Longing for a Cowboy Christmas

by Leigh Greenwood

  She put another log on the fire and turned her attention to the child. Nan was pleased to see her take a bite out of a thick slice of whole-wheat bread covered with freshly churned butter and Concord grape jam.

  Nan pulled up a chair next to her. “I wish you’d tell me your name.”

  The child wiggled a little, but she didn’t look so scared. “Clara,” she announced. She looked down at her shoes rather than at Nan.

  “That’s a lovely name. My name is Nan. I don’t like it very much. I think Clara is much prettier.”

  Clara smiled rather nervously.

  “When did your daddy get sick?”

  “While he was sleeping. He wouldn’t eat his breakfast.”

  Just as Nan had thought. Two people in Beaker’s Bend had already come down with similar symptoms. Their fever remained high for about twenty-four hours, then it broke, leaving them weak but none the worse otherwise.

  “He should be just fine in the morning. Do you want anything else to eat?”

  The child shook her head.

  “You can have more.” Nan thought Clara was probably too frightened to be hungry tonight.

  “No, thank you.”

  “Then I’m going to tuck you into a nice warm bed,” Nan said, wondering who had taught the child such beautiful manners. She acted older than her age. She must be an only child surrounded by adults. Nan wondered how long ago her mother had died. “When you wake up, your daddy will be all better.”

  Nan stood. Clara seemed reluctant to leave the fire and the comfort of her father’s presence, but she slid out of the chair.

  “I’m going to put you in the room I had when I was a little girl,” Nan said. “You can sleep in the bed I slept in when I was your age.”

  Her mother had insisted they keep it for the time Nan’s daughters would need it.

  Wilmer had brought the bags in, and Gertie had taken Clara’s bag upstairs to a small room with bright, flowered wallpaper. All the handmade furniture was half-size. Clara allowed herself to be undressed and put to bed. Nan marveled that a room that used to seem so friendly should seem so cold now.

  “If you need anything, you just call,” Nan told her. “I’m going to go downstairs to take care of your father, but I’ll sleep in the room right next to you.” She led her into the hall and showed her the right door. “I’ll leave this open so I can hear you. All right?”

  Clara nodded, but she seemed frightened again.

  Nan hated to leave her, but Clara needed to go to sleep. She probably hadn’t had any rest all day. After the trip and the scare of her father getting sick, she must be exhausted.

  “Do you think it’s okay to leave her up there by herself?” Nan asked Gertie when she came downstairs.

  “I expect she’ll sleep till morning. Poor thing looks worn to a frazzle. Now you come into the kitchen before your dinner gets cold.”

  “Bring it to the bedroom. I don’t think I ought to leave Mr. Atkins that long.”

  “He’ll be just fine.”

  “Nevertheless, I’ll feel more comfortable if I sit with him.”

  Gertie went away grumbling under her breath, but Nan didn’t pay her any mind. Gertie had never accepted the fact that Nan had grown up and was not the little girl she had been twenty-four years ago when Gertie married Jake Tanner and moved away from Beaker’s Bend.

  Will Atkins hadn’t moved. Nan put her hand on his forehead, but she knew before she touched him that his fever hadn’t broken. His skin was hot and dry. It felt tight. Nan had cared for many people, but no one had ever made her as nervous as this man did.

  It’s because he’s Clara’s father.

  But she knew that wasn’t it. She was nervous because he was a good-looking man. She couldn’t help but be aware of it. She had felt something happen inside her the moment she set eyes on him. Almost as if she were sixteen again.

  Don’t be foolish. This man will be up and on his way in a couple of days, and you’ll never see him again. He won’t even remember your name by next Christmas.

  Maybe, but she couldn’t turn her eyes away from the handsome head that rested on her goose-down pillows. She couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to his wife, and why he should be in the Shenandoah Valley at this time of year. She remembered his ready-to-wear wool suit and Clara’s clothes that spoke of expensive shops in a big, eastern city. He wouldn’t stay in Beaker’s Bend any longer than necessary.

  She had brushed his chestnut hair back from his brow, but not even his disordered hair and pallid skin detracted from his handsome face. She brushed the back of her fingers against his cheek. The skin was hot and taut, the cheeks gaunt from fever, but the clean line of his jaw and the finely etched nose complemented the fullness of his lips.

  Nan made herself stand away from the bed when Gertie came in to place her dinner on a table next to her chair.

  “Jake’s not easy in his mind about you having that man sleeping in your bed,” Gertie said.

  “I don’t know why. I’m not sleeping in it, and Mr. Atkins is too sick to know where he is. If that’s not enough, Jake can sleep at the foot of the bed.”

  Gertie looked affronted. Nan kissed the older woman’s cheek. “You should be happy. Not an hour ago I was feeling down because Gideon wasn’t going to be home for Christmas. Now we have company.”

  “They’ll only be here a day or two,” Gertie said. “It’ll just be that much lonelier when they’re gone.”

  Gertie was right. Nan would miss them. Odd. She didn’t know anything about Will Atkins, but she felt drawn to him. But then, a handsome, helpless man offered an irresistible appeal to any woman. She was less able to explain her feeling for Clara. Already she felt a strong attachment to the little girl, almost as if she belonged to her.

  It had to be the season and that she felt lonely because Gideon wasn’t coming home. Next year she’d make sure she had so much to do that she wouldn’t have time to be lonely. Maybe she’d go visit Gideon and Doris. She knew he’d invite her.

  But it was too late for this year, and she was thankful for Mr. Atkins and his daughter.

  * * *

  Nan twisted in her chair. She had forgotten how uncomfortable it was to sit up all night, even in a comfortable chair. She opened her eyes and glanced at the clock. Twenty-two minutes after midnight. She didn’t get up. She had checked Will Atkins less than ten minutes ago.

  Light from a single tongue of fire struggled to hold the darkness at bay. The pattern on the quilt, Will’s shape in the bed, were crisscrossed with shadows cast by the posts at the end of the bed. The rest of the room lay in deep shadow.

  Nan closed her eyes, but she remained restless. The floor creaked. Startled, she opened her eyes and sat up. Clara stood by her father’s bedside.

  Nan got up and knelt before the child. “You’re supposed to be in bed.”

  “I couldn’t sleep.”

  “You mean you’ve been lying up there all this time waiting for me to come to bed?”

  Clara nodded.

  “Didn’t you sleep at all?”

  The child shook her head.

  “Then you can sleep down here,” Nan said. She reached under the skirt of the bed and pulled out a trundle bed. “I’d almost forgotten this was here.” It only took Nan a few minutes to make up the bed and retrieve the pillow and quilts from the bottom of the wardrobe. “Now, let’s tuck you under.”

  Clara climbed between the sheets. “Are you going to stay here?”

  Nan heard the fear in the child’s voice.

  “Yes,” Nan replied.

  Clara settled into the bed, but she didn’t close her eyes.

  “I’ll be right back,” Nan said.

  She hurried upstairs, lifted the lid on a pine chest at the end of her old bed, and took out a large, handmade doll fashioned of heavy linen with clothes of bright
gingham faded with time. She carried the nearly shapeless doll downstairs.

  “Here’s somebody to keep you company,” she said as she slipped the doll under the covers next to Clara. “Her name is Betty. She’s a little prickly because my brother Gideon tried to cut all her hair off. I gave Gideon a black eye. Papa was real mad, but Mama understood.”

  Clara giggled and pulled the doll close. “She only has one eye.”

  “The other one must have fallen off in the chest. We’ll look for it tomorrow and sew it back on. Now you go to sleep. Your father ought to be better in the morning, and you’ll want to be awake to keep him company.”

  “Aren’t you going to keep him company, too?”

  “Of course, but he’ll especially want you.”

  “You’re sure Daddy’s going to be all right?”

  “Positive. Now close your eyes. The sooner you go to sleep, the sooner you can wake up and find him well.”

  Clara obediently closed her eyes, the doll clutched in her arms, but Nan could tell she wasn’t asleep.

  “What’s wrong, honey?”

  “I’m cold.”

  “I’ll get you another quilt.”

  But that wasn’t the answer either.

  “Would you like to sit in my lap for a minute?”

  Nan didn’t know why she asked that, but she had obviously said the right thing. Clara was out of the trundle bed and in her lap before Nan could change her mind.

  Nan felt awkward. She had never held a child like this, but Clara didn’t feel the least bit unsure. She pulled her knees up under her chin, rested her head on Nan’s bosom, clutched the doll in a tight grasp, and closed her eyes. In less than a minute she was sound asleep. She didn’t wake when Nan leaned over to get the quilt to cover her.

  Nan didn’t know what to do. She knew she should put Clara back in the trundle bed, but she was afraid she would waken her. The child might feel abandoned when she woke up.

  It was some time before Nan drifted off to sleep again. She had a warm feeling inside that spread through her whole body. It made her feel good, contented. She felt almost like a married woman with a husband and a child to care for. She told herself not to be foolish, that only children indulged in make-believe, but she couldn’t stop the feeling. Besides, she liked it. For the first time in a long while, she didn’t feel as if the pageant of life had passed her by. It might be foolish, but it was only a small indulgence. It wouldn’t matter. They’d be gone in a day or two.

  Nan looked at the man in the bed and the little girl in her arms. She realized that she didn’t want them to go.

  Two

  Will opened his eyes. As his vision slowly focused, he realized that he had no idea where he was. He felt terribly tired. He couldn’t move. Then he remembered feeling sick. He must be at an inn. But where? He remembered a train conductor asking him how he felt, but he didn’t recall anything after that.

  Clara! What had happened to his daughter? He tried to sit up, but after barely lifting himself off the bed, he fell back. His vision went all blurry, and the ceiling dissolved into a pinwheel. But it soon cleared. With great effort, he turned onto his side. His gaze focused on the woman sleeping in a chair next to his bed; Clara lay asleep in her lap.

  Where was he? Who was this woman? How had she gotten his shy daughter to trust her?

  She had passed the first blush of youth, but she was still a lovely woman, her complexion creamy-smooth, the only color the pale blush of her cheeks and the deep rose of her lips. And the black of her lashes and eyebrows. Her nearly black hair had been parted in the middle and pulled into a knot on top of her head. It made her look too elegant even for this comfortable, well-furnished room. She wasn’t beautiful, but in sleep she wore an expression of such serenity that he felt his anxiety ebb away. Whoever she was, she was kindness itself.

  He was surprised that her husband had allowed her to sit with him. Even with his daughter to act as chaperone, men in the mountains were notoriously skittish about letting strangers near their women. He ought to know. He had grown up in the mountains.

  Maybe it was because she’d been married for years. The way she held Clara—her arms holding her close, her chin resting on the child’s head—showed she knew all about children. She must have several of her own.

  He’d have to move to an inn as soon as possible. He didn’t want to make any more work for her, or cause trouble between her and her husband.

  But even as he told himself he ought to leave, his gaze was drawn back to the woman. Something about her appealed to him strongly. Maybe it was her kindness. He couldn’t be imagining it. It must be terribly uncomfortable to have let Clara sleep in her lap all night, yet she looked perfectly content. No, she looked happy, as if she wanted to keep Clara close.

  How could he not be drawn to a woman such as that? She had such a sweet, loving face.

  He fell back, exhausted. He wondered how long he had been here. He hoped it hadn’t been too long. Louise’s parents were expecting him on the twentieth. They couldn’t wait to get their hands on Clara. They’d been trying for years. Now they had succeeded, and they were impatient. After not forgiving him for taking their daughter away, they weren’t likely to be pleased with him postponing their moment of triumph.

  He thought of Louise’s happiness when she’d learned she was pregnant, of how much she’d looked forward to having a half-dozen children. She had died before Clara’s first birthday. The loss had almost destroyed him. Now he was going to lose Clara as well.

  He drifted off to sleep wondering for the thousandth time if there were any way to avoid it.

  * * *

  “Wake up, Nan. You had no business sleeping in this chair. Don’t you know what it can do to your spine?”

  Nan opened her eyes but didn’t move. “Ssshhhh,” she whispered. “You’ll wake Clara and her father.”

  “Better I should wake them than you should be a cripple for life.”

  Nan glanced at the weak sunlight coming in the window. “I guess I’d better get up.”

  But she couldn’t move. One arm and both legs had gone dead.

  “Help me put her in the trundle bed.” Nan allowed Gertie to lift Clara from her lap. While Gertie tucked the sleeping child into the small bed, Nan rubbed her arm to restore the circulation. The pinpricks of returning feeling were unpleasant, but she didn’t mind. Looking at Clara as she slept peacefully made it worthwhile. Nan had brought help and comfort to many people, but nothing had ever touched her so deeply as Clara asleep in her arms. For one night she had been able to experience what it would have been like to have a child of her own.

  Nan got to her feet. She felt stiff, her muscles slow to respond, her movements awkward. She walked around the bed to get a closer look at Will Atkins. “He looks better.” She felt his forehead. “His fever has broken.”

  “I’ll bet he’s soaked the bed.”

  “Probably. Get some clean sheets. I’ll get him a fresh nightshirt.”

  “You’re not thinking of changing him, are you?” Gertie asked, scandalized.

  Nan laughed softly. “Not that he would know the difference.”

  “You let Jake take care of him.”

  “Of course,” Nan said. But she felt a tinge of regret. Being near this man infused her with an energy that made her more optimistic, more sensitive. She felt as though good news was on its way, as though something wonderful was about to happen.

  * * *

  Will Atkins sat on the edge of the bed, his legs sticking out from a nightshirt that was much too short for him. “I can’t face anybody looking like this,” he said, rubbing his chin over a two-day growth of beard.

  “That’s Mr. Carson’s nightshirt.”

  “I don’t want to take his clothes. What’s he going to wear?”

  “Mr. Carson’s dead.”

  “She’s awfully y
oung to be a widow.”

  “Who are you talking about?”

  “The young woman who sat up with me.”

  Jake chuckled, a big grin on his face. “That’s Nan, Mr. Carson’s daughter. She ain’t never married.”

  Will felt a muscle in his throat tighten. “What’s wrong with the men around here?”

  “There ain’t any, leastways not any that ain’t already married,” Jake said as he poured the hot water into a basin and set it down on the stand next to the bed. “Old Mister Carson used to say she was too particular. Gertie says there weren’t nobody good enough. I think she scared them off.”

  “What’s wrong with her?”

  “Nothing.” Jake worked up a lather with the shaving brush. “It’s just she’s a real lady. A smart one, too. That’s enough to put the fear of God into most men around here.”

  “In Boston, men would be standing in line to marry her,” Will said, allowing Jake to lather his face. He would have preferred to shave himself—he’d never been able to afford the luxury of having someone do it for him—but he was too weak to hold the razor.

  “Miss Nan don’t hold with big cities,” Jake said. “That’s where Gideon went, and he ain’t never come back.”

  “Gideon?” Will managed to mumble. He had to hold real still while Jake shaved his jaw.

  “Her brother. He’s marrying some city girl. That’s why he ain’t coming home for Christmas.”

  “But surely Miss Carson has more family.” It was hard to talk when his upper lip was being shaved by a straight razor sharp enough to cut it off with a single slip of the hand.

  “They’re all dead.”

  “But this farm?”

  “She owns it. Runs it herself, too. Well, actually Cliff Gilmer takes care of the cows, and Bert Layne sees after the crops. Me and Gertie help with everything else, but Miss Nan makes all the decisions.”