A High-Country Christmas, page 6
“‘Trust in the Lord, and do good,’” she whispered into the stillness. A log burned through and fell, a comforting sound against the night. “‘So shalt thou dwell in the land, and verily thou shalt be fed.’”
Dwell in the land—that was what Abigale wanted.
Somehow, having faith sounded easy when Mams had talked about it, yet Abigale knew for a fact that it wasn’t.
Seth stirred and drew his feet in.
She’d forgotten he was there, so alone she was in her thoughts.
“You say something?”
“Just musing to myself.”
He rubbed his hand over his face and up into his hair. “Didn’t mean to doze off.”
“It’s all right. You were comfortable. You deserve to rest.”
His eyes flashed a question, surprised that she would say such a thing. Perhaps it was their circumstances, alone together in a solid house that held out the weather. Or she was softening further toward him. Realizing there was more to Seth Holt than a bigger, stronger, annoyingly bossy friend.
He turned the chair toward her a little. “About your plan.”
She shook her head. “It was silly. I see that now.”
“I disagree.”
Shocked, she stilled her fingers and locked on Seth’s dark features, shadowed by the firelight behind him.
“With modifications.”
So there it was. His typical assumption that he could improve upon her ideas. He’d been doing so for years.
Scooting the chair around until he faced her, he leaned forward, arms on his legs, mere inches from the edge of the sofa. “I suggest we go up there the next clear day we get and mark your trees.”
He’d lost his mind, of course. And he’d said we twice. She wasn’t sure how she felt about him using that word so much.
“And what would we mark them with? Ribbons and lace?”
Pain sparked in his eyes—quick as lightening—before he covered it with a smirk, but she rushed through the gap in his armor. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to mock you, it’s just, it’s just …”
“A habit.”
He’d nailed her, and she felt the blush of guilt rising in her cheeks.
Reaching for her hand, he let go a heavy sigh. Like a confession. “I fight the same habit, Abigale, but this time I’m serious.”
Her pulse jumped at his strong fingers atop her own, the way his thumb idly rubbed the back of her hand.
She glanced down.
He let go.
Attempting to mend the breach, she asked, “What would we mark them with?”
“Paint.”
“You’re serious.”
“As a grass fire.”
He leaned back, hands gripping his knees, his long fingers squeezing in and out as if he molded the words as he spoke.
“My dad has reddish-brown paint left over from the barn. If I set it by the fire for a day or so, it’d warm up so we could smear it on the trees, high enough that it wouldn’t be noticed by loggers in a hurry. Then I’d put a bug in Hoot’s ear to keep a lookout for stolen trees. Honestly, it’s a long shot, but it might work.”
“I think it’s brilliant.”
“You do?”
“It’s brilliant if I get to paint the trees. You can hold me on your shoulders.” Her admission came at a high price to her pride, but she wasn’t completely feather-headed. “When will you get the paint?”
“Same time I get a crate of hens and see if Ma will let me take one of her milk cows off her hands. I’m pretty sure she won’t mind. That is, if you let me borrow your wagon and mare.”
“Seth Holt, I could hug you.” Impulsively she threw her arms around his neck and herself off balance.
He had to catch her to keep her from falling on the floor.
~
Deeper drifts sloped against the barn and outbuildings the next morning, but the wind had cleared enough ground that Seth was confident he could drive home and back before nightfall.
Abigale refused to go with him. She had it in her head that she wasn’t leaving and probably feared he wouldn’t bring her back.
And she was probably right, doggone it. Especially after he caught her in his arms last night.
Carrying her in the house when she was unconscious was one thing, but holding her while she was wide awake and laughing was something else altogether.
He shoved that memory aside and focused on making sure there was plenty of firewood in case he didn’t make it back tonight. By the time he finished splitting a pile and stacking it inside on the hearth, he’d lost an hour of daylight but gained enough confidence to leave Abigale alone for the time being.
After checking Tess’s harness, he went inside for his slicker.
Abigale approached him, a shallow basket in her hands, suspiciously pie-sized and covered with a checkered cloth. “Give this to your mother and tell her thank you for sharing her hens with me. I’ll be sure and pay her back in the spring.”
Judging by the wistful look on her face, she just might miss him while he was gone.
He accepted the basket and peeked under the cloth. “You don’t need to do this, you know. Ma’s happy to share.”
“I know.” Abigale rubbed her hands down the front of her apron, nervous-like. “But I want to.”
“What if I eat it before I get to the ranch?” He couldn’t resist teasing her, just enough to raise a little color in her cheeks.
“You’d better not, Seth Holt, if you expect to see any more where that came from.” Her fists flew to her hips and perched there while she drilled him with her pretty eyes.
He set the basket aside and moved in closer. Took her gently by the shoulders. Drank in the way she smelled, all womanly and domestic. He didn’t know whether to bargain or beg, so he dropped his voice and opted for bossy. “Don’t you ride out to the tree line, huntin’ trouble, while I’m gone.”
Like hair on a wolf, her hackles rose. She stiffened, but didn’t jut her chin. Just looked up at him from under her brows in a way that twisted his insides. “You come back to me.”
He swallowed. Hard.
“I need those chickens.”
Confounded woman. He grabbed the basket and stomped out to the wagon.
She came running after him. “Here, don’t forget your slicker.” She rolled it and shoved it under the seat. “I wouldn’t want you to catch your death. Like I said, I need those—”
He looped an arm around her waist and pulled her close. She didn’t resist but molded perfectly against him, her heart fluttering like a captive bird. Surprise rounded her eyes, not fear. Her lips parted, her breath caught, and he knew if he didn’t leave right that minute, he might not ever leave.
CHAPTER 9
Abigale nearly fell.
Without so much as a goodbye or fare-thee-well, Seth climbed to the wagon seat and drove around the barn and out of sight.
Her breath returned on an afterthought, whispering up from deep inside. She drew a second one and told herself he was just lording it over her. Showing off. Having the last word, so to speak. She told herself there’d been no fire dancing in his eyes as they swept her mouth. No fire answering in her belly.
She’d never been a very good liar.
Hurrying to the corner of the barn, she watched him drive along the ranch road, cut across the range like he’d started to yesterday, and shrink until he was an ant in the distance, so far away she couldn’t see him moving at all. He blended into the sweeping drifts and bare patches, leaving nothing but a longing in her heart.
She touched her lips, searching for proof that he’d been close enough to kiss her—but didn’t. Proof that she hadn’t dreamed the whole thing. But the only proof was her racing pulse that made the back of her head throb.
Chester yapped and pushed into her skirts with a whine.
She dropped down and rubbed behind his ears. “Did you see that, boy?” she whispered.
His pink tongue caught her chin.
“That man just drove away with half my good sense.” She brushed off her apron as she straightened. “And he left less than that for you. He eats as much as Pop did, if not more.”
Chester followed her in the house and plopped down by the hearth.
From the huge stack piled against the wall she added logs to the fire, then dropped into the big chair, reliving those minutes by the wagon and listening.
Seth did not return. He did not rein in at the house, barge through the door, and sweep her into his arms.
Such fantasy.
The fire snapped. Chester gave a long groan, indication of his old bones at rest.
Abigale was alone. Again.
So often she’d preferred it. Especially in Denver at the hall where she rarely found a moment to herself. But in Denver she had persevered with dreams of her high-country home. The peak. The high parks and the pines. This house.
Now here she was with it all around her, and it wasn’t quite what she’d expected.
Chester sighed again, and sparks dashed up the chimney. The smell of coffee and fried pork lingered, and the prospects of a long, lonely day stretched before her.
Lonely and alone, she’d discovered, were two completely different concepts.
She hadn’t felt bereft of friend and family when she’d first come back. Sad, yes. But energized for the work that faced her. Getting ready for winter after winter had already arrived was a daunting chore, but she’d welcomed the distraction. Now all she had was to sit and think and miss Pop even more.
And relive Seth’s embrace.
She hugged her waist, recalled the strength of his arm around her, like a promise that nothing would ever come between them.
He wasn’t the Seth Holt she’d grown up with, yet somehow he was.
What would she do when he returned? Fling herself into his arms or pretend that nothing had happened? No, she was as good at pretending as she was lying. Things would not be the same between them. An invisible barrier had been crossed, and she could no more go back than she could keep the sun from gilding the peak at dawn.
She went to the window, assuring herself the yard was empty, that he hadn’t come back for something. A silly thought for certain. But she feared the flinging option might override the remains of her good sense if he did return so soon.
What would Mams say?
Immediately the answer came. “Mams would tell me to get busy.”
Chester lifted his head at her commanding tone.
“I can’t stand around getting all muddle-headed over some cowboy I’ve known all my life.” A task definitely easier said than done.
“Come on, Chester. Want a dried biscuit with a little grease smeared on it?”
Chester evidently understood more than he let on and followed her to the kitchen, where she set a pan on the floor, broke biscuits into it, and poured grease over the top. He’d be spoiled for sure, eating inside the house. Mams had never allowed it, but Abigale appreciated his company.
She untied and re-tied her apron, tucked loose hair behind her ear, and looked out the kitchen window.
Nope, Seth still wasn’t coming this way. But he had to eventually. He’d left Coop here. That meant something, right? A man didn’t leave his horse and saddle behind if he wasn’t planning to come back for them.
Besides, Seth Holt kept his word. He’d bring those chickens.
A tingling sensation danced up her spine like sparks from the fire. Chickens was the last word on her lips. The last thing she’d said to him—or was about to say.
Looking around the kitchen, her gaze landed on the bread bowl. She’d make bread. That would busy her hands, which would busy her mind and help her think straight.
She took down the bowl and set the kettle on for warm water.
“What if his folks don’t let him come back tonight?”
Chester finished the scraps and glanced her way.
“You’re right. That’s ridiculous. He’s a grown man. All of twenty-two, with years of thinking for himself.”
The dog plopped down beside the stove.
“But he might have to wait until tomorrow morning. It’s not all that easy to get a cow to move at a lively pace.” She waited for Chester’s agreement.
He licked his jowls.
“Fine conversationalist you are.”
She stopped talking to the dog and concentrated on what she was doing. Her favorite part of baking bread had always been the kneading, and she put all her pent-up energy into it until she had a smooth, satiny ball of dough turned into the bowl with a towel over the top.
“The day is young, Chester. The sky bright and clear, with very few clouds ringing the peak. Did you notice that earlier? There are no cloudbanks building yet. Not that they won’t be by midday. So that means we should get going.”
The dog sat up and cocked his head at her.
“I know what he said, but he can’t just order me around.”
She laid her apron over the back of a chair. “And I can’t just sit around either. Not when it’s such a beautiful day and there are horses outside and places to see. What do you say—you up for an outing?”
Chester made a throaty sound and turned his head away.
“Don’t you scold me too.”
Men! Impossible creatures.
At the bottom of the stairs, she paused. “I’ll be down and ready to leave in two shakes of your feathery tale.”
~
Seth thought he was losing his mind, for he’d sure enough gone and tossed his heart.
When he was far enough away from the barn, he glanced back. He couldn’t see Abigale, which meant she couldn’t see him. Good.
If she hadn’t looked so dang pretty and perturbed, he might have gotten away without showing his hand.
But the memory of the moment made him want to go back and finish what he’d started. For all her fight and fire, Abigale Millerton was as sweet and soft as a new feather pillow.
The thought of her being alone prodded him on, and he flicked the reins. “Get on there, ol’ girl. We’re burnin’ daylight and it’s winter, so we’ve got none to spare.”
Late-morning, he pulled up on his ma and Emmy stepping out of their wagon, just home from church. Pa nodded and drove to the barn. The dogs yapped and barked around the rig until Seth jumped down, and they wiggled up to him, whining their apologies.
Emmy ran into his arms. “Where have you been? I’ve been so worried about you. Course Ma wasn’t, you know. She said you were somewhere safe. But it’s been forever. Where were you?”
He gave his sister a quick kiss on the top of her head and reached for the pie.
“About time you showed you face.”
“Yes, ma’am. Sorry about that, but I got waylaid by the storm.” He looped an arm around his ma’s shoulder.
Her gaze darted from the basket in his hands to the wagon and mare, and back to him. “You lose your horse?”
“No, ma’am. Coop’s at the Millerton place where I sheltered.” He kissed her on the cheek and handed her the basket. “This pie’s from Abigale. To thank you for the chickens.”
Emmy tugged on the basket and peeked in. “What chickens? And what kind of pie? Is it pumpkin? I love pumpkin.”
His ma frowned as she lifted the napkin from Abigale’s peach pie that he believed was as good as hers, though he wouldn’t mention that part.
“Abigale Millerton is back at her grandfather’s ranch? This time of year?”
“She is. I didn’t know it when Coop and I headed for her barn. In fact, I didn’t know it until their old dog hounded me out into the snow and wind, where I found Abigale in a heap by the barn.”
“Sounds like we’ve got a story comin’ for dinner. I take it this is Abigale’s mare and buggy. Why didn’t she come with you?”
“Yeah, why didn’t she come?” Emmy tugged on his arm.
“Leave Seth be and take this inside, Emmy. Be careful you don’t drop it. We’ll have it with dinner.”
At his ma’s patient stalling, he tugged his hat off and scrubbed his head. “Because she’s the most stubborn, infuriating gal this side of Pikes Peak.”
His ma’s face lit like it did when she was hiding a private joke.
“She won’t leave the place. Got it in her head to stand off against some timber thief that’s cutting her lodgepole.”
His ma patted a hand over her heart. “I knew you were all right, but I sensed something was going on. Go ahead and turn the mare out with the horses, then clean up and you can tell us about it while we eat.”
“I’ll be leaving right away. I don’t want Abigale on that spread all by herself. Not until we figure out who’s cutting her trees.”
His ma walked up the front porch steps and untied her bonnet. “Well, that’s no surprise, son. You’ve dogged after that young woman for quite some time.”
Ma meant well, but she sure had a way of taking him down a notch.
While he washed up in the kitchen, he filled his family in on Abigale’s ladder-building plan. His pa chuckled into his coffee cup. “She may not carry Millerton blood in her veins, but she’s sure enough got it in her head and heart.”
As usual, his ma spread a fine table, and her beef stew, cornbread, and the peach pie hit the spot every time she served another helping.
“We have any mail?” she asked between peach slices.
“No, ma’am. But I posted your letters the day I left, though the storm may have held up the stage.”
Pa picked up his coffee. “Tell me about this timber you think someone’s cutting on Millerton land.”
“That’s the biggest problem—we just suspect it. Hoot Spicer does too. He wouldn’t name names, but he said lodgepoles are still coming through the Windsor Mill when every other mill is shut down for winter.”
Pa pushed his plate back with a nod at his wife.
She stood and rested a hand on his shoulder as she took his plate.
Seth’s folks were always touching each other. Just seemed natural, to his way of thinking, and it made it hard for him to keep his hands to himself around Abigale. He’d sure enough failed in that regard today.
