A Texas Christmas Reunion Read online

  Trea’s first thought was to take the kid to the hotel, but he glanced up the street and noticed that the lamp was still on in the sheriff’s office.

  “Won’t hurt you to get a feel for the place. Just so you know to avoid it in the future.” Whether the young man heard him or not, he couldn’t tell.

  Even though the door to the sheriff’s office might not be locked, since it was late, Trea thought it best to knock. It was after hours and the lawman’s private time.

  The door swung open.

  “Brought you a customer, Sheriff Underwood.” The sheriff greeted him with a scowl. “Got himself kicked out of the saloon.”

  “This ain’t the hotel.”

  “I’m told he was drunk and disorderly.”

  “Now, that’s a legitimate crime. Reckon I’ll accept him.”

  Trea leaned the boy toward the sheriff, who caught the half-limp weight with a quiet curse. He probably didn’t care for having his solitude interrupted by business.

  Since Trea didn’t have much to say to the man he’d recently exchanged words with over his insult to Juliette, he turned without further comment.

  “I don’t believe you didn’t start that fire. Once an arsonist, always one.”

  Trea pivoted on the bottom step, looked up at the lawman and the half-conscious burden sagging in his arms.

  “Whatever I was in the past, I no longer am.”

  “That right? Well I’ve got my eye on you, Culverson.”

  “Good. I hope to see you at the pageant, just like you promised Miss McAllister.”

  “I’ll be there. Unless I’ve got fire-starter in my jail by then.”

  Trea nodded then went on his way, leaning into increasingly heavy snowfall. He wished he was already at the hotel and in his room with a fire lit.

  His conversation with Sheriff Hank left him uneasy. Ordinarily, he would have denied the charge of arson. But if he convinced the sheriff he was innocent, he would look elsewhere for the culprit.

  Elsewhere might lead straight to Charlie Gumm.

  * * *

  By the time Trea stepped back onto the front porch of the hotel, snow was mounded on the shoulders of his coat. He hoped the storm moved on before morning so the children could attend school.

  He took off his coat, shook it before he went inside. The doorknob felt cold, even through the thick padding of his gloves.

  Lamplight from the kitchen carried through the dining room and dimly illuminated the lobby.

  Glancing about, he admired Juliette’s hard work. The room looked nothing like it had before she purchased it. Didn’t feel like it, either. Ever since she had set her hand to renovating, he hadn’t suffered a single fleabite.

  Come Christmas Eve, folks were going to feel right at home.

  He didn’t hear any noise coming from the kitchen or the dining room but he didn’t believe that Juliette would inadvertently leave a lamp burning.

  He hung his coat, hat and gloves on the hall tree then put a towel beneath to catch the melting snow. Taking off his shoes, he set them on the towel then followed the light through the dining room and into the kitchen.

  Juliette sat asleep on the floor, her back against a row of low shelves, her long legs stretched out and a stewpot on her lap.

  Sleeping Beauty would not look more enchanting.

  Her festive green-plaid skirt was hitched about her calves and revealed a froth of lacy petticoats.

  Red ones. She wore red petticoats?

  With her braid half undone, the green ribbon she had twined through it lay across her throat like a glossy vine.

  If she’d had a pair of wings, he’d have sworn she was a Christmas Angel...colorful undergarments notwithstanding.

  But there were no wings and that was where his problem lay.

  Juliette was not ethereal. She was a flesh and bone woman. And, at this moment, the very lovely flesh was positioned on the floor in an enticing way.

  Her head rested on her arm, which was draped across the top of the shelf, which in turn shifted her posture a few degrees to the left. This accented the curve of one breast. It rose and fell in time with her dreamy breathing.

  Hell...damn.

  Gathering a great dose of moral fortitude, he shifted his gaze to her hand, where her slender fingers dangled, relaxed in slumber.

  He did not recall ever seeing such beautiful fingers. Certainly other hands were as lovely in structure; they might not even have the redness, the work-worn nails that Juliette’s did.

  But would pink and pampered hands set to a task and work until it was completed...even fall asleep in the act? Would they, no matter how weary, touch a baby with tenderness...tend to a cantankerous old man with patience?

  In his opinion, no woman had more beautiful hands than she did.

  He noticed that she did not wear her wedding ring. Some women did so long after the death of their spouse. Could this mean that she was open to finding new love?

  That he might hope she would stroke him with those exquisite fingers?

  Hell...damn...again. It did not!

  Not unless he was willing to cause a scandal. He had the rules of conduct for a teacher in the top drawer of his desk. He had them burned into his brain.

  A woman teacher would lose her position for courting. Not a man, though. He could court once or twice a week, depending on how often he attended church and read the Good Book.

  What Trea had to keep in mind is that he was not just any man. He was being watched, judged. No doubt he would be held to the same strict regulations that a woman would.

  Even if he gave up the career he had devoted himself to, he could not give up Charlie. Without being the boy’s teacher, there was no way he could reach him.

  Life was a complicated thing.

  That is why, in fantasy, he knelt down beside Juliette, touched her hair, let his fingers glide across her cheek and turn her face toward him. As clearly as if it were real, he breathed in the warm, womanly scent of her skin, felt her slowly come awake while he kissed her...touched—

  Hell and damn...for the third time now. No matter how he wanted to wake Sleeping Beauty in this manner, he could not.

  Deliberately, he kicked a pot lying among half a dozen others scattered over the floor.

  The clatter woke Juliette with a start. Her eyes flew open, wide and blurry, but quickly coming into focus on his.

  She slapped her skirt down over her ankles and upset the pan on her lap. It hit the floor with a sharp report.

  “Glory blazes! I didn’t mean to fall asleep!”

  She tried to stand, but rose too quickly and half stumbled.

  There was a bit of good fortune. He was able to touch her, after all...just his hand under her elbow, but it was a touch nonetheless.

  “The babies!” She placed her hand on his shoulder. The funny thing was, he was pretty sure she was already in control of her balance. “Father Lindor!”

  “Asleep, at least, I think so. I didn’t hear anyone stirring when I came in.”

  “In that case, the babies will be soon.” She withdrew her hand. Did he imagine...hesitantly? “I’d better get this done before they do.”

  “Go to bed. This can wait.”

  “Not really. My list for tomorrow is a mile long.” She stooped and snatched a skillet, slid it inside in the cupboard. “I’m making a Christmas dress for Lena and the sweetest little suit for Joe.”

  “A suit for a boy?”

  He bent over and picked up a saucepan, his recent fantasy still red-hot enough to sear his heart.

  Locating the lid, he placed it on top with a clang, then stood up again.

  “Oh, well, I know boys wear dresses as babies,” she pointed out. “But think how cute it will be to have him looking like a little man.”

  Maybe, but what he would call cute
was her expression in revealing her project.

  No...not cute so much as enchanting, even if she was dead tired on her feet and her night not yet ended.

  While they worked on putting the kitchen in order, he was more aware of her bare wedding finger than he ought to be.

  * * *

  Part of owning a hotel was to clean the guests’ rooms.

  Given the heavy snowfall last night, the woman Juliette had hired for the task was housebound.

  And with no school today, Trea took advantage of the chance to take lunch to his father.

  “I’m sure we can finish this quickly, before he gets back,” she said to her babies as she wheeled them in their buggy into Trea’s room.

  It seemed awkward entering his private space without him present.

  And wouldn’t it be more awkward if he were here? She simply would not have been able to do it.

  It was still warm inside the room because he had only recently banked the fire. She stirred the embers to add a bit more heat for the children.

  She glanced about, deciding where to begin.

  There was a stack of McGuffy Readers on the desk in front of the window. Cold sunshine illuminated a pen and writing tablet beside them.

  She took a dust cloth out of the pail she had attached to the stroller handle. Dabbing on a bit of wax from a jar, she set to her task of polishing the desk.

  It was easy, quickly finished with only a bit of twinge to her conscience.

  Of course, there would be no twinge at all if this room belonged to anyone but Trea.

  But everything about his space felt intimate. Cleaning, touching his things, it all felt intrusive.

  Perhaps because she paused to smell his hairbrush when she dusted the washstand.

  She needed to gain a bit more control. If she went this weak inside over the scent of a grooming tool, what would happen when she put fresh sheets on the bed?

  She glanced over her shoulder at the intimate piece of furniture.

  Oh, dear. She should not have done that. In her mind the bed was not empty. Oh, dear...dear...dear. Her imagination saw Trea lying in it, sound asleep, the sheet drawn only to his hips... What a surprise to discover that he did not wear a sleeping garment.

  A delightful surprise. One that she was free to stare at, given it was only in the confines of her thoughts. But to be honest with herself, she had to admit that her thoughts were not all that confined.

  With a shake, a good mental one that shot her back to the here and now, she finished every chore but making the bed.

  Now, though, it needed doing. She would simply have to remove those rumpled, no doubt sweaty, male-scented sheets from the bed.

  Skimming her hand over the top sheet, she sighed out loud. Only the babies would hear and they would not know why she made such a yearning noise.

  She gripped the sheet in both fists then raised it to her cheek and drew it across her nose. It felt soft and the scent was even more erotic than she’d expected it to be.

  There was no denying she missed that part of marriage.

  “I better think of something else,” she said to the room at large, or perhaps to the bed...or maybe even to the babies who blinked up at her from the carriage. It didn’t matter. The point was to turn her attention in another direction.

  “Do you know what I’d like more than anything?” Well, clearly not anything, since she still stroked the sheet across her cheek. “Those dozen Christmas trees in the lobby. Maybe Santa will bring them since I can’t think of another way to get them here.”

  “Santa has been known to grant all sorts of wishes.”

  She opened her fists, dropped the sheet and grabbed the fresh one out of the buggy before she turned.

  “Back so soon?” Hopefully her face did not appear as blazing as it felt, because it felt perfectly singed. “I was just changing the sheets on your bed. Mrs. Cromby could not get in today, so here I am.”

  “Yes, here you are.”

  He glanced at the bed. Judging by the mischief lurking behind his smile, he had been standing behind her long enough to see past her show of industriousness.

  “Discussing Christmas decorations with the babies?”

  “Oh, yes, a dozen of them,” she said while she bent over the bed, tucking the sheets this way and that. “I’ll need all of Santa’s special magic to get those trees.”

  With the bed fresh, the sheets smoothed, she straightened then turned...in time to catch the most interesting expression on Trea’s face.

  The last thing she was going to dwell on was what it could mean.

  “How is your father doing?”

  “He seems a bit better. Still pale, but he ate the food in a hurry. It’s why I’m back so soon.”

  Did the corner of his mouth twitch when he said that? Yes, she was certain it did.

  “I’m glad to hear he’s eating.” If only he’d done it more leisurely. “Well...I have a lot to do.”

  She caught the buggy handle and pushed past him. There was not much clearance in the doorway. He did not move aside to allow more.

  “I should be on my way.”

  “Juliette...” He was close enough that she felt the beat of his warm breath on her face. He touched her hair, tugged lightly at the green ribbon entwined in her braid. “Yes, I reckon you ought to.”

  “I am...on my way, that is.”

  Pushing the buggy swiftly down the hall, she made the decision that she would not clean his room again. If Mrs. Cromby was not here, the task would wait.

  It would not hurt the man to spend an extra night in rumpled sheets that smelled so...so virile.

  Oh! Her balance shifted without warning.

  It was a lucky thing she had her hands clamped to the buggy handle because she tripped over the curling end of a rug.

  She’d come so close to falling...and not just into the carpet.

  * * *

  “Thank you, Charlie. Your strong, clear voice is just what we need,” Trea announced.

  The students stood in two rows, flanking Cora and Charlie, who were shoulder to shoulder in the center of the group.

  “Let’s show him our gratitude.”

  Cora clapped her hands with enthusiasm. The girl was always appreciative of anyone putting forth the effort to make the show a success and did not hesitate to show it.

  The rest of the class applauded, but with much less animation.

  A movement at the window caught his attention. A flash only moving across the bottom pane of glass.

  Curious parents had been known to peer inside, wondering how their children were progressing. A few times he’d seen members of the Ladies Service Society with their noses to the glass.

  He was under no misconception that they were there to admire his students’ progress. His former classmates would not be here for any reason but to catch him doing wrong.

  Strolling to the window while Cora recited ’Twas the Night Before Christmas, he peered out.

  Wind shivered through the tree branches, knocking off snow and dropping it in globs on the ground. It fluttered the coat of a familiar-looking woman running uphill into the woods.

  It surprised him that Mrs. Gumm had come to hear her son sing, after all.

  Trea only hoped she would attend the pageant, when her presence would truly matter.

  He knew it would mean everything to Charlie if she did.

  An hour later the wind had picked up enough that he felt he ought to send the children home early.

  He passed out copies of the McGuffy Reader that he had ordered for them and gave the older children a reading assignment from it.

  “Do any of you need me to walk you home? It’s blowing hard outside.”

  No one did, which left him free to bank the fire and catch up with Charlie.

  “Where are you off to
, son?” Charlie glanced over his shoulder but kept walking. “Home’s the other direction.”

  “I know where it is, sir. But I ain’t going there.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Just someplace that ain’t there.”

  “Isn’t there, Charlie. The correct word is isn’t.”

  “Why do you care how I talk? I’m not your boy.”

  “I care about how you speak because I’m your teacher. I want the best for your future.”

  The boy was quiet while they walked to wherever it was he had in mind...assuming he did have someplace in mind.

  “Why?” he asked at last.

  “You’ve heard the rumors about me?”

  Charlie glanced up, the beginnings of a smirk on his face. “A few.”

  “I was you, Charlie. Like you, anyway. So I know the truth and I’m going to tell it to you.”

  The kid shot him a scowl. Trea would have been surprised at any other response.

  “If you keep on the way you are, you won’t like where you are headed. It’s a hard place to come back from.” Trea shrugged out of his coat and set it across the child’s thin shoulders.

  Trea did not miss the sigh of relief when Charlie settled into the warmth.

  Still, he said, “Only place I’m going is to get some privacy.”

  “I wonder if old man Cleary still has that shed behind his property. It’s where I used to go.”

  “A hundred years ago?”

  “Naw...hundred and fifty.” Charlie almost smiled at him, but caught it back just in time. “I need to ask you something, and I know you might not want to tell me all of it...maybe not any. But sometime, if you want to, you can and I will help you.”

  “What? I ain’t... I’m not...going to sing but the one song all by myself, if that’s what you want.”

  “I smelled smoke on you the other day...and kerosene. Was it you who set the trash on fire behind the saloon?”

  “Weren’t me! And I don’t know who did!” He took off the coat, slammed it on the snow. “Folks are saying it’s you who did it.”

  Then he was gone, sprinting away through the woods in the direction of home.

  It was true, what he’d told Charlie. He had been him, and so he knew the boy was lying. Either he had lit the fire or he knew who had.