His Christmas Carole (Rescued Hearts Series Book 1) Read online

  Heading upstairs to his room, he made his decision. He wouldn’t endure these festivities another year.

  Retrieving a satchel from the bottom of his cherrywood clothes cabinet, he pulled open dresser drawers. While grabbing undergarments, several shirts, socks, and pants, and stuffing them tightly into the bag, he spied the package of books he’d picked up at Cobb’s Mercantile last week. Perfect. He’d have time to catch up on his reading while waiting for the holidays to pass and leave him in peace for another year.

  Carrying his packed bag, he went downstairs to the kitchen at the back of the house.

  Addy stood at the stove stirring a long spoon in a deep kettle.

  The smell of beef stew lit up his taste buds, and his stomach rumbled in protest. Made no difference. He wouldn’t stay here another minute.

  She turned to see who’d come into her domain, expression stiffening at the sight of the satchel. Without comment, she turned back to stirring.

  He set his travel bag on the sideboard and went into the pantry. Taking a burlap sack off the shelf, he filled it with food staples he’d need at the cabin. Might be a week or two, depending on the weather, so he loaded up.

  Satisfied he had enough supplies to last, he stepped out to find his foreman seated at the kitchen table sipping a cup of coffee.

  Charlie Ross looked from Hap to his silent wife, who didn’t turn from the stove, and back to Hap.

  “Goin’ somewhere, boss?”

  “Thought I’d ride over to Crenshaw and take a look at that new bull Hastings brought in from back East. Then I’m headin’ out to the old homeplace for a few days. Check for strays. Make sure the cabin is secure since the last storm.”

  “Huh.” Charlie took another sip of his coffee. “Anything you need me to do while you’re gone?”

  “Just the usual.” Hap moved across the room to the back door with the satchel and burlap bag now clasped in one fist. Pushing open the door, he looked back at his foreman. “And turn that danged tree into kindling on the twenty-sixth.”

  “There must be some mistake, Mr. Rodwell. My grandfather would never have demanded I marry.” Carole sat in the richly appointed law office of her grandfather’s solicitor and clutched yet another letter, pressing a fist to her stomach to keep from retching all over this man’s Aubusson carpet. A carved oak desk stood as a stout barrier between the lawyer and his clients.

  Mr. Rodwell, a portly man of middle years, patted his forehead with a crisp, white handkerchief. “I did try to dissuade him, Miss Crispin, but he was adamant. Wanted someone to protect you and the ranch if he wasn’t here to see to things himself.”

  “And if I don’t marry?” The heat of anger rose up her throat.

  “As stated in the will, the ranch will be auctioned off January first, and you’ll receive the full monetary amount to do with as you wish.”

  He leaned forward, as though what he was about to say would ease all her righteous outrage.

  “There is a great deal of money in the bank, now in your name, from investments Mr. Houghten made over the years.” He smiled.

  Carole would have punched him in his chubby chin. But to do so, she’d have to throw herself over his desk to reach him.

  Tempting, nonetheless.

  “I have until January first?”

  “I will post the auction notice a week prior.”

  She stood. “Thank you for your time, sir. I’ll let you know my decision.”

  Nodding, she drew on an image of her mother’s elegant bearing and forced herself to exit the office as though she owned the entire three-story building. She managed to make her way down to the first floor, out of the building, and around to the side alley before doubling over and losing the contents of her stomach.

  Tears rolled down her cheeks. Choking on her sobs, she braced her fists on both knees, trying to catch her breath.

  What have you done, Grandfather? I thought you loved me.

  Chapter 3

  Sitting next to Pepe Sanchez driving the buggy out of town, Carole held her head high, determined not to slouch, refusing to let anyone know the devastation caused by the conditions of her grandfather’s will. The whole town would learn soon enough—when Mr. Rodwell posted the auction notice.

  I won’t let that happen. I’ll think of something.

  On the three-hour buggy ride to High River Ranch, Carole resolved to claim the ranch and make this land her home. The rolling hills, with majestic mountains looming in the distance, looked like a winter faery land where the sun turned the ice on the trees to diamonds dangling from every limb.

  Beautiful. She smiled to herself. As long as she was tucked under a bear fur blanket with hot bricks at her feet. She could imagine the beauty would be beyond breathtaking when spring arrived and turned the land a vibrant green. She wanted to be here for each of the four seasons.

  “Your ranch is just beyond that stand of trees.” With a wide smile on his round, brown face, Pepe nodded to where the snow-covered road disappeared.

  A flood of excitement shimmered through her. Finally, a place she could call her own.

  Carole perched forward on the seat, anxious for the first sight of her new home.

  Beyond the trees, the vista opened to reveal a long, low, rambling house constructed of rock and rough wood planking. Smooth, large rock walls rose to meet the planking halfway to the eaves. The roof extended over a wide porch across the entire front of the structure with three wide steps centered at the solid wood door midway across the expanse.

  An enormous barn soared behind the house with corrals flanking each side. Several smaller outbuildings huddled near, as though expecting protection from the elements. A rough-cut log fence circled the house and barns, defining the homeplace.

  Joy surged through her. “Oh, Pepe, it’s just as my grandfather described.”

  A thin layer of snow covered the ground and blanketed the rooftops, looking like a drawing of Santa’s village she’d seen once in a book.

  Pepe urged the stout gray gelding along a slushed trail through the cross-tied fence line into the main yard, pulling to a stop in front of the house.

  The oak door opened, and an older woman stepped out onto the porch, reaching behind herself to untie the ruffled, blue apron she wore over her plain gray gown. A broad smile lifted her lips, and joy suffused her expression.

  “Miss Carole? Is that you?” she cried. “I despaired you might not arrive in time.” She wrung her hands, pleating the apron she held, before finally stuffing the garment in a side seam skirt pocket.

  “Hello, Mrs. Hopper! I’m so happy you stayed here. I was afraid you’d leave, or move to town.” She clambered down from the buggy before Pepe could secure the rig and make his way around the conveyance.

  She rushed up the steps and into the housekeeper’s open arms.

  “Oh, dearest, your grandfather loved you so. He tried to hang on for you but his heart failed him. I’m so sorry.”

  She hugged Carole with more strength than expected. Glad the housekeeper wasn’t as frail as she looked, she returned the hug, relieved to have someone she knew of in residence. Her grandfather often mentioned Mrs. Hopper in his many letters, regaling her with descriptions of favorite dishes she prepared.

  Mrs. Hopper stepped back, holding her at arm’s length.

  “I’ve much to tell you. Come in the house, both of you, and warm up.”

  While they’d been speaking, ever-efficient Pepe unloaded her trunks from the back of the buggy and deposited them on the porch along with her travel bag.

  “If you tell me where you’d like these, I will carry them for you.”

  He stood on the first step, his expression expectant.

  “She don’t need you to do no more, Mexican.” A harsh, masculine voice said rudely. “She’s got kinfolk what’ll take care of her now.”

  Carole spun to face the unkempt man standing in the open doorway.

  “Kinfolk? Excuse me, sir. But no one in my family would ever be so unkind. You
owe Mr. Sanchez an apology.” She clenched her fists, at a loss to explain this horrid man claiming to be a relative, and looked to Mrs. Hopper, ready to demand an explanation.

  The woman stared back, her eyes wide and fearful..

  “What is this man talking about, Mrs. Hopper?”

  “Never you mind, Mrs. H. I’ll be explainin’ things to my cousin. Soon as we send this here Mexicano on his way.”

  The man claiming to be her cousin stood a few inches taller than Carole and about the same height as Pepe. Dressed in a chambray shirt and denim pants in serious need of laundering, he wore his gun belt low on his hip and a Colt revolver occupied each holster. One hand rested on his right gun handle. Unshaven and gritty, he was unlike any man she’d ever met.

  Carole didn’t trust the look in his eyes, like he’d truly enjoy shooting Pepe for no reason at all. Fear raced up her spine, and she knew she had to send the stable hand back to Sweetwater Springs as soon as possible. She could not bear to think he could be injured, or even killed, because of his kindness to her.

  “Thank you, Mr. Sanchez.” She smiled, hoping her fear didn’t cause her voice to quaver. “I’m sure we can manage from here, and I know your wife would like you to be home before dark.”

  “Señorita Carole—por favor—” Pepe frowned, a question in his eyes.

  Carole stepped forward, making certain she placed herself between Pepe and the horrid man claiming kinship.

  “Go now, Mr. Sanchez.” She nodded for him to climb into the buggy. “We’ll be fine here.”

  When Pepe complied, turning the buggy and heading back toward the road to home, she closed her eyes, uttering a sigh of relief

  Now, to deal with this miscreant.

  She turned to face the man still blocking the doorway.

  “Who are you, sir? And why would you claim to be a relative?”

  “Name’s Jasper Houghten. Ol’ Rascal Houghten was my uncle, ‘cause Pa was his younger brother. We was raised up in Texas. When Pa went to his reward, we came out here to acquaint our uncle. We been watchin’ out for things ’til you got here. That’s what family does.”

  As he spoke, Mrs. Hopper moved closer, shoulder-to-shoulder, to face the man she seemed to consider a threat.

  Carole agreed with her assessment.

  “Well, Mr. Houghten, I’m here now.” She grasped Mrs. Hopper’s arm and guided her around Jasper to enter the house. “Could you see that my trunks are taken to my room? And please ask Mr. Trask to meet me in the parlor as soon as possible. There are things I wish to discuss with my foreman.”

  Mrs. Hopper squeezed her arm. “He’s gone, dear.”

  “Me and my brothers have been runnin’ things just fine. You don’t need no outsider. Like I said, you got family.” He tapped his chest with both thumbs. “Four of ’em.”

  Carole pulled Mrs. Hopper inside the house and closed the door, leaving Jasper on the porch.

  “I could use a cup of tea now,” Mrs. Hopper whispered. “And I have a bit of brandy for sustenance.”

  “You are a woman after my own heart.” Carole took a deep breath. “And then you can explain exactly what is going on here.”

  Chapter 4

  A few days later, Carole hunkered down in the hayloft, feeding scraps of chicken to the mama kitty she’d rescued and wondering how her grand adventure had turned into a nightmare. Indeed, a catastrophe she could still barely credit.

  Mrs. Hopper’s description of how Jasper and his three brothers rode onto the High River Ranch, drove off Mr. Trask, the foreman, and any cowhands who stood with him, making themselves at home, chilled her to her core. A miracle no one lost his life in the confrontation. Nothing she’d since learned about her cousins had made the situation any better.

  The scrape of the barn door opening and thumping footsteps on the floor made her go still. The sound of her cousins arguing carried up to her.

  “Like it or not, one of us has to marry her.”

  Jasper’s voice.

  Carole huddled deeper into her coat, a debilitating shiver coursing through her body.

  She didn’t dare move now, for fear they’d discover she’d heard them.

  “She don’t get the ranch unless she’s married,” Jasper insisted. “That’s what the lawyer fella wrote in the letter I found in her room when I was searching through her things. She’s a homely, little filly, but you don’t have to stay married forever. Accidents happen all the time. No tellin’ what a greenhorn like her could get into.”

  “Yeah. She could fall down a well fetchin’ water. Or get snake bit. Or get lost in that ol’ mine shaft. Or—”

  “Shut up, Jerald.”

  The third voice belonged to cousin Jerald? The one who twitched, slimmer than the other three, but evidently was just as bloodthirsty.

  “How much time before the auction?” asked a fourth voice, higher than the others.

  That must be Jonah, she thought. The youngest is just as bad as the rest.

  “A little over a week. We need to get this weddin’ done, or she’ll get all the money, and we won’t get squat.” He spat.

  Her stomach roiled.

  “How we gonna convince her to do what we want?” Joshua asked, the whine in his voice increasing with each word.

  “Tarnation! Do I have to think of everything?”

  “I know! I know!” Jonah squealed.

  “What?” Jasper snarled.

  “She loves that cat,” Jonah hooted. “We can shoot the cat. That’ll scare her into doin’ what we want.”

  “Why, boy, I think you might be my brother, after all.”

  “Thanks, Jasper.”

  “Okay. That’s the plan, boys. Let’s get some shut-eye. I’m beat. We’ll take care of Miss Fancy Pants tomorrow and be rich landowners by the end of the week.”

  A chorus of grunts followed.

  Carole heard the four men shuffle out of the barn and close the big doors behind them. Her stomach constricted, and a wave of dizziness made her lightheaded. What her cousins intended to do to take possession of her grandfather’s ranch amounted to murder. Mine. She bit down on her lip to keep from screaming. Stroking Kitty in an effort to calm her breathing, she tried to make sense of what she’d just heard.

  Mama kitty purred in her lap, content now that she’d eaten.

  “Oh, Kitty, what am I going to do?” she whispered. She’d never been so scared in her whole life. Of course, no one had ever wanted to kill her before, so her trepidation was understandable. Perfectly reasonable.

  Kitty continued to purr and lick her fingers for any trace of chicken left there. Her three kittens woke and searched through the straw bed for their mother.

  She placed mama with her kittens.

  “Stay here, Kitty. Don’t leave the loft, and you’ll be safe and warm. There are plenty of mice, and those horrid men won’t find you. I promise, I’ll be back.”

  Carole climbed down the rungs to the hard-packed floor. Easing the ladder to the ground, she buried it under loose hay at the back of the barn, hoping she could return with the sheriff and have her cousins evicted, possibly arrested, before Kitty emerged from the loft.

  Sneaking back into the house through the kitchen, Carole slipped down the hall to her bedroom. Grandfather’s carpetbag peeked from under the bed. She pulled it out and hurriedly packed her warmest clothes, all her underwear, and as many toiletries as she could fit.

  Determined not to leave anything precious for her cousins to pilfer, her Christmas book and blessing harp went in the bag, as well. Tying her grandmother’s Christmas quilt and pillow in a roll secured with a leather belt, she grabbed the carpetbag, taking one last look around.

  Opening her door, she listened for any movement in the house for several moments. No one stirred. Elderly Mrs. Hopper normally retired as the sun went down each evening. Carole intended to see she had a pension and could live in town near her friends and the doctor she spoke about when the situation at the ranch settled.

  As Carole pas
sed through the kitchen, she spotted a pair of clean denim pants Mrs. Hopper had been mending for the youngest cousin, Jonah. She thought back to Sheriff Granger and her manly attire. The sheriff knew what she was about. Carole could do worse than emulate the confident woman. She snatched the pants, stuffed them in her bag and slid out the back door.

  Keeping to the shadows, she made her way to the barn and went in through the side entrance. The horses were familiar with her scent since she’d spent time in the barn in the days since she’d arrived and didn’t fuss. Carole bridled and saddled a small mare, walked her out the way she’d come in, and hoped no one would see them.

  When she mounted and no alarm cry sounded, she breathed a sigh of relief. Urging the mare toward the road to town, she finally began to calm.

  Snowflakes began to fall in earnest. The chill wind whipped, and the clouds shrouded the moon’s light. Reaching the main road, she turned toward town.

  Several hours later, one thought became crystal clear.

  I’m hopelessly lost and near frozen to the bone.

  No point in crying. The tears would freeze on her cheeks. She tucked herself as close to the mare’s neck as she could to share heat and encouraged her to push on.

  The mare hesitated and stopped on a slight rise, breath steaming from her nostrils.

  Carole scanned the distance just as the clouds scuttled away from the moon. She let out a cry of relief. A cabin sat sheltered in a small valley at the bottom of the trail.

  The place looked deserted. The moonlight shone bright on the snow, but no lights flickered in the window. No smoke wafted from the chimney.

  With a firm hold on the reins, Carole made the mare take the descent into the valley slowly, carefully. Approaching the cabin, she saw the building and adjacent stable seemed in good repair and wondered why no one lived here.

  “Hello! Hello, the house,” she called. Her grandfather had explained the typical Western greeting in one of his many letters.

  No one responded.

  Carole dismounted. She fingers stiff with cold, she untied and dropped the carpetbag and bedroll from behind the saddle to the ground.