A Lawman's Christmas_ A McKettricks of Texas Novel - Linda Lael Miller [56]
By the time the three of them reached the end of Main Street and turned toward the house, Harriet had settled down to the occasional quivering sniffle.
A buckboard stood near Dara Rose’s front gate, with two mules hitched to it.
Philo Bickham sat in the wagon box, reins in hand, beaming at Dara Rose as she approached with the children.
“I was just about to unload all this merchandise and leave it on the porch,” he said. “The marshal said he’d be here to accept delivery, but there’s been no sign of him so far.”
Dara Rose frowned, at once wary and intrigued.
Edrina bolted forward and scrambled right up the side of that buckboard, skillful as a monkey, using the wheel spokes as footholds. “Thunderation!” she whooped.
Mr. Bickham jumped to the ground, nimble for a man of his age and bulk. He strode around to the back of the wagon and lowered the tailgate. “He darned near bought the place out, your new husband,” the store keeper crowed, no doubt pleased to make such a sale. Blue River was not a wealthy community, which meant the owner of the mercantile scraped by like most every one else.
“Mama,” Edrina spouted, “there’s a tin of tea…and a big ham…and peaches…and all sorts of things wrapped in brown paper—”
“Edrina Nolan,” Dara Rose said, setting Harriet on her feet, “get down from there this instant.”
“Don’t go poking around in those packages,” Mr. Bickham said good-naturedly, shaking a finger at Edrina and then Harriet. “The marshal made himself mighty clear on that score. After all, it’s almost Christmas, and there’s a secret or two afoot.”
Dara Rose was still trying to think what to say when Clay rode around the corner on Outlaw, Chester trot ting in their wake.
Mr. Bickham hailed him, and Dara Rose sent the girls inside, over their protests.
“Sorry if I held you up any, Philo,” Clay told Mr. Bickham, barely glancing at Dara Rose as he swung down from the saddle. “A telegram came in from Sears, Roebuck and Company. They’ve shipped the makings of my house out by rail, and the whole works will be arriving here in about ten days.”
“You’d better get that foundation dug and that well put in, then,” Mr. Bickham said, giving Clay a congratulatory slap on one shoulder. “Reckon you can round up some hired help down at the Bitter Gulch, and if this weather holds, since you’ve got a put-together house coming, you’ll be out there on your own place in no time.”
Clay nodded and, once again, his gaze touched on Dara Rose’s face.
“What is all this?” she asked evenly, as soon as Mr. Bickham had hoisted the first box from the back of the wagon and started toward the house with it.
Clay gave her a wry look and lifted out a second box. “Chester and I,” he said, with a twinkle, “don’t believe in freeloading. We always pay our own way.”
Dara Rose opened her mouth, closed it again. “But all those packages, and the tea, and that enormous ham—”
“You like tea, don’t you?” Clay teased, starting toward the house.
Dara Rose scurried to keep up with his long strides.
“Of course I like tea,” she said, flustered, “but it’s a luxury, and we don’t need it—”
“Sure you do,” Clay replied, climbing the porch steps now. “What do you plan on serving all the ladies of Blue River when they start dropping by to see for themselves just what kind of mischief we’re up to over here?”
Harriet and Edrina, huddled in the doorway, scattered to let them through.
Mr. Bickham was coming from the other direction, and Clay sidestepped him.
“Mr. McKettrick,” Dara Rose persisted, when the two of them were alone in the kitchen, “I do have my pride.”
“Yes, Mrs. McKettrick,” Clay agreed. “I have taken note of that fact.” He took a large tin from the box he’d carried in. “Would you mind putting some coffee on to brew while Bickham and I finish unloading that wagon? I’ve got a hankering for the stuff, and I like it strong and black.”
Dara Rose couldn’t seem to untangle her tongue.
“You do own a coffeepot, don’t you?” Clay asked offhandedly.
“Yes,” she managed, blushing. “Parnell drank coffee