A Rancher’s Heart Under the Mistletoe (Preview)

Chapter One

Farlow, Texas
December 1872

The stagecoach jolted to a stop, snow-dusted wheels crunching against the packed earth of the small frontier town’s main street. Samantha Lewis clutched her younger sister’s hand as the driver swung down from his perch, shouting for the men to unload baggage.

Farlow. Another town. Another chance.

The air smelled of woodsmoke and horse sweat, laced with the faint sweetness of pine garlands strung across the storefronts. Candles glimmered in frosted windows, though the daylight still held.

A small Christmas market was already being set up near the mercantile, wooden stalls draped in plaid cloth and sprigs of holly. Merchants were calling out to passing families bundled in scarves and woolen coats.

Samantha tugged her shawl tighter around her shoulders. She had always loved Christmas. Her mother had made the holiday warm, even when their purse was light. She’d always insisted on baking pies. Now, two years since her mother’s death, Christmas had become a season of ghosts.

Franny shivered beside her, eyes wide as she took in the town. At eleven, she looked so much like their father had. Brown hair, green eyes, and that same slightly crooked smile she wore when she tried to be brave. Her valise looked far too heavy for her small frame, but she stubbornly insisted on carrying it.

“Do you think it’s safe here, Samantha?” Franny asked quietly, scanning the strangers bustling past.

“It will be,” Samantha said. “For a while, at least.”

The words tasted like hope and weariness all at once.

This wasn’t the first town, and it wouldn’t be the last. She had spent the last year chasing shadows. The Silver Spur gang was always a step ahead, leaving broken banks and grieving families in their wake. Newspaper clippings stuffed into her satchel marked the path they cut across Texas.

The last two robberies had taken place less than a week’s ride from Farlow.

They were closing in. She could feel it.

The driver dropped their trunk in the snow. Samantha lifted it by the handle, her thin arms straining against the weight. Though she was only twenty, her frame carried the strength of long hours spent working kitchens, scrubbing floors, and hauling supplies through boarding houses and market stalls.

Her hair was a blaze of red that drew stares wherever she went. By now, it had come loose from its braid, strands whipping in the cold wind. Freckles were scattered across her pale cheeks, her green eyes sharp and searching.
She looked nothing like a girl running from grief. She looked like a woman set on fire by it.

“Come on, Franny,” Samantha said, lifting the trunk. “Let’s find the boarding house before it gets dark.”

Samantha also carried a bundle of canvases wrapped carefully in cloth and tied with twine. They were precious. Her only means of making money beyond cooking or cleaning, and the only pieces of herself she refused to give up.

She shifted the trunk in one hand and balanced the bundle in the other, careful not to let the snow dampen the cloth.

“Pretty paintings, miss.”

The voice came from behind her. Too close. She turned sharply to see a man in a ragged coat and hat pulled low. His eyes darted. Before she could step back, he snatched the top canvas from the bundle and bolted through the crowd.

“Hey!” Samantha’s voice cut through the winter air. Her chest tightened with anger. Those paintings had cost her sleepless nights and long hours by lamplight. Not to mention more than a few skipped meals.

Franny gasped, clutching her valise.

The thief barreled past a row of shoppers, scattering baskets and sending a child tumbling into the snow. Samantha surged forward, skirts heavy in the drifts.

But she knew she couldn’t catch him. Not when she was burdened with a trunk and her sister.

Then another figure moved.

From the edge of the market, a tall man dropped a sack of feed he’d been carrying and strode into the fray with a sharpness that silenced the air around him. His coat was dark, worn, and dusted with snow. It flared as he cut through the crowd.

“Stop!” His voice carried like a command born of habit.

The thief hesitated just long enough for the man to seize him by the collar and drive him into the snow. The stolen painting slipped free, the cloth smudged but intact.

Samantha froze, breath catching. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the stranger.

Broad-shouldered and lean with strength that looked both practiced and dangerous, he stood over the thief like a man accustomed to order. Brown hair brushed across his forehead, and his jaw was sharp beneath the winter light. His eyes were blue and piercing. They scanned the crowd before flicking briefly toward her.

For a heartbeat, Samantha forgot the cold, the weight of the trunk, and even the sting of memory.

Who was he?

The thief spat a curse, twisting under the stranger’s grip. The man pinned him easily, expression unreadable save for the steel in his gaze. Around them, townsfolk murmured. Some cheered, others pulled their children close.

Samantha clutched Franny’s hand, pulse racing. She didn’t know the man’s name, but something in the way he stood made her think he was more than he appeared.

And she couldn’t help but wonder why her heart had skipped a beat at the sight of him.

The thief jerked, slipping from the stranger’s hold with a twist born of desperation. In the chaos of boots stamping and voices shouting, he scrambled to his feet and bolted down a narrow alley.

The tall man swore under his breath and took a step after him, but the alley had already swallowed the scoundrel whole. After a tense moment, he plucked the fallen painting from the snow and brushed the cloth clean with gloved hands.

When he turned, his eyes found hers again.

Samantha’s breath hitched as he crossed the space between them. He held the painting out carefully, as though it were something precious.

“Ma’am,” he said, voice low and even. “I’m sorry he got away. Should’ve held tighter.”

Samantha shifted the trunk to one side, freeing her hand to take the painting. Her fingers brushed against the cold fabric as she pulled it close, relief rushing through her. This was her favorite of the collection. She hadn’t realized how much until the moment she’d thought it lost.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “You don’t know how much this means to me.”

A faint shadow of a smile tugged at his mouth, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He tipped his hat in a gesture so naturally gentlemanly that it startled her more than the attempted robbery had.

“I’m glad I could help,” he said.

Samantha studied him for a heartbeat longer than she meant to. The sharp cut of his jaw, the strength in his stance, the steadiness in his gaze. It was the kind of face a woman might lose herself in if she wasn’t careful.

Which was exactly why she tore her eyes away.

She couldn’t afford distractions. Not here, not now. Her purpose in Farlow was clear, and it wasn’t to be dazzled by a handsome stranger who smelled faintly of leather and pine.

Still, as she adjusted the bundle of canvases and guided Franny toward the street, she felt the weight of his gaze lingering behind her.

Franny tugged gently at her sleeve.

“Are you all right, Samantha?” she asked, green eyes wide with worry.

“I’m fine, Franny,” Samantha said, forcing a steady breath. “Let’s just get settled before the cold takes our toes off.”

Her little sister nodded, though she stayed close as they walked on.

Chapter 2

Tugging his hat lower against the sharp wind, Levi Ashford crossed the main street. The sound of children’s laughter echoed near the mercantile, where merchants were still fussing with garlands and wooden stalls for the Christmas market. Levi’s jaw tightened. He’d never cared much for Christmas. Not since the year everything went wrong.

Too many ghosts lurked in the carols and candlelight.

Still, he’d gone into town because chores didn’t wait for sentiment. Feed for the horses, nails for the barn door, ink for the stack of blank paper sitting on his desk. That was all he’d meant to do. Get supplies, ride home, and keep to himself.

Instead, he’d found himself stepping in when some ragged thief had snatched a young woman’s painting.

The memory clung to him. A flash of red hair, green eyes sharp with fire, and a canvas pressed to her chest like it was her last treasure on earth. He hadn’t intended to notice her, but the image remained despite his better judgment.

She was a stranger, and strangers didn’t matter. That was how he kept the peace in his life.

Levi shoved the thought away and lengthened his stride. His destination wasn’t far. It was a narrow brick building with a single-paned window frosted at the edges. The sheriff’s star gleamed faintly on the door.

Inside, warmth pressed against him. Sheriff Hullberry’s desk sat beneath the window, piled high with papers. But it wasn’t the sheriff Levi sought.

“Nico?” Levi called.

A mop of black hair popped up from behind a stack of ledgers.

“Levi!”

The young deputy grinned, his brown eyes bright. He looked a little too pleased with himself, as though wearing the tin star on his vest gave him a weight he hadn’t yet grown into. Still, he had heart. Levi respected that.
“You look like a man buried under too much paperwork,” Levi said.

Nico laughed, brushing ink-stained fingers on his trousers.

“Sheriff says I’ve got to learn the books if I want to keep the star,” he replied. “Figures it’s not just about chasing down drunks and hauling in rowdies.”

Levi leaned against the doorframe with his arms folded. “Speaking of rowdies… there was an incident near the stagecoach station. Some thief tried to make off with a woman’s painting. Didn’t get far.”

Nico straightened at once. “You stopped him?”

“Held him for a second,” Levi said. “He slipped off before I could get him to you.” There was no pride in his voice. “But he won’t be hard to find. Ragged coat, nervous eyes, not from around here.”

Nico scribbled the description in the margin of a page. “I’ll tell the sheriff. He’ll want to put men looking.”
Levi grunted. He was halfway turned to leave when Nico’s tone shifted.

“Levi,” he said. “There’s something else.”

He stilled. That tone was too familiar. He glanced over his shoulder.

“What?”

The young deputy hesitated before speaking. “The sheriff thinks the Silver Spur gang is close. Maybe camped out in the hills near town. We’ve had word… robberies east of here, then nothing. Too quiet. He thinks they’re planning something.”

A long silence stretched.

“Silver Spur,” he repeated flatly.

“Sheriff Hullberry says this could be our chance,” Nico continued. “If they’re nearby, if we can pin them down… we could be the ones to bring Reuben Slade in. You know what that would mean for Farlow. For Texas.”

His young voice carried both excitement and fear.

Turning fully, Levi narrowed his eyes. “And you’re telling me this why?”

“Because the sheriff thinks I ought to talk to you,” Nico said, leaning forward. “He says you’ve got the kind of skills we need… tracking, fighting, reading men. You’ve been a bounty hunter, a sheriff. You know how these gangs move. If you joined up as a deputy, you could help make a difference. Maybe even end this once and for all.”

His throat tightened. He’d heard words like that before. Once. From a woman with fire in her eyes. Anna Beth.
He looked away, and silence stretched heavy in the room.

Nico pressed on, voice gentler now. “Reuben Slade is a devil, Levi. You know what he’s done. There are families torn apart and towns left hollow. If anyone can track him down, it’s you.”

Briefly, Levi closed his eyes. Memories rose unbidden.

Anna Beth’s laughter was soft as bells. Her determination when she’d spoken of justice, of exposing corruption, of making the truth known. The way her hand had gripped his arm when she’d shown him the article draft, her excitement bubbling over despite his warnings.

Then… the blood. His arms around her cooling body, too late to save her.

He had begged her not to go after Reuben Slade, not to stir up hornets she couldn’t fight. She hadn’t listened. She’d said someone had to write the truth. Someone had to be brave.

And he had failed her.

Levi’s eyes snapped open, blue as ice. “I’m not in that fight anymore.”

“Levi—”

“I mean it.”

His voice was sharp enough to cut. He straightened, broad shoulders tense.

“I’ve buried enough people because of Reuben Slade,” Levi said. “I won’t dig another grave.”

The younger man’s expression flickered with disappointment, but he didn’t back down.

“You think hiding on your ranch will change what’s coming?” Nico asked. “The gang doesn’t care if you’re done fighting. They’ll tear through Farlow just the same. And good people will die.”

That was when his mouth thinned into a hard line.

“You don’t have to decide now,” Nico said, running a hand through his hair. “Just… think about it. The sheriff will welcome you back. You’d wear the star again. And this time, maybe things could be different.”

Different. The word rang hollow.

His hand was already on the doorknob.

“Keep me out of your fight, Nico,” Levi said. “I’ll write the truth on paper, same as I always have. That’s enough.”

“Sometimes,” Nico called after him, “paper isn’t enough.”

He didn’t answer. He pushed out into the cold, the door banging shut behind him.

Levi tugged his coat tighter as he stepped out of the sheriff’s office. The cold air bit at the back of his neck.
Nico’s words about the Silver Spurs rattled in his mind like a loose shutter in a winter wind.

The gang.

The name alone carried weight. Laws broken, lives ruined, and towns left hollow in their wake. He tried to shove it from his mind, but the memory came anyway. It dragged him down another path.

He saw himself at sixteen, stepping into the small farmhouse he had grown up in. The door creaked under his hand, and the warmth replaced by an unsettling emptiness. The smell of the hearth, usually welcoming, was gone. A letter sat in neat, slanted handwriting on the table next to a thick envelope of bills and coins.

I’ve had to leave. One day I hope you’ll understand.

His stomach turned over. He remembered staring at the paper, the ink swimming as his pulse hammered. His father had kissed his forehead that morning, ruffled his hair, smiled warmly, and gone off to work.

Now, the house was empty, and his father was nowhere to be found. The money in the envelope was too much and not nearly enough at once.

Whispers in the streets had begun almost immediately. Some said his father had run off with another woman. Others said he had joined the Silver Spurs, thrown in with outlaws and thieves. Levi had laughed bitterly at first, trying to defend the man he’d known.

But the stares of townsfolk and the pointed questions were real.

For weeks, he had carried the weight of that departure. The shame and suspicion were like a stone pressed to his chest. He had learned to meet the cruel whispers with silence.

He hadn’t cried. He hadn’t shouted. He had buried the boy who believed in his father under a layer of duty and survival.

The memory faded, leaving only the ache and the shadow of what could have been.

His boots hit the uneven boards of the main street as he forced himself back to the present.

For some reason, he wondered about the young woman. The one whose painting had been nearly stolen… and the little girl clutching her valise near the stagecoach station. They’d been shaken, but safe.

Did they have family here? Were they staying long?

The image of the woman’s red hair lingered in his mind, burning against the dull backdrop of town. The weathered storefronts, with their sun-faded paint and boards bleached pale by dust and time, looked lifeless beneath the gray skies. It was as though the whole street had been drained of color. But her hair cut through the gloom like a flame that refused to be smothered.

He clenched his fists inside his gloves and adjusted his train of thought. The gang might be nearby. If Nico was right, Farlow could be the next mark.

Or worse… they could be lying in wait for someone else entirely.

He had learned long ago that waiting for the world to leave you alone was a luxury no one could afford.

Whatever else was coming, he would face it on his own terms. But even as he thought that, a part of him couldn’t help wondering about the woman and the little girl. About what danger might already be drawing close.

The ranch wasn’t far beyond the last edge of town. Each step brought him closer to his quiet, lonely fortress.

By the time he reached the ridge overlooking his homestead, the wind had picked up. The warm promise of hearth and solitude were waiting inside. He just had to light the fire.

Yet even as he descended toward the barn and stable, he couldn’t shake the image of that red-haired woman.

Levi shook his head once as though that alone might banish her from his thoughts. But he knew better. The past had a way of catching up, and the present had a way of demanding attention.

Chapter 3

Samantha pulled Franny’s small hand a little tighter as they walked down the main street. The wind carried a chill that bit at their cheeks, and the faint scent of woodsmoke and baked bread drifted from the mercantile.

It was difficult for her to balance their belongings and her paintings under her other arm. Still, she managed it somehow.

“Excuse me,” Samantha called to a passing man carrying a bundle of firewood. “Could you tell us how to get to the nearest boarding house?”

The man tipped his hat. “Right down this street, miss, then a left at the mercantile. Can’t miss it.”

“Thank you, sir,” Samantha said, smiling. She turned back to Franny.

“How long will we stay in this town?” Franny asked, her small voice hesitant.

“I’m not sure, Franny,” she replied, shrugging. “It depends… on a lot of things.”

“Will we be here for Christmas?”

She hesitated, thinking of the uncertain weeks ahead. “I… I hope so. I’ll do everything I can to make sure we are.”

Franny nodded solemnly, her wide eyes studying the dust swirling on the rooftops. “I hope so, too.”

As they walked, Samantha’s mind wandered to the man who had helped her with the painting. The one who had intervened when the thief tried to snatch it. She couldn’t get the image of him out of her mind. She wondered if she might run into him again somewhere in town, perhaps under different circumstances.

At last, they reached the boarding house. It was a modest two-story building with green shutters and a wreath of holly hanging crookedly on the door. Samantha knocked, and the door opened to reveal a woman with graying hair tucked neatly into a bun.

“Good afternoon,” Samantha said. “My name’s Samantha Lewis, and this is my sister Franny. We’re looking for a room to rent.”

The woman’s eyes softened as she looked at Franny.

“Come in, dears,” she said. “I’m Miss White. Let’s see what we can do for you.”

Once inside, Samantha and Miss White sat at the kitchen table with steaming mugs in front of them. Franny perched on the edge of a chair, watching the older woman with curiosity.

“I’d like to rent a room for three months,” Samantha said, thinking ahead. “We’ll pay in advance if that’s necessary.”

Miss White nodded, frowning slightly at the clock.

“Three months, you say?” she asked. “That’s quite a long stay for newcomers. But I can make it work. The room on the second floor is ready, and I’ll include linens. You’ll need to make yourselves at home, of course… and help around a bit.”

“That’s fine,” Samantha said. “We’ll do whatever’s needed.”

“Very well, then,” Miss White said, settling the agreement with a careful glance. “You’re all set. Christmas is a couple of weeks away, as it happens. We’ll have a small celebration here, if you’re inclined to join. Makes the house feel a little warmer, that does.”

There was a small spark of relief in Samantha’s chest. Perhaps they could find a measure of comfort here, even if the future remained uncertain. She squeezed Franny’s hand under the table and offered a reassuring smile.

Miss White showed them to a modest second-floor room with sloped ceilings and a single narrow window looking out over the street. The wallpaper was faded and the quilt was patched, but the space was clean. It was enough for Samantha.

Franny’s excitement had wilted into drowsiness by the time Samantha tucked her beneath the quilt. The little girl clutched her ragged doll close, eyelids fluttering.

“Sleep well, Franny,” Samantha whispered, brushing a strand of hair from her sister’s forehead.

“Will we stay here a long time?” came the faint murmur.

“As long as we need to,” Samantha said softly. “Now rest.”

She waited until Franny’s breathing slowed before she moved.

Quietly, she slid the small satchel from beneath the bed. With careful hands she withdrew the bundle of papers she had carried across miles. Wanted posters browned at the edges, folded and refolded too many times, and brittle newspaper clippings. It was all here.

She spread them across the washstand and the walls above it, pinning them in place with small tacks she kept tucked in her sewing kit. The faces of outlaws stared back at her in harsh black lines.

Reuben Slade, eyes like dark pits, and the other known members of the Silver Spur gang. Men whose names alone carried weight and fear in towns like Farlow.

And among them, the yellowed clipping that hurt most of all.

Local Woman Slain in Horrific Bank Robbery.

The words blurred for a moment, but she forced herself to keep looking. Forced herself to remember her mother’s fire, her determination, the way she had said that the truth mattered even if it cost her everything.

It had.

Samantha had been chasing shadows and rumors for ages. Always a half-step too late. Time and again, the gang had slipped away just before she could reach them. She’d arrived in towns they’d gutted only hours after they’d vanished into the hills.

The frustration was a steady ache in her bones. A reminder of her own helplessness.

She gripped the edge of the washstand until her knuckles turned white.

How many more nights like this? How many more places would she have to flee, dragging Franny along?

Her eyes shifted back to the bed, where Franny was curled small beneath the quilt with her little face soft and peaceful in the lamplight. It was all for her. Every mile, every sleepless night, every ounce of danger. She endured it for Franny. To give her sister the justice their mother never saw.

Loneliness crept in during these hours, gnawing at the edges of her resolve. It whispered that she was too young to carry so much weight, that perhaps she should share the burden. But she pushed that voice away with stubbornness.

She couldn’t trust anyone. Not truly.

Anyone could be working for the Silver Spurs. Anyone could be feeding information back to Reuben Slade. To let someone close would mean risking Franny, and that was a risk she would never take.

Samantha let out a slow breath, steadying herself.

Tomorrow, she would look for work. She needed money if they were to last here. Money for food, for clothes, for paint and canvases that might one day sell enough to keep them afloat. The boarding house fee would swallow much of what she had saved.

Carefully, she folded the clippings and posters again, aligning them with precision as though order could hold back despair. Then she blew out the lamp and slipped into bed beside her sister.

The darkness pressed close. But in that silence, Samantha made herself a promise.

She wouldn’t stop. Not until Reuben Slade and every last man in the Silver Spur gang answered for what they had done.

***

The next morning, Samantha walked Franny to the little red schoolhouse on the edge of town. It stood plain and sturdy against the gray sky. Franny clutched her hand tightly, her excitement showing in quick steps and wide eyes. At the doorway, Samantha greeted the schoolmistress, introducing her sister. There were no forms or fuss. Just a promise that the child would attend.

“Have a good day, Samantha,” Franny said, her voice bright with excitement and a hint of nerves.

“You too, sweetheart,” she replied before bending down and kissing her forehead.

Her lips lingered a moment, breathing in the smell of her sister’s clean hair, before she let go. Watching her join a small circle of children made Samantha’s chest ache. Pride warred with unease. It wasn’t easy to let Franny out of her sight. Not when the world had already stolen so much from them.

But this was what her sister needed. A sliver of normal, a taste of safety.

When the door shut behind Franny, Samantha adjusted the satchel tucked under her arm and turned back toward town. Work wouldn’t come knocking. She needed to go out and claim it, the same way she had claimed everything else for their survival.

The mercantile’s bell jingled overhead as she stepped inside. Warmth wrapped around her, along with the mingled scent of flour, cinnamon, and lamp oil. Bolts of cloth, barrels of nails, and shelves of canned preserves lined the room in neat rows.

Behind the counter, a woman with kind eyes and graying hair busied herself arranging fabric.

“Good morning,” Samantha said, smoothing her skirt and steadying her voice. “I was wondering… are you hiring? I’m looking for work.”

The woman looked up, her face softening at once.

“Well, now that’s a bit of good fortune,” she replied. “With the market coming up and Christmas not far off, I’ve been stretched thinner than I’d like. You’d be helping me and my Marian a great deal.”

Relief loosened Samantha’s shoulders, and she exhaled slowly. For a heartbeat she’d feared another polite refusal, another door shut.

“I’d be grateful for the chance,” Samantha said. “I can work mornings and early afternoons, while my sister is at school.”

“That would suit just fine,” the woman replied, smiling warmly. “Seven-thirty to noon each day, if that works for you. We’ll start you tomorrow. My name’s Mrs. Forthright.”

“Samantha,” she answered quickly, then smiled. “It’s a pleasure, Mrs. Forthright.”

At that moment, a girl about Samantha’s age stepped through the back door, balancing a basket of canned goods on her hip. Her light brown hair was neatly tied back, her blue dress dusted faintly with flour.

“This is my daughter, Marian,” Mrs. Forthright said, gesturing. “Marian, this is Samantha. She’ll be helping us here at the shop.”

Marian shifted the basket to the counter and offered a friendly smile. “I-It’s good to meet you. We can always use an extra p-pair of hands.”

The stutter was barely noticeable. It was so slight that Samantha had to wonder if she had imagined it in the first place.

“And I’m glad to be here,” Samantha said. “Do you need any help right now?”

They worked side by side for a while, Samantha finding it necessary to show her work ethic. After all, there was no telling how long this job would last.

The two girls arranged shelves and checked stock. Marian hummed under her breath as she worked. Her laughter was soft and genuine, and it came easily when she told little stories about the bustle of the town preparing for Christmas. Samantha found herself relaxing, grateful for the distraction. Perhaps she could pretend this was an ordinary day in an ordinary life for a little while.

But then Marian’s voice dropped, her tone shifting.

“You ought to be careful walking home in the evenings,” she said. “A young couple was h-held up just yesterday… t-took their money and left them bruised. Folks say it was the Silver Spur g-gang.”

Samantha’s fingers froze against a stack of folded cloth. Her heart jolted, then thudded harder.

The Silver Spurs.

She kept her expression composed, but inside a storm churned. After chasing rumors for so long across dusty trails and forgotten towns, there it was.

Their name whispered in the open. Too close. Always too close.

“Are you certain?” she asked lightly, as though merely curious.

Marian nodded, her brow furrowing. “Sheriff Hullberry thinks they’re camped somewhere near town. People are worried they’ll try something bigger soon.”

Samantha’s throat tightened. The Silver Spur gang wasn’t just a rumor to her. They were the shadow that had stolen her mother, the nightmare that had lingered at the edges of every choice she’d made since.

How many times had she thought she was close, only to have them vanish again, leaving nothing but ashes in their wake?

She forced herself to nod calmly, folding her hands to steady them.

“I’ll be careful,” she murmured.

But inwardly, her resolve sharpened to steel. If the whispers were true, then perhaps fate had finally stopped leading her in circles. Perhaps this town wasn’t just a temporary stop for her and Franny.

Perhaps it was where the reckoning would begin.