Western Kisses – Old West Christmas Romances (Boxed Set) (10 page)

This is a chaste coming-of-age romance that features themes of loyalty, redemption, the love of family, and how hard it is to be vulnerable and let someone else in – even when that’s all you could possibly want.

Three chickens clucked an endless, satisfied song. The one rooster that survived last year’s drought wandered around in a daze of choice, trying to figure out which one of the three ladies he’d try his wiles on, but instead decided to go back to sleep.

He let out a tired, old-sounded crowing, sat down, and shook his comb before folding himself up in a lump and closing his eyes.

“Simple little chickens,” Lottie Wright said, crouching down low. Pulling her skirts around her legs, she watched the three hens wobble around. “I wonder if they worry about anything. What sorts of things bother chickens?”

On cue, one of the hens – the one she named Belle, after her life-long friend who moved away almost two years past when the War began – cocked her head and stared. Lottie stuck out her hand and scratched the bird on the base of the neck.

These were her chickens, and they lived in her chicken coop. When everyone else in the little town of Almos, Texas left the little burg, she and her father remained. In the first months of the Civil War, everyone except William, her father, thought for sure the whole countryside was going to become a battlefield.

It didn’t, but it may as well have for all the abandoned houses and fallow fields that surrounded their land. While looking for supplies at an abandoned homestead nearby, she found this coop, and this little collection of hens, and the one proud, sleepy rooster. She packed them right up, took them to her father, and took it upon herself to keep them happy and healthy.

The chickens kept her mind off the loneliness, mostly, but they also kept her and her father fed during hard times. Up in the northern reaches of the Texas Panhandle, those times had grown more and more frequent.

A little over two years old by now, the war was nowhere near Almos, but nonetheless, it hurt. Markets were gone, and it took two days to get close enough to civilization to hear railroad whistles in the distance. Three if she wanted mail. But, the worst of it was how empty the countryside was.

Almos was never big, but it had been full of life. Neighbors dotted the land here and there, all working their holdings. Everyone got together for weekly trips to the depot down south for the farmer’s market, and each harvest season was marked with a dance that could last for a day or more if it stayed warm long enough.

That was all gone.

“Hey!” Lottie pulled her finger away as Belle pecked her smartly on the back of the hand. “What was that for?”

“I think she was telling you to look behind yourself, Lottie.”

William stood in the doorway of the modest, dusty-floored coop with a tired smile on his face. “I’m about to head out. Got some bales to send east before winter sets in, and they ain’t getting any fresher, so may as well get it done now.”

“What about,” Lottie pinched up her face, trying to think of some reason he needed to stay, but couldn’t.

William stuck his finger between his hard denim trousers and leather chaps and scratched his leg. “I know you don’t like being out here alone, but there’s nothing can be done about it. Not these days anyway. Hopefully soon when this war gets itself worked out, we’ll get a railroad going through and all our friends will come back.”

She let out a heavy sigh. “It’s just... whenever you go, I always worry about people coming through and –”

“What? When’s the last time that happened? Roving bands of highwaymen coming through this ghost... I s’pose it’s not even a ghost
town
. Don’t quite remember if Almos was ever incorporated.” He laughed at his own joke. “Anyways, I’ll be gone for three days on the outside. Can’t much imagine anything happening, though if it does, be sure to let me know when I get back, you hear?”

“Yes, pa,” she said, silently wishing something would make him stay.

If a storm blew up, or a dust devil, or anything, he’d have to stay. But, she couldn’t even quite say what it was that worried her.

With a smile on his face, William tipped his hat back and kissed Lottie on the forehead. “Take care of them chickens for me. I’ll want some nice, fluffy eggs when I come back.” He shifted the knapsack on his shoulder to the other one.

She couldn’t count how many times she’d repaired the strap on that ancient, worn-out old bag.

If only they’d gone with everyone else. Moved to Dallas or out west, or most anywhere else, she wouldn’t have to fear outlaws that never came, or even worse, droughts that often did.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m just pining, I suppose.”

Will kissed his daughter again and smiled with a look that said he wished there was something – anything he could do.

“Well,” he took a step back, swatted at a cobweb, and turned. “Ain’t nothing to be done. Who knows, maybe come spring we’ll get that rain again. Maybe people will figure out there won’t be any war here and come back after winter. Bound to happen sometime, huh? Anyway, won’t be gone long, two or three days at the most, like I said. You gonna be all right?”

“Yeah – yes pa,” Lottie said. She swallowed, still not sure
why
she was so worried. This wasn’t anything new for her. Once a month or so, he went off to make deliveries, more during the limited harvest season, but for some reason, this time she just felt differently.

Seeing her concern, he bent and kissed her again on top of the head. “Lottie, I don’t know what’s bugging you so horribly, but you know the shotgun’s in the kitchen in case – well, just in case. Coyotes or what-have-you present a problem.”

“I know pa,” she said with a grimaced smile. “I don’t know what’s got into me, but I’m sure I’ll calm down. Don’t worry on me, all right?”

“That’d be like me asking you not to pine after that Fleetwood boy who moved away.”

Lottie blushed deeply, but William just laughed. “I’m joshing with you is all,” he said. “Anyway what I mean is that I’m your pa! I’ve got to worry over you. It’s the law, I believe.”

She chuckled softly. “Get on,” she said. “Quicker you go, sooner you’re back.”

He replaced his hat, turned and left, knocking twice as he did.

Alone, Lottie heaved a sigh, and turned back to Belle, who had begun biting at a trail of ants.

“You
don’t
worry about anything, do you?” She asked the chickens. “Suppose I shouldn’t, either.”

~*~

“Well that sure smells good, don’t it?” The chickens were in the house, and Lottie was talking to them. When pa was around, this only happened in the deepest chill of winter, but with him gone, the chickens and the cock-eyed dog kept her company. Her father named the dog Rolf, after a neighbor who he said bore a certain resemblance to the creature.

She plopped some oat gruel and a couple of boiled eggs into a dish for Rolf and watched the chickens cluck around, giggling whenever Belle picked at the old rooster.

It made her feel better to have them around, especially on these long fall nights when dark came earlier, along with howling winds that bit deep if she went outside, and whistled through the windows, through the slats of roof over her head. As she sat, staring at the little slice of reconstituted beef and the potato on her plate, Lottie pulled her shawl tight around her shoulders.

A shiver ran through her, preceding the squeal of plateau wind against the side of the house, and then a soft patter of rain. Not enough to do any good for the crops, but just enough to get the side of the house wet, and to play a pleasant tune on the window.

“I wish you were still here,” she said, turning to the old daguerreotype of her mother, her father, and little baby Lottie that had a permanent place on the writing desk beside the table Will made when he built this house. “I wish I remembered you from more than this picture, too, but I s’pose things don’t always go the way we want.”

Almost on cue, a coyote barked twice, then howled. It was far away, probably rooting around in whatever was left of the year-old mess than the Farrell family down the way left when they abandoned Almos.

The short, spiky hairs on the back of Rolf’s neck stood up. He lurched to his feet, stalked to the door and began a long, low, rumbling growl.

“Rolf? Come over here boy, just a coyote.”

He sunk low on his forelegs. The dog’s growl went high-pitched for a second before he whined then started barking.

“Rolf! Stop it! Calm down! No!”

The faithful old dog just refused to be comforted though. Circling back and forth in front of the door, he snapped at the air, recoiled, and then unleashed another torrent of barks that shook Lottie to her core. Suddenly, she was happy she’d taken the time to load her pa’s shotgun.

Pulling it down, carefully, from the pins that held it above the wash basin Lottie leveled the two, short-cut barrels at the door and advanced.

“Stay back, Rolf,” she commanded, taking a deep breath through her nose and steeled her nerves for whatever was to come.

Shuffling sounds perked her ears, and sent Rolf into another wild tirade of barking that made Lottie’s hands shake. “Rolf!” she snapped. “Enough!”

The dog whined and slunk backwards from the door, apparently taking her order, but still on edge. From where he stood behind Lottie’s legs, he barked again but with less conviction.

Something jingled.

“Huh?” Lottie swung the gun in a wide arc around the inside of the house, expecting someone to have snuck in the back way somehow without her noticing, but no one jumped out at her.

There it was again – something jingling, scraping against the wood of the porch.

Spurs? But spurs go on boots and boots go on feet and those are attached to –

“Hello there?” Two quick, loud knocks interrupted her thoughts. “Anybody home?”

Lottie froze. She cocked both hammers and slowly edged toward the door.

I knew it. I just knew it. I told him to stay. I just knew this would be the time someone shows up and kidnaps me or kills me and steals the chickens or...

The barrels struck the door with a thunk.

“Who is it?” she called in a cautious, guarded voice. She cleared her throat to make sure it didn’t waiver should she have to speak again.

“Uh, pardon? Hell of a wind out here. This is the only house I’ve seen with a lantern on,” the man’s voice stopped for a moment.

Lottie shot a glance at the lamp by which she’d been reading. “Damn,” she cursed under her breath. “Why’d I have to—”

“Hello? How do in there,” he called again.

“I asked after who had come to my door,” Lottie said, louder this time.

“Oh, uh, right, name’s Colton Howe.”

“You’re no soldier are you?” She didn’t know why she asked that, but it seemed appropriate. And anyway, her father had warned her about soldiers and their appetites.

“Uh, no ma’am, no I’m not. I’m a cattleman from down the panhandle some. I’m making my way up north, but the wind is something fierce and I’m a bit worried about,” he trailed off for a second. Something leaned against the door and the man outside sighed deeply. “I’m terribly sorry to bother you, especially at such an hour, but if there’s any way I could come in, I’d be much obliged. And if I could quarter my horse somewhere, that’d be just a treat.”

Lottie leaned over and unlatched the door. His voice sounded honest enough, and she had a gun leveled at the door for insurance of his politeness. The chances of someone dodging a double load of buckshot were slim, even if it did launch her backwards when she shot the thing.

“Thank you ma’am, I am much obli—”

The gun prodded his chest. “How do I know you ain’t got any funny ideas?”

“I suppose you don’t,” he said. He gave her a devilish grin at the same time as he stuck his hands on the air.

Colton had two or three days’ worth of stubble growth, and his hat was pushed back on his head to reveal a pair of striking green eyes, and a shock of dark hair brushed off his forehead. Lottie stared at him for a moment, searching for some sign of his intentions, but all she found was an easy smile that put her to an almost frightening ease, and a dimpled chin that made her heart flutter.

“Oh,” she said. “I don’t believe I,” a furious blush covered her cheeks.

Colton took a step forward, and she stuck the gun right in his gut. “I’m still not convinced,” she said, getting her bearings after being disarmed with his charm.

“I swear it’s true,” he said with a silky sort of calmness in his voice. “Rode three hundred miles or so. Been sleeping under the stars, but I don’t think my horse can handle this dirt and dust blowing around. Look how much misery there is on his face.”

Lottie shifted her glance, looking past Colton but still jabbing him in the sternum with her shotgun. Sure enough, a rather pitiful looking mottled horse stood behind the man.

“Ernie,” Colton said to the horse. “Look sad. Convince the lady we ain’t here to rob her or worse.”

Ernie, the horse, neighed.

Despite herself, Lottie chuckled and the barrel of her gun wobbled slightly. In one smooth motion, Colton grabbed the business end of the weapon and lifted it straight up.

“You devil!” Lottie shouted, yanking on the triggers out of instinct. “I knew it!”

Buckshot blasted out the end of the gun and the gun blasted out of Lottie’s hands, straight down, cracking the dry porch wood where it struck.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Colton yelped, sticking his hands straight up in the air again. “I surrender! I don’t mean any harm!”

The two of them exchanged a long glance, then both looked down at the same time, staring wide-eyed at the gun presently lodged in the porch.

“Why did you do that?” Lottie demanded. “I had a gun pointed at you! Why in the world... you could have got yourself shot!”

“Like as to shoot you as you were me, seems,” Colton said. “Jeez’um seed, woman, you almost brought the house down and killed the both of us. Ernie could have eaten all your food. He’d probably prefer it that way.”

Lottie shook her head. “You almost got killed just then, and you’re joking now? How can you start up joshing after such a thing? There are holes in your hat!”