All a Cowboy Wants for Christmas. Judith Stacy

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      “Of course, Malcolm’s health is our first concern,” Aunt Viola said. “But with him injured so severely, and with no way of knowing when—or if—he’ll recover, I don’t see how the Barrett family will return to Harmony anytime soon. And without the Barrett Family Singers, our Christmas festival will be a disaster.”

      Chapter Seven

      “Ladies?” Mrs. Tuttle clapped her hands together. “Your attention?”

      The women gathered in the parlor of the mayor’s wife quieted. Marlee, squeezed between her cousins on the settee, felt the tension in the room.

      “Is there anything new to report on his condition?” Mrs. Tuttle asked.

      Audrey shook her head. “Still the same.”

      Several days had passed since the entire Barrett family boarded a train for Colorado. Chord had sent telegrams but they all gave the same report. Malcolm was alive but clinging to life.

      “As you all know, canceling the Barretts’ performances at our festival will have a devastating effect on its success,” Mrs. Tuttle said.

      A grumble went through the room. Marlee had heard many of the same comments at the store between Aunt Viola and Uncle Willard. Everyone in Harmony was worried about their financial investment in the festival.

      “This is awful,” Becky murmured. “Just awful.”

      “Don’t get upset,” Marlee whispered. “Not yet anyway.”

      “What if Mama and Papa lose their store?” Becky said. “What if—”

      “Calm down,” Marlee told her quietly.

      “I have good news,” Mrs. Tuttle said. “I’ve located another musical group. The Laughlin Singers are very well thought of, have toured extensively, and come highly recommended. And they are willing to come to Harmony on this short notice and perform in place of the Barrett family.”

      A round of applause went through the room. Excited chatter broke out.

      “However,” Mrs. Tuttle said, “unlike the Barretts the Laughlins will not perform free of charge. They expect to be paid—and paid well.”

      A groan swept through the crowd.

      Becky covered her face with her palms and shook her head. “We’re going to lose everything. Papa might be so upset he’ll—die!”

      “Oh, Becky,” Audrey snapped. “Would you just hush up?”

      Becky turned tear-filled eyes to her sister and gulped hard.

      Marlee gave her an encouraging smile. “Something can be done.”

      “Do you think so?” she asked, wiping her eyes.

      “Something can always be done,” Marlee assured her.

      “How much money does this Laughlin bunch want?” Harriet demanded.

      “Do we have any money to pay them?” Melva called.

      “I don’t need to remind you that the town council wasn’t in favor of this festival to begin with. So no money will be coming from them,” Mrs. Tuttle said.

      Becky groaned and shook her head fitfully. “Oh, I just know something terrible is going to happen to Papa. I just know it.”

      “We’ll have to ask for donations,” Mrs. Tuttle said.

      “From who?” someone called. “Every merchant and businessman in town has already stretched themselves thin getting ready for the festival.”

      “Not every businessman,” Mrs. Tuttle said. “Not Carson Tate.”

      Marlee gasped. Carson was reportedly the richest man in Harmony, and he hadn’t donated to the Christmas festival?

      “Marlee can do it!” Becky sprang from her seat. “Marlee can get him to donate lots of money! She did charity work back in Philadelphia, remember?”

      Marlee felt every gaze in the room bore into her.

      Mrs. Tuttle said to Marlee, “The town, the merchants, the families who are coming here expecting a joyous Christmas celebration—a great deal is at stake.”

      Warmth grew inside Marlee. How good it felt to be wanted, needed, especially for something so important. No one—certainly not Mrs. Montgomery—had ever thought so highly as to assign her such an important task or have faith that she could accomplish it.

      She knew she could get Carson to donate the money. She’d seen Mrs. Montgomery wheedle funds from the most reluctant benefactors. Not that she’d need any such tactics on Carson. Surely he simply hadn’t known about the festival during its planning stage.

      “I should warn you that Mr. Tate might not be anxious to make a donation,” Mrs. Tuttle said.

      Marlee doubted that were true. Everyone said he was terribly busy, always rushing about, so he probably hadn’t had the opportunity to make a donation. The festival was a very worthy cause, so all she had to do was ask and he would give generously.

      “I feel confident I can handle it,” Marlee said.

      Mrs. Tuttle didn’t seem convinced. “You’re quite certain?”

      Marlee rose and faced the women. “Absolutely,” she declared.

      “Very well, then,” Mrs. Tuttle said. “The Christmas festival will proceed.”

      Applause broke out. Women swarmed around Marlee, thanking her, offering words of encouragement and praise.

      Contentment and joy settled around Marlee’s heart. What a marvelous feeling. How wonderful to be a part of something, to feel wanted and needed.

      Maybe she’d stay.

      The idea flew into Marlee’s head as she basked in the glow of the gratitude that filled the room. Maybe she’d stay in Harmony—permanently. She could make it her home, never again to return to the tiny, impersonal room she lived in under Mrs. Montgomery’s roof. She could stay here among family and friends—people who wanted her around, who made her feel as if she belonged.

      Perhaps she could even convince her mother to come live in Harmony.

      Love and longing filled Marlee anew. What a lovely—perfect—life she would have. All she had to do was convince Carson Tate to donate money for the Christmas festival.

      How difficult could that be?

      Mrs. Montgomery used to say that sweetening the pot was a good way to snare reluctant donors, Marlee recalled as she left the Harmony General Store with her aunt’s market basket looped over her arm. The afternoon was cold, the sky overhead gray, but Marlee felt warm inside and anxious to complete this most important of tasks.

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