Free A Lawman's Christmas: A McKettricks of Texas Novel by Linda Lael Miller

shipment practically as soon as she opened the parcel, she could return the merchandise and owe nothing.
    Five dollars, Dara Rose thought. If she sold twenty tins of Wildflower Salve, she would earn five dollars— a virtual fortune.
    The kerosene lamp flickered, reminding her that she’d soon be sitting in the dark, and Dara Rose set aside “the opportunity of a lifetime” to open the letter from Piper.
    A crisp ten-dollar bill fell out, nearly stopping Dara Rose’s heart.
    She set it carefully aside, and her hands trembled as she unfolded the clump of pages covered in Piper’s lovely cursive. The date was nearly eight months in the past.
    â€œDearest Cousin,” the missive began. “News of your tragic misfortune reached me yesterday, via the telegraph…”
    Piper’s letter, misplaced all this time, went on to say that she hoped Dara Rose could put the money enclosed to good use—that the weather was fine in Maine, with the spring coming, but she already dreaded the winter. How were the girls faring? Did Dara Rose intend to stay on in “that little Texas town,” or would she and the children consider coming to live with her? The teacher’squarters were small, she wrote, bringing tears to Dara Rose’s eyes, but they could make do, the four of them, couldn’t they? There were crocuses and tulips and daffodils shooting up in people’s flower beds, Piper went on to relate, and the days were distinctly longer. For all that, alas, she was lonesome when she wasn’t teaching. She’d been briefly engaged, but the fellow had turned out to be a rascal and a rounder, and there didn’t seem to be any likely prospects on the horizon.
    Dara Rose read the whole letter and then immediately read it again. Besides Edrina and Harriet, Piper was the only blood relation she had left in all the world, and Dara Rose missed her sorely. Holding the letter, seeing the familiar handwriting spanning the pages, was the next best thing to having her cousin right there, in the flesh, sitting across the table from her.
    But what must Piper think of her? Dara Rose fretted, after a third reading. She’d written this letter so long ago, and sent such a generous gift of money, only to receive silence in return.
    The lantern guttered out.
    Dara Rose sighed, folded the letter carefully and tucked it back into its envelope. She took the ten-dollar bill with her to the bedroom, where the girls were sound asleep, and placed it carefully between the pages in her Bible for safekeeping.
    She undressed quickly, since the little room was cold, and donned her flannel nightgown, returned to the kitchen carrying a lighted candle stuck to a jar lid and dipped water from the stove reservoir to wash her face. When that was done, she brushed her teeth at the sink and steeled herself to make the trek to the outhouse, through the snowy cold.
    When she got back, she locked the door, used the candle to light her way back to the bedroom, blew out the flame and climbed into bed with her daughters.
    She was tired, but too excited to fall asleep right away.
    She had ten precious dollars.
    The Wildflower Salve Company had offered her honest work.
    She’d as good as—well, almost as good as—spent an evening with her cousin and dearest friend, Piper.
    And Marshal Clay McKettrick had the bluest eyes she’d ever seen.
    Â 
    T HE JAILHOUSE, C LAY SOON discovered, was a lonely place at night.
    He’d already had supper over at the hotel dining room—chicken and dumplings almost as good as his ma’s—and he’d paid a visit to Outlaw, over at the livery stable, too. He’d even sent a telegram north to IndianRock, to let his family know he’d arrived and was settling in nicely.
    That done, Clay had filled the water bucket and set up the coffeepot for morning, then filled the wood box next to the potbellied stove. There being no place to hang up his clothes, he left