Enchanted Christmas

Chapter One

Once upon a time, on a fair October day in 1869, a little girl and an old man worked side by side. The two lived in the tiny community of Rio Hondo, which squatted between the Spring, Hondo, and East and West Berrendo Rivers in the southeastern corner of the New Mexico Territory,

An old rag doll, clad in a dress made of the same material as the little girl’s, sat on a stump beside them. Her jolly embroidered face gave made her an amiable expression, and she seemed to be supervising their activities. She looked as though she’d been loved quite hard during her days on earth.

A sound caught the little girl’s attention, and she glanced up from the rope she’d been coiling into a tidy stack. Listen, Mac. Somebody’s comin’.

Alexander McMurdo, proprietor of McMurdo’s Wagon Yard, favorite stop-over of cowboys trailing herds from ranches in the Pecos Valley and Seven Rivers country, took the old briar pipe from his mouth and looked. He smiled when he saw a solitary man, slumped slightly in his saddle, riding across the plains toward Mac’s wagon yard. Mac had been expecting this. About time, too.

Looks like we got us a visitor, Maddie, m’lass.

Five-year-old Maddie Richardson jumped with joy and clapped her hands. Visitors were a rare and welcome experience for the girl. She lived, after all, in the only—and very small—oasis of civilization within a two-hundred-mile radius. The land stretching between Rio Hondo and other seats of society was as bare and unspoiled as her own heart but much, much harder.

Rio Hondo sat in the middle of southeastern New Mexico Territory like the hub of a spoked wheel, with trails leading east and south into Texas, west to the Arizona Territory, and north into Albuquerque, Santa Fe, and the Colorado Territory. Fort Sumner and Fort Stanton resided within that two-hundred-mile radius as well, and provided what passed as protection for the citizens residing in this part of the territory. There weren’t many of them. The army had rounded up most of the Indians in the early sixties, so that nowadays the most trouble settlers and ranchers could expect came from one another.

Maddie shaded her eyes and squinted through the harsh, cold sunlight at the stranger, now slowly making his way through the wide-open, double wagon-yard gates. He’s on a pretty horse. Excitement vibrated in her voice.

That he is, lass. Let’s you and me go see what the fellow needs. He’s lookin’ a little trail-worn.

He’s all dusty, Maddie agreed.

So’s his horse.

Maddie grabbed up her dolly and clasped the gnarled old hand Mac held out to her. Mac peered down at her, clucking softly when he noticed she wasn’t wearing her sunbonnet. That meant she’d slipped outside in spite of her mother’s vigilance. He grinned around his pipe.

She was a charmer, Maddie was. Almost as charming as her mother, but a great deal less bowed down by life. Which figured, as the wee lass had scarcely had time to collect burdens. With luck and his own help, Mac trusted that Maddie would grow up to be as fine a woman as her mother—and that her mother’s heart would heal at last. He matched his stride to hers, and they walked over to where the stranger had pulled his tired horse to a stop and was dismounting.

Mac shook his head as he studied the newcomer and felt a little sad. It appeared to him as though the poor fellow had made it here just in time. Another year or two, and not even Mac’s magic could touch him.

# # #

Noah Partridge was almost as tired as he’d ever been in his life. He was sure sick of riding. This was the place for him, though; he knew it in his bones—all of which ached as if he’d been in a brawl. The countryside around Rio Hondo was as barren as Noah’s soul, as bleak as his past, as desolate as his future, and as hard as his heart. The wind blew across it like a demon from hell, sometimes so stiffly that the dust and grit could tear a man’s skin off his face. Noah shook out the bandanna he’d worn over his mouth and nose to protect them from blowing dust. The cloth was stiff with dirt.

The only sign of life Noah had seen for at least twenty miles—until he rode into Rio Hondo—was low-growing grama grass and a few scrubby bushes. Greasewood, mesquite, yucca, and cactus dotted the landscape here and there. Every time Fargo, Noah’s horse, had stepped on a clump of greasewood, the tangy odor of creosote nipped at Noah’s nostrils. He kind of liked the smell—as much as he liked anything, which wasn’t much.

As he’d neared the community of Rio Hondo, he’d noticed a stunted shinnery oak that looked as if the wind had sculpted it. It leaned to the northeast, bowing against the prevailing winds as if it had given up the struggle to stand upright. The very air Noah breathed was hard, the water was harder, and Noah had a gut feeling he and they belonged together. He was harder than both of them put together.

Hell, even the animal life out here was sinister. Scorpions, rattlesnakes, coyotes, cougars. Wild Indians even, he supposed, unless the army’d gathered them all up. He’d seen about a million buzzards too, although he imagined they’d be gone soon. They’d all fly south to winter in the sunny climes of Mexico and wouldn’t show up again until the springtime. Which only went to show that Noah Partridge was tougher than a buzzard. He grinned a small internal grin that didn’t make it to his lips. Yup. This was the right place for Noah, all right.

He turned when he heard footsteps. The greeting he’d been about to pronounce withered and died when he saw a child walking with the old man whom Noah presumed was Alexander McMurdo. Hell, Noah hated kids. He hated kids almost as much as he hated adult men and women.

Howdy, stranger, the old fellow said.

His voice was cheerful and faintly tinted with a Scots burr. It grated on Noah’s nerves like a metal file. He tipped his hat. Hello. You McMurdo? His voice was leathery and cracked with disuse.

I am. The proprietor’s eyes twinkled like stars. Noah didn’t appreciate the effect.

Understand I’ll have to put up in your wagon yard while I take care of business here. You have room for me and my horse? I don’t have anything but what’s on the old boy’s back. He gestured to his bedroll and saddle bags, which carried all his earthly possessions. Everything else he’d ever owned was gone now. Bitterness twisted though him as he thought about it, so he stopped thinking.

Oh, aye, I expect we can handle you and your horse.

The old man chuckled. His teeth were as white as pearls and were clamped around what looked to Noah like it must be the oldest pipe in the universe. Because he could no longer tolerate the presence of merriment, he turned and took longer unfastening his pack than he needed to.

When he turned around again, the little girl who’d walked up with Mr. McMurdo had let go of the old man’s hand and stood about a foot away from Noah himself, her raggedy old doll dangling, evidently forgotten, in her right hand. She peered up at him as if she were looking upon something strange and foreign. Which she probably was. She undoubtedly hadn’t met up with too many hollow men in her day.

Since he didn’t know what to do with her, he resumed his work. He glanced at her once or twice out of the corner of his eye and wished she’d go away or that Mr. McMurdo would do something with her. The kid made him nervous.

After a couple of very long moments, McMurdo did as Noah had wanted. Maddie, me wee lass, allow me to introduce you to Mr. Noah Partridge. Mr. Partridge, this here sweet bairn is Miss Maddie Richardson.

Partridge? Maddie broke into a huge smile. Like in the pear tree?

She was just a kid. Noah reminded himself of that when he had the urge to holler at her. How could a little kid understand that while Noah hated men, women, and children, he abominated Christmas and everything associated with it, including the blasted songs. Christmas was a season of sentimental hogwash, filled with sappy music, perpetrated by greedy merchants, and geared to pacify fools. Christmas was the season during which Noah’s own personal life, which hadn’t been a whole lot of fun to begin with, had gone straight to hell. He’d loathed it ever since.

He said, Yeah, in a voice as hard as the local water.