A Ranger For The Holidays

“Come inside,” Amelia coaxed. “If you still want to leave in the morning, we’ll talk about it. It’s almost supper and you need food and rest.”

The scents of a home kitchen wafted through the garage as he hauled himself out of the car and Finn’s stomach growled. He winced as he grabbed the tiny “luggage” the hospital had given him—sad to note all his current possessions fit into the small plastic bag.

“Finn, is it?” called the old man, leaning on a cane. He had Amelia’s eyes and a head full of bushy gray hair.

“Yes, sir.”

The man waved the formality off. “Oh, don’t ‘sir’ me. Luther’ll be just fine.” He held out a hand with thick, wrinkled fingers and shook Finn’s with a strong grip. “Tough go you’ve had there, son. I could barely believe it when Amelia told me.” He hobbled into the kitchen, motioning for Finn to follow.

A holiday home decor tidal wave assaulted Finn’s eyes, bringing a surge of nauseated panic to clutch at Finn’s throat.

“It gets worse every year,” Luther remarked, his expression telling Finn that he hadn’t hid his reaction well. “I feel like I’m living in a department store window some days.”

Pine boughs, candy canes and red ribbon seemed to erupt from every available surface. A miniature tree with tiny ornaments stood in the center of the kitchen table while lights twinkled from every window.

Amelia bustled in behind him, her face a mix of pride and embarrassment given the admission he’d just made in the car. “I admit,” she said with a raised eyebrow, “I enjoy the holidays.”

“I think we went past ‘enjoy’ four years ago.” Luther gave Amelia an indulgent kiss on the cheek. “Now it’s closer to ‘obsess.’ Gets it from her mother, God rest her soul.”

Amelia set another bakery box down on the counter—more experimental pie slices?—and shucked off her coat. “Gramps says all the Klondike men married women with the gift for ornamentation.”

The gift for ornamentation. That was one way to put it. Finn fished for some kind of well-mannered compliment to pay the display, but came up short. When the kitchen clock struck the hour by playing “Joy to the World,” he wanted to shut his eyes and run from the room. But what good would that do? The rest of the house would likely offer the same festive assault.

A series of snuffles and small barks came from another part of the house, and a fat dog with bulging eyes waddled into the room.

“Bug, say hello to our new friend Finn.”

Bug, who looked as if his face was permanently pushed up against some invisible glass window, sniffed noisily around Finn’s boots, a pig-curly tail twitching in curiosity. Finn reached down and let the dog sniff his hand. “Hi there, Bug.” Bug, of course, sported a red collar dotted with green Christmas trees and a shiny silver bell.

Bug’s interest in Finn lasted only until Amelia lifted the lid off a Crock-Pot on the counter, sending a spicy, beefy aroma into the air. That sent Bug to jumping at Amelia’s feet, hoping for a taste. Finn couldn’t blame the dog for his enthusiasm. Real food. Maybe he could put up with the Yuletide high tide if it came with good home cooking. He owed it to himself—and to Amelia—to at least try.

“Dinner will be ready in about fifteen minutes. Gramps, why don’t you show Finn to his room and he can settle in.”

“Less decorations up there, I think,” Luther said as he headed for a banister wrapped in red and gold ribbon. “You’re upstairs at the end of the hall. I don’t do stairs anymore, so I’ll just point you in the right direction, if that’s okay.” He pointed to a door Finn could just see off the left of the staircase. “Take a moment to wash up and get your bearings, and we’ll see you back down here in just a bit.”

“Thanks, Luther.” Finn mounted the first stair, then found himself reaching for the banister. His side was throbbing, and he didn’t like the fact that he needed the support to climb the flight.

“Think nothing of it, son. Least we can do.”

Nobody has to do anything for me, Finn thought darkly. I’ve no friends here.

That’s not true, a small voice argued with his darker nature. And that’s not bad.

* * *

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Amelia didn’t like the scowl Lucy Benson gave her as they took Bug for his evening walk when Lucy stopped over after supper. “I know you can’t help helping,” Lucy continued, “but we don’t know anything about him. For all we know he could be connected to the thefts.”

Amelia buttoned up her coat against the evening chill. “He’s not a criminal, Lucy.”

“Amelia, you don’t know that. Seeing the good in everybody doesn’t mean you have to put them up in your home. He could rob you blind while you sleep tonight and it’s not as if you and Gramps and Bug could defend yourselves.”

Amelia stopped walking to stare at Lucy. “He’s not our rustler, Lucy. I’m sure of it.”

“Well, forgive me if I don’t put that much stock in those hunches of yours. Being sheriff means I have to depend more on solid evidence than your famous intuition.”

Amelia chose a new topic. “Well, Madam Sheriff, what new have you learned about our cattle thieves? Any closer to catching whoever is doing all this?” Little Horn had been experiencing a strange brand of crime spree, with cattle disappearing from wealthy ranchers’ estates while gifts of supplies and equipment had appeared to families in need. A cowboy version of Robin Hood.

“Some folks are downright scared, having their security violated and goods stolen. And they’ve a right to be worried. I don’t mind telling you I’m getting a lot of pressure to solve this case. The finger-pointing is going to get ugly if we don’t get a break soon.” Lucy pushed out a sigh, her breath a white whisp in the clear night air. “Then there are the folks who’ve received gifts. They’re grateful, but I know they can’t help thinking their gain might be at someone else’s expense. As to who’s doing it? I wish I knew.” She gave Amelia a sideways glance. “And I can’t say your fellow isn’t involved, Amelia. Have you thought about that he may be involved and not remember it? With this amnesia thing, he could genuinely believe he was innocent and still be guilty.”

Amelia hadn’t thought of that. “I can see that all of his memories aren’t happy ones. There’s something dark just beyond his reach—he’s even said as much—but it can’t be criminal. He uses phrases you do, which makes me think he’s in law enforcement.”

Lucy stopped walking and halted Amelia with a hand on her shoulder. “All the more reason for you to steer clear. I get that he’s handsome and in distress and all, but haven’t you sworn off us badge types since Rafe?”

“I’m helping him, not dating him, Lucy.”

“And what if one turns into the other?”

“Believe me, I won’t let it.” Bug pulled on the leash, in no mood to stand still on such a chilly night. “I trust the nudges I get to help somebody.” Amelia started walking again. “God’s never sent me astray yet, and I don’t think He’s gonna start now. Finn needs a whopping load of grace and a safe place to work everything through. I don’t think it’s any surprise to God that I’m the one who found him—I’m the one who was supposed to find him. I can help, so I’m going to help.”

“I’m not saying don’t help him. I’m saying don’t take him in.”

“He needs taking in most of all. You said it yourself—there’s no one looking for him. Can you imagine how that feels? He’s the worst kind of lonely. I can’t let him go through that in some hotel two towns over, not when Gramps and I are here and we’ve got the room and I’m the one who found him.”

“Well, I’ve been your friend long enough to know you’re gonna do this no matter what I say.” This wasn’t the first time Amelia had listened to a lecture from Lucy on overextending her helpful nature. She reminded herself that a friend who spoke the truth in love was a good friend to have, even when it felt exasperating. “Just promise me you’ll be careful, and you’ll listen if I have to come to you with information you don’t like.”

“Fair enough. And if Finn remembers anything I think you should hear, I promise I’ll tell you. Even if it proves my hunch is wrong.” She narrowed an eye at Lucy. “But it never is.”

“Yet,” Lucy corrected, wagging a finger at Amelia.

“Yet,” Amelia conceded. She was glad to feel the tension leave the conversation. “But really, have you got any leads at all?”

Lucy squared her shoulders. “The League Rustling Investigation Team and I have a theory or two.”

“Any you can share?” Amelia tried to be sensitive to Lucy’s official capacity and the sensitive information that often went with it.

“There’s a ranch hand, someone with a sketchy past who worked at three of the big ranches that got hit. He’d know the layout enough to get in and pull off the burglaries.”

“That seems like a strong lead.” Amelia loved to watch Lucy work on a case. She was an amazing strategist, a talented puzzle-solver who could see connections others missed. Little Horn was blessed to have her.

“There’s more,” Lucy went on. “This same guy just won a handful in the state lottery. That would puff him up enough to dare taking revenge on any ranch that let him go.”

“And it would mean he’d have the funds to give gifts to the struggling ranchers,” Amelia added. “I know you were wondering how our thief was turning all that livestock and equipment into cash for those other purchases so quickly.” It wasn’t as if a saddle went missing from one ranch only to appear on another—the taken items seemed to disappear, while different gifted items showed up out of nowhere.

“Only, I can’t connect him to the folks who’ve gotten gifts yet, only the folks who were robbed.”

“You’ll find the connection. You always do. And you’ve got the ‘Posse’ helping you.”

Lucy rolled her eyes at the nickname some of the townspeople had given the Rustling Investigation Team. “‘Helping’ isn’t always helpful. I had to make Tom Horton give me his gun on our stakeout the other night—he’s a little too eager to play ‘cops and robbers’ if you ask me. I’m glad to have Doc Grainger and Carson join the team, but we’re still not getting anywhere solid. Byron’s demanding answers, and he’s not alone.”

Byron McKay had been the first and hardest hit, so he had cause to be concerned. Only, Byron was tough to like under even the best of circumstances. He’d been mean to everyone lately, so Amelia could just imagine the kind of grief Byron must be giving Lucy for the fact that the identity of Little Horn’s ranch brand of Robin Hood remained unsolved. “Byron making your life miserable?”

“More than usual, and that’s saying something.” Lucy let out a weary sigh. “If we don’t solve this soon it’s going to be a hard, mean Christmas in Little Horn.”

Her friend’s words brought the ice from Finn’s eyes back to Amelia’s memory. Had Finn known nothing but hard, mean Christmases? Surely Little Horn could change that. Surely she, of all people, could change that.

Chapter Four

Monday while Finn was back at Dr. Searle’s for more tests and treatments, Amelia went to visit her younger sister, Lizzie, to go over plans for Lizzie’s upcoming wedding. As she watched her sister slump onto the couch, Amelia would be hard-pressed to say who was having the more trying afternoon—her or Finn. “I’m tired of all this,” Lizzie moaned, hand on her forehead “Why do we have to plan everything so far in advance?”

Lizzie’s wedding plans couldn’t be classified as ‘far in advance’ by any stretch of the imagination. As much as she loved putting together events, and Lizzie really was the only family she had other than Gramps, Amelia was starting to regret her role as stand-in mother of the bride/wedding planner. “You want it to come off well, don’t you? You keep telling me you want the perfect wedding.”

“I do.” Lizzie sighed, gesturing to the stack of wedding magazines and notes scattered across the coffee table. “I want Boone and my wedding to be spectacular.”

“Well—” Amelia tried to keep the frustration from her voice “—spectacular can’t really be done at the last minute. It’s December, and you want to get married the first weekend in April. You’ve got a whole lot of great ideas here. You just need to make a few decisions.” She leaned in and gave Lizzie a supportive nudge. “Settling on a color scheme would go a long way to getting us organized.”

Lizzie sunk her face in her hands. “Ugh. I can’t decide. You choose.”

Amelia pulled out the three color schemes. It had taken her two weeks just to get Lizzie to narrow it down to three. “I am not choosing your color scheme for you. I’ll happily implement it down to the last detail, but honey, this is your and Boone’s wedding. You and Boone need to make some of the decisions.” Secretly, Amelia knew which she was rooting for—and it wasn’t the purple and sage. And the red and gold was just too bold no matter how she looked at it. No, the mint and cream was by far the best for Lizzie’s skin tone and the early-spring timing. It’s not my place to choose, she reminded herself even as her hand rested on the mint-and-cream palette. Don’t over-help. This needs to be Lizzie’s choice.

“Boone told me I could do whatever I wanted.”

Amelia had heard enough do-whatever-you-wants from Rafe to recognize such disinterest as a red flag between couples. Still, she could just as easily suspect Boone to be nothing more than frustrated with Lizzie’s indecision. “Well, then, it really is up to you. They’re all fine choices, Lizzie, just pick one.”

Lizzie straightened on the couch. Amelia wished she believed in mental telepathy so she could send Mint, mint, mint! messages to her sister. As it was, she just said a prayer for wisdom on Lizzie’s part and grace for herself.

“I want the red and gold. I want lots of shiny gold details so my wedding sparkles.”

Not exactly a spring palette—more holiday, to tell the truth—but at least Lizzie had chosen. “Excellent choice. You’ll have the sparkliest wedding in the county. I can see red roses and gold ribbons in your bouquet already, can’t you?”

Lizzie’s eyes fairly glowed as she picked up the paper with all the red-gold color variations on it. “You know what I was thinking, Lia?” Lizzie often used the nickname she’d given her sister when as a youngster she couldn’t quite pronounce Amelia.

“I was thinking I’d love to walk down the aisle in sparkly gold shoes. I’d feel like a princess in glittery shoes. And Boone’s vest could be gold lamé, couldn’t it?”

Amelia swallowed the disco ball remark tickling the tip of her tongue and smiled. “There’s all kinds of things we can do now that you’ve made your choice.” She slid the elegant mint-and-cream pages back into her file alongside the purple and sage. If Lizzie wanted to shout her color scheme to the world, that was a bride’s choice. She’d just have to do a big sister’s best to ensure the wedding guests didn’t feel as if they’d run off to the circus. Amelia hid the grin such a thought gave her behind a sip of iced tea.

“Can we rent a tent?” Lizzie asked, shifting the gold fabric on the paper this way and that to catch the sunshine coming in through the windows.

The circus-tent connection was a bit too striking, and Amelia nearly choked on her tea. “Pardon?”

“Do you think we can have the wedding outside under a tent?”

“April can be a bit unpredictable weather-wise, Lizzie. We might want to stick with the League banquet hall to keep things from becoming a circus.” She cringed at the word choice, fighting the urge to whack her own forehead.

“A circus!” Lizzie’s eyes went wide. “That’s it!”

That is not it. Oh, please, don’t let that be it. “Oh, Lizzie, I’m not so sure that’s a...”

Lizzie had already shot up off the couch, circling the room with animated gestures. “Can’t you see it? A circus wedding? No one would ever forget it!”

I can guarantee you that, Amelia thought. “Lizzie, honey...”

“Couldn’t you just see Boone in one of those red coats? The ones with the black lapels? And a top hat? Just like one of those—” she whirled a hand, trying to pick the word out of the air “—what are they called?”

Amelia began to feel slightly ill. “Ringmaster?” Her voice took on an unfortunate squeak with the word.

Lizzie spread her hands in delight, oblivious to Amelia’s alarm. “Exactly. Oh, Lia, you’re right—it is the perfect choice. You’re so good at this. I’m so glad you’re my sister.” She bent over Amelia and hugged her tight. “If anyone can give me a circus wedding, it’s you!”

“Sure.” Amelia winced inside her sister’s hug. “You know me and parties.”

Lizzie released her and began pushing papers around on the coffee table in search of her cell phone. “I’ve just got to tell Boone right away!” She punched in a few numbers and then practically skipped off to the kitchen to leave Amelia staring at the red-and-gold carnage scattered across the table. “Guess what, Pookie?” Lizzie shouted from the other room, using the ridiculous nickname she and Boone continually used. Amelia put a finger to the bridge of her nose and exhaled slowly. You wanted her to choose. At least everything red and gold should be on sale right after Christmas.

She would swallow the cringe she suspected would permanently settle in her stomach and give Lizzie a wonderful wedding, because she was the only one who could. Mama’s illness had taken her from Amelia and Lizzie when they were teenagers, so there was no mother of the bride to step in and help. Daddy had made sure she and Lizzie were very well provided for before his liver disease finally took him, but Amelia had always suspected Daddy died more of a broken heart than a sick liver. She had memories—good ones—of what Mama and Daddy had been like as a happy couple, but she could easily recall the light that never came back to Daddy’s eyes once Mama was gone. Lizzie, being younger, maybe didn’t have as many memories of their parents’ marital bliss. That could be what was driving Lizzie’s urges for a nuptial spectacular.

Or—and Amelia felt a shudder at the thought—the urge to prove that at least one Klondike could make it to the altar.

And really, was it such a chore to give her baby sister the wedding of her dreams? More like saving Lizzie from herself, Amelia mused, picturing what Lizzie’s unrestrained imagination could dream up. Left to her own devices, Lizzie might rent an elephant to give rides on the League front lawn. Oh, Lord, I’m gonna need a heap of grace and patience for this. And you know I don’t have much of either on this particular subject.

“Boone just loved the idea!” Lizzie came back into the room to plop down on the couch, arms and legs skewed at dramatic angles. “People will be talking about this wedding for years, don’t you think?”

“Oh, I completely agree.” One thing was sure—Lizzie’s “circus” wedding would give Little Horn’s wagging tongues something else to talk about than her own broken engagement. Amelia came over to sit next to Lizzie on the couch. “Just promise me one thing, baby sister.”

“Sure. Anything.”

Amelia took Lizzie’s hand. “Promise me you’ll put as much work into the marriage as you do into the wedding.”

Lizzie pulled away the slightest bit. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you and Boone are young. You haven’t known each other all that long, and I haven’t seen either of you in church for weeks. A marriage is a lot more than just a fabulous party. If Daddy were here, he’d tell you a happy marriage takes hard work. I want you and Boone to have a happy marriage.”

Lizzie pulled her hand from Amelia’s. “You don’t really like him, do you?”

Amelia sighed. They’d had some version of this discussion so many times. “I don’t really know him. I want to get to know him, but I can hardly find ten minutes together with the two of you. He stayed all of thirty minutes at Thanksgiving.”

“Boone had to be somewhere. Why are you coming down so hard on him?”

She’d never heard Boone talk of any nearby family—who had “places to be” on Thanksgiving? Places that didn’t welcome the woman he intended to marry? “I’m not saying he’s a bad choice, Lizzie. I’m just saying...”

“Oh, I get loud and clear what you’re saying.” Lizzie stood up. “Look, just because your fiancé left you high and dry doesn’t mean every man is a louse.”

“That’s not at all what I mean.”

Lizzie spun to turn on Amelia with sharp, narrow eyes. “Why can’t you just let me be happy?”

“I do want you to be happy, Lizzie. And the right man will make you happy. Just give me a chance to get to know Boone as the right man.”

“Boone is the right man for me. And if you can’t see that, maybe you shouldn’t be helping with my wedding.” Lizzie began stuffing all the notes back into the bag until Amelia put a hand out to stop her.

“I’m sorry. I trust you to choose the right man for you. But I wouldn’t be your sister if I didn’t try to counsel you toward a good marriage. Just promise me you and Boone will do the premarital program at church between now and April. Their isn’t a soul on earth who doesn’t need God’s help to make a strong marriage. Even Daddy and Gramps would tell you that.”

“Well—” Amelia was glad to see Lizzie sink back down onto the couch “—I have heard good things about Pastor Mathers’s program. And I know Boone says he’s okay with church.”

Okay with church? Amelia wondered. What kind of commitment is that? “Then why don’t you and Boone come to supper some night next week?”

“We’ll see,” Lizzie replied, holding the shiny gold fabric up to the light again.

We will indeed, Amelia thought to herself.

* * *

Dr. Searle waved the annoying flashlight again, peering too close at Finn. The bright light hurt. “So,” the doctor said, trying too hard to sound casual, “anything new come back to you?”

“Vague impressions, but nothing useful. Nothing like my name, or my address, or what I do, or why I’m here.” The list was depressing.

“Well, now, it hasn’t been that long.” Searle cued Finn to go through the silly-feeling exercises he had done at every visit—things like pushing and pulling against the doctor’s grip. Physically, he was healing as well as could be expected. His brain wasn’t being nearly as cooperative. “Still dizzy?” the doctor asked.

“Only if I stand up too fast or move my head too quickly. And when I’m tired. Which seems to be a lot.” Finn was no fan of having to recite his current weaknesses. It was good to be out of the hospital, but he still felt like an invalid.

“All to be expected.” Searle made some notations on a chart. “For what it’s worth, I think it’s a smart choice to be at Amelia’s. You ought not to be on your own for the next few days, given that you’re a fall risk.”

That pronouncement sank into Finn’s gut. Old people were fall risks, not him.

Searle raised an eyebrow. “You don’t want to end up back here, do you?”

Had he been that irritable in the hospital? “No, sir.” Searle’s expression told Finn he hadn’t been a dream patient.

Searle took off his glasses. “And I realize this may seem like asking a lot, but I’d like you to stay off the internet. We have Lucy and the sheriff’s office working on your identity. You fishing around cyberspace for clues isn’t the best use of your energies right now. The last thing you need is some false piece of information sending you down a stressful rabbit hole.”

That seemed unreasonable. “But...”

Searle cut him off. “I understand this is uncomfortable for you. But, son, you’re going to have to trust the healing process. Think of it this way—right now, your brain knows more than you do. It’s going to give up secrets at a pace we can’t determine. Force things, and you may end up making it worse for yourself. You’re in no danger, you’ve got Amelia helping you—which means you’ve got all of Little Horn in your corner—so I see no reason to rush this.”