Nan wound her arms around Will’s neck and leaned into the kiss. Quite suddenly, she wanted to be as close to him as possible. She wanted to feel the warmth of his body against her own, the pressure of his chest against her breast, the security of his arms around her. For one brief moment she wanted to forget leaving home, motherless daughters, the pressure of business. Just once she wanted to feel prized above all worldly possessions.
She wanted to feel that Will loved her for herself alone.
Only two other men had kissed Nan. The memory of their chaste kisses was obliterated by Will’s passionate embrace. He stunned her when he forced his tongue between her lips. She went weak in the knees. She thought she would faint when she felt the heat of his desire pressed against her abdomen.
Nan had never been so close to unchecked emotion, to raw need. It both frightened and excited her.
Will broke their kiss. He looked visibly shaken.
“I think it’s time I went to bed,” he said.
“That was more than a stolen kiss under the mistletoe,” Nan said.
“Too much, and not nearly enough.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You will,” Will said, and kissed her on the nose. “I promise you will.”
Seven
Nan was surprised to find she wasn’t the first one in the kitchen on Christmas morning.
“What are you doing here?” she asked Gertie. “Why aren’t you enjoying your own Christmas?” Eggs, biscuits, sausage, grits, ham and gravy, jellies, butter—everything was ready for an enormous breakfast.
“Christmas is no fun for two old people. Jake and I wanted to watch Clara. He’s lighting the fire right now. You go tell Clara and her father they’ve got fifteen minutes. After that, we start without them.”
But it didn’t take Clara that long. In exactly twenty-one seconds she was out of bed, into her robe and slippers, and downstairs wanting to know why the door to the gathering room was closed. Will wasn’t far behind. He had taken time to comb his hair and brush his teeth, but everything else was left for later.
“When do we get to open our presents?” Clara asked for the fifth time.
“After you finish your breakfast,” Nan said.
“But I’m not hungry.”
“You have to eat something,” Will said. “Gertie has worked very hard to fix a nice breakfast.”
It was apparent to all four adults that while Clara might appreciate Gertie’s effort, she wished she had saved it for some other time. She toyed with her food, barely tasting what was put on her plate. She ate only half of a hot biscuit covered with butter and grape jelly.
“I think it’s time to open the presents,” Nan announced.
Clara was out of her chair and at the door like a flash.
“Close your eyes,” Nan said.
Clara slammed her eyes shut and put her hands over them.
“Don’t open them until I say so,” Nan said. She guided Clara out of the kitchen, down the hall, and into the gathering room. “Now open your eyes.”
Clara dropped her hands. She looked around at the many gifts. “Which one is mine?”
“All of them,” Nan said.
Clara’s eyes grew wider and wider. “Everything?”
Nan smiled and nodded.
“Can I, Daddy?”
Will nodded.
There were two dolls, one a beautiful, blond princess doll dressed in a lovely white gown, the second a country doll with pink cheeks and freckles on the end of her nose. She wore a calico dress with an apron, a sunbonnet on her unruly red hair, and black boots on her feet. Clara walked straight to the second doll, picked her up, and hugged her close.
“You have to give both your dolls names,” Gertie said.
“This is Peggy,” Clara said.
“The little girl she met at church last night,” Nan whispered to Will when he looked totally at sea.
“And the other?” Gertie prompted.
“That’s Nan,” Clara said.
“I don’t look a thing like—”
“I think that’s a perfect name,” Will said. “Now before you get busy with your other presents, Daddy has something for you.”
Will produced a package from behind one of the chairs. Clara tore the paper off to reveal a pretty white Sunday dress and a new pair of shiny, black patent-leather shoes. Clara couldn’t wait to try them on. She kicked off her slippers, shrugged off her robe, and pulled her nightgown over her head.
“Where did you get that?” Nan asked in an undervoice.
“I told him about it,” Gertie said. “I saw it at the mercantile.”
“It was the only thing in the place I’d buy,” Will said.
Clara put her shoes on bare feet and stood up and adjusted her dress.
“You look beautiful,” Nan said. “I think you ought to give your father a great big kiss.”
Clara ran over and gave her father a big hug and kiss. “Now I’ll look at the rest of my presents.”
Nan picked up a package wrapped in plain paper and handed it to Will. “It’s not much, but I thought you might like it.”
“Shortbreads!” Will crowed with laughter. “I’m never going to live this down, am I?”
“I’m afraid not. If I forget, Gertie’s bound to remember.”
Gertie and Jake were exchanging presents. They weren’t aware of anybody else just then.
“I’ve got a present for you,” Will said. “It’s a little strange, but I hope you’ll like it. Actually, I’ve got more than one, but open this one first.”
Puzzled, Nan accepted the envelope Will handed her. Inside she found a folded piece of paper. When she opened it up, she found a crude picture of a store with Atkins Mercantile written across the front.
“Now this one,” Will said, handing her a second envelope.
Inside, Nan found a second piece of paper. This time, Atkins Hotel was written across the front of a building that looked more like a country inn than a hotel.
“I don’t understand,” Nan said.
“You’ll never make an artist,” Gertie said, looking at the pictures with a critical eye. “Not if you can’t draw Wilmer’s inn or Grady’s mercantile any better than that.”
Nan grabbed the pictures and looked at them again. Then she looked up at Will and back at the pictures.
“You didn’t… You couldn’t… I didn’t know…”
“For goodness’ sake,” Gertie said, “they aren’t that bad.”
“It isn’t that,” Nan said. “Don’t you see? His name is on them.”
“I’m not blind,” Gertie replied. “Though why he’d want to put his name on those buildings is more than I can understand.”
“You bought them, didn’t you?” Nan said, turning to Will.
He nodded.
“You’re not going to take Clara to her grandparents?”
He shook his head.
“You’re not going back to Boston?”
“No.”
“Will someone tell me what’s going on?” Gertie demanded.
“Where am I going to live?” Clara asked.
“Right here, darling,” Nan said. She gave the child a hug, but her eyes never left Will.
“Where’s Daddy going to live?”
“That depends on whether Nan likes my last gift,” Will said.
He took a small box out of his pocket and opened it. A diamond ring nestled in a bed of deep-blue velvet. Nan looked at the ring, then at Will.
“I would have gone with you. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes, but I discovered I didn’t want to go. It’s ironic, but I discovered my new life was hollow, an illusion. Everything that’s real and lasting is right here.”
Will took the ring out of the box. His eyes never left Nan’s
face, but somehow he managed to slip it on her finger. They stood there, holding hands, staring into each other’s eyes.
“Where’s Daddy going to live?” Clara asked again.
“Right here,” Gertie answered. “Now why don’t we go into the kitchen? Nan and your father have a lot to talk about.”
“But they’re not saying anything.”
“Yes, they are. You just can’t hear it.”
“Are they going to do that a lot?”
“Probably.”
* * *
“So that’s what you did yesterday.” They were seated on the sofa, Nan nestled in Will’s arms. “I knew Wilmer wanted to sell, but what about Grady? His family has owned the mercantile for a hundred years.”
“Maybe, but Paralee wants to join her son and daughter in Charlottesville. And when a woman wants something—”
“I know. Daddy used to say, ‘When a stubborn woman wants something, a wise man lets her have it.’ Is that how you felt about me?”
“You helped me to see what I wanted most. Once I knew that, the rest was easy.”
“Truly? You won’t regret it in a few years?”
“I haven’t changed what I want to do, just where I want to do it. I plan to build a business empire from one end of the valley to the other.”
“But you’ll come home every night?”
“Every night.”
“And you won’t be away at Christmas.”
“Never again.”
“And Clara can have some brothers and sisters?”
“As many as she wants. When can we get started?”
* * *
“What’s that funny sound?” Clara asked Gertie.
“I think it’s Nan saying yes.”
“It doesn’t sound like yes to me.”
“It will when you’re old enough to understand the question.”
About the Author
Leigh Greenwood is the award-winning author of over fifty books, many of which have appeared on the USA Today bestseller list. Leigh lives in Charlotte, North Carolina. Please visit his website at leigh-greenwood.com.
One
Wyoming Territory
August 1886
Maggie rested her father’s old Sharps on a rock, taking steady aim. She couldn’t hold the big, heavy rifle on her own long enough to keep it steady. To this day, she wasn’t sure how she’d once managed to hold it long enough to shoot a grizzly. Pure desperation, she supposed, since the bear was attacking the man she loved.
That was almost four months ago. Right now, she was aiming the old but dependable rifle at the biggest buck she’d ever seen, even in these wild Wyoming foothills. The only thing bigger would be an elk…or another grizzly.
Please don’t move. She lined up the rear sight with the sight at the end of the barrel. She squeezed the rear trigger to set the load, then moved her finger to the front trigger…and fired.
She winced when the butt of the rifle punched her shoulder, but she’d been prepared for the kick, her feet straddled and well planted. The buck fell, and Maggie let out a war whoop. She eagerly turned from her hiding place behind the rock and shoved the Sharps into its straps, then mounted her horse, a two-year-old buckskin mare she called Missy. “Let’s go, girl!” She kicked the horse’s sides and rode the roughly one hundred yards to where the buck had fallen. She hated to see any animal suffer, and she wasn’t sure enough of her aim to be confident she’d put this beautiful animal down instantly, rather than just wounding him.
She dismounted and quickly tied her horse to a small shrub, then carefully walked around the buck. She saw no movement, and her heart filled with pride at her kill. This was her way of proving she was a true rancher’s wife and loved this land and this life, showing her husband of only two months that he’d made the right choice in marrying her. God knew he’d had his heart broken bad enough by his first wife, who’d hated life here in Paradise Valley—hated the remoteness of it, hated getting her hands dirty, hated common chores and hard work.
Not me, she thought. I love every inch of this land. My hands were never clean back on Pa’s farm in Missouri, and I worked as hard as any man. I can handle ranching. She looked around, drinking in the Wyoming landscape…the mountains…the grasslands. Most of all, I love the man who owns all of this!
The trouble was, that man’s first wife was the most educated, sophisticated, beautiful woman Maggie had ever met. She could never come close to any of that, so in her mind she figured she had to prove herself in other ways. She had to make Sage love her for her abilities as a rancher’s wife. Such a life wasn’t easy, but she’d been brought up hard back in Missouri, treated far more like a boy than a girl by her abusive father.
She could hold up to ranch life, but it also took determination and grit to be married to a man like Sage Lightfoot. He was all man, all power, all sureness, and capable of brutality against those who would harm those he loved. He had a temper no one wanted to mess with, though he never turned it against her. Not Sage. For a man of his size and strength, he could be surprisingly gentle.
She heard the pounding of horses’ hooves then. Here on Paradise Valley Ranch, a gunshot brought men running. She’d seen this big buck out her kitchen window more than once. When she spotted him again this morning, she quickly threw on coat and boots and grabbed Missy from where someone had left the mare, saddled, near the barn. She could only hope the buck would still be in sight when she reached a place close enough to shoot it.
The trouble was, Sage often preached about the dangers of a woman going out alone in this country. After what she’d been through when she first met Sage, she well understood his concern. She’d promised her husband that she would always let him or one of the men know if she intended to go riding. Now she’d broken that promise, and Sage would be worried, but there hadn’t been time to let anyone know what she was doing.
She touched her belly. The child she carried was an even bigger reason she felt she had to prove herself. Always, she feared Sage would change his mind about accepting a baby that wasn’t his, a baby whose father was unknown. She hated the word people used for such a child…bastard. She would never think of her precious baby that way, but she knew others would if they knew the truth.
Right now, only Sage knew. He’d told the ranch hands that the baby was his, but they all knew what she’d been through when Sage first found her out on the plains—alone—digging her husband’s grave after a gruesome attack by outlaws that had left her wishing she was dead. The ranch hands probably all wondered what the real truth was, but they were good men. Sage loved her and had married her, so the men who worked for him also loved her and were kind to her.
She smiled when she heard whistles and shouts. She appreciated how the crew at Paradise Valley looked out for her, protected her, praised her cooking, and respected her as the wife of the owner of this sixty-thousand-acre spread. Most of them were ex-outlaws, although the “ex” was questionable at times when it came to their fierce protection of Sage and this ranch and anyone Sage loved. They were solid and dependable. Sage himself once led an outlaw life, practically forced into it by the terrible hurt of being reviled by his own family because of his Indian blood.
But that was in the past. Maggie was determined to make sure it stayed there, determined to show Sage Lightfoot more love than he’d ever known and give him the family he’d always wanted. Some would think it strange that they had married so quickly, thinking it was only because she was carrying. Out here, people made decisions out of necessity and survival, but no matter what others thought, she’d married purely for love.
She recognized the three men riding toward her—Bill Summers, Hank Toller, and her husband, who had a concerned look on his face, but she didn’t care if he was upset that she’d come out here alone. She’d just shot the biggest buck in Paradise Valley, which would provide a lot of meat for all the ran
ch hands. She’d proven her value as Sage Lightfoot’s new wife.
Two
“Look there, Sage! That woman of yours has sand in her gizzard, I’ll say!” A hefty Hank Toller dismounted and, as usual, spit tobacco juice, making sure to aim it away from everyone. “Maggie, did you count the points on that beast?”
“I didn’t even think to count them!” Maggie answered excitedly. “I was just so happy to get him with one shot!” She looked up at Sage, not quite able to read his eyes. “I’ll bet this is the biggest buck anybody on this ranch ever shot,” she told him, smiling.
Sage just shook his head. “I expect it is.”
“Ain’t no man on this ranch ever shot one bigger,” Bill verified. “I’m guessin’ that creature weighs two hundred fifty pounds, probably more.” He winked at Maggie. “I’ll be lookin’ forward to some venison steaks for the men right soon.”
Maggie laughed. “I’ll make sure every man gets a good meal out of this. We need to celebrate a successful roundup and the good price Sage got for those cattle you men herded to Cheyenne a couple weeks ago.”
Sage dismounted and walked over to inspect the deer. “You sure he’s dead? Wild animals have a way of suddenly rearing up after they lay there a bit. Be careful, Hank.”
Hank was counting the points. “Twelve!” He stood up, his stomach jiggling as he laughed. “Twelve points! Sage, we gotta keep the head of this thing for a souvenir. That’s some woman you have there!”
Sage looked Maggie over appreciatively, a sly grin finally making its way to his lips. “Oh, I already know that.” He walked closer to Maggie. “Step back, Maggie. If you’re going to go hunt an animal like this, don’t take it for granted he’s dead just because he’s down. A good kick from an animal that size could kill you, or the baby.” He gently took her arm and pushed her farther away. “Slit his throat, Hank. If he still has any life in him, we don’t want him to suffer.”
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