Enchanted Christmas Read online

  ENCHANTED CHRISTMAS

  By Alice Duncan

  (Writing as Emma Craig)

  Enchanted Christmas

  Copyright © 1998 by Alice Duncan

  All rights reserved.

  Published 1998 by Dorchester Publishing Co.

  Leisure Love Spell

  Smashwords edition September 1, 2009

  Visit aliceduncan.net

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Chapter One

  Once upon a time, on a fair October day in 1869, a little girl and an old man worked side by side. The two lived in the tiny community of Rio Hondo, which squatted between the Spring, Hondo, and East and West Berrendo Rivers in the southeastern corner of the New Mexico Territory,

  An old rag doll, clad in a dress made of the same material as the little girl’s, sat on a stump beside them. Her jolly embroidered face gave made her an amiable expression, and she seemed to be supervising their activities. She looked as though she’d been loved quite hard during her days on earth.

  A sound caught the little girl’s attention, and she glanced up from the rope she’d been coiling into a tidy stack. “Listen, Mac. Somebody’s comin’.”

  Alexander McMurdo, proprietor of McMurdo’s Wagon Yard, favorite stop-over of cowboys trailing herds from ranches in the Pecos Valley and Seven Rivers country, took the old briar pipe from his mouth and looked. He smiled when he saw a solitary man, slumped slightly in his saddle, riding across the plains toward Mac’s wagon yard. Mac had been expecting this. About time, too.

  “Looks like we got us a visitor, Maddie, m’lass.”

  Five-year-old Maddie Richardson jumped with joy and clapped her hands. Visitors were a rare and welcome experience for the girl. She lived, after all, in the only—and very small—oasis of civilization within a two-hundred-mile radius. The land stretching between Rio Hondo and other seats of society was as bare and unspoiled as her own heart but much, much harder.

  Rio Hondo sat in the middle of southeastern New Mexico Territory like the hub of a spoked wheel, with trails leading east and south into Texas, west to the Arizona Territory, and north into Albuquerque, Santa Fe, and the Colorado Territory. Fort Sumner and Fort Stanton resided within that two-hundred-mile radius as well, and provided what passed as protection for the citizens residing in this part of the territory. There weren’t many of them. The army had rounded up most of the Indians in the early sixties, so that nowadays the most trouble settlers and ranchers could expect came from one another.

  Maddie shaded her eyes and squinted through the harsh, cold sunlight at the stranger, now slowly making his way through the wide-open, double wagon-yard gates. “He’s on a pretty horse.” Excitement vibrated in her voice.

  “That he is, lass. Let’s you and me go see what the fellow needs. He’s lookin’ a little trail-worn.”

  “He’s all dusty,” Maddie agreed.

  “So’s his horse.”

  Maddie grabbed up her dolly and clasped the gnarled old hand Mac held out to her. Mac peered down at her, clucking softly when he noticed she wasn’t wearing her sunbonnet. That meant she’d slipped outside in spite of her mother’s vigilance. He grinned around his pipe.

  She was a charmer, Maddie was. Almost as charming as her mother, but a great deal less bowed down by life. Which figured, as the wee lass had scarcely had time to collect burdens. With luck and his own help, Mac trusted that Maddie would grow up to be as fine a woman as her mother—and that her mother’s heart would heal at last. He matched his stride to hers, and they walked over to where the stranger had pulled his tired horse to a stop and was dismounting.

  Mac shook his head as he studied the newcomer and felt a little sad. It appeared to him as though the poor fellow had made it here just in time. Another year or two, and not even Mac’s magic could touch him.

  # # #

  Noah Partridge was almost as tired as he’d ever been in his life. He was sure sick of riding. This was the place for him, though; he knew it in his bones—all of which ached as if he’d been in a brawl. The countryside around Rio Hondo was as barren as Noah’s soul, as bleak as his past, as desolate as his future, and as hard as his heart. The wind blew across it like a demon from hell, sometimes so stiffly that the dust and grit could tear a man’s skin off his face. Noah shook out the bandanna he’d worn over his mouth and nose to protect them from blowing dust. The cloth was stiff with dirt.

  The only sign of life Noah had seen for at least twenty miles—until he rode into Rio Hondo—was low-growing grama grass and a few scrubby bushes. Greasewood, mesquite, yucca, and cactus dotted the landscape here and there. Every time Fargo, Noah’s horse, had stepped on a clump of greasewood, the tangy odor of creosote nipped at Noah’s nostrils. He kind of liked the smell—as much as he liked anything, which wasn’t much.

  As he’d neared the community of Rio Hondo, he’d noticed a stunted shinnery oak that looked as if the wind had sculpted it. It leaned to the northeast, bowing against the prevailing winds as if it had given up the struggle to stand upright. The very air Noah breathed was hard, the water was harder, and Noah had a gut feeling he and they belonged together. He was harder than both of them put together.

  Hell, even the animal life out here was sinister. Scorpions, rattlesnakes, coyotes, cougars. Wild Indians even, he supposed, unless the army’d gathered them all up. He’d seen about a million buzzards too, although he imagined they’d be gone soon. They’d all fly south to winter in the sunny climes of Mexico and wouldn’t show up again until the springtime. Which only went to show that Noah Partridge was tougher than a buzzard. He grinned a small internal grin that didn’t make it to his lips. Yup. This was the right place for Noah, all right.

  He turned when he heard footsteps. The greeting he’d been about to pronounce withered and died when he saw a child walking with the old man whom Noah presumed was Alexander McMurdo. Hell, Noah hated kids. He hated kids almost as much as he hated adult men and women.

  “Howdy, stranger,” the old fellow said.

  His voice was cheerful and faintly tinted with a Scots burr. It grated on Noah’s nerves like a metal file. He tipped his hat. “Hello. You McMurdo?” His voice was leathery and cracked with disuse.

  “I am.” The proprietor’s eyes twinkled like stars. Noah didn’t appreciate the effect.

  “Understand I’ll have to put up in your wagon yard while I take care of business here. You have room for me and my horse? I don’t have anything but what’s on the old boy’s back.” He gestured to his bedroll and saddle bags, which carried all his earthly possessions. Everything else he’d ever owned was gone now. Bitterness twisted though him as he thought about it, so he stopped thinking.

  “Oh, aye, I expect we can handle you and your horse.”

  The old man chuckled. His teeth were as white as pearls and were clamped around what looked to Noah like it must be the oldest pipe in the universe. Because he could no longer tolerate the presence of merriment, he turned and took longer unfastening his pack than he needed to.

  When he turned around again, the little girl who’d walked up with Mr. McMurdo had let go of the old man’s hand and stood about a foot away from Noah himself, her raggedy old doll dangling, evidently forgotten, in her right hand. She peered up at him as if she were looking upon something strange and foreign. Which she
probably was. She undoubtedly hadn’t met up with too many hollow men in her day.

  Since he didn’t know what to do with her, he resumed his work. He glanced at her once or twice out of the corner of his eye and wished she’d go away or that Mr. McMurdo would do something with her. The kid made him nervous.

  After a couple of very long moments, McMurdo did as Noah had wanted. “Maddie, me wee lass, allow me to introduce you to Mr. Noah Partridge. Mr. Partridge, this here sweet bairn is Miss Maddie Richardson.”

  “Partridge?” Maddie broke into a huge smile. “Like in the pear tree?”

  She was just a kid. Noah reminded himself of that when he had the urge to holler at her. How could a little kid understand that while Noah hated men, women, and children, he abominated Christmas and everything associated with it, including the blasted songs. Christmas was a season of sentimental hogwash, filled with sappy music, perpetrated by greedy merchants, and geared to pacify fools. Christmas was the season during which Noah’s own personal life, which hadn’t been a whole lot of fun to begin with, had gone straight to hell. He’d loathed it ever since.

  He said, “Yeah,” in a voice as hard as the local water.

  Mac seemed unaffected by Noah’s aloofness. He put a hand on the little girl’s bonnetless head. Noah knew his eyes were suffering from the territory’s harsh sunlight when dots of diamond-like sparkles seemed to flood from Mac’s hand and diffuse in the air around them. “Maddie is turnin’ six years old next month, Mr. Partridge.”

  “In November, eh?” said Noah, for the sake of saying something.

  Wait a minute. When had he told McMurdo his name? He couldn’t remember saying anything at all except that he wanted a place to stay in Rio Hondo while he conducted business. Noah’s eyes narrowed, and he watched McMurdo closely. Something was odd here, but he couldn’t put his finger on what it was.

  Whatever expression he had on his face seemed to amuse McMurdo. He grinned like Father Christmas himself and said, “Give Mr. Partridge a curtsy, Maddie, like your mama taught you, and shake his hand to welcome him to Rio Hondo.”

  “All right.” Evidently as happy as the proverbial lark and much more obedient than any kid Noah’d ever known, Maddie executed a curtsy that would have looked charming to anyone but him. Then she looked up at him and gave him the sunniest smile he’d ever seen. Her smile struck him like acid, and he grimaced before he could stop himself.

  Because he figured he should—after all, even though he hated kids on principle, he didn’t necessarily want to wound one of them—Noah smiled back. It had been so long since his last smile that this one damned near fractured his cheeks. He took off his worn leather glove and shook her hand. It was as soft as silk and as undamaged as a fresh peach. Noah hadn’t been around anything undamaged in a month of Sundays.

  Maddie released his hand and stepped back. She looked up at Mac, and her small face took on a confiding, somewhat sorrowful expression. “Mr. Partridge isn’t used to smiling, Mac. His insides must hurt, like Mommy says hers do sometimes.”

  If he hadn’t been holding his gear, Noah might have stuck a finger in his ear to clean it out. Had that kid just said what he’d heard?

  He didn’t have time to relish his astonishment. The patter of running feet caught his attention, and he turned to see a woman racing towards them, her skirts caught up in her hands, her apron ribbons flying, headed away from what looked like it might be a small mercantile establishment. Good. He needed supplies. He ignored the woman, again on principle.

  “Oh, Maddie! There you are. I was looking all over the place for you.”

  The woman was breathless. Noah tried to continue ignoring her, but it was tough when she breezed right past him and knelt before her daughter. At least he assumed Maddie was her daughter. They had the same honey-colored hair and blue eyes; Maddie’s hair was a little lighter and brighter than the woman’s, but not by much. As she passed him, a faint scent of something sweet, like roses, assailed his nostrils. He turned his head brusquely away from it. Damned woman was wearing some kind of perfume. Reminded him of home, and he hated it.

  He set his gear on a stump Mac indicated. Now how the hell had such a big stump managed to get itself out here, in Rio Hondo? Near as Noah could figure, there wasn’t a tree as big as that within seventy miles of the place. He didn’t ask, because he didn’t really care.

  “Me and Maddie were just meeting Mr. Noah Partridge, Grace. Mr. Partridge plans to stay a spell in the wagon yard whilst he takes care of business.”

  “In Rio Hondo?” Grace looked up at Noah, surprise written all over her face.

  Her eyes were clear and wide and as blue as the sky, and framed by dark lashes. Noah noticed them. He hadn’t noticed a woman’s eyes for a long, long time. But Grace Richardson’s eyes were very like Maddie’s. That’s the only reason he’d noticed, he was sure. Most women’s eyes didn’t have that unspoiled quality he detected in Grace’s. At least the women back home in Virginia didn’t. Of course, they’d lost everything, including their innocence, during the war that had ripped their homes to pieces and killed their men.

  Anyway, he was probably wrong about this female. She most likely only looked unspoiled and was rotten underneath. Lots of women had that trick about them, and used it to beguile. Too bad for this one that Noah was no longer capable of being beguiled.

  “Yeah. Thought I’d look for some land to raise cattle.” His voice cracked again. He’d have to oil up his vocal chords since he’d probably be doing a lot of jawing until he found what he wanted. Then he could shut up again and stay shut up. Good thing, too.

  “Well, there’s lots of that around here, I guess.” She stood and took up her daughter’s hand. Noah had a feeling she did so because she was nervous and needed something to hold on to. If so, she was being foolish. If there was one thing Noah didn’t have any designs on, it was a female. Any female. Of course, she couldn’t know that.

  “Grace Richardson, please allow me to introduce you to Mr. Noah Partridge. Mr. Partridge comes to us from the grand old state of Virginia.”

  Noah’s gaze sharpened upon McMurdo again. Dammit, he knew he hadn’t told this old devil where he was from.

  “How do you do, Mr. Partridge?”

  His gaze slid to Grace Richardson. She was holding out a hand as if she expected him to shake it. He looked at it for a second, before he took it and said, “How to you do?” It was automatic. He didn’t really care how she did. Or anybody else in the world, for that matter.

  “I hope you find what you’re looking for in Rio Hondo, Mr. Partridge.”

  Noah let go of her hand when he realized she was exerting some pressure to get it back under her own control again. Jesus, what was wrong with him? Sparkles in the air, people knowing things he hadn’t told them, him holding a woman’s hand. Maybe he was losing his mind. He might as well God knows, he’d lost everything else. Sure as hell, his mind hadn’t been of any use to him for years now.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Thanks.”

  Grace gave him a puzzled look and a faint smile and peered down at her daughter. “Come into the mercantile with me, Maddie, and let’s not bother the men. You can help me stack the canned goods, all right?”

  “All right.”

  Noah’d never seen such an obedient child. Of course, he was no expert on children. He remembered Julia’s younger brother, though, and he’d been a real brat. A spurt of fury shot through him for thinking about Julia, and he slammed the door shut on his memories.

  “It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Partridge. I hope you enjoy your stay in Rio Hondo.” Grace seemed almost shy.

  Noah didn’t believe her. He nodded and didn’t feel obliged to speak.

  “Bye, Mr. Noah,” Maddie said with another one of her sunny smiles.

  He nodded at her too.

  The two females turned towards the little store. “You forgot your sunbonnet again, Maddie. You know I want you to wear a sunbonnet outside so you won’t get sunstroke in the warm weather or f
rostbite this time of year. That’s why I made you and Priscilla matching sunbonnets.”

  “I’m sorry, Mommy.”

  Noah shook his head. They looked like a couple of animated statues to him, one a miniature of the other. For a split-second, he was almost curious as to who Priscilla was. The doll, he supposed. Then he took himself to task for caring.

  As Maddie and her mother walked away from him, he heard Maddie say, “Mr. Noah looks just like the man in my dream last night, mama. The one who brought you the reed organ for Christmas.”

  “Does he? My goodness.” Grace gave a little laugh and didn’t look back.

  As for Noah, he stared at the kid’s back and experienced an urge to rush over to her, pick her up, shake her hard, and ask her what the hell she meant. How the devil had she just happened to pick reed organs out of the air as if organs were as common as dirt and people dreamed about them all the time?

  He shook his head again, hard, and turned to Mac, frowning. Mac gazed at him like some kind of benevolent gnome, as if he understood the source of Noah’s unhappiness and confusion and pitied him. Noah resented him for it.

  He decided to skip the reed organ issue. “How the hell did you know I was from Virginia?” The question was probably too sharp, but Noah hadn’t had to use company manners for a long time and was out of practice.

  Mac winked at him. “Accent, Mr. Partridge. Accent.”

  “You recognized my accent as being from Virginia?”

  “Sure. We get us lots of folks from different states back east. ‘Cause of the war and all,” he added as if imparting a confidence.

  The coldness that had engulfed Noah several years before suddenly turned a degree frostier. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m sure that’s true.”

  “Well, now, Mr. Partridge, let me show you where you can stow your gear, and where to stable your horse. The two of you could use a bath, I reckon, even though the weather’s nippy.”