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A Western Christmas Homecoming
Three festive romances: Christmas in the Wild West!
In Christmas Day Wedding Bells by Lynna Banning, buttoned-up librarian Alice is swept away by US marshal Rand Logan on a new adventure.
Then, Welles is Snowbound in Big Springs in this novella by Lauri Robinson, where he must confront Sophie and their undeclared feelings...
Finally, rugged outlaw Russ rescues Abigail from spending the festive season alone in Christmas with the Outlaw by Kathryn Albright!
“I read this thrilling story in one sitting. I laughed aloud and I cried and I was overjoyed at the ending.”
—Goodreads on Miss Murray on the Cattle Trail by Lynna Banning
“Lauri Robinson is still number one in my book... I definitely recommend this novel.”
—Long and Short Reviews on In the Sheriff’s Protection by Lauri Robinson
“A delightful sweet read that really pulls the reader in... A great plot that moves fast with some excitement, thrills and a few chilling times.”
—Goodreads on The Prairie Doctor’s Bride by Kathryn Albright
LYNNA BANNING combines her lifelong love of history and literature in a satisfying career as a writer. Born in Oregon, she graduated from Scripps College and embarked on a career as an editor and technical writer, and later as a high school English teacher. She enjoys hearing from her readers. You may write to her directly at PO Box 324, Felton, CA 95018, USA, email her at carowoolston@att.net or visit Lynna’s website at lynnabanning.net.
A lover of fairytales and cowboy boots, LAURI ROBINSON can’t imagine a better profession than penning happily-ever-after stories about men—and women—who pull on a pair of boots before riding off into the sunset…or kick them off for other reasons! Lauri and her husband raised three sons in their rural Minnesota home, and are now getting their just rewards by spoiling their grandchildren. Visit: laurirobinson.blogspot.com, facebook.com/lauri.robinson1 or twitter.com/LauriR.
KATHRYN ALBRIGHT writes American-set historical romance for Mills & Boon. From her first breath she has had a passion for stories that celebrate the goodness in people. She combines her love of history and her love of stories to write novels of inspiration, endurance and hope. Visit her at kathrynalbright.com and on Facebook.
A Western Christmas Homecoming
Christmas Day Wedding Bells
Lynna Banning
Snowbound in Big Springs
Lauri Robinson
Christmas with the Outlaw
Kathryn Albright
www.millsandboon.co.uk
ISBN: 978-1-474-07415-5
A WESTERN CHRISTMAS HOMECOMING
Christmas Day Wedding Bells © 2018 The Woolston Family Trust Snowbound in Big Springs © 2018 Lauri Robinson Christmas with the Outlaw © 2018 Kathryn Leigh Albright
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.
www.millsandboon.co.uk
Version: 2020-03-02
MILLS & BOON
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Praise for the authors of
A Western Christmas Homecoming
LYNNA BANNING
‘Banning’s talent for crafting warm, delightful tales once again wins fan devotion.’
—RT Book Reviews on Miss Murray on the Cattle Trail
LAURI ROBINSON
‘Well-written, dramatic and complete with a cast of beloved townsfolk. Readers will laugh, cry and rejoice.’
—RT Book Reviews on In the Sheriff’s Protection
KATHRYN ALBRIGHT
‘Well-paced, sweet romance. For Western fans, Albright’s Americana tale will be an entertaining read.’
—RT Book Reviews on The Prairie Doctor’s Bride
Table of Contents
Cover
Back Cover Text
About the Authors
Title Page
Copyright
Praise
Christmas Day Wedding Bells
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Snowbound in Big Springs
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Christmas with the Outlaw
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Epilogue
Extract
About the Publisher
Christmas Day Wedding Bells
Lynna Banning
For David Woolston and Yvonne Mandarino Woolston, who exemplify the best in kindness, caring and love.
Chapter One
Alice watched the leather-bound volume of Keats skitter off the counter and slide across the library floor. “I beg your pardon, what did you say?”
The young deputy’s face looked somber. “The sheriff wants to see you, Miss Alice,” he puffed. “Wants you to come over to his office right away. Said it was real important.”
What on earth could be so important that Sheriff Rivera would send his deputy to summon her in the middle of her peaceful October afternoon at the Smoke River library?
“Sandy, did he say why he wants to see me?”
“No, ma’am. Just said for me to get the lead—uh...to hurry and not take no for an answer.”
Alice retrieved her wide-brimmed sun hat and her beaded reticule, locked the library door and followed the deputy down Main Street to Sheriff Rivera’s office. When she entered, the lawman shifted his feet off the desk and jackknifed to attention.
“Miss Alice, good morning.” He wasn’t smiling, and that made her uneasy. Hawk Rivera smiled at all the girls. Or, to be more accurate, all the girls smiled at him.
“What have I done, Sheriff?”
“Alice, I want to introduce you to US Marshal Randell Logan. He’s brought some news you need to hear. It’s about your sister, Dorothy.”
For the first time she noticed the tall, lean man standing in one corner of the small sheriff’s office next to a bulletin board plastered with yellowing Wanted posters. He gave her a brief nod. “Miss Montgomery. I’m afraid it’s bad news.”
He was very tan, she thought irrationally. With dark hair and a mustache over his unsmiling mouth. He took a step toward her. “Maybe you’d better sit down, Miss.”
Oh, God. She sank onto the hard-backed chair across from the sheriff and clasped her hands in her lap. “Tell me,” she whispered.
The marshal cleared his throat. “It concerns your sister, Dorothy Coleman. As you know she’s been living in a mining camp in Idaho.”
“Yes, I know that. Silver City. Dottie owns an assay company she inherited from her husband when he died. Does your news concern the business?”
She watched his gaze flick to Sheriff Rivera and then return to her face. His eyes were an unusual color. As she studied him, those eyes went from hard jade to mossy green.
“I’m sorry to tell you this has nothing to do with the assay business, Miss Montgomery. It’s about your sister herself.”
Alice clenched her hands into fists. “I haven’t heard from Dottie in some weeks. What about her?”
To her surprise the marshal knelt in front of her. “I’m afraid your sister is dead, Miss.”
Alice cried out. “But she can’t be! Dottie’s only twenty. She’s younger than I am, my little sister. She can’t be dead.”
Marshal Logan waited without speaking.
“H-how did she die? Typhoid? Cholera?”
He let out a long breath. “She was killed, Miss.”
“An accident? A mining accident? But she never went into the mines. She hated dark places and—” She broke off, wondering why Sheriff Rivera was pouring whiskey into a shot glass on his desk.
The marshal hesitated. “Your sister Dorothy was murdered.”
Unable to utter a sound, Alice sat without moving. The marshal reached for the whiskey and held the glass out to her.
“It’s not true,” she said. “I don’t believe you. Everyone loves Dottie! No one would want to hurt her.”
“Alice.” Sheriff Rivera’s voice. “It’s hard to accept something like this, so just take your time.”
She drew in a shaky breath and pushed aside the whiskey the marshal held out. “I d-don’t drink spirits,” she said in a ragged voice.
“Maybe not,” he said. “Might make an exception today, Miss.” He folded her fingers around the glass.
She took a tentative sip. It burned all the way down her throat and brought tears stinging into her eyes. She coughed, then took another, bigger swallow.
The marshal was still kneeling in front of her. “What did you say your name was?” she said, her voice hoarse.
“Logan, Miss. Randell Logan.”
“How do you know about my—my sister? Were you there?”
“No, ma’am, I wasn’t. I’m a US Marshal out of Colorado Territory. I was called in by the Owyhee County sheriff to investigate your sister’s death. Actually, I’m working for Pinkerton on this case.”
Alice began to feel disconnected from what was going on around her. “Pinkerton? How was Dottie killed? I mean, was she stabbed or...?”
“She was shot,” the marshal said quietly. “If it’s any comfort to you, the sheriff in Silver City said she died instantly.”
“Oh. Oh, my God. Murdered... Oh, my God.” She gripped the whiskey glass and began to rock back and forth. Everything felt unreal, as if she were dreaming. Some of the whiskey splashed down the front of her shirtwaist, and she felt the marshal’s hand on her shoulder.
“You gonna faint?”
“No. I n-never faint. I just feel...numb.”
Then Sheriff Rivera was standing beside her, lifting the whiskey out of her hand. “Alice, do you think you can walk? I want you to go back to your boardinghouse and lie down.”
She nodded but kept on rocking.
Rand saw that her eyes were shut. Something about the small hand clenched in her lap made his belly tighten.
Sheriff Rivera tipped his head toward her. “Rand, could you...?”
“Sure.” He rose and reached under her armpits to help her stand. “Come on, Miss Montgomery. I’m gonna walk you home.”
“She lives at Rose Cottage,” the sheriff said. “Over on Maple Street. Take a right off Main about two blocks down.” He tossed back the rest of the whiskey, then sent Rand an inquiring look. “Want a shot?”
He did, but not until he got Miss Alice over to her boardinghouse. “Later, Hawk.”
“I’ll be at the Golden Pheasant in an hour.”
“Yeah.”
Miss Montgomery moved unsteadily toward the door. Rand kept his arm around her shoulders and guided her out onto the street. She walked slowly past the mercantile and the hotel, but when she got to the saloon, she bobbled a step. He slipped his arm around her waist to steady her and she grabbed on to his forearm.
A fresh-faced kid shot around the corner. “Hiya, Miss Montgomery.”
She raised a listless hand as he skipped by.
“You a schoolteacher?” Rand asked.
She shook her head. “I am the librarian.” Late-afternoon sunlight fell across her face, but she didn’t seem to notice. Her straw sun hat was still clutched in her hand.
At the front gate of Rose Cottage she paused to pick a yellow rose from the tumble of blooms along the fence. “Dottie loved roses,” she murmured. “Especially yellow ones.”
As he moved her up the walk, a grizzled older man rose from the porch swing. “Alice?” Frowning, he clumped down the front steps. “Alice, are you all right?”
“Yes, Rooney,” she murmured. “Just...tired.”
The man took a closer look at her face, tramped back up onto the porch and banged through the screen door. “Sarah! Got trouble!”
Rand sat Alice down in the swing just as a handsome older woman bustled out the door. “Alice! Child, whatever is the matter?”
He took the woman and her husband aside, identified himself and explained the situation. “Oh, no,” Sarah moaned. “Oh, Alice, honey, I’m so sorry.” She sank down beside Alice, folded her into her arms and began to rock her back and forth.
“Gol-dang-it,” the older man, Rooney, swore. “How come it’s the good ’uns that get stomped on?”
Rand had no answer for that. It was something he’d often asked himself over the years.
“Life sure never gets any easier,” Rooney said with a sidelong glance at Alice. “Fightin’ Indians is lots easier than watchin’ something like this.”
Sarah stood and helped Alice move toward the screen door. “You’ll stay to supper, Marshal Logan?”
He hesitated. He’d been in the saddle since mid-August, sleeping on the ground and eating canned beans and bacon. He hadn’t had a home-cooked meal in over a month.
Rooney laid a hand on his arm. “Look, Marshal, I used to scout for Wash Halliday, so I know what it’s like, bein’ a lawman. Every so often ya need to kick back and take a night off. ’Specially if there’s a fine-tastin’ supper involved. Besides, my Sarah would be highly insulted if you walked off her front porch without acceptin’ her hospitality.”
Rand thought about sharing a drink with Sheriff Rivera at the Golden Pheasant, then weighed it against explaining the rest of his mission to Alice. Alice won.
“Okay, Rooney, sounds good. Thanks.” He would tell Alice the rest after supper.
Chapter Two
Alice came downstairs to supper feeling as if a freight train had smashed her flat. She had tried to sleep for an hour, but every time she closed her eyes Dottie’s face rose before her. She was so numb she couldn’t cry, but her entire body ached, and when she thought about her sister her heart pounded erratically. She felt like screaming.
On top of everything else, one of her blind headaches was coming on. If Sarah had not insisted, she would not be coming down for supper but crawling into bed with a cold cloth over her eyes.
Voices drifted from the dining room. She recognized Rooney’s low rumble and old Mrs. DuPont’s quavering soprano. Doc Graham never said much. Sarah’s grandson, Mark, rarely spoke during a meal, but tonight he was rapid-firing questions at someone. His nine-year-old voice broke when he got excited, and apparently the answers were exciting; one minute he was a soprano, the next he was a baritone.
When she reached the table, the marshal, Randell Logan, rose to his feet, followed by Rooney, Doc Graham and young Mark. Iris DuPont clucked at her sympathetically, and Alice gritted her teeth. If anyone said one single word about Dottie or how sorry they were she would lose control. Better to pretend it was a perfectly normal fall evening in Smoke River and nothing was wrong.
She took her seat and automatically unfolded the napkin lying beside the blue-flowered plate. The marshal rested his gaze on her for a long moment, and then resumed speaking to Mark. “Actually, Mark, a young man must be at least eighteen to become a United States Marshal.”
Mark groaned. “How old were you, Marshal Logan?”
He shot Alice a glance and quickly returned his gaze to Mark. “I was well over eighteen when I joined up. Actually, I was twenty-seven.”
“Golly, what took you so long?”
The marshal laughed. “Just living, mostly.”
Alice realized the marshal sensed how shaky she was feeling and was purposely carrying on this conversation with Mark to keep attention focused away from her.
Mark’s blue eyes snapped with interest. “Didja fight Injuns, like Rooney?”
“Yep.”
“With the army?”
“Yep.” Rand reached for the ceramic bowl of mashed potatoes.
Mark leaned toward him. “Didja have a girl?” he whispered.
Rand drew in a slow breath. “Yes, son, I did.”
“Didja marry her?”
Rooney’s wife, Sarah, saved him by plunking down a platter of fried chicken and nudging her grandson’s shoulder. “Mark, we don’t ask our guests such personal questions.”
“Sorry, Gran.” But the minute she returned to the kitchen, Mark hitched his chair closer to him. “Well, didja?” he whispered.
“Mark!” Sarah called. “Shut your mouth. Or maybe you fancy washing up the supper dishes tonight?”
“No, Gran.” The boy hung his head. “Sorry, Marshal,” he muttered.
Rand worked to hide a smile. He was relieved to see Alice’s plate was filling up with chicken and mashed potatoes and gravy. Then he realized it was Rooney who was spooning food onto it, not Alice.
She picked at the potatoes, but ate only a few bites. Her face looked white and set, and she kept her gaze focused on the tablecloth. Her sister’s death was hitting her pretty hard. He couldn’t blame her, but it would sure make the rest of his job more difficult. This was why an assignment like this one was so hard—the price innocent people had to pay.
The older woman, Mrs. DuPont, and the doctor ate their fried chicken and mashed potatoes in silence, though Doc Graham paid close attention to the talk about soldiering and scouting that bounced back and forth between Rooney and himself.
Young Mark listened avidly, while Alice compulsively pressed the fingers of one hand over the ruffles at the neck of her blue shirtwaist. She had elegant hands, Rand noted. Real lady hands. Well, she said she was a librarian.
He groaned inside. Librarian Alice Montgomery wouldn’t have the guts to help him.
“Mr. Logan,” his hostess inquired. “Would you care for seconds?” She urged more chicken on him, and then third helpings of everything, and finally she began clearing the dishes.
“Marshal, why don’t you take your dessert and coffee out on the front porch where it’s cooler? You, too, Alice,” she added.
“And me?” Mark piped.
His grandmother shook her head. “I need you in the kitchen, Mark.”
“Aw, Gran...”
That brought a half smile to Alice’s white face. She pushed back her chair and accepted a tray from Sarah with two thick slices of apple pie and two cups of coffee. Rand stood, lifted it out of her hands and ushered her through the screen door.
He prayed the coffee would make the next hour less difficult.
Chapter Three
Alice sank onto the porch swing and lifted a cup of coffee from the tray the marshal set on the railing. “Cream?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“Sugar?” Again she refused, then watched him load his cup with two heaping spoonfuls. Aha. The man had a sweet tooth!
He made short work of his apple pie, and when she offered her own piece, he downed that, too. Apparently he hadn’t eaten well recently. Was he married as Mark had asked? Probably not, if his appetite was any indication.
He settled onto the swing beside her, nudged it into motion and stretched his long legs out in front of him. Marshals wore jeans like everybody else, she noted. The only thing that told her he was a marshal was the funny-shaped badge pinned to his leather vest and the gun belt around his waist.
“Alice, is there anything else you want to know about your sister’s death?”
“Yes,” she breathed. “When did she die?”
“She died instantly, as I told you at the sheriff’s office.”
She set her cup onto the saucer with a sharp click. “No, I meant how long ago was it?”
He gave the swing another shove. “Three weeks ago.”
“What took you so long to notify me?”
