Christmas Gold by Cheryl St. John

Author:Cheryl St. John [John, Cheryl St.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: General, Fiction, Romance, Love Stories, Contemporary, Adult, Historical, Historical Fiction, Christmas stories
ISBN: 9780373292271
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2002-10-01T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter Four

A chilly dawn crept across the desert, brushing the ragged gray clouds with flecks of rose and amber. As the sun rose, retreating shadows flowed across the stark landscape, leaving pools of night in rock-sheltered hollows. From the top of a glistening prickly pear, a solitary kestrel stretched its wings and soared into the sky.

It was the morning of December 24. Christmas Eve. And there was still no sign of Tom Curry.

Jubal stood on the knoll above the trading post, his long shadow falling across Lorena’s grave. The spot was desolate but beautiful in its own wild way, with a sweeping view of the desert and a scattering of dried stems that would be wildflowers in the spring. Someone had made an effort to protect the grave’s precious contents. Heavy stones had been carried up the slope to make a long, flat cairn as high as Jubal’s knees. Thrust into the far end of it was a wooden cross fashioned from scrap lumber and bearing the clumsily carved letters of Lorena’s name, along with the dates of her birth and death.

It was a sad resting place for a young woman who, by rights, should still be laughing, loving and caring for her family.

Why didn’t you come back, Jubal? Lorena would have taken you without your arm! She would have taken you without your legs if need be! As it was, we all had to pick up the pieces you left behind. We had to make do with whatever was there.

Tess’s words returned to haunt Jubal now. Lorena had waited for him. Even after hearing the news that he was dead, she had waited. And he had not returned. He had let her down as surely as the poor, inept fool who had become her husband.

But what else could he have done for her? He’d emerged from Camp Douglas a one-armed cripple without a penny to his name. He had stayed away in the hope Lorena would find a better life than he could give her. Instead she had found Tom Curry.

The cold morning wind stung Jubal’s bloodshot eyes. He had not slept—could not have slept even if he’d tried. The task he’d begun last night had taken long hours to finish. While he labored with the vise and awl, the dilemma of what to do about Tom Curry had kept his conscience in turmoil. Not until the coldest, darkest hour before dawn had Jubal come to a decision.

Only a monster would shoot a man on Christmas Eve, in the presence of his family. The duel would have to wait, perhaps a few days, perhaps longer. But it would take place. Honor demanded that much.

When Tom Curry arrived, Jubal would give him time to greet Tess and the children. Then he would take his former friend aside, confront him and demand satisfaction. Once the time, place and weapons were agreed upon, he would leave the Curry family to their holiday and ride off to wait for the appointed hour.

In the old days, before the war, there would have been seconds for both men, and perhaps a doctor.

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