Wild West Christmas: A Family for the Rancher / Dance with a Cowboy / Christmas in Smoke River. Kathryn Albright
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where was the man?
The engine puffed, belching black smoke skyward as steam blasted across the platform. Dillen stomped up the planking of the station stop that was so new he could still see the sawdust frozen to the seams. What the Sam Hill was Alice Lorraine Pinter Truett doing ferrying his sister’s boys out here anyway? Couldn’t she hire a servant to run her errands?
And then he saw her, and his feet stopped of their own volition as his heart took up pounding like a cobbler’s hammer. He would recognize her anywhere, the way she moved, the inclination of her head.
She stood all in black in a perfectly tailored coat that clung to her in all the right places and showed that her figure had only improved in his two-year absence. He let his gaze wander appreciatively up from the expensive skirts hemmed in real velvet to the fur-trimmed coat. Was that sable at her cuffs and collar? Her head was capped with a felt-and-fur hat secured to her elegant upswept hair with a hatpin topped with a pearl the size of a pinto bean. It was a shock to see her as she really was, a wealthy woman who had come to do her duty by his sister.
He’d known from the instant he’d met Alice that she was uncommon, but how could he have failed to recognize how uncommon?
He wondered if her features had changed as he recalled her big, wide-set, green, earnest, intelligent eyes. He was so focused on trying to see her face that it wasn’t until he caught movement at her side that he noticed that one child was pressed close to her skirts and she held the other one in her arms. His nephews, he realized. If he didn’t know better, he would have sworn they were hers. He’d never thought of her that way, but now wondered what kind of a mother Alice might be.
With a stab of guilt he realized she would likely already be one now if he hadn’t run like a colt in a summer meadow.
Alice lowered the little one to the ground and took each boy by the hand. Dillen looked at his sister’s sons. The smaller one would be Colin, the youngest, he realized. Why, Dillen recalled when he was just a baby. And now Colin would be six. The child had thinned out and his hair was even a lighter brown than Sylvia’s had been. Dillen looked at the other boy who was a few inches taller and clung to Alice’s opposite hand as he strained for a better look at the departing engine. Cody, he recalled, was eight and was also in black right down to the high socks and shiny shoes. He looked to Dillen like a tiny undertaker in short pants. This one might be old enough to recall him. Cody’s mink-brown hair curled from beneath his cap and was the same color exactly as his mother’s had been. Dillen’s smile faded as an unfamiliar stab of grief pierced him.
He wanted to go to his nephews and hug them and tell them that he’d take care of them, but the truth was he could barely take care of himself.
His attention turned back to Alice. He drank in the sight of her. Damn, he thought, what he wouldn’t give to have a woman like Alice Truett. Everything, anything, but wanting didn’t make that possible. He sure had learned that lesson well.
Dillen found the strength to step forward. This next part would sure be hard. But it had to be done, for the boys’ sake.
As he neared her, he became aware of the mountain of luggage on the cart behind her. It looked like they’d emptied an entire freight car. He had a sudden horror that all that gear might belong to Alice. But that was impossible, wasn’t it? Dillen counted four hatboxes and knew with cold certainty that they all belonged to the wealthy, entitled miss who might already be spoken for. That thought put a hitch in his stride. He fumbled in his pocket, feeling the two silver dollars knock together. How much would it cost to take all that gear to the hotel? Worse still, how much would it cost to rent her a room?
More than he had, he knew. Dillen gritted his teeth. He couldn’t afford Alice for even one afternoon—let alone a lifetime. The truth bit into him with sharp teeth, but he couldn’t shake it off.
He came to a stop before them. Colin leaned back to stare, his mouth dropping open as he gaped, looking very much like he might cry. Cody had also spotted his uncle and gave a sharp tug on Alice’s sleeve before turning around, almost like a soldier awaiting inspection.
Colin likely knew his uncle only through stories, if his uncle ever came up at all. Dillen wondered which stories he might have heard and scowled as a series of possibilities danced through his mind. He met Cody’s gaze. Two years was a long time to a child. Did the boy recall him?
Alice did not need Cody’s warning for she now regarded him with a steady stare and a tight expression that took the lush, full curve from her enticing lips. Didn’t matter. Even frowning, seeing Alice was like seeing a butterfly in December. He still felt dizzy with the effort of not reaching out to touch her. He noticed the hollows beneath her cheeks now. She’d lost weight and sleep, he realized, judging from the smudge marks under her eyes. Had she been at Sylvie’s grave when they’d lowered his sister into the ground?
Sylvie had written him on occasion, when he had a place to receive mail. She had said that she and Alice had remained friends after his parting. Her presence here told him without words that this was true.
“Mr. Roach,” said Alice, her voice formal, but still sweet music to his ears.
Had she really let him kiss her that Christmas Eve, before he’d met her family and everything had gone to hell?
He found himself reaching, clasping her by the shoulders and turning her so he could look at the face he thought of each night and every day on waking. Alice stared up at him, her mouth now slightly open as she drew in a surprised breath. He acted on instinct, pulling her in and holding her close, feeling her stiffen and then, an instant later, go as pliant as a willow branch. He inhaled the sweet fragrance of her skin and felt the soft brush of her hair on his face. Then she was stiffening again, turning to stone in his arms as she leaned away. She gave him a small shake of her head and then glanced to the boys, collecting their hands once more.
“I am exceedingly sorry for your loss, Mr. Roach,” Alice said, her tone stiff with formality. “Your sister was a good friend, a loving wife and an exemplary mother.”
Now Dillen felt awkward. He shouldn’t have hugged her. He had no right. She might even be spoken for, though Sylvie had not mentioned it. He glanced to her left hand and saw it sheathed in a finely made black leather glove, revealing nothing. He met her gaze, finding the small line between her brows that indicated concern. He waited, his stomach knotting as she pulled the boys forward so they stood shoulder to shoulder just before her now.
“These are your nephews.” Then she spoke to the pair. “Colin and Cody Asher, this is your mother’s only sibling, your uncle Dillen Roach.”
The woman could make a formal introduction like nobody’s business.
Dillen knelt down to meet the two at eye level. “Hello, boys. I’m your ma’s brother.” Colin stuck his thumb in his mouth as he fell back against Alice, huddling against her as if trying to disappear into the fine wool and velvet of her skirts. Dillen turned to Cody and extended his hand, open and up as he would to an unfamiliar dog. The boy looked at Dillen’s empty hand. Confusion wrinkled his brow as he glanced from his uncle’s empty hand back to his uncle. Why the devil hadn’t he thought to buy a peppermint stick? Instead he had brought them nothing. How appropriate. “You remember me, son?”
Cody nodded. “Yes, sir. You use to come by Sundays for supper and play the fiddle. You used to pour medicine from a bottle into your coffee when Ma wasn’t looking. Are you feeling better now?”
Dillen glanced to Alice, whose look showed reproach at this revelation. It was true. He had brought liquor into his sister’s home. Young and dumb, he’d been. Now that memory shamed him, but it did serve to illustrate what he already believed. He’d make a terrible parent, maybe even worse than his own father, if that were possible.
Dillen gave the boy a gentle punch in the arm. “I still occasionally feel the need to take a dose.”
Alice might as well know that