• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

“We want to call you ‘Papa,’” Harriet said.

The backs of Clay’s eyes stung a little. “I’d like that,” he said quietly, “but that’s another thing that’s got to be left up to your mama.”

“What’s to be left up to me?” Dara Rose asked, standing in the doorway. Her hair was pinned up, unlike last night, and like the girls’, her cheeks were pink with well-being.

“Whether or not we can call Mr. McKettrick ‘Papa,’” Harriet answered.

“And if we can put baubles on the Christmas tree,” Edrina added.

Both of them stared expectantly at their mother.

“Oh,” she finally said, shifting the handle of the egg basket from one wrist to the other. Her gaze flicked to Clay’s face and then back to the girls. “It’s too soon to address Mr. McKettrick in such a familiar fashion,” she said. “But I don’t see why we couldn’t get out the Christmas things.”

So she had Christmas things, Clay thought. That was something, anyway.

Edrina and Harriet swapped glances and made what would seem to be a tacit agreement to take what they could get.

“Breakfast will be ready in a few minutes,” Dara Rose said. “And there are plenty of eggs this morning. We can each have one—Mr. McKettrick may have two, if he wishes—and there will still be enough left to sell over at the mercantile.”

“One egg will suit me fine,” Clay said, gruff-voiced. Soon as he’d put in a few hours over at the jailhouse and walked through the town once or twice to make sure there wasn’t any trouble brewing, he’d head over to the mercantile and stock up on foodstuffs. See if old Philo would agree to deliver what he bought.

Dara Rose wouldn’t like it, he supposed, when the storekeeper turned up with sugar and coffee beans and a wagonload of other goods, but he already had an argument ready. He didn’t expect her to feed him and Chester; therefore, he wanted to contribute to the grubstake.

Plus, he had to have coffee of a morning, to get himself going.

So they ate their simple breakfast, the girls so excited, between the promised outing and the tree waiting to be festooned with geegaws, that they could barely sit still.

Dara Rose cleared the table while Clay donned his duster and his hat and summoned the dog. He’d left his gun belt and pistol over at the jailhouse, because of Edrina and Harriet, but he’d strap on the long-barreled .45 before he set out on his rounds. It wasn’t that he expected to need a firearm, but he wanted any potential troublemakers to know the new marshal was serious about upholding his duties.

“Thanks for breakfast,” Clay said, with a tug at his hat brim.

Dara Rose nodded, then looked away.

THE VISIT TO LITTLE Addie O’Reilly was necessarily brief since the child was bedridden. Last night’s snow hadn’t stuck, thank heaven, but there was still a bitter chill in the air, and Addie’s two younger brothers sat on the bare floor near the odd, cobbled-together stove, playing with half a dozen marbles.

Peg tried to put a good face on things, but Dara Rose could tell she was embarrassed. There was no place to sit, except on one of the two beds or an upended crate—undoubtedly the same one that had contained last night’s donated supper.

The girls, meanwhile, chatted with Addie.

“Somebody left a box of hot food at my doorstep,” Peg said, following Dara Rose’s gaze to the crate. Four clean plates, plus utensils, were stacked beside it. “We sure did have ourselves a fine feast, and there’s enough left to get us through today, too.”

“That’s…wonderful,” Dara Rose said.

“I figure it had to come from the dining room over to the hotel,” Peg went on, wiping her hands down the skirt of her calico dress. “I mean to take the plates and silverware back later.”

Dara Rose merely nodded. Clay must have wanted to keep his part in the enterprise a secret, so she didn’t say anything.

Fortunately, neither did Edrina or Harriet. They were busy telling Addie all about the little girl, Madeline, whose papa was a dentist.

“You’ll never guess who stopped by here yesterday,” Peg said, taking Dara Rose by surprise.

“Who?” Dara Rose asked,