The Cowboy Who Saved Christmas
Kensington Books by
Jodi Thomas
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The Cowboy Who Saved Christmas
JODI THOMAS
SHARLA LOVELACE
SCARLETT DUNN
KENSINGTON BOOKS
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Compilation copyright © 2020 by Kensington Publishing Corp.
“Father Goose” © by Jodi Thomas
“The Mistletoe Promise” © by Sharla Lovelace
“Christmas Road” © by Scarlett Dunn
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ISBN-13: 978-1-4967-2550-9 (ebook)
ISBN-10: 1-4967-2550-6 (ebook)
Kensington Electronic Edition: November 2020
ISBN: 978-1-4967-2549-3
Table of Contents
Also by
Title Page
Copyright Page
Father Goose
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
The Mistletoe Promise
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Christmas Road
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Father Goose
JODI THOMAS
Chapter 1
Time: December 1867
Location: Jefferson, Texas
Trapper Hawkins rode into the settlement of Jefferson, Texas, at dusk, just as he had the day before. Late sunshine flickered off Big Cypress Bayou like diamonds on new-formed ice.
The wind was cold, promising rain that might change to snow by midnight. The temperature didn’t matter. He’d been cold to the bone so long he wasn’t sure he was alive. Now and then he thought if someone cut out his heart, he’d still function.
Memories drifted in his mind like sand on the wind. He’d been seventeen when he’d signed up to fight for his state, Tennessee, in a war he didn’t understand between states. But his three big brothers were excited to go, and Trapper didn’t want to be left home on the farm with his father.
The old man blamed Trapper for his mother’s death. His father never looked at his youngest and left Trapper’s raising to his older sons. One of his first memories was being locked out of the cabin for forgetting to do something. He’d been four and the night was cold. He lay on the ground without cover and pretended he didn’t feel the cold. Pretending became his first defense.
Trapper grinned to himself. His bad luck might have started at birth, but he chose to remember his childhood as easy, not the hard reality it had been. Maybe that was how he made it through the war. Maybe that was why playing the part of a gambler at night fitted him well. No one knew him, so he could be whoever he wanted to be.
As he moved down the main street of Jefferson, Trapper saw two soldiers walking toward him. The war had been over for two years, yet he still came to full alert when he saw Yankee blue.
He leaned forward, patting Midnight’s neck so the soldiers couldn’t see his face. “Easy now, boy,” he whispered as he had a thousand times during the war. The horse seemed to understand to remain still and not make a sound.
Trapper never wore a uniform in the war. He’d first been assigned as a dispatcher. He rode from camp to camp delivering messages. He was tall and lean at seventeen. Young enough, or maybe dumb enough, to think it fun to tease danger. He’d cross the lines, play the part of a farmer when he was questioned, and set traps so that anyone following him would be sorry.
Often the traps caught game, and as the war lingered on, the fresh meat was much needed. That was when the men began to call him Trapper. By the end of the war, he barely remembered his given name or the life he’d once had.
“Hello, mister,” one of the soldiers yelled, drawing Trapper’s attention. “Mind telling us why you’re out so late? Shouldn’t you be home having dinner?”
Trapper had no idea if this town had a curfew. When the soldiers came in after the war, they set all kinds of rules. Jailed people for pretty much any reason. Most of the Yankees were just doing their job, but a few, who came south to make a fortune, liked to cause trouble.
Trapper kept his hat low. Few could identify him from the war, but if someone did, he was a dead man. He’d been a spy many times. He’d traveled through northern states, picking up information. Men who crossed the lines were sometimes called gray shadows. They were