Christmas at Dove Creek Read online

  ON THE WAY TO DOVE CREEK

  Thorpe leaned back against the wagon wheel and two of the puppies crawled on top of him and walked in a circle on his chest until they plopped down.

  Lily started laughing. Two of the puppies crawled inside Thorpe’s hat lying on the ground. “They are so cute.”

  “They better not hike a leg in there.” He tried to sound serious, but he couldn’t help laughing at the sight of those two pups squirming around inside the crown of his Stetson. They promptly rolled up into little balls and fell asleep.

  Lily didn’t think she’d ever seen a more charming scene than Thorpe with the puppies on his chest and in his hat. She watched as he stroked the puppies; his hand was larger than they were. One of the puppies made his way to Thorpe’s face and started licking his chin.

  “I like the way you kiss.” Thorpe’s eyes met Lily’s when he turned his face to keep from getting licked on his lips. He thought she looked lovely with the light from the fire behind her. He’d never seen a more beautiful woman. “Lily, how come you don’t have a beau? You must have had a number of men wanting to marry you.”

  Lily couldn’t meet his eyes, so she leaned over and picked up one of the pups from his chest. “I guess I’ve never met one that I like that much.”

  Thorpe reached for her braid hanging over her shoulder. He tugged her closer to him. “You haven’t liked one fellow?”

  She was inches away from the only man she ever thought was nearly irresistible. Her eyes flicked over his handsome features and she thought she should move away.

  But she didn’t . . .

  Books by Scarlett Dunn

  PROMISES KEPT

  FINDING PROMISE

  LAST PROMISE

  CHRISTMAS AT DOVE CREEK

  Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

  Christmas At DOVE CREEK

  SCARLETT DUNN

  ZEBRA BOOKS

  KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

  http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  ON THE WAY TO DOVE CREEK

  Also by

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Copyright Page

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  To Cole and Kara with much love and best wishes

  for an extraordinary future,

  and

  To everyone who believes in miracles.

  ZEBRA BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2016 by Barbara Scarlett Dunn

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

  If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

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  ISBN: 978-1-4201-4223-5

  eISBN-13: 978-1-4201-4224-2

  eISBN-10: 1-4201-4224-0

  Prologue

  Wyoming Territory, 1868

  The small-town one-room church was as hot as Hades. Though the pastor had opened both doors in hopes of lowering the searing temperature a notch or two, not one hint of a breeze filtered through. Thorpe Turlow stood ramrod straight on the makeshift altar, wearing a tailored black suit, a crisp white shirt, and a black string tie, looking more handsome than ever, if that was even possible. The pastor and the town doctor stood beside him, politely conversing as they waited for Thorpe’s soon-to-be bride, Evelyn Tremayne, to make her appearance. One glance at the folks in the pews snapping their paper hand fans back and forth said they were as miserable as Thorpe was in the stifling heat. No doubt their patience was also running as thin as his while they waited for the beauty of the territory to bless them with her presence. As it was, patience had never been one of Thorpe’s virtues, and after thirty minutes of waiting, his temper was simmering. Tugging at his collar for the umpteenth time, he was tempted to shed his confining jacket, rip off his tie, and unbutton his shirt. “Why does it always take women so da . . .” His eyes met the pastor’s and he quickly amended what he was about to say. “Darn long to get ready?”

  Considering the circumstances, the pastor overlooked Thorpe’s testiness. To his way of thinking, the groom had every reason to be cross. There wasn’t another woman in town, other than Evelyn Tremayne, who would have kept Thorpe Turlow waiting. The pastor’s own wife had told him every single lady in town would give their eyeteeth to wed the tall, good-looking rancher. “Thorpe, don’t try to understand women. One time I heard a pastor say that God offered to give him the desire of his heart. The pastor told God he desired to understand his wife. And do you know what God said?”

  Thorpe and the doc both shook their heads.

  The pastor leaned in close and whispered, “God asked him what his second desire was.”

  Eliciting a chuckle from both men, the pastor continued with his nervous chatter. “I can’t understand women. They’ve planned their big day from birth, so you would think they would arrive on time if for no other reason than to make sure the groom hasn’t changed his mind.”

  “It rarely fails,” the doc agreed. “They harangue you to death, trying to get you to the altar, and then they make you wait forever once you’re there. I think it’s their way of making you think you are about to escape that noose.” The doc joked, yet silently he hoped the bride didn’t show. He’d been at odds with himself all week, trying to decide if he would be out of line to tell Thorpe the secret he held about his betrothed. Thorpe was a good man as well as a friend, and he didn’t deserve what was about to happen to him.

  While Thorpe appreciated their attempt to keep the mood light, in all truth, he didn’t feel like laughing, and it was more than the heat getting to him. He’d nearly called off the wedding several times in the last two weeks. He couldn’t put his finger on what was troubling him, but he had a deep-seated feeling he was going to regret this union. Only his sense of honor prevented him from doing what that little voice inside his head told him to do.

  The pastor turned to look at the congregation wedged elbow to elbow in
the pews. “I don’t see that Englishman here, the duke or earl, or whatever his title. Did he go back to England?”

  “Nicholas Ainsworth. He’s still at the ranch. He’ll probably ride to church with Evelyn and her father.” Ainsworth had been a guest at the Tremayne ranch for several months. Evelyn’s father told him Ainsworth was the son of a friend, and he came to Wyoming specifically to study cattle ranching. Evelyn had mentioned several times that Ainsworth was an aristocrat, but Thorpe didn’t put a lot of stock in titles. All the same, he figured it was a good thing Ainsworth had inherited wealth because the man wouldn’t make a good rancher if that was his aim. After spending some time with the Englishman, it was Thorpe’s opinion he could sit a horse well, but he was scared to death of longhorns. And he wasn’t inclined to work the long hours necessary to run a ranch.

  Hearing the congregation begin to grumble about the heat and the wait, the pastor thought it was extremely rude of Evelyn not to arrive on time. He wouldn’t dare state his thoughts aloud as Mr. Tremayne was a generous benefactor of the church and he could ill afford to offend him. “Thorpe, do you think I should ask everyone to wait outside under the shade trees?”

  Thorpe looked over his shoulder to the entrance of the church. No buggy in sight. What in heaven’s name was taking the woman so long to get here? “That might not be a bad idea. I would understand if they all want to go on about their business.” It had been his preference to have a small wedding with Evelyn’s father and the preacher in attendance, but Evelyn was adamant they invite everyone in town. Well, everyone Evelyn considered respectable, which didn’t include the soiled doves from the saloon. Now here he stood facing the stewing guests and Evelyn was nowhere in sight. She didn’t have a care if everyone in town was inconvenienced. It was all about Evelyn.

  When the pastor stepped away, the doc thought this might be the only time he would be able to speak to Thorpe privately. “Thorpe, I need to talk to you.”

  “Ladies and gentlemen . . .” the pastor began, but was interrupted when Curtis Ryder, Thorpe’s ranch foreman, entered the church and hustled down the aisle.

  “Thorpe, I need to speak with you.” Curtis quickly closed the distance between them.

  Hearing the urgent tone in his foreman’s voice, Thorpe said, “Excuse me a minute, Doc.” Curtis’s expression was serious and Thorpe knew something was wrong. “What is it?”

  Reaching the altar, Curtis grabbed Thorpe’s arm and urged him toward the back door so he wouldn’t be overheard. He positioned his back to the now-silent assembly and spoke in a low tone.

  Thorpe pulled back and stared at him with narrowed eyes. “When?”

  “Before dawn.”

  “Tell the guests to leave, Curtis.” Thorpe turned and stalked down the aisle, stripping off his tie before he hit the threshold.

  “Thorpe, we need to talk,” the doc yelled after him. When Thorpe didn’t look back, he added, “It’s important.”

  Curtis grasped the doc’s shoulder as he started down the aisle after Thorpe. “Let him be right now.”

  Thorpe Turlow walked out of that church a changed man.

  Chapter One

  Missouri, 1868

  This is a heck of a way to die was Thorpe’s first thought when the arrow slammed through his left shoulder. Slumped over his horse, Smoke, he prayed the arrow tip wasn’t laced with poison because it was stinging like the devil. Without any commands from Thorpe, Smoke was still moving fast, but the band of braves was staying with him. Smoke was a strong, stout horse and difficult to outrun, and right now he seemed to have his own plan. Thorpe trusted him to make it to the trees if the two of them were going to stand a fighting chance. He hated endangering Smoke’s life; the horse meant more to him than a human friend. That single thought spurred him into action. He wasn’t about to let anything happen to Smoke or himself as long as he was still breathing. It wasn’t in my plan to die today, you sons of Satan.

  Gripping Smoke with his thighs, Thorpe steeled himself against the pain, pulled his .45, and turned to fire at the eight warriors closing the distance behind him. His rifle might have been the best option, but the pistol only required one hand. By his third shot, he’d managed to hit one brave, knocking him off his horse. The remaining seven warriors were not deterred; they kept coming. He thought he might have winged another brave, but he’d emptied his gun and he needed to reload or pull his rifle. To keep from making himself a larger target for their arrows zipping by his head, he leaned over in the saddle as he deftly pulled cartridges from his belt.

  Holding his .45 against his thigh, he was in the process of opening the chamber when he felt Smoke slow a step. Looking up to see what had alarmed his horse, he saw a black and white Appaloosa in front of the trees about two hundred yards away. The Appaloosa was facing him, standing totally motionless in the drizzling rain, but Thorpe didn’t see a rider. The Indians chasing him were also riding Appaloosas. The thought that more braves could be waiting to ambush him in the trees filtered through, yet instinct told him his only option was to make it to the cover of the trees if he wanted to stay alive. He stayed the course.

  “It’s okay, son, keep moving.” Smoke picked up his pace and Thorpe kept his eyes on the horse in front of him as he loaded his gun. He figured the horse would soon move out of the way with Smoke barreling down on him. Arrows continued whizzing by, but before Thorpe had a chance to fire again, he heard the report of a rifle. With the sounds of the horses thundering behind him, not to mention hearing his heart pound away in his ears from the pain, it was difficult to determine the origin of the shot, but he thought it came from the trees ahead. He prayed whoever was holding that rifle wasn’t aiming at him.

  When he turned to fire, he saw one brave fall from his horse. Someone was lending him a hand. Aiming as best as he could, he fired and another brave hit the ground. He looked ahead to see they were just a few yards from the Appaloosa, and he spotted a rider leaning over the side of the horse holding a rifle trained on the braves. Another shot rang out. Thud. Four warriors down. He gave thanks that the rider on that Appaloosa wasn’t shooting at him because he was deadly accurate.

  With a slight squeeze of his thigh, he signaled Smoke to pass the horse on the opposite side of the rider. Flying past the Appaloosa, three things struck Thorpe at once: There was no saddle on the horse; whoever was riding that animal was very skilled to make a perfect shot from that position, not once, but twice; and that was one very well-trained animal.

  “Don’t stop!”

  Unless his ears were playing tricks on him, the voice belonged to a female or a very young man riding that horse like a brave.

  The rider turned the Appaloosa and followed Thorpe into the interior of the dense thicket. Several minutes ticked by as they weaved their way through the woods until they happened on a felled tree surrounded by heavy brush. They both slid off their horses and when the rider reached for Smoke’s reins to move him out of danger, Thorpe saw his rescuer was indeed a young woman. They took cover behind the cottonwoods, and the woman handed Thorpe his rifle she’d pulled from his boot. Positioning herself behind a tree, she held her rifle to her shoulder and scanned the terrain. Thorpe glanced at her. The determined look on her face said she was prepared to give anyone who appeared through the trees a lethal greeting.

  Remaining silent, they waited for the warriors. Within seconds, soft rustling sounds told them they were no longer alone in the brush. The woman quickly dropped to one knee and took aim. Thorpe didn’t see the braves, but he braced his rifle against the tree to hold it steady as he aimed in the direction of the sound. Right after she fired, they heard what sounded like a groan. Three braves remaining. Silence ensued. Minutes later, the woman stood. “They’re leaving,” she whispered. They listened until the sound of hooves grew faint.

  Thorpe figured the warriors might be retreating for the moment, but he wasn’t foolish enough to think they wouldn’t be back. He slumped against the tree and slid to a sitting position. The woman approached
him, propped her rifle next to the tree, and kneeled down beside him. When she removed her hat, long blond hair tumbled past her shoulders. Large, clear blue eyes met his. Thorpe thought he must be hallucinating, or he was already dead and in heaven, because he had to be staring at the face of an angel. Everyone always told him his ex-fiancée was a beauty, but compared to this woman she was downright homely.

  She glanced at his shoulder and said softly, “Let me take a look.”

  His gaze met hers and he nodded.

  She tore a small hole in his shirt to get a better view of his wound where the arrow was protruding from the back of his shoulder. “Why weren’t you wearing a slicker?”

  Thorpe chuckled. He hadn’t expected that question. Now that his adrenaline had abated, he was really feeling the pain, and even though he was drenched from the rain, sweat was rolling down his face. He removed his Stetson and swiped his forehead with his shirtsleeve. “The rain came quickly and I had stopped to pull out my slicker when they surprised me.” He noticed she wasn’t wearing one either, and her clothing was so wet, it was clinging to her body, but he didn’t point that out. She was wearing black trousers and a white blouse, and he figured that was the reason he couldn’t see her on the Appaloosa—she blended in with the horse’s coat. “Can you break it off and use my knife to push it through?”

  “I’m afraid I’m not strong enough to break it off without doing more damage.”

  Thorpe noticed she was just a little thing, but her size didn’t matter when it came to shooting. She was one heck of a deadly shot.

  Seeing the perspiration on his face, she placed her palm on his forehead to see if he was feverish. She thought most men would have already passed out from such an ordeal.