All a Cowboy Wants for Christmas: Waiting for Christmas / His Christmas Wish / Once Upon a Frontier Christmas

Chapter Seven

“Ladies?” Mrs. Tuttle clapped her hands together. “Your attention?”

The women gathered in the parlor of the mayor’s wife quieted. Marlee, squeezed between her cousins on the settee, felt the tension in the room.

“Is there anything new to report on his condition?” Mrs. Tuttle asked.

Audrey shook her head. “Still the same.”

Several days had passed since the entire Barrett family boarded a train for Colorado. Chord had sent telegrams but they all gave the same report. Malcolm was alive but clinging to life.

“As you all know, canceling the Barretts’ performances at our festival will have a devastating effect on its success,” Mrs. Tuttle said.

A grumble went through the room. Marlee had heard many of the same comments at the store between Aunt Viola and Uncle Willard. Everyone in Harmony was worried about their financial investment in the festival.

“This is awful,” Becky murmured. “Just awful.”

“Don’t get upset,” Marlee whispered. “Not yet anyway.”

“What if Mama and Papa lose their store?” Becky said. “What if—”

“Calm down,” Marlee told her quietly.

“I have good news,” Mrs. Tuttle said. “I’ve located another musical group. The Laughlin Singers are very well thought of, have toured extensively, and come highly recommended. And they are willing to come to Harmony on this short notice and perform in place of the Barrett family.”

A round of applause went through the room. Excited chatter broke out.

“However,” Mrs. Tuttle said, “unlike the Barretts the Laughlins will not perform free of charge. They expect to be paid—and paid well.”

A groan swept through the crowd.

Becky covered her face with her palms and shook her head. “We’re going to lose everything. Papa might be so upset he’ll—die!”

“Oh, Becky,” Audrey snapped. “Would you just hush up?”

Becky turned tear-filled eyes to her sister and gulped hard.

Marlee gave her an encouraging smile. “Something can be done.”

“Do you think so?” she asked, wiping her eyes.

“Something can always be done,” Marlee assured her.

“How much money does this Laughlin bunch want?” Harriet demanded.

“Do we have any money to pay them?” Melva called.

“I don’t need to remind you that the town council wasn’t in favor of this festival to begin with. So no money will be coming from them,” Mrs. Tuttle said.

Becky groaned and shook her head fitfully. “Oh, I just know something terrible is going to happen to Papa. I just know it.”

“We’ll have to ask for donations,” Mrs. Tuttle said.

“From who?” someone called. “Every merchant and businessman in town has already stretched themselves thin getting ready for the festival.”

“Not every businessman,” Mrs. Tuttle said. “Not Carson Tate.”

Marlee gasped. Carson was reportedly the richest man in Harmony, and he hadn’t donated to the Christmas festival?

“Marlee can do it!” Becky sprang from her seat. “Marlee can get him to donate lots of money! She did charity work back in Philadelphia, remember?”

Marlee felt every gaze in the room bore into her.

Mrs. Tuttle said to Marlee, “The town, the merchants, the families who are coming here expecting a joyous Christmas celebration—a great deal is at stake.”

Warmth grew inside Marlee. How good it felt to be wanted, needed, especially for something so important. No one—certainly not Mrs. Montgomery—had ever thought so highly as to assign her such an important task or have faith that she could accomplish it.

She knew she could get Carson to donate the money. She’d seen Mrs. Montgomery wheedle funds from the most reluctant benefactors. Not that she’d need any such tactics on Carson. Surely he simply hadn’t known about the festival during its planning stage.

“I should warn you that Mr. Tate might not be anxious to make a donation,” Mrs. Tuttle said.

Marlee doubted that were true. Everyone said he was terribly busy, always rushing about, so he probably hadn’t had the opportunity to make a donation. The festival was a very worthy cause, so all she had to do was ask and he would give generously.

“I feel confident I can handle it,” Marlee said.

Mrs. Tuttle didn’t seem convinced. “You’re quite certain?”

Marlee rose and faced the women. “Absolutely,” she declared.

“Very well, then,” Mrs. Tuttle said. “The Christmas festival will proceed.”

Applause broke out. Women swarmed around Marlee, thanking her, offering words of encouragement and praise.

Contentment and joy settled around Marlee’s heart. What a marvelous feeling. How wonderful to be a part of something, to feel wanted and needed.

Maybe she’d stay.

The idea flew into Marlee’s head as she basked in the glow of the gratitude that filled the room. Maybe she’d stay in Harmony—permanently. She could make it her home, never again to return to the tiny, impersonal room she lived in under Mrs. Montgomery’s roof. She could stay here among family and friends—people who wanted her around, who made her feel as if she belonged.

Perhaps she could even convince her mother to come live in Harmony.

Love and longing filled Marlee anew. What a lovely—perfect—life she would have. All she had to do was convince Carson Tate to donate money for the Christmas festival.

How difficult could that be?

Mrs. Montgomery used to say that sweetening the pot was a good way to snare reluctant donors, Marlee recalled as she left the Harmony General Store with her aunt’s market basket looped over her arm. The afternoon was cold, the sky overhead gray, but Marlee felt warm inside and anxious to complete this most important of tasks.

The bell over the door of Flora’s Bake Shop jingled as she went inside and bought a half dozen sugar cookies from Lucy.

“Still warm,” Lucy said, wrapping them in the red checkered cloth Marlee had given her. “Fresh out of the oven.”

Outside again, she gazed across the street at the office of Tate Enterprises. Movement in the window caught her eye, then disappeared.

Was that Carson? Had he been standing there, gazing outside?

Everyone said he was extremely busy. But if he had time to waste staring out the window, perhaps this was, indeed, a good time to pay him a visit.

She smiled to herself. She’d carefully planned out exactly how she’d handle this meeting with Carson. It seemed she was off to a good start.

Marlee hurried across the dusty street and walked inside. Drew Giles sat behind a desk in the reception area. She’d met him a few days ago when he’d come into the Harmony General Store.

“Afternoon, Miss Carrington,” he said, rising from his chair.

Marlee smiled. “I wonder if I might speak with Mr. Tate?”

“Well, I don’t know,” Drew said. “He’s mighty busy.”

Marlee held out her basket and pulled back the cloth. “Would you like a cookie, Drew? Fresh from the oven at Flora’s.”

“Miss Lucy makes the best I ever tasted,” Drew said. He took a cookie, bit into it and sighed. “Well, I guess Mr. Tate can spare a few minutes.”

Drew rapped on the adjoining door, then pushed it over. “Miss Carrington here to see you, boss,” he said around a mouth full of cookie.

Marlee mentally reviewed the plan she’d made to get Carson to donate the money for the festival’s musical group. She also recalled her vow to stick to business and not lose herself in thoughts of the kisses he’d given her.

Her resolve crumbled when she walked into his office and found him standing behind his desk. Such a handsome man. What would it be like to lean against that wide chest of his? To lay her head against those shoulders?

Marlee started, realizing where her thoughts were going. She had to stick to business—no matter how fast her heart raced in Carson’s presence.

“Good afternoon,” she said, and felt her cheeks color a bit at hearing how her words had come out in a breathy little sigh.

Carson didn’t seem to notice. He just stood there staring at her. Then he hustled around the desk and pulled out a chair for her. Marlee lowered herself onto it, grateful to take a seat since her knees had started to tremble.

Carson threw a harsh look at the doorway. “Don’t you have work to do?”

Drew’s grin widened. “Sure do, boss,” he called, as he backed away.

Carson sat down in the chair behind his desk. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, Miss Carrington?” he asked.

“I thought you might enjoy some cookies.” She placed the basket on his desk and pulled back the cloth. The delicious scent of the cookies wafted out.

He glanced at the cookies, then at her.

“I appreciate that,” he said. “Was there another reason for your visit?”

Marlee was slightly miffed he hadn’t taken one of the cookies, then reminded herself that Carson was known to be a man in a hurry. She decided it was best to get right to the point.

“I’m sure you know about Mr. Barrett’s accident, and how the family has rushed to his bedside,” Marlee said. “And I’m sure you also know that the family had agreed to perform at the Christmas festival, but now can’t possibly do so.”

Carson just nodded.

“It’s become necessary to hire another musical group to perform,” Marlee said. “The good news is that Mrs. Tuttle has found a wonderful replacement who has graciously agreed to come to Harmony on very short notice.”

Carson stared at her. She’d hoped he’d ask some questions, or at least express some pleasure that the Christmas festival would go forward. Surely he knew what it meant to the town of Harmony.

“However, this new musical group is charging for their appearances,” Marlee said, “which makes it necessary to ask for a donation—”

“No.”

“—from—”

“No.”

Marlee huffed. “You don’t even know what I was going to ask.”

Carson looked properly contrite, and gestured for her to continue.

“What were you going to ask?” he said.

“I was going to ask if you could find it in your heart to donate the money—”

“No.”

Anger spiked in Marlee. “You haven’t heard the amount.”

“Fine, then,” Carson said. “How much?”

“Only one hundred dollars—”

“A hundred dollars? For people to come here and sing?”

“They’ll perform a number of concerts,” Marlee pointed out.

“Hell,” Carson grumbled. “Maybe I’m in the wrong business.”

“Those performances will bring lots of visitors to town,” Marlee said.

“No wonder old man Barrett was always trotting those kids of his from place to place to perform,” Carson said.

“It will mean a great deal of business for our merchants,” Marlee said.

Carson shook his head. “Look, Miss Carrington, I—”

“It’s for Christmas,” she implored.

A moment passed, and finally Carson said, “I can’t help you.”

“But—”

“I make money. I don’t give it away.” Carson gestured to her market basket. “Did you think some cookies would convince me to donate that kind of money?”

Yes, she did think that it would at least help, but now she felt the gesture had made her look naive and silly. Still, she wasn’t going to tell him that.

Marlee pushed her chin up. “It’s accepted tradition to offer refreshments during a business discussion,” she told him.

“A business discussion involves two people each getting something out of the deal,” Carson told her. “What are you offering—besides cookies?”

Wild notions flew into Marlee’s head, things she’d only heard whispered about among the girls at the Claremont School for Young Ladies. And now she was actually thinking about them—and doing them—with Carson.

The room seemed to grow warmer as Carson leaned his elbow on his desk and edged closer.

“Well, Miss Carrington?” he asked.

His voice sounded deeper, richer. His eyes looked darker. The heat he gave off pulled her closer, as if she were bound to him, unable to break away.

“What else are you offering?” he asked.

A spark of heat forced its way through her muddled thoughts.

Had he just made an indecent proposal?

Marlee replayed his words in her mind. Good gracious, he had.

Of all the nerve. How dare he? Anger, outrage—something—raced through her. She should slap his face and stomp out of his office, and never speak to him again.

But what about the money for the musical group? The festival? The town of Harmony that was counting on her?

Well, she would have to give him a piece of her mind later—which she certainly would do.

Marlee tamped down her feelings and looked at Carson across the desk.

“If you weren’t aware, Mr. Tate,” she told him, “I’m currently in the employ of Mrs. Lillian Montgomery of Philadelphia, where I perform social and business duties with the utmost efficiency and competence, having been trained at the Claremont School for Young Ladies.”

“The Claremont School for Young Ladies, huh?” Carson reared back in his chair.

“It’s a very prestigious institution,” Marlee assured him.

“I’m sure it is.” He shook his head. “But I’ve got Drew to handle my business, and I don’t have a need for social help, whatever that is.”

“Oh, but you do,” Marlee assured him. “Your home isn’t decorated for Christmas. I could do that for you—and in good taste.”

“I don’t need my house decorated,” Carson said.

“I could purchase gifts for everyone on your Christmas list,” she said.

Carson shook his head. “I don’t give Christmas gifts.”

“You don’t give gifts?” Marlee blurted the words out.

He sat forward. “How about cooking? Are you good at it?”

Cooking? Who said anything about cooking? Why would he mention it?

“How about scrubbing and washing?” he asked.

She kept her belongings neat and organized, but Mrs. Montgomery employed servants who did the heavy cleaning.

Marlee’s spirits dipped considerably. If her cooking and cleaning skills were what it took to convince Carson to give her the money she needed, the Christmas festival was doomed.

“My request for a donation is made in the spirit of Christmas, and for the betterment of Harmony,” Marlee said. “I think you’re missing the point.”

“No, I believe you’re the one missing the point,” Carson told her.

Not a hint of a smile showed on Carson’s face. His expression hardened. He exuded a toughness, a strength that she hadn’t seen before. Marlee knew she was gazing at a man who knew how to drive a hard bargain, to force a deal to go his way, to get the upper hand and keep it. She imagined other, less hardy men cowing down, giving him his way.

Yet something inside Marlee seemed to rise up, anxious to take him on.

“I run a business, not a charity,” Carson told her. “The gifts I give folks in Harmony are jobs so they’ll have money in their pockets, food on their tables. I bring new business to this town so it will grow, so more families can have better lives. I work hard at that. Very hard. And I’m not about to give away a hundred dollars so that a bunch of people can come here and sing songs.”

Marlee’s anger boiled over. She shot to her feet. “How can you claim to care about the citizens of Harmony when you have no real idea what’s at stake?”

“I assure you, Miss Carrington, I know exactly what’s at stake,” he told her. “One hundred of my hard-earned bucks.”

“This isn’t about you, Mr. Tate, or what you want,” Marlee said, glaring down at him.

Carson lurched from his chair and circled the desk in three quick strides to stand next to her. The force of his presence mere inches from Marlee nearly overwhelmed her, but she stood firm, refusing to give him the upper hand by backing away.

“I always get what I want,” he told her.

He was close, so close. The scent of him as strong, luring her nearer with its familiarity—a familiarity she wouldn’t give in to this time.

Marlee gazed up at him. “Don’t even think about kissing me again.”

Carson’s expression shifted, as if the hunger that had come over him now threatened to consume him—and suddenly all Marlee could think was that if he didn’t kiss her again, she couldn’t stand it.

Goodness, what was she thinking?

Forcing aside her feelings, Marlee narrowed her eyes at him in what she hoped was a threatening glare.

“I want my gun back,” she told him.

“When you’re all riled up like this?” he asked, and uttered a little laugh. “I don’t feel like getting shot right now.”

“You’re despicable,” she told him.

Marlee reached for her market basket. Carson snatched the cookies from inside.

“I never said I didn’t want the cookies,” he told her.

“Oh!”

Marlee stomped out of the office and slammed the door behind her.

Chapter Eight

She’d failed. Completely and miserably.

Marlee hurried along the boardwalk, Carson’s words still ringing in her head. He’d refused to donate to the Christmas festival, and nothing she’d said had changed his mind—she hadn’t even instilled a moment’s hesitation in him.

Except when she’d mentioned kissing her again.

“Oh, dear …” Marlee fretted as she continued on her way to—well, she didn’t know where she was going. Nowhere, really. She just needed to walk, to keep moving, to somehow deal with her encounter with Carson.

And put off the inevitable.

She’d have to go to Mrs. Tuttle’s home and confess that she’d failed at getting Carson to donate the money to bring the Laughlin Singers to Harmony. Marlee cringed at the thought. The mayor’s wife, her cousins, the women at the meeting, the town merchants had put their faith in her, and she’d let them down.

Marlee’s steps slowed, recalling how the mayor’s wife had cautioned her that Carson would be difficult to convince. Everyone in town knew he was focused heavily on his business. Surely they would understand why she hadn’t been able to elicit the funds from him.

And there was perhaps still time, Marlee told herself, to find another musical group who might come to Harmony on a few days’ notice and perform for free. If not, then surely the church choir would sing. It wouldn’t be as grand a performance, of course, and the visitors from neighboring towns who’d come in response to the newspaper advertisements and flyers would be disappointed, but Mrs. Tuttle could make an announcement before each concert explaining the situation and everyone would understand. Wouldn’t they?

Marlee’s anger rose again. This was all Carson’s fault. He’d put her in this difficult position. He flew into her thoughts and she was so annoyed with him at that moment that she wanted to kiss him.

Kiss him?

Marlee stopped dead in her tracks. Why on earth had that notion sprung into her mind?

“Oh, dear …” she mumbled again, shaking her head. She forced her thoughts back to the task at hand.

No sense waiting, she decided. She’d go to Mrs. Tuttle’s house now and break the news, and face the disappointing look she’d surely get in response.

Marlee spotted Audrey walking toward her. She could see the worry that had been etched in Audrey’s face since Chord left Harmony with his family.

“I’ve just spoken with Mrs. Tuttle,” Audrey said, stopping next to her outside Goodwin’s Dry Goods store. “Everything is arranged.”

An odd, uncomfortable feeling swept over Marlee. “Arranged?”

Audrey nodded. “She’s heard back from the Laughlins. They’re on their way to Harmony and ready to perform all the concerts we asked for.”

Marlee’s heart lurched and panic swept through her. “Mrs. Tuttle already hired them?”

“Of course.” Audrey’s expression relaxed a little. “You’ve done the town such a huge favor, taking on the task of arranging Carson’s donation. I don’t think anyone else would have attempted it, knowing him like we do.”

“But—”

Audrey’s brows drew together. “Is something wrong?”

“Well, actually,” Marlee said, “I thought Mrs. Tuttle would wait until I brought the money to her before she hired the Laughlins.”

“She didn’t want them to go elsewhere,” Audrey explained. “And everyone knew that, with your experience in fundraising, you could get the money, even from tight-fisted Carson Tate. So, everything is settled.”

Marlee opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out.

“I’ve got to get back to the store,” Audrey called as she hurried away.

Marlee staggered into the alley beside the dry goods store and fell against the wall, fearful that she might faint. The singing group was coming. Everyone thought she’d saved the festival. And, really, she’d failed completely.

What would happen when the singers arrived? Mrs. Tuttle, humiliated beyond belief, would have to inform them that, not only were they not going to perform at the festival, but there were no funds to pay for their train tickets or a night’s lodging and meals.

The entire town would find out. Even folks in the neighboring towns would hear of it. The festival would be a failure. Merchants would lose their businesses. Families could be devastated. The whole of Harmony would turn against her.

She would have to return to that tiny little room in Mrs. Montgomery’s mansion, with only the other servants to count as friends. Years—decades—would pass before she saw Audrey and Becky, her aunt and uncle again. This small glimpse of living among family here in Harmony would be but a memory.

Tears burned in Marlee’s eyes. She’d thought she could make Harmony her home. She’d thought she’d finally found a place where she felt wanted and accepted. Now all those hopes were gone.

Pain stabbed her heart and twisted inside her. She’d actually pictured her mother coming to Harmony to live, so that at long last they could be together.

Marlee burst into tears. She hurried deeper into the alley and cried. The anguish of birthdays, Christmases, special moments spent without her mother or any close family tore from her in relentless sobs.

Carson pushed himself out of his chair and stalked across the room. How the hell was he supposed to get any work done when all he could think about was Marlee?

His office still smelled of her. The vision of her seated across the desk loomed in his head. Her dainty hands. Her pink lips. Those blue eyes of hers. Wisps of her hair curling against her cheeks, cheeks flushed bright with anger.

She’d actually had the nerve to raise her voice at him. Few people did that. Marlee had held back, as she’d surely been trained to do at that school she was so proud of and at that job she had back in Philadelphia, but finally she couldn’t contain her feelings any longer. Where had all that emotion come from?

Where could it lead?

A familiar, pleasurable ache filled Carson as he gazed out the window.

What would it be like to have her in his bed? What would it feel like if—