Renee Ryan - A Western Christmas - Yuletide Lawman / Yuletide Reunion

Lastly, he escorted her into the room off the kitchen where the family’s coats hung on pegs.

Tour complete, he reached for his hat. “I’ll try to come home before sunset.”

“You’re leaving? Now?” She circled her gaze around the kitchen, stopping at the stove tucked in the early morning shadows. “But you haven’t eaten breakfast yet.”

“I’ll grab something at the Whistle Stop Inn.”

“Are you certain? I could make oatmeal.”

He was tempted, but decided to stick to his regular routine. No good would come from relying too much on Ellie, even for something as simple as an early morning meal.

“I need to get to the jail and relieve Deputy Kramer,” he said by way of excuse.

Two minutes later, dressed for the cold weather, Caleb trekked through the biting wind. His first stop was the livery stables three blocks south of where he lived.

Gideon greeted him with a toss of his regal head and a whinny that shook the rafters.

Caleb was just as pleased to see the horse.

The rest of the day went as expected. He ate a quick breakfast, checked on nearby ranches, then stopped in at each of the local businesses.

In the afternoon, he broke up a heated argument between the cooper and blacksmith that had begun over signage. Near the end of his shift, just as Prescott arrived to take over for him, Caleb dragged Skeeter Quinn, the town drunk, out of an empty horse trough, where the grizzled old man had decided to “take a little lie down”—Skeeter’s words.

Skeeter was far from pleased over his interrupted nap and proceeded to make his displeasure known at the top of his lungs.

His own temper turning dark, Caleb decided to lock up the blustering old coot in a jail cell to dry out. As expected, Skeeter turned even more belligerent the moment the door clanked shut. He continued ranting for a good five minutes then wore himself out and promptly passed out on the lone cot.

Caleb rubbed a hand across the back of his neck and studied the snoring form. Sprawled out on the cot, his head listing to port, Skeeter looked—and sounded—entirely too much like Caleb’s father in his final days.

“Keep an eye on Skeeter,” he told Prescott. “I’ll hunt down his son and send him over to collect him.”

“No problem, Sheriff.”

Skeeter snorted in his sleep, then took to mumbling over some incomprehensible grievance.

Caleb headed for the door.

“Hey, Sheriff,” Prescott called after him, a curious note in his voice. “I was wondering if you knew whether or not Ellie Wainwright had any plans for—”

“She’s unavailable.” To punctuate his point, Caleb turned and scowled at the deputy.

Prescott’s amused gaze held his. “How do you know?”

“I know.”

The deputy chuckled low in his throat. “You really aren’t going to introduce me to her?”

“No, I’m not.”

“Come on, Sheriff. I heard she’s sweet. Word around town is that no one’s officially courting her. Surely she would want to meet—”

Caleb slammed the door on the rest of whatever Prescott had to say.

His temper escalating yet again, he set out north of town where Skeeter’s son, Billie, lived. A block into his journey, he heard his name. “Sheriff Voss, Sheriff Voss, I have news.”

Glancing in the direction of the voice, he caught sight of Mrs. Jenson waving a letter high above her head.

Trepidation marched along his spine. Nevertheless, Caleb crossed the street with clipped strides and greeted the woman with a tentative smile.

Short, scarecrow thin, with gray-streaked black hair twisted in a knot at the nape of her neck, she wore too many ruffles, layers upon layers of lace and a self-satisfied smile.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Jenson. You’re looking rather...” He searched for the proper adjective. “Gleeful.”

“That’s because this arrived in the post today.” She lowered her hand and proceeded to wave the small stack of papers beneath Caleb’s nose. “You’ll be happy to know I’ve found your bride.”

This was the exact information he’d been waiting for, yet Caleb couldn’t drum up any real enthusiasm.

His silence didn’t seem to deter the woman. “Her name is Sadie Taylor.”

He didn’t know what to say. But the look of expectancy on Mrs. Jenson’s face suggested she was waiting for him to respond. “That’s a...ah, nice name?”

This earned him a nod of approval. “Isn’t it?

“According to her letter...” The older woman skimmed the front page a moment. “She’s twenty-two years old, recently widowed, with no children of her own. She lives in Blue Springs, Missouri, and is a schoolteacher.”

Caleb’s mind went straight to another schoolteacher, the one back at his house taking care of his daughters and providing them a “Christmas with all the trappings, one they won’t soon forget.”

“There’s only one concern.” Mrs. Jenson’s tone filled with distress. “Mrs. Taylor won’t be able to make the journey to Thunder Ridge until after the school year is complete.”

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