Christmas Short Stories

The Christmas season is upon us. I love this time of year when the house is decorated and excitement fills the air. I can’t say I welcome snow on the ground, except for Christmas Day. Nor do I like the feeling of being rushed. I’m sure some of you feel the same, so I invite you to escape the mayhem and indulge in some 'Me Time’. Curl up on the sofa and transport yourself into the old west with one of my short Christmas stories.

Christmas Miracles: With a winter storm threatening to blanket the land in snow, James Landry boards a train to Denver two days before his Christmas Eve wedding to Tess Weston, despite her misgivings that the storm will hinder his return trip home. But James has to go to the big city to replace the worthless ring he mistakenly bought for her with a band of real gold, and assures her nothing, not even snow, will keep him from arriving at the altar on time. But James doesn't count on finding himself stuck in knee-deep drifts, with a Colt .45 staring him in the face.

Tess has had an eerie feeling that something bad is going to happen to James since the moment he told her of his trip. With fat, flakes of snow falling steadily from the sky, images flicker in her mind of him stranded in a hotel room, or on a cold train car. But for some reason, the snow piling up outside her window doesn't lend weight to her fear that James is in grave danger. Determined to help him, Tess sets out on a course to find him, only to have one obstacle after another deter her from reaching him.  

Christmas Hearts: After spending two years in Wyoming, Cade Weston is eager to return to his family’s ranch to celebrate the Christmas holiday. But fate intervenes in the form of a tortured soul—Nicole. Her guardian has abused her, leaving Cade with little choice but to pay for her freedom and take her with him. Holed up with her in a Denver hotel, a feeling hints he wants more from her than a thank you for having helped her. Problem is she doesn’t return the feeling.

Nicole Lamar has spent the past six months dreaming of freedom. Savannah, with its warmth and sunshine, beckons. Now that Cade has rescued her from an evil proprietor, that freedom is within reach. But when the handsome cowboy proves he’s the owner of a Christmas Heart, a life without him suddenly isn’t so desirable. Before she can approach him about the matter, he purchases a ticket for her on an eastbound train. And one for himself on a southbound train.

Christmas Wishes: U.S. Marshall Chance McBride has spent weeks tracking Steve ‘Smarty’ Jones. Ambushed and wounded by the outlaw, Chance is forced to seek help at a nearby school. But the teacher isn’t what he imagined. Instead of a male wearing trousers, a female takes charge of his care. Bright blue eyes and soft curves; Tabitha’s sassy nature awakens a deep-seated loneliness only she and a Christmas wish can soothe.

Tabitha Weston has never favored anything girlie. She’d rather saddle-break wild horses than bat her eyelashes and flirt with a man. But one glimpse into Chance’s molasses-colored eyes and Tabitha’s abhorrence to relationships is suddenly corralled by her need to win the lawman’s favor. Can a wish upon Christmas snow for him to trade the freedom of the trail for a home with her actually come true? She’s about to find out.    

Each of these stories can be found at www.amazon.com/author/julie

Merry Christmas to you and your families and all the best to you in 2018! Julie

Renew Your Christmas Beliefs by Ginger Simpson

Laura Indalls Wilder has long been a favorite author, and it's always scenes from her books that I harken back to...scenes that swept me away to another time and place when I engrossed myself in her stories back in elementary school. I especially loved reading how much Christmas was anticipated...no matter how meager because coming from a family of four children with one working parent, I learned early-on that we couldn't be greedy.

Ms. Wilder wrote of her mother's preparation for the holiday on the prairie.  "Ma was busy all day long, cooking good things for Christmas". While Christmas in the cities often included trees, decorations, Santa, gifts, and cards, pioneers often faced heavy snow storms and miles dividing them from civilization.  Most gifts were hand made, as were decorations and adornments when things could be found to serve that purpose. Food was usually the traditional way to celebrate when money and mercantiles were scarce.   Trail hands, often miles from home and loved ones, probably recognized the day, but did little to celebrate.  Such was the fate of those who braved the wilderness.

Today, we may wander to a tree farm and actually cut down a real tree, but most of us have turned to artificial for the convenience.  While Ma Ingalls may have cooked all day, many of us now purchase ready-made meals from the nearby market, and very little thought or appreciation go into gifts.  Commercialization has stolen the real meaning of our holiday. 

My siblings had the best idea of all when a few years back they pooled their money, visited the dollar store and prepared gift bags for the homeless.  I wasn't there, but I can only imagine that handing them out renewed faith in family,giving, receiving, and love.  Wouldn't it be wonderful if we all did that this Christmas?  Wishing you all a renewed knowledge of what Christmas is all about.

New Release--Christmas Wishes

I’m happy to announce my latest release, Christmas Wishes. This is my third short Christmas story and features U.S. Marshall Chance McBride and Tabitha Weston. Tabitha is Royce Weston’s daughter. Royce was my first hero in Luck of the Draw, and Tabitha is every bit as feisty as her pa. Below is an excerpt from Chapter One: 

 

Coyote, CO  December 1880

Chance McBride cracked open one eye. Then the other. With the exception of the moon’s pale light filtering through the trees, darkness surrounded him. His teeth chattering disturbed the stillness hanging on the air, and awakened his other senses. His legs and bottom were wet and numb, his fingers stiff, and his side burned.

What the? His gaze collided with the snow he sat in. Droplets of blood marring the tufts beside him loosened his memory. Damn, Smarty. The bastard had left him for dead this morning.

Pushing aside an image of himself tightening a noose around Smarty’s neck, Chance stifled a groan and peered around the Cottonwood he slumped against. Not more than twenty paces from where he shivered a dim light shone behind a curtained window. He’d happened upon the schoolhouse when the sun had dipped toward the west― staggered toward it had been more like it. Hunkering down between snow-laden limbs and overgrown shrubs, he’d watched boys fling open the front door and hurl snowballs at one another as they raced along a trampled path to town. Girls clad in woolen scarves and mittens had followed at a slower pace. But a teacher had never appeared.

Chance grimaced and grabbed a handful of snow. He reached beneath his coat and pressed it against his side, shifted his gaze north to the structure he remembered seeing in the daylight. The headmaster has to exit sometime. If for anything to use the privy.

Sneering, he returned his attention to the school and studied the large addition that had been built onto the back. Earlier he’d noted a festive wreath nailed to the side door; the silver ribbons a grim reminder he wouldn’t celebrate Christmas with his brother. Shoving the thought aside, he inhaled the aroma of wood burning and something else―food cooking.

His stomach grumbled at the prospect of a hot meal. It’d been four days since he’d tasted something more rewarding than stale biscuits and jerky. Not that he complained. He was alive and hoped the same held true for his mare. She’d taken offense to bullets pelting her hooves, had reared up on her hind legs and unseated him before bolting toward the hills. Truth be told he couldn’t blame her. Being ambushed didn’t sit well with him, especially when a bullet from Steve ‘Smarty’ Jones’ Colt found its way into his side. The best he could hope was his mare galloped to safety, even though it meant he was horseless―again.

“Shoulda never bought her,” he lamented. “Green as she is.” But his trained Appaloosa and loyal companion of five years had come up lame on a late November day. Unless he’d wanted to lose Smarty’s trail, he’d had no choice but to purchase the young mustang.

The side door opened. A ray of light brightened the threshold and the figure stepping outside.

Shit! His gut spasmed. The teacher wasn’t what he’d imagined. Instead of trousers and a hat, Chance saw a slim body in long skirts. Bile filled his mouth. Overpowering a female wasn’t to his liking, but he didn’t have a choice. He’d been out in the elements too long and his aching side demanded relief. He had to get indoors and patch himself up―with or without her permission.

The woman stepped away from the door and moved toward a woodpile at the rear of the building. Chance awkwardly pulled himself to his full height of six feet two inches and stifled a groan. The flow of blood returning to his legs brought on the feel of a thousand needles pricking his skin. Ignoring the sensation, he stumbled forward on quiet feet, closing the distance between him and the woman. As she lifted a log from the top of the pile, he clamped his left hand over her mouth and his right arm around her waist.

“Mmmmmmmmm…” she screeched behind his hand, dropping the wood and trying to twist free from his clutches.

“Easy,” he barked out a whisper, pulling her flush against him. A sharp stab of pain speared his side and he sucked in a deep breath, felt himself sway on his feet. “I don’t aim to hurt you, ma’am.”

“Mmmmmmmmmm…” she screeched again and tried to kick him. He avoided the blow to his shin.

“I’m Chance McBride,” he panted. “U.S. Marshall.”

Heated, garbled words sounded in her throat.

“Yeah, I get that a lot,” he quipped dryly before turning them toward the door. His gut threatened upheaval and he paused to tamp down the queasiness. They cleared the threshold and Chance welcomed the blast of warm air pelting his face. He kicked the door shut and released her, only to have the air swoosh out of his lungs when she whirled around and faced him.

Thick, lustrous honey-colored hair cascaded over her shoulders to curl around her waist. Smooth, ivory skin, a pert nose and a tiny dimple set in her chin lent way to a decidedly feminine body. But it wasn’t her soft curves or the sight of his blood staining her calico dress that robbed him of breath. Eyes the shade of a deep blue sky glared up at him. And stirred something within.

“Do you make it a habit of manhandling women?” Her gaze raked him with contempt.

“No,” he rasped. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“Hmph! A Marshall―if you’re truly a lawman, and I have my doubts. I don’t see a badge―always has a choice.”

“Not this time.” He shoved a hand into his pocket and withdrew a piece of tin, held it up for her to see. “Does this make you think better of me?”

She studied the star then wrinkled her nose. “No.”

Christmas Wishes is available in Kindle format and can be found here:

www.amazon.com/dp/B016PP3ALO

 Also available:

www.amazon.com/author/julielence

Christmas Miracles and Christmas Hearts

Leon's Story, Part I

To kick off the New Year, I decided to do something different. For those who have read or are reading my Weston Family Series, I always wondered why Emily Weston drastically changed from loving mother to disowning her children. There had to be more to her story than just a pampered socialite from Boston, and who better to know the truth than Leon Weston, patriarch of the Weston clan. Today at Cowboy Kisses step back in time and discover some of Leon and Emily’s secrets in Leon’s Story, Part One. Part Two will be released in February.        

Wooded Acres Ranch, CO

Christmas Eve Morning 1876

The wind howled from the north, nearly robbing Leon Weston of breath as he trudged through the heavy snow, his old bones groaning in protest. In his younger days, he’d made the short trek from the house to the family cemetery without complaint. This morning the walk felt akin to ten, long miles. Even the hinges on the wrought iron squeaked in complaint as he pushed open the gate and stepped toward the lone headstone.

Removing his Stetson and bowing his head, Leon inwardly recited the Lord’s Prayer then returned his hat to his head, pulled his scarf tighter around his neck. Opening his eyes, he noted the several inches of snow coating the top of the marble and the frost covering the inscription.

“Good morning, Emily,” he crooned to the stone representing his wife who’d passed twenty three ago. “Merry Christmas Eve to you.”

He shoved his gloved hands deep into his coat pockets, looked around for a place to sit. What he’d come to say to Emily today would take a while, but the bench he’d positioned near the towering pine was hidden beneath the snow, and hunkering down or squatting in the knee-deep powder caused his bones to shiver. So he stood, his fingers grasping the lining of his pockets.

“Cade brought home a bride last Christmas. The Christmas before Tess married James.” He spoke of his grandchildren. “I like that James. He’s a hard worker and takes good care of Tess. Lucas wouldn’t have allowed his daughter to marry some lazy riff-raff.” Leon smiled fondly in remembrance of the ill  expression on his eldest son’s face when he’d given Tess away in marriage, which was probably why Lucas spent a lot of time at Tess’ homestead, that is, when he wasn’t pestering his sister-in-law, Racy, for a sweet treat.

A gust of wind pelted Leon’s back and he sobered as the face of his second son flashed across his mind. “Don’t think Royce will walk quietly alongside Tabitha and hand her over to another man like Lucas did with Tess.” Leon cleared his throat with a cough. “Then again, Royce has a few years before our other granddaughter sets her sights on someone. Now, Creel,” he paused and turned his gaze in the direction of the snow clouds shrouding the mountains.

“Creel’s our baby, Emily.” He returned his attention to the gravestone. “His wife is near a babe herself. Racy told me she wants a passel of children. Her first one’s due to come into this world next month. Creel doesn’t care if it’s a boy or a girl, so long as Racy and the babe are healthy. And Rachael’s little girl turns two tonight.”

A shiver moved through Leon’s weathered body, not so much from the cold as from his prattling. He was stalling, revealing tidbits he’d already told Emily while trying to find the words he’d come to say. The words he’d come to ask. The words he couldn’t bring himself to voice until now.

Emily had died in a riding accident. She’d been galloping across the meadow when her mare had spooked and thrown her across a log. A sharp branch jutting out from the wood had pierced her chest.

“Why?” he croaked painfully. “Why did you leave home that day? Why didn’t you stay at the house? I told you nothing good would come if you went back to Boston, no matter how much you willed it. Why didn’t you believe me?”

Unbidden, heated arguments from the past filled his ears. Spats from behind the barn, squabbles from behind closed doors; their children had overheard him and Emily feuding and had suffered greatly. Rachael had run away, and had stayed away for twenty-two years. Royce had distrusted women for several years before his wife set him straight. The same had held true for Lucas. Creel had been young when Emily had passed. He didn’t cotton to his brothers’ and sister’s speculations over Emily’s hunger for Boston until years later. Sadly, the four believed their ma had favored the comforts and riches of the big city over them. Truth be told his children were wrong…

The series begins with Royce in Luck of the Draw.

 

Lucas follows with Lady Luck. 

 Available at:

 www.amazon.com/author/julielence