Historical Fiction

A Cheyenne Christmas by Caroline Lee

By Caroline Lee

Cheyenne, Wyoming Territory December, 1875 Ash Barker and his brother had on the subject of equipped their ranch right into a good fortune whilst he went and busted his arm attempting to tame a very nasty mustang. Now they’re headed into Cheyenne’s harsh wintry weather with fewer fingers, and a really genuine probability of failure. they wish somebody else—anyone else—out there with them, to make it via this season. Molly Murray’s dream of possessing her personal bakery went up in flames with the nice Chicago fireplace. She’s been aiding her more youthful sisters for the final 4 years, and it sort of feels just like the Cheyenne desolate tract will be her final likelihood to provide all of them a true domestic. yet not anyone will lease her, till she meets the intimidatingly masculine, particularly good-looking, and extremely determined Ash Barker. Can their detailed households mix in time to rejoice their first actual Cheyenne Christmas?

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They heard the sound of engines and backed away into a thicket and lay flat. They carried automatic guns and about their waists a string of grenades, objects like gourds with long necks. Behind them came Panzerfaust teams and officers, then medical-aid men, all precisely spaced. But it wasn’t; it was just one Panzer Grenadier Battalion, and the Germans were sending in four whole divisions of them, about sixty thousand men; also four Wehrmacht Panzer Divisions, that is, of the regular Army, and four SS Panzer Divisions, who were Hitler’s own chosen troops, his private army, as you might say, trained from childhood to be cruel and deadly killers.

And if the Americans in Bastogne were forced to surrender—something which would surely happen if help did not come soon—the Germans would know about him and would learn quickly that he was one of the most wanted of enemies. Only when Himmler had found that Lanny was completely loyal to Hitler had he set out to poison the Führer’s mind against him. The worshipful Heinrich was, of course, horrified by this idea and assured Lanny solemnly that it couldn’t possibly be true. Lanny insisted that he had come upon convincing evidence.

It wasn’t likely that anybody was cutting firewood—unless it was in a well-guarded strong-post. The enemy wasn’t blocking roads, he was using them, while the GIs were trying desperately to delay him. There had been fighting here, a lot of it; there was blood on the snow, the ground had been trampled, and branches of trees shot away and scattered. The face had been shot away, a terrible sight; the knees were bent and frozen stiff as rocks. They took the man’s belongings and his dogtag, the little identification disk he wore about his neck.

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