Cowgirl Under The Mistletoe

Suddenly self-conscious, Micah had an unexpected memory flash before his eyes. His older brother had always dared him to do this or that and then taunted him for not performing perfectly the first time. He dismissed the memory. Grace might tease him, but she wouldn’t criticize. He gripped the handle of his gun and quickly slid it from the holster, then fanned the hammer with his left hand, firing off three rapid shots. Each time his hand hit the weapon, it threw off his aim, and not one shot struck an empty tin.

“Uh-huh.” Grace’s tone held no condemnation. “Mind if I ask where you learned that?”

He cleared his throat, and his face warmed. “Last July Fourth at the fastest draw contest.”

“Uh-huh,” she repeated. “Sometimes cowboys like to show off with that style because they think it looks fancy. But if you ask ’em, they’ll admit it’s a little hard on the gun’s action. Plus their six-shooters need fixin’ real often. Anyway, it’s not even the fastest draw.”

“Ah.” Micah returned his Colt Peacemaker to its holster. “And I fell for it. All right, you show me the right way.”

She gave him a brief nod and stepped away several paces from him. “Thumbing is the best way. You grip the handle and at the same time place the tip of your thumb on the hammer.” She demonstrated as she spoke. “As you begin to draw, let your thumb roll off the inside of the hammer. At the same time you’re drawing, get a full grip on the handle, aim and squeeze the trigger.” Her Colt .45 fired three times before Micah could blink, and three tin cans flew off of the fence.

He whistled in admiration. “I see what you mean.” He slowly went through the smooth motions, returned his gun to his holster and then drew quickly but without firing. The roll of his thumb seemed the key because it had to bring the hammer back and yet not hold it there. The pull of his trigger finger felt instinctive. On his third draw, he fired, knocking a can from its perch.

“Good job, Rev.” Grace seemed about to slap his shoulder, but turned the gesture into a strange little wave. “Most folks can get the hang of it with one lesson. You have the advantage of being real good with your rifle. I didn’t have to remind you to keep your eye on the target.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Warmth spread through his chest. Her approval meant a great deal to him. Maybe she wouldn’t mind if he confided in her about his plans for courting. After a few more fast draws, a reload and a few more cans scattered across the corral, he holstered his gun. “I think we’re done here, but I’ll keep practicing. May I buy you some ice cream as a thank-you?”

An odd, almost vulnerable look crossed her pretty face. “I’d rather have some of Miss Pam’s pie.”

“If we’re going there, we’ll just have dinner. What do you say?”

She shrugged in her endearing “aw-shucks” way. “Sounds good.”

While Micah retrieved the battered cans from the corral, he spotted fresh hoofprints in the smattering of snow. “Say, Grace, I didn’t think anyone was living here.”

She strode over to him and eyed the ground and then knelt down to trace the wider-than-normal horseshoe print with a slight indention on one side. “Hmm. Could be our man Hardison. Could be a drifter taking shelter last night.”

She stood and walked toward the half-open barn door. Micah followed her inside, and they both looked around. The unusual hoofprint wasn’t repeated, and nothing caught their attention as being disturbed.

Outside again, Grace tilted her head toward the run-down cabin and spoke a little louder than necessary. “Well, let’s get back to town.” She drew her gun and walked toward the wood frame abode.

“Good idea.” Micah also spoke loudly, while the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Had they been watched the whole time they were shooting?

Grace again tilted her head, this time toward the side of the cabin. Micah nodded and ambled around the corner to peer in through a shattered window. The room held broken-down furniture, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

From the other side of the room came the screech of a rusty-hinged door opening, and soon Grace appeared in the room. She caught his gaze and shook her head. “The snow on the porch didn’t have any prints, and the dust hasn’t been disturbed in any of the rooms, so I reckon nobody’s been in here.”

Micah nodded his agreement. Every afternoon, the wind blew a new coat of dust over the entire San Luis Valley, so those fresh hoofprints could only be a few hours old.

He met Grace by their horses. “Why would anyone want to ride into a corral like that if they weren’t going to take shelter in the barn or the cabin?”

“Maybe some drifter stopped to see if there was any hay in the barn.”

“Could be.” Micah heaved out a quiet sigh of relief. The idea that they might have been watched had unnerved him, and yet Grace had remained as cool as an autumn day. Most girls he’d ever known were skittish as colts about such things. What a woman Grace was! He felt privileged to be her pastor and her friend.

* * *

The Rev didn’t seem to be in any hurry to get back to town, so Grace kept Mack’s pace to a moderate walk. After a few hundred yards, the Rev seemed inclined to talk, so she gave him an inviting smile.

“Something on your mind?”

He chuckled in that way of his that always put her at ease. “I could use your advice.” He tilted his Stetson back on his head a ways. Once again, she felt pleased that he hadn’t worn his dandified bowler hat. That thing sure did annoy her, though she couldn’t say why she concerned herself so much with his appearance.

“About shooting?”

“No. I think we covered that this morning.” He gazed east across the San Luis Valley toward Mount Blanca, which was nearly snow-covered despite it only being October. “I have guests coming to visit from Virginia around the first of December. Joel Sutton’s a childhood friend. After the war, he and his folks were the only people who remained friendly. The rest treated my family badly because my uncle fought for the North.” He gave her a rueful smile. “Some in the South continue to fight the war even though it’s been over for almost twenty years. Even my decision to attend seminary in Massachusetts angered many people, and they didn’t want any part of me after I graduated. Couldn’t get hired in a church, no matter how many I applied to.”

Grace shook her head in disgust. The war wasn’t his fault. In fact, he was truly a man of peace. Those people didn’t know what they were missing to reject him that way. “Their loss is Esperanza’s gain. Now tell me about this Joel Sutton.”

The Rev leaned down to pat his horse on the neck, a gesture Grace found endearing. He took care of his horse just like he took care of the folks in his congregation and anybody else who needed a kind touch, including her. “Joel and I have been corresponding for a few years, and now he wants to come out here, he and his sister.”

Grace didn’t need for the Rev to tell her the rest. This sister was probably a gracious Southern belle like Susanna Northam, all pretty and petite and just what the Rev needed in a preacher’s wife. But if all things worked together for good, then Grace should assist him all she could. Maybe she’d even play matchmaker and help him get the job done.

“So, are these folks going to stay at the hotel, or should I see if Mrs. Foster wants to take in a couple of new boarders?” Grace liked that plan. She could get the measure of the woman and decide if she was good enough for the Rev.

“No, I think they should stay at the parsonage. I have those two extra bedrooms, and they’re rarely put to use.”

Grace held her breath and counted to ten while she considered how to answer. “Will you be comfortable with a single lady staying in your home?”

“I’m not sure. That’s why I wanted your advice. Do you think anyone will be offended, considering that Joel will be there, too?”

For some odd reason, Grace wanted more than anything to say yes, the whole town would be offended. That by all means, Joel and his sister should stay someplace else. Anyplace else. But she couldn’t lie. Nor could she explain her reservations about the plan. After several seconds of listening to the clop of their horses’ hooves and an occasional bird calling out from the thickets along the road, she sighed to herself.

“Well, Rev, we don’t have a whole heap of gossips around here, and most folks don’t pay them any mind when they do speak out of turn.” She had to force a smile as she finished her thought. “I think you should have your friends stay at your house so they don’t have to pay rent. Maybe that sister can feed you some fine Southern cooking and put some meat on your bones.”

Why had she said that?

He sent a worried frown her way. “You think I’m too thin?”

Oh, my, no. Not thin at all, and certainly not the opposite. He appeared as strong as any hardworking cowboy, although she had no idea how a preacher who read books and visited the sick all day could be so well put together. She also had no idea why she’d made such a foolish remark about putting meat on his bones. The local ladies kept him well fed with their best cooking. Now, how could she turn this into teasing?

“Naw, not too thin.” She grinned. “Just on the edge.”

He laughed. “Don’t say that to Mrs. Foster. She already sends over enough food for a small army.”

“I’ve noticed that.” Grace chuckled. After some serious thought last evening, she’d decided to put four pieces of her special fried chicken into Mrs. Foster’s basket. Of course he had no idea, and Mrs. Foster had promised not to tell. Not that Grace meant anything by it. She was just trying to be helpful. That was all. Yet it pleased her that he hadn’t complained about last night’s supper.

* * *

“She did something special with that fried chicken last night.” Micah could still taste the mouthwatering fare. “Best I’ve ever eaten.”

Grace looked away quickly, and Micah followed her gaze westward toward the San Juan Mountains, seeing nothing of significance.

“Something grab your attention?”

“Nope. Just checking the landscape.” She gave her familiar dismissive shrug, but when she faced toward town again, she seemed to be fighting a smile.

Maybe she was embarrassed about her comments regarding his health. Ladies and gentlemen didn’t usually discuss such matters. And yet Grace always spoke the truth, painful or not, so Micah had a feeling she might be right about his condition. He’d always vowed not to become a flabby, indolent preacher, like some he’d met. However, being too thin wasn’t any healthier. So far he’d managed to stay fit, but maybe he needed more exercise.