Chapter Two

Max Garrison hated riding into town. The trip annoyed him because he had to leave home, and heaven knew he'd been away too many years. His ranch had almost gone to ruin, and even working twelve hours a day with his small crew, he hadn't seen much improvement during the months he'd been back.

Too much noise grated on his nerves. He'd spent years riding in silence, maybe with one or two men who didn't jaw about everything they'd ever done or seen. Rumbling wagons and yelling men made his ears ring. The board walkways in front of the stores clamored as men in boots or ladies in lace-up shoes strode along, bent on some domestic or pleasurable task at hand. He shook his head to clear the pounding.

Max scanned the street, from one side to the other, thinking he might recognize someone, but he knew few people in town anymore. New residents moved in, old ones passed on, and others moved away.

Dismounting in front of the livery stable, he led his stallion to the water trough and waited for the owner. As the horse drank, Max removed his hat and ran his fingers through his long hair. Probably he should visit the tonsorial parlor while he was in town, get a good haircut and shave. Might as well get all the unpleasant chores finished at one time.

In a few moments, the hostler appeared from the dark, cavernous barn. Max replaced his hat and turned.

"Have a spot for my mount?" Max asked.

The sweaty, bearded man spit in the dirt, swiped his hand across his mouth, and answered, "Sure thing, Mr. Garrison. One night?"

"Not sure yet. I'll pay for two days now, and if I stay longer, I'll settle up."

After paying for his horse's keep, Max slung his saddlebags over his shoulder and walked toward the business part of town. The bookshop caught his eye. Sommers Tea Parlor and Book Shoppe. He laughed to himself at the spelling of shoppe, and that this small, central Texas town boasted a tea parlor.

But the woman inside was no laughing matter. He couldn't get her off his mind, not now, not ever, since he'd caught a glimpse of her on his last couple of forays into town. She looked refined, classy, and probably a hell of a lot smarter than he was.

Many years ago as a young man barely grown, he remembered seeing her as a little girl, playing hopscotch on the porch of the shop, all alone. Once or twice before, he'd seen her sitting on the porch, watching the traffic and the shoppers, swinging her legs back and forth off the edge. She'd been such a pretty little thing. Now, all these years later, he wondered about her, if she fit in with the population, or if she was still alone, as different as the name of the shop.

He intended to find out very soon. All he knew for sure was that she was one beautiful woman.

Walking up the steps to the boardwalk, he reached the door. Lace curtains covered the two windows, and red candles in brass holders sat in the exact middle of each, something a woman would do. As he opened the door, a bell tinkled. The young woman turned from the bookshelf with a smile on her face.

Max felt like he'd been hit in the gut. He hadn't been this close to her, only watched her from across the street. She was about twenty years of age, with very black hair, a slight dusky shade to her skin, and small in stature. This girl knocked his brain cock-eyed with her gorgeous face and beaming smile. Now, he wished he already had that shave.

"Good afternoon," she said, perfectly pronouncing every word with a very slight English accent. "How may I help you?"

"Afternoon to you too, ma'am. Mind if I throw my saddlebags here by the door?"

She waved her hand. "Oh, not at all."

When he'd rid himself of his burden, Max removed his sheepskin coat and tan hat, tossing them on top of his saddlebags. She stood in the same place, unmoving, watching him with a pleasant expression and her hands clasped at her waist.

An embroidered belt encircled her tiny body, molding the soft blue fabric of the high-necked blouse to her rounded breasts. She'd piled her thick hair on top of her head, held secure by silver combs. He'd never seen such a pretty female, other than his sister.

He cleared his throat. "Is it too late for a cup of tea?"

She stared and blinked. "Tea?"

Max wanted to laugh. He knew he didn't look like a tea-sipper, but maybe he'd like the stuff. Wouldn't hurt to try.

"Yes, ma'am. Should I sit here?" He nodded toward a small table by the window.

The question spurred her into action. "Why certainly. Have a seat. The teakettle still has hot water. Now, what may I serve you?"

"Uh, tea." He pulled a chair away from the table and sat down.

"Yes, sir, what kind? I have a lovely, fragrant English tea, and a Japanese tea, and also several stronger ones from India."

Tipping his head back to look at her, he grinned. "I never knew there were so many kinds."

She laughed a little. "I didn't think so. You don't really drink tea, do you?"

Max leaned one elbow on the table, but noticing he wrinkled the lace tablecloth, moved away and tried smoothing it with his hands, wishing they weren't so rough and callused. He accidentally touched a little flower vase, making it jiggle. Hoping it wouldn't topple, he reached out to steady it, but it settled on its own. He released his held breath. Whew.

He gazed up at her. "You got me there. Never had tea in my life, but I'm cold and didn't want to find a room yet. Just choose one for me. Anything."

Leaning forward a little, she said, "I'll make coffee for you."

"No, no, I'd like to try tea. That one from…India."

Smiling and nodding, she turned away from the table to the small potbellied stove in the corner.

As the young lady worked, he glanced around. The walls held bookshelves from one corner to the other, every shelf bursting with books. The middle of the room looked to be a combination sitting area and display of items for sale—women's kind of gimcracks and doo-dads on small tables. There were tea sets, dainty finger bowls, pretty paper to write notes and letters, and even packages and blocks of tea tied up with colored ribbons. In the back corner, she'd placed five chairs in a circle. Who sat there, and why?

Not a thing out of place. He'd never seen such a tidy store, or house for that matter. How many customers did she have in a town like this? Even though it appeared prosperous enough, he couldn't help but wonder if she made a decent living.

"Here's your tea, sir." She set a delicate cup and saucer covered in pink roses in front of him. "Would you care for cream and sugar?"

He glanced up at her delicate, smiling face. "Should I?"

Hesitating, she asked, "Should you…what?"

"Put cream and sugar in tea."

She smiled again and the heavens opened, showering him with a burst of light, brightening his world and very existence. Then she laughed, sounding like tinkling bells and the voices of angels.

"Yes, I think you should," she said. "Here, allow me."

"Wait. Will you sit with me? That is, if you have time?"

Standing straight to her full height of about five feet two, the woman clasped her hands once more. Hesitating, she finally said, "Well, I suppose."

Max jumped to his feet and pulled out her chair. When she sat adjacent to him, he returned to his seat. She lifted the cream pitcher and poured a small amount into the cup. With her long delicate fingers, she picked up a tiny silver spoon, scooped up sugar, and sprinkled it into his tea. Then she stirred.

All this time his head swam a little, mesmerized as though he watched a slow dance, like one of those ballets his sister Kat had attended in the city. Some kind of spell came over him, closing off his breathing passages, making him feel downright brainless.

Shaking his head a little, he picked up the cup and sipped.

"Well?" she asked with her eyebrows raised.

"It's mighty good, ma'am. For tea."

She laughed again, and the sound sent shock waves through his body. Damn. He'd been pole-axed.

"What brings you to town on such a cold, December night?"

Clearing his throat, he leaned back in the chair and said, "Business, and I need to spend the night here. Maybe two."

"Boulder City doesn't have much, as you know. You do come into town on occasion, don't you?"

He nodded. "About every other month, mainly when I need to see the banker or order supplies."

"Yes, well, I know I've only seen you maybe twice."

He took another sip. With both hands, he placed the fragile cup in the saucer, hoping he wouldn't shatter it.

"I haven't been around much more than a year-and-a-half. My work kept me away too long"

"And what work would that be? If I'm not being rude."

Chuckling, he shook his head. "Never. You can ask all the questions you want. I'm a U.S. Marshal, or rather, I was. Just retired and finally got to move home."

Without moving any other part of her face, she arched an eyebrow. "You don't look old enough to retire."

He smiled, although he really wanted to wink at her for some reason. And he had the urge to hold her around her waist, pull her to him, and smell her clean, shining hair. "No, ma'am. I'm still young enough. Just tired. Besides, both my folks are gone and someone needed to run the ranch. Since that was my life's dream, anyway, I turned in my badge and rode home."

"I'm sorry about your parents, but I'm glad you were able to return to the place you love. You know, I lost my mother and father, too."

"How long has that been?"

"Two years."

"And you've kept the store going?"

"I try."

Wanting to ask her more questions, he decided against it. Maybe he should save his topics for another meeting, that is, if she'd agree to talk with him. And if she did, he'd need a list of ideas to discuss, something interesting and suitable for a fine lady. Sometimes his mouth ran away from his brain, and he sure didn't want to insult her.

They sat in silence a few moments, an easy quiet, for which he was grateful. Every word he spoke might turn into something inappropriate if he weren't careful. Riding with rough men from a young age almost caused him to forget all the niceties he'd learned from his parents.

"Well, I'd better head out and find a room." Not that he wanted to, but the sun was going down.

She opened her mouth to speak, closed it, hesitated, then said, "Mmm, the rooms above the saloon must be quite noisy. You know, the widow lady, Mrs. Tolbert, offers very nice rooms to let. She has three upstairs and serves a hearty breakfast." She paused and placed her delicate hand at her throat. "Oh, I do apologize. I don't mean to make decisions for you."

"No problem. I'll check with her, then. I've stayed above the saloon and have no desire to stay awake all night."

"Fine."

"Why are you so interested in Mrs. Tolbert?"

"Well, she's a very sweet woman who is a bit lonely, and she needs the income." She spoke softly, slowly, as if the information were confidential.

He cleared his throat. Sounded like she described herself, from the little he knew of her.

"Well, I'll sure check that out, ma'am."

She nodded once and kept her hands clasped in her lap. He noticed she sat very straight so her back did not touch the chair. Someone had taught her the ways of ladies, most probably the ways of English ladies, since Sommers and his wife were supposed to have been immigrants. Does she live alone? Above the shop? Who are her friends? Does she have a man in her life?

"How long have you lived in Boulder City?" He asked, stalling for more time with her.

"For most…mmm, all my life."

"Any other family around?"

She hesitated, swallowed, and shrugged.

Hell, he'd stepped over a line. Now she probably wouldn't say anything else. Her eyelids fluttered, and she looked away briefly, as though she'd rather not talk about family. So, did she have anyone else or not?

He stood and pushed his chair to the table. "Well, I'd better get on my way if I'm going to find a bed tonight. It was nice meeting you, Miss…?"

Following his lead, she stood, too. "Sommers. Daniella Sommers. And you, sir?"

"Max Garrison."

She held out her slender hand and allowed him to shake it as he would a man's. Odd. From the looks of her and her mannerisms, he half expected her to curtsy.

"Pleased to meet you."

"How much do I owe you?" Max reached inside his vest and pulled out a leather pouch

"Fifteen cents."

He gave her twenty cents, and she thanked him with a genuine smile.

"It's been a pleasure, Miss Sommers. You say the boarding house serves breakfast. I guess I'll have supper in the saloon or the café as usual."

"Yes, sir, both are adequate."

He chuckled. "Adequate. That sounds like you don't quite approve."

She laughed, too, very softly, but with real amusement. "I don't mean anything disparaging, except just don't expect a gourmet meal."

Her statement made him laugh out loud. "Can't say I'm in the habit of finding gourmet meals around Texas, especially at home."

She raised her eyebrows. "Your home is a ranch, I understand."

"That's right. About ten miles out. Pretty good ride to the house."

She opened her mouth as if to ask a question, but she smiled instead. "Have a good evening, Mr. Garrison."

Turning toward the door, he paused, not wanting to leave, and walked a step back to her. He stood still and looked at her, so serene, one of the most desirable women he'd ever noticed in any town. Why is she so alone?

"Uh, well, I… You have your shop decorated real pretty." He smiled. "A little early for Christmas, isn't it?"

Glancing around, she waved her hand around the store, and laughed softly. "It's never too early for Christmas. What do you think?"

"I wouldn't know, ma'am. I suppose red candles in the windows, pretty red bows on things, and a little greenery here and there is always nice. Those are Christmas decorations, aren't they?"

"Of course. Don't you decorate for the season?"

"Me? Hell…" He cleared his throat. "I mean, no, ma'am. My housekeeper wouldn't know a thing about it, either, I don't think. At least she didn't do any decorating last year."

She raised her brows again. "You've never had a Christmas tree? Or gifts?"

"Oh, sure, when I was a little tyke, I suppose. But my sister, Kat, is here from Austin, and she intends on fixing up the house. I hadn't seen her in, oh, probably seven or eight years."

Her eyes lit up, sparkling with pure delight, making her look closer to fifteen than twenty.

"Why, that's lovely, Mr. Garrison. I do hope you and your sister have a wonderful Christmas."

Max nodded. "Thanks." He put on his coat and hat, picked up his saddlebags, and left the shop. He heard a key in the lock as he walked away a few steps. Stopping to look back, he saw the candles go out, and the curtains drawn. He waited and watched the upstairs window. In five minutes, a golden glow appeared through the curtains. He thought she lived up there, and now, he knew.