Western Christmas Wishes Read online

  Two tales of holiday homecoming.

  Spend the holidays with family

  in these two Western novellas!

  Home is where the heart is in His Christmas Family when Laurel Adams comes home and discovers a foster kid and a seriously charming horse trainer living on her grandmother’s ranch. And in A Merry Wyoming Christmas, single mom Leann Bowden is starting over when she and her daughter are rescued from a snowstorm. Might the dashing cowboy be the Christmas gift they’re dreaming of?

  “We can have lunch at the café in Hope.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  Cameron glanced Laurel’s way before pulling from his parking space. “I don’t mind.”

  “I think you do.”

  He sighed. “I think you like to argue.”

  At that she laughed. “I guess maybe I do.”

  “When I moved into the cottage at Gladys’s, I knew she’d push me from my comfort zone.”

  “Yes, she is a force to be reckoned with.”

  “But so are you.”

  Surprise flickered through her hazel eyes. “Me? I’m not a force. I’m the least forciest of people.”

  He laughed at that. “Oh, you’re a force alright. Kittens, Christmas trees, trips to the nursing home.”

  “I’m not making you do those things,” she reminded him.

  How well he knew that. The problem was that she didn’t have to force him out of his den—he came willingly for her. He used his music to soothe his horses or to gentle an unexpectedly shy or difficult animal. She was the music.

  And that was probably the most dangerous thought he’d had in a long time.

  Brenda Minton lives in the Ozarks with her husband, children, cats, dogs and strays. She is a pastor’s wife, Sunday-school teacher, coffee addict and is sleep deprived. Not in that order. Her dream to be an author for Harlequin started somewhere in the pages of a romance novel about a young American woman stranded in a Spanish castle. Her dreams came true, and twenty-plus books later, she is an author hoping to inspire young girls to dream.

  Jill Kemerer writes novels with love, humor and faith. Besides spoiling her mini dachshund and keeping up with her busy kids, Jill reads stacks of books, lives for her morning coffee and gushes over fluffy animals. She resides in Ohio with her husband and two children. Jill loves connecting with readers, so please visit her website, jillkemerer.com, or contact her at PO Box 2802, Whitehouse, OH 43571.

  WESTERN CHRISTMAS WISHES

  Brenda Minton

  and

  Jill Kemerer

  Table of Contents

  His Christmas Family by Brenda Minton

  A Merry Wyoming Christmas by Jill Kemerer

  Excerpt from The Texan’s Surprise Return by Jolene Navarro

  HIS CHRISTMAS FAMILY

  Brenda Minton

  This book is dedicated to my children.

  I pray you always follow your dreams,

  are always willing to accept a challenge,

  try a new path and trust that God has a plan.

  Behold, I will do a new thing; now it shall spring forth; shall ye not know it? I will even make a way in the wilderness, and rivers in the desert.

  —Isaiah 43:19

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Dear Reader

  Chapter One

  The small town of Hope, Oklahoma, happened to be everything Laurel Adams didn’t want for Christmas. She didn’t want twinkling lights, country cafés decorated with green and-silver garland or people who stood on the street corner and offered a cheery greeting as she drove past. She wanted big-city anonymity and her Chicago apartment, with its view of Lake Michigan. Instead she found herself in a town she had visited only twice in over twenty years.

  When she was nine years old, she and her mother had moved from Hope to Chicago. It had been their fresh start, her mom had said. It was their adventure. Really, it had been their escape.

  Back then, the town of Hope hadn’t been a friendly haven to a single mother who worked as a waitress and did her best to survive. Laurel’s grandmother assured her it had changed. As Laurel drove into town, it was easy to see the cosmetic differences. But the surface wasn’t what mattered to a girl who had been hurt by names and dirty looks.

  You could hang twinkling lights on it, put on a fresh coat of paint and plant flowers. Those things didn’t change the heart of a town. You could put a fancy facade on the front of a building, but if the foundation was crumbling, it didn’t matter a bit.

  She turned on a side road that led along the lake and up into the hills on the northern edge of town. Her grandmother’s old Victorian sat on the hillside overlooking the lake. It was a picturesque home, with pale peach siding, sage-green trim and a wraparound porch with white rocking chairs for summer evenings. It hadn’t changed since Laurel’s not-so-picturesque childhood.

  And yet, somehow, it still felt like coming home. She shook off the thought. This wasn’t a homecoming; it was a necessary visit. She was here to check on her grandmother.

  She parked in the driveway and stepped out. A cold December breeze greeted her and she pulled her jacket closed as she looked around, taking in all that was familiar, as well as what had changed.

  There was a caretaker. Laurel wondered where she would find him. She grabbed her purse out of the car, then headed up the stone walkway to the front porch. A shadow shifted and changed, becoming a shaggy brown dog as it exited the woods. The animal barked as he approached.

  “Easy, boy. I belong here.” Sort of.

  The dog continued to bark, his tail wagging but not in quite as friendly a manner as she would have liked. He growled at her, and she froze.

  “Zorro, down.” A strong, deep and in-command voice called out. The owner of it emerged from the woods—he was tall with a black cowboy hat pulled low on his head.

  She remained rooted to the spot, afraid of both the dog and the man walking next to the gigantic animal. As they drew closer she gasped and took a step back.

  At her reaction he snapped his fingers and spun to walk away, the dog moving quickly to his side with just a backward glance and one last warning growl.

  “Wait,” she called to his retreating back. “I’m sorry. I just...”

  She was unforgivably rude. She knew how it felt to be judged. As a child she’d suffered the dirty looks, the whispers, the judgment for what her parents had done. She knew how painful it was.

  “I was rude and I’m sorry,” she called out after him.

  He stopped, paused for mere seconds and then turned back, giving her the full effect of his scarred face. The right side was rather beautiful, with lean bone structure, a mouth that formed a straight and unforgiving line, and blue eyes.

  Correction. One blue eye. One eye patch.

  “Are you finished?” he asked. He meant, was she finished staring.

  She took a step closer. “I’m sorry. Truly. I didn’t expect anyone to be here. And the dog frightened me.”

  “And my face, let’s not forget my face.”

  She contemplated her next words carefully. An objection would be a lie, and condescending to boot. He knew the truth so she should speak the truth.

  “Okay, yes, you shocked me. But what frighten
ed me was the dog.” On a second look, she realized the scars weren’t so shocking. The skin on the left side of his face was rough and a defined scar ran along his cheek and down his neck.

  “Bravo for honesty.” He clapped a slow and steady beat. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

  “Wait!” she called out as he started to walk away again.

  He stopped.

  “Are you the caretaker?”

  He laughed, his one blue eye sparkling with genuine humor. “No, I’m not. Is that what Gladys told you?”

  “She said I would have to get the key from her caretaker.”

  “I’m not the caretaker. I rent her guesthouse while my home is being built. But I do have a key to the main house.” He gave her a long look with an eye so blue it mesmerized, and thick lashes that only made it more compelling. That piercing gaze somehow made her feel as if the solid ground beneath her would soon give way.

  “Also, I’m not a babysitter so please come get Capital T,” he said as he started to walk away from her.

  “Capital T? Babysitter?” Laurel blinked, trying to decipher what he was saying.

  “Rose. She’s Trouble with a capital T. Not my trouble—yours. She’s been here all afternoon and I haven’t been able to get a hold of Kylie West. So Capital T is here, getting in the way, messing with my horses, annoying my dog. If you’ll follow me, you can have the key and the child.”

  “Child?”

  He pinned her with that steady gaze of his.

  “Gladys didn’t tell you anything, did she?” His hand went to the monstrous dog at his side. Her gaze followed the gesture, the calming hand, the wiry haired black dog that looked as if he could eat a small ham in one bite. Or her leg.

  He cleared his throat and she returned her full attention to the owner of the dog.

  “I’m afraid I’m in the dark,” she told him. “My grandmother just said that she could use some help around here until she gets out of the facility where she’s doing her physical therapy and recovery.”

  “Gladys is one of a kind.” There was a hint of admiration in his words, mixed in with a good dose of exasperation. Then he headed for the barn.

  “What’s your name?” she asked.

  “Cameron Hunt.”

  He didn’t ask for her name. She guessed he probably knew. She was Laurel, the granddaughter who should have been here sooner, should have visited more often. She didn’t need to be told—she already knew.

  She followed him toward the stables. Years ago it had been her grandmother’s pride and joy, a metal building with a large corral attached. Beyond were fields that in the spring would be brilliant green, but browned in December. She inhaled the country air, perfumed with the drying grass and damp earth.

  As much as she didn’t want to feel a connection to this place and her past, she did.

  “So, Cameron Hunt, who exactly is Capital T? Other than a child.”

  He slowed his steps, allowing her to catch up. He was tall and his stride was double hers.

  “She’s your grandmother’s great-niece. Or perhaps great-great-niece. I only know that Gladys has custody and that Trouble is her middle name. She’s thirteen and in everyone else’s business. A lot like your grandmother.”

  “So you like them?” she asked, trying to hide her humor. She hadn’t wanted to be amused, not by him or by the situation.

  “I like my privacy,” he said in a stilted tone that seemed to be trying a little too hard for gruffness.

  She switched topics.

  “How did Gladys hurt her shoulder? She wasn’t forthcoming with details.”

  “She didn’t tell you?” He shot her a quick look but kept walking. “No. Of course she didn’t. She must not want you to know.”

  “All she said was the how isn’t important. What’s important is that she’s going to get better and get back home as soon as possible.”

  “She got tossed by that crazy horse of hers. She won’t give up and get a decent animal.”

  “She’s eighty! She was riding a horse?”

  He stopped walking and stared her down with one piercing blue eye. “You should get to know her.”

  And then he continued on, leaving her to follow after him, having no defense for her absence from her grandmother’s life. She decided to be angry with him. Anger was safer than every other confusing emotion she felt when she looked at him. Guilt. Shame. Attraction. Anger.

  Not attraction. Cross that off the list. He annoyed her. That was it. End of story.

  * * *

  Cameron didn’t consider himself an impatient person. He thought that thirty-five years on this earth had taught him to be kind, take his time in making judgments and choose his words wisely. For whatever reason, the woman at his side had him forgetting all those things, and scrambling to find his better self.

  Maybe Gladys was right. Maybe he’d spent too much time alone. Since his return from Afghanistan, he’d found solace in his lone existence and in his horses. This was his version of healing.

  Being alone had worked for him until Gladys had made him her pet project. She had a way of invading a person’s life. All of his usual tactics for running people off—growl a little, glare a lot, make himself unavailable for small talk—hadn’t worked on Gladys. Or Capital T, as he liked to call Rose.

  He spotted the girl inside the stable. His dog spotted her at the same time and loped off to join her.

  The city girl tromped along behind him, not quite able to keep up with his longer strides. He smiled, picturing her back there in her high-heeled boots, a knit scarf around her neck and her red hair bouncing around her face. It was cool enough that her hazel eyes would flash and her cheeks would turn a shade of pink that would clash with her complexion.

  He stopped when he reached the stable doors and didn’t go inside as he’d planned. With an about face, he almost bumped into Gladys’s granddaughter as she marched up behind him. He’d been right about how she would look. Her hazel eyes flashed and her cheeks were pink from the cold. He refocused over her shoulder to the view of the lake. From here the view was stunning. In winter the water appeared to be the biblical crystal sea, it was that clear.

  “Where is Rose?” the city girl asked, a little out of breath.

  “Probably bothering my cat. She had a new litter of kittens and Rose won’t leave them alone.”

  As if on cue, the teen appeared. She had a kitten cuddled against her face but her smile dissolved when she spotted them. Wary dark eyes focused in on their visitor.

  “Who is she?” Rose asked, brushing short dark hair back from her face.

  “I’m Laurel Adams. Gladys’s granddaughter.”

  “Oh.” Rose shot him a look that made him think he’d just gained enemy status. But it hadn’t been his idea to call the granddaughter and ask her to come to Oklahoma.

  “Gladys sent for me,” Laurel informed her.

  “I’m not sure why,” Rose went on, in Rose-like fashion. Full-throttle, take-no-prisoners, no-holds-barred. That was Rose. “It isn’t as if you know her or she knows you. You haven’t seen her in ten years.”

  “Nine,” Laurel countered.

  “Oh! Nine. That’s so much better.” Rose rolled her eyes heavenward. “I have to take the kitten back to her mother. I’ve been staying with Kylie West. I’ll have to go get my stuff.”

  “Get your stuff?” Laurel asked, her hands jammed into her pockets.

  Rose smirked but then softened the look into a somewhat sympathetic expression. Cameron watched the two of them, wondering when the drama would play out so that he could get back to the horse he’d been working with.

  “If you’re here, I should probably stay with you. Right?”

  Laurel looked a little panicked. “I’m really not sure.”

  Her gaze shot to him, asking for intervention.


  Cameron took a step back. “I raise horses, not teenagers. If I were you, I’d go visit Gladys and find out what she’s up to.”

  “Then that’s what we’ll do. I’ll unload my luggage and then we’ll make a trip to town. Oh, I need the key.”

  “I’ll walk you down there. The lock is tricky and there are a few things I should show you.” He didn’t know why he offered. He could tell her the things she needed to know and the lock wasn’t that tricky.

  “I’m sure we can manage,” she told him.

  “Still, I’d rather make sure you’re all settled. That’ll keep you from knocking on my door at midnight.”

  Before Laurel could say anything, he started for the path that led back to Gladys’s house. Rose caught up with him, walking on his right side because she knew that he preferred to see the person walking next to him. He glanced down, noticing a suspicious movement in her coat pocket, and decided he’d ignore it for now.

  But he couldn’t ignore the fact that he was getting dragged further and further into Gladys Adams’s life. First it had been his elderly neighbor pushing him to attend church. And then Rose had shown up. Now the granddaughter.

  The guesthouse, situated down a trail from the main house, was no longer feeling like the sanctuary it had been when he first moved off Mercy Ranch.

  He could have gone anywhere to start his new life but he’d decided to settle in Hope, Oklahoma, the town that had given him a second chance. Jack West and his ranch for wounded warriors had been a huge part of his recovery.

  And the place where he’d grown up no longer felt like home. The ranch in Texas had been sold. His siblings had all moved away. He’d needed somewhere to put down roots and rebuild his life.

  “Where is the nursing home?” Laurel Adams asked as they neared the house.

  “On the highway, heading toward Grove. If you’re familiar with the area, it’s the road on the right, before the bridge.”

  Her face scrunched but she didn’t say anything, and instead glanced at Rose. If she thought Rose would give her directions, she was wrong. No doubt Rose would lead her on a wild-goose chase.