she is, she’ll be married, I imagine, with half a dozen children.”
“The good ones always are.”
In memory, he saw Juliette wink at him and smile, the event still clear in his mind. In that moment, at twelve years old, his heart had tumbled.
He’d been in the general store, wandering about, looking at this and that—mostly at the peppermint sticks. The store owner had been scowling at him the whole time, sure he was about to steal something.
Maybe he would have. But Juliette shot him that wink, fished a coin out of her pocket and purchased two candies. She gave him one, then blushed and ran out of the store.
No doubt she was married now to some lucky fellow. He hoped so. She deserved that kind of happiness and more.
He also hoped she was still in Beaumont Spur. There was something in him that wanted her to know the wild boy was gone, grown into a man wanting to make his reputation right.
Juliette’s opinion mattered to him very much.
* * *
Juliette ought to have bid the moon good-night before her feet started aching with cold, but she’d lingered too long over its beauty.
Coming inside, she feared that, as tired as she was, she might not be able to sleep because of it. Without a man to warm her toes against, she was doomed to lie awake until they finally warmed on their own.
Passing through the parlor, she spotted the hatbox with the bright yellow bow, where she’d set it down on the table next to the fireplace.
With all the hustle getting everyone down for the night, she’d all but forgotten about the curious item.
She stirred the coals with the poker then watched the embers flare to new life. Perhaps if she sat down to read the letter attached to the delicate-looking box, her feet would have time to warm before she went upstairs.
“What on earth could this be?” she murmured to the dozing household. She could guess all night long and not come up with a logical answer.
She opened the envelope, slowly withdrew the note, then leaned close to the glow of the fireplace to better read the script written in a fine feminine hand.
Dear Mrs. Lindor,
First of all, I cannot say how grateful I am for the time the time I spent in your establishment. It was a refreshing change from the dreariness of the hotel.
“Well, yes...” Juliette muttered. “Anything would be.”
And your children are sweet angels.
Hungrier-than-average angels, though. She ought to get some sleep before they woke for their middle-of-the-night feeding.
As far as her restaurant went? She was dedicated to keeping it scrupulously clean. While she might live in a ragtag town, she would not be a part of the sorry state of affairs.
She read on.
I have recently come into a large sum of money. Not through any hard work on my part, though. No, I simply collected the reward for those miserable Underwoods, a man I used to trust being among them.
I find that I do not want the money, but I suspect that you will find a way to put it to good use.
Please accept this Christmas gift to you and your beautiful babies.
With all good wishes,
Laura Lee Quinn, very soon to be Laura Lee Creed
The flower-scented paper fluttered to Juliette’s feet, covering the stocking-clad toes of one foot. She stared at the letter for a long moment then reached for the hatbox.
What on earth? A gift? Of money? Juliette could scarcely believe it. No doubt she had been more tired than she knew—had climbed the stairs huddled under her covers and fallen asleep in spite of her cold feet. Clearly this had to be a lovely dream that she was about to wake from. Before she did, though, she ought to open the lid of the hatbox and see how much money was in it. No doubt she would jerk back to reality before she discovered that, but—
She lifted the lid, blinked hard at what was inside then closed it again. She didn’t dare to touch the cash because dream money always vanished before one’s eyes. It tended to turn into carrots or a ball of yarn or one of the many things dream objects transformed into. And here she would sit, wondering how to pay the mortgage, same as she did every month.
Tucking the hatbox under her arm, she went upstairs, got into bed and curled herself around the pretty yellow gift.
If it was still there when she awoke in the morning, she would believe it. But not until then. Not until sunlight shone on the treasure inside and it did not vanish like dreams mostly did.
* * *
Dawn came and the money in the hatbox proved to be as real as the slush Juliette swept off the porch in front of her restaurant.
Everything about the day was as normal as peas, except that she had more money than she could have ever imagined.
True to form, her father-in-law complained that the babies were fussing and that he was hungry. Levi Silver sat at his customary table, eating his breakfast of eggs and bacon cooked to a crisp.
Cold seeped through her boots while she swept, same as it always did, but this morning she barely felt it. Her mind was so full of possibilities for the future of her family that she didn’t give the ordinary tasks of the morning a thought. She went through them by rote, her mind flitting among the clouds.
With her newly come tidy little fortune, she could leave Beaumont Spur along with so many others.
Or she could stay in the place she loved. Even in the state it had fallen to, this was home, the place the roots of her heart grew deep. She could build a beautiful home at the edge of town where life would be more peaceful. She could stay home all day long just watching her babies grow.
Gazing at the mountain range that circled Beaumont Spur like a snowy crown, she knew it would be a difficult thing to leave the place where her dreams and her family members were buried. Perhaps she would not be able to, even if it might be for the best.
The way things seemed now, she wondered if Beaumont Spur even had a future.
She would not want to invest her heart and her money in a place that was doomed to fail.
Her money? The idea was still fresh enough to not seem real.
Who would have imagined that a gang of scruffy outlaws would be worth so much?
Until this morning, Juliette Lindor would not have believed it.
The sound of a hammer on wood cut the quiet morning. Juliette looked up suddenly to see Mrs. Elvira Pugley pounding the tool on the front door of The Fickle Dog Saloon.
“Ephraim Culverson, your saloon is ruining my hotel!” she shouted.
After
