Ghost of Christmas Past

One

One

 

Crossroads, Nevada

December 20, 1869

 

Merry… Happy… Joyous… Cheerful…

“Hmm…” Searching for just the right turn of phrase, Lilly Langston twirled her pen across the top corner of the paper rested on the desk beneath her hand. None of the words running through her head seemed quite right to describe the Christmas fundraiser she’d attended that afternoon. The church had burned down last month and the local women had banned together to raise money for a new building with great success. She’d planned to finish the article for the newspaper edition to come out the day before Christmas Eve, but for whatever reason she was experiencing terrible writer’s block.

Momentarily stuck, she rested her head in her hand, glancing about the homey house as she searched for less ordinary synonyms for the world merry. A cheery fire crackled in the hearth, and velvety red ribbons and a wreath crafted from dried vines decorated the mantel.The scent of fresh spice cake wafted through the small house she shared with her husband making it even more difficult to concentrate.

Lilly sighed, finally tossing her pen aside. It was no use. She couldn’t concentrate. She was too worried about the coming Christmas. The holiday needed to be perfect. She had the day planned to the letter, and she desperately hoped it would be just what she and her husband needed to get their marriage back on track. She slid the chair back and stood. Perhaps she’d steal just a little slice of the cake before dinner. Maybe a snack would help her focus.

Mouth watering, Lilly rounded the desk and headed for the kitchen. She passed the window and spied her husband striding up the walk.

David was home early!

Surprised, she paused by the window taking a few moments to visually peruse the sight of his rangy figure. A shiver of awareness rushed down her spine. Tall and powerful, he always moved with such a primal sense of purpose, and the silver U.S. Marshal badge pinned to his vest only added to the aura of authority and danger he exuded. After a few seconds he disappeared from view, and she quickly moved to the kitchen to prepare two slices of spice cake. Perhaps she should put some coffee on as well. He rarely made it home before dark, and she—

The door exploded inward. “Lilly, what is the meaning of this?”

Startled and confused Lilly backed out of the kitchen with a frown. “The meaning of what, Davy? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Expression thunderous, his brooding figure filled the doorway. “You didn’t tell me that you were in the bank when the Foster Gang robbed it the other day.”

Her spirits dropped. He hadn’t come home early to spend some much needed time with her, he’d come home because he was angry. “Who told you that?” She’d hoped to keep her husband ignorant of that fact. He was terribly overprotective, and she didn’t want him to worry any more than necessary.

He pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket. “I read the article you wrote for the newspaper and suspected as much from the amount of detail you described. I asked the banker, Horace Willis, and he confirmed that you were in fact there.”

“You read my newspaper?” she asked, surprised by the revelation. His job was so demanding she didn’t think he had time to give her newspaper a second thought.

“Of course I read your paper,” he replied gruffly. “I always read your paper.” He swung the door shut and stomped into the house, brow furrowed irritably. “But that is beside the point. Why didn’t you tell me you were there?”