A High-Country Christmas, page 10
From the loft, Seth watched Abigale hand something to his pa and then step back clutching that little bag of hers. He’d bet his loaded pitchfork she had a scheme going.
When Pa leaned down and kissed his mother, Seth chuckled. He’d also bet that Abigale was blushing like a summer rose.
He pitched the hay over the edge of the loft into a wheelbarrow below, more than a little pleased that he’d finished patching Abigale’s barn. The place needed a lot more work with Pop unable to carry the load the last couple of years. Seth wondered what Abigale planned to do come spring. All her stock had been sold off, other than what he’d driven home.
Most folks thought she’d sell out, and he’d been one of those folks until he’d heard otherwise. His world had brightened considerably because he knew there was more to Abigale Millerton’s determination than mere talk, but he doubted she had money to start another herd. She couldn’t tend her hayfields alone, and she’d need a crew to harvest her timber once they figured out what to do with Blackwell.
He snorted. Blackwell’s wife. Sounded like the whole family was in on the pilfering, and Abigale couldn’t take them on single-handedly. He intended to help whether she wanted him to or not, but it’d sure be a lot easier if she did. And he planned to do whatever it took to change her mind in the next couple of weeks.
That evening after supper, Emmy cajoled him into stringing popcorn and dried chokecherries. His ma and Abigale busied themselves making gingerbread men and sugar cookies for tree ornaments, and Pa cleaned a couple of rifles.
While Seth poked his fingers full of holes, the sweet smell of ginger and sugar churned up memories from his childhood. How he’d looked forward to Christmas Eve and what his ma had tucked into the tree for him. That particular anticipation had faded as he’d grown, and he figured he enjoyed her special baking more than anything else. Emmy kept them all on their toes with her wheedling and hinting at what she hoped for in her stocking. He’d long ago given up hanging a sock from the mantel. That was for youngsters.
Besides, what he wanted for Christmas wouldn’t fit in a sock.
Well, one foot would.
He felt a smile tug his mouth as he recalled the stormy night he’d pulled wool socks onto Abigale’s alabaster feet. He glanced into the kitchen and caught her watching him. She quickly looked back to her cutting board, but he’d seen something in her eye that made him shake on the inside.
Did she have feelings for him like he did for her?
“I heard some interesting news in town today.” Pa wiped the barrel of his Winchester, deliberately stretching everyone’s curiosity with a long silence, as was his custom.
“And?” Emmy hadn’t learned to wait him out.
Pa stalled a minute more, then aimed the rifle up the staircase, thumbing an imaginary speck of dust off the sights.
“Don’t be spreading gossip, Ben.” Ma rolled her pin over a lump of cookie dough.
“Wouldn’t dream of it, dear.” He lowered the gun and, with a different rag, polished the wooden stock. “Briggs said Blackwell’s son came in the mercantile last weekend and bought two axes.”
“Ben.” Ma’s tone sharpened.
“Said the young man was a little shook up.”
“Not the best topic for young ears, Ben.”
Emmy rolled her eyes.
Pa flicked a glance at Seth. “Told Briggs someone had taken potshots at him in the woods.”
A cookie sheet clattered to the kitchen floor and everyone jumped.
“Ow!” Seth jerked his hand and stuck the offended finger in his mouth.
“If you’d pay attention to what you’re doing and stop watching Abigale, you wouldn’t be so bloody.” Emmy didn’t duck because she knew he wouldn’t box her ears in front of their pa.
“I’m so sorry.” Abigale knelt to clean up the mess.
“Why don’t you take a break while I salvage these fellas. A missing arm or two never hurt any gingerbread man I ever met.”
Leave it to Ma to try to lighten the atmosphere, but this time it didn’t work. Seth’s steam was rising as fast as the blood beading on his finger.
“Thank you, Ida. I believe I’ll go look in on Chester at the barn. See how he’s doing.” Abigale hung her apron over a chair and slid into Pop’s old coat.
Seth laid his string of corn aside and went for his boots. “I’ll go with you.”
Abigale’s phony smile might have fooled everyone else, but it didn’t fool him.
“Oh, that won’t be necessary. I’m only going to the barn. And it’s not snowing.”
“I wanna go—”
Pa jabbed Emmy in the arm and shook his head. She sulled up and went back to sewing corn on thread, but not before sticking her tongue out at Seth.
CHAPTER 14
Seth hoofed it to the barn in short order, the rope path melted down to mud in the last two days. He’d run out without a lantern—so had Abigale—but a half moon threw light on the yard, and he knew the inside of the barn like he knew the inside of his boot with his eyes closed. He grabbed a lantern there and soon had it lighting the alleyway and box stalls. One stood open.
Abigale sat beside Chester, knees to her chest, the dog’s shaggy tail sweeping the straw. The ranch dogs looked up at Seth’s arrival, drawing Abigale’s attention as well.
He could see her stiffen.
How could he be so churned up inside over a gal who made him crazy with her bull-headed, independent, do-as-she-pleased ways?
He hung the lantern on a nail and stepped into the stall. “You told me you didn’t go up there to—”
“I don’t answer to you, Seth Holt.”
“Both names, is it now? Next thing I know, you’ll be calling me Mr. Holt.” This wasn’t going well, but hang it all, didn’t she know she was putting herself in danger?
He crossed one foot over the other and sank to the straw beside her.
“How do you do that?” Anger buck-stitched her every word.
“How do you do that?”
She scowled. “Do what?”
“Flip everything over like a pile of flapjacks. I’m the one with the right to be mad and you’re bringing up how I sit.”
“You do not have a right to be mad. Why do you challenge everything I want to do?”
“I don’t challenge everything you want to do. Except when I know you could get hurt.”
With a hand against the wall, she pushed to her feet. “There you go again—when you know. As if I don’t know anything or can’t do anything on my own.”
In a single easy move, he stood and took a step toward her.
She backed up, apprehension washing her face in the dim light.
“I’m tired of arguing with you, Abigale, so why don’t you just marry me?”
Not the best way of going about things, but the woman made him loco.
She shoved her hands against her hips and pitched her chin at him. “So you can boss me around even more? You think just because we’re married you can tell me what to do?”
“We’re not married. Not yet, anyway. And no, that’s not why I want to marry you.”
She gave him a side-eyed look, like a jittery colt watchin’ a man move in with a halter. “So why, then?”
He took another step, slower. Reached out and pushed her braid over her shoulder, then ran his hands down her arms, gentle-like, until the tension in them eased.
She blinked, and her breath came warm against his face as he lowered his mouth to hers. Her hands slid around his waist and pressed into his back.
Wrapping her in his arms, he kissed her until he thought he’d never breathe again, then raised his head and whispered against her hair. “Because I care about you, Aspen-gal. I always have. Let me love you.”
~
Abigale opened her mouth to answer, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t hear anything but Seth’s heartbeat in her ear. Couldn’t feel anything but the warm strength of his embrace. Everyone she’d ever loved had been taken from her. How could she risk losing him too?
At her silence, his arms loosened and a disappointed sigh leaked from his chest.
She stepped back and, in spite of her coat, instantly chilled, forcing her to hug herself instead of him.
Chester rose and nuzzled her leg with a whine, sensing her distress.
“Don’t stay out here long.” Seth’s voice dropped and his throaty words scratched her heart. “I mean—I’ll walk you back if you want.”
She shook her head, unable to answer or even look at him. A tear escaped and she caught it with her finger. Fine time to spring a leak.
Without another sound, he walked out, leaving the lantern behind. Always thinking of her welfare. Always loyal. Always kind.
No. More than kind. Images from over the years flashed through her memory like summer lightning—his caring ways, his protection. His love. Finally seeing it for what it was, her tears rose anew.
Let me love you. He hadn’t even demanded her love in return.
When she was certain he’d left the barn, she fell to the straw, wrapped her arms around Chester, and wept into the dog’s thick winter coat.
~
Abigale didn’t know how long she’d stayed in the barn, but the moon had slid behind its peaked roof by the time she left. Grateful for the lantern, she let its yellow wash guide her until she reached the porch. Extinguishing the flame, she set the lantern on a small table beside Ida’s rocker. So many summers, during carefree days, the woman had sat there mending clothes or stringing beans or enjoying a glass of lemonade. Such a homey scene, one that Abigale had longed for and yet …
She eased the front door open and hung Pop’s coat on the rack. Seth’s was there, and relief slipped out on a breath. He was inside, safe, and not riding through a snowy field in the dark.
Upstairs, Abigale fell across the bed without undressing and drew the quilt around her, tucking her chin beneath it. The words on her grandmother’s pillow top stitched through her mind. Trust in the Lord, and do good.
“I’m scared, Lord. Scared of someday losing Seth if I let him love me. Scared of losing him now if I don’t. Show me what to do.” Her whisper lifted only as high as the quilt covering her mouth, and sleep overcame her before she could ask more.
A tapping on glass woke her, and wrapped in the quilt, she padded to the window. Daylight fought for purchase, but an icy sleet held sway, clattering against the pane. She shivered.
Halfway down the stairs, she met the enticing aroma of strong coffee. A fire burned full and bright on the hearth, and Ida’s warm voice from the kitchen joined its invitation.
“You’re up early this morning.”
Not seeing a cup on the table, Abigale took two from the hutch and filled them with coffee, offering one to Ida.
“Thank you, dear.” Her worried glance swept Abigale’s disheveled state. “Did you not sleep well?”
“I guess not.” She tucked loosened hair behind her ears, embarrassed that she hadn’t even bothered to brush it. Tempted to pour her heart out as liberally as she spooned sugar into her coffee, she swallowed her jumbled feelings and drowned them with the hot brew.
Ida joined her at the table and retrieved a flat package from her apron pocket, wrapped in brown mercantile paper and cross-tied with a double length of pink ribbon. She pushed it across the table and followed it with a small brown bottle of peppermint extract. “Ben brought these for you, but I didn’t get a chance to give them to you yesterday.”
As if they had never dried, fresh tears rose. Abigale swiped at them unsuccessfully until Ida offered her a folded towel.
“I’m s-sorry.” Her stuttered breath embarrassed her as much as her hair.
“I’m a good listener, Abigale. If there’s anything you want to say, I’m right here. I might not have all the answers, but I do know that a broken gingerbread man goes nicely with hot coffee and a broken heart.”
Unable to look her hostess in the eyes, Abigale squeezed her own tightly shut. What was the matter with her? She’d never acted so cowardly, nor backed down from confrontation so quickly.
Maybe that was the problem. This was not confrontational, nor was Seth’s embrace and kiss last night.
When Ida rose for the plate of cookies, Abigale slipped the narrow grosgrain from the package. Inside, the beautiful green silk shimmered in the kitchen lamp’s glow, and she pushed it away from her, afraid to stain it with her tears.
Ida set the plate between them and chose a broken man. “Is it not what you wanted?”
“No, it’s perfect. It’s exactly what I wanted.”
Steeped in the sanctuary of home, Ida’s voice softened. “Then why do you push it away?”
Abigale heard the unspoken question, one that addressed what had happened in the barn. She did love Seth, and she wanted to let him love her, as he put it, but her fear pushed him away.
“If I may be so bold, Abigale, I take it things did not go well with … Chester last night.”
A painfully weak smiled escaped, and Abigale dunked her cookie, bit off a coffee-soaked leg, and shook her head.
“I surmised as much by the racket Seth made stomping up the stairs and shoving things around in his room till all hours.” Understanding softened the curve of her mouth. “Is there someone in Denver?”
Abigale shook her head again. She’d met upstanding, ambitious young men, but none of them appealed to her with their city suits and formal ways.
“Seth can be as opinionated as his father, I’m afraid. But only when it involves something—or someone—he cares dearly for.” Ida reached across the table for the scarf and fingered the fine jacquard silk. “This is beautiful, and capable of warming the wearer during this high country’s coldest days.”
“I wanted to give it to Seth for Christmas.”
“Really.”
Heavy with a sense of knowing, the single word was not a question.
“You say wanted. Did something happen to make you change your mind?”
Abigale’s grip on the damp towel eased, as did her hold on her emotions. Where else could she pour out her doubts?
“I’ve lost everyone I’ve ever loved. Everyone who ever cared about me. If I love Seth”—she glanced at his mother—“I might lose him too. I couldn’t bear it.”
Ida took another cookie and dunked the head in her coffee. “May I ask you a personal question?”
With nothing to gain by refusing, Abigale nodded.
“How would you have felt after your grandparents died if you’d never told them you loved them? If you’d never returned their affection?”
The question hit her like a stinging wasp, and she stared at her hostess, stunned by the woman’s directness.
“Would it have made their passing easier to bear?”
The ache of her grandparents’ absence throbbed, stealing most of her voice. “No. It would have made things much worse, much emptier.”
“That’s the way of love, dear. Seth has loved you since before he knew what it meant for a man to love a woman.” Ida picked up the brown bottle and smoothed a wrinkle in the tablecloth before replacing it. “And I believe you’ve had feelings for him nearly as long. It may be more difficult for you to see, because you are looking at things from the inside out. But to the rest of us, it is quite clear.”
Almost as an afterthought to herself she added, “Sometimes we no longer see what’s become familiar.”
So like what Seth had told her on their way to town that day. It’s easy to take for granted what we’re used to.
Gentle laughter raised Abigale’s gaze. “The two of you also bicker like siblings because you grew up together. Ben and I were much the same before we married, having both lived in this valley.”
Her countenance misted over with memories, and she spooned out the cookie piece that had sunk to the bottom of her cup. “Once I saw myself and Ben as complementing each other instead of competing—adding to, not taking away—and building up rather than tearing down, things changed for the better.”
Abigale wiped her fingers on the towel and picked up the scarf, letting it spill like a green waterfall on the table. It was big enough for Seth to wrap around his throat twice, as ranchers did.
“He asked me to marry him last night. Well—in a way. He didn’t really ask. It was closer to telling.”
“And you didn’t take that well, did you.” Ida chuckled and sipped her crumb-filled coffee. “Nor should you. Never let him ride roughshod over you, but neither forget that he loves you. It will make all the difference in your partnership. If you choose to marry him, that is.”
“Mams would have said to have faith.”
“And she’d be right. Faith is something we carry with us. Trust, on the other hand, is something we do. The two work together, like the light and darker weave in that jacquard-patterned scarf.”
Ida gave Abigale’s hand a gentle squeeze. “I won’t tell you to follow your heart. But I will tell you that God gives us faith so we can trust Him. He’ll let you know. All you have to do is ask.”
CHAPTER 15
“Technically, I asked her.”
Seth pulled the curry comb through Coop’s tail, then moved to his shoulder and worked back. He hadn’t ridden the gelding in the last couple of days, and Coop’s heavy winter coat needed a good brushing.
“All right. Maybe not. It wasn’t the most poetic proposal known to man, but I’m not some high-collared gent she’d meet in Denver.”
Coop bobbed his head as if in agreement. Seth ran the comb down his back, and the flesh quivered in response.
After finishing the left side, he moved around to the right, continuing along Coop’s body and upper legs, then removed the long tail hair from the comb, dislodging the short thicker hair with it. He brushed the horse, checked each hoof, and rewarded Coop’s good nature with a can of oats.
Seth had worn a groove in his brain, deep as a wagon rut going over what he’d said to Abigale last night in the barn. He’d shown his hand, and he didn’t know what to say different now. He loved her and thought he’d told her so.
But she’d pulled away.
Coop looked at him over the stall and tossed his head. For no good reason. Same thing he’d done when Seth was training him as a colt.
