Western Kisses – Old West Christmas Romances (Boxed Set) by Carré White

hairs on the back of Rolf’s neck stood up. He lurched to his feet, stalked to the door and began a long, low, rumbling growl.
    “Rolf? Come over here boy, just a coyote.”
    He sunk low on his forelegs. The dog’s growl went high-pitched for a second before he whined then started barking.
    “Rolf! Stop it! Calm down! No!”
    The faithful old dog just refused to be comforted though. Circling back and forth in front of the door, he snapped at the air, recoiled, and then unleashed another torrent of barks that shook Lottie to her core. Suddenly, she was happy she’d taken the time to load her pa’s shotgun.
    Pulling it down, carefully, from the pins that held it above the wash basin Lottie leveled the two, short-cut barrels at the door and advanced.
    “Stay back, Rolf,” she commanded, taking a deep breath through her nose and steeled her nerves for whatever was to come.
    Shuffling sounds perked her ears, and sent Rolf into another wild tirade of barking that made Lottie’s hands shake. “Rolf!” she snapped. “Enough!”
    The dog whined and slunk backwards from the door, apparently taking her order, but still on edge. From where he stood behind Lottie’s legs, he barked again but with less conviction.
    Something jingled.
    “Huh?” Lottie swung the gun in a wide arc around the inside of the house, expecting someone to have snuck in the back way somehow without her noticing, but no one jumped out at her.
    There it was again – something jingling, scraping against the wood of the porch.
    Spurs? But spurs go on boots and boots go on feet and those are attached to –
    “Hello there?” Two quick, loud knocks interrupted her thoughts. “Anybody home?”
    Lottie froze. She cocked both hammers and slowly edged toward the door.
    I knew it. I just knew it. I told him to stay. I just knew this would be the time someone shows up and kidnaps me or kills me and steals the chickens or...
    The barrels struck the door with a thunk.
    “Who is it?” she called in a cautious, guarded voice. She cleared her throat to make sure it didn’t waiver should she have to speak again.
    “Uh, pardon? Hell of a wind out here. This is the only house I’ve seen with a lantern on,” the man’s voice stopped for a moment.
    Lottie shot a glance at the lamp by which she’d been reading. “Damn,” she cursed under her breath. “Why’d I have to—”
    “Hello? How do in there,” he called again.
    “I asked after who had come to my door,” Lottie said, louder this time.
    “Oh, uh, right, name’s Colton Howe.”
    “You’re no soldier are you?” She didn’t know why she asked that, but it seemed appropriate. And anyway, her father had warned her about soldiers and their appetites.
    “Uh, no ma’am, no I’m not. I’m a cattleman from down the panhandle some. I’m making my way up north, but the wind is something fierce and I’m a bit worried about,” he trailed off for a second. Something leaned against the door and the man outside sighed deeply. “I’m terribly sorry to bother you, especially at such an hour, but if there’s any way I could come in, I’d be much obliged. And if I could quarter my horse somewhere, that’d be just a treat.”
    Lottie leaned over and unlatched the door. His voice sounded honest enough, and she had a gun leveled at the door for insurance of his politeness. The chances of someone dodging a double load of buckshot were slim, even if it did launch her backwards when she shot the thing.
    “Thank you ma’am, I am much obli—”
    The gun prodded his chest. “How do I know you ain’t got any funny ideas?”
    “I suppose you don’t,” he said. He gave her a devilish grin at the same time as he stuck his hands on the air.
    Colton had two or three days’ worth of stubble growth, and his hat was pushed back on his head to reveal a pair of striking green eyes, and a shock of dark hair brushed off his forehead. Lottie stared at him for a moment, searching for some sign of his intentions, but