Page 19 of A Texas Christmas Carol

“Arrest this man, Marshal. He threatened to kill me, then fired his weapon. Any one of a dozen bystanders could have been harmed by his recklessness.”

“Now, wait just a cotton-pickin’ minute,” Darby protested. “I was just mouthin’ off. I didn’t mean any real threat.”

The marshal stepped in and confiscated Darby’s weapon. “You can shoot off yer mouth, Ed, but not your gun. Not within the town limits. You know that. I gotta hold you overnight. Betsy can come by in the morning to pay your fine. You can go then.”

“We ain’t got no cash money to pay a fine.” Darby glared at Evan as the marshal dragged him toward the jailhouse. “Thanks to him, we won’t have spare funds until spring.”

“I’ll wire the judge,” the marshal said. “Maybe he’ll allow you to barter one of your beeves for the fine.”

“And beggar my family even further? Where’s the justice in that?”

“You ain’t helpin’ yourself, Ed,” the marshal warned in a low voice, shooting Evan a nervous glance. “Button yer lip. If Mr. Beazer puts a bug in the judge’s ear, you’re likely to end up carted off to prison for attempted murder.”

Evan was tempted to do precisely that. A man in his position held a certain degree of power, after all. Wealthy men traded favors all the time. It was how the world worked. Yet he recalled being on the powerless side of things. How it felt when what was right mattered less than what was expedient for those with money and connections. No, he wouldn’t interfere. He’d trust in God’s justice to prevail.

Felicity drew abreast of him, sliding her hand back into the crook of his arm. “The poor man.”

What? Evan fought the urge to wiggle a finger in his ear to dislodge whatever had caused him to mishear her so completely. “‘The poor man’? Felicity, he nearly killed you.”

She shook her head slightly, her eyes glued to Darby’s back. “He’s scared, Evan. Don’t you see? He’s worried about how to provide for his men and their families. I’ll need to pay a call on Betsy. See if there is anything we can do to help.” Finally, she dragged her attention away from Darby to glance up at Evan, her amazing green eyes alight with compassion and fervor. “We should make a few extra baskets for Darby’s men, don’t you think? I know they aren’t members of our church, but I hate to think of them facing Christmas with a spirit of disappointment. It’s terribly last-minute, I know, but if we scrimp a bit, we can make it work. I’ll donate my own funds to the effort. Pull together some canned goods and staples. Candy, if there are children. And if you could order a couple extra hams—”

“No.”

He was not going to reward Edward Darby by supplying his men with Christmas hams after what he’d done. How dare she even suggest it?

“But, Evan, we could lift their spirits—”

He twisted to face her, pulling his arm away from her hand in the process. “Edward Darby should have set aside funds months before now for his men. I’ve ordered beef from him all year long. It’s not my fault he failed to steward his income, nor is it my responsibility to make up for his lack.” He let his cane slide through his fingers until the base rested once again on the ground. He needed to walk. To think. To . . . breathe. “Your charitable nature does you credit, madam, but I find mine does not stretch quite so far. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll leave you to your shopping.”

Hurt pinched her eyes. It pinched his chest too, but he ignored it.

“Where will you be?” she asked, her voice pensive, unsure. Nothing like the confident warmth that usually flowed freely through her.

“He’s going to get a haircut.”

Evan’s head jerked sideways to find George Wiggins staring him down. The barber smiled affably enough, but there was iron in his expression.

“Isn’t that right, Beazer?”

Evan had no desire to submit to whatever lecture Wiggins planned to bestow, but disrespecting her father would not endear him to Felicity. So instead of storming off for the walk he craved, he dipped his chin in acquiescence. “I am in want of a trim.”

Mrs. Bell cut his hair every other month. It saved him the expense of a barber and kept the hair out of his eyes well enough. But it seemed he’d be sampling the shears of a professional this afternoon.

Wiggins nodded his approval, then stepped around Evan to cup his daughter’s cheek. “You sure you’re all right, sweetheart?”

Felicity nodded, but Evan didn’t miss the shine in her eyes. Nor was he too obtuse to realize that he, not the fall she’d taken, was the cause.

“Why don’t you go visit your sister for half an hour? You can borrow a fresh skirt from her and have a cup of tea. I’ll give Mr. Beazer directions so he can collect you after his trim. All right?”

She nodded again, her questioning eyes darting from her father to Evan. Her doubt speared him like a javelin. She didn’t believe he’d come for her.

Evan fingered the brim of his bowler, his eyes never leaving hers. “I’ll be there.”

The vow resonated between them, its meaning traveling far deeper than the mere promise of an escort. At least for him. For Evan, it rang with apology and with the promise that he’d never abandon her again. He’d been wrong to do so just now, and it shamed him to think his anger at Darby had overrun his concern for Felicity’s feelings. To leave her alone in the street simply because she wanted to extend kindness to his enemy? How childish could he be?

For that was what had driven him away—childish hurt. Her strategizing to help Darby’s family had stabbed him like a betrayal. As if she had chosen sides against him. But only a petty child would see sides in this situation. He, of all people, should feel compassion for the wife and children of a man whose reckless choice left them in need. He’d been that child. His mother, that wife.

Whether Felicity read all of that in his face, Evan couldn’t know. But she did stand a little taller, and a faint hint of restored optimism touched her lips, giving him hope that perhaps she understood at least some of his unspoken apology.