A Victorian Christmas Read Online Free PDF

bundled him to the chin. “Where? Where am I? Pinks . . . Phoenix?”
    “New Mexico. Pinos Altos, to be exact.”
    New Mexico. That’s where he’d been headed days ago. Before Phoenix. Before the hotel shooting. Snatches of memory drifted across his mind like wisps of smoke. Riding a narrow trail through the trees. Sleeping in a cave. Drinking water from a stream. Moving east toward Silver City and the woman . . . daughter of his father’s friend. Maybe a man his own father had regarded so highly could help him now. Was Silver City far? How would he travel without his horse?
    “Leg,” he said. “Horse.”
    “You didn’t have a horse, buckaroo,” the angel said. “When I found you, you were on foot . . . or, more exactly, you were on your backside.”
    “My horse . . . leg broke.”
    At that her face softened. “I’m sorry. Was it a good horse?”
    He managed a nod.
    “Well, don’t trouble yourself too much. You’d better concentrate on that arm of yours. Looks septic to me. What happened?”
    “Finx.”
    “Phoenix?” She shrugged. “You’ve come a long way. Look, I’d put you up on the bed there, but I’m just about done in. You’re a deadweight. So I’m going to leave you right here on the floor to rest. I’ve stoked up the stove and bundled you in blankets. Get some sleep now, and I’ll check on you in the morning.”
    The angel slowly rose above him, her long white gown shimmering in the light. As she turned to go, he worked a hand out from under the quilts and clutched at her hem.
    “Angel,” he murmured.
    When she turned, her hair billowed out in a golden cloud around her face. A halo. She had denied it, but Hyatt knew the truth. God had sent him an angel.
    “Angel . . . thank you,” he whispered.
    She tugged her hem from his fingers. “Save your breath. You just get yourself well enough to get off my property, and that’ll make the both of us a lot happier.”
    As the creature drifted away, Hyatt turned the vision over in his mind. She looked like an angel. She had the touch of an angel. She had the melodious voice of an angel. But the words she spoke put him in mind of a spitfire. What had God wrought?

    Fara yawned and rolled over on the warm featherbed. The pink light of dawn glowed on the flowered wallpaper across the room. It was too early to wake up on her first day of freedom. Unlike Old Longbones, whose confidence in God’s protection had given him the peace of mind to doze straight through her adventures, Fara had hardly slept all night. Her mind had churned with thoughts of the missed meeting at the brickyard, the canceled dinner invitations with clients, the details of the Christmas tea. And that man .
    The wounded stranger had haunted her dreams with his feverish blue eyes. Why had he ridden all the way from Phoenix? How had he ended up at the Canaday ranch? Should she have tried to save him? What if he died? What if he were already dead?
    Fara sat up in bed. She should go down and check on him. Maybe the fire in the stove had gone out. Maybe she had forgotten to bolt the door, and the wolves had returned. What if he had wandered away in his delirium?
    Never mind about him, Fara. Relax. This is your holiday. You deserve a rest.
    Yes, that was true. If anyone had earned the right to a few days of peace and quiet, it was Fara Canaday. Listening to the voice inside her head, she picked up the newspaper she had brought from Silver City. She tucked a second pillow under her head and stared sleepily at the tiny printed text. Her Christmas tea was the talk of the town—as always.
    Miss Fara Canaday, one of Silver City’s finest citizens, once again brings the joy of the season to our society. The annual Christmas Tea for the children of local silver miners will take place on December 24 at four o’clock in the afternoon at the Canaday Mansion.
     “We’re inviting the children of two hundred families,” Miss Canaday said. In hosting this delightful event, she will be