A Wyldhaven Christmas - Wyldhaven, Book 5, Chapter 1

Chapter 1

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Charlotte tossed and turned fretfully for several hours before she heard the thump of Reagan’s boots hitting the bedroom floor and felt the dip of the bed as he climbed in. He’d been dealing with a brawl at McGinty’s Alehouse, and she’d partly been worried over his safety, but her mind was eased by the knowledge that he had his deputy, Joseph Rodante, and his mother’s new husband, Zane Holloway, as backup.

But if she were honest, her main concern these past few days was because December was almost upon them and she didn’t yet have a clue what to buy for Reagan’s Christmas present.

Reagan reached over and squeezed her hand. “Hope I didn’t wake you?”

She shook her head, then realized he couldn’t see her in the dark, so said, “No. I’ve been awake. I’ll sleep better now that your home.”

Reagan grunted and punched his pillow into a more comfortable position. “If you are going to have a difficult time sleeping every time I’m called out in the night, I’ll have to look into making Joe or Zane handle all the late-night calls.”

Charlotte socked his arm gently. “You wouldn’t do that to Liora or your mother. Especially not your mother.”

Reagan yawned loudly, and his voice was more muted when he replied, “Yes, but she’s been doing a lot less worrying lately, have you noticed?”

“I have, indeed.”

Reagan’s response was a soft snore.

Charlotte sighed and flipped over on her back to stare into the darkness.

She, on the other hand, had been worrying a lot of late. What did one buy for their husband for Christmas? Last year had been fairly easy. It had been their very first Christmas, and so presents had been things they’d needed for their home. Reagan had bought her a new stove for the kitchen since old man Jonas, the previous owner of their house, had likely purchased his before the start of the Civil War. And she’d bought Reagan a new-fangled pen that stored ink right in the shaft and a new shaving bowl and razor.

But this year... She’d been racking her brain for months and hadn’t been able to come up with an idea. Not because she didn’t have ideas, but because, since she’d quit her teaching job to stay at home and be a wife, funds were much tighter this year than they had been last.

After a few hours of restless sleep, she woke, heart still weighed down by her predicament. She lay listening to Reagan’s snoring until the sun pierced past the thin gap in the bedroom’s calico curtains.

Reagan mumbled and turned over.

She threw an arm across her eyes and angled her head away. She needed more sleep, but thoughts of all she had to get done this day refused her the comfort of continued slumber. She eased from beneath the covers, doing her best not to disturb Reagan.

She hadn’t taken two steps before she stubbed her toe on something hard and unyielding. Biting back a yelp and a grumble of irritation, she fumbled through the shadows to feel what it was. Reagan’s boots. She gritted her teeth. In his weariness, he’d obviously discarded them without too much thought.

She grasped the boots by their tops to carry them to their proper place near the bureau. The shaft of light landed on them as she set them on the floor, and she felt her concern mount. The boots were worn and aged. The leather had definitely seen better days, but of greater concern was the large gap where the top of the shoe had separated from the sole.

Reagan had made no complaint, yet the days recently had been bitterly cold. It just wouldn’t do for him to keep wearing such shabby shoes. Not only because his feet needed to be warm, but also because it simply wasn’t a good image for the sheriff to be tromping around in shoes that were barely holding together. It didn’t cast Wyldhaven in a good light.

She left the boots in their place by the bureau but smiled. And as she headed for the kitchen to start breakfast, she felt like a burden had been lifted.

Finally! She knew what her Christmas present this year ought to be. But her relief over knowing what to buy was mixed with worry over the how of it. They would be cheaper from the Sears and Roebuck catalog, but at this date, it was too late to have them shipped. She would just have to order a more expensive pair from Mr. Giddens at the livery.

Stepping to the cupboard, she pulled the teacup from the top shelf and dumped all the money onto the counter.

Two dollars and six bits. She was pleased. She hadn’t realized that she’d saved up quite that much. It ought to be enough to buy a pair of boots, oughtn’t it?

But in what size? Reagan only had the one pair of boots, and they were always on his feet unless he was sleeping, so she couldn’t take them by the livery for a size comparison. She frowned as she stared at the scrambled eggs she was cooking. Maybe his mother would know? Yes. That was the solution. She gave a little nod. She would swing by her mother-in-law’s later to ask her about the size.

Reagan woke an hour later and entered the kitchen with his boots in one hand. A large yawn stretched his jaw as he sank into one of the chairs at the table. He scrubbed a hand over his head, displacing his hair in all directions before he bent and tugged on the boots.

Charlotte poured a cup of coffee and set it before him. She grinned and scooped her fingers into his hair, combing it into some semblance of order. “Whatever did you do about your unruly locks before I became your wife, dear sheriff?”

“I combed it myself, but now I leave it messy to get you close enough to catch.” He caught her wrist and tugged her onto his lap, looking up with a smile. He winked and raised his lips to hers.

Charlotte relished the feel of his strong hands at her back, the soft hair at the nape of his neck between her fingers, and the brush of his lips over hers.

Only a moment later, a knock sounded on the kitchen door. “Sheriff? Sheriff, you up?”

Reagan sighed and set her away from him. “Looks like my day is off to a rousing start.” He opened the door.

Washington Nolan stood on the porch. “Sorry to bother you, sir! But you’re needed in town.”

Reagan grabbed two biscuits and pressed some eggs between them. Raising the makeshift sandwich, he said, “See you at dinner.” Then he snagged his hat from the peg, stepped onto the porch, and pulled the door closed behind him.

Charlotte sighed and served herself a plate, sinking down at the table to eat alone.

Again.

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