Let It Be Christmas Read online

  Let It Be Christmas

  By

  Hebby Roman

  West Texas Christmas Trilogy Book 2

  Estrella Publishing

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  A West Texas Christmas Trilogy Book 3

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Author’s Note

  As a girl growing up in Del Rio, Texas, I was raised on the notion of Judge Roy Bean being a local hero, as Langtry, Texas is around forty miles from Del Rio. I’d never read a western romance set in Langtry and when I decided to write this book, I researched Judge Bean, as a secondary character, and was surprised by what I found. Although, in some ways, he brought law and order to a lawless corner of Texas, I learned he also used his position to swindle customers and administer his own form of eccentric justice. As Wikipedia puts it: “Langtry did not have a jail, so all cases were settled by fines. Bean refused to send the state any part of the fines, but instead kept all the money. In most cases, the fines were made for the exact amount on the accused’s person.” For any of you who are Judge Roy Bean fans, I hope you will understand my portrayal of Judge Bean is based on historical facts, not my personal feelings.

  Prologue

  Del Rio, Texas June, 1896

  Abigail Kerr Sanford, now Abigail Graham, put her teacup down and said, “I wish you could stay longer than one night. I was so excited when I got your telegram.”

  Lindsay MacKillian gazed at her childhood friend. She took a sip of tea to wet her dry throat. “I wish I could stay more than a night, but I shouldn’t.”

  “If you stay a few more days, my husband and son will be back from spring shearing and you can meet them.”

  Lindsay wished she could stay, too. Make this a happy reunion, but she’d already alerted her brother she’d be on tomorrow’s passenger train when it stopped in Langtry. Besides, the sooner her brother knew why she’d returned home, the better. But first, she needed to tell someone else. And Abby, a woman, and her only friend this side of the Mississippi, was the obvious choice.

  “I’d love to stay, Abby, and I promise to come for a visit and meet your new husband and son. But I telegraphed my brother I’d be home tomorrow, and I’m certain he will ride in from the ranch to meet me.”

  “Oh, I’m sure he will. He must have missed you.”

  Lindsay wasn’t so certain about that. Most likely, he’d look upon her as an additional responsibility. At least, he’d acted that way when she’d come home four years ago for their father’s funeral. Then, Chadbourne, or Chad, as she called him, had been more than happy to send her back to their aunt, Minerva O’Rourke, in Boston.

  And she was certain her Aunt Minnie would eventually telegraph Chad. She hadn’t exactly spelled out the reason for returning home to Texas in the note she’d left, but her aunt was sharp enough to put two-and-two together. The most she could hope for was Aunt Minerva would honor the veiled plea in her note and let her tell Chad in her own way and time.

  She wanted to make pleasant conversation with Abby, but her shameful condition preyed on her mind, night and day. She needed to tell Abby first. Not only to unburden her soul but to gauge how bad the reaction might be.

  Thinking about what faced her, she let her gaze drop to the large bump in Abby’s lap. “You got remarried this past spring? You and your husband didn’t waste any time.”

  Abby’s face flushed, and she lowered her gaze. “Given the circumstances, Clint and I anticipated the event… a bit. After Clint… uh, after Lucas… ahhh.” Abby lifted her head and squared her shoulders. “Clint brought home a bottle of champagne for the New Year. I should have been in mourning, but—”

  “You don’t have to explain to me.” But if it was going to be this hard for a married woman to admit she’d anticipated her nuptial vows, what would it be like for her?

  “No, I guess not.” Abby took a sip of tea. “You got my letters?”

  “Yes, I got them.” Lindsay patted the carpetbag she’d brought into the parlor. “Kept them all, too.”

  Her family had been the Kerr’s first boarders when her father had come west to look for land to ranch. Even though they’d only been fourteen, she and Abby had formed a lasting friendship, keeping in touch for more than ten years through letters.

  She set her teacup on the sagging coffee table, wondering why the magnificently-constructed parlor had such poor furniture, actually, the same furniture when she and her family had lived here.

  But it wasn’t her place to disparage Abby’s boardinghouse, she remembered how miserly her friend’s father had been and guessed Abby hadn’t had time to replace the shabby furniture.

  She lifted her teacup and took another sip. “I hate to speak ill of the dead, but I was very happy to learn Lucas Sanford is no more. That man was hideous, a grotesque monster.”

  Her friend gazed out the huge bow window. “I’d forgotten how I poured out my heart to you when Lucas first left me.” She bowed her head again. “Yes, he was a monster. Money was everything to him. He was willing to sacrifice his own son for… for…”

  Abby caught her breath, and her eyes looked watery.

  The last thing Lindsay wanted was her friend to go down memory lane and be reminded of the past few years before she’d met her new husband.

  She lifted her handkerchief and dabbed at her mouth. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought Lucas up. Actually, I’m glad I never met him. I might have been tempted to hurt him.”

  Her friend exhaled, and she grabbed a handkerchief, too, dabbing at her eyes. “I wouldn’t have wanted you to meet him. He wasn’t, wasn’t… normal. I know you’re brave, but I can’t answer for what he might have done.”

  Abby had always been the demure one. Lindsay, on the other hand, had been a tomboy growing up. And she’d possessed no compunctions about mixing it up with her older brother, Chad.

  “No, I probably wouldn’t have known what to do. But I’m surprised your father…” She let her voice trail off. Another painful topic, Abby’s cold and skinflint father. If she kept bringing up painful topics, she’d never get to the real reason she’d stopped in Del Rio on her way home.

  A long, low whine broke the tense silence.

  She leaned over and said, “Hush, Minnie. I’ll see to you in a minute. You just have to be patient.”

  Abby’s face brightened, and she stared at the crate beside Lindsay’s feet. “What kind of dog is it?” She shook her head. “He’s so tiny and furry.” She glanced at her friend. “And you say he’s ‘house-broken’ and stays in your room? I’ve never seen such a dog.”

  “Minnie is a she, not a he, and she’s what we call a ‘lap dog’ back East, meaning the dog stays inside, even sitting on your lap. But they must be house-broken.” She lowered her voice. “You know what I mean—the dog must be trained not to leave any, uh, unwanted reminders in the house.”

  She unlatched the crate and reached inside. “At least that’s the theory, though, sometimes, accidents happen.”

  “And you want to keep her in the bedroom with you tonight?”

  “That’s my preference, though I can understand how you might be concerned about your boardinghouse floors. But I promise to keep her in the crate.” She lifted Minnie out and said, “Would you like to hold her?” Minnie wriggled around and managed to lick her chin. “She’s a Maltese, a breed of dogs that have been around for thousands of years. And she loves
people.”

  “Oh, how sweet she is!” Abby put her teacup down and held out her arms. “So white and fluffy. And she has such cute button-black eyes and a pink tongue, too.” Her friend took the squirming dog and hugged her. Minnie promptly licked Abby’s face.

  “If Kevin sees her, he’ll want a dog just like her. How did you ever find her?”

  “Aunt Minerva has had Maltese dogs for a long time. She has two now, older ones, a male and female. Minnie, named for my aunt, was one of their pups. Aunt Minerva gave her to me after I lost my father. Minnie was quite a comfort, and I enjoyed training her.”

  “Training her?”

  “Yes, you have to teach them to be house-broken. And she knows how to sit, lie down, shake hands, roll over, and beg. I taught her all those ‘tricks’ with some bacon slices and a lot of work.”

  “Really? How wonderful!”

  “Do you want to see what she can do? Though, I probably should take her out first to, ah, to relieve herself.”

  “Oh, please do.” Abby turned the little dog around and placed a kiss on her fluffy topknot. “I wouldn’t want her to be uncomfortable, and of course, you must keep her in your room. I don’t mind. She’s such a sweet little thing.”

  “Thank you, Abby. That’s kind of you.” She rose and snapped her fingers.

  Minnie looked up and panted.

  “Come, Minnie, heel.”

  The little dog followed her, and Abby clapped her hands. Lindsay had a tether for Minnie when necessary, but usually, the Maltese tagged after her.

  A few minutes later, they returned to the parlor. Lindsay put the dog through her repertory of tricks, and her friend clapped after each one. Then Lindsay tucked her dog back into the crate.

  No more distractions. She’d already delayed telling Abby long enough, and it was a wonder they hadn’t been interrupted.

  She dusted her hands and held out her teacup. “Could I please have another cup of tea?”

  “Of course.” Abby took her teacup and poured from the teapot. “Two lumps of sugar, right?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Her friend held out a plate, which had materialized while she’d taken Minnie to do her duty. “How about a sandwich or piece of cake? Elisa put these together for us. And you don’t need to eat with the other boarders—they’re a bunch of rough railroaders. You’ll eat with us in the kitchen.”

  “I’d like that.” Actually, she hadn’t thought past the moment—about how hard it would be to face people, once she’d voiced, even in private, her shame.

  She took a slice of yellow cake with chocolate frosting and another napkin. She didn’t see any silverware. Abby was as informal as she remembered, expecting her to eat the cake with her fingers, which suited her.

  She wished she’d had time to visit with her friend four years ago when she’d come home for her father’s funeral. Then they wouldn’t have so much to catch up on. But that had been a bad time, both for her and her friend. And she probably would have said something to upset Abby’s father if she had visited.

  Now was the time.

  “Abby, I’m going to have a baby.”

  Abby’s mouth gaped open, and she dropped the piece of cake she’d been holding onto the faded, reproduction Turkish rug beneath her feet. She gazed at Lindsay with her mouth hanging open.

  “You’re, you’re—?”

  “Yes, you heard me correctly.” She fingered her mother’s gold wedding band she wore around her neck on a ribbon. That ring should be on her finger. She flushed, thinking about it.

  “I’m carrying a child. Just like you. Only I’m not as far along as you, of course.” She spread her hands over her lap. “I’m only a couple of months gone, but I’m certain.”

  “But how, how…” Her friend finally closed her mouth and stared hard at Lindsay’s left hand. “You’re not married. Are you?”

  She shook her head.

  “What happened to your fiancé? I meant to ask before, but there’s so much to talk about and—”

  “Seamus is the father.”

  “Oh, so, you and he anticipated, like Clint and I did. But then why are you here—”

  “I won’t be marrying Seamus.” She gazed at the crumbled cake at her friend’s feet. “I probably won’t be marrying anyone.” She raised her head and crossed herself, looking directly at Abby. “If I have my way, I’ll have the baby, return to Boston, give the child up for adoption, and enter a convent. It’s the only right thing to do.” Tilting her chin up, she said, “I’ve sinned, and I must pay the price.”

  “Oh!” Abby got to her feet and reached across the coffee table, holding out her arms. “Please, please, don’t say that! You’re not sinful. We all make mistakes. Look at my first marriage.”

  Lindsay rose and leaned into her best friend’s arms. They hugged each other for a long time, and Abby patted her back.

  “Does your fiancé know?” Her friend pulled apart and gazed at her. “Does your aunt know? Does your brother?”

  She let go of Abby and stifled a sob. She would not cry. She had to be strong. “No one knows, except you… now.”

  “But why didn’t you tell Seamus and marry—”

  “Because my aunt had him investigated and unmasked him as a money-grubbing fraud. And even though…” She paused and swallowed past the boulder lodged in her throat. “Even though we’d anticipated the carnal side of our marriage, as soon as my aunt told Seamus she was giving my inheritance to the Church, he disappeared.”

  “No!” Abby cupped her cheeks in her hands.

  “Yes, and then I missed my cycle and I knew.”

  “Has anyone confirmed your condition?”

  “I got off the train in Chicago for one night and saw a specialist.” She nodded as if to emphasize the point. “I’m with child. Not too far along, but—”

  “Señora Abby,” someone called from the hallway. “Señora Abby, I wanted to ask if you’re ready for me and Rosa to serve supper. It’s almost six o’clock.”

  Lindsay looked up to see Elisa hovering in the doorway.

  Abby laced her fingers together and cleared her throat. “Yes, please, go ahead and serve.” She glanced at Lindsay. “We’ll be along in a minute, but my friend will eat with us in the kitchen.”

  “Yes, Señora Abby.”

  “I don’t know what I would do without Elisa. There were times when Father was still alive and… and… she was the only one who gave me hope.” She turned back to Lindsay. “And you mustn’t give up hope, either. And you’ll not give up your child.”

  “I’m a ruined woman. I don’t know what else I can—”

  “Lindsay MacKillian, before I let you give away your baby to strangers, Clint and I will raise your child. We want a houseful of children, and yours would be like our own.” She crumpled her handkerchief and lifted it to her eyes, quietly sobbing. “I won’t let you give your baby up!”

  She reached out and patted Abby’s arm. “I know it’s a shock. And for a Protestant, probably hard for you to follow my reasoning.” She lowered her voice. “We’ll talk more, after supper.”

  Abby leaned into her and laced her arm around her waist. “When are you due?”

  “Christmas.”

  “Let it be Christmas.”

  “Yes,” Lindsay said and crossed herself. “Let it be Christmas.”

  Chapter One

  Langtry, Texas 1896

  “Chad!” Lindsay cried out when she caught sight of her brother through the railroad coach window.

  The train ground to a stop with a jerk and a groan. She leapt to her feet and hurried to disembark. As she stepped onto the platform between the two cars, she called her brother's name again and flew down the steps.

  “Welcome home, little sister!” Chad MacKillian opened his arms wide.

  Hugging him, she hoped he would protect her during this difficult time.

  Chad returned her hug before pulling away and holding Lindsay at
arm’s length. He cocked his head and slanted back the fawn-colored Stetson on his high forehead. He studied her from the crown of her ostrich-plumed hat to the last button of her high-top boots and emitted a low whistle. “My, my, you look even better than you did four years ago, Lindsay.”

  Given his reception, her aunt must have honored her request and not telegraphed him yet. But there was no telling how long her aunt would stay silent.

  “Four years ago, I cried all the way here on the train. We’d just lost Father.”

  Her brother released her and stared down at the bleached-out caliche dirt beneath his cowboy boots. “Of course, you’re right.” He glanced up. “But I didn’t expect to see you back here.” He shook his head. “Half-expected a wedding invitation by now.”

  She gulped and knew she was turning red. But she couldn’t tell him her shameful secret here, on the main street of town. She laced her arm through his and lowered her head. “The wedding was called off.”

  “But I thought—”

  “Chad, could we wait until we’re home to discuss such a private matter?”

  “Sure, sure, Sis.”

  Annoyed at caring what other people might think but unable to stop herself, she glanced over his shoulder to see who was watching their reunion.

  The focal point of Langtry, the Jersey Lily saloon, squatted beside the railroad tracks like a misbegotten bird of prey. The saloon looked the same as when she’d last seen it, perhaps more weathered. The hand-lettered sign mounted above the saloon still proclaimed: “Judge Roy Bean, Law West of the Pecos.”

  And the usual hanger-on’s clustered around the legendary judge, all of them gawking and hawking tobacco juice into the dirt.

  Judge Bean hadn't changed much either. With his full, grizzled beard and large pot-belly, he looked exactly as the popular dime novels, which had established his reputation, portrayed him.

  He always stood outside his saloon when the passenger train arrived, counting on his legendary status to lure railroad passengers into the Jersey Lily to refresh themselves by purchasing whiskey at inflated prices. He enjoyed fleecing gullible Easterners by refusing to make change when they paid and if they dared to protest, he’d fine them for disturbing the peace and keep the remainder of their money.