by Kit Morgan
She was confused for a moment, then laughed nervously. Right – Wylie and Katie had found him thanks to Esmeralda’s sweet tooth. If she hadn’t discovered his stash of peppermint sticks, the poor man might have bled to death out there … She shivered at the thought.
He picked up a spoon to taste the soup, but saw her shudder and put it down. “Is something wrong?”
“No, no, nothing’s wrong,” she said too quickly. Of course there was something wrong, but she didn’t want to talk about it, not even to herself. She got up and joined him at the stove. “The broth’s not quite done, but would you like a sandwich?”
His look was tender. “I’d love one. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yes, Colson, I’m fine.” She turned away, went to the hutch, took out two plates and stood there a moment, collecting herself around the raw emptiness in her heart at the thought of him leaving. Pull yourself together, Merry, for heaven’s sake!
“I’d like to do something for Wylie and Katie for Christmas,” he announced.
She turned to him, plates in hand. “Oh? Like what? Christmas is only a week away.”
“I know, that’s why I need help thinking of something. I’m rather handy with a knife, so I could carve them something, but I doubt it would be done in time. I should have started last week, but I couldn’t focus well enough …”
She went back to the stove. “Colson, I think allowing them to know you has been a present. They both adore you.”
To her surprise, he blushed. “They’ve grown on me too. I’m going to miss them.”
And I’m going to miss you, came unbidden into her mind, and she almost said it! She’d have to be more careful. Oh heavens, did she have feelings for the man? Lord help her – that way lay madness.
“Sandwiches?” he said, eyebrows raised in anticipation.
“Oh, sorry – woolgathering. One or two?”
“Two, if that’s all right. I could eat a horse.”
His words made her cringe, remembering when she’d envisioned herself eating her own horse before she sold it. Maybe after Colson left, she’d be so preoccupied with keeping herself from starving that she wouldn’t have time to miss him.
“Sit down, Merry,” he said.
She took a sandwich for herself, put it on her plate and sat. Then to her surprise, Colson put a hand on the table, palm up in invitation, and smiled at her. She swallowed hard – what was this?
“The blessing?” he explained.
Merry swallowed again and gingerly put her hand in his.
* * *
Colson silently chastised himself – what was he thinking, holding her hand while saying a blessing? Maybe it was because he wanted, just for a moment, to pretend that this was his home, that she was his wife and Wylie and Katie their children. But it was only a dream. He should be thankful for these last couple of weeks, even if it was only pretend.
He’d always wanted a family, but had never stayed in one place long enough. Women wanted to settle down, stay put, not move around with a drifter husband. And a drifter he was. He’d been content all these years to follow his itchy feet from one place to another like a nomad, working enough to support himself, put a little money away and move on. He’d planned to do that in Morgan’s Crossing too … except there was no work, and no honor among the gambling set.
Someone at the table had definitely cheated during the game, but it wasn’t him. Once he was himself, free of dizziness in his head or stiffness in his leg, he was tempted to go back and have a word or two with who he was pretty sure it was. But he suspected the cheater was just passing through, so his chances of finding the man were slim. He’d have to let it go.
He was still glad that while the cheat shot him in the leg, he didn’t take care of that indignity on the spot. He didn’t need another notch on his gun belt – or his conscience.
Merry got up from the table. “I think the soup’s ready.”
Colson was on his second sandwich already. “You’re a good cook, Merry. A mighty good cook. I’m going to miss it.” He chewed and swallowed, then realized the silence was deafening and looked up. “Merry?” Her face was turned away, her shoulders shaking. Was she crying? He got up. “Merry?”
She shook her head. “Sorry … something in my eye. I’m fine.”
He fought the urge to take her in his arms, tilt her head back and … what, make sure there was nothing in her eye? He knew what he was really thinking. And he knew kissing her would probably get him a slap in the face.
She turned to him, both eyes watering, and he winced. Something in her eye, my eye! “Maybe if I wash my face, I can get it out. Go ahead and dish yourself up some soup.” She grabbed the bucket from under the dry sink and headed for the door.
After she disappeared, he stared at the soup pot and wondered what had her so upset. Had he said something? Should he go see if she was all right? But instead he dished up two bowls of broth, set them on the table, then went to the door and peeked outside. He could hear her pumping water into the bucket.
He sighed and returned to his chair. It must be the strain of having him there. The poor woman had been attending him for weeks – feeding him, keeping him warm, filling baths for him, helping him shave. He rubbed his smooth cheek, then let his hand fall into his lap. Maybe the sooner he left the better, as unpleasant as the thought was.
With another sigh, Colson started to eat his broth.
Nine
Colson watched Merry over his soup. He would regret leaving, but there was no help for it. Now that he was taking the time to study her, he could see she was tired, her face drawn, weary. And it was his fault. What could he do about it, other than complete the tasks she’d given him in trade for her care – good care, he might add – and let her get back to her life? “Can you think of anything else I can do for you while I’m here?”
She looked up from her meal and blinked a few times, as if thinking about it took too much energy. “I’m not sure. It’s too early to ready the ground for my garden – I’ll have to wait until spring. But if you see something that needs tending, by all means, take care of it.”
“Then perhaps after lunch you and I should take a walk,” he suggested.
“A walk?”
“Yes, go around the place to see what else needs to be done.”
She moved her spoon around in her bowl as if stirring tea. “There’s always something to be done, Colson. But you’re only here for a short time more.”
He shifted in his chair. “Do you still have family in Chicago?”
That brought her head up again, only this time with fear in her eyes. “I’m afraid not. My parents died not long after George and I came to Morgan’s Crossing. A neighbor wrote and told me. I … didn’t get to attend their funeral. George …” She shook her head and moved on. “I have no brothers or sisters, no other relatives that I know of. We’re a family of only children – my father, my mother, myself …”
He wondered what sort of man this George was. He already didn’t care for him, and the man had been dead and buried almost a year. “Really? I suppose it happens – there are quite a few only children, I would imagine.”
“When it comes to my parents, it wasn’t for lack of trying. They had several children, but I was the only one that survived.”
He reached across the table and put his hand over hers. “I’m so sorry. Were you able to have time with your siblings?”
“No. They all died as infants.” She looked out the window. “It’s snowing.”
He looked out at the weather too. Big fluffy flakes were coming down. It was a beautiful sight, made even more beautiful by the woman across the table from him. “We’d best add a Christmas tree to that list of yours,” he said.
She looked at him and smiled. “Wylie and Katie will want to be part of that – they’ve been bringing it up every day.” She gazed out the window again. “I hope the Whites make it home from town okay.”
“They’ll be fine. It’s a good thing they went
today instead of waiting.” He looked at her and smiled. “Would you like to go to town?”
She looked panicked, her hand going to her chest. “Oh heavens no!” She lowered her hand. “I mean … there’s no need …”
He sat back in his chair with a sigh. “There’s no need to start gossip, you mean. Don’t worry, Merry, I understand – a widow alone out here, a strange man in her house … who knows what the neighbors would think?”
“Thankfully I know exactly what the neighbors think and they’re fine with it. It’s what everybody else will think that’s the problem.”
He laughed. So did she, a little. They finished their meal in silence, smiling at each other, and Colson felt at peace for the first time in a long time. In fact, time spent under Merry Bright’s roof had made him laugh more than he had in years, and experience a contentment he’d never known before. He noticed he wasn’t looking over his shoulders as much. As a gunhand, he’d spent most of his life with one eye open.
But that was the past – now he looked forward to the future. A future he wished he could spend with Merry Bright. But that was out of the question. The moment she knew what he’d been, she’d chase him out of her house with a broom – if only because she didn’t have a gun. If she did, she’d have used it to hunt by now. Instead they got by on vegetables and milk.
“Would you like more soup?” she got up from the table.
“Please, unless of course you’re saving the rest for supper.”
“No.” She peeked in the pot. “Then again …”
“I don’t mind having the same thing for supper. Besides, we’ll enjoy it more after a good long walk.”
She looked him up and down. “Are you sure you’re up to it?”
“I want to fix as much around here as I can before I go. It’s the least I can do, Merry. You’ve been very kind to me – I want to return the favor.”
“Only because I asked you to,” she stated.
“No. Even had you not asked me, I would’ve volunteered. Besides, anyone can see things need to be done around here. Things you couldn’t do by yourself – no offense.”
“None taken.” She put her hands on the back of her chair and looked at him. “I know. Oh, how well I know.”
“At least you can admit it. Pride can get a body in a lot of trouble.”
She turned away and closed her eyes. “I know that too.” She opened them again and looked at him. “Which is why I asked you to help me. A service for a service.”
Colson chuckled. “Get your shawl and let’s see what other services I can perform for you.”
With a relieved smile Merry did just that, and after he donned his coat, they left the cabin and stepped out into the snow.
* * *
“You need more firewood,” Colson observed. He hadn’t thought about it before, and wondered where she got it.
“I haven’t had time to gather more,” Merry commented. “I did a lot during the summer but I need to get out again.”
“Out where?”
“The woods beside the house. There are always plenty of branches and downed trees. During the summer I go there once, sometimes twice a day to gather.”
He looked at the pile of branches, twigs and chunks of wood in the lean-to by the barn. “You gathered all that? One armload at a time?”
She nodded.
He glanced around the barnyard. “Why not use the wagon? Or did you do most of your gathering after you sold the horse?”
“I gathered it the same way when George was alive.”
His chest tightened. He did his best not to let his anger with the late George Bright show on his face. “You mean the man didn’t chop wood?”
“He did … when he got around to it.”
That brought his hackles up further. He looked at her and brushed snow off the shawl she’d wrapped around her head and shoulders. “Don’t you have a coat?”
“Yes, George’s. It serves me fine – I just haven’t taken it out of the trunk yet.”
“You don’t have a coat of your own?” he stated, hands on hips. If George was alive, he’d be tempted to horse-whip him. Didn’t he know he was supposed to take care of the woman he married? Especially one so physically unsuited to a place as wild as this. If she was his wife, he’d treat her to the best he could …
… where did that come from?!
“It wore out. I’d had it for years, and it wasn’t meant for farm life.”
“I see,” he said, needing a moment to get his thoughts back to … what had they been talking about? Oh yes, her coat. His eyes gravitated back to her woodpile. “Do you have an ax?”
“Of course, in the barn.”
“All right, so you need wood, lots of it. Good thing I fixed the wagon first – I can gather firewood while working on the fences – what isn’t suitable for fence-mending, I can chop up …”
“Colson, no. You don’t have to …”
All his frustration let loose. “The heck I don’t! For heaven’s sake, woman, let me help you! How do you plan to get through the winter otherwise?”
She swallowed hard. “I … I …” Her shoulders slumped. “Well, ‘plan’ is a little optimistic …”
His face froze. The poor lady had been taking care of him for weeks, had had him working on the place for less, and he hadn’t seen until now that she didn’t really have a plan. Come to think, most of the food they’d been eating had come from crates from the Whites – not from a root cellar or smokehouse – thanks to that pig Anastasia or whoever had eaten her garden bare. Did she have stores for the lean months? Had she just been winging it all this time?
In fact, she should have had a lot of these repairs done long before now. He glanced at his surroundings – the house, the barn, the land itself. This property could sustain a family quite well if worked. But for most of the year, she’d only had herself. For all her resilience, she simply didn’t have the muscle or experience to do it alone – and didn’t have the money to get someone else. He said it before he could stop himself: “You haven’t a cent to your name, do you?”
She put a hand to her mouth and started to turn away.
Colson took her shoulder and turned her back. “Merry, you’re barely surviving here. Why haven’t you let anyone help you until now?”
She shook her head, stifling a sob.
“Oh dear Lord.” He closed his eyes and pulled her into his arms. “Merry, don’t cry. It’ll be all right, I’ll see to it.” He drew back but kept his hands on her arms, unwilling to let go. Her face was downcast, so he tucked a finger under her chin and lifted it so he could look her in the eyes. “Did you hear me?”
She swallowed hard and nodded.
“I don’t have a lot to offer, but I’ve got a strong back and two hands, and I’ll get as much done as I’m able. I promise.”
He could see the battle of pride within her. He’d fought that one a few times himself. After a moment and another sob, she finally said, “Thank you.”
Colson wasn’t sure if he should do it, but his heart was past discussing it. He pulled her close, cupped her cheek with one hand and gently kissed her on the forehead. That’s not where his heart wanted his lips to go, but it was the compromise he’d struck with his head in the moment. He didn’t want to wind up in real trouble, nor put her in any. The last thing he wanted to do was damage her reputation.
He tucked her head beneath his chin and drew in a deep breath. She was as small and delicate in his arms as a china doll. How could this woman possibly survive without help? But how could she ever accept a man like him to do the job? She couldn’t, wouldn’t. As bad a snake as George Bright may have been, Colson Hunter could match him sin for sin and then some.
She looked up at him. “Colson, we shouldn’t be …”
“I know. I’m sorry. But I wanted you to know that I’ll take care of things.” He let her go and stepped away. While I’m here reached his tongue – and stalled there. He knew he couldn’t stay … but he couldn’t say he was l
eaving, not now. It would break her like a vase.
“Thank you,” she repeated, wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders and headed for the house.
He followed. So much for their walk. But it was now clear to him what she needed, and it involved a lot more than fixing fences. Merry Bright, as capable as she was, was no match for Montana alone – she needed a man to provide and protect her. How else could she survive? It was a pure miracle she’d lasted as long as she had after her husband died. And what kind of a man was he? Did he rely on her to do most of the work? Was that why the farm was in such a shambles – had it always been that way?
He contemplated this as he followed her back to the cabin. “Merry,” he called as she went up the porch steps.
She turned to face him, her cheeks and nose bright red from cold and crying. “Yes?”
His heart went out to her. “I’m still going to take a look around.”
Her eyes widened. “But you were dizzy earlier.”
“A little, yes, but I’ll only be walking. I need to see your fence line.”
“Oh.” She looked past him into the distance.
“Who put up your fences?”
She wiped at her nose. “George and … some men from town he hired.”
“And who kept it up?”
She drew in a shaky breath and closed her eyes. “No one.”
He sighed. “Your husband was no farmer, was he?”
She actually smirked at that, as if he’d just told an amusing joke. “No, he wasn’t.”
Colson nodded to himself. “All right. Go inside, get warm, and I’ll see you at supper.” He turned on his heel and strode away. For however long he could stay, he had work to do. Merry Dumfries Bright deserved no less.
Ten
Several days passed after Merry’s confession, but she spent the whole time stewing over it. What did Colson Hunter think of her now – that she was pathetic? Weak? Unfit for farm life? She couldn’t argue much on that score – she wasn’t well suited for it and she knew it.
That being said, she liked her little house and the land, the peace and quiet, the short summers and bright, bracing winters. There were just so many things she wasn’t equipped to do, at least not properly. What took her days, Colson managed in hours. He’d repaired the wagon, fixed the barn roof, secured the loose step on the porch, stockpiled firewood. He’d even rebuilt her sorry excuse for a wheelbarrow, and was now piecing the fences back together. She couldn’t be happier.