The Christmas Journey. Winnie Griggs

      Ry watched Josie leave the room, giving himself a mental kick for his clumsy handling of the situation.

      Why had he pressed her so hard? Her dream of escaping Knotty Pine was a driving force with her, probably all the more so since she’d had to put it on hold for so long.

      She was a wild pony, yearning to trade the lush grasslands and security of the herd for a pair of wings. If only she could see it came with a price—a view of the world from a lonely distance, and sometimes, living life in a gilded cage.

      Well, if her dream was that important to her, then he’d find a way to give her a taste. A journey of some sort—it would be his Christmas gift to her. But he’d do it in such a way that she would have a safety net. And maybe help her see how wonderful her life here was by comparison.

      WINNIE GRIGGS

      is a city girl born and raised in southeast Louisiana’s Cajun Country who grew up to marry a country boy from the hills of northwest Louisiana. Though her Prince Charming is more comfortable riding a tractor than a white steed, the two of them have been living their own happily-ever-after for thirty-plus years. During that time they raised four children and an assortment of dogs, cats, fish, hamsters, turtles and 4-H sheep.

      In addition to her day job at a utility company and her writing career, Winnie serves on committees within her church and several writing organizations, and is active in local civic organizations—she truly believes the adage that you reap in proportion to what you sow.

      In addition to writing and reading, Winnie enjoys spending time with her family, cooking and exploring flea markets. Readers can contact Winnie at P.O. Box 398, Plain Dealing, LA 71064, or e-mail her at [email protected].

      The Christmas Journey

      Winnie Griggs

      

www.millsandboon.co.uk

      Delight yourself also in the Lord; and he shall give you the desires of your heart. Commit your way to the Lord, trust also in Him, and He shall bring it to pass.

      —Psalms 37:4–5

      To my dear friend Joanne Rock, who dropped everything to give me a much needed “fresh eyes” read and invaluable assistance in brainstorming when I needed it most.

      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

      Questions for Discussion

      Chapter One

      November 1892

      Knotty Pine, Texas

      “Hey!” The reedy voice coming from inside Wylie’s Livery and Bridle Shop thrummed with outrage. “You can’t take those horses ’til you settle up with Joe.”

      Ryland Lassiter halted outside the entry and swallowed an oath. Sounded as if a disagreement was brewing inside.

      The last thing he needed was another delay. This trip had already taken too long. He wasn’t about to sit cooling his heels, waiting for the railroad tracks to be cleared—not when he was this close.

      Ry reached into his coat and fingered Belle’s letter. There’d been an air of desperation in her plea to see him, a sense of urgency that gnawed at him. And the closer he drew to Foxberry, the stronger that feeling grew.

      Pushing back the worry, he tugged on his shirt cuffs. Might as well wade in and do what he could to help settle matters. The quicker he could get going again, the sooner he could find out what was going on with Belle.

      A burst of rough laughter from inside the stable added impetus to his decision. That first voice had been a boy’s, but these sounded older and about as friendly as cornered badgers.

      In the space between one heartbeat and the next, Ry stood inside the wide doorway. His jaw tightened as he spied a boy of ten or so squaring off against a pair of sneering thugs, looking for all the world like David before Goliath.

      Unfortunately, this would-be giant-slayer didn’t have so much as a sling to do battle with.

      The larger of the two men, a barrel-chested brute with a scraggly mustache, shoved past the boy. “Outta my way, kid. Those are our horses and we aim to get ’em.”

      The man’s heavy-handed move forced the boy back a step, but the youngster kept his balance and gamely thrust out his jaw. “You can’t take them until you settle your bill,” he insisted, hands fisting at his sides.

      Ry silently applauded the boy’s pluck.

      But the pair of philistines didn’t share his admiration. The second oaf, whose crooked nose and scarred cheek gave him a more villainous appearance than his partner, scowled. “Like we already said, we settled up with Joe this morning.” The man’s voice rasped like a dull saw on a stubborn log.

      The boy crossed his arms. “Joe didn’t say nothin’ about it.”

      Mustache stopped in the act of opening a stall gate. “You calling us liars?” He swiveled toward the boy, jabbing his fist into his palm with a forceful thwack.

      That did it. Ry couldn’t abide bullies. And he was pretty sure the good Lord hadn’t put him here at this particular moment just so he could stand by and watch.

      Clearing his throat he strolled forward, casually nabbing a pitchfork from a pile of straw. “Good day, gentlemen. Is there a problem?”

      The pair froze, then turned to eye him suspiciously. Ry held his genial smile as he mentally gauged his options.

      As he’d expected, once they got a good look at his tailored clothes and “citified” appearance, their cocky grins reappeared. Better men than these had mistakenly equated polish with softness. His years at law school had added the polish, but he was still a born and bred Texan, able to stand with the best of them.

      “No problem,” Scarcheek finally answered. “The boy’s confused is all. You just stay out of the way, and we’ll be done in a minute.”

      Not likely. Another three unhurried steps placed Ry between the youth and the two men. He pulled out his pocket watch and flicked it open with his thumb.

      As expected, both men’s gazes latched onto the gold-cased timepiece with a covetous gleam.

      “I