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“Are you Miss Delia Keller?”
She nodded. “Who are you?”
“My name’s Tucker—Jude Tucker, and I’m here because your father wanted me to come see you.”
Delia could hardly believe her ears. “My father? You know my father? When will he be here? Oh, I knew he’d be back some day!”
A cloud seemed to pass over his face. “He…he’s not coming, Miss Keller. I’m sorry to have to tell you he’s dead.”
Delia felt the earth shift beneath her feet and she would have fallen if the stranger hadn’t steadied her. “What…what happened to my father?” she asked.
“He died mining silver out in Nevada. There was a mine collapse….”
“Thank you for coming to tell me about my father’s death, Mr. Tucker.”
“But I didn’t travel all this way just to inform you of his death. I came to bring you something. You’re his only living heir, after all.”
“Heir?”
“Well, I suppose heiress would be the proper word. Your father died a rich man, Miss Keller. And now all his wealth is yours.”
LAURIE KINGERY
makes her home in central Ohio where she is a “Texan-in-exile.” Formerly writing as Laurie Grant for Harlequin Historicals and other publishers, she is an author of sixteen previous books. She was the winner of the 1994 Readers’ Choice Award in the short historical category, and was nominated for Best First Medieval and Career Achievement in Western Historical Romance by Romantic Times BOOKreviews. When not writing her historicals, she loves to travel, read, read her e-mails and write her blog on www.lauriekingery.com.
Laurie Kingery
Hill Country Christmas
Delight thyself also in the Lord; and he shall give thee the desires of thine heart.
—Psalms 37:4
To the beautiful Hill Country of Texas,
the place my soul feels most at home this side of Heaven, and to all my relatives in Texas, especially Aunt Joann.
Contents
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
Epilogue
Questions for Discussion
Chapter One
Llano Crossing, Texas—August 1867
“He was a good man, Miss Delia. He’s certainly in the arms of Jesus now.”
“God rest his soul.”
“God bless you in your time of sorrow, Miss Delia.”
The hillside that had been covered in the golden glory of a Texas spring when Reverend McKinney had begun to fade—primroses and coreopsis, gaillardia and red-centered Indian blanket, punctuated here and there by bluebonnets lingering from the month before—was now, after the summer sun had done its work, sere and brown. It seemed a fitting backdrop for the unrelieved black garments of the figures in the valley who stood around the deep rectangular hole into which a coffin had just been lowered.
Sorrow didn’t begin to name the endless depth of Delia’s grief. Her grandpa had been the only element of stability she had experienced in her eighteen years of life, and now he was gone.
Another voice intruded on her thoughts. “I’m sorry for your loss, Miss Delia. If you need anything, you have but to let me or any of my family know. Reverend McKinney was a pillar of this community, and we would not want his granddaughter to be in need.”
Under the black brim of her bonnet, Delia Keller raised her eyes to the speaker. “Thank you, Charles. I appreciate it.” If she had hoped for more from the mayor’s son, she made sure her face did not give her away. She didn’t want Charles Ladley’s pity, if that was all she could have from him.
The tight starched neckline of her borrowed bombazine mourning dress threatened to choke her.
Oh, Heavenly Father, what am I to do now?
A few of the ladies began to drift away from the gravestones toward the makeshift tables laden with covered baskets that were spread out under the live oak trees between the small church and the cemetery. Soon, Delia knew, they would have a hearty dinner spread out for those who had attended the funeral—ham and fried chicken, black-eyed peas, freshly baked biscuits, chocolate cake and pecan pralines. There would be pitchers of lemonade and cold tea. As the chief mourner, Delia would be expected to partake, sample and praise each lady’s culinary offering.
The thought of putting so much as a crumb in her mouth made nausea roil in her stomach. The noon heat beat down on her head through her bonnet. She couldn’t do it.
She’d thought everyone had left her side and she was alone at the grave site, but now Delia felt a gentle touch on her wrist.
