Cowgirl Under the Mistletoe Read online

  “Not at all, Grace.” Was that a trace of sadness in his eyes? “But I have a feeling you’re tired of my preaching. Thanks for the shooting lesson.” He tipped his hat and gave her a little bow. He was one of the few men in town who offered her such courtesies. “Good day, my friend.”

  Her heart aching over their disagreement, Grace watched him walk away. This was best, of course. In a couple of months, the Rev’s guests would arrive, and that Miss Sutton wouldn’t want a plain, too-tall, gawky female deputy hanging around her future husband.

  One thing was sure. Grace would get to know the lady to be sure she was good enough for the Rev. If she turned out to be a snob, Grace would... Well, she’d figure something out to discourage him from marrying the wrong woman both for the Rev’s sake and the sakes of all the good folks in the congregation. She chuckled to herself. If the lady truly was the uppity sort, Grace and her sisters, Georgia and Maisie, would teach her a thing or two about living in the West.

  * * *

  Feeling the loss of his friend’s company after a mostly pleasant morning, Micah stopped into Williams’s Café and purchased some sandwiches to eat at home. Odd how he’d only recently begun to understand what it meant to feel true loneliness. All the more reason to get married. Joel and his sister couldn’t get here soon enough to suit him so he could find out whether the Lord had chosen Miss Sutton to be his wife.

  Seated at his kitchen table, he laughed to himself over the way Grace had irritated him earlier as they discussed Adam Starling. Micah rarely got irritated, so he’d been surprised by his own reaction to Grace’s unbending attitude about punishing the thief. This had been their first real disagreement, and he’d found himself bothered by her Old Testament legalism, which was clearly at odds with her name. He supposed her occupation affected her view of wrongdoers. Or perhaps she’d chosen her occupation because of her views. In any event, a series of sermons about how God’s grace and mercy were more powerful than vengeance might open her eyes and her heart. Besides, if Adam was the thief, he needed help, not punishment.

  Micah briefly considered consulting Garrick Wakefield, who’d helped the Starlings when they came to town last year and now employed Adam at the hotel. Yet he didn’t want to cast doubt on the boy. It was probably best for him to speak to Adam himself to see if he could discern any guilt in his demeanor. For now, he would do some of his own investigating to find out whether Mark Twain’s assertions about finger marks were true. Further, the next time he was in Mrs. Winsted’s store, he’d advise her and Homer not to disturb that sort of evidence if the robbers struck again. Other than that, he would search for other clues about the thefts.

  He finished the first roast beef sandwich and eyed the second one. “Miss Pam,” he murmured to himself, “your cooking is just too delicious. This should be my supper, but I can’t resist eating it now.” His appetite always increased in colder weather.

  As he ate, he considered what had been stolen. No jewelry was missing, although the glass display held several valuable gold rings, watches, bracelets, watch fobs and assorted brooches and tie pins. If the thief needed money, he could sell such items in another town and word would probably never come back to Esperanza. The only missing merchandise appeared to be survival necessities. Micah couldn’t imagine the Starlings needing woolen blankets because the church had supplied them with quilts. Further, Mrs. Starling was an excellent seamstress and could make more if they needed them. As for the guns, no one in Esperanza would take such weapons because all of their neighbors would recognize them as stolen. When the time was right, Micah would tell Grace about his thoughts.

  His dinner finished, Micah went to work organizing the bedroom he’d used as an office for the past seven years. Yesterday he’d purchased a single bed, bedding and a chest of drawers to accommodate Joel. His large oak desk took up too much space, so to give Joel some privacy, he’d need to move it to the small room behind the church sanctuary. After school let out, he’d find Adam and ask him to help arrange the furniture. He’d also use the opportunity to try to detect any signs of guilt in the boy.

  Although Micah had appreciated Grace’s advice about hosting the Suttons, he decided to ask Mrs. Foster, as well. He walked the two blocks to the elderly lady’s boardinghouse, where he found her in the kitchen, as usual. She motioned for him to take a seat at the table, where she placed a piece of lemon cake before him.

  After enjoying a few delicious bites, he explained his situation and asked her advice.

  “Why, it sounds fine to me.” She poured Micah a cup of coffee and handed it to him. “Just be sure Mr. Sutton is always in the house with you and his sister, and propriety will be satisfied.”

  “That should be easy enough.” Micah spent more time away from the parsonage than in it. “Now, what do you advise for furnishing her room?”

  Mrs. Foster thought for a moment. “I have a spare bedroom suite in storage left by a tenant who moved back East. You may have that.”

  Micah sat back and grinned. Once again the Lord had provided before he asked. “That would be wonderful. Thank you, dear lady. You’ve solved two problems for me.”

  He would need help to move the furniture. Since Adam would be in school until almost four o’clock, Micah returned home to review his sermon notes for Sunday. Satisfied with what he’d written, he retrieved his most recent manuscript from the top drawer of his desk.

  He liked this story even better than the one he’d already sold, but he needed to work on his main character a bit more. He jotted down a few notes about his conversation with Grace regarding the thefts because the incident perfectly suited his fictional female sheriff. Following Charles Dickens’s custom of naming characters after their personality traits, he’d tentatively called his heroine Willa Ketchum, but today the name sounded a little silly. He tapped the end of his pen against his cheek and stared out the window beside him.

  “Charity.” He said the name aloud, but it didn’t sound right. “Mercy? Grace?” He laughed. “That would give me away for certain.” The new name would have to wait.

  He sat back and stared at the half-filled page. Closing his eyes, he tried to imagine the next scene for his story. In his mind’s eye, he saw Grace wearing that determined look on her fair face as she insisted Adam was the thief. Micah had intended for his heroine always to be clever at solving crimes, always successful at catching outlaws.

  “Well, Miss Ketchum, maybe it’s time you made a mistake.”

  Chapter Four

  December 1884

  “Finally. Hardison and Smith.” Sheriff Lawson pulled two wanted posters from a newly arrived stack. “You wouldn’t think it’d take two months to get these sent out after a prison escape.” Studying the photographs printed on the papers, he grunted. “Hardison looks like a snake oil salesman, and Smith looks like forty miles of bad road.”

  Grace peered over the sheriff’s shoulder. “Yep. That’s them all right.” A mixture of disgust and sorrow filled her. “Hardison wasn’t bad to look at, and he dressed and spoke well, so he had a lot of people fooled.” She hadn’t paid all that much attention to the man when he first came to Esperanza because she hadn’t been a deputy at the time. Her stopping these two slimy varmints in the midst of their evil deeds had motivated folks to offer her the job. “As for Smith, he didn’t show his ugly face in these parts until the day they attempted to rob the bank.” She shook her head, as if that would get rid of the bad memory.

  “It’s interesting the way these sorts always find each other.” The sheriff scratched his jaw as he always did when he was cogitating. “Like Jud Purvis and the rest of their gang I put in the Kansas penitentiary, they all seem to have a magnet inside that draws evil to evil.”

  “I wouldn’t argue with that.” Grace was glad to see the keen look in his eyes as he studied the posters. He’d been hired for his reputation as a no-nonsense lawman who always g
ot his man. With Esperanza being such a peaceful town and community, he’d had very little to do over the past year and a half. Since news of the outlaws’ escape arrived in October, though, he’d stood straighter and walked with a more purposeful stride. Grace supposed a man needed to feel useful, but she would just as soon no criminals ever reared their ugly heads to threaten her loved ones and friends. Reminding folks to obey the law and keeping the peace were her reasons for wearing a badge.

  “Good afternoon.” The Rev poked his head in through the door, bringing with him an icy blast of early December air. “How are you folks doing?”

  Grace’s heart did an annoying little hop inside of her chest, as it had for the past two months, much to her continuing annoyance. My, he looked fine today, mainly because he was wearing his Stetson and a heavy woolen overcoat instead of that silly bowler hat and his black dandy suit he bought two months back. To cover her bothersome reaction, she shrugged with feigned indifference. “Fair to middlin’.”

  “I’ll be a lot better if you step inside and close that door.” Sheriff Lawson scowled at the Rev. “Hasn’t anybody told you it’s winter?”

  “Of course.” With his usual good humor, the Rev chuckled as he minded what the sheriff said. Then he got serious. “Mrs. Winsted asked me to tell you she’s had a few more items stolen. She’s a bit distraught, of course, and doesn’t want to leave the store, so I said I’d let you know.”

  “Was it just more survival supplies?” Grace pulled out her notepad. She’d been keeping a growing list of the items. Other than the guns and ammunition stolen at the first, over the past two months only food and a few articles of clothing had disappeared from the mercantile. A man’s coat, some gloves, woolen trousers. She had to admit she hadn’t seen Adam Starling wearing the stolen goods. Maybe he sold them to somebody out of town. She found it frustrating never to catch him in the act of stealing, no matter how closely she watched him every time he entered the store.

  “That’s right. Coffee, cornmeal, a large ham and some bacon.”

  “A big ham?” The sheriff gave the Rev a long look. “Either the thief has a big appetite or he has a lot of people to feed.”

  “Good point.” The Rev chuckled again and placed a hand over his belly. “That reminds me. I haven’t eaten dinner yet. Will both of you join me at Williams’s Café?”

  “You two go ahead.” With one eyebrow lifted, the sheriff shot Grace a glance and grinned for the first time that day, although she couldn’t imagine why. “My wife would have a fit I didn’t wait for her to bring me my dinner.”

  “All right. I guess I’m hungry enough for dinner.” Against her better judgment, Grace would go. She’d tried to avoid being alone with the Rev ever since he mentioned his friend and his sister were coming to town. What she couldn’t avoid was sitting in church every Sunday and listening to his fine sermons or bumping into him unexpectedly around town. No use denying that she was developing feelings for him, which would only lead to her heart being broken. Even if he returned her affections, she’d never make him a good wife. A minister needed to marry a proper lady, and Grace wouldn’t begin to know how to be one. If she tried, everyone would see right through her. Would even laugh her to shame. Besides, she didn’t care in the least for phonies, and she refused to be one herself.

  Grabbing her woolen jacket and hat from the coat rack, she put them on, then allowed the Rev to hold the door for her. Outside, the cold, brisk wind blew into their faces and made it hard to speak. Even though the sun beamed brightly over the San Luis Valley, it offered no heat. By the time they reached the café just a half block down and across the street, Grace felt chilled from head to toe. Once inside, they ordered Miss Pam’s special chili and cornbread, along with plenty of hot coffee to thaw themselves out.

  “What brought you out today, Rev?” Grace was determined to keep the conversation light. “You just like to freeze?” She held her coffee cup in both hands to warm them.

  He chuckled in that way of his, a deep, warm sound that made her think of thick molasses being poured on fresh hotcakes. “I went to the mercantile to pick up my mail. A good thing, too, because my friend Joel wrote to give me the date of his arrival. And his sister’s, of course.” Taking a bite of his chili, he closed his eyes as if savoring the spicy flavor. “Mmm-mmm.”

  “Is it soon?” Grace would be glad to meet the lady, glad to see whether she suited the Rev, glad to be done with her own foolish feelings.

  “This Wednesday.” He buttered his corn bread and took a mannerly bite. “That is, if a snowstorm doesn’t come along in the next two days and close La Veta Pass. Then they’d be stranded in Walsenburg for the winter.”

  Grace could only hope. Wait. That was wrong on two counts. She would never wish that any good folks got stranded in a strange town for who knew how long. And hadn’t she just been thinking about how much she wanted this ordeal to be over?

  “I know you’ll be glad to see them.” There. She’d said something nice—and entirely true.

  “I will.”

  They continued to eat in silence for several minutes. Once the Rev finished his chili, he gave Grace a speculative look.

  “Say, do you like to work with children?”

  “Who? Me?”

  He laughed, and this time it sounded jolly, even musical, if one could say that about a man’s laugh. “Yes, you.”

  She gave him a guarded look. “Don’t you dare ask me to teach Sunday school.” She had no idea how to work with little ones, and the older children, mostly from sixth grade on up, still made jokes about her just as their older brothers who were her age had done when she was in school with them. She would never again subject herself to such torment. “I mean, I like young’uns all right, but—” Mostly her nephew Johnny and the Northam brothers’ children. She wouldn’t mind having a few of her own, but that would never happen.

  He blinked those penetrating gray eyes and gave her a mystified look. “All right. I wasn’t planning to ask you about Sunday school, but that answers the next question I was going to ask.”

  “Which was?”

  He shrugged. “You know that Marybeth has been organizing the children’s Christmas pageant for the past two years.”

  Grace could anticipate his next thought. “And in her condition, she can’t do it this year.”

  “Um. Yes.” A faint bit of color appeared beneath the tan of the Rev’s cheeks. Like the true gentleman that he was, he wouldn’t speak about Marybeth being with child.

  Raised on a ranch where all sorts of births took place, not to mention helping with her sister Maisie’s lying-in, Grace didn’t understand such reservations, but she did respect him for his manners.

  He seemed in a hurry to move on. “Everyone enjoys seeing their children put on the pageant, so I don’t want to cancel it.” He blinked again, this time like he’d found a solution. “Maybe Rosamond Wakefield would like to do it.” Tapping his fingers on the table, he gazed out the window. “Or better still, perhaps Miss Sutton.” He gave a decisive nod. “That’s it. I’ll wait until she arrives and ask her. There will still be several weeks to plan and practice. Mrs. Starling always helps with the costumes, and Nate Northam likes to build the scenery...”

  As he continued to name the usual volunteers for the annual event, Grace stopped listening. The way things were going for her, Miss Sutton would take over the pageant for sure. All the more proof that she would make a perfect wife for the Rev.

  In spite of all her good intentions to move back from her friendship with the Rev—for his own good, of course, Grace had a feeling she’d just missed an important opportunity to impress him in a big way. She should have overcome her reservations and said she’d work with the children. If it wouldn’t look ridiculous, she would smack herself in the forehead for her foolishness. Instead, she’d just order some chocolate pie and try to eat herself out of her mis
ery.

  * * *

  With little going on in the community this past October and November, Micah had had plenty of time to work on his novel. Although he still had a few elements to work out, it was nearing completion. A good thing, too, because a letter had arrived today from his editor imploring him to complete and send it as soon as possible. In addition, the man said his first book should be in stores back East within the week, and if snow didn’t stop the shipment, even people in Esperanza would be able to purchase the book before Christmas.

  Micah tried to subdue the giddy feelings of delight that filled him, but some days it was harder than others to keep from sharing his joy with somebody, anybody. In truth, he also struggled with pride when he thought about becoming a published author. Imagine, he’d be standing in the ranks of people like Nathaniel Hawthorne and Mark Twain, although he never expected to attain the same degree of fame.

  “It’s a privilege, a gift from the Lord,” he kept reminding himself. “Not something to brag about.”

  Perhaps his struggle with pride was the reason for those elusive story elements. Still, he felt confident that, given time, the Lord would show him just the right way to pull the action and characters all together. One thing he found interesting and even amusing was the affection he’d developed for his heroine. While he still wasn’t pleased with the name Willa Ketchum, he figured time and prayer would bring the right name to mind.

  As the day of the Suttons’ arrival approached, he found himself growing more nervous than he’d been that day seven years ago when he’d delivered his first sermon to the good people of Esperanza Community Church. Although he could barely remember what he said back then, he must have impressed the congregation, for they had welcomed him with open arms and hearty handshakes. Would Miss Sutton think well of him, too?