His Frontier Christmas Family. Regina Scott

man in camp weighed in on one side or the other.”

      Now Callie frowned. “You were at Vital Creek?”

      “To my sorrow,” he admitted. “Scout Rankin and I had a claim at the opposite end of town from yours. I met Adam in a card game at Gillis’s. He cleaned me out.”

      Just when she wanted to trust him! “Now I know you’re lying. Preachers don’t gamble.”

      He smiled, and something inside her bubbled up as warm as a hot spring. “I wasn’t a preacher then.”

      He wasn’t one now that she could see. Those rough wool trousers and caped duster looked warm, but they weren’t nearly nice enough to belong to a fancy minister. Ministers liked to show how important they were, how much better, smarter. If that was what it took to win God’s favor, she never would.

      “Well, whatever you are,” Callie told him, “I’m not sure what to do with you.”

      “I’d like to talk to you and your brothers.” He nodded toward Mica in the basket. “And your husband, of course.”

      He wasn’t the first to assume Mica was her daughter instead of her niece, for all the differences in their coloring. She told him what she told the others. “I don’t have a husband.”

      Again, she waited for the expected response—the gasp, the finger shaking, the prediction she would suffer for her sins.

      Instead, his eyes widened. “Adam has a daughter? Where’s his wife?”

      She could lie, claim Adam’s wife was in the house with a gun at the ready, but suddenly Callie felt as weary as this fellow looked. She jerked her head over her shoulder. “Buried over there. I’m in charge until Adam gets back.”

      He moved closer yet, carefully, as if unsure whether she’d hit him or snatch up the baby and run. She considered doing both, but he was close enough that she could see the lines fanning out from the corners of his eyes. Worry lines, Ma had called them, and she’d had her share. What worried this man?

      “That’s a heavy burden,” he murmured. “I can see why Adam wanted me to help.”

      “Adam asked you to help?”

      He nodded. She studied his face, but he didn’t avoid her gaze or blink rapidly like she’d known some men to do when lying.

      She drew in a breath. “I wish he’d thought of us before hightailing it back to the gold fields the minute his wife Anna died of a fever. But you needn’t worry, mister. My brothers and I are handling things just fine. We’ll make it through until Adam gets back for the winter. If you see him before we do, just remind him that if he doesn’t live on his claim in the next two months, we could lose it.”

      His face sagged, and he put a hand on her arm. “I’m sorry, Miss Murphy. Adam won’t make it back in time. He died three months ago. I only received word yesterday.”

      * * *

      There was no good way to say it. Even if he’d been a minister eight years instead of eight months, Levi thought he’d have stumbled telling Callie Murphy what had happened to her brother. Adam had been so alive, so feisty, so determined to strike it rich. It was hard for Levi to believe all that energy had been snuffed out.

      “Are you sure?” he’d asked the two grizzled miners who’d stopped by Wallin Landing with the news and to bring him Adam’s belongings and the note to the Murphys.

      They’d hung their heads, avoided his gaze.

      “Surer than we wish we was,” one of the old timers gritted out. “He caught pneumonia and couldn’t fight it off. All that’s left of Adam Murphy now is a pile of regrets.”

      Levi knew something about regrets.

      He kept his hand on Callie’s arm now, ready to catch her if she fainted. She didn’t so much as sway. Her eyes, a mixture of blue and gray that reminded him of the swirling waters of Puget Sound, narrowed on him.

      “Prove it.”

      She spat out the words, as if he’d lie about anything so important. How ironic. He’d lied enough over the years, to escape punishment, to win something he’d wanted, to make himself appear more important. Now he was telling the truth, and she didn’t believe him.

      “My horse is tied out front,” he said. “I have Adam’s letter in my saddlebag. Come with me, and I’ll give it to you.”

      Her jaw worked as if she fought hard words. “I’m not going anywhere with you. And I don’t trust you out of my sight.”

      She was either the most suspicious woman he’d ever met, or the wisest. She was also plenty brave, ready to lay into him with that stick. Having been raised in the gold camps and now living so far out, she probably had to take precautions. He hadn’t intended to look dangerous, but then, he’d used his boyish charm too many times in the past to think that danger couldn’t look pleasing.

      “Then maybe I can help you until your brothers get back.” He bent to reach for the clothes, and she stepped in front of him.

      “You want to help?” she challenged. “The pump’s been stuck for weeks. We have to lug all the water through the woods from the creek. Fix the pump, and we’ll talk.”

      Levi straightened. “Fair enough.” He located the pump near the back of the cabin and went over to it. Easy enough to spot the problem. The device was orange with rust. He glanced up to ask her whether she had any oil, and words left him with his breath.

      She’d picked up the baby and stood there, swaying from side to side, singing softly. The buckskin coat and trousers, so common on the gold fields, still hinted of a figure. The sunlight shafting through the forest sparked around her, sending gold skipping along her hair.

      Levi turned his back on her. Oh, no. You have no business admiring Adam Murphy’s little sister. You have a lot of work to do before you’re fit to be a husband to any woman.

      A movement in the bushes caught his eye, and a moment later two boys about eight years of age scampered into the clearing, dragging a burlap sack between them. The pair was identical, down to the dirt on their round cheeks and the mud on their worn boots. Sutter’s Mill Murphy and San Francisco Murphy. Back at Vital Creek, the miners used to make a game of guessing which boy was which.

      “Look what we got, Callie,” one crowed.

      “Old man Kingerly didn’t even try to stop us,” the other bragged.

      Callie shot Levi a look before hurrying to meet them. “He agreed to give you that, didn’t he?” She tipped her head toward the house.

      The closest boy glanced Levi’s way and stiffened, then elbowed his brother. The other looked toward Levi and dropped his corner of the sack.

      “Sure,” he said. “Of course.”

      “Who’s that?” his brother demanded.

      “That’s Preacher Wallin,” Callie answered them. “He came to tell us something important. I think we should go inside to hear it.”

      Her brothers exchanged glances, then the one retrieved his corner of the sack, and they dragged it toward the house. The shapes bumping against the material told him they had at least one pumpkin in the batch.

      Callie followed them, baby up in one arm. The little one seemed to like him. She blinked big blue eyes surrounded by long black lashes and offered him a wide smile that revealed a set of four teeth. He remembered his oldest nieces being that age before he and Scout had set out to seek their fortune.

      Regret stabbed him. He’d missed more than six years with his family chasing after something he had never needed. He’d thought striking it rich would give him standing, make him a man. He’d become a man all right, and not one his father would ever have wanted him to be. He would spend the rest of his life atoning for what he’d done on the gold fields. The Murphy family was only one step along the