Book 8: Christmas Stocking Sweethearts

Coming November 30, 2024

One silent child. Two lonely hearts. Three lives changed by a Texas Christmas.

Emma Garland has worked hard to rebuild her life and reputation after a very public, painful rejection years ago. Now Crossvine's respected piano teacher, she's content with her quiet life—until the day she confronts Marshal Harold Winters about keeping his traumatized, silent niece in his office near the jail cells while he works.

Despite some misgivings, Emma agrees to help care for Lucy while the marshal's housekeeper is away. Her own childhood struggles with a stammer help her understand Lucy's pain, but Emma is determined to maintain professional distance. She knows all too well how quickly a woman of her status can become the subject of town gossip.

When Emma receives a beautiful handmade Christmas stocking from her former piano teacher, its message that "Music Speaks" touches something deep within her. As she, Lucy, and Harold work together decorating for Christmas, she finds her carefully constructed walls crumbling. But with long-buried secrets threatening their growing bond, Emma must decide if the promise of love is worth risking her heart again.

December 1897
Crossvine, Texas

Harold Winters tucked a wayward curl behind Lucy's ear as he served her slightly over-browned toast and scrambled eggs. “There you go, Angel. Since Mrs. Tate’s late, you’ll have to make do with my attempts this morning.” He waggled his brows, trying to coax a smile, but his seven-year-old niece's solemn expression remained unchanged. Seven months since the accident that had placed his sister's child in his care, and he still hadn't seen her smile.

As town marshal he'd faced down his share of mean drunks, armed thieves and all manner of thugs, but nothing scared him more than the thought of failing this little girl. Someone more capable of relating to a child would be better able to give her the support she needed. Someone with a gentler disposition. Someone not him.

But he was all she had right now and he was determined to give it his very best.

Harold glanced at his pocket watch. His housekeeper was nearly twenty minutes late and that was unlike her.

A sharp rap at the door interrupted his thoughts. He gave Lucy another smile. “That’s probably Mrs. Tate now.”

It was indeed his housekeeper, but rather than coming inside she stood on the porch, wringing her hands. “Mrs. Tate, is something wrong?”

“I got word this morning that my sister's taken seriously ill, and I need to head to Fullerton immediately.”

Harold's stomach dropped, but he nodded. “Of course, family comes first.” He managed a reassuring nod as she thanked him and turned to go, despite his racing thoughts. He couldn't bring Lucy to the marshal's office, not with the likes of Jeb Tucker sleeping off last night's whiskey in the cell

“Finish up, Angel,” he said, rolling down his shirt sleeves. “We're going to have a little adventure this morning and see if we can find you a proper place to stay today.”

Ten minutes later they were heading out the front door, Harold's long strides slowing to match Lucy's pace. But their attempts proved fruitless. Mrs. Carter was committed to helping at her brother's restaurant, Mrs. Abernathy had two sick children of her own, and there was no answer at the Johnsons' door. By the time the town clock struck eight, Harold was out of options. He had to get to the office to relieve John, his deputy marshal—there'd been talk of cattle rustlers in the area, and he couldn't neglect his duties.

“Looks like you're coming to work with your uncle today, Angel,” he said, forcing a smile. “What do you say we make a quick stop at the general store on our way and pick up a pad of paper and some wax crayons?”

Lucy's eyes widened slightly, but she merely nodded.

Would he ever hear the sweet sound of her voice again?

***

Emma Garland approached the marshal's office, tucking a stray bit of hair behind her ear with nervous fingers. Her racing pulse wasn’t just because of the vandalism she’d discovered, it was the idea of coming here to file a formal report. She wasn’t good at this sort of thing.

She smoothed her skirt, drawing confidence from knowing it bore no signs of wear. She'd been meticulous in mending the tear, just as she was with all her alteration work—it had to be perfect when your reputation and livelihood depended on it. And the focused nature of such exacting work, the way it demanded careful attention to detail, had the added benefit of helping her remember to be measured in her speech as well, a useful skill in managing her stammer.

Emma hesitated at the marshal's office door, her earlier confidence wavering. After eight years of caring for her invalid father, returning to town life felt like learning to walk again—every step carefully measured. Would Marshal Winters even know who she was?

A coarse voice greeted her as she entered. "Well, ain't you a pretty little thing! Come closer, darlin', let me get a good look at ya!"

Emma recoiled, her cheeks burning and her eyes darting to the holding cell where a disheveled man leered at her through the bars.

"That's enough, Tucker!" Marshal Winters' sharp voice cut through the air. His expression softened as he turned to her. "My apologies, Miss Garland. What can I do for you today?"

Emma started to respond, but movement behind his desk caught her eye—the marshal's niece Lucy, shrinking away from the commotion.

"Marshal Winters," Emma began, keeping her voice steady, "I need to report vandalism at the church." Her gaze shifted to Lucy. "But may I ask why Lucy is here with..." She gestured toward the cell, where Tucker had started humming a bawdy tune.

"I didn’t have any choice.” His jaw tightened. “My housekeeper had an emergency this morning and had to leave town."

"Surely there must be a better option than exposing her to..." Emma's concern for the child overcame her usual reticence.

"Miss Garland," he cut in, "I'm doing the best I can—"

"With a drunk man spouting obscenities in earshot of your niece?" Emma felt her voice rising and fought to get it back under control.