A Texas Christmas Carol Read online

  “I tell you,” Serenity said as she slid her arms from the sleeves, “it’s just not fair that men can get instant obedience with their dad voice while children completely ignore their mothers.”

  “Yes,” Charity said with a chuckle, “but it sure is sweet when those same children want us for all their cuddles and kisses.”

  “True.” Serenity smiled, a bit of peace settling over her as she glanced at her son, who was being bribed into good behavior by his roll-wielding Aunt Felicity.

  “Down!” the little dictator demanded once he had his snack. “Hmba!”

  Felicity laughed. “Humbug’s in the den with Papa George and the others.” She lowered Casper to the floor and aimed him in the correct direction. “Don’t let him get your bread, though.”

  Casper ran off in search of doggie companionship, and Felicity turned to find Serenity eyeing her smugly.

  “Papa’s not in the den.”

  “He’s not?”

  “Nope. He’s on the front porch. Talking to a particularly ill-at-ease gentleman in a suit far too fine for the Wiggins family table. One of the children is bound to sully it before the night is over.”

  Charity giggled. Mama smiled. And Felicity wobbled on legs that had turned to jelly.

  He came.

  Why in blazes had he come here? Evan looked around the small parlor George Wiggins had just shown him into and fought down a rising panic. Everything was out of control. A pair of girls ran literal circles around a man bouncing a large-ish infant in front of him. The baby chewed on a fist—causing all manner of drool to dampen his father’s sleeve—while kicking, waving, and gurgling demonstratively as he tried to keep track of the waving girls as they trotted by. The man at the center acted as if nothing were amiss, chatting amiably with a fellow similar to him in age who had arrived moments before Evan.

  “You know my sons-in-law, don’t you?” George queried. “Henry Flanders is Charity’s husband. Works at the cotton gin in town.”

  “Flanders.” Evan nodded, hoping to avoid a babe-infested handshake, but it was not to be.

  Flanders slid his right hand out from under the tyke’s rear and thrust it at Evan. “Good to see you, Beazer.”

  Evan shook his hand, trying not to think about where it had recently been situated. At least it wasn’t the one covered in drool.

  “And this is Randall Sullivan. He’s married to my Serenity. They have a farm about half a mile east of here.”

  Sullivan was a more circumspect fellow. No wide grin or twinkling eyes, just a penetrating stare that seemed to take Evan’s measure. He extended his hand but made no comment.

  Evan clasped it, appreciative of the silence even if he did wonder how far short of the mark he’d fallen on Sullivan’s mental measuring stick. No one belonged less among this boisterous crowd than Evan.

  “Hmba! Hmba!”

  In a flash, Sullivan’s gaze tore away from Evan to divert to a tiny boy lunging toward the hound currently playing tug-of-war with a school-aged lad holding a knotted dishrag.

  “Easy, Casper,” Sullivan said as he hurried to intercept the toddler before he could make a grab for the dog’s wagging tail.

  George Wiggins chuckled. “Gotta keep a sharp eye on these little ones, but there’s nothing Prudence and I love more than having the entire family together for Monday night supper. Grandchildren keep a man young,” he declared, thumping Evan on the arm and drawing him toward the hearth, the only unoccupied place in the room. “It’s good for Felicity too, to have her sisters around regularly. They’ve always been close, and though she’d never say so, I think it’s been a little hard on her, seeing them both marry and start families while she remains at home.”

  The chaos of the room instantly disappeared as all of Evan’s attention zeroed in on his host. Praying he sounded merely polite and not keenly interested, Evan asked in a bland tone, “Has she not had suitors of her own?”

  “Felicity?” George made a scoffing noise. “She’s had several, though none of them captured her fancy. Of course, her mother’s illness played a role in that. Prudence fell ill three years back, and her health flagged for nearly a year before she finally rallied. The other girls both had newborns to tend as well as homes of their own, so Felicity shouldered most of the burden of nursing, housekeeping, and cooking, which left no time for courtship. So the local lads did what hot-blooded young men do and turned their focus to girls who were more available.”

  Evan bristled at the injustice of it. Not that he liked the idea of Felicity having suitors, but anyone with half a brain could see that she was a woman worth waiting for. The fact that none of the young bucks gave her that courtesy spoke poorly of their collective intelligence.

  George’s face softened, his joviality fading into something more sentimental. “My Felicity never complained. Not once. And every time her mother or I bemoaned her lack of suitors, she insisted that God’s timing was perfect and she wouldn’t muddle the waters with impatience.” George paused for a moment to study Evan. “That girl’s something special, Mr. Beazer. I hope you recognize that.”

  “She is certainly a determined young woman,” Evan said, the fire in the hearth behind him suddenly growing twice as warm. “Her negotiating skill would put most businessmen of my acquaintance to shame.”

  “She is a firecracker.” George grinned. “My wife says she inherited that from me. Blames the red hair.”

  He winked and ran a hand over his perfectly shorn red locks. His was more of a faded carroty-orange than the deep cinnamon color of his daughter’s, but he somehow made red hair look dapper. As the local barber, George Wiggins knew his trade well. It made Evan feel rather shabby in comparison, with his wild silver locks hanging well past his collar.

  “Aunt Lissy!” One of the little girls broke ranks and scurried across the room to wrap her arms around the knees of the woman who had just entered.

  Felicity smiled down at the child before lifting her head and shyly peering at Evan. His pulse stuttered in alarming fashion.

  “Dinner’s ready.” She made the announcement to the room at large, but when her gaze rested on him, he felt as if her words held special, private meaning.

  Utterly ridiculous, of course, yet his chest still warmed. And when she crossed the room to him, that warmth turned into a full conflagration.

  Shaken by his reaction, Evan sought out George Wiggins as a buffer, but the fellow had abandoned him to help herd his grandchildren into the dining room.

  Trapped by the hearth fire behind him and Felicity in front, Evan stood his ground, his back going rigid.

  She maneuvered to his side, probably more to get out of the way of the toddler herd than to ease his discomfort, but having her at his side instead of staring directly at him eased him nonetheless. It was the position of a comrade, a partner.

  “Thank you for coming,” she murmured softly.

  He nodded, not quite knowing what to say. She might have blackmailed him into putting in an appearance with her Humbug threats, but they both knew he could have refused with little to no repercussions. Which placed a level of significance on his presence he wasn’t ready to analyze.

  Dinner should have been an awkward travesty, with him being an outsider and not given to social niceties, yet it was amazingly . . . not. He did his best to stifle his more acerbic qualities, mainly by holding his tongue whenever possible and giving succinct answers when required. While such action on his part might have decreased the chance for unpleasantness for everyone else at the table, it did nothing to increase his personal enjoyment. No, all of the credit for his not having a horrid time lay squarely at Felicity’s feet.

  She sat to his left and served as his interpreter. Whenever conversation veered to a story steeped in family nuance or recollection, she’d lean his way and provide a short, quiet explanation so that he would be able to follow the conversation and appreciate the humor of each anecdote. She included him.

  Inclusion was not a feeling to which Evan was accustomed. As a boy, meals had been a formal affair, children being instructed to be seen and not heard. Then, after the market crashed, he’d been excluded from society entirely. The private school he’d attended sent him away. His friends snubbed him. Excluding himself before others forced rejection upon him became his modus operandi. Work, his sole focus. No friends meant nothing to regret leaving behind as he climbed his way up from bellboy to clerk to manager to owner. But now that he had nowhere left to climb, his solitary habits left his success feeling hollow and unsatisfying.

  Felicity, on the other hand, thrived on personal interaction. One moment she leaned to her left to help cut the meat on her nephew’s plate. The next, she jumped into a conversation between her sisters to add a teasing remark that made them laugh. A heartbeat later, she smoothly shifted attention to her brother-in-law across the table, asking him a question about winter squash to bring the reticent man into the conversation. Family was her lifeblood.

  Prez’s words from that morning plunged into the forefront of Evan’s mind. “Family and friends are what make life worthwhile.”

  Money and success might make life secure, but did they make it worthwhile? Evan had always thought so. He’d worked long and hard to earn comfort, respect, and protection against an uncertain future, all the things he’d craved since boyhood. Yet the cheerful rapport and underlying kinship evident around the Wiggins family table made him question if he’d striven for the wrong prize.

  five

  THE FOLLOWING DAY, Evan sat in his office, prioritizing his business details based on urgency and financial implications. He glanced at the clock sitting on the corner of his desk. It ticked precious minutes away far too quickly. Felicity Wiggins and her insistence on his physical presence during her charity endeavors was putting
a decisive dent in his productivity.

  After dinner last night, she’d told him to expect her at two o’clock, shaving three or four hours off the end of his workday. While some ladies might be counted upon to arrive fashionably late, he knew better than to hope for such a reprieve. She was not the type of woman to let a worm crawl off her hook. Though why she wanted him on the hook in the first place was a mystery. His presence was bound to be more repellant than enticing to area townsfolk, but none of his logic-based squirming last night had succeeded in convincing her to carry on without him. Now he had ten minutes to finish his business for the day before she knocked on his door. He’d given Mrs. Bell instructions to put her in his front sitting room, but if Felicity Wiggins possessed enough gumption to ambush him through office windows and stable stalls, she wasn’t likely to stay where he put her for long.

  “Robert!” Evan gathered the weekly invoices strewn across his desk and formed a tidy pile, rapping the bottom edge against the desktop.

  “One moment, sir,” his secretary called from within the small, closet-like room Evan had built off his study to allow a telegraph to be installed. “Let me finish sending this wire.”

  “Hurry up. I have an appointment in ten minutes, and I need to give you my instructions for the remainder of the day.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The tapping continued, steady and sure, much like the man operating the machine. Robert Olson had been with Evan since before he took up residence in Kimble County. He was the perfect assistant. Followed orders to the letter, had a thick skin, and possessed a gift for diplomacy that turned Evan’s demanding dictations into courteous yet uncompromising correspondence. Robert’s even keel proved vastly irritating, however, when Evan was pressed for time.

  Restless, Evan pushed up from his chair and started pacing the room. His right knee gave a slight twinge as he planted his foot to pivot in front of his bookcase. He grimaced, more in frustration than actual pain, as he retreated to his desk to collect his silver-topped walking stick. He’d considered leaving it behind during his outing with Miss Wiggins, but that bit of vanity would have to be abandoned.

  As well it should. Foolishness. All of it. Evan’s grip tightened on the cane. Did he actually think he could make himself appear more manly by walking unaided? Bah! As if he had any business trying to impress his companion. Felicity had an agenda, just like anyone else. She intended to drag him around town and parade poor unfortunate souls in front of him in the hope of eliciting sympathy and therefore a larger donation for her dratted Christmas baskets. That was all this was. Not some kind of courtship ritual.

  “Sir?” Robert’s voice cut into Evan’s thoughts. “Are you ready to proceed?”

  “Of course,” he blustered, ordering his attention back to the business at hand. “We need to place the orders for the kitchens. I’ve compiled a list based on the inventories reported yesterday.” He handed the stack of papers to his secretary, an itemized page for each of his twelve inns. “The Bastrop location needs a set of new china as well as foodstuffs. Dinner plates only. Seems the girl they hired to wash the dishes is the clumsy sort, leaving nearly all their dinnerware chipped and cracked after a month on the job. She should be fired as far as I’m concerned, but Ramsey said he’d try her out on maid duty first. See how she gets along with a mop and dustcloth. I’m not sure who’s washing the dishes, but I suppose that’s Ramsey’s problem.”

  “Yes, sir.” Robert perused the sheets. A frown creased his brow. “I don’t see our usual beef order here.” He glanced up and met Evan’s gaze, a question in his eyes.

  “The price went up three cents a pound. I’m canceling our order. The new price would put us over-budget.”

  “Why not simply charge the customer more for beef?”

  Evan raised a brow. Robert rarely questioned him. “I’ve studied the numbers. There is a very small window between profit and loss. Increased charging leads to a decrease in customer orders. A decrease in orders leads to spoilage and therefore a reduction in supply. Decreased supply leads to frustrated customers when that supply runs out, impacting their satisfaction and likelihood to stay with us in future. Therefore, I’ve decided to simplify the menu and cut out beef entirely. We can add it back in when prices drop.”

  “But canceling a contract right before Christmas runs the risk of damaging relations with the local cattlemen. Wouldn’t it be better to wait until after the first of the year?”

  Evan speared his secretary with an icy glare. “I won’t operate at a loss simply because there is a holiday arriving in ten days. If our suppliers reduce their price to an acceptable level, I will consider renewing the contract. Until then, we’re scratching the order. Besides, think how happy we’ll make the chicken and pig farmers this Christmas by increasing their orders.”

  “But, sir—”

  “Bob. Scratch it.”

  He gave a sharp nod. “Yes, sir.”

  “Good.” Evan checked the clock, and as he did, he caught sight of Mrs. Bell approaching from the hall. He turned back to Robert. “Everything else should be straightforward. I’m not sure how long I’ll be, so you needn’t wait on my return.”

  Robert was always in a hurry to get home to his family in the evenings. Perhaps allowing him to leave early would smooth his ruffled beef feathers.

  Although Robert’s feathers, ruffled or not, were of little consequence at the moment. The nod Mrs. Bell gave Evan told him the punctual Miss Wiggins had arrived. All thoughts of beef, inns, and budgets skittered straight out of his head. A rather singular occurrence for a man who heretofore had defined his life by his business.

  Felicity strolled around the small sitting room at the front of Mr. Beazer’s grand Victorian home. Like the charcoal-gray exterior of the house, the well-appointed sitting room lacked warmth. It boasted lovely walnut furnishings, and the rich wood moldings lining the doorways, windows, floor, and ceiling exhibited skilled craftsmanship. However, the drab olive wallpaper, while obviously expensive, drained energy from the room. And there were no personal touches anywhere to be found, nothing to reflect the nature of the complex, intelligent man who made this place his home.

  She itched to sew up some bright yellow pillows for the settee or maybe embroider a Bible verse sampler for him to hang on the wall. A potted fern might look nice between the windows. Perhaps some deep plum-colored curtains to warm up the green walls. She’d seen some fabric at the general store just the other day that would—

  “Miss Wiggins. I see you’re making yourself at home.”

  Felicity snatched her hand away from the hem of the Holland cloth roller shade hanging at half-mast and spun to face her host, guilt warming her cheeks.

  “Mr. Beazer.” She stepped away from the window and smiled, hoping those piercing eyes of his couldn’t see her presumptuous thoughts. Goodness. How mortifying would it be if he somehow deduced her mental remodeling of his home to suit her preferences? “You’re looking in fine health today,” she blurted.

  “Is that an unusual occurrence?” he asked in a dry tone. “I hate to think I normally roam about looking sallow.”

  A laugh bubbled past Felicity’s lips, cleansing away her awkwardness and leaving her feeling much more herself. “Hardly.” She grinned and crossed the room to stand before him. “Fierce, perhaps, but never sallow.”

  A strange glittering entered his pale eyes. At her words or her nearness? Either way, her pulse reacted by jumping around with all the grace of a drunken rabbit.

  First he revealed a keen wit she hadn’t realized he possessed, and now this . . . this . . . heat? Where was Grandma Claire’s hand fan when she needed it?

  Moving to his left side, since he carried his cane in his right, Felicity slipped her hand into his elbow and gestured to the front door. “Your adventure awaits.”

  Evan stiffened at her touch, and the housekeeper’s eyebrows disappeared into her hairline at Felicity’s familiarity, but she didn’t let that dissuade her. She wasn’t doing anything improper, after all. Gentlemen escorted ladies thusly all the time. Of course, the gentleman usually offered his arm before the lady made free with it herself, but after several years of observing Evan Beazer, Felicity knew he was a master at keeping his distance from others, both physically and emotionally. If she had any hope of breaking through that crusty shell of his by Christmas, she needed to give her affectionate nature free rein instead of worrying about offending him. He wasn’t the type to hold back his displeasure. He’d let her know if she crossed a line. Like a wild animal who had to learn a person’s scent before trusting enough to draw near, Evan would acclimate to her affection little by little until he either rejected her overtures or began seeking them out. If she were truly fortunate, he might even offer a few overtures of his own.