The neighborhood bad boy...

Is he back for good?

Widow Juliette Lindor believes in Christmas miracles. For the sake of her small children, she hopes there’s one that will restore her town to its former glory.

But when Trea Culverson returns, he brings all the passion she thought she’d never have again.

With the town firmly set against him, can she show them and Trea that trust and love are just as powerful as any Christmas gift?

“Fans will be enthralled, enchanted and enraptured.”

—RT Book Reviews on A Ranch to Call Home

“A moving and competing tale about the power of love and home.”

—RT Book Reviews on A Ranch to Call Home

CAROL ARENS delights in tossing fictional characters into hot water, watching them steam, and then giving them a happily-ever-after. When she’s not writing she enjoys spending time with her family, beach-camping or lounging about in a mountain cabin. At home, she enjoys playing with her grandchildren and gardening. During rare spare moments you will find her snuggled up with a good book. Carol enjoys hearing from readers at carolarens@yahoo.com or on Facebook.

Also by Carol Arens

Dreaming of a Western Christmas

Western Christmas Proposals

The Cowboy’s Cinderella

Western Christmas Brides

The Rancher’s Inconvenient Bride

A Ranch to Call Home

The Walker Twins miniseries

Wed to the Montana Cowboy

Wed to the Texas Outlaw

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

A Texas Christmas Reunion

Carol Arens

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07424-7

A TEXAS CHRISTMAS REUNION

© 2018 Carol Arens

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Lauren Iaccino.

Your loving heart and spunky spirit

reflect Heaven’s sparkle.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

Extract

About the Publisher

Chapter One

If not for the fact that Juliette Lindor had a baby riding her hip, she would have been tempted to march across the street and disrupt the robbery taking place at Beaumont Spur Savings and Loan.

Goodness knew Sheriff Hank would not be running to the rescue of the townsfolk’s money. No doubt the half-hearted lawman was having a fine high time with his cousins, who were at this very moment incarcerated in his jail.

“For pity’s sake,” she muttered, witnessing the crime through the front window of her restaurant.

Apparently the bank was destined to be robbed today. According to town gossip, which there was plenty of, the sheriff’s Underwood cousins would have held it up had they not been arrested last night for previous crimes. Beaumont Spur’s lawman was not so unworthy as to set his relatives free, but neither was he dedicated to holding up every jot and title of the law.

Moments ago, the robber committing the current crime while wearing a ragged coat and a half-crushed hat had glanced every which way except heavenward before he slithered into the bank.

Straining to listen, Juliette heard shouting but thankfully no gunshots.

The thief backed out the door and nearly tumbled into a horse trough. Righting his balance, he dashed across a mound of melting snow that glittered in the midmorning sunshine. On the run, he glanced up and down Main Street, a leather bag tucked under his arm.

Juliette rushed to the front door of the café and shoved the bolt into place. If the criminal was looking for a hiding place, he would not find it in her establishment.

She would forbid him entrance for the muddy state of his boots alone, set aside the fact that he was a lowdown lawbreaker.

The single customer in her restaurant looked up from his soup.

“It’s the bank again,” she explained, catching and kissing the small fist grabbing for the front of her blouse.

The gray-bearded gentleman shook his head but continued to spoon soup into his mouth. “Been ten months since the last holdup. I reckon that’s something. Still, this town isn’t what it used to be.”

No truer words, as far as Juliette was concerned. She dearly missed the sweet Beaumont she had been born and raised in. “Levi, do you remember when we all used to gather about the spring in the town square on Sunday afternoons?”

“Those were good days. My Martha used to make the sweetest cherry pies for everyone. You were only a little thing but you might remember.”

She’d been eight years old when Martha Silver died, but she still recalled the flavor of sweet cherries on her tongue and the indulgent gaze of the woman smiling down at her.

“Anyone get hurt this time?”

Juliette walked back to the window and moved the curtain aside. “Mr. Bones is chasing the thief, so I imagine he wasn’t armed.”

“That’s a mercy. Don’t begrudge the banker his business, but we did just fine without a bank for years before the rail spur came to town. I’m keeping my cash in the safe at the mercantile. Can’t recall Leif being robbed in all the time he’s been open.”

Nor could Juliette. Of course, Leif Ericman was a giant of a man who had taken to wearing a sidearm since the arrival of the rail spur. For all that Leif had a wicked scowl, he was known for his kindness. A robber, a stranger to Beaumont Spur, would not know it, though.

“I’m finished.” Levi slapped his spoon on the tablecloth.

“Would you like a piece of cake before you go?”

“What I mean is, I’m finished with Beaumont Spur. I’m moving on to a place the railroad hasn’t corrupted.”

“Levi! You can’t. You’ve lived here since—oh, since forever!”

He sighed, nodded. “Since before you were a glimmer in your parents’ smiles. I brought my bride here because it was a good, peaceful place to settle. Sure isn’t that anymore. I’m not the only one talking about leaving.”

Yes, she knew that. A whole group of families were considering the move together.

But Levi Silver? It couldn’t be!

In spite of what it had become over the past few years, Juliette loved her town. It broke her heart to see it falling to ruin. Even children were dashing about during school hours without proper discipline because the schoolteacher had quit suddenly in October and the new one had not yet arrived.

What this town needed was a reliable sheriff and a strict schoolmaster.

A hotel without fleas wouldn’t hurt, either. It was her firm opinion that a gracious inn would attract a better sort of clientele than the saloons did. The town might then thrive, and new families would move here to replace the ones who were leaving.

Baby Lena curled her fat little fist around the ribbon tied in Juliette’s braid. She drew it to her mouth and sucked on the yellow satin.

“Here comes Mr. Bones back again. From here it looks like he’s grinning. He’s got a leather bag tucked under his arm. He must have caught the robber, then.”

“Looks like your money is safe until the next time, Juliette.” Levi stood up, then dug about in his pants pocket. Withdrawing some coins, he stacked them neatly on the table. “If I were you I’d keep my cash under the bed or in the mercantile safe, like I do.”

Stashing money under her big lonely bed was the least safe place she could think of. Strangers were not the only ones hoping to snatch unsecured funds.

Crossing the room, Levi joined her at the window and peered out. He cupped the curve of Lena’s dark, curly-haired head in his bony hand, his fingers gnarled with age and years of hard work.

“A widow like you.” He shook his head then kissed Lena’s chubby fingers. Turning, he walked toward the door, slid the bolt free. “With the responsibilities you’ve taken on—you shouldn’t be here. Go someplace safe and find a good man to marry.”

“I’ve had a good man.”

Steven Lindor had been reliable in every way a husband could be. What was left of his body was buried in the cemetery outside of town, alongside Thomas Warren Lindor’s equally broken body.

“I still say he and his brother never should have taken a job with the railroad.”

Looking back, no one would deny that. But at the time, Steven and Thomas had both been newlyweds and could not turn down the generous pay the railroad offered.

Even the fact that both men had babies on the way had not kept them from going. No—she believed it had actually propelled their decisions.

Her husband and her brother-in-law had perished.

But she had not.

Yes, she had wept, pounded her fist against her pillow and railed against fate. But in the end she had given birth to a beautiful baby girl.

In the instant she’d heard her newborn’s cry, hope for the future bloomed in a way Juliette could never have imagined.

“Take care walking home, Levi. The boardwalk will be slippery.”

“Been walking these streets more than half my life, missy, don’t reckon I’ll lose my balance now. See you at dinnertime.”

Juliette watched him go then closed the door, relieved to see that he did test each step as he proceeded down the boardwalk.

In the distance, the train whistle blew. She heard the rumble of the big engine as it pushed the train back toward Smith’s Ridge.

If only—oh, never mind.

Wishing that the railroad had picked some other town in which to set down its spur was as useful as wishing there was something she could do to restore Beaumont to the hometown she loved. The place where neighbors smiled at one another when they passed on the boardwalk, where one laid down one’s head at night in blissful slumber without the racket of saloons to disturb the peace of the evening.

A flash of yellow caught her eye. A hatbox with a fluffy yellow bow sat on one of the tables.

Oh, no! A customer—Miss Quinn her name was—must have left it behind. The woman had been distracted with joy over boarding the train and going home to marry the handsome man she was engaged to.

There was nothing to do but store the hatbox away in the event that Miss Quinn returned for it one day.

Reaching for it, Juliette saw an envelope tucked between the box lid and the bow. Curiously, Juliette’s name was written on the delicate parchment.

Before she had a chance to wonder about it, she heard a baby’s strident cry coming from the small room behind the kitchen.

“Sounds like your brother is hungry, Miss Lena.”

“If you can’t keep that boy content, you shouldn’t be running a business. Family comes first for a woman.” Her father-in-law’s grumble reached the dining room from the kitchen.

Thankfully there were no customers present to hear his lament.

Truly, did the man not understand that she would rather be at home tending her husband and their child?

Circumstances had sent her life another way. She could smile at the future or weep over the past.

She chose to smile.

* * *

Juliette sat down at a table in the back of the dining room and draped a shawl over her left shoulder. Tenderly she tucked the end under Joe’s small padded bottom.

There was rarely a time when she put him to her breast that she did not think of Lillian. For all that she smiled while she cooed to Joe and tickled his fat little belly, she felt a tug of sadness that it was Juliette feeding him and not his mother.

“Your mama was beautiful, Joe—just like you are. And she loved you so very much.”

Truly, no one could have looked forward to a child’s birth with more joy than Steven’s brother and his wife had.

Juliette knew this because they had shared a wedding day and a home. Lillian had only been one month along in her pregnancy with Joe when Juliette conceived Lena.

Their large home had nearly vibrated with happiness over anticipation of the babies’ arrival. But there was worry, as well. Her husband and her brother-in-law were determined that their children would be born to the best of everything money could buy. The trouble was, at that point in their young lives, they’d been far from able to provide a pair of silver spoons.

So the men had left their pregnant wives behind and gone away to California...to make a living working for the Southern Pacific Railroad.

During the wee hours of a January morning in the mountains at Tehachapi, the rear cars of the train they’d been on had detached, rolled back down the grade, crashed and burned. Life as Juliette knew it had perished along with Steven and Thomas.

Lillian lost her will to live. Try as Juliette might to get her sister-in-law to look toward the future for her child’s sake, she could not draw Lillian out of her despondency. After Joe’s birth she grew even more morose. She wouldn’t eat or take the fresh air, choosing instead to sit in her darkened room and weep.

Until the chilly night she’d crept quietly out of the house to crouch in the rain. Juliette didn’t know how long her sister-in-law had been in the yard shivering. She only discovered Lillian was out there when Joe began to cry.

That had been the first time she took her nephew to her own breast. The poor baby was hungry and his mother refused him. As Lillian sat in front of the fire, shaking with cold, a distant look in her eyes, Juliette had known she’d set her sights on death.

For a week she had tried to get Lillian to eat, to smile at sweet baby Joe, to do anything but stare blankly into space. In the end, her sister-in-law caught a fever and was gone within three days.

“But I love you, Joe.” Juliette stroked his soft round head. “I’m yours forever.”

Juliette was more grateful for this unexpected son than she could say. He was her sweet little miracle in the ashes of what had been her life.

Smiling down at him, she was rewarded with the endearing sigh babies made when they nursed.

“What do you suppose this note has to say, sweet boy?”

Reaching for the hatbox, she could not even imagine.

The bell on the front door jangled. A young woman blew inside along with a gust of cold wind.

“Hello, Nannie,” Juliette said with a smile for her customer. “Just give me a moment. Coffee? Pastry?”

“Oh, I’ve no time to eat! I’ve found out a tasty bit of news that simply has to be shared.” Nannie’s small, closely set blue eyes glittered in apparent delight with what she was about to impart. “You know, Juliette, you’ll ruin your figure nursing both those babies.”

“I suppose that’s a risk I’ll have to take if Lena and Joe are to survive.”

Nannie Breene tipped her head to one side, frowning. Unless Juliette missed her guess, the girl would have spent no less than an hour and a half this morning arranging her blond hair in flirtatious curls about her face.

“I’m sure you know best, of course. But wouldn’t a wet nurse do as well?”

“A wet nurse in Beaumont Spur?” Juliette would not hire one even if there had been a woman wanting the job. Love and cuddles went into the feeding as much as life-sustaining food did. “Someday you’ll—”

Nannie cut her off with a crisp snap of her fingers.

“My news!” Her small eyes flashed in clear anticipation of Juliette’s coming reaction. “You won’t believe this!”

Nannie sat down in a chair across from Juliette, anchored her elbows on the table then stretched her neck forward, leading with her dainty, pointed chin.

“It’s hardly news that the bank has been robbed,” Juliette pointed out. “Can I get you some tea—a cookie?”

“How can I even think of it? Not knowing what I know—and it certainly is not something as common as the bank being robbed.”

For all that Nannie was bursting to repeat her news, she was apparently waiting for Juliette to drag it from her.

Very well. “What is your news? It must be something urgent.”

“Oh, it is!” Nannie leaned farther forward and whispered, “Trea Culverson is returning to Beaumont Spur.”

* * *

It was after midnight when Juliette wrapped a blanket about her shoulders and stepped onto the back porch of her small house. She stared up at the moon. It was full and bright. Not even halfway up the sky, it looked huge and close, almost as if she could reach out and touch it.

Her day had not ended when she bade the last customer good-night then put the Closed sign on the restaurant door. She’d wrapped the babies against the late November chill, tucked them in the pram then bundled her father-in-law up in a heavy coat.

As he normally did, Warren Lindor had insisted on being led to The Saucy Goose. As she always did, she pushed the pram with one arm and dragged the old man home by the coat sleeve.

Luckily, home was only a block away from her café.

By the time she fed the babies, tucked them into bed, gave Warren a snack and settled him into his room, and then baked the pastries for the next morning, it was late. Her neighbors had doused their lamps hours ago.

Perhaps she ought to do the same, but now was her time. No matter the weather, it was her custom to stand on her porch and listen to the quiet whispers of deep night. The sounds changed with the seasons, but her sense of peace in the moment did not.

In the beginning, when she’d first discovered this precious time, she had stood in this spot gazing up at the deep sky, often weeping while she held the image of Steven close.

But it had been a year since he went away to work for the railroad. She still thought of him. She always would, of course. But she did not do it as frequently now, and when she did it was with smiles more often than tears.

She had been blessed beyond reason with a daughter and a son. Oh, she might have been crippled by grief and loneliness, but because of the babies she carried a song in her heart.

After selling the big house she had shared with Steven and his family, she had been able to purchase her restaurant and this cozy cottage.

Each morning she had a purpose in waking, breathing, smiling at the new day and wondering what it would bring.

If the gossip was correct, it would soon bring the return of the prodigal son.

Although, unlike the prodigal, there would be no loving father’s arms open in welcome. For Trea there would be no fatted calf given in celebration.

Everyone in town, except a dozen girls with fluttering hearts, had been glad to see the last of him.

And Juliette? She had not been happy to see him go. It had broken her young heart.

Even after all these years, she remembered his expression in the instant he’d fled.

The reflection of flames consuming the livery that night had cast his face in a red-orange grimace. To many people his silence, his failure to declare his innocence while he risked his life leading horse after horse to safety, was the same as an admission of guilt that he’d set the fire.

That was not what Juliette believed. To her way of thinking, Trea would never have done anything to endanger an animal.

Was she the only one to have noted that every able-bodied man standing and witnessing the destruction had done so from across the street, leaving the rescue of the animals to a seventeen-year-old?

While it was true that Trea had always been the town bad boy—a hellion born of one—unlike his father, he was never mean-spirited.

More often than not his crimes involved kissing the girls in town. As far as Juliette could tell, none of them considered it a crime at all.

It did, however, cement his reputation as the black sheep begotten of a black sheep. Whenever a minor crime of any kind was committed, it was assumed that Trea was the perpetrator.

Juliette had valid reason to believe he was not the wicked child they had cast him as. Perhaps, in part, due to the fact that he had never kissed her. She might be the one girl in Beaumont who had never had her heart broken by him.

Which didn’t mean that she had not envied those girls and spent dreamy moments wondering about Trea’s kisses. How many nights had she lain awake in her bed imagining what it would be like to feel his lips, hear sweet whispers of affection, and all the while brooding over which of her friends might be finding out right that moment?

And now, if the gossip proved true, Trea Culverson was coming home.

Even though she was a woman grown, a widow with children, her heart beat a little faster, even her belly tickled.

She knew it was silly. Years had passed. Trea was no longer the daring, forbidden boy who’d taken her breath away.

He was a man grown. Heaven only knew who he had grown to be.

Chapter Two

It was half past midnight when Trea Culverson dragged the grease-splattered apron off over his head for the last time. He folded it in a neat square then set it on top of the laundry pile.

The saloon washerwoman would have it cleaned by morning for the new cook.

Grease coated his hair, his arms and even the creases of his eyes. If he never fried another chicken it would be a fine thing.

Opening the door of the huge iron stove, he checked the fire to make sure it was small enough to leave unguarded.

With a last look about the place that had employed him for the past several years, he bade it farewell.

The job was far from his ideal occupation, but it had earned him the money to pursue the one that was. At last, his training was finished and he was ready to begin the career he had been working so hard toward.

Stepping outside, he pulled the door closed behind him. The moon looked like a glowing ball suspended partway between the horizon and the North Star. The full of the moon always struck him as a magical sight.

The door hadn’t clicked closed before he heard, “Trea! Wait!”

“Good night, Mags,” he said to the woman stepping out onto the porch.

Cold moonlight shone down on her face, revealing the creep of middle age that she fought so hard to hide.

“You were leaving without a goodbye kiss?”

“Not much for goodbyes.” Since he’d never even kissed the woman hello, it would have been awkward to kiss her goodbye.

“I’ll miss you, Trea.” The waitress lifted one shoulder. The strap of her gown slipped. “We all will—but...well, I thought maybe you wouldn’t want to sleep at the livery on your last night? It’s warmer in my room.”

She touched his cheek with soft fingers.

There had been a time when he’d have sought this woman, kissed and bedded her within an hour of meeting her, but that would have been a long time ago.

“You’re too fine a lady for a greasy fellow like me.” He caught her hand, lowered it, but squeezed softly as he let go. “I can’t afford a moment of your time, Mags.”

“As if I’d charge you.” She went up on her toes, kissed his cheek. “Be on your way, then, you handsome young thing. I hope you find what you are looking for back in your hometown.”

“Reckon I’ll know once I get there.”

“Safe travels,” she said with a half smile, then she went back inside and closed the door behind her.

He hadn’t lied when he told her he could not afford her time. Couldn’t afford the bath he was headed for, either, but only soap and hot water would scrub the grease off his skin and hair.

Truth be told, he’d have bathed in the stream in order to save money if it weren’t nearly frozen over. But he also needed a shave. He’d neglected the condition of his chin for far too long.

He walked uphill toward the bathhouse. Luckily the facility was owned by the saloon and would be open for another two hours, plenty of time for the soaking he would need.

Warmth filled his lungs as soon as he walked in out of the cold. Humid air wrapped around him.

He paid the fee to a sleepy-looking woman sitting near the front door, and within ten minutes he was behind a screen, submerged in water that was, if not completely clean, at least good and hot.

With his eyes closed he felt the kiss of steam curling about his neck and face. For him this visit was a luxury. In pursuit of his goal, he’d rarely indulged in anything that was not food, basic clothing or shelter.

Because he’d been living in a shed attached to the livery, he’d been able to put aside a fair amount of money. Last month he’d purchased a house in Beaumont Spur, sight unseen. He hoped it was all the previous owner claimed it to be. With so many decent folks leaving town, he’d been able to buy the place for a good price.

The last time he’d been in Beaumont Spur it had simply been Beaumont. As pretty a place as anyone could imagine. When he’d run away from it, with ash embedded in his skin and his clothes, coughing smoke out of his lungs, he’d been accused of a heartless crime.

The looks folks had cast him hurt worse than the burn on his hand. Even if he’d tried to explain that it had been an accident—one he could have done nothing to prevent—they would not have believed him.

That wicked night, everyone thought he was the spawn of the devil. Thinking of his father made him wonder if it might be true.

He hadn’t seen Ephraim Culverson since then, but he’d heard that his father had been forced to shutter his freight-hauling business when the spur came to town.

The word was, he’d opened a couple of saloons in its place. In Trea’s opinion that suited him better than the rough work that went into running teamsters. Not that Pa had done much but sit behind his desk, drink and curse at his employees.

From nearby he heard the snap of a leather strap, the swish of a razor being stropped.

Heavy footsteps rounded the curtain.

“Reckoned you didn’t want a woman, Culverson, so I’m all you’ve got at this hour.”

“Blamed if I don’t want a woman, but I’ve got a reputation to repair, Goudy.”

“I’ll try not to tarnish it.” The heavyset man plunked a stool down beside the tub. He sat on it with a grunt and a short bark of laughter. “I’ll do what I can not to cut you, either.”

“I appreciate that.” Trea leaned his head on the back edge of the tub and lifted his chin.

He closed his eyes. Images of the past flashed on the backs of his eyelids. Mostly the faces of girls whose names he couldn’t quite recall. He clearly remembered how he’d wronged them, though.

The clean scent of shaving lather filled his senses.

So did the image of one pretty young face. He hadn’t forgotten that one.

Juliette Yvonne Moreland had been an angel in his eyes. She had been consistently kind, sweet-natured and always smiling.

She was also probably the one girl he had never shamed or whose heart he had not broken—at least, he hoped he hadn’t.

Oh, he’d dreamed of kissing her, all right. His boyish heart had been infatuated with her.

“You’re thinking about a woman right now. Don’t claim you aren’t.”

“Not a woman, Goudy—a girl.”

“Don’t forget I’ve got a razor in my hand.”

“You could cut my throat for a lot of things—but not that. The girl, Juliette, is someone I grew up with. She’s the one person from Beaumont Spur that I never could forget.”

No doubt because she had been the one person who never judged him harshly.

For all that he had dreamed of it, he had never touched her. The thing was, she was too good and he was too bad. The thought of breaking her heart—he couldn’t do that any more than he could pull a kitten’s tail.

He’d always had the suspicion that sweet Juliette was the only person in Beaumont who saw the real Trea Culverson. He figured she was the only one who wasn’t waiting to smack him on the hand with a gavel.

“Wonder if she’s still there,” Goudy said, stroking a shaving brush in pleasant-feeling circles on Trea’s face.

“If she is, she’ll be married, I imagine, with half a dozen children.”

“The good ones always are.”

In memory, he saw Juliette wink at him and smile, the event still clear in his mind. In that moment, at twelve years old, his heart had tumbled.

He’d been in the general store, wandering about, looking at this and that—mostly at the peppermint sticks. The store owner had been scowling at him the whole time, sure he was about to steal something.

Maybe he would have. But Juliette shot him that wink, fished a coin out of her pocket and purchased two candies. She gave him one, then blushed and ran out of the store.

No doubt she was married now to some lucky fellow. He hoped so. She deserved that kind of happiness and more.

He also hoped she was still in Beaumont Spur. There was something in him that wanted her to know the wild boy was gone, grown into a man wanting to make his reputation right.

Juliette’s opinion mattered to him very much.

* * *

Juliette ought to have bid the moon good-night before her feet started aching with cold, but she’d lingered too long over its beauty.

Coming inside, she feared that, as tired as she was, she might not be able to sleep because of it. Without a man to warm her toes against, she was doomed to lie awake until they finally warmed on their own.

Passing through the parlor, she spotted the hatbox with the bright yellow bow, where she’d set it down on the table next to the fireplace.

With all the hustle getting everyone down for the night, she’d all but forgotten about the curious item.

She stirred the coals with the poker then watched the embers flare to new life. Perhaps if she sat down to read the letter attached to the delicate-looking box, her feet would have time to warm before she went upstairs.

“What on earth could this be?” she murmured to the dozing household. She could guess all night long and not come up with a logical answer.

She opened the envelope, slowly withdrew the note, then leaned close to the glow of the fireplace to better read the script written in a fine feminine hand.

Dear Mrs. Lindor,

First of all, I cannot say how grateful I am for the time the time I spent in your establishment. It was a refreshing change from the dreariness of the hotel.

“Well, yes...” Juliette muttered. “Anything would be.”

And your children are sweet angels.

Hungrier-than-average angels, though. She ought to get some sleep before they woke for their middle-of-the-night feeding.

As far as her restaurant went? She was dedicated to keeping it scrupulously clean. While she might live in a ragtag town, she would not be a part of the sorry state of affairs.

She read on.

I have recently come into a large sum of money. Not through any hard work on my part, though. No, I simply collected the reward for those miserable Underwoods, a man I used to trust being among them.

I find that I do not want the money, but I suspect that you will find a way to put it to good use.

Please accept this Christmas gift to you and your beautiful babies.

With all good wishes,

Laura Lee Quinn, very soon to be Laura Lee Creed

The flower-scented paper fluttered to Juliette’s feet, covering the stocking-clad toes of one foot. She stared at the letter for a long moment then reached for the hatbox.

What on earth? A gift? Of money? Juliette could scarcely believe it. No doubt she had been more tired than she knew—had climbed the stairs huddled under her covers and fallen asleep in spite of her cold feet. Clearly this had to be a lovely dream that she was about to wake from. Before she did, though, she ought to open the lid of the hatbox and see how much money was in it. No doubt she would jerk back to reality before she discovered that, but—

She lifted the lid, blinked hard at what was inside then closed it again. She didn’t dare to touch the cash because dream money always vanished before one’s eyes. It tended to turn into carrots or a ball of yarn or one of the many things dream objects transformed into. And here she would sit, wondering how to pay the mortgage, same as she did every month.

Tucking the hatbox under her arm, she went upstairs, got into bed and curled herself around the pretty yellow gift.

If it was still there when she awoke in the morning, she would believe it. But not until then. Not until sunlight shone on the treasure inside and it did not vanish like dreams mostly did.

* * *

Dawn came and the money in the hatbox proved to be as real as the slush Juliette swept off the porch in front of her restaurant.

Everything about the day was as normal as peas, except that she had more money than she could have ever imagined.

True to form, her father-in-law complained that the babies were fussing and that he was hungry. Levi Silver sat at his customary table, eating his breakfast of eggs and bacon cooked to a crisp.

Cold seeped through her boots while she swept, same as it always did, but this morning she barely felt it. Her mind was so full of possibilities for the future of her family that she didn’t give the ordinary tasks of the morning a thought. She went through them by rote, her mind flitting among the clouds.

With her newly come tidy little fortune, she could leave Beaumont Spur along with so many others.

Or she could stay in the place she loved. Even in the state it had fallen to, this was home, the place the roots of her heart grew deep. She could build a beautiful home at the edge of town where life would be more peaceful. She could stay home all day long just watching her babies grow.

Gazing at the mountain range that circled Beaumont Spur like a snowy crown, she knew it would be a difficult thing to leave the place where her dreams and her family members were buried. Perhaps she would not be able to, even if it might be for the best.

The way things seemed now, she wondered if Beaumont Spur even had a future.

She would not want to invest her heart and her money in a place that was doomed to fail.

Her money? The idea was still fresh enough to not seem real.

Who would have imagined that a gang of scruffy outlaws would be worth so much?

Until this morning, Juliette Lindor would not have believed it.

The sound of a hammer on wood cut the quiet morning. Juliette looked up suddenly to see Mrs. Elvira Pugley pounding the tool on the front door of The Fickle Dog Saloon.

“Ephraim Culverson, your saloon is ruining my hotel!” she shouted.

After a few moments of incessant hammering, the door was flung open and the owner of the saloon burst onto the boardwalk wearing a knee-length nightshirt and a pair of argyle socks. Even with one big toe poking out of the tip of the sock, the man looked formidable.

“Stop your bleating, woman!” Ephraim’s bellow had always been loud enough to shake windows. This morning, having no doubt been awoken after a night of debauchery, it was even louder.

“I demand that you keep your fleas on your own side of the wall. Folks are complaining all day and night!” Elvira Pugley was as hot-tempered as her neighbor.

“My fleas be damned!” Ephraim Culverson snatched the hammer from her hand and pitched it halfway across the road. “It’s your fat, hairy rats carrying them to my place.”

“Of all the insulting—I’m not the one who named my business The Fickle Dog. Dogs have fleas.”

“No more than rodents do!”

Juliette was pretty sure her windows rattled, but she shrugged and continued to sweep. This was not the first time the saloon owner and the hotel owner had erupted in a battle of words.

No doubt both places had fleas borne by rats. She didn’t care much who’d had them first, so long as the vermin kept to their own side of the road.

“I’ve a mind to sell the hotel rather than spend another day next door to you.”

She had? For how much?

“Sure would suit me not to hear you hammering on my door in the wee hours.”

To Mr. Culverson the wee hours were what others would call eleven in the morning.

Did she dare make an offer for the hotel?

If the saloon owner considered Mrs. Pugley a bothersome neighbor, well, Juliette would be worse. Not as loud, perhaps, but more persistent in the quest for cleanliness.

But to restore the hotel and hopefully attract a more family-oriented sort of person to Beaumont Spur, to make the ones who were leaving reconsider? The possibility niggled around in her mind until it turned into downright temptation.

“I just might take the train out of this town before that no-good, thieving, arsonist, taker-of-innocence son of yours comes back to town, and I hear he is.”

At the mention of Trea, Juliette stopped sweeping, leaned for a moment against the broom handle.

The last thing she expected was for her heart to kick at the mention of that long-absent boy.

Maybe he was going to come back to town and be his father’s pride and joy—but he had never been that, not really.

He would have needed a blacker soul in order for his father to be proud of him.

For all that Trea acted like the town’s black sheep, Juliette saw someone different.

She saw a boy with a decent heart looking for acceptance from people who would never respect him. And mostly because of his bully of a father.

That boy had sought affection in whatever way he could.

Just now her heart reacted to the mention of him the same way it had so many years ago, with a thump, then a yearning. She could not deny that she had been in childish adoration of him.

Over the years she’d often wondered about him, remembered the mischievous glint in his warm brown eyes, the hurt and rejection caused by those whose approval he so desperately wanted.

Of course, he would never have gotten it. The acorn didn’t fall far from the tree she’d heard time and again in reference to Trea.

How many times had she wanted to shout that trees and their nuts were a far different thing than human beings and their children?

It was her long-held opinion that a child should not have to bear the sins of the father. It had been shocking to her to discover that, in the opinion of most folks, they did.

Most especially when the acorn, the product of a sinful man, was named Trea Culverson.

“You better take that train, Elvira. I aim to promote my son to head man around here, right under me. Don’t reckon you’ll like having my young hellion to answer to.”

The argument over Trea and fleas continued for another five minutes before the combatants went back inside their own places of business.

It wouldn’t be long before they were back at it, though, unless Mrs. Pugley was serious about selling.

If she was? Well, the idea was likely to leave Juliette distracted all day and sleepless all night.

Chapter Three

Juliette fashioned the ribbons of her bonnet into a tidy bow under her chin while she watched out the front window for Rose McAllister.

The babies were fed. Her father-in-law napped near the stove in the kitchen. Given that it was two in the afternoon and a quiet time for the restaurant, seventeen-year-old Rose should have no trouble tending things while Juliette went out to take care of business matters.

For the first time, she didn’t need to fret over the money she paid young Rose. In fact, with Christmas coming, she would give the girl extra. Rose, who was raising her younger sister, needed additional funds as much as Juliette did—or had until she found a hatbox with her name on it.

While she watched the boardwalk, her attention wandered to the hotel on the other side of the street, seeing it not as it was, but as she envisioned it.

Sometime during the wee hours of the night Juliette had made her decision. It was hard to know the moment it happened. At some point in her mind the hotel went from being the run-down eyesore she saw from her restaurant window to being hers.

Suddenly there was a coat of fresh paint to brighten its appearance. The front porch had half a dozen rocking chairs for her guests to sit in and window boxes full of blooming flowers for them to smell. Blamed if one of her guests would ever suffer a fleabite once she was in charge of things.

She was in the middle of a quick prayer that Elvira Pugley really did intend to sell when she spotted Rose hurrying along the walk, her ten-year-old sister in tow.

The door opened with a rush of frigid air. With the clouds building as quickly as they were, it couldn’t be long before snow began to fall.

“I’m sorry to be late, Juliette.” Rose yanked off her coat and then her sister’s and hung them on the coatrack. “Cora couldn’t decide which book to bring.”

“Thank you for coming, Rose. I can’t tell you how I appreciate the time to get a few things done.” Juliette would not tell her exactly what things just yet. “I hope to be back within an hour.”

“No need to thank me. Cora needs a bit of diversion. Without school, she gets restless.”

“From what I hear, the new teacher will be here any day,” Juliette said.

“Hope the new one’s better than the last one.” Cora sighed. “He didn’t teach us anything. Just let the boys run wild and the girls talk about everybody.”

“I hope so, too. We’re lucky to get one at all, though. Most teachers choose a position that pays better than we can offer.”

“I only wish we knew more about him or her.” Rose rubbed her arms briskly, wiping away the lingering chill from her blouse. “Since the school board is in Smith’s Ridge, and they’re doing the hiring, our new teacher could come from the moon and we wouldn’t know any better.”

“Well—schoolmaster or schoolmistress, from earth or the moon, it will have to be better than no teacher at all,” Juliette pointed out.

“Maybe,” Cora muttered with a good deal of doubt evident on her young face as she sat at a table and opened her book. “I’d rather be home with my reading than hear those girls gossip when they ought to be paying attention to the lesson. And if that nasty Charlie Gumm pulls my braid one more time—I’ll have to punch him, I reckon.”

“And get sent home for a week?” Rose shot her sister a severe frown.

“I might learn more on my own if we get a teacher like Mr. Smythe was. I don’t think he was from the moon. Maybe Mars, though.”

“I suppose we shouldn’t judge the new teacher, not even knowing a thing about them,” Juliette said, going out the front door with a backward glance.

“I reckon so,” answered Cora, but she sounded far from convinced.

Outside, wind seemed to come at her from every direction. Snow was on its way. For the first time in a long while, she didn’t worry overmuch that it would keep customers home. If the widow Pugley accepted the offer that Juliette presented, there would be money to purchase the hotel and plenty for renovations, too.

She felt a lightness in her step that she hadn’t felt in quite a while. At the same time, her stomach was a nervous mess.

Thanks to the generosity of Laura Lee Quinn—no doubt Creed by now—the opportunity of a lifetime was within her reach.

But only so long as Mrs. Pugley had been sincere in her desire to leave Beaumont Spur.

* * *

Coming home to Beaumont Spur was even more taxing to Trea’s nerves than he expected it to be.

Huddled into his coat against the cold, he leaned against the wall of the train station at Smith’s Ridge, wondering if he was making the right decision in going home.

Not that wondering made a bit of difference, since he’d already made the decision. He was good and committed to the course he’d set.

A lot of years had passed since he last walked the streets of Beaumont. It hadn’t even been called Beaumont Spur back then, just plain Beaumont.

Would folks still look at him with disapproval after all this time? His pa would. The old cuss would be ashamed to his bones.

And the girls whose affections he’d dallied with? They would be grown women—mothers, even. Would they judge him harshly?

He was a changed man now—reformed. He only hoped they would see past who he had been to who he had become. Because if they didn’t...

The train whistle blew, letting the waiting passengers know they could board the train and get out of the frigid weather.

He picked up the bag of a young lady who seemed to be on her own and carried it up the steps of the train car. She smiled appreciatively at him. He let the smile warm him through, since he couldn’t be sure he would get another anytime soon.

There was no telling what awaited him at home. He had a lot to atone for, and it was important that he do it. He could not be the upright fellow he’d set his course to be unless he did.

The lady nodded her thanks, then sat down on the bench across from him.

Something about her reminded him of Juliette Moreland. The sweetness of her expression—the way she tipped her head to one side when she spoke? That might be it. That, or the spark of goodwill that brightened her blue eyes and reflected a kind soul.

One of the reasons he was so nervous about going home was Juliette, even though she was probably the one person in town he had not wronged in some way.

As wild a boy as he’d been, when Juliette looked at him, he’d felt worth something.

That was it, then. He was on edge because he feared seeing her look at him like everyone else had. Over the years, growing in maturity and wisdom, she might see him differently than she had back then. As a woman grown she might judge him more harshly.

That fifteen-year-old girl who had followed him one hot summer night to the shed where he’d hidden from an angry storekeeper, the sweet girl who’d sat with him, sharing her dinner, might see him differently now.

Looking back, it seemed odd—but sitting in that secluded space with darkness coming on—blame it, he wouldn’t have talked and laughed the evening away with anyone but Juliette.

He’d entertained a lot of girls in that shed. The memories were heated but vague. Visions of pretty faces melded one into one another—their sighs all the same.

The only one he remembered with clarity was Juliette.

She was—just better than anyone else he’d ever met.

Beautiful—it was the name he’d always called her. Partly to see her blush, but also because it was true. He’d called a few others that, too, but he’d only meant it with Juliette.

Just now, listening to the rumble of the great engine and feeling the vibration of the wheels on the track picking up speed, he didn’t know which he feared most. Seeing her again—or not seeing her.

* * *

What had she done?

Juliette opened the door to her snug little café and came inside, shutting the door on glowering clouds that promised snow. She glanced about the well-kept space and breathed in the familiar scents.

The café was empty of customers at the moment, but clearly there had been a few. Coffee had recently been served and sweet rolls. The lingering scent of steak told her someone had just enjoyed a meal.

Every inch of this place was as familiar to her as her face in the mirror.

What on God’s good earth had she done?

“You’re back quicker than I expected.” Rose bustled out from the kitchen, dusting flour-smeared hands on her apron. “I figured I’d bake a pan of biscuits. I imagine the folks arriving on the train will be hungry.”

“I appreciate that. Thank you, Rose.”

“It was no problem. The babies are asleep and your father-in-law is reading a dime novel. I needed to keep busy with—Juliette, you’re pale. Are you feeling all right?”

“Am I pale?” Juliette took off her gloves and pinched her cheeks. “Well—it’s just that I bought the hotel.”

Cora looked up from her book and pointed out the window. “That hotel?”

“I imagine so, Cora. It’s the only one in town,” Rose pointed out, looking as appalled as her sister.

“But it’s in worse shape than the schoolhouse is.”

Juliette hadn’t seen the inside of the small red building in some time but figured she must accept Cora’s word on it. “Yes—that very one. The fleas and the bedbugs all belong to me now.”

What in glory blazes had she done?

Turned her safe, predictable life upside down, is what.

“If I were you I’d tear it down,” Cora advised.

“That will be enough of your sassy mouth, young lady,” Rose scolded. “If you can’t say something supportive just go back to your studies.”

“I’ve been trying to all afternoon. But those women from the Ladies Service Society spent their whole meeting time gossiping about that no-account fellow coming to town. If they want to be of service, they should have been over at the schoolhouse cleaning it. It made my brain scatter. I reckon the new teacher will take the first train out of here once she sees where she’s supposed to work.”

Juliette assumed that the man the members of the Society had been discussing could be no other than Trea Culverson. Juliette was grateful that she had not been here for that conversation. Her recollections of the boy were vastly different than theirs.

And the very last thing she had time for was filling her mind with a long-ago romance, especially one that had only happened in her imagination.

“Yes, well,” Juliette said. “That’s what the Ladies Service Society does. They make plans over coffee, but usually don’t act upon them.”

“Same with our ‘brave’ sheriff. He took his lunch plate to the ladies’ table. Sure did make some big talk about keeping a sharp eye on the man they were talking about.” Cora picked up her pencil and appeared to be absorbed in study, but Juliette figured it was more focused on town trouble.

“He would, wouldn’t he? After his cousins nearly robbed the bank right under his nose, he needs to do something to look like he’s protecting us.” Rose shrugged. “I was too young to remember Mr. Culverson much, but he sounds charming and wicked all at once.”

“Yes, well, some will remember him that way, but I remember a boy with a kind heart.”

When she had time she might give her memories of Trea further thought, but at the moment she had to focus on what might be the biggest mistake she had ever made.

So much was a jumble in her mind, such as how to deal with various forms of vermin while trying to keep Warren Lindor out of The Fickle Dog Saloon when it was right next door to the hotel.

But a few other things were perfectly clear.

For one thing, she would move into the hotel, once it was livable.

For another, she would open a fancy restaurant within the hotel—a steakhouse. It would be a respectable place where folks could bring their families.

Still yet another, and this was very important to her, she would keep her dear café open. It had been her lifeline, something to focus her future on after burying her family.

What she had just done was too overwhelming to consider all at once. If she tried, it made her short of breath and gave her a bit of a headache.

Tiny steps would get her to where she needed to be. In time, she hoped to lead Beaumont Spur back to the decent place it used to be. A place where a child could run free, hear birdsong instead of garish music...where one did not need to worry about being bowled over by staggering saloon patrons. That was something she hoped to change. Unfortunately, good folks were already packing.

She took a breath and let it out slowly. There was really nothing she could do about her giant undertaking right that moment.

Except—

“Rose, do you like working here?”

“I couldn’t get by without the work you give me. There aren’t a lot of respectable jobs for someone my age, and I’m not nearly ready to marry.”

“Would you consider running the café for me?” Juliette glanced between Rose and her little sister. Whatever Rose chose to do would be with Cora’s best interests in mind.

“You could live in my house. That way you would be here in town, closer to work and to school for Cora.”

Rose stared at her in silence. Warren’s soft chuckle drifted out of the kitchen while he read his novel.

“I know it’s sudden, but—”

“I can start right now. Mercy, but I guess I already have.” Rose lifted her hands and waggled her flour-crusted fingertips. “It won’t be long until the afternoon train. I’ll get back to the kitchen right now.”

“I can pay you, too, Cora, if you’d like to help with sweeping and keeping things tidy or watching the babies.”

“I reckon I won’t be going to school anytime soon, once the new teacher gets a look at the place, so, yes, I’d like that.”

“The classroom is that awful?”

“As far as I can tell, and that’s quite a bit, the old teacher never, ever, even wiped fingerprints off the desks.”

Beaumont needed a respectable teacher. Given that Juliette would have her children attending in only five more years, and also given the fact that keeping things neat and tidy was something of a crusade for her—

“Don’t you worry about what your new schoolteacher will think. If you’ll help your sister with the café and with Mr. Lindor for a few hours, I’ll make sure your new teacher will be happy with the classroom.”

A couple hours of scrubbing ought to give her time to think and plan. There were more thoughts in her mind right now than she could keep track of.

Along with an orderly attack on dirt, she might put together a plan to make her hotel a symbol of new life for Beaumont Spur.

* * *

Wind tugged Juliette’s skirt every which way while she pushed the buggy over the rutted road toward the schoolhouse. As cold as it was, she hadn’t wanted to bring the babies out, but they would be getting hungry soon. Even if they would accept a bottle, which they would not, Rose would have a lot to do if the train was full of passengers.

A portion of the blanket blew loose, exposing Lena’s dark, curly head. Bending over the buggy, Juliette tucked it back into place.

“I know it’s cold, sweetlings,” she murmured when the blanket heaved and fussing noises emerged from under it. “Almost there.”

Just as she lifted Joe from the buggy, a dozen or more fat snowflakes drifted down. She hurried up the steps with him hugged close to her breast. Once inside, she laid a blanket on the floor and put him on it. Within seconds he began to cry.

“I’m sorry, little love,” she called over her shoulder while she hurried back out to bring in Lena.

Lena cried louder than Joe did when Juliette laid her down beside her cousin.

There was nothing to do but let them cry for a moment, since she could not leave the buggy to fill with snow.

Making quick work of it, she dragged the buggy inside then lit a fire in the stove. She put on a pot of water to heat, since it was far too cold to scrub with anything that was not warm and sudsy.

With a child in each arm, she sat cross-legged on the floor and fed them. The peaceful moment gave her time to look about at the task she had volunteered to do.

Cora was right. Any teacher worth the pay would not consider working in this filth. How long did she have to get it cleaned?

No one knew for sure when the instructor would arrive. Before Christmas was all she’d heard.

“What do you think, Lena?” She gazed down at her daughter and received a milky smile. “If I finish in time, I ought to hang a fir bough over the blackboard.”

Casting a frown at the walls and the smears of grime on them, she was not sure when that would be. There was plenty of firewood stacked outside, so she could stay here until she had to get Warren home and into bed.

The twilight hours were often difficult for him, and Rose should not have to deal with his increasingly odd moods.

“What do you think about some red berries tucked into the garland, Joe?” He kicked his tiny feet.

Within half an hour the room had warmed comfortably and the babies fallen asleep.

She turned her attention to the task at hand. Walls first, then desks and the floor.

The Ladies Service Society ought to have been here to help, but no doubt some of them were intent on leaving Beaumont Spur and no longer cared about the condition of education here.

Well, this was Juliette’s town—her school, in a sense—and she would see to its cleanliness. She could not understand why other folks didn’t care more about the condition of their school or their town. Perhaps it was because the people who had negative things to say spoke the loudest and set the mood for everyone else, giving off an attitude of despair instead of hope.

By the looks of things, she would be here for hours, listening to the snap of the fire, the babies breathing and the swish of the cleaning rag in soapy water.

Plenty of time to make a plan to renovate her hotel.

The trouble was, being in this room—which had not changed since she’d been a student—made her look more at the past than the future.

All of her memories, good and bad, led to one thought.

What had become of Trea Culverson? He was coming home. She knew that, but not a single thing more.

Wherever she glanced in this room she saw him—a boy discounted by the teacher, flirted with by infatuated girls and resented by the other boys—even as they envied him.

And Juliette...she remembered a day...

Looking up from her work, she gazed out the window. Snow drifted softly past, very much like it had that day.

The teacher had sent her students outside to get fresh air even though the weather was bad.

Juliette stood with a circle of girls and boys who considered themselves to be wooing. Juliette believed them to be silly, since no one was of an age for courting.

The room around her faded, giving way to a vivid vision of things past.

Trea stood next to Juliette, all the while holding the hand of his current sweetheart, Nannie Breene. The name Nannie Preen would have suited her better—Juliette remembered thinking that very clearly. She was awfully proud to be holding the hand of the handsome bad boy.

Nannie had looked at Juliette with a sneer so genuine that one would not know they were friends. At least she had always thought they were, but the scorn in her expression took her aback.

“You need a beau,” Nannie had suddenly declared in front of everyone.

Indeed, Juliette was the only girl in the circle without one. And no wonder. She was not like the other girls. She was too tall, quite gangly and she dressed in homemade clothes rather than the fashionable outfits her classmates enjoyed.

“Juliette Moreland, why don’t you just go away?”

Nannie’s words had slashed her to the heart. They were so hurtful and embarrassing, she’d wished the ground would open and she could slip away—never to be seen again.

Her cheeks had burned hotter than any fever.

She’d been certain she could never face anyone again. But then—she could scarce believe it—Trea dropped Nannie’s hand and slipped his arm around Juliette’s shoulder.

“She can stay,” he’d said with a slight squeeze. “I want her to stay.”

A day and a half later, Trea’s attention had shifted from Nannie to another girl.

After all this time, she could not even recall who it was.

In the end, she was glad he’d never chosen to flirt with her. If he had, her life might have turned out very differently because there had been something, a sense of belonging, between them, a feeling that they were meant to be together. At least, that is what her romantic young heart had believed.

A silly fancy, she had come to see as time went on.

In the end, she had married Steven and never regretted it. How could she, with those two precious babies asleep on the blanket? And there was the café that had taught her how to stand on her own. And now? Well—she certainly did not regret the new venture she was taking on. It frightened her, but she would not go back from the choice she made.

Things worked out the way they were supposed to in the end.

Mostly.

* * *

When he got off the train, Trea was hungry. Seemed like half a dozen other folks were, as well.

He’d wait a bit to eat. Maybe head on over to the café he’d just spotted for dinner. The place hadn’t been here when he was a kid but it looked respectable.

Picking up his valises, he tucked one under each arm then scooped up two more, one in each fist. All he had in the world fit in the four small cases. A circumstance that suited him just fine.

Anything he needed he could purchase when he received his first pay. Since his house on the outskirts of town came with furniture, he would not need much.

Glancing about, he was sorry to see the town so ragged. Seemed like no one cared about it anymore. The Beaumont he remembered had been a pretty place.

Blame it if his own father wasn’t responsible for much of the blight. He imagined his pa was even less scrupulous as a saloon owner than he’d been as a teamster.

He had the sad feeling that Pa’d had Trea’s mother in mind when he named one of his saloons The Fickle Dog—probably The Saucy Goose, as well.

Growing up he’d never heard a complimentary thing about his mother. Absence—death, as it was—had not made his father’s heart grow fonder.

In the distance he spotted the small red schoolhouse with a bell tower on top. He’d go there before he went to his new house. It was closer, and smoke was curling out of the chimney.

With the weather turning ever colder, the wind and snow swirling, close was better.

He balanced his valises, tucked them tighter under his arms and picked up his pace. Through one of the windows he saw the stove’s orange glow. It cast a welcome through the dim afternoon light.

He’d say a heartfelt prayer of thanks for whoever had had the foresight to warm the place up.

It was curious that anyone had, though, given he’d been vague about the time of his arrival.

After bounding up the steps, he set his valises on the porch then opened the door.

A woman was on her knees, facing away from him. Her slim back moved in time with her vigorous scrubbing. The skirt draped across her hips swayed with the effort she exerted.

A black braid with a pink ribbon entwined in the strands bounced between her shoulder blades.

She hadn’t heard him come in because she was singing to herself.

He wasn’t aware of breathing or his heartbeat because when she turned and saw him, what would her expression be? How would she look at him?

Why, after all this time, did it matter so much?

“Hello, Beautiful,” he said, surprised his voice croaked past the lump in his throat.

Chapter Four

Juliette clenched the rag in her fingers then let it drop on the floor near her knees. Slowly straightening, she dug her damp, sudsy hands into her skirt.

Trea’s voice was familiar and different at the same time. For some reason, it came as shock to hear it even though she knew he was coming back to Beaumont Spur.

Slowly she pivoted her head. Her gaze collided with a pair of pants, gray wool damp at the cuffs. She raised her eyes. Her line of vision slid up, over thighs that had grown muscular over the years—she noted it even under the cover of wool.

He gazed down at her, arms folded across his ribs. The coat he wore was bulky so she could not tell if his chest had filled out like his long legs had.

But of course it would have. No one stayed seventeen forever. The boy she had been smitten with had quite clearly become a man, and she scarce knew what to think or how to feel about it.

From her position on the floor it seemed that his hat touched the ceiling.

Then, for a heartbeat only, she did see the boy. The expression of vulnerability that she remembered all too well flashed across his face before he smiled.

The way his mouth curved up at one corner was instantly familiar, except, of course, for the dark mustache that had been trimmed within half an inch of a subtle dimple.

She well remembered that flirtatious dimple, having dreamed of it night after night for a good three years when she was a girl.

He grinned and the impression of vulnerability vanished.

“Trea Culverson. I imagine you still say that to all the girls.” Slowly she rose, grateful that her skirt hid the way her knees quaked.

She flipped her braid over her shoulder by habit, striving to look casual and unshaken by his sudden appearance. Because why should she be shaken? He was a ghost of her past and nothing more.

“I only ever meant it for you, Juliette.”

Maybe it was foolish, but she did believe him—and it made her feel...confused.

Yes, confused and lovely, which was unexpected, and silly, too. She was a widow, the mother of two, and he was—

Who was he now? Why had he shown up in the schoolhouse, of all places?

“It’s good to see you after all this time, Trea.”

That was so completely the truth that it scared her. How could it be that she felt as nervous as the awkward girl she had been the last time she’d seen him?

“Blame it, Juliette, you are even prettier than you were last time I saw you. I can’t see how that’s possible.” His smile ticked up; his brown eyes glimmered at her.

“And you are still a flirt. I was never beautiful and you know it. I was tall and gawky.”

“No, that was me. You were always the sweetest person I ever met.”

It was time to move on from this clumsy conversation. Or if it wasn’t, of the way it made her feel.

“I heard you were coming back, but what are you doing here in the schoolhouse?” It was the very last place she would have expected to encounter him. It was in the opposite direction of The Fickle Dog, which is where she would have assumed he was headed.

He tipped his head to one side, arched a dark brow. Oh—she remembered that expression, too! It made her heart flutter, same as it always had.

Where on earth was her good sense?

Widows were levelheaded folks. Everyone knew it.

“I’m surprised to see you here, too.”

“Oh, well—you wouldn’t be if you saw what the classroom looked like an hour ago. The former teacher was lax in tidiness and everything else. I’m hoping a good scrubbing will keep our new teacher from turning tail and running away.”

She sounded normal, her voice smooth and her thoughts casual. He would never guess how seeing him again so suddenly had shot her back in time and turned her inside out.

“That won’t happen, Juliette.” The jaunty smile, the teasing glint in his eye, faded and he looked at her soberly. “I’m the new teacher. And I’m here to stay.”

The teacher! It couldn’t be—no, not possibly.

“But—but—well.” Some folks would never allow him to teach their children. He couldn’t know how they still gossiped about him. “That is—I’m glad—grateful, I mean. We need a teacher so desperately.”

Trea Culverson a schoolmaster? Try as she might, she could not envision it.

Schoolteachers, both men and women, were held to strict standards. Why, they could have no social life at all. The instant there was a breath of scandal involving them, they were dismissed. It was not so long ago that a lady teacher had been fired for accepting a ride home in a buggy driven by a man who was not her father or her brother. It mattered not at all that it had been windy and getting dark.

Even if Trea had grown a halo and sprouted wings over the years, some folks would find fault.

“Surprised?” That brow lifted again, along with the crooked smile and the tick of his dimple. “You’re looking at a teacher with a degree in education.”

No, not surprised—stunned. Of all the things she’d considered, of all the things she’d imagined he had done with his life—she was simply astonished.

“What about you, Juliette?” he asked with a quick glance at her hand and away.

Could he be wondering if she was married? Apparently, but—

“Look over there in the corner—behind the stove.”

He turned. She noticed his shoulders sag ever so slightly, but when he looked back at her his grin was as bright as summer sunrise.

“Those little babies are my life.”

“Congratulations, Juliette! They are beyond precious.” He reached out as though he might touch her, but instead took a step back. “Your husband must be a happy man.”

No doubt. She believed everyone was, in the great beyond. More than once she’d felt Steven smiling over her shoulder.

“I’m a widow, Trea.”

The regret she saw darken his expression appeared genuine. She’d bet her new hotel on it.

“I’m right sorry to hear it. Did you marry a local fellow?”

“I did. Maybe you remember Steven Lindor? But he was a few grades ahead of us in school. You’ll recall his brother, I imagine. Thomas. He was in our class.”

“A quiet fellow—kept to himself, as I recall.”

“Yes.” Thomas had been shy and kinder than many of the boys. “That was him.”

And now, with her marital situation clear, she could not help but wonder—what was his?

He took off his coat, hung it on a peg on the wall.

“Hand over that cleaning rag.” He extended his hand. “You must have more important things to tend to. I appreciate what you’ve done, but I’ll finish.”

It was true. She ought to get back to the café, but she was not quite ready to part company with her old friend yet. It felt nice to hear the sound of his voice, to look at him and see the man he’d grown into.

Clearly, he had changed a great deal while he’d been away.

“There’s another rag beside the stove. As long as the babies are sleeping, I might as well stay and help. The students are anxious to get back to school.”

“Are they?” He took the cleaning cloth, dipped it in the soapy water. “I hope so, but I can’t remember ever feeling that way about it. I’ll get the floor if you want to clean the desks.”

“Well—one of them is, at least. Cora. She’s a studious little thing.”

“Like you were?”

“Not really. I was shy. Cora is—well, you’ll see.” She scrubbed vigorously at a dry inkwell. “Have you brought your family with you, Trea?”

The question had to be asked.

She purely hoped the answer was yes. If he’d come home a married man with children, he might be more easily accepted as the schoolmaster.

“I never married.” Squatting, he scrubbed at a stubborn stain, looked up at her with that endearing crooked grin. “Came close to it once, but the lady and I both agreed we weren’t meant to be.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, pretty sure that she truly meant it.

“Don’t be. She wanted more than I could give her in the material way and I—just wanted more.”

What kind of more? The meant-to-be sort of more—like she used to believe in?

Where were her emotions wandering? No place they should, and that was a fact.

She was a mother, a business woman. What she was not was a starry-eyed child.

* * *

Walking through the gently falling snowflakes and pushing the buggy with Juliette’s babies inside—the pair of them sleeping like small angels under the blanket—Trea was sorry that she hadn’t believed him when he’d called her Beautiful.

The doubt shadowing her eyes had been unmistakable.

Her disbelief, he felt, had nothing to do with her own self-confidence. Not at all. From all he could see, she had grown to be a strong, capable woman.

The respect he felt for her, raising these amazing babies on her own, was a mile long.

It shamed him that her doubt was because of him, of the way he’d been back then. There was no reason for her to believe that the town flirt had ever meant what he said or that he meant it now.

While they walked and chatted, even laughed a bit at old times, something became clear to him.

One day he was going to call her Beautiful and she was going to know he meant it, that it was from his heart.

It was important to him that she understood who he had become, that he no longer passed out false flattery as easily as whispers on the wind.

Of course, he’d always been genuine when it came to her. But given the mischief-maker he’d been back then, how could he blame her for having doubts about his sincerity?

Who would not?

For a long time now, he’d been preparing himself for the fact that it was going to cause a stir when people found out who would be educating their children.

“This place doesn’t look much like the Beaumont I remember.” It seemed dull and grungy. Not at all the respectable place he’d last seen.

“It isn’t. The rail spur brings all kinds of strangers to town—thieves and gamblers, to name a few. Can you believe there are three—”

A blush bloomed in her cheeks. He saw it, even through the snowy dusk.

“Saloons, you mean? And my father owns two of them?” He smiled when he said it, to assure her that her words had not wounded him.

It had taken him years to really understand, but he did at last accept that he was not his father. He did not carry his pa’s sins upon his shoulders. Only his own.

Now here he was in Beaumont Spur, hoping to make amends.

“I don’t know about you, but I’ve worked up an appetite with all that scrubbing. What do you say we have dinner together at the café? It looks like the only decent place in town to get a bite.”

She winked at him. He’d forgotten a lot of things over the years, but not how much he liked that gesture. It always made him feel warm—accepted, somehow.

“It is. And I own it.” A small squeak came from under the blanket. Juliette petted one of the tiny mounds and the fussing stilled. “I needed to make a living after Steven died. The children and the restaurant gave me a reason to put my feet on the floor each morning.”

“I can sincerely say I’m grateful you did. I reckon I’ll be a regular customer. I can cook—I’d just rather not.”

“Tonight the new schoolmaster eats compliments of the house.”

“Mighty grateful.” A dusting of snowflakes crusted the brim of Juliette’s hat. It made her look like an ice queen from a fairy tale.

“Of all the things I ever imagined you would do with your life, I never once thought you’d become a schoolmaster.”

“You imagined my life?” Judging by the way she glanced suddenly away, he probably ought to have kept that thought to himself—even if it did make him feel a bit like crowing.

Juliette had thought of him over the years! Finding that out was worth coming home for, all on its own.

“I’m sure I’m not the only one, Trea. You did have a reputation.”

“Still do, I imagine.” He shrugged. It was a fact. “I didn’t imagine being a schoolteacher, either, not for a long time. I spent a couple of years carrying on same as I did here. Then I met a man. He taught school. Mr. Newman was his name. He told me he used to be like me, swore we were kindred spirits. He saw inside me, knew I wanted to make up for the past and showed me how.”

The way she looked over at him, not a hint of condemnation in her blue eyes, made him glad he’d worked so hard to get back here. Every hour spent studying by lamplight in the livery shed had been worth it.

“So, here I am. Following in his footsteps, I reckon.”

“I’m glad you came home.”

So was he, even more than he’d expected.

“I bought a house not far from here, right in town, so I’ll be a regular customer at your café.”

Approaching the front door, he was glad for such a place to have his meals. Glancing through the windows, he saw how warm and inviting the café looked. With the wind picking up and the temperature dropping, warm was going to be a fine thing.

“Customers are always welcome. Which house did you purchase?” she asked, peeling the blanket off the babies and scooping them up, one in each arm.

“The Morrison place. A quarter mile past the schoolhouse. I recall that it was a nice home.”

“Well, yes...the Morrison place was very nice, once.” She muttered something under her breath that he didn’t catch, then said, “We all wondered who bought it.”

He opened the front door, noticed the lingering scent of soap as Juliette passed in front of him. Picking up the baby buggy, he carried it inside. He reckoned Juliette would not appreciate having muddy wheels leaving a mess on her highly polished floor.

It was odd, but he could swear she was frowning. Blamed if he knew why, what he might have said or done. Until now, she’d been nothing but friendly and smiling.

By the time he set the buggy in a corner and closed the front door, her troubled expression had passed.

The smile he remembered from years ago was back on her face as she answered the greeting of a young girl sitting at a table near the window.

No, not the same smile, quite, but more mature. Clearly, she’d lived tragedy, embraced joy and come out of it with more inner beauty than he could imagine.

Watching her glance down at her son, smile and coo—yes, he was certain he had never seen anyone more lovely in his life.

No pampered lady, this, with a maid to tend her needs. As far as he could tell, Juliette did it all on her own.

But, of course, hadn’t she always? With her mother gone of influenza when Juliette was young, it had fallen upon her to care for both herself and her father.

While other twelve-year-olds were being dressed in ruffles and bows by their mothers, Juliette had been left to figure it out on her own.

As children they’d had that in common—growing up without a mother. It was a hard thing for a girl. Just as hard for a boy.

The squeak of a door hinge drew his attention from the past to the here and now.

A young woman hustled out from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a well-used apron that looked too long on her petite frame.

She stopped short, glancing between him and Juliette with a smile.

“Good evening, sir,” she said. “You’ve come at a good time. It’s quiet now. All the folks from the train have come and gone. What can I get for you?”

The girl sitting at the table drummed the end of a pencil on the cover of a book while she stared at him in open curiosity.

“Rose, Cora.” Juliette tipped her head toward the girl wearing the apron, then toward the child. “Please meet my friend, Mr. Culverson.”

Rose’s smile fell and her brows shot up like a pair of arrows touching tips.

Cora clenched her pencil, her fingertips going white.

“I knew it!” The child’s eyes grew round as a pair of full moons. “The wicked son come home to take up with his pa and wreak havoc on us all.”

Funny how the prospect of his evil intentions seemed to delight her more than frighten her.

Truly, he hadn’t expected to be welcomed home with open arms right off. But to be looked at so suspiciously by one of his pupils before she ever set foot in the classroom? It was disheartening.

“Cora McAllister! Mind your tongue.”

“I apologize,” Cora said with a deep sigh, then focused a glare on her sister. “But you know as well as I do, Rose, it’s all everyone is talking about.”

“Not everyone. Trea, would you mind holding my sweet boy? He’s getting heavier every day.”

Juliette placed the baby in his arms. He thought she intended the gesture as a demonstration that she believed him worthy of the honor. Something shifted inside of him. He wasn’t sure what it was or what it meant, only that it made him feel warm inside.

“That’s true.” Cora tapped her pencil on her chin. “It’s mostly the women Juliette’s age who have been saying it. And a few men who are jealous of your handsome looks. It’s what the ladies say, at any rate. Naturally, I’m far too young to take note of such a fact on my own. Sheriff Hank has a bit to say, too, but he only wants to catch you at some evil deed so that he can look reliable. Although, I doubt it will help.”

“Cora! What did I just tell you not half a second ago?” Rose looked stricken. He didn’t remember her, but she would have been very young when he left Beaumont.

“I apologize again. On occasion I say the first thing that pops into my mind. My sister says I lack maturity. I don’t mind so much because I’m afraid I will be stifled by it. From what folks say, you were not a bit stifled. And really—truly—I do admire that.”

“In that case I will do my utmost not to stifle you, Miss McAllister.”

“I don’t know how you could, since—” She gasped suddenly, dropped the pencil. It rolled off the table and came to rest at the toe of his boot.

Stooping, he carefully cradled the infant boy to his chest. He snatched the pencil off the floor and handed it back to Cora.

“As I think you just guessed, Cora, Mr. Culverson is our new schoolmaster,” Juliette announced, the quirk of her lips indicating that she bit back a laugh.

Juliette had always had an easy laugh. Thinking back, he remembered that she had never used it to smirk or deride, only to express humor.

“Oh.” Cora accepted the pencil, set it on the table with a quiet click. “I reckon I’ve never made so many apologies in such a short time. I’m sorry, and welcome, Mr. Culverson.”

“I accept your apologies, Miss McAllister. I hope you’ll be ready for class to begin in two days. We’ll be starting rehearsal for a Christmas pageant first thing.”

Cora clapped her hands. “I can’t remember the last time we had one of those!”

The idea of the pageant had been brewing in his mind for a while now. It seemed a good way to get to know the students and give them a chance to shine in front of their parents. Making their children sparkle was a good way to win them over. If he didn’t manage to win over the parents, he might as well go back to frying chicken, since he’d be out of a job by the new year.

Watching Juliette while she smiled down at her daughter, tapping the child’s button-like nose with her long, slender finger, well—he knew he did not want to leave here. And for more reasons than his need to make amends for past wrongs.

“I add my welcome, Mr. Culverson.” Rose hurried across the room, her hand extended in greeting. An interesting and familiar blend of scents floated around her. Vanilla and fried food overlaid with coffee was his guess. “And you ought to know that, in spite of Cora’s frankness, she is dedicated to her studies.”

“Devoted to them,” Cora declared. “Quite faithful, in fact. I’d rather learn than do most anything.”

“That’s admirable, Cora,” he said.

“Practical, I’d say more than that. One day we women will have the right to vote, and I don’t want to make foolish decisions.”

One day women would vote, and that would be a fine thing, but for now he suspected little Miss Cora needed to learn to have some fun along the way.

“The babies are sleeping, Rose,” Juliette said. “I can take over now. Why don’t you and Cora go on home.”

“I’ll be back first thing in the morning. I reckon you’ll be busy at the hotel. The gossip is that Elvira Pugley is leaving town tomorrow. She says if she spends one more day next door to that Ephraim Culver—” She shot Trea a suddenly sheepish glance. “I’m sorry—I plumb forgot that the man is your father.”

“Don’t trouble yourself over it. That’s a fact I wouldn’t mind forgetting, myself.”

Rose took off her apron while Cora gathered up her book and her pencil.

At the doorway, Cora turned back and shot him a sober glance. “Mr. Culverson, I, for one, do not think you are the devil come home to roost and I’ll say so to anyone.”

* * *

The devil come home to roost!

Even after five minutes Cora’s innocent declaration of the town’s attitude toward Trea Culverson put Juliette on edge. Things had not changed in that respect over the years.

It did not matter who he had become; all some people would ever see was the reckless son of Ephraim.

Glancing through the portal window between the kitchen and the dining room, she watched Trea while she prepared his meal.

He lifted Lena in his arms, jiggled her, then smiled when she giggled.

“You letting a stranger hold my granddaughter?” Warren asked from his chair beside the stove.

“He is not a stranger, Father Lindor.”

“You sure? I don’t know him.”

That was one good thing about her father-in-law’s fading memory. Years ago, his voice had risen over the others in maligning Trea.

Still, her father-in-law’s mental decline worried her. Some folks forgot everyone, in time, even themselves. She only hoped this did not happen to Steven’s father.

He was not an easy man to care for, but she was his only living relative and she meant to do her best for him.

“He used to live here a long time ago. He was a friend of Thomas’s. He’s come back to teach school.”

“All right, then, I suppose he can hold the baby if you don’t have the time.”

Juliette slid a steak out of the frying pan with a spatula then eased it onto a plate. She ladled a large mound of mashed potatoes beside the meat and topped it off with gravy.

Given the bad news she was about to deliver, she added more gravy. Not that it would help overmuch, but she did make delicious gravy. It was her late father’s recipe and it always brought her comfort to serve it.

Coming from the kitchen to the dining room, she set the plate on the table in front of Trea, then reached for Lena. It did not escape her notice—or her heart—that he nuzzled her baby’s round pink cheek before handing her over.

Given that he was the devil come home to roost, he was quite doting.

Laying her daughter over her shoulder, Juliette sat down across from Trea. She patted Lena’s small back and breathed in the intoxicating scent so unique to infants.

“I think the Christmas pageant is a grand idea, Trea. Our town needs something like that. Beaumont Spur has become such a hopeless place. Good families are threatening to leave. I hope something like gathering to hear their children sing will make them reconsider.”

“It seems to me there ought to be a bit of fun along with learning arithmetic and the ABCs. I don’t recall that we had that.”

“You don’t recall it because we didn’t. It’s a good idea, though.”

Juliette was glad there were no late evening customers tonight. It was cozy in the dining room with the snow falling gently past the windows and the fire snapping in the hearth.

For just an instant, she thought how lovely it would be to have a home, complete with a father for her babies.

She did not let the dream linger for longer than an instant, though. The reality was that her family consisted of her babies and her father-in-law.

She was content with that. Yes, she most surely was.

Still, it was nice to look across the table and see her childhood friend—well, for honesty’s sake, she would have to admit he was her handsome childhood friend—smiling at her.

“This has been nice, Juliette. I reckon I’ll be back in the morning for breakfast.” Trea scooped up the last bit of gravy with a spoon. “But I’d better get on my way before the snow gets any worse. I’m anxious to see the place I bought.”

“Yes—well, about that. There was a fire last week. It burned your house—half of it, anyway.”

Chapter Five

The next morning, wet ash coated the soles of Trea’s boots when he walked from the burned side of the house to the standing remains. It didn’t leave a mark, since the floor was already dredged in soot.

The storm having blown over, sunlight shone through holes in the ceiling, illuminating the damage.

He felt a few holes in his sense of financial security, as well. Buying this place had cost him most of his savings.

“Well, hell,” he muttered, since no one was close enough to hear the dejected curse.

Had it been summer, he might have been able to live in the house while he made repairs. But in deep December the nip of the icy wind made him shiver, even though he stood in a patch of weak sunshine.

A bug bite on his rear end made him wonder if, even with the cold, he ought to live here. Juliette had warned him about the hotel, but he’d had no choice but to spend the night there.

Glancing about, he didn’t wonder long. The stench of smoke in ruined furniture and black streaks coating scorched walls told him he’d be spending a lot more nights at the hotel.

Which was not such bad news as it might have been, even having insects for roommates. The woman who owned the hotel was leaving this afternoon and Juliette, he had been surprised and happy to discover, was the new owner.

When he’d left his room this morning a crew of young people was already coming in to clean the place.

“From attic to basement,” Juliette, standing in the lobby early this morning, had announced with a great smile.

In fact, she had been glowing, her blue eyes sparkling when she told him of the plan she had come up with during the night to bring the town together.

Her intention was to open on Christmas Eve and host a dinner for everyone in her new restaurant. She believed this was a grand way to introduce the place.

She might have given herself an impossible task. Christmas Eve was only three weeks away. A fact that he was not about to point out to someone who, he suspected, was floating an inch off the ground when she spun away from him to follow the cleaning crew upstairs.

Then again, his impression was that Juliette had grown to be a determined woman. Not only that, she was even more industrious than she was determined.

There was every chance she would accomplish the impossible.

Glancing about the ruins of his home, he decided to take her example to heart. He would fix this place up with a cheerful attitude, a positive frame of mind. He would not allow the hole in his finances to make a hole in his intentions.

While he waited for spring and the chance to rebuild his bank account and his house, he would win over the townsfolk and educate their children.

If it was within his power, he would stand in the way of his students taking the hard, twisted path he had followed.

“Heard you were back.”

Trea turned toward the voice coming from the burned side of the house. It still sounded as hard as grinding gravel.

He’d expected his father to look older, but he was surprised to see how dissipated he’d become. Hard living showed in his face and it was a disquieting thing to look at.

“Good to see you, Pa,” he said, even though it was more lie than truth.

“Heard a rumor that you’re the new schoolmarm.” His father dabbed his nose on his sleeve then coughed, the congestion sounding thick and sickly.

“You ailing, Pa?”

“Sick at heart, thanks to you. At least tell me you faked the education that got you the sissy job.”

Trea knew he shouldn’t let his father’s attitude cut him like it did. The man was who he was and nothing Trea did or did not do would change that.

He hadn’t come back to town thinking to impress his father, only—

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