All a Cowboy Wants for Christmas Page 2

  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 hol
ding.

  “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.