Chrissy's Wish Read online

  Polly saw the grief replace the anger in Sam's eyes and realized he was still dealing with his new knowledge of the deaths. Deriding him over how he had treated Christine so long ago had probably worsened his sorrow, and guilt stabbed her. Even though Polly had thought Sam and Christine mismatched, she had been aware that Sam truly cared for her sister. Who could have helped loving Christine? She had been beautiful, affectionate and tender. It had cut Christine to the quick to have to hurt Sam and break their betrothal, but she had done the mature thing and faced it.

  Polly remembered in detail the night she had listened as Christine poured out her heart — saying she realized she was falling in love with Ron and her feelings for Sam paled in comparison to what she now knew was a true love. Christine had looked down the long years ahead of her and known in her heart she wanted to live them with Ron, not Sam.

  She hadn't known those long years would be cut short, but at least the time she had left had been with the man she loved.

  "Sam, I'm sorry," Polly apologized. "It's just that you have to accept the fact Christine made her decision because she knew it was the right one for her. She didn't make it lightly, either. She also felt you deserved a chance to find another woman, one who would care for you in the way a man's wife should love him."

  "I'm glad she was happy," Sam said in a lowered voice. He sat back down in his chair and picked up his spoon. "But sometimes marriages are made for other reasons than love. It's an accepted fact of life. Our marriage will have to be one of those."

  "Our...what!" Polly's voice broke on a squeak of outrage.

  Chapter 3

  Sam waited until he'd chewed and swallowed his bite of stew before he answered. "Chrissy needs two parents, and that will be the best way for us to take care of her. I still haven't decided what to do about this ranch, but I'd been thinking of selling the saloon for a while now...."

  "Of all the unmitigated gall!" Polly screeched before she remembered Chrissy in the next room. She surged from her chair and paced around the table, stopping with her hands on her hips and her face close enough to Sam's to make her point without shouting.

  "What the hell makes you think I'd marry you? And who said you had any say in what to do with this ranch?"

  "My, my," Sam said in a condescending tone. "The lady's cursing."

  "Oh! You're enough to make an angel curse, Sam Butler! Answer me!"

  Sam casually picked up another slice of bread and started spreading it with butter. "I think you're overlooking something here, Polly. As Chrissy's uncle, I have as much right as you to see that she has a reasonably stable, comfortable life. My brother would have expected me to make sure his daughter was taken care of."

  "Well, my sister begged me on her deathbed to care for her baby, and that's what I intend to do. And you left out the fact that Chrissy also has the right to have love in her life while she grows up."

  Sam threw the piece of bread down as though it had suddenly grown mold and stood. Facing Polly across the chair, he said, "I can give her love, too. I fell in love with her the minute I saw her."

  "You still haven't answered my questions, Sam." Polly whirled and walked over to the stove before she turned back to him. "I don't see one reason why we have to be married — or why you think you have the right to decide what happens to this ranch."

  Sam rolled his eyes and got that patronizing look she had seen on too many men's faces when they spoke to women, but Polly held her tongue, silently demanding his reply. When it came, she gulped back her growing feeling of entrapment.

  "Under the law, I have just as much right to custody of Chrissy as you do, Polly. If it came down to a battle, I'd think a judge would look at what either one of us could give Chrissy — what was in her best interests. You're a woman alone trying to run a ranch here that's going quickly to seed. I'll bet you don't have more than a penny or two in the bank, or you'd have hired somebody to at least get your hay in and cut your winter wood."

  "I've got Jose," Polly put in.

  "Jose? Why haven't I seen him?"

  "He's...." Polly's shoulders slumped. "He's getting old. Sometimes his arthritis makes it impossible for him to do much."

  Sam nodded and continued, "I, on the other hand, despite whether or not you approve of the type of business I operate, have adequate funds in the bank to care for a child, and a wife, if necessary. The saloon's not my only investment. I've been careful with my money over the years."

  Polly clenched her fists at her side, resolutely refusing to allow the gathering tears of rage free rein. "What you're telling me then, is that if I don't marry you, you'll take Chrissy away from me. You'll sell the ranch and toss me out into the cold."

  "Now, don't put it like that," Sam replied. "After all, you're family, too, what with you being my sister-in-law. I've got a responsibility here, for both you and Chrissy. I'm just deciding what's in Chrissy's best interest."

  "Like a judge would."

  "Like a judge would," Sam repeated.

  "How...how long do I have to make up my mind?"

  "I've got a competent manager running the saloon," Sam said with a shrug. "So I can hang around for a while. But it's not going to do your reputation a lot of good to have me here for very long without us being married. And your reputation will reflect on Chrissy. So, let's say three days. That should give you plenty of time."

  "And the ranch?"

  "I'll use those three days to look it over — see what needs done and if it's worth putting any more money into." The slight hopefulness Polly felt faded as he went on. "If I decide it isn't, what we get from selling it can go into a trust fund for Chrissy. And I'll expect your cooperation in being truthful with me about this place. I want access to the books you keep."

  Three days kept echoing in Polly's mind while she tried to pay attention to Sam's words. Three days to make a decision that would affect the rest of her life.

  "Ch-Christmas is coming up," she said without thinking. "I've already got a few things made for Chrissy. We always have a lovely time on Christmas Day. You can't turn Chrissy's world upside down right before Christmas."

  "Christmas is too long to wait for your answer on whether you will marry me," Sam said dismissively. "It's over two weeks away, and your reputation would be ruined by then."

  "Is it too long for you to wait to make your decision about the ranch?" Polly pleaded, mentally despising herself for the beseeching tone in her voice. "We've already begun making plans. Moving right now, in the middle of everything, wouldn't give us much time to prepare all over again. And if it's Chrissy's last Christmas on the ranch, I'd like it to be extra special."

  "Yeah, well, for the last few years, Christmas has always been just another day to me. But I can see where it would mean a lot to a child, and I guess I need to start remembering things like that. All right. We'll stay on the ranch after we're married, until at least Christmas."

  ~~~

  "Oh, that man!" Jo fumed. She crossed her arms and her wings fluttered in agitation. Beneath her robe, her foot tapped against the cloud floor she and Matt stood upon.

  "Darn it, Matt," she continued. "Chrissy's wish was for her Aunt Polly to be happy again. All Sam Butler's done since he arrived is upset Polly more!"

  "Now, now, Jo," Matt soothed. "Sam's trying to decide what's best for Chrissy. He wants her to have a good life."

  "There's more to life than the material possessions Sam has in mind. There's love and caring. And Sam Butler has absolutely no idea what love is — or what the lack of it can do to a person's life. He's forcing Polly into a loveless marriage."

  "Maybe they can learn to love each other. There's definitely some sparks there — and I don't believe all of it is anger. Let's just see what happens, all right?"

  "Do we have any other choice?"

  "No, we don't," Matt agreed.

  ~~~

  Sam swung the axe and split another log into stove-size pieces. Grimacing, he lifted his hand to his mouth and sucked on the newly-forming blister
. He should have at least had sense enough to get his riding gloves from his saddlebags. But he supposed he wanted to prove to Polly that he wasn't afraid of calluses. Blisters, though — those were a different breed of injury.

  And why the heck did he care what Polly the Harridan thought of him? He had the upper hand here, and she ought to appreciate his shouldering his share of the responsibilities. He could have ridden away this morning and left her to her own devices.

  Something had happened to him while he stood beside the twin crosses under the cottonwood tree, though. Beneath that dirt lay the only woman he'd ever loved, and his brother, both gone from his life forever. The barren years he'd spent with only his pride for a companion had mocked him — rising in his memory like a huge, empty abyss, now that he knew why Ron had never swallowed that damned Butler pride they shared and contacted him either.

  Christine's agonized words in the letter had explained to him that his compassionate, caring younger brother had died in a way keeping with the man he had become. He could imagine the scene — the runaway team and a little boy standing crying and frozen in its path. Ron wouldn't have thought twice about the danger to himself, only the necessity of rescuing the child.

  The little boy had been tossed to safety, but Ron's death under the iron-shod hooves of the horses had left his own forthcoming child fatherless. The only way Sam could make up for his self-righteous foolishness in cutting his brother out of his life was to make sure Ron's daughter never wanted for anything. Polly's adamant dislike of him was a complication, but he'd be damned if he'd let her banish him back to a life he realized had been lonely and hollow.

  Chrissy, he reminded himself. I'm doing this for Chrissy. She's the only person left on earth who's truly a part of me — who shares my blood. She doesn't even have any grandparents, since Ron and my parents died ten years ago in that yellow fever epidemic.

  Why, then, hadn't Chrissy's face kept him awake most of the night? Why did he keep seeing Polly's tear-misted eyes and crumbling face when she pleaded with him to at least have Christmas on the ranch? And why did he keep remembering how her slight figure felt when she held him — how comforting it had been for him to hold onto her in his grief. How silky that golden hair felt against his cheek. How her breasts, though small, had pressed firmly against his chest and looked like they had a little pout when he stepped back from her.

  That sure as heck was a dangerous route for his thoughts to be taking. But it gave him an inkling that the physical part of their marriage might be somewhat enjoyable, if he could ever get close enough to Polly to show her their bodies could please each others. If she agreed to marry him — but he didn't really see where she had much choice. He'd come to the conclusion that this would be the best way for them to share their mutual love for Chrissy. After all, Polly had never found a man for herself, and he would never open his heart again. Together, they could at least have companionship as they watched over Chrissy.

  He glanced at the cabin. He sure as heck hoped she got up soon. He'd been out here at the wood pile since dawn first streaked the sky. He hadn't even taken time to make a pot of coffee first, since he was reluctant to cause noise and wake Polly. Well, a child like Chrissy needed her sleep, too.

  Hearing a sound behind him, he turned to see the door on the small shack open. A weathered little man emerged, obviously fighting pain as he hobbled toward Sam. He held out a gnarled hand, and Sam reached to carefully shake it.

  "You must be Jose," Sam said. "I'm Sam Butler, Chrissy's uncle."

  "Thank the Virgin you have come," Jose replied in a shaky voice. "Señorita Polly is almost worn out. I told her I wanted to go back and be with my family — I have turned into one more burden for her since I cannot do much work. But she tells me she needs my company."

  Sam studied Jose's dusky skin and white, curling mustache, the same shade as his hair. "Is your home in Mexico?" he asked.

  "Si. It is warm down there. I try to not let Señorita Polly know how much better my pain would be back there. I do not think she realizes the cold up here makes me worse."

  "Tell you what, Jose," Sam said. "I need to get a handle on how the ranch is doing, and I'm sure you probably know as much as — maybe more than — Polly. If you'll stick around 'til after Christmas, I'll see you're kept warm in your house and won't ask you to exert yourself. And I'll pay whatever wages you're owed, plus throw in your stage ticket back home and a little something extra to help your retirement."

  "How did you know Señorita Polly owed me back wages?" Jose asked.

  Instead of answering, Sam let his gaze run over the ranch yard, pausing now and then on the repairs needing done. When he looked back at Jose, the man nodded in understanding.

  "I do not want your charity, Señor Sam," Jose said. "I have some put aside. I have been working in Texas most of my life."

  "It won't be charity," Sam insisted. "It'll be payment for your services and knowledge. I know absolutely nothing about ranching — never had any desire to learn. But I promised Polly I'd check things out before I make a decision about whether or not to sell the ranch."

  "Señorita Polly and the little Señorita Chrissy love the ranch," Jose mused. "I have seen them walking around at sunset, holding hands and smiling at each other. I have not seen that lately, though. Señorita Polly does not have much time to enjoy herself these days."

  "Well, I'm here now," Sam said. "And the first thing is to get some more help around here. Do you know any boys looking for work?"

  "Plenty, if you can pay them."

  "Give me a quick run down on how many you think we'll need. I want somebody with some carpenter skills to make the building repairs, as well as whatever hands will be necessary for the stock."

  Jose smiled wryly. "Not too many for stock. Maybe two. They may be able to gather up twenty, twenty-five cows with the R Bar C brand, and the old range bull, if they can find him. Señorita Polly sold the steers at the fall roundup, but she only received half the money they brought. She had to pay her share of the roundup hands' wages. She didn't have her own hands to send to help out."

  "Lord, what was she going to have ready to sell next fall?" Sam asked. "Even I know it takes steers a couple years growing time before you get any money out of them. The spring calves next year won't be ready to sell in the fall. And with only twenty or so cows, it hardly seems worth the effort."

  Jose went on to explain that the ranch had started out with around a thousand cattle. Over the years, though, instead of increasing, the herd had steadily decreased. Part of it was because there was never enough money to keep sufficient hands on to help out.

  Cattle were lost in the violent blue northers that bore down on Texas at times. One March a lot of calves didn't make it when the cold lingered well into spring. Even Polly had helped out that year, leaving Chrissy with a nearby neighbor while she rode with Jose and the one other hand they still had left then. They'd found the newborn calves hidden in the brush and carried them back to the barn to try to save them. Half of those had died, though.

  One year drought took its toll. The following winter, hay was scarce, also due to the drought. The cattle had to make do with the dry, un-nourishing forage on the range to supplement the lack of hay, and more died of starvation.

  "The señorita did her best," Jose stoutly defended Polly.

  "It must have been hell on her," Sam said. "Yet she still loves this place."

  "It is her home now," Jose explained. "There have been good times, too. The neighbors gather, and in troubled times they help each other out. Ranching gets in your blood, Señor. But perhaps only another rancher can understand that. I could have gone back home any time, but I wanted to stay. I would not go now if I were not so old."

  Sam nodded, but without any real comprehension. He kept seeing Polly in his mind, bundled up in a coat and wool scarf, carrying a small calf across her saddle. Polly sweating in the hot Texas sun, staring at her cattle, dying of thirst. Polly grief-stricken over her sister's death, but pulling he
rself together for the baby's sake.

  Polly and Christine hadn't lived a rich lifestyle in New Orleans. They had a fairly blue-blooded background, but the family fortunes had long been squandered. Christine had told him once that they pretty much lived off a small trust fund her mother had somehow protected for them. He'd known all along there would be no large dowry for Christine, but it hadn't mattered.

  Now he realized just who had held the family together. Polly had cared for their ailing father, who Sam guessed must have died shortly after Christine and Ron married. Otherwise, Polly wouldn't be out here in Texas. Polly had made sure Christine never lacked for anything. She didn't attend all the fancy balls, but had a presentable gown at the ones she did attend. Funny. He never thought about Polly always missing out on the balls.

  The object of his thoughts opened the back door and called, "Breakfast is ready! You, too, Jose. Come on in and eat with us, since you're able to be up and around today."

  "Si, Señorita," Jose called back.

  Sam threw down his axe and Jose bent awkwardly to pick it up. With a wince of pain, he buried the blade in the cutting block.

  "You must take care of the axe," Jose said. "There is no money for a new one."

  "Make a list of the tools we need," Sam told him as they walked toward the cabin. "I'll go into town this morning — hire some help and bring back some supplies."

  "If you sell the ranch, why fix it up?" Jose asked.

  "It'll bring more if it's in better shape."

  "Si. And I will tell you what we need, but you will have to write it down. I do not do the reading and writing."

  Sam nodded in agreement and pushed the cabin door open, motioning for Jose to precede him.

  Chapter 4

  Polly barely managed to consciously tighten her fingers on one of the last remaining glasses that threatened to slip through her hand as she did the supper dishes. She'd broken four over the past three days, and with the new hands to feed at the noon meal, she only had a glass apiece left for each. She'd be darned if she'd ask Sam to buy more, since that might mean explaining why she'd gotten so clumsy lately.