by Jillian Hart
“Yes. Our girls look to be about the same age.” Carrie couldn’t help the shine of pride when she gazed upon her child. Ebea, the good girl she was, was seated in the corner, safely out of the way, pretending to share bites of her cookie with her baby.
“Say, Annie is having a Christmas party. No gifts, nothing like that. It’s just for her little friends to come and have apple cider and treats, like a tea party. Would your little girl like to come, too? She would be most welcome.”
“But you don’t know us.”
“The McKaslins have hired you, and you’re working here in town. That makes you one of us. I’m Lena Cowan. We live above the leather shop. That’s my husband, he’s the leather worker in town. You bring your little girl by this afternoon at one, and I promise she’ll have the best time. We have games and goodies and—oh, I’m holding up the line. Let me pick up my order then.”
If she hadn’t met Mrs. Brickman, Carrie would have thought everyone in this town was unusually friendly. She hurried to the racks filled with packages and boxes along the side wall, tossing Ebea a smile as she swept by. Maybe a Christmas party would be just the thing her child needed. To have fun and to just be a little girl.
“The orders are alphabetized.” Fred McKaslin emerged from his work at the big tables, a big man and built like his son but apparently shy as he jammed his floury hands into his pockets and stared at the floor. “Sure is nice of you to pitch in. It’s our busiest Christmas season yet.”
“It’s the least I could do for your hospitality.” She spotted the Cowan order right away, two cake boxes and a huge pastry box, and gave thanks that the prices were written right on the boxes. It was a simple thing to total them up, accept the greenbacks from Lena and make change from the tray Selma kept right beneath the counter on a little shelf.
“One o’clock,” Lena reminded her, with her arms full and the crowd pushing around her. “We’ll be expecting you!”
As Carrie hurried to write out the next order for fudge, divinity and two dozen decorated sugar cookies, Selma sidled up to her on her way to the order racks. “I saw Lena Cowan talking to you. You ought to take your little Ebea to the party. She’ll have a fun time. And believe me, you won’t find nicer people than the Cowans.”
“Unless it’s your family.”
“Oh, pshaw! We aren’t so much, but I tell you, both Fred and I sure appreciate the help. You and I will settle up as soon as the rush is over.”
“There’s nothing to settle up. And if you think you’re going to pay me, then you and I are going to come to blows.” She added a smile to her harsh words, although she meant them.
“We’ll see about that!” With a wink, Selma bustled off.
More customers waited, and so Carrie dived right back in, her tablet and pencil at the ready.
On the other side of the counter, an elderly man glanced down at his shopping list. He laid the list on the counter and tapped at the written items as if he was half-amused. “The wife said to give this to you so I don’t mess up and get it wrong.”
“We’ll make sure we get the order right, then.”
That made the man grin, and in his day he must have been a handsome one. It was his kindness that shone through as he handed over the list. “Might as well copy it down since Selma is busy. Me or the wife will be by tomorrow to collect everything. You look like a good worker. You liking this job?”
“It’s nice.” It wasn’t her job, but that would take too much time to explain with so many waiting. She copied down the order. “What name do I put on this?”
“McKaslin.” He winked, making the family resemblance unmistakable. “I’m the grandpop. Can you believe it? It seems like just yesterday I owned this place, but then they ran me off.”
Selma arrived with the pie boxes and handed them over to her customer. “Oh, Shamus, you know we didn’t chase you off. Not with a broom, anyway, or any kind of weapon.”
“See how they treat me?” There was no mistaking the joke between them, for there was only clear abiding affection. “You be good to this young lady, Selma. She looks like a keeper. Has Mac met her yet?”
“Oh, has he! He’s the one who brought her to us.”
It’s not like that. Carrie cringed, because the look they exchanged was clear. “I’m only here for a few days.”
But Shamus McKaslin seemed to know better, for he waved her comment away. “No, I have a feeling you’ll be here longer than that, missy. It just goes to show that miracles do happen. That would explain why Mac refused to come inside with me. Now, I’d just best be on my way because if I’m late for lunch, the wife’ll take a broom to me. You lovely young ladies have a fine afternoon.”
And with a lift of his cap he turned away, drawing her gaze with him. That’s why she noticed the figure standing on the other side of the frosted window, shrouded in snow. More of a silhouette through the frosty glass, but she recognized the solid, dependable cut of those iron shoulders and proud head.
Mac. Her heart squeezed. He’d chosen to stay outside rather than to come in and face her. She couldn’t forget the sensation when their fingers met. Maybe he couldn’t, either, and that’s why he wanted to keep his distance.
And then she realized how it must seem. There was another reason he was watching her with his steeled scrutiny. She was behind his parents’ counter, taking orders and handling money. She, a woman who by all rights ought to be sitting in his jail charged as a thief. She, who was letting his family and their customers think that she was something she was not.
The bell over the door chimed as it closed behind Shamus. The grandfather and grandson were clearly exposed for a brief moment as the gusting wind tore apart the snow and she saw the two of them amble away, side by side, their backs both straight and strong. Unshakable.
She cared very much what Mac thought of her. And she knew that this horrible feeling burrowing into the pit of her stomach was her troubled conscience. She had never lied about who she was or pretended to be something she wasn’t.
As more customers streamed through the door, she sighed. She could not leave Selma to handle all this alone, not when she had the power to help, but neither could she let this charade continue. She did not deserve the McKaslins’ generosity and their trust, for she was not the miracle they were hoping for their son.
Chapter Six
At least his office was warm. Mac huddled by the potbelly and took a deep breath. The storm was thinning some, the wind not as fierce, so that was good. That meant most townsfolk could get out and about pretty safely. But it was the heavy snowfall that was giving him trouble. He’d been helping with shoveling, keeping alleys and the entrances to businesses clear, and the day was already half done.
His stomach gave a bearlike growl. Lunch would have to wait until after he was done mulling over the problem of Carrie Montgomery. Jed had been good enough to stop by with the information he’d asked for.
The figures were higher than he would like, but they weren’t impossible. He’d been tucking away most of his paychecks for years because he had no one to spend the money on. His folks refused help. His grandparents merely thought his attempts to offer to spend his money on them was insulting, for they’d always paid their way. What good was money if it was sitting untouched in a bank account forever?
None. And who better to help? Carrie had sure impressed Pop, when she’d taken Grandma’s order. In the shop, she had looked like a different woman yet again; it was as if the layers of weariness and anxiety had been peeled back, and he could see her more clearly. The gentle-voiced woman with a lovely manner and the kind of beauty that could drop him to his knees.
He knew the rap at the front door came from Carrie even before he glanced up from the note Jed had left. A tight sensation swelled in his chest as she pushed open the door and blew in with a cloud of sugary snow.
He folded the note and slid it into his shirt pocket. “Howdy, there. Did my ma give you time off for good behavior?”
“Ebea was inv
ited to a Christmas party. I just left her at the Cowans’. I promised Selma that while I was out, I’d bring you lunch.” Clearly unaware of her beauty and her effect on him, she pulled off her hood, revealing the soft cloud of her hair. She plopped a little pail on the edge of his desk. Lunch, made by his mother.
Not that he was hungry for food. No, only hungry for the sight of Carrie. The cold had pinkened her cheeks, and her mouth looked as succulent and as sensual as a midnight dream. She shed her gloves, revealing her slim, delicately made hands. He remembered the brush of her fingertips and it was enough to thicken his blood. She was everything he hadn’t even known he wanted; everything that he could never have again.
Sensibly, he got up from the chair and did the right thing, which was to keep the conversation neutral. It was best that she never know how she made him feel. “Come sit here by the fire. Warm up before you head back. Although you’re probably used to this kind of weather.”
“The blizzards seem different from the ones in Dakota Territory. Maybe it’s just that I know we’re high up in the mountains, but the snowfall seems much heavier.” She unbuttoned her coat as she went. “Your town seems to do well enough during a storm. Minot, at least the part of town I lived in, closed up tight during a blizzard. No one ventured out.”
“Our founders put some thought into where they put the main street, for instance,” he said. “The winds run from the northwest, so when the storm breaks, you’ll notice they ran the road southeast, in the lee of the mountainside, which means we’re protected from the worst of the winds. Doesn’t mean it isn’t cold, though.” He offered her the chair.
She kept her distance and didn’t move toward the warmth. “I’ve got to get back. But before I do, can I say something to you?”
“Sure.”
She hesitated. A furrow crinkled between her eyebrows, an endearing gesture, and he had to fight down the urge to rub that spot with the pad of his thumb. Her soft bangs tumbling over her forehead would feel like fine silken threads against his callused fingers. And her skin would be sun-warmed rose petals.
Hell, he couldn’t keep thinking like this. What he needed was a little will, a bit of self-discipline, and he’d be fine. That’s all. He laid a hand on his shirt pocket, feeling the reassuring outline of Jed’s note. Simple enough now that he thought about it. “What do you have to say?”
“I hope you don’t think I’m trying to take advantage of your parents.” Her chin shot up, and there was no mistaking the pride and intense dignity that held her up.
“What? Where did you get that notion?”
“I know what it must look like with the way I just invited myself behind their counter. But your ma refused to take payment for Ebea’s cookie, and I did what I thought was right.”
“I noticed.”
“I don’t meant to worm my way into their lives or into a job or anything. I know how it must look. You know that every customer who came through those doors thought I was the new hired girl. I don’t want you to think I was encouraging that. The shop was so busy and it just wasn’t worth the time to explain.”
“That’s not what I thought at all.”
“No?” That was a relief.
She could see the steel bars of the jail cell through a doorway behind him, and she shivered at how close she’d come to being there. “I owe you something I cannot begin to ever repay. Ever. I know what you’ve done for me. And I thought that a way to pay you back for your help and your parents’ hospitality would be to volunteer in their store, so—”
“Whoa right there.” He held up one hand. “You don’t owe me a thing. What you do for my folks is between you and the two of them. As for the railroad, I think I may have found a way to do a little negotiating on your behalf.”
“Really? What? Do you need the ring?”
“Not just yet. You leave it on for now.”
It was the way he said it, with all the assurance of a man used to solving problems that made her relax. She could trust him. “I haven’t had a lot of luck go my way in a long time. Until I came here. I’m afraid to believe in it.”
“It’s easy, Carrie. Just believe. It’s my job to help people. I intend to help you and your daughter all I can.”
“What a fine man you are, Mac McKaslin.”
“You would be wrong.” He twisted away as if she’d struck him, turning his shoulder hard and marching straight to the stove where he knelt to shovel in more coal. Determined and busy, and as distant as the western shoreline.
Why? He’d turned from her so fast. After she’d been praising him. Mortified, Carrie jabbed her fingers into her handmade mitten and spun toward the door, her face flaming hot. She seemed to have a talent for leaping out of the frying pan and into the fire. There wasn’t any disaster that she couldn’t make worse. Now Mac thought that she was really sweet on him.
Great. It was an excellent moment to leave. She wrestled the door closed behind her without looking back to say goodbye. The last thing she needed was one more look at that irresistible sheriff—and risk having him notice.
She had her pride. She had her dignity. She wasn’t looking for a man to save her.
After the sadness of her marriage dissolving into her husband’s alcohol troubles, she had to stand on her own two feet. It was up to her to make a living, to solve problems and make things right. She would hope for leniency from the railroad company and work hard until she’d paid them back every penny owed. And she would do so hundreds of miles away from this storybook town, where she could no longer embarrass herself in front of Mac McKaslin.
Or notice that the more she was around him, the greater he became in her view.
I hope you don’t think I’m trying to take advantage… Carrie’s words haunted him for hours. The note Jed had left seemed to increase in weight, making him more aware of it tucked in his pocket.
No, it had never crossed his mind that Carrie would try to take advantage of his parents. He was a sheriff; he tended to see the bad side of life and of people on the job every day. He knew the woman she was. That was the problem.
The day passed in slow, stretched-out increments. Minutes and hours he struggled not to think of her. Working helped. He kept busy by completing his check; all townsfolk were accounted for.
After he’d helped two elderly ladies with the snow drifting against their front doors, he had to attend to a chimney fire over on Rocky Road, and then he had to fetch the doc when Dunn Larkin cut his thumb with an ax. He worked all day in frigid winds and hazy shadows. He ached with those shadows, as if the darkness was gathering inside him, too.
As he grabbed hold of the rope that tied the end of the boardwalk that would lead him safely across Mountain Street to the steps up to the depot, he caught sight of a woman pushing out of a shop down the way. He knew it was Carrie even though he could not see more than a hint of her shape and height.
He couldn’t help watching the sway of Carrie’s hips beneath her coat. Or the long smooth line of her gait. Her legs would be long and smooth too. And what was he doing thinking like that? It felt as if a mule had kicked him hard, right behind the sternum. His feet nearly went out from under him. The wind knocked him sideways and he lost hold of the rope.
Standing breathless, he watched as she ambled around the corner with her little girl by the hand and out of sight, hurrying back to his parents’ shop. Her words disturbed him. I thought that a way to pay you back for your help and your parents’ hospitality would be to volunteer in their store. Volunteer. She wasn’t doing this for a wage.
He found the rope and oriented himself. He probably looked like a fool for losing hold of the rope in the first place. It was a good thing no one could see him due to the blizzard.
At least, not too many. He waved at a teamster making his way cautiously down the only open street through town, hauling freight from the depot to one of the merchants down the way. This was his life, looking out for folks, keeping them safe and enforcing the law. That’s all he was doing for Ca
rrie. If his sister was down on her luck and in a strange town, he could only hope that someone would do the same for her.
And once Carrie was on her way West, he could go back to being as frozen as the storm and as dark as these long bleak days of winter.
“Well, what a day we had.” Selma’s good cheer remained, even by the worsening storm, whose gusts knocked them against the porch railing. “I can’t remember when we’ve had a rush like that. Fred, can you?”
“No’m.” The big strapping man balanced the glass-enclosed lantern while he unlocked the front door. “Not a rush like that. Most of the town seemed to be in today.”
“What we would have done without you, I can’t say,” Selma went on, despite the cold and snow. “I am sure grateful we didn’t need to find out.”
“I’m glad I could help.”
Carrie blocked the howling wind with her back and ushered Ebea across the threshold first. Her poor baby. Ebea’s teeth were chattering and she was covered from head to foot in a layer of crystalline snow. But beneath the thick muffler, her cherub’s face was still flushed with joy from the fun time she’d had at Annie’s.
Baby Molly and the new doll blanket Ebea had received at the party needed to be properly swept free of snow and sent safe in Ebea’s arms to warm in the kitchen, where Fred was stacking cut fir chunks into the cookstove’s fuel door.
The welcoming heat and merry snapping and crackling told her someone had been by to uncover the banked coals and build a roaring fire—Mac, no doubt. It was just the sort of thing she could see him doing, coming by the cold house to make sure the kitchen would be toasty when his parents came in from the cold.
By the time Carrie had hung all of their wraps, including Selma’s and the ones Fred had slung on the entry bench, on the pegs to dry in the kitchen, Selma was lifting a bubbling teakettle from a trivet. Apparently Mac had done that too, and set a big kettle of water to heat.