Tracie Peterson, Tracey V. Bateman, Pamela Griffin, JoAnn A. Grote

by Prairie Christmas Collection

  The shanty, though small, still boasted four separate rooms: kitchen, living area, and two bedrooms. For many of the people living here on the prairie, this house would seem palatial. To Rose, it was just home. Other neighbors were seated in the main living area, while Papa was laid out in his own bedroom, awaiting burial the next day.

  Rose handed mugs of coffee to those present, passing the cookies among them. When she sat down, she found herself across from Ward. His veiled eyes seemed to be watching every move she made.

  Shifting uncomfortably, she dropped her eyes to the black band around his forearm. Every person in the room was wearing such a band, their symbol of respect to her deceased father. Except for a sprinkling of gray throughout his tresses, the color of the band was as dark as the hair on Ward’s head. At forty years of age, he was still a striking man where looks were concerned. He had the lean fitness of a man who spent many hours out-of-doors.

  Thankfully her attention, and his, was diverted by several people rising to leave. Rose handed them their coats and thanked them for coming. Soon there were only herself, Ward, and Emily Haskins left.

  Closing the door against the fast-approaching night, Rose turned to the elderly woman and almost choked at the soft look of sympathy she saw reflected in the older woman’s gentle brown eyes.

  “I’m not leaving you alone here tonight, Rose. Ward has agreed to stay and take me home after the funeral in the morning.”

  “That’s really not necessary,” Rose told her, her own voice tinged with dismay.

  Ward gave her a sharp glance. “It’s no trouble,” he answered her. “Emily and I would be traveling back in the morning anyway, so with the weather being like it is, we thought we would just as well stay.” His green eyes roved her features slowly before being caught by the troubled look in her own blue eyes.

  Rose was relieved when Ward released her from his mesmerizing gaze and turned instead to Emily. “I am at your command,” he told her, his face splitting into a grin.

  Emily had a penchant for organizing things, and Rose had no doubt that she was about to do that very thing now. It was quite possible that Ward had suggested it, thinking that Rose would be in no fit state to do much of anything.

  Rolling up her sleeves, Emily headed to the kitchen. “Bring me some more wood from the lean-to, and don’t forget to feed the livestock. Oh, and Rose, help me find the flour so that I can bake you some bread. I’ll not leave you here without the basic necessities.”

  Rose found Ward smiling at her and couldn’t help but smile in return. Shaking her head, she followed Emily into the kitchen. Already the older woman was bustling about finding the items she needed to concoct her famous honey wheat bread.

  Rose’s eyes fastened on the jar with the honeycomb smothered in honey. A small smile touched her lips as she thought of Papa and her finding the hive this summer. Together they had managed to smoke the bees and retrieve the sweet liquid, though she had received three stings for her effort and had ached for days. Papa, on the other hand, had not been stung at all. He had laughingly told her that the bees knew she was afraid of them.

  “It’s amazin’ how we women tend to think so much alike.”

  Rose shifted her wayward thoughts and focused on the woman before her. “What did you say?”

  “I said it’s amazin’ how much women tend to think alike. I could find just about everything in your kitchen ‘cause it’s pretty much in the same place as mine.”

  Rose pinched the bridge of her nose, closing her tired eyes. She appreciated Emily’s concern, and Ward’s, but she would much rather be alone. Papa’s body might be lying in the next room, but there was nothing about that to frighten her. If anything, it offered her a slight measure of comfort.

  Pulling out a chair at the table, Rose slowly lowered herself into it. She watched Emily working the dough and realized that the older woman had been right. Rose was so tired, she would never have bothered to fix anything for herself to eat.

  Ward brought the wood in and dumped it in the bin by the stove. Taking off his dripping sheepskin jacket, he hung it on the hook behind the door. He stretched his muscles tiredly, his gray flannel shirt rippling across his broad shoulders with the movement. Rose swallowed hard and quickly turned her eyes away.

  “What else?” He spoke to Emily, but his eyes were once again centered on Rose.

  “The animals taken care of?” Emily asked him.

  “I did that earlier.” His look swung again to Rose. “You look just about done in. Why don’t you get some sleep? Emily and I will see to things here.”

  Rose was already shaking her head. “I couldn’t do that.”

  Hands placed firmly on her rounded hips, Emily scrutinized Rose with a knowing eye. “Why ever not? You’re not much good to us like you are. You’re already half asleep on your feet. Good Book says to do unto others as you would have them do unto you. Now, if the shoe were on the other foot, what would you say?”

  Rose blinked tired eyes up at the elderly woman standing before her. Truth to tell, having someone take charge was a blessing for which she should be thankful. She glanced at Ward and found his lips twitching with amusement. Emily Haskins had always had the last word about anything for as long as Rose could remember. She couldn’t think of a time when the spry woman hadn’t gotten her own way.

  “All right,” she relented, rising to her feet. “You’ve convinced me. I’ll go to bed.” Emily’s face broke into a broad smile. “I knew you were a woman of good sense.”

  Ward followed Rose from the kitchen. “I’ll just see that the fire in the fireplace is still going strong, then I’ll go back and help Emily.”

  Rose only half-heard Ward placing another log on the still-crackling fire as she sluggishly made her way across the room to her bedroom door. She had her hand on the latch, but stopped just short of lifting it.

  When she turned to go to the other door, Ward barely made it there before her. He placed his hand over hers as she was about to pull the latch.

  Startled, she jerked her hand back and lifted her face to his in question.

  “Don’t,” he told her softly. “Not tonight. You’re too tired. Wait until the morning.”

  She wanted to argue, but she knew he was right. Still, something about him made her want to do everything opposite to what he suggested. Could it be because everything he said always came out sounding like an order?

  As though he could read her mind, he touched her face gently with a curled finger. “Please.”

  His touch set off an explosion of feelings she had no hope of interpreting. Ward could see the trepidation return to her eyes as she quickly moved away from him. “You’re probably right,” she told him breathlessly. “I only wanted to see him one more time before the others come again tomorrow. One more time, just he and I alone.”

  Ward said nothing, merely watching as she quickly crossed to the other door and let herself into her own bedroom.

  Closing the door behind her, Rose leaned back against it, pressing a hand to her heart. Never in her life had she been so unsettled by a man’s touch. It sent feelings twisting through her that she had never experienced before, made her want things she had long ago considered impossible.

  Brows puckering in confusion, she made her way across to her bed and began to disrobe in the dark. The chill temperatures had her hurrying, and quickly climbing beneath the quilts on her bed she curled herself into a ball, shivering against the cold sheets.

  How could a man affect her in such a way? A man she barely liked. And now, of all times, with her father lying mere feet away, lost to her for the rest of this lifetime. She was overly tired. That had to be it, for no other explanation offered itself to her fatigued mind.

  Huddling beneath the covers, she felt the chill lessen and her eyes grew drowsy. As she drifted off to sleep, she resolved to free herself of Ward’s unwanted presence at the earliest opportunity.

  “Does she know about the farm yet?”

  Ward lifted tired e
yes to the woman before him. Slowly, he shook his head. “I didn’t want to burden her with that tonight. She’ll know soon enough.”

  Emily pulled out a chair and joined him at the kitchen table. “I agree, of course. It just amazes me that Gabel kept such a thing to himself.”

  Ward nodded. “He was that kind of man. Willing to help others in any way he could, but not willing to let others do the same for him.”

  “A lot like someone else I know, Ward Taylor. Maybe that’s why you two got along so well.”

  Grinning, Ward didn’t deny it. He lifted the steaming mug to his lips and blew softly. Actually, he hated coffee; but he wouldn’t for the world let Emily know that, because to Emily, coffee was a panacea for all kinds of evils. Grimacing when her back was turned, he reached for the sugar bowl and ladled a heavy spoonful into the dark, aromatic brew.

  “So what will you do now?”

  One dark eyebrow winged its way upwards. “What makes you think I will do anything?”

  A very unladylike snort followed his question. “Ward Taylor, you gotta do somethin’. That little girl in there can’t take care of herself, you know. She needs a good strong man to look out for her.”

  Ward had to smile at Emily’s reference to a woman of thirty-five years of age being a “little girl.” The smile disappeared quickly when he realized what she had said. “Why, you old matchmaker, you! You can just get that notion out of your mind, real quick.”

  Innocent brown eyes didn’t fool Ward for one minute. He knew he had to do something to help Rose, and he didn’t need anyone like Emily pointing it out to him. But she was suggesting—no, that couldn’t be what she was suggesting. Surely he was being paranoid.

  When he looked at her again, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What did you have in mind?”

  “Well …” she drawled. “You could use a good wife and Rose could use a good husband.” He rose quickly to his feet, but Emily continued undaunted. “If you had a wife, you wouldn’t need to pay me to do your baking, and Maudie to do your laundry, and—”

  “Okay, okay,” he told her in exasperation, lifting a hand as though to stem the flow of words. “I get the picture. But I thought you enjoyed the extra money, and if it doesn’t bother me, why should it bother you?”

  “Now don’t get ornery,” she huffed. “I do like the extra money, but I think you could put yours to better use.”

  Ward was shaking his head. “Emily, you never cease to amaze me.”

  “Did you know Rose ain’t got no place to go?”

  He collapsed back into the chair. “I know.”

  “Well?”

  Ward stared at Emily several minutes before he realized that he was actually considering what she had suggested. Gritting his teeth, he jumped to his feet, grabbing his coat from the hook on the back of the kitchen door.

  “I’ll just go check on the animals,” he told her.

  She gave him a “you don’t fool me” look, but she remained quiet as he escaped through the door.

  As Ward made his way to the barn he stole a glance at the sky. Clouds blocked out the cold night moon and he knew there would be more rain come morning. What a miserable day for a funeral it was going to be, not that any day was a good one.

  Throwing some more hay in the manger, he patted the old milk cow’s neck and checked once again to make sure everything was all right. There was very little hay left, but he doubted Rose was even aware of it. He sighed. If only these torrential rains had come this past summer when the farmers needed it instead of now. He hadn’t realized just how badly Gabel had been affected by the drought.

  Making his way back to the cabin, he made sure he entered through the front door instead of the kitchen. He could hear Emily moving around, humming faintly to herself.

  Leaving his muddy boots beside the door, he made his way quietly to Rose’s door and pressed an ear against the portal. No sound came from within, so he assumed she was fast asleep. What would she say when he told her everything tomorrow? What would she do? Where would she go? The questions kept circling round and round in his mind. One thing was for certain, Emily’s idea was positively out of the question.

  Chapter 2

  Ward’s prediction of rain hadn’t materialized as of the time set for the funeral, and he knew Rose was thankful. Hovering clouds to the north spoke of a winter storm approaching and everyone knew that with that storm, winter would set in with a vengeance.

  The minister hurried the ceremony, and surrounding neighbors quickly made their way back to their horses and wagons. It wouldn’t do to be caught out in a blizzard.

  Out of necessity, Gabel’s body was buried close to the shanty on the land that he loved. Ward walked beside Rose back to the house, wondering how he could broach the subject of Rose’s future. He was relieved of that obligation when Rose spoke first.

  “I want to thank you for everything you’ve done.” She glanced at him, but quickly turned away. “Both now and in the past. Papa … Papa was grateful for your friendship.”

  There was a catch in her voice as she said the last and Ward knew she was struggling with tears held tightly in check. He took a deep breath, but before he could say anything she continued.

  “It was nice of Pastor Hoover to offer to take Emily home.”

  He gave her a quick glance, but made no comment.

  “I know you must be anxious to get home yourself, but would you like a cup of coffee before you go?”

  Ward wrinkled his nose slightly. “That would be nice,” he lied.

  When they reached the shanty, Rose disappeared into the kitchen to fetch them each a cup of coffee. Ward followed her, watching her without appearing to do so.

  He seated himself at the table and Rose pushed a cup in front of him. She sat down across from him and hastily lowered her eyes.

  Ward noticed the traces of Rose’s tears and felt suddenly very protective toward her. Both she and her father had been good friends to him over the past several years, though he knew that with Rose it was a somewhat reserved friendship. For some reason he seemed to alarm her, but as yet he hadn’t found the cause. It had never bothered him overmuch, seeing as how it was her pa he came to see. She had always seemed to just melt into the background whenever he was around.

  He had been unfailingly courteous to her whenever they came in contact, but each time he could sense the wall she erected between them. He had never felt as free with her as he had with Gabel, her father. Now, suddenly, he wished it had been different. Then he might know what to say to her now, what comfort he could offer, though from experience he knew there was really nothing you could say to a person who had just lost someone held dearer than life itself. And now he had to give her more bad news.

  “Rose, there’s something I need to tell you.”

  When she looked at him with those innocent blue eyes, Ward found himself momentarily rattled. How was he ever going to manage this? It was hard to think straight when confronted by such liquid pools of misery.

  “Yes?”

  Ward pushed his cup away, rubbing at his face in agitation. “This house—I mean this land—”

  “I know what you’re going to say. A woman alone can’t take care of the land and the crops. I’ve heard it all before. But other women have staked claims and worked to prove ‘em up. I can too.”

  Pursing his lips, Ward began to draw circles with his finger on the table. He didn’t look at her when he said, “There’s no claim to prove up.”

  She frowned across at him. “What’s that supposed to mean? Papa has had this claim for over six years now. It’s his, free and clear. It was tough, but we did it. We even stayed through the Santee Indian uprisings when most other folks left. This is our land.”

  When Ward captured her look, his eyes were serious. “Your pa mortgaged this land to buy seed for crops. This land isn’t yours. It belongs to the Yankton Bank.”

  Rose’s already pale face became even paler. “I don’t believe you.”

  “It’s
true,” he told her. “What’s more, I think you know it.”

  Rose sagged back against her chair. “You’re right. I’ve known something was wrong for a long time now. When the rains failed to come this past spring Papa was more worried than I can ever remember seeing him.” Her eyes met his. “Why didn’t he tell me?”

  “He was hoping to recoup his losses by selling a piece of his land, but—”

  “But he died before he could do it,” she finished for him tonelessly.

  “Yes.”

  For the first time, Ward noticed a spark of interest in her eyes. “Then I could do the same. Sell some of the land, I mean.” The sudden, irrelevant thought occurred to him that her eyes were the very color of a summer sky.

  He shook his head slowly. “It’s already too late. The bank intends to foreclose by the end of this week.”

  She rose quickly to her feet. “Then I haven’t time to lose. I’ll saddle Baron and leave straightway. I should be able to make it to Yankton in two days.”

  Ward stared up at her in openmouthed amazement. He rose to his own feet, his six-foot-six height towering over her by a good nine inches. “Of all the stupid—don’t be ridiculous! For one thing, you’d never outrun that storm.” He motioned toward the kitchen window where the morning light already resembled dusk.

  “I could try!”

  “And for another thing,” he went on, “the bank already has a buyer for this property at twice the rate of your father’s mortgage. There’s no way they’re going to give you more time, and especially not to sell off part of the land which would detract from its value.”

  Rose slowly sank back to her chair. She buried her face in her hands. “There has to be a way,” she muttered. “I have to keep this property. I have nowhere else to go.”