After a moment the boy cracked open the door and stood staring out at her. In his arms he held the biggest, scruffiest, meanest-looking calico cat Shea had ever encountered in her life.
"When did you get a cat!" she exclaimed.
Ty shrugged. "Me and Rand found him down by the river a couple weeks back."
Which meant the boys had been exploring another one of the places Cam had specifically told them not to go.
"Does—does your kitty have a name?" Shea asked, fighting the urge to admonish him about playing too near the water.
Ty ruffled the fur beneath the cat's chin. "I call him Rufus."
"Well, hello there, Rufus," Shea said, reaching to give the animal a scratch.
Rufus took exception to being fondled by someone he didn't know. He reared back in Ty's arms and hissed at her.
Shea gave a startled laugh and withdrew her hand, taking the moment to look Ty over. He seemed to have grown taller in the weeks since the opening, and the pants he was wearing were two inches too short. Dark circles lay beneath his eyes like smudges of lampblack. He seemed thinner, too. It made her want to bundle him up, take him back to the studio, and feed him until he was too full to swallow.
"I—I just stopped by to wish you Merry Christmas," Shea told him instead. "Would you mind if I came in?"
Ty glanced over his shoulder, then shook his head. "Pa's still sleeping."
Sleeping off a drunk, Shea thought. But then, at least Ty wasn't alone today.
As if Ty realized she wasn't likely to go away, he stepped outside and set Rufus on the ground. She could tell by the way he shifted from foot to foot how uneasy Ty was at having her here. Rufus seemed to sense that, too, and hissed at Shea for good measure.
"All I wanted," she went on, determined not to make him any more uncomfortable, "was to give you this, and wish you a merry Christmas." She held out the striped paper cornucopia she'd made and filled for him.
The boy stuffed both his hands in his pockets instead of reaching for the bright paper cone. "I don't have anything to give you."
"Christmas is a day for giving children gifts," she insisted, holding out the cone again. "Please, Ty, won't you take this?"
"I don't know as how I should," he allowed, "after the way Pa took on when you gave me that shirt."
"This is nothing but an orange, some nuts, and a few pieces of candy. Surely he can't object to that." She hesitated before she went on, and was a little ashamed of herself for resorting to blackmail. "You know, I'm not going to be able to enjoy Christmas unless you take this."
Ty ducked his head, but made no move toward the cornucopia. "So, are you going out to the Gallimores' farm?"
Shea couldn't think when she'd heard such longing in anyone's voice. What had it been like for him before his mother died and his father had given himself over to grief and alcohol? Had Ty ever had a proper home, with proper meals at proper hours, and a proper bed to sleep in? Or for that matter, a proper Christmas Day?
"Why don't you come out to the Gallimores' with me this afternoon?" she offered impulsively, thinking how wonderful it was going to be having Christmas with her son. "Rand would be so pleased to have you, and Lily always cooks enough food for an army."
Shea regretted the invitation the moment the words were out of her mouth. Ty's eyes went stark with a wistfulness she knew all too well. She'd been alone often enough in her life to know how much a body yearned to be part of something.
But then Ty slid a glance back toward the cabin and shook his head. "I need to be with Pa today."
Shea stiffened, even angrier with Sam Morran than she was with herself for making Ty choose. Would Sam Morran even know it was Christmas? Would he appreciate the sacrifice his son had made to be with him? How could this man inspire such loyalty, such love in this boy?
How could anyone stand helplessly by and watch this man strip away the years of Ty's childhood, one day at a time?
She swallowed down the shards of anger and held out the cornucopia of candies. "I'd really like you to have this."
Ty looked at the cornucopia, from the frill of paper lace around the top to the crimps of trailing ribbon. His brown eyes darkened the instant before he gave in to temptation and reached for the cone of candy. "Thanks," he said.
Before he could escape, Shea bent and pecked a kiss on one wind-burned cheek. "Merry Christmas, Ty," she said and turned away.
Halfway up the alley she paused to look back. Ty was still standing in the cold staring after her, the cornucopia of candy in one hand and the calico cat curled up against his feet.
* * *
Christmas at the Gallimore farm was like something Shea had read about in books. After a drive through fields lightly dusted with snow, Cam had welcomed Emmet and Owen and her into a house that smelled of evergreens and wassail spices, of roasting meat and fresh-baked pies. She'd turned from a red-bowed wreath that hung on the front door into a parlor where a spruce tree stood glittering with decorations. A kissing ball dangled innocently in the archway into the dining room, where the table had been dressed with ribbons and holly and Lily's best china.
They'd barely arrived when Rand came racing out of the kitchen to greet them, his face flushed and his green eyes bright with excitement. Shea wanted to catch him up in her arms and give him a Christmas kiss like she had Ty, but she would have felt presumptuous doing that in front of Cam and Lily.
Not long after they arrived, the six of them settled down at a table groaning with holiday bounty: roast pork and duchess potatoes, brown-sugared squash and green beans, applesauce and yeast rolls. As she watched Rand dig into his heaping plate, Shea couldn't help wondering if Ty was getting anything to eat today at all.
They were only just finishing their pie when Rand glanced wistfully toward the decorated tree in the corner. "Is it time to open the presents yet?" he asked hopefully.
Instead there was food to put away and dishes to wash. Once they'd finished Lily herded everyone in toward the piano. "I thought we'd sing a few carols," she suggested, "before we see what's in all of those lovely packages."
"Oh, Aunt Lily!" Rand complained. "How come we always have to sing before we get our presents?"
"You know how much your aunt Lily likes Christmas carols," Cam reminded his son with a wink. "Besides, anticipation makes the sugar sweeter."
"My an-tissy-pation's sweet enough!" Rand huffed and plopped down beside Lily on the piano bench. She gave him a conciliatory squeeze, planted a kiss on the top of his head, then struck up the first chords of "O Come, All Ye Faithful."
Watching Cameron stand over Lily and Rand as they sang, Shea realized that this was how the Gallimores always spent Christmas: with a special meal, caroling around a piano, and gifts beneath a tree hung with popcorn chains and delicate blown-glass ornaments.
Hot jealousy pierced her heart when she thought about all the Christmases these people had had with her son and the traditions they shared. Even her happiest holidays with Simon had been tainted with regrets, marred by wondering about the child she'd given up.
It wasn't fair, she thought, watching the three of them together, that while she'd been pining for her son, Rand had been happy in a world of his own. While she'd been traveling thousands of miles in search of him, her boy had been going to picnics and hayrides and skating parties, had been doing chores, playing games, and attending school. He'd been having Christmases with the Gallimores, just like this one.
Seeing the three of them clustered together at the piano this afternoon, seeing the love and history that bound them together, tore at Shea. It made her realize just how much of Rand's life she'd already missed.
She hadn't been there to nurse him through bumps and mumps and chicken pox. She hadn't been around to applaud him when he rode a horse for his very first time. She hadn't been the one to teach him his letters, or how to harness a wagon, or the trick to spitting watermelon seeds farther than anyone else. It made her angry that she'd forfeited so much, angry that in her disgrace and p
overty she'd had no choice.
Now that she'd finally found him, Shea yearned to tear this child out of Cam and Lily's arms. But what right did she have to destroy the only home her son had ever known? What did she have to offer him, compared to all of this? And how could she hope to prove that he was hers?
Yet after years of struggling and searching and yearning for her son, how could she turn away from him? What purpose would she have in life if she gave him up?
Shea did her best to swallow down the bitter draught of melancholy. She had a great deal to be thankful for. She'd loved Simon and had learned so much from him. She had Owen's loyalty and companionship. She had her work and her independence and the kind of adventures most women would never experience. Yet she didn't have what she wanted most, because nothing could give her back the years she'd lost, or stitch her into the tight, sleek weave of the Gallimores' lives.
Shaken by the effort of acknowledging that, Shea linked her arm through Owen's and swayed with him in time to the music. He patted her hand and smiled up at her from beneath his brows, and just that moment of his simple kindness made her chest constrict.
Then, as the last notes of the carols echoed away, Lily rose from the piano. She slid her arm around Shea's waist, and drew her to sit beside her on the settee. Cam lit the candles on the tree and began to pass out packages wrapped in butcher's paper and remnants of cloth, parcels bound with bits of ribbon and string, adorned with holly, a candy cane, or a pinecone.
Rand exclaimed over a tin wind-up train his father had ordered from Philadelphia. Owen beamed at Shea and threaded his new string tie beneath his collar. Lily fondled the elegant embroidered gloves Emmet had brought for her.
"For your trips into town," he told her, his eyes alight.
The three Gallimores presented Shea with a length of sturdy wine-colored twill. "Because you'll spend every penny you have on photographic supplies and nothing on yourself," Lily told her, laughing.
Shea fidgeted as Rand took up the gift she'd brought for him, watching those broad, impatient hands tear through the wrappings. Shea hadn't known what to get, but she'd never given her son a gift and wanted so much for him to like it. Her stomach twisted as she waited for his reaction.
"Oh, Shea!" He turned to her, his eyes alight. "Some of the older boys in school have lead pencils, but no one's is as nice as this. Look how it slides together!"
"It telescopes." Cam gave him the correct word.
"Telescopes," Rand mumbled, looking around for something to write on.
Shea let out her breath. Her son liked what she had given him. Her face warmed with pleasure.
"That pencil's something special. Take good care of it," Lily admonished gently.
"I'll treat it like it was made of gold!" Rand beamed at Shea. "It isn't, is it?"
"No, not gold," she assured him, laughing.
Lily and Cam opened their gift from Shea last, and both of them oohed and aahed over the portrait Shea had made of Rand. She was pleased with the picture, too, thinking she'd managed to catch an excellent likeness of her son, not just that open face, but the goodness and wonder inside him. A blending of what she'd passed on to her boy and the things the Gallimores had given him.
While she was at it, she'd made a copy of the photograph for herself—then had immediately hidden it away in the bottom of her valise. She supposed she'd done that because having the photograph and being able to study the child she'd borne almost exactly eleven years ago still seemed an illicit pleasure. Just as being with her son on Christmas did.
After Lily had hugged Shea to thank her for the photograph and arranged Rand's portrait amid a cluster of greens on top of the piano, she bustled into the kitchen to pour coffee.
She was just returning with a tray of cups when Emmet waylaid her beneath the kissing ball. "I've caught you now," he said, grinning down at her.
"My hands are full," Lily protested, doing her best to step around him. "I can't properly defend myself."
Emmet shrugged, indifferent to her plight. "I caught her fair and square, didn't I, Cam?"
Lily's face went pink.
Cam laughed at his sister's obvious discomfort and shook his head. "I'm not getting involved with this!"
"I think I deserve a Christmas kiss," Emmet persisted.
Knowing there was no sense arguing, Lily wrinkled her nose distastefully. "Oh, all right, you damn fool," she said with more than a little consternation. "Kiss me quick and get it over with."
Smiling with anticipation, Emmet stepped in as close as the tray of cups would allow and, with consummate tenderness, curled his hand along the arc of Lily's withered cheek. He lowered his head and tipped her mouth to his, taking her gently.
Why, Emmet is in love with Lily! Shea realized as she watched them. What she had dismissed as southern gallantry and profound respect was love. It was a pure and abiding love Emmet would probably never bring himself to act on, for fear of offending Lily's sensibilities—but it was love, nonetheless.
Emmet kissed Lily chastely, but thoroughly. Then, grasping an elbow to steady her, he broke the kiss and stepped away.
Lily blinked at him, flushing darker this time—and all the way to her hairline.
Cam and Rand hooted, taking great delight in Lily's embarrassment, completely oblivious to what was happening right before their eyes. Then, caught up in their foolishness, Rand scrambled to his feet and went to buss Lily on the cheek. A moment later Cam did the same.
"Now if you boys have had your fun," Lily sniffed, "do you suppose we can drink this coffee before it gets cold?"
They had barely settled down with their cups when someone galloped up the lane and came bounding up onto the porch.
"Is Dr. Farley here?" the gaunt, bearded man demanded of Cam when he answered the knock.
"What is it, Mr. Young?" Emmet asked, stepping to the door.
"It's my boy Fred. He started running a fever last night and has been talking out of his head since noontime. I hate to disturb your Christmas, Dr. Farley, but my wife and me would sure feel better if you could come have a look at him."
Emmet asked a few questions, then nodded. "My bag's in the buggy, Mr. Young. Just give me a minute to grab my coat and hitch up my horse."
As Lily scurried around gathering up Emmet's things, Cam pulled on his own coat, ready to help Emmet hitch up. "Stay with the Youngs as long as you need to," he assured Emmet. "I'll see Shea and Owen get back to town."
Emmet sought Lily on his way out. "You're the best cook in three counties, Lily. It's been a wonderful day, and I thank you for everything."
For an instant Shea thought he might kiss Lily again, but then he turned and went outside. Shea and Lily watched from the window as the menfolk hitched up Emmet's buggy. Then, with a wave, he whipped his horse down the lane and turned in the direction of Denver.
Lily stood at the window a good long while, her eyes lingering on the point where Emmet Farley had disappeared and her hand pressed gently against her mouth.
* * *
Cam couldn't have asked for a better night to drive Shea and Owen back into town. He liked the way the moon hung heavy and milk-white against a heaven stippled with stars, and how the icing of fresh snow turned the fields on the sides of the road to shimmering yards of pale blue satin. As he drove nearer, he could almost feel the warm yellow glow of Denver's gaslit streets envelop them.
He and Shea bid Owen good night in front of Emmet's house on Arapaho Street, then proceeded up the block.
"It was a lovely Christmas," Shea murmured, glancing across at him. "It was good of you and Lily to invite us to share the day with you."
Cam inclined his head and turned the buggy into Sixteenth Street. "I'm glad you and Owen enjoyed it."
"I just wish Ty could have been there," he heard Shea murmur on the drift of a sigh. "I went by their cabin this morning to wish him a happy Christmas, and I invited him to come out to the farm."
"And what did he say?"
Cameron saw the w
edge of worry settle between her graceful brows. "He said he needed to be with his father."
He reached across and gave her hand a consoling squeeze. "Then, Shea, he made his choice."
She shifted uneasily beside him. "I just can't stop worrying about him! I think it's only what Ty earns that keeps the two of them going. And now that he's not working for me..."
Cam eased back on the reins, slowing the carriage at the cross street. "Well, then, I suppose it's a good thing I mentioned Ty to Mai Ruther down at the telegraph office."
"You got Ty a job delivering telegrams?"
Cam could hear the delight in her voice and couldn't help being pleased with himself. "I think Ty and his father are doing all right for the time being. And Rand's keeping an eye on things for me."
He saw the rigidity melt out of her shoulders, and she looped her hand through the crook of his arm. "Thank you, Cam."
He smiled at her thinking he had never in his life met a woman who was so concerned for children that weren't her own. But then, he supposed that made a particular kind of sense. He could see the shadows in her eyes, see what he thought was longing for the child she'd given up. He'd seen it today at the house when she looked at Rand. He'd have bet half his next year's wages that while they were standing around the piano she was thinking about her own lost boy and wondering how he was passing Christmas.
Giving that baby up had marked her, tempered her, given her an abiding concern for children. Or maybe an abiding concern for all lost souls. He saw how she was with Owen. The way she'd brought Lily along had been little short of miraculous. And the night he confronted Morran...
He shivered a little.
Without so much as a thought, Shea pressed her fingertips to his forearm, as if she meant to soothe him. Shea understood his uncertainty and his turmoil, his longing and his guilt. She was so perceptive sometimes it scared him to death. Still he liked the awareness between them, that strange connection.
Cam pulled the carriage up in front of Shea's studio and was just as glad for the diversion from his thoughts.
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