A Texas Christmas Carol Page 2

  “Miss Wiggins,” he said, disapproval rife in his tone, “step away from my horse.”

  She, of course, did no such thing. In fact, she turned back to the stall and rubbed the animal’s ears precisely where he most enjoyed it. “He’s a beauty.” Lightly cupping the beast’s cheeks, she placed a kiss on his nose. Both Evan and his mount were shocked into momentary immobility. “What’s his name?”

  His quarter horse had been bred for speed and strength, not gentility. He was high-strung, ill-tempered, and opinionated, just like his master. Yet he was nuzzling Felicity like some kind of lovesick swain.

  “Fred,” Evan ground out. “His name is Fred.”

  “Fred?” She chuckled, the sound like winter sleet pinging off a wind chime. “Oh, he’s far too noble to be called Fred. Alfredo, perhaps, or Frederick. He’s worthy of at least three syllables, don’t you think?”

  Fred lifted his head and aimed an accusing eye at Evan, as if disgusted his master had settled on such an ordinary name when finer ones were available.

  “His name’s Fred,” Evan groused, grabbing a bridle off the tack wall and marching forward. He shook a finger at his horse. “I won’t have you putting on airs just because some attractive lady starts paying you compliments. She has no idea what a knave you are.”

  Fred snorted at Evan, then turned back to Miss Wiggins, nudging her with his nose in a shameless bid for attention.

  For once, the woman in question seemed uneasy. A blush rose to her cheeks, and she dodged away from his gaze, focusing on the horse. “Frederick’s not a knave. Are you?” The horse shook his head while letting out another snort, which elicited a tinkling laugh from the fair maiden. “You’re such a darling,” she cooed.

  What kind of pitiful man found himself jealous of a horse? His kind, apparently. Evan’s frown carved a deeper line into his jaw.

  He strode forward and inserted himself between woman and horse. “Kindly step aside, madam. I have a ride to take, and I won’t let you and your agenda interfere.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of interfering.” She spread her skirt wide as if curtsying as she bowed out of the way. “Humbug and I will just wait for you to return.”

  Evan glanced over his shoulder while fitting the bit into Fred’s mouth. “Humbug?”

  Her eyes danced. Definitely a bad sign. “Mm-hmm.”

  A sharp bark echoed from one of the empty stalls. A moment later, a brown-and-white beagle trotted into sight. The hound spied him and immediately padded over to investigate, sniffing Evan’s boots and legs with annoying thoroughness.

  Miss Wiggins crouched down next to Evan’s boots, making him feel like some kind of self-important prig. Why wouldn’t she just let him be and quit upsetting his routine?

  She patted the dog’s side. “Good boy, Humbug. This is Mr. Beeee-zerrrrr.”

  Why was she drawing his name out like that? Was her dog dull-witted?

  Evan braced his weight on his right leg and tried to steer the overly curious hound away from him with a nudge of his left. “I hardly think you have room to criticize my horse’s moniker when you’ve named your dog Humbug. Not exactly the most flattering of appellations.”

  She rose, and despite his need to concentrate on his horse, Evan couldn’t seem to keep his gaze from following her ascension. The mischievous smile playing about her lips boded ill.

  “Papa does love a bit of irony,” she said. “He gave me Humbug three Christmases ago and thought it a lark to name the energetic, cheerful pup after such a grumpy expression. Then, of course, there’s the humming.”

  “Humming?” The question slipped out before Evan recalled that he was trying to discourage interaction with her, not draw it out.

  “Oh, yes. He has this cute humming snore when he sleeps and a guttural rumbling that underlies his barks and howls.”

  She looked far too enchanting nattering on about the dog as if he were a member of her family. Evan jerked his face away and opened the stall door, determined to escape her and her obnoxious mutt, who was still circling and sniffing. He’d be lucky not to trip over the blasted thing.

  “Did you know,” she said casually as she leaned her hip against the stall wall, “ that beagles are excellent hunters? Once they catch a scent, they never forget it. Now that he’s met you, from this day forward, Humbug and I will be able to find you no matter where you try to hide.”

  So that was her game.

  “And if you don’t have time to talk now, Hum and I will just wait for you. Won’t we, Hummy? A-wooo-wooo-wooo.”

  The dog immediately joined her song, baying along with marked enthusiasm. A guttural hum rumbled beneath the howl, just as she’d claimed.

  “Hush!” Evan demanded, aiming his command at the dog, though he should have aimed it at the woman, for the animal only followed where she led.

  Neither paid him any mind, of course, so the cacophony swelled. Even Fred seemed disillusioned with the object of his recent infatuation. He stomped his front hoof and shook his head, clearly agitated. If this went on much longer, man and horse would both be so out of sorts that neither would be fit for a ride.

  “Fine!” Evan raised his voice to carry above the ungodly racket. “You win. Just make him stop.”

  Triumph flashed in Miss Wiggins’s emerald eyes, but it quickly faded beneath an expression so radiant, Evan’s chest ached with hollowness in comparison. What must it be like to feel such unfettered joy? He couldn’t recall ever experiencing such a marvel.

  He shoved his left hand into his coat pocket and wrapped his fingers around the key he kept there. The key to his past, worn smooth from years of handling. A reminder of where he’d come from. A promise never to return. Touching it usually centered him, brought what was important into focus. Unfortunately, Miss Wiggins kept bobbing into view and distracting him.

  His fist tightened around the key. A ride. He’d come here for a ride.

  The abominable howling concerto finally concluded, and Miss Wiggins bent to rub her dog’s neck and praise him for his fine singing. Then she straightened and pointed to something outside the barn door. “Where’s the rabbit?”

  The dog’s ears perked.

  “Get the rabbit, Humbug! Get the rabbit!”

  The dog shot out of the stable, eager to hunt imaginary hares. If only the dog’s mistress could be sent away as easily.

  “Very well, Miss Wiggins, you’ve bullied me into compliance. Stop by the house this afternoon at four. I’ll have a check waiting for you.” A check his secretary could pass along, keeping Evan well away from Felicity Wiggins and her magical way with beasts. Dogs. Horses. He wouldn’t be surprised to learn she danced with grizzlies in her spare time. No beast seemed immune to her charms.

  Not even him.

  Scowling at that unwelcome realization, Evan turned his back on the redheaded siren and focused on the task at hand—saddling Fred and taking his ride. A hard ride. A long ride. He’d ride until all images of Miss Felicity Wiggins and her glorious smiles vanished from his mind. He’d paint over them with physical exhaustion, then apply a second coat of black-and-white numbers, going over the account books and receipts for the last week. So what if he’d already gone over them once? He could have missed something. He’d go over them again, then bury his head in a business journal until suppertime. He wouldn’t even know when she came by. And there would be no reason for her to return, so all would be well. A regimented routine would wrest her from his mind. It had worked the last couple years. It would work again.

  “I’ve decided I don’t want your check, Mr. Beazer.”

  An earthquake could not have shaken his foundations more thoroughly than that quiet statement. He’d had a plan, confound it. A solid plan. He didn’t know what game she was playing, but it ended here.

  Keeping his gaze trained on his horse, Evan laid a blanket on Fred’s back, then reached for the saddle and hefted it into place. “Fine,” he gritted out. “I won’t leave a check for you. But since I made the offer, I will expect yo
u to cease foisting yourself upon me. I’m a busy man and don’t have time for whatever insipid game you’re playing at my expense. Now, begone.”

  He pressed his face against the horse’s shoulder and reached for the cinch strap, then promptly dropped it when a soft hand settled on his back.

  “I’m not playing a game at your expense, Evan. I swear it.”

  His eyes slid closed, and every muscle in his body turned to stone. Movement was impossible. Speech was impossible. Cognition was all he had left, and even that was focused on one tiny pinprick of reality.

  She’d called him Evan.

  No one had called him by his given name in years. And never with such warmth. Not since his mother, God rest her soul.

  “I did come seeking a donation at first, that’s true. But over the last few days, I’ve realized there are needs that money can’t fix.”

  Why did he get the feeling she wasn’t talking about charity baskets?

  “It’s true that we are short of funds this year, but perhaps God is using that shortage to challenge us to give more than money. The spirit of Christmas is about touching lives and letting them touch you in return. That’s why Jesus left heaven, why he confined his infinite being inside finite flesh. To give us the best gift ever given—his presence. Immanuel. God with us. I want you to meet the children you are helping, to learn their names and see their faces. You were right, what you said before. They need more than a week’s worth of food and secondhand clothes. That’s why I want you to help me, Mr. Beazer. I need your perspective. I want you to be my partner. To leave your wallet behind and give what comes from the heart.”

  It took every ounce of will he possessed to pull away from her touch, to turn and glower down into her naïvely earnest face.

  “Haven’t you heard, Miss Wiggins? I don’t have a heart.”

  three

  “YOU DO TOO HAVE A HEART,” Felicity declared with more fervor than such a statement between mere acquaintances probably warranted. But she couldn’t help it. She hated hearing him speak of himself as if he were a piece of petrified wood, too hardened by choice and circumstance to let the softer aspects of life touch him. It wasn’t true, and she refused to let him believe such rubbish. “You might wrap it in barbed wire and hide it behind No Trespassing signs, but it’s there. I’ve seen it.”

  His frosty, pale blue gaze jerked to hers, stabbing at her like a needle pushed too hard through linen. Well, let him jab. She wasn’t afraid of a few pinpricks. He might paint himself a villain, but she knew better.

  She stepped closer, patted his horse’s neck. “You may not remember that day when you and Sir Frederick rescued—”

  “Of course I remember,” he snapped, cutting her off as he finished tying off the cinch strap and dropped the stirrup back into place. “But only a fool would judge a man’s character based on a single event.” Taking hold of the reins, he led Fred out of the barn, pushing past Felicity with ungentlemanly vigor and haste. “A rattlesnake might not sink his fangs into you on Monday,” he said, glaring at her when she persisted in dogging his heels, “but that doesn’t mean he won’t strike when you cross his path on Tuesday. A viper is still a viper.”

  “Not if he surrenders his fangs.”

  “Ha!” The laugh that burst from his chest emitted no joy, only scorn. “As if he would sacrifice his only means of protection.”

  “He might if he realized how much he would gain in the exchange,” she countered. “Friendship. Joy. Belonging.”

  Mr. Beazer made a scoffing noise as he fit boot to stirrup and hoisted himself onto his mount. “As if anyone would offer such commodities to a viper.”

  “I would.”

  His face hardened, and a muscle ticked in his jaw. “Then it’s your own fault if you get bit.”

  She winked up at him. “Don’t worry. I’ll wear leather gloves when you come for dinner tonight.”

  His brow rose—only one of them—giving him a rather piratical air. His ruffled silver hair waved in the breeze, unfettered by hat or scarf. His rich olive complexion gave him a tanned look even in winter. And the white scruff on his unshaven jaw hinted at danger and excited her more than it should. Nothing about him was suitable, yet he presented a challenge she couldn’t resist. Putting herself in Evan Beazer’s path might indeed be folly, but leaving him alone and miserable seemed the greater tragedy.

  “You presume much, madam.”

  Felicity kept her smile in place despite the fact that his constant growling was beginning to grow a little disheartening. “Six o’clock. Don’t be late.”

  He didn’t bother to respond. Just took off on his horse and left her staring after him, wondering if he would come.

  Two weighty facts gave her hope that he would.

  One—he remembered their encounter two years ago. Rather strongly too. Her chest twisted oddly as she recalled the adamant way he’d reacted to her bringing up the incident. It made her think that pivotal moment in time might have made as strong an impression on him as it had on her.

  Two—he hadn’t said he wouldn’t come. He’d grumbled about her presumption and flung out dire warnings of doom and regret, but he hadn’t actually turned her down.

  Two and a half—it didn’t quite merit a point on its own since it had been said to his horse and not to her, but the backhanded compliment had given her a surprising amount of delight, so she felt justified in adding it to the mix—Evan Beazer found her attractive.

  It wasn’t much to hang a hat on, but it was a start. Her first step around the walls of Jericho.

  Evan pounded down the dirt road, urging Fred to a near-reckless pace. Wind ripped through his hair and stung his cheeks, but nothing dispelled Felicity’s face from his mind.

  “You may not remember . . .”

  As if forgetting were possible.

  He’d done his best to bury that particular memory beneath an unending supply of business details, showering shovelful after shovelful upon it like fresh earth on a casket. But with four words, Felicity Wiggins had resurrected it as surely as the Lord’s three words had brought forth Lazarus.

  It had been spring, not winter, but he’d been riding much as he was now when he heard her scream. He’d pulled up Fred and scanned the area, trying to determine from which direction the shout had originated. And then he’d spotted her, a hundred yards ahead, crashing through the underbrush on the back of a runaway horse.

  He’d broken his rule that day about getting involved in the lives of others. Despite owning a considerably rusty conscience, he couldn’t remain inactive when a woman was in danger of breaking her neck. So he’d given chase and snatched her off her horse. All quite straightforward.

  Until she’d kissed his cheek and flung her arms about his neck. She’d been trembling from her near disaster, but her unrestrained affection had stunned him so badly that he’d forgotten to put her on the ground straight away and ended up holding her across his lap for an entire half-minute before coming to his senses. A half-minute that still haunted him in his weaker moments. The feel of a woman in his arms. A warm, vibrant, beautiful woman. One far too good for the likes of him.

  Evan had never entertained plans of shackling himself to a woman. Wives were expensive, and worse, they expected to spend their husband’s money as if it were their own. Not to mention the fact that a man was responsible for the happiness of his wife. Evan couldn’t make himself happy. Secure, yes. Successful, certainly. But happy? He didn’t trust happiness. Not since Mirabella.

  He’d been a clerk at the time. Barely twenty-two. So focused on advancing his career that he ignored the talk around him about the beautiful hotel guest staying with her father in room 206. Until she eschewed the company of all the young men pandering for her attention and asked him to the hotel’s Christmas charity ball. He couldn’t believe his fortune. The most sought-after belle wanted to be on his arm. She and her wealthy father were sponsoring the event, a charity to support an orphanage back east somewhere. Her soft brown eyes filled wit
h tears whenever she spoke of the dear children in such desperate need. And she spoke of them often during the week the two of them were together. Everyone at the ball would be making substantial contributions, and Evan knew Mirabella would expect him to do the same. It would reflect poorly on her if the young man she chose as her escort appeared a miser. Other employees at the hotel had spoken of him so highly, telling her of his plans to own his own inn someday. How he’d been economizing and saving for years. Her father would certainly want to invest in a man who gave so selflessly to the unfortunate even when he himself had little to spare.

  Evan had donated one hundred dollars that night. Half of his savings. Only to have Mirabella and her father disappear the next morning without a trace.

  He’d been duped. Tricked by a pretty smile, soft eyes, and his own desire to believe a beautiful woman might see value in him. That reckless act of stupidity had set him back more than two years financially. He’d learned his lesson well.

  Or thought he had.

  Yet here he was, letting Felicity Wiggins draw him into another charity scheme.

  All right, so Felicity wasn’t Mirabella. She wasn’t some fly-by-night hustler sweeping in to take advantage of idiotic men too stupid to hold on to their wallets. She’d lived in this community for years. Her family was well-respected. And she wasn’t even asking for money any longer. She wanted his time. His partnership. As if anyone would partner with him of their own free will without the promise of a paycheck as compensation.

  Why hadn’t he just stuck to his guns and refused her request outright?

  Because he had absolutely no willpower where Felicity was concerned. Which meant he’d probably end up putting in an appearance at dinner despite the disaster such a prospect posed.

  Why hadn’t the chit married some local fellow by now? She was five and twenty after all, and not a horror to look at. Surely someone would have offered for her. Yet recent events had revealed a stubborn streak behind her innocent smile. Felicity Wiggins would not be led somewhere she didn’t wish to go. Which, unfortunately, left her distractingly single and a plague upon his mind.