Snowflakes and Stetsons: The Cowboy's Christmas Miracle\Christmas at Cahill Crossing\A Magical Gift at Christmas

Snowflakes and Stetsons: The Cowboy's Christmas Miracle\Christmas at Cahill Crossing\A Magical Gift at Christmas

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by Jillian Hart, Carol Finch, Cheryl St. John

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The Cowboy's Christmas Miracle by Jillian Hart

Wrongly imprisoned, Caleb McGraw is finally free—but the bitterness he holds still makes him feel trapped. Until he sees the beautiful Caroline holding a little boy with eyes just like his own. Discovering his long-lost son is just the start of Caleb's Christmas


The Cowboy's Christmas Miracle by Jillian Hart

Wrongly imprisoned, Caleb McGraw is finally free—but the bitterness he holds still makes him feel trapped. Until he sees the beautiful Caroline holding a little boy with eyes just like his own. Discovering his long-lost son is just the start of Caleb's Christmas miracles!

Christmas at Cahill Crossing by Carol Finch

One Christmas night, outcast Lucas Burnett finds a silver-haired angel buried in the snow. But Rosalie Greer is no pale spirit—she's a fiery, independent woman, as wild as the mustangs Lucas breeds. Can she be the one to finally thaw Lucas's frozen heart?

A Magical Gift at Christmas by Cheryl St.John

Meredith has always dreamed of a grand life but, stranded on a train in heavy snowfall with two young stowaways, she unexpectedly finds she has everything she needs with just one strong man to protect her....

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Cahill Cowboys , #1059
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Montana Territory, December 16, 1883

Cold rain fell from a steel-gray sky as Caleb McGraw swept off his battered, wide-brimmed hat. A symphony of raindrops pattered on decaying leaves and plopped on fallow grasses, his only company as he approached the simple wooden cross at the head of the grave. Someone had etched the name Alma Kent into the wood. His knees buckled but he kept on walking until his boots reached the faint line that marked where the ground had once been disturbed. Sadness chilled him like the gust of the icy wind.

Hard to believe she was gone. Truth was, he'd forgotten what she looked like. The detail of the woman's face he'd once loved had faded, leaving only a dim memory of a woman with apple cheeks and brown curls. Alma had recently died but he'd been dead to her the moment a territorial marshal had dragged him off to prison. Rage still burned in his chest at the old injustice but he'd learned the hard way fury did a man no good. Life was full of unfairness and betrayal and loss. Especially loss. He bowed his head, wishing he had flowers to put on her grave.

"Alma don't get visitors." A grizzled, rough voice rang above the rhythmic raindrops and the whir of the December wind. "As far as I know, you'd be the first."

"How long exactly has she been gone?" He rose from his knees with solemn resignation. Best to brace himself for whatever attitude or judgment would be coming his way. He'd gotten used to it the past ten days since he'd been released from prison. He never should have come home.

But he didn't know the old man who limped over. Gnarled by arthritis, the cemetery caretaker swiped rain off his brow with his patched coat sleeve. "It's been nigh on four months, maybe more."

No one had written him. No one had told him. His only cousin had disowned him, slamming the door in his face when he'd knocked. Old friends had turned from him on the street, so they hadn't been inclined to give him the latest news. But Alma's grandmother could have told him. When he'd walked into her parlor, the woman could have said more than the simple fact her granddaughter had passed away. The lash of the grandmother's anger still stung like a whip mark.

It's your fault, Caleb McGraw, you lowlife. Your fault and none other's. You sentenced my girl to shame.

He didn't know what that meant. Perhaps Alma had felt humiliated for having once accepted a convict's marriage proposal.

"Such a pity. She was young. Barely twenty-four years old." The man limped closer, eager to talk. "How did you know the young lady?"

"We grew up together. I'm back home visiting." That was true enough. His hopes of finding remnants of his old life had died one by one. He couldn't stay in Blue Grass. He would be moving on before nightfall. He had no notion where.

"Then you musta jest heard the news of her passing. I'm awful sorry." The old man's mouth and unkempt white beard wobbled as if with sorrow. "It's a shame what happened to her. I hear some fella proposed to her but got her into trouble afore the wedding rolled around."

"Into trouble?" He clamped his back molars down hard. That wasn't right, that wasn't the way events had unfolded. He had been arrested, not Alma.

"The fella got hisself thrown in jail, the lowlife. Left her in a family way." The man shook his head as if it were the worst shame he'd heard of.

A family way? The air whooshed out of his lungs and his heart stalled in his chest. Ice spilled into his veins as he took in those words. A family way. She'd been pregnant? Just one time and she'd conceived their child?

"Cute little young'un, too." Sadness softened the judgment in the old man's words. "Jest a true shame."

He died a little as he glanced at the neighboring graves. "Did the child pass away of diphtheria, too?"

The rain drummed harder, driven by a merciless wind. He saw a cross, a miniature version of the one bearing Alma's name. He broke inside, wondering if that was their child. Why hadn't Alma written to tell him? It would have taken one letter, one sentence, just a few words to let him know. The shock brought him to his knees. He hit the ground hard enough to rattle his bones.

"Was a near thing, but the little one made it." The caretaker squinted with an expression that was half worry, half dread. "You ain't havin' some sort of spell, are you, young man? I kin fetch the doc."

"No, I just didn't know." A little one. A child who still lived. He felt hollowed out, empty. Whatever softness lived within him had died years ago. His heart, his soul, that essence that had made him who he was had been stripped away during seven long years of hard labor and harder treatment. "Where is the child now?"

"He's off with some friend of the family."


"The wife might know. She's a gossipy sort." The old man smiled and grabbed hold of Caleb's elbow. "My cottage is over yonder. A shot of whiskey ought to put the starch back in yer knees."

It would take an entire bottle but Caleb bit his lip, climbed to his feet and took one last look at Alma's grave. Had she been too ashamed of him to tell him about their baby? Or too angry? He would never know.

You ruined your life for good, Caleb. Worse, he'd tarnished Alma's. Her grandmother's words made sense. She would have been unmarriageable and in a small town like this, she would have been all but shunned. He felt sick and broken to the core. Nothing he could ever do would erase the harm caused by one impulsive act. As cold inside as the winter rain, he followed the caretaker around graves and crumbling crosses. He thought of the harm he'd done, intentionally or not.

The heartless beat of the rain intensified, striking the earth with a vengeance, striking him. He had a child. A son. Caleb digested that, swallowing hard past the painful lump bunching in his throat. A child, come hell or high water, he intended to see.

Caroline Dreyer cracked an egg on the bowl's rim and carefully broke the shell. Yoke and whites cascaded onto the flour mixture with a plop. Her attention wasn't on her baking on this last Sunday afternoon before Christmas but on the boy standing at the front window. His hands gripped the sill, dark hair tousled, cowlick sticking straight up. Sorrow radiated from the child with the same strength of grief alive in her heart. Both her and the boy were mourning different loves and different lives lost.

The image of a spacious kitchen with two large windows, a laughing husband and a bubbly baby flashed unbidden into her mind, a picture too painful to look at. Sorrow lashed her and she pressed the images down until they were nothing but darkness. Best to stay in the here and now. Looking back or ahead was unbearable, but she'd been able to survive four years now by taking one moment at a time.

"It's starting to snow." Fat white flakes fell in a straight descent in front of the windows where a few moments ago it had been the dreary gray streaks of rain. "Did you want to bundle up and play outside?"

No answer. Thomas shrugged his shoulders. Was the child remembering the way his life used to be? Knowing how it felt to wish for the past, she wiped her fingers on a towel, abandoned her bowl on the table and circled around the sofa. Heat from the stone fireplace chased away the chill in the air.

The flames crackled merrily in the hearth, serenading her as she knelt down beside the boy. At this lower vantage, the snow looked magical tumbling from sky to earth like promises in a fairy tale. She wished a little of that magic could touch the sad little boy she'd tried so hard to reach, although it was hard not to look at the child and remember her son. Had Mathias lived, he would have been six years old, too.

"When I was a girl, we would try to catch snowflakes on our tongues. The first snowfall of the year always tasted best." She smiled at the memory of three dozen girls laughing and rushing to slip into their wraps and squeeze out the doorway into the yard. Growing up in an orphanage had been hard, but they had been a family of sorts and Alma Kent had been her sister not by any blood tie but by bonds too powerful to break. That was why she'd honored the wishes in Alma's letter and taken the child.

Thomas, so still, so small, hadn't moved a muscle. She could feel him straining to listen, perhaps hoping for a story of his mother. She knew what it was like to yearn after those who were lost, so she gave him what comfort she could.

"Your mama had a bright red knit hat and scarf and she used to put her arms straight out, tilt her head back and twirl round and round in the falling snow. Pure white flakes would shower all over her and she would try to catch them with her tongue. She caught the most of any of us." Almost twenty years ago, the image came as bright and clear as if it had happened yesterday. The long ago love she felt for her honorary sister burned in memory. "I suppose boys don't do things like that, but judging by the rate the snow is falling there's enough to make snowballs to throw. Soon, there will be enough for a snowman."

"Okay." The boy remained statue still, wrapped in sadness. Was he remembering last Christmas season with his ma and his great-grandmother? There was nothing like the cozy feeing of being loved and wanted. She wished with every fiber of her being she could give him the same security. She wanted to reach out but she could not cross the void her heart had become.

The biscuit batter needed mixing, so she left the boy to watch the magical white flakes swish and swirl as a light wind blew in. Her shoes made an echo through the small log cabin.

"Aunt Caroline?" Thomas's solemn voice drew her back. "What is that man doing with our horse?"

"What man?" She squinted through the snow, following the direction of Thomas's finger. A man's shadow broke out of the haze near her small stable, leading a horse by the reins. Her horse! Kringle shook his head, trying to break free and stomped a front hoof. The gelding didn't like strangers.

Alarm shot through her. She grabbed a chair, leaped onto it and seized the old rifle from the pegs above the door.

"Stay inside. Do you understand me?" She slid a cartridge into the chamber and threw the bolt. "I need your promise, Thomas."

Owl-eyed, the boy nodded as he trembled slightly. "Will you come back?"

"It will be all right." She whipped open the sagging door and stalked out into the bitter cold. Her breath rose in great puffs as she raised the gun and lined up the notch in the barrel with the man wrestling her disgruntled gelding.

"You had best walk away from that horse, mister." Fear made her voice shivery, betraying her. Had the ruffian heard it?

"I don't take orders from a woman." The horse thief spit out a stream of tobacco juice.

"I'm an armed woman," she corrected. "I'll shoot if I have to." She squared her shoulders. "Back away from my gelding."

"Fat chance. You won't do it, lady. A frilly thing like you don't have what it takes to kill a man." Disdain curled his upper lip as he mounted up. "Put the gun down. Just go back to your baking."

How had he known what she'd been doing? A shiver quaked through her. It radiated outward until her teeth chattered. The gun began to shake, too. He'd been spying on them? What if he'd wanted more than the horse?

Just do it, Caroline. Stop him. Take a breath and pull the trigger. She willed her arms to stop shaking, planted her feet. But the storm closed in like a veil between her and her target. He became a shadow that faded away, lost in the white.

"I'd do what the lady says." A different voice boomed like winter thunder through the snow. Threat rang in that deep baritone along with a power that made Caroline shake again. Her gun slipped down, nose first, to rest on the snowy porch.

What was happening? She couldn't see anything. Footsteps crunched in the snow. She heard a faint scuffle. Kringle's neigh. Something fell to the ground in front of the steps, a man's shadowed form. It was the horse thief trussed up like a captured pig.

"Go on inside, ma'am. I'll stable your horse."

The white-out conditions stole her rescuer from view. Who was he and where had he come from? She thought of her neighbors, soft spoken men and middle aged. This stranger's voice rang with the force of a man in his prime. She batted snowflakes from her face and eyelashes. "Excuse me, but do I know you?"

"No. I'm just someone passing through."

"Then I'm doubly grateful. It's not every stranger who will help another stranger in need."

"It was the decent thing to do. That's all." He knocked snow off his hat, fighting the instinct to step away from the woman. Was this the right house?

It had to be. When he'd asked a clerk when he'd first ridden into the little town of Moose if she knew Caroline Dreyer, the kindly lady had given him detailed directions. This was the fifth home south of town, but this woman wore no wedding band. No sign of a husband anywhere. Alma wouldn't have given their son to an unmarried woman, would she?

Meet the Author

Jillian Hart grew up on the original homestead where her family still lives, went to high school where Twin Peaks was filmed, earned an English degree, and has travelled extensively. When Jillian’s not writing her stories, she reads, stops for café mochas, and hikes through the pine forests near her home in Washington State.

Connie Feddersen also writes under four pseudonyms--Carol Finch,  Gina Robins, Debra Falcon and Connie Drake. She has penned one hundred novels in several genres. A published author for almost thirty years, Connie has more than ten million copies of her books in print and her books have been translated into fifteen languages. In her spare time she likes to garden, do carpentry projects, and help her husband with farming chores and cattle roundups on their 600-acre ranch.

Cheryl's first book, RAIN SHADOW was nominated for RWA’s RITA for Best First Book, by Romantic Times for Best Western Historical, and by Affaire de Coeur readers as Best American Historical Romance. Since then her stories have continued to receive awards and high acclaim. In describing her stories of second chances and redemption, readers and reviewers use words like, “emotional punch, hometown feel, core values, believable characters and real life situations.

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Snowflakes and Stetsons 4.4 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 14 reviews.
judiOH More than 1 year ago
this story deals with cahill crossing, but not the siblings that are in the next four books. however, lucas and rosalie are featured in those books, so this is the beginning sort of. lucas finds rosalie half frozen in a snowdrift, takes her home to help her heal. he wants nothing to do with her however, because he is a loner. being comanche makes him an outcast in society. rosalie means to change that. does rosalie succeed? do rosalie and lucas become more than friends? do the townspeople accept lucas? gotta read this one to find out. a great period romance.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Like all compilations, some are better than others. Of course, the nice thing about compilations is the exposure to other writers. I bought this book because I adore Jillian Hart. But I thoroughly enjoyed the Carol Finch story best. I look forward to reading more works by her.
Jutzie More than 1 year ago
Snowflakes and Stetsons The Cowboy's Christmas Miracle By Jillian Hart Caleb McGraw has just been released from the Territory prison. He served seven years for a crime he did not commit. He was shunned by the town's people and found out his fiance has died and that he has a son. This new information brings Caleb to Moose, Montana and to Caroline Dreyer's home. And face to face with his six year old son, Thomas. A man was stealing Kringle, her horse. Caroline runs outside with her gun but don't have the courage to shoot and the snow is coming down too heavy to see. Out of nowhere comes a new voice and before she knows it the horse thief is tied up. Her handsome hero comes into view and everything changes. Caroline figures out Caleb is Thomas's father and she wants him to stay, at least for Christmas. The sullen boy is cheerful and the season is the best since losing her husband and son four years ago. When Caroline finds out the Caleb's past, will she see the man he is accused of being or what her heart knows is the truth? I was so excited to see the McKaslin's again. Mac is the sheriff of Moose and his folks own the bakery, where Caroline works. We met these folks in A Season of the Heart: Rocky Mountain Christmas. Another excellent story! Christmas at Cahill Crossing by Carol Finch Lucas Burnett is an outcast in society. His mixed blood was good enough to help settle the area and to be a Texas Ranger but he is not accepted socially. And it's fine by him to stay on his ranch and raise his special breed of horses. He has his appaloosa, Drizzle and his dog, Dog. And then an angel appears in his life. Rosalie Greer is known in town as a dressmaker. No one knows she is an heiress from the East. She goes out to get her special gifts for Christmas and on the way home a Texas blizzard hits and when the horses get skittish the wagon ends up in the ditch. Rosa is not dressed for the cold. Lucas and Dog hear some odd noises and skittish horses. He wants to ignore it but when the wolves get louder and horses more upset he sets out to help. He finds Rosa near death and brings her to his cabin. After leaving Lucas, Rosa is determined to get him involved in town. She invites him to the Christmas festivities and he comes. He even enjoys meeting his neighbor, Quin Cahill. In November The Lone Rancher will be released. This is Quin's story and Rosa's cousin from the East, Adrianna. **Sexual situations A Magical Gift At Christmas by Cheryl St. John U.S. Marshal Jonah Cavanaugh is on the train to Denver. Three other Marshal's are in other cars. Jonah has his eyes on the man who will be trying to steal the gold shipment. He has to do something before they reach the rest of Bloom's gang. Jonah decides he'll disconnect the mail car from the train. Little does he know what that decision will cost him when all is said and done. Meredith Abbott is riding in her father's Pullman car. Hayden & Jillian are stowed away in the baggage car. Jonah now has three more lives in his hands. He's surprised to find that Ms. Abbott does all she is told without a case of the vapors. She is tough, brave and beautiful. For a socialite she truly surprises him. Meredith has always done what others expected. She was heading to Denver to marry a man her father wanted her to marry. Jonah actually asked her what she wanted to do and let her make up her own mind. She loved the freedom she had while they were waiting for help to come. Altho
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Cheryl St.John's story, "A Magical Gift at Christmas" is heart-touching. The characters are so courageous and heroic that I wanted to spend Christmas with them. As always, St.John paints the details of the setting so the reader feels like she's there, in the Rockies, in 1865. Sweet story.
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Three great stories by three very good story tellers. I love all three authors and have many of their books. So, it was fun to have all of them in one book to read. The stories were sweet and tender. This is a gem!
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