His Frontier Christmas Family. Regina Scott

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 way.

      Callie paused beside him as if she wanted to ask him something. She barely came to his shoulder, so he bent his head to give her his full attention. The blue-gray of her eyes was cool, assessing, as if she could see his darkest secret. He willed himself not to flinch.

      She reached down, grasped the handle of the pump with her free hand and tried to yank it up. It didn’t move.

      “Pump’s still broke,” she pronounced, straightening. She passed him for the door.

      Levi was the last one inside. “The pump is rusted solid. Unless you have some oil and a wrench, it’s likely going to stay that way.”

      She shrugged as if she didn’t care or doubted he would be of much use regardless. He suspected her nonchalance had more to do with the fact that she had no way to procure oil or a wrench.

      In fact, she had no way to procure much of anything if the state of the cabin was any indication. It held a single room, though a ladder against one wall told of a loft overhead. Unlike his brothers’ sturdy cabins, this one was more crudely made. The logs hadn’t been seasoned properly, and the chinking was falling out in places, letting the sunlight spear through. The windows at the front and back held no glass; only shutters kept out the wind. The stone fireplace was barely big enough to keep the place warm. The shelves next to it listed, even though they held no more than a sagging sack of flour and some tough-looking carrots.

      How could Adam have left his family in such dire straits?

      A bedstead piled with quilts lay against one wall, with a plank table and benches near the fire. The boys dropped their sack by the table and climbed up on a bench. Callie, still holding the baby, went to stand at the head of the table. She frowned at Levi, before turning to her brothers. Her face softened.

      “The preacher brought us news about Adam,” she said. “I warn you—it ain’t good.”

      Her brothers’ eyes widened, and they looked to Levi.

      He stepped forward until he stood at the end of the table. “I’m very sorry, boys. Your brother has passed on.”

      They frowned in unison, mirror images of each other.

      “Passed on to where?” one demanded.

      “Were there better pickings there?” the other asked.

      Levi’s heart tightened. “Much better pickings. Adam is in heaven.”

      The first boy turned to his sister. “Where’s the Heaven strike? In Washington Territory?”

      “Nah,” his brother scoffed. “It’s in Idaho, you dolt.”

      The first boy scowled. Callie was regarding Levi, challenge in her eyes.

      He squared his shoulders. “What I’m trying to say is that your brother Adam has died, boys. But he didn’t want you to worry. He asked me to take care of you, and I will. I want you all to come live with me.”

       Chapter Two

      Callie was so shocked that she clutched Mica close to keep from dropping her. Live with him? Was he touched in the head?

      Her brothers looked just as surprised, mouths hanging open, their normally busy bodies stilled. As usual, Frisco recovered first.

      “Why’d we want to come live with you?” he demanded, hands braced on the table. “Callie takes care of us real good.”

      “Always has,” Sutter agreed.

      “Always will,” Callie promised them.

      As if she thought so, too, Mica rested her head against Callie’s shoulder. Frisco and Sutter climbed off the bench and pressed against Callie’s side.

      The preacher didn’t look dismayed to find them all ranged against him. He merely inclined his head.

      “Your sister has done a good job,” he said, gaze moving from face to face. “But even Callie has to get tired once in a while.”

      How did he know? She’d been so careful not to let her brothers see it. Neither of them knew the nights she broke down and cried, trying to think of a way to change their circumstances. She was up before they were, in bed long after they climbed to the loft. There weren’t enough hours in the day for tending to the claim let alone all the washing and cooking and cleaning.

      Adam and Pa had both promised better things.

      “Just you wait, Callie,” Pa would say, eyes bright and cheeks flushed like he was feverish. “One day you’ll dress in fine silks and live in a big house with servants to do all the work.”

      He’d had a fever all right. Gold fever. This preacher seemed no different.

      “We get by,” she told him, warmed by her brothers on either side. “What are you offering that’s any better?”

      He took a step closer and spread his hands, as if intent on making his case. He had nice hands, strong-looking and not too soft, like he could wield a pick or shovel if he needed to. He was slender for a man, but those broad shoulders and long legs seemed made to crouch beside a stream for hours panning.

      And when had she started judging men by their ability to hunt for gold!

      “I have a solid house,” he said, “with a good roof and a big hearth.”

      That would be nice. Frisco and Sutter kept having to reposition the tick they slept on to stay out of the drips from the roof when it rained.

      “Our house is solid,” Frisco blustered.

      The preacher had to know that was a lie, but he inclined his head again. “I also have a kitchen stove, plenty of food set aside for winter, a separate bedroom and a sleeping loft overhead.”

      Her brothers brightened, but Callie had spotted the fly in the ointment. “Who do you figure’s sleeping in the bed?” she asked.

      His brows shot up. Preachers—they never liked to talk about practical things, like sleeping arrangements or taking turns in the privy.

      “You and the baby would have the bedroom,” he assured her. “I’ll bunk in the loft with the boys.”

      Sutter and Frisco looked around her at each other, and she was fairly sure they didn’t like the idea of having the preacher so close at night. She’d heard them open the shutters in the loft after they were supposed to be asleep, the thud of their feet against the logs as they climbed down. And she’d stayed awake until she’d heard them climb back up again.

      Still, she couldn’t believe the preacher would be so generous. “You’d take us into your own home,” she challenged. “People you barely know?”

      He smiled. “I knew Adam. He saved my life once, gave me food when I was starving. I was his friend. That makes us friends, too.”

      Friends,