A Historical Christmas Present by Lisa Kleypas

Again he had read her mind. The first thing she intended to buy was a dress for Sarah.

  “Dinner was delicious. You could make a living as a cook.”

  “Don’t much like cooking.”

  “But you’re so good at it.”

  “If I have to eat it, I want it to taste good. Just put those dishes in the sink, kid. If you cover them with water, most of the stuff will soak off by itself.”

  “Why won’t you call Sarah by her name?”

  “Why won’t she speak to me?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Neither do I.”

  “I thought a man like you would have an answer for everything.”

  “Hell, there’s more I don’t know than I’ll ever be able to figure out.”

  “That doesn’t bother you?”

  “I know what I need. The rest would just clutter up my head.”

  The clatter of plates caught his attention. “Well, I think I’ll see about fixing up a bed for myself.”

  Mary figured she must have looked startled.

  “Don’t worry about me crowding in here. Samson and I will bed down outside. I don’t like being closed in, in case somebody comes looking for me.”

  He stood and stretched. “I’ve had me a full day. I imagine I’ll sleep tight. Leave the chicken and coffee right where they are, kid. All they need is a little heat, and they’ll be just as good tomorrow. Don’t worry about locking the door. With Samson around, nothing’s going to come near the house.”

  Mary wondered how he knew she was planning to lock herself in.

  Joe backed into Sarah’s tree and knocked it over. Uttering a sharp oath, he bent to set it up. Sarah was there before him. She cast him a glance that was at once fearful and accusatory.

  “I asked you to watch your language,” Mary reminded him.

  “I did,” Joe said, looking aggrieved. “I could have said much worse.” He rubbed a spot on his leg. “That damned tree stuck me.”

  “I appreciate your restraint.”

  “No, you don’t. You’re like every other woman God ever made. You smile and mumble about restraint, but you keep after a man until you get exactly what you want. I had a grandmother just like you. Sorry about your tree, kid.”

  “She has a name.”

  “And I’ll use it when she talks to me. ’Night, ma ’am.”

  When the door closed behind him, Mary felt the strength go out of her body just like water from a sink when the plug was pulled. The man energized everything around him. Now that he had gone, she felt exhausted. Being full of hot food didn’t help.

  “Leave the dishes in the water, Sarah. I ought to be able to get up tomorrow. We can do them then.”

  “I’ll do them now,” the child replied. “He wouldn’t leave them.”

  No, he wasn’t the kind of man to leave things undone. He seemed methodical, capable, dependable, yet he was drifting through life, able to do any job required of him, but never stopping to put down roots.

  Mary had decided not to marry again. Her father and Pete had taught her that a bad husband could destroy all the love and comfort around him. But if she ever changed her mind, she meant to find a man she could depend on to stay in one place year after year. That wasn’t Joe. Yet somehow she kept thinking about him.

  “Is he really going to sleep in the shed?” Sarah asked.

  “That’s what he said.”

  “Is he going to be here tomorrow?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “I like him. He’s nice.”

  “Then why don’t you speak to him?”

  “Pa never liked it when I talked. He said girls ought to keep quiet because they have nothing to say.”

  “Your father didn’t think much of women. It seems to be quite the opposite with Mr. Ryan. I’ve never in my life seen a man pay so much attention to a woman’s comfort.”

  “Do you think he’ll stay?”

  “He said he would stay until I was stronger.”

  “I mean all the time.”

  That warm feeling flooded through Mary. “He means to go to California. He’s only staying out of politeness.”

  “I wish his dog would go to California.”

  “I’m sure he won’t hurt you.”

  “He so big.”

  “So is Mr. Ryan, but you’re not afraid of him, are you?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Mary felt a silent chuckle inside. “I don’t think I am either. Now it’s time to go to sleep. I have a feeling Mr. Ryan will be up early in the morning.”

  “That’s one beautiful woman,” Joe said to Samson. He took a last puff on his cigarette and rubbed it out. “A man like me ought not stay around here too long. I should head for California as soon as she can get out of bed without falling over.”

  The night had turned cold. Millions of stars glimmered in a cloudless sky. The saguaro cactus cast black shadows against the horizon. The spidery arms of an ocotillo contrasted with the broom-like arms of the paloverde, the more dense ironwood and mesquite. An owl hooted. Some field mouse wouldn’t be around to see the dawn.

  This place made him uneasy. It was like a home, the kind that folded itself around a man and made him want to stay put. It made him think of his mother and the time he saw her last. He was just sixteen when she threw him out for the man she was living with. Five months later she was dead.

  “There are two kinds of women,” Joe said to Samson as they walked across the ranch yard. “There’s the kind that’s hot to get married but doesn’t like men the way they are. They pretend they do, but as soon as the preacher says a few words over them, they set about changing their husbands into something they like better than what they got. Stay away from them. They’ll either drive you to drink or drive you out of the house.”

  Joe untied his bedroll. He climbed into the loft and spread it over the straw. Samson looked up as if he were waiting for Joe to invite him in, but Joe didn’t.

  “Then there’s the other kind, the kind that use men and let men use them. They destroy themselves. Like Flora. Nothing was ever enough. She always had to have more. Until one day she just burned herself out.”

  Samson sat down on his haunches. Joe leaned back on the straw and smiled. It sure beat his rock-and-sand bed from last night.

  “Of course Mary is different from either one of them. She’s pretty enough to make a man forget his responsibilities. She’s so delicate and fragile, you want to protect her. You saw me. I couldn’t wait to cook her dinner and fix up her chicken yard.

  “But she’s strong. She’s got staying power. Once she picks out a man, she won’t throw him out no matter how much work he needs. She’d even have made something of Pete if the fool had stayed.”

  Joe told himself he should have been looking for gold instead of mending fences and chasing chickens. This woman was going to get him into trouble yet. He turned over, didn’t like his position, turned back again.

  “Of course she tried to be brave, to pretend she wasn’t scared to death. She could hardly hold the gun. I doubt she’d have had the strength to pull the trigger if a wolf had been coming through the door. Makes you want to hold her close and tell her nothing’s ever going to hurt her again.”

  Joe sat up and glared at Samson.

  “And that’s how they get you,” he said. “You got to keep alert. Because if that’s not enough, they throw in babies and little girls. That Mary Wilson has got a quiver full of arrows. The first man who sets foot on this place won’t have a chance. He’ll be Mr. Wilson before the dust settles.”

  Joe flopped back down. He was the first man on the place.

  “That’s why I’m heading out to California the minute I find the gold.”

  Some time in the night Joe awoke to the sound of a crescendo of growls. Then he heard a yip cut off in mid-cry.

  “Samson, I sure wish you could smell gold as quick as you can coyotes,” he commented before he turned over and went back to sleep.

  CHAPTER THREE

/>   Joe wondered if Mary and the kid always slept this soundly. Mary had locked the door, but it had been a simple matter to enter through the window. He’d searched almost every corner of the cabin, and neither of them had awakened. He would have liked to think this trusting slumber was due to his presence, but if it was, it would vanish the minute they found out what he had done.

  Joe didn’t like going through Mary’s things. It made him feel like a sneak, but he had to search every part of the cabin. It was stupid to let scruples stop him now. Still, he was uncomfortable when he opened a drawer to find it filled with undergarments. He almost closed it again. It hardly looked big enough to hide one bag of gold. He closed his eyes and ran his hands under the neat piles of garments to the bottom and back of the drawer.

  Nothing.

  He felt his body relax. He hadn’t realized he was so edgy. Nor did he know why. Mary was a virtual stranger. Searching her home shouldn’t bother him at all. But seeing and touching her clothes produced a feeling of intimacy he didn’t welcome. It made him acutely aware of her physical presence. His body’s response embarrassed him. He was a decent man. He shouldn’t feel this way about a pregnant woman.

  He quickly finished the wardrobe and turned his attention to the trunk. It wasn’t locked. The top shelf needed no search to see there was nothing there. He had his hands deep among the dresses and blankets underneath when he heard a pistol click. He turned to see Mary sitting up in the bed, the cocked pistol aimed at him.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she asked.

  “Searching for the gold.” He didn’t think she would shoot him, but he couldn’t be sure. He boldly finished running his hand along the bottom of the trunk.

  “I told you I knew nothing of the gold,” Mary said.

  “I had to make sure for myself.”

  “I ought to shoot you.”

  “You’d have trouble getting rid of the body. And if you didn’t kill me, you’d have to take care of me.”

  The kid woke up. She was frightened to find Joe in the house, Mary holding a pistol on him.

  “I ought to turn you in to the sheriff.”

  “I’d be gone before he could get here. And I’d come back.”

  Mary kept the pistol pointed at Joe a moment longer, then slowly lowered it. He felt the tension in his muscles ease.

  “You really think Pete stole that gold and buried it here, don’t you?”

  Joe began to put Mary’s things back in order. “There’s no other explanation for what happened. He came here right after the trial. It hasn’t turned up anywhere else, and it wasn’t on him when he was killed.”

  “He certainly didn’t give it to me.”

  Joe closed the trunk and got to his feet. “I can see that, unless you’re the kind who can sit on a fortune for six months and not spend a penny.”

  Mary looked him in the eye. “I could sit on it for a lifetime. I won’t touch stolen money.”

  He believed her. There was a quality about her that said she would have nothing to do with a dishonest man.

  Joe went to the woodbox and started picking up pieces of wood to start a fire in the stove. “Well, it’s not inside the cabin, so you don’t have to worry about me going through your things again.”

  “Despite your actions, I think you’re honest.”

  Joe laid the fire carefully. Her response was unexpected. At best, he’d supposed she would only tolerate him. What else could she do? She was alone, down in bed, twenty-two miles from town, with no one to help her but a six-year-old kid. But to decide he was honorable! She must be up to something.

  “No need to go flattering me. I know what I am. I never pretended to be anything else.”

  “And just what are you, Mr. Ryan?”

  Joe lighted the coal oil-soaked stick he had placed at the center of the wood. A pale yellow flame illuminated the inside of the stove, casting flickering shadows on its sooty walls.

  He had avoided that question for years. He wanted to think he was like everybody else—worthy of dreams, worthy of success. But Flora said he was nothing but a two-bit drifter, a poor and overly serious one at that.

  “Nothing much, ma ’am. I guess you could say I’m drifting along looking for a reason to stay put. Kid, I need some eggs for breakfast. See what you can find.” He poured water into the coffeepot and put it on to heat.

  “Where is your dog?” Mary asked. “You know she’s afraid of it.”

  He went to the door and looked outside. “He’s gone,” he said to Sarah. “Scram.”

  The child stuck her head out the door, looked around, then darted outside.

  “Don’t you want to be something else?” Mary asked after Sarah had gone.

  He poured out a handful of coffee beans and dumped them into a grinder.

  “I want my name cleared,” he said over the noise of the grinder. “Once a man is branded a thief, it doesn’t matter what else he is. People can’t see anything else.”

  “Isn’t there anybody who can speak for you?”

  “It won’t do any good. I broke jail. As long as the gold is missing, nothing else matters.” He poured the freshly ground coffee into a pot.

  “Then I hope you find it.”

  “Enough to help?” He unwrapped the bacon and began to cut thick slices from it.

  “I don’t know anything.”

  “You can try to remember everything he did while he was here, every movement, every word he spoke. Even his expression, his mood.” He pulled the curtain across the alcove where Mary slept. “You’d better get dressed. Breakfast will be ready in half an hour.”

  “What was that noise last night?” Mary asked.

  She was seated at the table, a cup of coffee in front of her, waiting for Joe to finish filling her plate. He had tried to keep her in bed, but she had been determined to get up. He had insisted on helping her walk. She didn’t need his help, but it was nice of him to offer. The least she could do was lean on him.

  “It was Samson,” Joe said, setting down a plate with bacon, one egg, and a thick slice of bread in front of Sarah and another in front of Mary. “You won’t be troubled by coyotes any more. Give him a month, and there won’t be one within ten miles.”

  “It’s a shame you can’t leave him here when you go to California. We could sure use him.”

  “Can’t do that. If Samson stays, so do I.”

  The statement had been made in jest—at least Mary thought so—but the effect on each of them was electric. Mary realized that she had practically issued Joe an invitation to remain at the ranch indefinitely. Judging from his expression, he had considered accepting it. What shocked Mary even more was the realization that she wanted him to stay. She didn’t know what kind of arrangement they might be able to work out, but the idea of having Joe Ryan around all the time was a pleasant one.

  “Eat your breakfast,” Joe said. “There’s nothing much worse than cold eggs.” He glanced over at Sarah. “We’re going to have to do something about that cow. A kid like you should be drinking milk. You’re nothing but skin and bones.”

  “Sarah has always been thin,” Mary said.

  “Thin is okay. Skinny as a stick isn’t,” Joe said. “You know where that cow got to?”

  Sarah nodded.

  “As soon as we clean up, you show me. I refuse to let an old cow turn her nose up at me.”

  Mary watched him clear away the breakfast things, talking to a mute Sarah as if they were old friends. He didn’t act like any man she’d ever known. In some ways he was just as dictatorial, just as unconcerned with her feelings as Pete had been. In other ways, he was the kindest, most thoughtful man she’d ever met. He was certainly the most helpful.

  He must be up to something.

  After Pete was killed, Mary had realized that she had never been able to trust men or depend on them. She had looked toward this Christmas as the beginning of her new life—just her, Sarah, and the baby.

  Then Joe had showed up and she had started to qu
estion her decision. She found herself thinking if all men were like Joe, or if I could find a husband like Joe.… The fact that he was an escaped criminal, a man on the run, didn’t seem to weigh with her emotions. It didn’t even weigh much with her mind.

  She tried to tell herself to be sensible, but she couldn’t. Maybe it was the baby. Her mother used to say pregnant women were prone to being emotional and sentimental. Her mother also said love nourished life. Nobody had ever nourished Mary like Joe. What ever the reason, she liked him. She didn’t want him to go away.

  Joe had reached the conclusion that six months in jail had made him crazy. There was no other way to explain why he was leading a milk cow and talking to a six-year-old girl who wouldn’t say a word to him. He ought to be turning the place inside out. Failing that, he ought to be on his way to California. Some U.S. marshal was sure to be on his trail by now.

  But here he was, walking through the desert with a cow and a kid as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Yep, he was crazy.

  “You got to be firm with a cow,” he said as they reached the yard. “They’re real stubborn, especially if you’re little. My grandma had an old black-and-yellow cow who used to chase me until I beat her with a stick. Never had any trouble after that. Get me that bucket I left on the porch.”

  “You got to tie the cow’s head close to the post,” he said when Sarah returned with the bucket he had washed and set out on the porch earlier. “That way they can’t turn around. Won’t fight so much if they can’t see. Now fetch me the stool.”

  Joe felt silly sitting on the tiny stool, but he had to show the kid what to do. After that, she could do all the sitting.

  “You got to watch her at first,” Joe said. “She’s been on her own and won’t like being milked.” The cow kicked at Joe when he started to wash her teats. Joe slapped her on the hip. “Let her know you won’t put up with any nonsense.” He pushed on the cow’s hip, but she wouldn’t move her leg back. “Keep pushing on her until she moves that leg,” he told Sarah. “It’s easier to milk her that way.”

  Joe pulled on a teat. A stream of warm milk hit the bucket. He jerked the pail out of the way just as the cow kicked at him. He smacked her on the hip again.