. A minute passed before she remembered where she was. She didn’t know how long she’d slept but her growling stomach told her it must have been a while.

She rose and eased open her bedroom door. Wall sconces were lit in the kitchen, but she saw no one and hoped she hadn’t slept through supper. The sound of voices drew her across the kitchen, and she realized the store was still open for business. She parted the curtain at the doorway—then gasped.

He was here. That handsome man she’d spotted at the train station. He was in the store standing at the counter, talking to her aunt and an older, slightly balding man who was probably her uncle Willard.

Good gracious, he was even more handsome up close.

Marlee’s head felt light as she stared. She couldn’t take her eyes off him. A strange heat rushed through her.

Then he shifted and his gaze cut to her. Marlee froze in the doorway, a handful of curtain fabric twisted in each fist. For a few seconds—or was it hours?—their gazes locked. His expression darkened and his eyes dipped to her feet, then rose to her face again, as if he was seeing straight through her.

Goodness, she looked terrible. Here she stood in her stocking feet, in a rumpled dress she’d actually slept in, with loose strands of hair curling around her face. She’d hardly been at her best today on the railroad platform when she’d thought he’d looked at her—and now, somehow, she’d managed to look even worse.

Marlee jerked the curtains closed and dashed back to her room.

“Did you see who came in the store today?” Uncle Willard asked.

Marlee sat at the supper table with her aunt, uncle and cousins, and the meal of ham, sweet potatoes, green beans, fried apples and corn bread smothered in butter spread out before them.

“Carson Tate,” Uncle Willard said, not waiting for anyone to answer his question.

“He was at the train station today,” Audrey said. “You might have seen him, Marlee. Tall, dark-haired, wearing a black hat.”

“And looking too handsome for his own good,” Becky added with a giggle.

Marlee froze. So, Carson Tate was the man she’d managed to embarrass herself in front of not once but twice—and on the same day.

“He’s the biggest businessman in town,” Audrey said. “He owns—well, he owns just about everything.”

“He said he’s got some investors coming to town,” Uncle Willard said, “and he wants to show them how prosperous the merchants in Harmony are.”

“If they’re here during the Christmas festival, they’ll easily see what a wonderful town Harmony is,” Audrey said.

“I doubt they want to look at tinsel and evergreen boughs,” Uncle Willard said. “He didn’t say exactly what kind of investments they were looking to make.”

“More like he wouldn’t stand still long enough to explain it,” Aunt Viola said. “That man is always in a hurry, always rushing from place to place.”

When their meal was concluded, Marlee helped clean up. She’d pitched in to get supper on the table as well. Back in Philadelphia in Mrs. Montgomery’s mansion, there’d been cooks and assistants, serving girls and servants who’d handled everything. She’d not been needed—or wanted—in the kitchen.

“I think Carson Tate is the most handsome man in town,” Becky declared in a little singsong voice as she washed the dishes.

The cup Marlee was drying slipped, but she caught it before it hit the floor.

“Everybody’s mama is hoping he’ll take a shine to her daughter, that’s for certain,” Audrey said.

“He’s not courting anyone?” Marlee asked.

“No,” Audrey said.

Marlee let out the breath she realized she’d been holding.

“I’m telling you the man is too busy for courting,” Aunt Viola said, as she carried plates to the cupboard. “He’s always running toward the next money-making deal as if the devil himself were nipping at his heels.”

“Having money is good,” Becky pointed out.

“But it’s not everything,” Audrey said.

“Audrey Meade, you’re sweet on Chord Barrett,” Becky said. “Admit it.”

Audrey blushed, then smiled broadly. “Yes, of course I am,” she said.

“I knew it!” Becky declared.

Becky and Audrey broke into laughter. Aunt Viola slipped her arm around Audrey’s waist and gave her a hug. Marlee watched this intimate moment between sisters, between mother and daughter, and her heart ached a little for her own mother, whom she hadn’t seen in months, and for the siblings she’d never had. How wonderful it must feel to be a part of a vibrant, loving family.

They finished washing the dishes and put everything away while Uncle Willard helped himself to the last of the fried apples. He and Viola went upstairs.

“Do you need anything?” Audrey asked, as she stood on the stairs.

Marlee shook her head. “Nothing.”

“Good night, then,” Audrey said, and followed her sister up the stairs.

In her room, Marlee lit the lantern on her bureau. The soft glow of the flame spread its warmth. The gold Christmas star nestled in the evergreen boughs Audrey and Becky had placed on her bureau sparkled in the light. Memories of past Christmases floated in Marlee’s head.

They were of Christmas mornings spent with near strangers, mostly. Marlee’s father—whoever he was—had left before Marlee was old enough to register a memory of him. Her mother had been forced to take a job as a servant and leave her daughter with relatives. All of them had been kind to Marlee, but none had been loving and accepting. She’d always been the outsider on those Christmas mornings, when gifts were handed out to squeals of delight from the rightful daughters and sons of those relatives who’d taken her in.

Rarely had Marlee seen her own mother on Christmas. As part of a large household staff, her mother had been expected to fulfill her duties as seamstress to the mistress of the house, not cater to the wishes of her daughter. Marlee had understood, just as she’d accepted that this year her mother was in Europe attending to the wardrobe of her employer, but it had made for lonely, quiet, often tear-filled Christmases, just the same.

The memories crowded Marlee’s mind and seemed to sap her strength. Fresh air would do her good, she decided. She fastened her cloak around her shoulders, put on her bonnet and grabbed her handbag as she left her room. All was quiet in the kitchen. No sound floated down from upstairs.

Certainly her aunt and uncle wouldn’t approve of her walking the streets alone at this late hour, but she wouldn’t be long. Just a quick stroll and she’d come back. They wouldn’t even know she was gone and, besides, what could possibly happen to her in this little town with the quaint name of Harmony?

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.

“It seems to me that securing the Barrett Family Singers is your best bet for bringing in a big crowd. I think that’s the key to the success of the festival,” Marlee said. “The only situation to deal with is how to find more visitors and get them to Harmony.”

“And how do you propose we do that?” Mrs. Tuttle asked.

“I think we should bring them in by train,” Marlee said. “There are three towns nearby, the farthest less than an hour away. We could get the railroad to put on extra runs during the festival.”

“But how would we get the people to come?” someone called. “We can’t round them up like cattle and herd them onto the passenger cars.”

“We could get the Harmony newspaper to print flyers and posters and have some of your young men distribute them in those towns. We could purchase small advertisements in neighboring towns announcing the festival and the performances by the Barrett Family Singers,” Marlee said.

“Everybody will want to come hear them sing,” a woman in the back of the room called out.

Marlee gestured toward Heddy Conroy, the minister’s wife she’d met earlier. “You could write to the churches in those towns and ask their ministers to announce our festival to the congregations.”

Mrs. Tuttle’s frown eased a little, but she still didn’t say anything.

“Someone from Flora’s Bake Shop or one of the restaurants could ride the trains and sell cookies or candy, or something more substantial to eat during their journey,” Marlee said. “Maybe members of the church choir might be onboard as well, and lead everyone in Christmas songs.”

“That would really put them in the Christmas spirit—before they ever set foot in Harmony,” Harriet Goodwin said. “They’d tell their friends back home.”

“I think the mayor, or you, Mrs. Tuttle, might be on hand at the train station to greet our visitors,” Marlee said. “Perhaps some of the business owners might send a representative to direct them through town. Who knows, some of them could decide they like Harmony enough to move here?”

Mrs. Tuttle drew in a breath, then let it out slowly. She nodded at Marlee before turning to the ladies.

“I think our Christmas festival would benefit greatly from Marlee’s suggestions,” she said. “I say we put them into action at once.”

A round of applause followed Mrs. Tuttle’s words.

“Oh, Marlee, I’m so glad you’re here,” Becky declared.

Marlee glanced around the room at all the smiling, happy faces turned her way.

“I’m glad I’m here, too,” she said.

Chapter Five

Carson muttered a curse as his elbow slid off the edge of his desk, jarring him back to reality. Annoyed, he pushed himself upright and grabbed a paper from the large pile stacked in front of him.

He’d set up his office this way, with an outer reception area and this inner office where he worked. He’d placed his desk in a certain spot, at an angle that allowed him to look out the window to Main Street for those few moments when he needed a break from his work and a glimpse at another human being.

For the last few days, all he could do was stare out the window.

What the hell was wrong with him? He’d been so intent on gazing out the window that he wasn’t tending to business. He had a lot of things to take care of, all of them far more important that the goings-on outside on Main Street.

Carson’s gaze swung from the letter in his hands, out the front window again. Work had been underway along Main Street for days now as Christmas decorations were being displayed. Large wooden red-and-white-striped candy canes had been nailed to all the posts along the boardwalk. Men had climbed ladders to string evergreen boughs across Main Street. Merchants were putting wreaths and candles in their windows.

Leaning slightly to his left, Carson caught a glimpse of several young women on the boardwalk across the street carrying market baskets. He followed them with his gaze searching their faces. They were clustered together so he couldn’t see all of them clearly. They came closer and he recognized Audrey Meade and her younger sister.

Carson sprang from his chair. If the Meade girls were there, that must mean—

He dodged around his desk and planted himself in front of the big display window that bore the name of his business. His gaze swept the group of young women across the street. Audrey, Becky, the barber’s daughter whose name he could never remember, that girl who worked at the—

Marlee.

His breath caught at the sight of her and a heat enveloped him. The same heat had plagued him for days, kept him awake at night and prevented him from tending to all the important matters that required his attention.

Still, he couldn’t drag his gaze from her. He watched as Marlee and the others set about tying wide red ribbons to the posts outside Flora’s Bake Shop. The task must have been more fun than he imagined because all of them were smiling, chatting. Becky said something. As he watched, Marlee’s grin turned into a full smile, then she broke out laughing. All the girls laughed with her.

What was it? Carson wondered. What had Becky said that transformed Marlee’s already lovely face into one of such merriment?

The day was cold but windless and the high sun overhead sent its rays down onto the girls. When Marlee turned her head, her hair seemed to shine with hints of red, at least all he could see of it under her bonnet.

He wondered what her hair looked like beneath that bonnet. He’d caught a glimpse of it in Willard Meade’s store when he’d seen her peek through the curtained doorway from the back room. Silky and soft, surely. He’d had an overwhelming urge to go to her, touch her locks, coil them around his fingers.

An urgency grew in him with predictable results at the memory of later that evening when he’d found her alone in the alley. How lovely she’d looked in the moonlight. Then, how she’d tried to pull a gun on him to scare him away.

Carson’s desire for her grew. She was a proper young lady raised among polite society back east. He hadn’t expected her to attempt to bluff her way out of their encounter in the alley. She had spirit—something else he hadn’t expected of her—which was probably the reason he’d kissed her.

Placing his palms against the cold glass of the window, Carson leaned in as he watched Marlee and her friends across the street. He’d kissed her, all right. It was hardly the way he conducted himself, certainly not the sort of thing he made a habit of doing. Surely every mama in town had pushed a young lady or two his way, hoping for a match. Carson didn’t have time for matters of the heart. Business, making money, securing a solid financial footing was what mattered.

Carson drew in a long, heavy breath as he studied Marlee. Her slender hands, the sway of her skirt, the little glimpse of her ankle he’d caught, the bodice of her dress that swelled to—

“You okay, Mr. Tate?”

Carson snapped back to attention as Drew Giles, his office helper, walked through the door, staring as if he’d suddenly lost his mind. Not that he blamed him. Carson wasn’t given to long moments of gazing idly out the window.

Barely twenty years old, Drew was a tall, slim young man with a shock of thick blond hair. He’d helped out at Carson’s office for several months now and seemed to have a good head on his shoulders.

Drew walked closer, then glanced out the window. A knowing grin spread over his face. “I see you’re admiring the town’s Christmas decorations.”

“That’s exactly what I’m doing,” Carson told him.

“Bigger things to come,” Drew said. He nodded out the window. “The whole idea of running the trains was Marlee’s idea.”

Carson frowned—both because he didn’t like that his feelings were so obvious, and that he had no clue what the “train idea” was.

“Seems some of the ladies were worried about enough folks coming to the festival,” Drew said. “The way I hear it, Marlee had the idea to run trains to all the nearby towns and bring them in for the day. Hundreds of people will be coming to Harmony.”

Carson glanced out the window again. Marlee had thought of that? It was a damn good idea—yet fraught with problems.

“We’ll get all kinds. Pickpockets, scam artists, thieves. The sheriff will have his hands full, that’s for sure,” Carson said. “But at least my investors aren’t coming until next month. I sure as hell don’t want them here deciding on whether to invest in my weaving mill with a town full of criminals.”

“They changed their plans,” Drew said. “They’ll be here during the festival.”

Carson’s head snapped around. “What the hell?”

Drew pulled a telegram from his back pocket and presented it to Carson.

“I just picked this up,” he said.

Carson scanned the telegram, then crushed it into his fist. “Damn it. This is going to play hell with getting my mill going. I can’t have those men here with scalawags and riff-raff running loose in our streets.”

He grabbed his Stetson and headed out the door.

Carson spotted Chord Barrett outside the jailhouse nailing Wanted posters beside the door as he made his way down the boardwalk. He’d left his office in such a hurry he hadn’t picked up his coat, but he was still so fired up about trainloads of strangers coming to town that the cold barely registered.

“Hell …” he muttered as he saw that Sheriff Thompson’s horse wasn’t tethered to the hitching post in front of the jail. He’d wanted to speak to the man personally. Not that he had anything against Chord. He’d proved himself a good deputy, despite the fact that he had the voice of a lark and toured the country doing musical performances with that family of his.

A man couldn’t pick his family—as Carson well knew—and he doubted Chord would have selected those peculiar parents of his who’d given their children musical names. He doubted, too, that Chord would otherwise have been part of the family in which all the kids—sons and daughter alike—favored each other so strongly, all of them tall, with light brown hair and cool blue eyes.

“Afternoon, Carson,” Chord called. “How you doing?”

“Not so good,” he replied.

Chord turned away from the Wanted posters and laid the hammer aside. “Sheriff’s out at the Dawson ranch. What’s on your mind?”

“What the hell is the town thinking, bringing in trainloads of strangers?”

Chord threw up his hands in surrender. “I’ll be damned if I know. Those ladies on the festival committee should have talked to the sheriff before doing all of this. It’ll be nothing but trouble, that’s for sure.”

“More than you think,” Carson told him. “Those investors who’re interested in the weaving mill are coming smack in the middle of the festival.”

The deal for the construction of a weaving mill on the outskirts of Harmony had been in the works for months. Carson had arranged for investors from back east to come take a look at the place and hear the details of his plan. He wouldn’t be the only one to benefit from the mill, of course. It would bring new jobs and new wealth to Harmony.

Chord muttered a curse under his breath, then opened the door to the jailhouse. “Ian, get out here, will you?”

Harmony’s other deputy, Ian Caldwell, strode outside. He was a tall man, solid, and knew how to take care of himself. Carson had seen him drag drunk cowboys out of the Gold Garter Saloon and toss them into jail with little effort.

Carson told him what he’d just explained to Chord, and Ian shook his head. A quiet moment passed, then he muttered, “Women.”

As one, they all turned to gaze down the street.

Marlee, Audrey and Becky stood outside Flora’s Bake Shop. Lucy Hubbard had joined them. Moments dragged by in silence, until finally Ian spoke.

“Why won’t a woman just do what you tell her to do?” he mumbled.

There was no hostility in his words, no anger, not even any confusion or wonderment, only a longing and a hurt that seemed to roll from him in waves.

Everyone in town had speculated that something had gone on between Ian and Lucy back in Marlow, Colorado. Nobody knew for sure, one way or the other, because neither of them spoke of it.

“I’ll talk to the sheriff when he gets back in town,” Chord said. “He could order the musical performances canceled—which would suit me just fine—but that’s what’s bringing everybody to town.”

Ian shook his head. “I don’t see the sheriff doing that.”

“He may not care so much about disappointing folks who want to hear Christmas music,” Chord said. “But he sure as hell doesn’t want to hurt the merchants who’ve spent so much money to get ready for this festival. I’ll let you know what the sheriff says when he gets back.”

“Appreciate it,” Carson said, and headed back down the boardwalk.

Marlee and the others were still outside Flora’s. Carson intended to give Marlee a piece of his mind, even though he understood that she was new in town and didn’t know everything that was going on. A great deal was at stake for Harmony with the weaving mill he was trying to get built, and he didn’t need any more surprises where the investors’ visit was concerned.

This would be a business discussion, he told himself. Just business. Nothing more. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to end up kissing Marlee again.

“Afternoon, ladies,” Carson said. He touched the brim of his hat and managed a smile as he joined them on the boardwalk.

“We were just going inside Flora’s for a bit to eat,” Audrey said. “Would you care to join us?”

“No, thank you,” he said, then turned to Marlee. “I wonder if I might have a word with you, Miss Carrington?”

Audrey and Becky threw her a concerned look, but Marlee said, “I’ll be inside in just a minute.”

Carson grasped Marlee’s elbow and steered her to the corner of the building, then stepped off the boardwalk into the alley, bringing her with him.

She smelled delightful.

The thought slammed through Carson, chasing away the good intentions he’d had of educating Miss Marlee Carrington about the error of her ways, as well as life in Harmony, Texas.

He refocused his thoughts on the task at hand, and reminded himself again that, no matter what, he would not kiss her.

Marlee stared up at him, her eye wide, her lips pursed. Though she was covered up with that large cloak, he knew how shapely she was beneath it. He imagined what it would feel like if he slipped his hand—

“You wanted to talk about something?” Marlee asked.

Carson gave himself a little shake. “Yes, I do. You and the other ladies should have discussed the notion of bringing trainloads of strangers to Harmony for the Christmas festival with the sheriff before you went and did it.”

“And why is that?” she asked.

“Because all manner of thieves will probably come, too,” Carson said.

She drew herself up a little and looked him straight in the eyes.

“If you’re concerned about being a victim of a crime,” she said, “I’d like to point out that you do, after all, have my Derringer to defend yourself with.”

Carson’s resolve crumbled.

He pulled Marlee into his arms and kissed her on the mouth.

Chapter Six

He’d kissed her—again.

And she’d let him—again.

Marlee moved the small stool farther along the row of tall shelves in the Harmony General Store and stepped up on it. Around her, shoppers were busy making their selections, talking with Aunt Viola behind the counter. Marlee had gladly pitched in and offered to dust the merchandise because she wanted to help out, of course, but mostly because it was a mindless task that allowed her the opportunity to think about what had happened two days ago.

Carson had kissed her. He’d said he wanted to talk with her when he’d approached her and her cousins outside Flora’s Bake Shop, but after they stepped into the alley he’d hardly said anything at all. He’d just kissed her.

Then he’d walked away. He’d left her standing there alone, her heart racing, too stunned to figure out what had just happened.

And to make matters worse, she hadn’t seen him since.

Was it right that a man would maneuver her into an alley, steal a kiss then disappear? What did it mean?

Marlee brushed the feather duster over the tin coffeepots on the shelf. Maybe it didn’t mean anything—to him anyway. She’d never felt this way about a man before. Of course, her job with Mrs. Montgomery allowed few opportunities to meet anyone. Before she’d taken the job she’d been enrolled at the Claremont School for Young Ladies where all facets of her life were strictly controlled. There was talk among the girls and information was shared, but opportunities to mix with the opposite sex were limited.

If only there was someone she could talk to.

The vision of her mother floated into Marlee’s mind. They had shared so little time, but that didn’t mean they weren’t close. She wished her mother was here so they could talk.

For a moment, Marlee considered broaching the subject with Aunt Viola. She was a wonderful aunt, and Marlee could see how Audrey and Becky adored their mother, yet Marlee couldn’t bring herself to share her feelings.

Besides, she didn’t know exactly what her feelings were for Carson. His presence in her life had caused her nothing but confusion and upset. Did that mean she should avoid him at all costs? Or should she confront him and demand to know—well, she hadn’t any sort of idea what she would say to him.

Aunt Viola’s voice broke into her runaway thoughts.

“You’ve been dusting those same pots for fifteen minutes now. I think they’re clean enough,” Aunt Viola said.

“Oh, I have?” Marlee felt color rise in her cheeks.

She gave her a warm smile. “Go out for a little walk. Stop by Flora’s and talk to Lucy Hubbard. I think a chat with her will do you both good.”

The scent of apple pie wafting from Flora’s Bake Shop drew Marlee through the front door and out of the cold. She found Lucy sitting on a chair behind the counter, gazing out the window into the alley.

Her cousins had told her that everyone in town suspected Lucy had a secret past. Marlee thought she saw those memories in Lucy’s face now as she stared outside at nothing.

Lucy blinked a few times, then spotted Marlee. She hopped out of the chair and walked to the counter. “What can I get for you?”

“I just came by for a visit,” Marlee said.

Lucy looked a bit surprised, as if she didn’t get too many folks in the shop just to visit. She smiled and said, “That’d be nice. How about some coffee?”

Marlee circled behind the counter while Lucy poured coffee from the pot on the cookstove. She pulled up another chair and they sat down.

“So,” Lucy said, “are you enjoying your stay in Harmony?”

“Everyone has been so welcoming,” Marlee said. “Most everyone.”

Lucy frowned. “Has someone been unkind to you?”

“Well, not, not exactly,” Marlee said, and felt color rise in her cheeks.

“Has someone been a little too welcoming?” Lucy asked softly. “Carson Tate, perhaps?”

Marlee gasped. She set her cup aside and plastered her palms against her cheeks. “How did you know?”

“I saw him kiss you in the alley,” she said, and nodded out the window.

Marlee’s face burned. She’d been seen? In the alley? Kissing Carson Tate? Had other townsfolk seem them? Was she the object of gossip?

“I only saw it because I was looking out the window,” Lucy said.

Marlee gazed into the alley. She noticed that the view also took in part of Main Street and, in the distance, the jailhouse.

Her embarrassment fled and sadness enveloped her heart.

“You’re in love with Ian Caldwell, aren’t you,” she said.

Lucy turned her head away. A moment or two passed before she faced Marlee again. “Yes,” she whispered. “And you’re in love with Carson Tate.”

Lucy’s words stunned her and she hardly knew what to say. She searched her feelings and knew something was in her heart for Carson. She’d felt it the moment she’d laid eyes on him at the train station. But was it love?

“Carson is always rushing around,” Lucy said, “taking care of one problem after another, with some kind of business deal in the works. He’s always in a hurry. But lately—since you got here—he’s come into the shop almost every day, and he always manages to work the conversation around to you. I can see he has feelings for you, and I know you feel something for him. Maybe you two are meant to be together?”

Marlee shook her head. Now she was more confused than ever.

“Yet you’re in love with Ian and you do nothing about it,” Marlee said.

Lucy drew back a little. “Things are different with Ian and me.”

“But he loves you,” Marlee said. “Everyone in town says so.”

A little grin pulled at Lucy’s lips, yet it faded quickly. She set her coffee cup aside and drew a breath, as if she were drawing on some inner strength.

“Ian and I knew each other in Colorado, in a little town called Marlow,” Lucy said. “I was married.”

Marlee tried not to let her surprise show. “What happened?”

“Raymond turned out to be something less than a good husband,” Lucy said. “I knew Ian cared for me, as I cared for him. He was a perfect gentleman, and I’d taken vows before God, so nothing came of our feelings for each other.”

Lucy seemed lost in thought for a while, then spoke again.

“Ian was helpful after my marriage ended,” she said. “I couldn’t stay in Marlow, not after everything that had happened. So I moved here.”

“And Ian followed you?” Marlee asked.

“He’s a determined man,” Lucy said. “You should stay in Harmony and see what happens between you and Carson. If it’s love, you can’t let it get away.”

“Yet you can’t do that with Ian?”

Lucy shook her head. “I’m afraid. Afraid things might turn out the way they did with Raymond. I can’t make that kind of mistake again.”

“Ian’s a good man,” Marlee said. “He loves you.”

“My first husband seemed like a good man, too. He said he loved me, and things turned out … well, they didn’t turn out the way I expected.”

The bell over the door jingled, taking Lucy’s attention. As she went to wait on the customer, Marlee gave her a wave and left the shop.

She’d hoped that talking with Lucy might clarify her feelings for Carson, but now she was more confused than ever. And she was sad, too, for Ian who seemed to love Lucy so much that he’d stood by her through her marriage, then followed her to Harmony. Sadness filled her for Lucy as well, who’d been so damaged by that marriage she was too fearful to take another chance on love.

Darkness had fallen bringing a deeper chill to the air as Marlee slipped into the store. A dozen women were gathered near Aunt Viola at the counter. Marlee spotted Mrs. Tuttle, Heddy Conroy, Harriet Goodman and Melva Walker among them. Every woman frowned. Chatter flew back and forth between them.

Becky broke away from the group of women and hurried down the aisle.

“Marlee, something terrible happened.” Her words came out in a rush.

All sorts of images filled Marlee’s mind. Had someone been injured? Taken ill? Been killed?

“It’s Malcolm Barrett, Chord’s pa,” Becky told her. She swiped at the tears that sprang to her eyes. “He’s hurt, hurt real bad.”

“What happened?” Marlee asked, frantic for more information.

Becky wrung her hands. “He’s still in Colorado. Remember he went there looking for places for the family to perform? Chord just got a telegram from the sheriff telling him his papa got run over by a runaway freight wagon. It said the whole family should come right away because their papa might not make it.”

“Where’s Audrey?” Marlee asked. “She must be so upset.”

“She’s at the train station,” Becky reported. “The whole Barrett family—every single one of them—is leaving on the next train. It should be pulling out any minute now. Oh, Marlee, this is terrible. Just terrible!”

Marlee slipped her arm around Becky’s shoulders and gave her a hug.

“We have to be strong, Becky, and send good thoughts and prayers.”

Becky drew in a ragged breath. “I’ll say an extra-big prayer.”

Marlee joined the ladies clustered in the back of the store.

“Chord will keep us informed by telegram,” Mrs. Tuttle reported.

“We’ll have a prayer vigil at the church tonight,” Heddy said.

“As soon as the family returns, we’ll take food over,” Melva said.

Several of the women chimed in with food items they would take to the Barrett home. Marlee wished she could cook well enough to volunteer to take something. With their plans made, the women left the store.

“I’ll go to the train station and check on Audrey,” Marlee said. “She must be so worried about Chord’s papa, plus upset that he’s leaving.”

“We’re all worried,” Aunt Viola agreed.

Something in her aunt’s voice caused Marlee to stop and turn back.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Of course, Malcolm’s health is our first concern,” Aunt Viola said. “But with him injured so severely, and with no way of knowing when—or if—he’ll recover, I don’t see how the Barrett family will return to Harmony anytime soon. And without the Barrett Family Singers, our Christmas festival will be a disaster.”

Chapter Seven

“Ladies?” Mrs. Tuttle clapped her hands together. “Your attention?”

The women gathered in the parlor of the mayor’s wife quieted. Marlee, squeezed between her cousins on the settee, felt the tension in the room.

“Is there anything new to report on his condition?” Mrs. Tuttle asked.

Audrey shook her head. “Still the same.”

Several days had passed since the entire Barrett family boarded a train for Colorado. Chord had sent telegrams but they all gave the same report. Malcolm was alive but clinging to life.

“As you all know, canceling the Barretts’ performances at our festival will have a devastating effect on its success,” Mrs. Tuttle said.

A grumble went through the room. Marlee had heard many of the same comments at the store between Aunt Viola and Uncle Willard. Everyone in Harmony was worried about their financial investment in the festival.

“This is awful,” Becky murmured. “Just awful.”

“Don’t get upset,” Marlee whispered. “Not yet anyway.”

“What if Mama and Papa lose their store?” Becky said. “What if—”

“Calm down,” Marlee told her quietly.

“I have good news,” Mrs. Tuttle said. “I’ve located another musical group. The Laughlin Singers are very well thought of, have toured extensively, and come highly recommended. And they are willing to come to Harmony on this short notice and perform in place of the Barrett family.”

A round of applause went through the room. Excited chatter broke out.

“However,” Mrs. Tuttle said, “unlike the Barretts the Laughlins will not perform free of charge. They expect to be paid—and paid well.”

A groan swept through the crowd.

Becky covered her face with her palms and shook her head. “We’re going to lose everything. Papa might be so upset he’ll—die!”

“Oh, Becky,” Audrey snapped. “Would you just hush up?”

Becky turned tear-filled eyes to her sister and gulped hard.

Marlee gave her an encouraging smile. “Something can be done.”

“Do you think so?” she asked, wiping her eyes.

“Something can always be done,” Marlee assured her.

“How much money does this Laughlin bunch want?” Harriet demanded.

“Do we have any money to pay them?” Melva called.

“I don’t need to remind you that the town council wasn’t in favor of this festival to begin with. So no money will be coming from them,” Mrs. Tuttle said.

Becky groaned and shook her head fitfully. “Oh, I just know something terrible is going to happen to Papa. I just know it.”

“We’ll have to ask for donations,” Mrs. Tuttle said.

“From who?” someone called. “Every merchant and businessman in town has already stretched themselves thin getting ready for the festival.”

“Not every businessman,” Mrs. Tuttle said. “Not Carson Tate.”

Marlee gasped. Carson was reportedly the richest man in Harmony, and he hadn’t donated to the Christmas festival?

“Marlee can do it!” Becky sprang from her seat. “Marlee can get him to donate lots of money! She did charity work back in Philadelphia, remember?”

Marlee felt every gaze in the room bore into her.

Mrs. Tuttle said to Marlee, “The town, the merchants, the families who are coming here expecting a joyous Christmas celebration—a great deal is at stake.”

Warmth grew inside Marlee. How good it felt to be wanted, needed, especially for something so important. No one—certainly not Mrs. Montgomery—had ever thought so highly as to assign her such an important task or have faith that she could accomplish it.

She knew she could get Carson to donate the money. She’d seen Mrs. Montgomery wheedle funds from the most reluctant benefactors. Not that she’d need any such tactics on Carson. Surely he simply hadn’t known about the festival during its planning stage.

“I should warn you that Mr. Tate might not be anxious to make a donation,” Mrs. Tuttle said.

Marlee doubted that were true. Everyone said he was terribly busy, always rushing about, so he probably hadn’t had the opportunity to make a donation. The festival was a very worthy cause, so all she had to do was ask and he would give generously.

“I feel confident I can handle it,” Marlee said.

Mrs. Tuttle didn’t seem convinced. “You’re quite certain?”

Marlee rose and faced the women. “Absolutely,” she declared.

“Very well, then,” Mrs. Tuttle said. “The Christmas festival will proceed.”

Applause broke out. Women swarmed around Marlee, thanking her, offering words of encouragement and praise.

Contentment and joy settled around Marlee’s heart. What a marvelous feeling. How wonderful to be a part of something, to feel wanted and needed.

Maybe she’d stay.

The idea flew into Marlee’s head as she basked in the glow of the gratitude that filled the room. Maybe she’d stay in Harmony—permanently. She could make it her home, never again to return to the tiny, impersonal room she lived in under Mrs. Montgomery’s roof. She could stay here among family and friends—people who wanted her around, who made her feel as if she belonged.

Perhaps she could even convince her mother to come live in Harmony.

Love and longing filled Marlee anew. What a lovely—perfect—life she would have. All she had to do was convince Carson Tate to donate money for the Christmas festival.

How difficult could that be?

Mrs. Montgomery used to say that sweetening the pot was a good way to snare reluctant donors, Marlee recalled as she left the Harmony General Store with her aunt’s market basket looped over her arm. The afternoon was cold, the sky overhead gray, but Marlee felt warm inside and anxious to complete this most important of tasks.

The bell over the door of Flora’s Bake Shop jingled as she went inside and bought a half dozen sugar cookies from Lucy.

“Still warm,” Lucy said, wrapping them in the red checkered cloth Marlee had given her. “Fresh out of the oven.”

Outside again, she gazed across the street at the office of Tate Enterprises. Movement in the window caught her eye, then disappeared.

Was that Carson? Had he been standing there, gazing outside?

Everyone said he was extremely busy. But if he had time to waste staring out the window, perhaps this was, indeed, a good time to pay him a visit.

She smiled to herself. She’d carefully planned out exactly how she’d handle this meeting with Carson. It seemed she was off to a good start.

Marlee hurried across the dusty street and walked inside. Drew Giles sat behind a desk in the reception area. She’d met him a few days ago when he’d come into the Harmony General Store.

“Afternoon, Miss Carrington,” he said, rising from his chair.

Marlee smiled. “I wonder if I might speak with Mr. Tate?”

“Well, I don’t know,” Drew said. “He’s mighty busy.”

Marlee held out her basket and pulled back the cloth. “Would you like a cookie, Drew? Fresh from the oven at Flora’s.”

“Miss Lucy makes the best I ever tasted,” Drew said. He took a cookie, bit into it and sighed. “Well, I guess Mr. Tate can spare a few minutes.”

Drew rapped on the adjoining door, then pushed it over. “Miss Carrington here to see you, boss,” he said around a mouth full of cookie.

Marlee mentally reviewed the plan she’d made to get Carson to donate the money for the festival’s musical group. She also recalled her vow to stick to business and not lose herself in thoughts of the kisses he’d given her.

Her resolve crumbled when she walked into his office and found him standing behind his desk. Such a handsome man. What would it be like to lean against that wide chest of his? To lay her head against those shoulders?

Marlee started, realizing where her thoughts were going. She had to stick to business—no matter how fast her heart raced in Carson’s presence.

“Good afternoon,” she said, and felt her cheeks color a bit at hearing how her words had come out in a breathy little sigh.

Carson didn’t seem to notice. He just stood there staring at her. Then he hustled around the desk and pulled out a chair for her. Marlee lowered herself onto it, grateful to take a seat since her knees had started to tremble.

Carson threw a harsh look at the doorway. “Don’t you have work to do?”

Drew’s grin widened. “Sure do, boss,” he called, as he backed away.

Carson sat down in the chair behind his desk. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, Miss Carrington?” he asked.

“I thought you might enjoy some cookies.” She placed the basket on his desk and pulled back the cloth. The delicious scent of the cookies wafted out.

He glanced at the cookies, then at her.

“I appreciate that,” he said. “Was there another reason for your visit?”

Marlee was slightly miffed he hadn’t taken one of the cookies, then reminded herself that Carson was known to be a man in a hurry. She decided it was best to get right to the point.

“I’m sure you know about Mr. Barrett’s accident, and how the family has rushed to his bedside,” Marlee said. “And I’m sure you also know that the family had agreed to perform at the Christmas festival, but now can’t possibly do so.”

Carson just nodded.

“It’s become necessary to hire another musical group to perform,” Marlee said. “The good news is that Mrs. Tuttle has found a wonderful replacement who has graciously agreed to come to Harmony on very short notice.”

Carson stared at her. She’d hoped he’d ask some questions, or at least express some pleasure that the Christmas festival would go forward. Surely he knew what it meant to the town of Harmony.

“However, this new musical group is charging for their appearances,” Marlee said, “which makes it necessary to ask for a donation—”

“No.”

“—from—”

“No.”

Marlee huffed. “You don’t even know what I was going to ask.”

Carson looked properly contrite, and gestured for her to continue.

“What were you going to ask?” he said.

“I was going to ask if you could find it in your heart to donate the money—”

“No.”

Anger spiked in Marlee. “You haven’t heard the amount.”

“Fine, then,” Carson said. “How much?”

“Only one hundred dollars—”

“A hundred dollars? For people to come here and sing?”

“They’ll perform a number of concerts,” Marlee pointed out.

“Hell,” Carson grumbled. “Maybe I’m in the wrong business.”

“Those performances will bring lots of visitors to town,” Marlee said.

“No wonder old man Barrett was always trotting those kids of his from place to place to perform,” Carson said.

“It will mean a great deal of business for our merchants,” Marlee said.

Carson shook his head. “Look, Miss Carrington, I—”

“It’s for Christmas,” she implored.

A moment passed, and finally Carson said, “I can’t help you.”

“But—”

“I make money. I don’t give it away.” Carson gestured to her market basket. “Did you think some cookies would convince me to donate that kind of money?”

Yes, she did think that it would at least help, but now she felt the gesture had made her look naive and silly. Still, she wasn’t going to tell him that.

Marlee pushed her chin up. “It’s accepted tradition to offer refreshments during a business discussion,” she told him.

“A business discussion involves two people each getting something out of the deal,” Carson told her. “What are you offering—besides cookies?”

Wild notions flew into Marlee’s head, things she’d only heard whispered about among the girls at the Claremont School for Young Ladies. And now she was actually thinking about them—and doing them—with Carson.

The room seemed to grow warmer as Carson leaned his elbow on his desk and edged closer.

“Well, Miss Carrington?” he asked.

His voice sounded deeper, richer. His eyes looked darker. The heat he gave off pulled her closer, as if she were bound to him, unable to break away.

“What else are you offering?” he asked.

A spark of heat forced its way through her muddled thoughts.

Had he just made an indecent proposal?

Marlee replayed his words in her mind. Good gracious, he had.

Of all the nerve. How dare he? Anger, outrage—something—raced through her. She should slap his face and stomp out of his office, and never speak to him again.

But what about the money for the musical group? The festival? The town of Harmony that was counting on her?

Well, she would have to give him a piece of her mind later—which she certainly would do.

Marlee tamped down her feelings and looked at Carson across the desk.

“If you weren’t aware, Mr. Tate,” she told him, “I’m currently in the employ of Mrs. Lillian Montgomery of Philadelphia, where I perform social and business duties with the utmost efficiency and competence, having been trained at the Claremont School for Young Ladies.”

“The Claremont School for Young Ladies, huh?” Carson reared back in his chair.

“It’s a very prestigious institution,” Marlee assured him.

“I’m sure it is.” He shook his head. “But I’ve got Drew to handle my business, and I don’t have a need for social help, whatever that is.”

“Oh, but you do,” Marlee assured him. “Your home isn’t decorated for Christmas. I could do that for you—and in good taste.”

“I don’t need my house decorated,” Carson said.

“I could purchase gifts for everyone on your Christmas list,” she said.

Carson shook his head. “I don’t give Christmas gifts.”

“You don’t give gifts?” Marlee blurted the words out.

He sat forward. “How about cooking? Are you good at it?”

Cooking? Who said anything about cooking? Why would he mention it?

“How about scrubbing and washing?” he asked.

She kept her belongings neat and organized, but Mrs. Montgomery employed servants who did the heavy cleaning.

Marlee’s spirits dipped considerably. If her cooking and cleaning skills were what it took to convince Carson to give her the money she needed, the Christmas festival was doomed.

“My request for a donation is made in the spirit of Christmas, and for the betterment of Harmony,” Marlee said. “I think you’re missing the point.”

“No, I believe you’re the one missing the point,” Carson told her.

Not a hint of a smile showed on Carson’s face. His expression hardened. He exuded a toughness, a strength that she hadn’t seen before. Marlee knew she was gazing at a man who knew how to drive a hard bargain, to force a deal to go his way, to get the upper hand and keep it. She imagined other, less hardy men cowing down, giving him his way.

Yet something inside Marlee seemed to rise up, anxious to take him on.

“I run a business, not a charity,” Carson told her. “The gifts I give folks in Harmony are jobs so they’ll have money in their pockets, food on their tables. I bring new business to this town so it will grow, so more families can have better lives. I work hard at that. Very hard. And I’m not about to give away a hundred dollars so that a bunch of people can come here and sing songs.”

Marlee’s anger boiled over. She shot to her feet. “How can you claim to care about the citizens of Harmony when you have no real idea what’s at stake?”

“I assure you, Miss Carrington, I know exactly what’s at stake,” he told her. “One hundred of my hard-earned bucks.”

“This isn’t about you, Mr. Tate, or what you want,” Marlee said, glaring down at him.

Carson lurched from his chair and circled the desk in three quick strides to stand next to her. The force of his presence mere inches from Marlee nearly overwhelmed her, but she stood firm, refusing to give him the upper hand by backing away.

“I always get what I want,” he told her.

He was close, so close. The scent of him as strong, luring her nearer with its familiarity—a familiarity she wouldn’t give in to this time.

Marlee gazed up at him. “Don’t even think about kissing me again.”

Carson’s expression shifted, as if the hunger that had come over him now threatened to consume him—and suddenly all Marlee could think was that if he didn’t kiss her again, she couldn’t stand it.

Goodness, what was she thinking?

Forcing aside her feelings, Marlee narrowed her eyes at him in what she hoped was a threatening glare.

“I want my gun back,” she told him.

“When you’re all riled up like this?” he asked, and uttered a little laugh. “I don’t feel like getting shot right now.”

“You’re despicable,” she told him.

Marlee reached for her market basket. Carson snatched the cookies from inside.

“I never said I didn’t want the cookies,” he told her.

“Oh!”

Marlee stomped out of the office and slammed the door behind her.

Chapter Eight

She’d failed. Completely and miserably.

Marlee hurried along the boardwalk, Carson’s words still ringing in her head. He’d refused to donate to the Christmas festival, and nothing she’d said had changed his mind—she hadn’t even instilled a moment’s hesitation in him.

Except when she’d mentioned kissing her again.

“Oh, dear …” Marlee fretted as she continued on her way to—well, she didn’t know where she was going. Nowhere, really. She just needed to walk, to keep moving, to somehow deal with her encounter with Carson.

And put off the inevitable.

She’d have to go to Mrs. Tuttle’s home and confess that she’d failed at getting Carson to donate the money to bring the Laughlin Singers to Harmony. Marlee cringed at the thought. The mayor’s wife, her cousins, the women at the meeting, the town merchants had put their faith in her, and she’d let them down.

Marlee’s steps slowed, recalling how the mayor’s wife had cautioned her that Carson would be difficult to convince. Everyone in town knew he was focused heavily on his business. Surely they would understand why she hadn’t been able to elicit the funds from him.

And there was perhaps still time, Marlee told herself, to find another musical group who might come to Harmony on a few days’ notice and perform for free. If not, then surely the church choir would sing. It wouldn’t be as grand a performance, of course, and the visitors from neighboring towns who’d come in response to the newspaper advertisements and flyers would be disappointed, but Mrs. Tuttle could make an announcement before each concert explaining the situation and everyone would understand. Wouldn’t they?

Marlee’s anger rose again. This was all Carson’s fault. He’d put her in this difficult position. He flew into her thoughts and she was so annoyed with him at that moment that she wanted to kiss him.

Kiss him?

Marlee stopped dead in her tracks. Why on earth had that notion sprung into her mind?

“Oh, dear …” she mumbled again, shaking her head. She forced her thoughts back to the task at hand.

No sense waiting, she decided. She’d go to Mrs. Tuttle’s house now and break the news, and face the disappointing look she’d surely get in response.

Marlee spotted Audrey walking toward her. She could see the worry that had been etched in Audrey’s face since Chord left Harmony with his family.

“I’ve just spoken with Mrs. Tuttle,” Audrey said, stopping next to her outside Goodwin’s Dry Goods store. “Everything is arranged.”

An odd, uncomfortable feeling swept over Marlee. “Arranged?”

Audrey nodded. “She’s heard back from the Laughlins. They’re on their way to Harmony and ready to perform all the concerts we asked for.”

Marlee’s heart lurched and panic swept through her. “Mrs. Tuttle already hired them?”

“Of course.” Audrey’s expression relaxed a little. “You’ve done the town such a huge favor, taking on the task of arranging Carson’s donation. I don’t think anyone else would have attempted it, knowing him like we do.”

“But—”

Audrey’s brows drew together. “Is something wrong?”

“Well, actually,” Marlee said, “I thought Mrs. Tuttle would wait until I brought the money to her before she hired the Laughlins.”

“She didn’t want them to go elsewhere,” Audrey explained. “And everyone knew that, with your experience in fundraising, you could get the money, even from tight-fisted Carson Tate. So, everything is settled.”

Marlee opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out.

“I’ve got to get back to the store,” Audrey called as she hurried away.

Marlee staggered into the alley beside the dry goods store and fell against the wall, fearful that she might faint. The singing group was coming. Everyone thought she’d saved the festival. And, really, she’d failed completely.

What would happen when the singers arrived? Mrs. Tuttle, humiliated beyond belief, would have to inform them that, not only were they not going to perform at the festival, but there were no funds to pay for their train tickets or a night’s lodging and meals.

The entire town would find out. Even folks in the neighboring towns would hear of it. The festival would be a failure. Merchants would lose their businesses. Families could be devastated. The whole of Harmony would turn against her.

She would have to return to that tiny little room in Mrs. Montgomery’s mansion, with only the other servants to count as friends. Years—decades—would pass before she saw Audrey and Becky, her aunt and uncle again. This small glimpse of living among family here in Harmony would be but a memory.

Tears burned in Marlee’s eyes. She’d thought she could make Harmony her home. She’d thought she’d finally found a place where she felt wanted and accepted. Now all those hopes were gone.

Pain stabbed her heart and twisted inside her. She’d actually pictured her mother coming to Harmony to live, so that at long last they could be together.

Marlee burst into tears. She hurried deeper into the alley and cried. The anguish of birthdays, Christmases, special moments spent without her mother or any close family tore from her in relentless sobs.

Carson pushed himself out of his chair and stalked across the room. How the hell was he supposed to get any work done when all he could think about was Marlee?

His office still smelled of her. The vision of her seated across the desk loomed in his head. Her dainty hands. Her pink lips. Those blue eyes of hers. Wisps of her hair curling against her cheeks, cheeks flushed bright with anger.

She’d actually had the nerve to raise her voice at him. Few people did that. Marlee had held back, as she’d surely been trained to do at that school she was so proud of and at that job she had back in Philadelphia, but finally she couldn’t contain her feelings any longer. Where had all that emotion come from?

Where could it lead?

A familiar, pleasurable ache filled Carson as he gazed out the window.

What would it be like to have her in his bed? What would it feel like if—

“Damn it,” Carson muttered, pushing the image from his mind. If he didn’t get Marlee out of his head he’d never get any work done.

Carson pulled on his Stetson and left his office. He headed down the boardwalk anxious to put some distance between himself and his office—and the vision of Marlee across the desk from him. He needed to center his thoughts on the weaving mill he was trying to bring to town, and he wouldn’t likely get things handled if he couldn’t stop wondering what Marlee would look like naked.

“Mr. Tate? Mr. Tate?” someone called.

He paused and looked around the busy boardwalk, then spotted Audrey Meade heading toward him. She was a pretty woman with a good head on her shoulders. Carson knew Chord was courting her and, at that moment, it hit him that Chord was a fool for not asking her to marry him yet.

“I just wanted to thank you for what you’ve done.” Audrey gave him a pleasant smile, and like most everyone else in Harmony, hurried away, not wanting to keep him from his business.

Carson had no idea what she was talking about and was in no mood to ask, so he started walking again. As he passed Goodwin’s Dry Goods, a flash of blue caught his eye. Blue, deep blue, like the dress Marlee had on in his office. He stopped and, sure enough, spotted her at the far end of the empty alley.

Anger rose in him, a welcome relief from the other emotions raging within him. What was the matter with her? Why was she alone in the alley? Didn’t she know it was dangerous?

Carson stalked toward her ready to chastise her for being so foolish, then stopped still in his tracks. Her back was to him and her shoulders shook. She was crying.

Fear and anger rocked him with a strength he’d never experienced. Had someone hurt her? Carson was overwhelmed with the need to protect her, and kill anyone who’d dare to lay a finger on her. He closed the distance between them in three long strikes, grasped her arm and whirled her to face him. Tears poured down her cheeks and her eyes were red and puffy.

“Get away from me!” she said, and tried to yank her arm from his grasp.

Carson held her firmly. “Are you hurt? Did somebody hurt you?”

She looked up at him as if he’d lost his senses.

“No!”

“Then why are you crying?” he asked.

“Because!”

That didn’t exactly answer his question, but he was relieved no one had attacked her. Still, she kept crying and Carson didn’t know anything else to say so he wrapped both arms around her and pulled her against his chest. Marlee tried to jerk away, but he held on and she came full against him, sobbing into his shirt.

When her tears finally stopped she eased away. Carson took his handkerchief from his pocket and gave it to her.

“Now,” he said softly. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing,” she told him, dapping at her eyes with the handkerchief. Then she sniffed again and said, “Everything.”

Carson was overcome with the need to fix what was wrong—whatever it might be. He had to make things better, no matter what it took. Then it hit him that he might be the problem; it didn’t make him feel very good about himself.

“Is this because I wouldn’t donate the money you asked for?” he asked.

Marlee sniffed and drew herself up. “You are certainly entitled to spend your money as you see fit, Mr. Tate.”

She’d responded to his question but hadn’t really given him an answer. Carson knew something else was going on. He thought back to when she’d been in his office, how she’d stormed out in a huff. She’d seemed to accept his decision, though certainly it hadn’t pleased her. Nothing else had happened—

“Audrey,” he said, and managed not to utter a curse. “I saw her. She thanked me for something. Does she think I agreed to donate the money?”

“Apparently the ladies of Harmony had a great deal of confidence in my fundraising ability,” she said, and looked away. “Mrs. Tuttle booked the Laughlin Singers on the assumption I could secure your donation.”

Maybe he should have told her.

The thought sprang into Carson’s mind and for a long moment he considered telling her the reason he’d refused to make the donation.

He’d never told anyone in Harmony why he lived his life the way he did, but at this moment telling Marlee seemed like the right thing to do.

Still, Carson couldn’t bring himself to say the words, to tell her what had happened all those years ago. And besides, it wouldn’t change the problem she faced.

He drew in a heavy breath and said, “I’ll donate the money you need.”

“No.”

He looked down at her, not sure she’d heard him correctly.

“I said I would donate the money—”

“No,” she said again. Marlee straightened her shoulders and faced him squarely. “I don’t want your pity—and that’s exactly what your offer is about. I’ve spent my life handling my own problems and I will continue to do so.”

“This isn’t a good time to let your pride get in your way,” Carson said gently.

That seemed to fire her up again, which was far better than seeing her cry.

“I will raise that money somehow—without your help,” she told him.

Marlee glared up at him, defiance etched in the tight line of her mouth and the hard look in her eyes, and all Carson could think was that he wanted to kiss her.

Then she seemed to crumble again and took a step back.

“Immediately after Christmas, I’m leaving Harmony. I’m going back to Philadelphia,” Marlee said, then hurried toward Main Street.

Carson watched her walk away and a heaviness crashed down on him.

She was leaving.

And he was falling in love with her.

Chapter Nine

Marlee sat on a stool in the Harmony General Store gliding a feather duster along a display of matchboxes and candles. A dozen or so customers roamed the aisles. Their words carried to Marlee as she crouched in the back corner, cringing at everyone’s topic of conversation.

The festival. The festival that everyone assumed would be a success because she hadn’t yet told Mrs. Tuttle that she had failed to get the donation from Carson. After her confrontation with him in the alley, she simply hadn’t had the strength to give the mayor’s wife the bad news.

Of course, it didn’t have to be bad news, Marlee reminded herself as she shifted on the stool. Carson had said he’d donate the money—but she’d turned him down. Why had she done that? All her problems—and Harmony’s—would have been solved.

Yet Marlee knew she couldn’t allow herself to be in his debt, emotionally. She couldn’t let him rescue her, save her from admitting she’d failed. She had to stay strong, handle her own problems as she’d always done. It would do her no good to rely on Carson, or anyone else, who wouldn’t be around in the future.

All those thoughts had struck her in a flash as she’d stood in the alley gazing into Carson’s handsome face, still feeling his arms around her, basking in the warmth of the heat he gave off. For a moment, Marlee let the memory fill her mind, and the feelings encircle her heart.

How wonderful that he’d held her while she cried. He’d been concerned that something had happened to her. She’d seen that he’d wanted to fix the problem, whatever it was. No one had ever done those things for her before. She’d felt special in his arms, as if she belonged there, as if he wanted her there.

What would it be like to step into his warm, strong embrace again and again? How wonderful it would feel if Carson would always be there for her.

Marlee forced aside those thoughts as a more troubling one presented itself. In turning down Carson’s donation for her own personal reasons, she was being selfish. She’d let her feelings overwhelm her good sense. Yet she couldn’t imagine going back to Carson and asking for his money, even if it was for the good of Harmony. Not until she’d attempted to get the funds elsewhere first.

“You okay, boss?” Drew asked.

Carson let his gaze drift to the young man standing in his office doorway who was looking as if he’d found him dancing a jig atop his desk. Carson didn’t blame him, though. It wasn’t often he sat back with his feet on the corner of his desk, staring out the window.

“It’s just that, well, you haven’t been out of your office all day, and every time I look in here you’re just sitting there doing nothing,” Drew said. “You’ve got those investors coming and—”

“I’m heading out in a minute or two,” Carson told him and turned his attention to the window again.

Folks passed by on the boardwalk but Carson didn’t really see them. He was lost in thought—and it didn’t concern the investors he was expecting.

Marlee. She filled his mind. When he’d kissed her all he could think about was bedding down with her. But after seeing her crying in the alley, holding her, comforting her, something in him had changed. At the time the notion that he was falling in love with her had sprung into his head. Now he knew it was true. He loved her. And she was leaving. She’d be gone right after Christmas, she’d told him. Carson didn’t remember a time when he so assuredly did not want Christmas to arrive.

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