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This story is dedicated to you, dear reader.May you have a joyous holiday season filled with love.
Chapter One Needle Creek, Colorado1875 “W hat are those poor bedraggled children doing out in front of your place in the cold?” Esmerelda Clark shook snow from her woolen scarf and hung it on a peg inside the front door of Home Street’s Finest Eatery, then shrugged out of her coat. Rosalyne Emery placed a basket of oven fresh yeast rolls at a table where four customers were seated, then wiped her hands on her apron as she hurried forward. “What children?” “Those right there.” Esmerelda pointed through the multipaned window that had been shipped all the way from Ohio. Outside, snowflakes drifted past the frosty glass and settled on the wood molding. Leaning close and peering out the window into the bitter December evening, Rosalyne’s breath fogged the pane. Sitting on the rough-hewn bench which sat at the front of her restaurant were two forms bundled in dark coats, thickly dusted with icy snow. One child wore a cap, the other had a strip of burlap barely covering blond hair. “What in t
Chapter One
Chapter Two T he word hung in the air like the heavy scent of candle wax and cloying perfumes. Rosalyne’s heart stopped for a few precious beats, then resumed with the rapid cadence of a moth’s wings against a window glass. Fiancée! Heat rose up Rosalyne’s chest and neck to scorch her cheeks. She swallowed the cry of panic that rose in her throat. Frantically, she searched the faces in the crowd for the one that would be thunderously accusing her of the outrageous lie, and her gaze fell upon the dark, seemingly amused countenance of the tall man she’d occasionally served in her restaurant. Sam Calhoun. “You’re a clever fellow, Sam,” a distinguished-looking gentleman on his left commented. Mr. Calhoun’s gaze took in Rosalyne’s clothing and hair, and she resisted the urge to reach up and tuck back stray tendrils. His wide bow-shaped lips, which were partially hidden by a softly curling black mustache, tilted at the corners in a secretly amused smile, creating charming creases in his high
Chapter Two
Chapter Three S am tasted her lips with inquiring gentleness. Surprisingly, she had closed her eyes and tilted her face. She drew a quick breath through her nose as though startled—at the sensation or at her acquiescence, he didn’t know. This close he could smell her…not perfume…faintly floral…more strongly, bread. And the clean outdoor scent of snow and cold clung to her still. He wanted nothing more at that moment than to enfold her in an embrace and feel her warmth against him, indulge himself in her womanly scents and textures. One of the children made a mewling sound in their sleep and she drew away, her expression startled, but captivated nonetheless. She’d liked it. She’d been a willing participant. Sam smiled and took her hand. He pulled it to his mouth and kissed her icy fingers. “Your hands are cold. Let’s go into your bedroom and warm you up.” Her eyes widened then, as though he’d slapped her. She jerked her hand away and took a step back. “Leave!” Confused, he tried to make
Chapter Three
Chapter Four “Y ou might as well go wait on customers,” Mrs. O’Hearn told Rosalyne matter-of-factly. “Why are you doing this?” Rosalyne asked Sam with a puzzled frown. He turned and his expression was as unreadable as ever, but his tone sounded contrite as he said, “It’s partly because of me that you’re overrun with customers today. I don’t want you to make a bad impression on paying guests. This is a good business day. Make the best of it.” So he did know that all those people had come to gawk, and he was actually doing something to help. Rosalyne bit her lip and carried on with her work, distracted as she was by Sam’s presence. Another hour passed before the crowd thinned and people left to get back to their places of business. Sam hung a wet towel beside half a dozen others on a makeshift line between the stove and the back door and buttoned his cuffs. “You goin’ now, Mr. Calhoun?” Matt asked. Sam knelt beside the sleepy child now lying on his pallet. “I have work to do this afterno
Chapter Four
Chapter Five “Y ou look like an angel this evening, my bewitching sweetheart.” Sam’s achingly familiar voice started a warm tingling deep inside, a tingling she didn’t want to acknowledge…or allow. Instead of giving in to the first reaction that rose in her and firing back a saucy retort, she took a deep sustaining breath and shot his own ammunition back at him. “Sam, oh Sam, my dear heart! What has taken you so long?” She reached for his hand and he stopped midway to a sitting position, his expression clearly revealing she’d stunned him. Rosalyne hid a self-satisfied smile. He lowered his weight to the chair and composed his handsome features. “I had a late meeting,” he replied. Belatedly, Rosalyne realized that by taking his hand, she had initiated a disturbing contact. His skin was warm against hers, his fingers engulfing. She knew three heartbeats ahead of the fact what he was going to do, and her heart hammered with anticipation. With his black eyes boring into hers, he raised her
Chapter Five
Chapter Six A girl could drown in the depths of those dark eyes. “There are no men in this town that I’d want,” she replied. His gaze dropped to her mouth. Her attention riveted on his lips and the droplets of snow on his black mustache. “None?” he asked. Her heart dipped with delight at the prospect of the kiss she knew was coming. She raised her mouth to his and he lowered his head. His mustache brushed her lip. His lips were soft, his breath warm against her cold cheek, a delicious contrast her senses were quick to respond to. Rosalyne cast aside reticence and gave herself over to the pleasure of Sam’s all-consuming warmth and passion. When his hot tongue took possession of her mouth, she curled her cold toes inside her boots and wrapped her arms awkwardly around his neck. An avalanche of sensation warred with her good sense and won. Kissing Sam was the most delightful experience she could remember. Warm…sensual…fun… Something hit her shoulder. Her leg took another hit, the blow an
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven T o Matt and Zandy’s exuberant glee, and Rosalyne’s secret pleasure, Sam arrived on schedule. Bundled against the frigid air, their little company set out for the forest that carpeted the mountainside to the south. “Sam, will you come to Rosalyne’s for Christmas?” Zandy asked as they climbed down from the wagon. “She said it was okay if you wanted to.” Sam glanced at Rosalyne, but she pointedly observed the scenery. “Please, Sam?” Matt asked, jumping up and down. “I’d like that a lot,” he said, his voice soft. Rosalyne darted a glance to see him smiling warmly at the kids. “Are you sure?” he said to her. Her stomach dipped. She nodded. The children wanted him there. “I’m sure.” “All right, then.” Sam propped an ax over his shoulder and inspected more than a dozen trees that Matt energetically pointed out. A rabbit darted from a thicket of pine needles and Matt chased it up the hill while Zandy took over his job of selecting the perfect tree. “This one, do you think?” she
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight M r. David glanced at Rosalyne’s father, then at Sam. “We find Wes Emery guilty of holding an illegal deed and we banish him from Needle Creek for five years.” Murmurs flooded the courtroom. Robert Billings nodded, glanced around and, when he didn’t find a gavel, smacked the table with his fist. “So be it.” Five years? Rosalyne was astounded. The community hadn’t chosen to hang her father or even mutilate him, and they’d miraculously set a time for when he would be able to return. Did their decision have anything to do with the fact that they respected her, as well as Sam? The suggestions had all been Sam’s and the jurors had obviously taken his opinion seriously. Ahead of her, Sam turned and their eyes met. People had begun to stand and mill about and talk. She moved around a tall man to reach him. “I think it was your cinnamon rolls,” he said, his mustache quirking up. “I haven’t served them yet.” He shrugged. “It was you, Sam. You did this, and you did it for me.” Ther
Chapter Eight
Available from Harlequin Historicals and ELIZABETH LANE Wind River #28 Birds of Passage #92 Moonfire #150 MacKenna’s Promise #216 Lydia #302 Apache Fire #436 Shawnee Bride #492 Bride on the Run #546 My Lord Savage #569 Navajo Sunrise #608 Christmas Gold #627 “Jubal’s Gift” Other works include: Silhouette Romance Hometown Wedding #1194 The Tycoon and the Townie #1250 Silhouette Special Edition Wild Wings, Wild Heart #936 ELIZABETH LANE Elizabeth Lane has traveled extensively in Latin America, Europe and China, and enjoys bringing these exotic locales to life on the printed page, but she also finds her home state of Utah and other areas of the American West to be fascinating sources for historical romance. Elizabeth loves such diverse activities as hiking and playing the piano, not to mention her latest hobby—belly dancing. You can learn more about Elizabeth by visiting her Web site at www.elizabethlaneauthor.com.
For Pat
Chapter One Arizona TerritoryDecember 23, 1873 J ubal Trask paused at the top of the last ridge. Blinking the desert grit from his eyes, he scanned the wind-scoured flatland below. The trading post was right where the storekeeper had marked it on the map. It lay like a scar against the scrub-dotted skin of the desert, a cluster of low rambling structures built of adobes that were the same rusty hue as the earth from which they’d been formed. Jubal could see the rutted wagon road that passed along one side of it, the L-shaped house and the jumble of sheds and corrals that lay beyond. Rage tightened its grip on his innards as he stared down at the godforsaken spot. This was where Tom Curry had brought Lorena. And this was where, just four months ago, Lorena had died. Nudging his tired horse to a walk, Jubal headed down the ridgeline trail. Now that she was gone, it was time to keep the vow he had made ten long years ago, on the day he’d lost his gangrenous arm to a surgeon’s saw in that
Chapter One
Chapter Two A s she came up behind him, Tess heard Jubal cursing under his breath. He shot her a sharp sidelong glance, his eyes darkly dangerous, his mouth set in the stubborn scowl she remembered so well. Resolving not to be intimidated, she moved closer, seized a low rail of the sagging gate and raised it to bring the two halves of the latch into line. Jubal did not move. Tess could feel the tension in him, the electric contact where their bodies touched. She could feel his seething pride, his anger—not so much with her, as with his own limitations. That anger, she realized, had been his constant companion for long and bitter years. It had walked in his footsteps, slept in his bed and seeped like slow poison through every nerve, vein and fiber of his being. Oh, Jubal. Tess’s mouth had gone dry. She held the gate level, her heart battering her ribs as she waited for him to slip the bolt into place. Her senses swam with his nearness—the low, taut sound of his breathing, the subtle aro
Chapter Two
Chapter Three “W hy don’t we go into the parlor?” Tess studied his face, reading nothing. “I have some sewing to finish before Christmas, and we can visit while I work on it. We’ll be less likely to disturb the children in there.” He nodded, rising slowly from his place at the table. Tess reached up and lifted the lamp from its long metal hook, aware of his eyes following her every move. She could feel her heart battering her rib cage as she walked ahead of him into the shadowed room. Oh, Jubal… Turning away from him, she placed the lamp on a high shelf, letting its light fall on the rocker where she sat to do her sewing. Jubal settled himself opposite her in Thomas’s sagging leather armchair, his stiffened leg thrust awkwardly toward one side. His eyes inspected the room, taking in the Navajo rugs on the floor, the mismatched furniture and faded cushions, the photograph of Lorena’s parents, with its cracked glass that had been broken in the move from Virginia and never replaced. The m
Chapter Three
Chapter Four A chilly dawn crept across the desert, brushing the ragged gray clouds with flecks of rose and amber. As the sun rose, retreating shadows flowed across the stark landscape, leaving pools of night in rock-sheltered hollows. From the top of a glistening prickly pear, a solitary kestrel stretched its wings and soared into the sky. It was the morning of December 24. Christmas Eve. And there was still no sign of Tom Curry. Jubal stood on the knoll above the trading post, his long shadow falling across Lorena’s grave. The spot was desolate but beautiful in its own wild way, with a sweeping view of the desert and a scattering of dried stems that would be wildflowers in the spring. Someone had made an effort to protect the grave’s precious contents. Heavy stones had been carried up the slope to make a long, flat cairn as high as Jubal’s knees. Thrust into the far end of it was a wooden cross fashioned from scrap lumber and bearing the clumsily carved letters of Lorena’s name, alon
Chapter Four
Chapter Five T ess glanced anxiously toward the kitchen window, reminding herself once more that she’d promised not to look outside. Jubal had been gone no longer than ten or fifteen minutes, but the time had already begun to crawl. What could he be doing out there? And when could he have found the time to prepare a surprise? He had spent the whole day working within sight of the children. Beau and Lucy sat at the table, squirming with excitement. The fact that they were too short to see over the sill lessened their temptation to peek, but for Tess, the urge to fly to the kitchen window and peer into the darkness beyond was almost more than she could contain. “Let’s sing some Christmas songs while we’re waiting!” she exclaimed. “Beau, do you and Lucy have a favorite?” The small, freckled forehead creased. “Can we sing ‘Silent Night’?” “Of course we can.” She sat down across from the children, took a deep breath and began the song. “‘Silent night, holy night…’” The children’s mother had
Chapter Five
Chapter Six O n Christmas morning the rising sun seemed to bleed like a raw wound, flooding the eastern sky with crimson. The air was so cold that Jubal could see his own white breath as he bent to tighten the cinch on the big roan’s saddle. His gaze flickered back toward the house, searching for a movement at the window, wisp of smoke from the chimney, anything that would tell him Tess was up and about and had repented of last night’s scalding tirade. He saw no sign of welcome—and that was just as well, he lectured himself as he thrust a boot in the stirrup and swung into the saddle. He should have known that once she learned the truth, Tess would never want to see him again. Now it was time to ride out of her life and give her some peace. It was the most loving thing he could do for her. With a last glance at the silent house, he turned the horse toward the gate. If Tom Curry was dead, Cliff would learn of it sooner or later and let him know. If the cowardly bastard was alive… Jubal
Chapter Six
Epilogue New Mexico TerritoryDecember 23, 1874 J ubal stood with Tess on the portico of their ranch house, sheltered by the long eave of the roof. Behind them, through the open doorway, firelight danced on gaily festooned walls and dangling piñatas. The everyday furniture had been moved aside to accommodate long tables laden with platters of tamales, meats, breads, and pitchers of festive ponche de piquete. Everything was ready. It had been Tess’s idea to host the eighth night of the posadas for the families of their Mexican ranch hands. She had spent weeks planning and preparing for this night. Now she sagged against him in weary contentment, soft and fragrant within the circle of his arm. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” She gazed out at the glittering yard, where a hundred luminarias lined the long walkway leading from the gate to the house. “You’ve done us proud, Mrs. Trask.” Jubal pulled her closer, bursting with love. “But I’ve worried about you these past few weeks. This is no time t
Epilogue
Available from Harlequin Historicals and MARY BURTON A Bride for McCain #502 The Colorado Bride #570 The Perfect Wife #614 Christmas Gold #627 “Until Christmas” MARY BURTON Mary Burton calls Richmond, Virginia, home, where she lives with her husband and two children. Her story in Christmas Gold is her fourth historical romance.
For Julia and Natalie
Prologue Timberline, ColoradoOctober, 1882 “M ay the Almighty have mercy on their souls and may He watch over those who now grieve for their departed loved ones.” Sadness choked Reverend Bower’s normally clear voice, forcing him to pause, head bent. He stood at the entrance to the Butler’s Folly mine, in front of six bodies, now lined shoulder to shoulder under bloodstained sheets. The soft cries of the dead miners’ wives squeezed Laura Butler’s heart, making it difficult for her to breathe. Since the alarm bell had first screeched its warning just after supper, she and the other women had huddled close to the mine entrance waiting for news of their loved ones. Less than an hour ago, the first of the dead had been brought to the surface. Laura had known each of the miners: she’d sewed with their wives in the quilting guild and had taught their children in her school. She’d miss them all. Hugging her arms around her chest, she turned from the women and started to move away. Her emotions
Prologue
Chapter One Timberline, ColoradoDecember, 1882 R oman Maddox burst into the book-lined study, shattering the morning calm. His eyes were wild with fury as he strode across the Indian carpet toward Laura. “Wilbur Hollis tells me you’re leaving Timberline!” Guilt rolled over Laura. She had avoided Roman these last couple of days, dreading his reaction to her departure. “Yes, I’m leaving.” His palms pressed flat against the desk, he leaned toward her. “Why didn’t you say something to me?” Laura laid her pen down. The dangerous tone in his voice had her easing back from the massive rosewood desk that had belonged to her grandfather. “I was afraid you’d try to talk me out of it.” Grinding his teeth, he struggled with anger. “You’re damn right I would.” Wilbur Hollis appeared at the library threshold. He was trying to catch his breath as he waved a crumpled paper in his hand. “Roman, what the devil got into you? You didn’t sign the contract and ran out of my office like somebody was chasing
Chapter One
Chapter Two L aura stared at Roman, stunned. She opened her mouth to speak, closed it, then squeaked, “What do you mean you don’t want to sign?” He shrugged. “I don’t want Butler’s Folly anymore.” She shoved the pen in the inkwell. “But, just yesterday you said you wanted the company. You agreed it’s a wonderful opportunity for you.” Roman picked up a crystal paperweight, inspected it, then set it back on the table. “I’ll get by without it.” Laura’s plans were unraveling before her eyes. Panicking, she snatched up the contact and held it in her fisted hand. “No one else knows that mine better than you. You have to buy it.” “Anyone can learn the business.” His calm voice grated her nerves. “But I don’t trust anyone else.” She started to pace. “If you don’t buy the mine, I can’t leave Timberline.” “Oh, well.” She stopped pacing. “Oh, well! How can you say that? You know I want to return to Virginia.” “You belong in Timberline.” “I do not!” She shook her head. “Everything was set perfectl
Chapter Two
Chapter Three R oman knew Zachary Butler’s death had been a terrible blow to Laura and though she’d never cried in public or asked for help, he’d seen the pain etched in her proud features. There’d been nights after the accident that he’d been unable to sleep. During most of his midnight walks, he’d seen the lights burning in her house and watched her pacing in front of the windows. He knew she’d been suffering and he’d hated that there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. But now there was something he could do for her. He could stop her from making the worst mistake of her life. Returning to Virginia wasn’t about any great desire to see family and friends or to rekindle old feelings for Michael. She was running scared from memories that would follow her to the ends of the earth and torment her until she faced them. Hell, he’d wanted to walk away and start life anew anywhere else after the accident. But he’d stayed because leaving Timberline would have meant leaving her. So, he’d
Chapter Three
Chapter Four “M iss Butler!” Natalie Hunter, an eight-year-old with black hair and wide eyes, tugged on Laura’s sleeve. “You’re not listening again.” Laura forced her gaze from the window and the view of Roman’s mine office back to Natalie and the other five children in the reading group. Their desks were arranged in a semicircle around her chair and they were all staring at her. She’d not heard a word the child had read, her thoughts still on what Roman had said earlier. “I was listening.” She coughed and glanced down at McGuffy’s Reader, forcing her mind to focus on the words. “Now once again, give me three words that start with the letter L.” “You’re a page behind, Miss Butler,” Natalie said. Laura flipped the page. “M, then.” “Mine, money, mother,” Natalie said. Mine, marriage, Maddox. She conjured images of Roman’s tough, angled face, his supple lips pressed against her bare neck. Over and over, her thoughts returned to his broad shoulders, muscular chest and the coarse hair that
Chapter Four
Chapter Five A s Laura hurried toward the mine eleven people stopped her to offer their congratulations on her upcoming wedding to Roman. At first she tried to explain that it was a misunderstanding, but the more she tried to deny the rumor the more knowing smiles and grins she received. By the time she’d reached the mine office, her temper had warmed from a simmer to a boil. Murder was too good for Roman Maddox. The roar of the conveyor belts from the nearby ore-processing mill drowned out her entry as she pushed open the office door. Despite the bustle of men and equipment, she spotted Roman immediately. He stood with his back to her in the center of a half-dozen other men. His foot was propped on a chair and he leaned over a large desk scattered with papers. The purely masculine stance drew Roman’s shirt tight over his wide shoulders, and despite her simmering temper Laura could only stare. The energy that flowed from him had her craving a primitive, and certainly most unladylike, k
Chapter Five
Chapter Six L aura supposed matters could have been worse as she stood in her kitchen hours later. Mother Nature could have dumped seven feet of snow, forcing her to dig a tunnel to the privy one hundred feet from her back door. She could have been lost in the mountains, as she had been her first spring here, staring down a mountain lion. Instead, thanks to Roman, the entire town was planning their wedding and her emotions, which she’d prided herself on controlling, had as many peaks and valleys as the Sierras. She’d rather have been digging through a wall of snow. Laura wiped the flour from her hands onto her apron. In the last few months, baking had calmed her nerves and made her out-of-kilter life feel just a little normal. But as she stared at the dozens of freshly baked gingerbread cookies mounded on the silver tray, she wondered if she’d ever feel normal again. “If Roman cared about me, he’d let me go.” She dumped another pound of butter into a bowl and jabbed the spoon into the
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven L aura’s fingers went automatically to her flushed cheek. “Nothing to worry about. I was looking at the ornaments and I remembered happier times. I’m fine now.” Without invitation, he strode over the threshold and closed the door behind him. He laid his hands on her shoulders. “I’ve never known you to cry.” There was strength in his touch and she felt oddly comforted by it. “First time for everything.” He swore, jerked off his coat and tossed it on the banister. “You don’t look fine. Did you get any sleep last night?” “Of course.” “Liar.” “I dozed in a chair.” She tried to smile, but the gesture didn’t seem to convince him. He cupped her elbow in his hand and escorted her toward the kitchen. “I’ll bet you haven’t eaten, either.” “I ate.” “When?” “Yesterday.” He grunted. “You’ve lost weight since the accident. You look as if a stiff breeze could knock you over.” “I’m fine.” Ignoring her, he guided her into a chair by the kitchen table. He moved to the stove where a kettle
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight “D on’t you dare hit me with that!” Laura was giggling, backing away and shaking her head. Sunlight danced off her gold curls and her eyes sparkled with laughter. Damn, but Roman had missed her smile. She’d been laughing when he’d first seen her. He remembered the spring day clearly. He’d just refused Zachary Butler’s generous offer to manage Butler’s Folly—a rich, but poorly maintained mine. The rotting timbers creaked warnings of a cave-in and Roman had been around long enough to know Zachary’s promises of wealth wouldn’t do him any good if he were dead. And then he’d seen Laura. She’d been standing in the patch of grass by the schoolhouse, surrounded by an army of children tugging at her lemon-colored skirts each vying for the ball in her hands. Her thick braid of hair glowed like spun gold and brushed past her narrow waist and gently rounded hips. He’d stopped, leaning against the sun-baked wall of the title office and watched as she’d laughed and tossed the ball towa
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine L aura dressed quickly and hurried to her front porch intent on going after Roman, ready to beg him to leave Timberline forever. She stopped when she saw the procession of her neighbors carrying lanterns and moving toward Butler’s Folly. In the group were off-duty miners, women fearful for their husbands and sons, children praying they’d not seen their fathers for the last time. She tried to remember who worked the night shift. Dan Owens. Paulie Mills. Bart Goodin. There’d be at least sixty men in the mine right now. Most with family in town, many with children in her classroom, all friends who’d stood by her when she’d buried her grandfather. No one had turned his or her back on her when she’d been in need. And she’d not ignore her friends now. Fear be damned. She put on her coat and gloves, then quickly made her way down snowy Main Street. Mentally she prepared a list of things to be done. Blankets to be gathered. Fires to be built. Coffee to be made. If this accident wa
Chapter Nine
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