“Filly.”
“As in the horse?” his mother asked, disapproval dripping off every word.
“Yes, as in the horse,” Luke said, slowing as they pulled up the drive and he stopped at the end of the sidewalk. “She is a sweet, wonderful girl, mother, and I hope you will treat her with the respect she deserves as mistress of my home and my wife.”
“Well,” his mother huffed. Whatever else she would have said was cut short by his father interrupting. “Of course we will, Luke. I can’t wait to meet her. She must be someone very special to have transformed you from confirmed bachelor to beaming groom. When was the wedding?”
“A few weeks before Thanksgiving,” Luke said, setting down the travel cases and tugging the trunk off the back of the sleigh while his father took the cases and helped his mother down the walk and up the steps.
Lugging the trunk inside, Luke prayed for divine intervention and called out to let Filly know they had arrived. “Filly, we’re home.”
Filly hurried down the hall, her cheeks flushed pink from the heat of the kitchen, tendrils of hair framing her attractive features and the soft green of the dress accenting the color of her eyes. From the high neck of the lace-trimmed gown, with her mother’s cameo pinned at the throat, to the toes of her polished leather shoes, she looked every bit the well-bred, well-heeled lady.
“Oh,” his mother said as she turned and saw Filly, her jaw dropping open in surprise.
Luke set down the trunk and held out his hand to his bride. Pulling her close to his side, he kissed her cheek and made introductions.
“Filly, this is my father, Greg, and my mother, Dora. Dad, Mother, this is my lovely wife, Filly.”
Luke’s father didn’t disappoint, as he pulled Filly into a warm hug. “Welcome to the family, Filly. Luke didn’t tell us you were such a stunning beauty.”
Filly blushed but held his gaze. “Thank you, Mr. Granger.” Luke had warned her to not duck her head or fail to make eye contact with his parents, especially his mother, because it would be seen as a sign of weakness. Filly kept that in mind as she greeted Luke’s parents, scared nearly witless of what they’d think of her.
“Please, don’t be so formal,” Greg said, squeezing Filly’s hand. “Call me Greg or Dad or even Pops, if you like.”
“Thank you, sir,” Filly said with a smile. At his raised eyebrow, she added, “Dad.”
Greg nodded his head approvingly, gently nudging his wife forward. By now, she had managed to shut her mouth and regain a shred of her composure. Giving Filly a once over, she finally took Filly’s hands in hers and leaned in for a kiss on the cheek. At first Filly didn’t understand what she was doing, but after a glance at Luke as he pointed to his cheek, she gave Dora a quick peck.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Granger.”
“You as well, dear,” Dora said. She had no intention of being familiar with this woman, even if she was beautiful and seemed to have all the necessary social skills of someone equal to Luke’s standing.
Removing her hat and hanging it on the hall tree, Dora fluffed her hair then started toward the ornate staircase. “I think I’d like a minute to freshen up before dinner,” she said. Before she could take another step, Luke grabbed her elbow and began guiding her down the hall.
“I’ve decided to put you and father in the blue guest room, mother,” Luke said, blasting his mother with his most charming smile. “It’s much warmer down here on the main floor and will save you the climb up and down the stairs.”
“Splendid,” Greg said, picking up the two travel cases and following behind Luke while Dora tried not to splutter.
“But Luke, I was looking forward to staying in our old room,” his mother whined as they turned down the back hall.
“I’m sorry, mother, but that is now our room and I’ll not have Filly’s things disturbed,” Luke said forcefully. “You’ll settle in just fine in the blue room. Remember how you used to enjoy the view of the back yard from the window there.”
“Yes, but that was in the summer when there were flowers and birds,” Dora said, clearly upset at not getting her way. “Not in the dead of winter when all you can see are piles of wretched snow.”
“Speaking of snow,” Greg said, changing the subject, “It looks like you got a pretty good snowfall so far this year.”
“About average,” Luke said, escorting his mother to the blue room that, up until a few hours ago, had been his bedroom. She sniffed in disdain, but he noticed her eyeing Filly’s holiday arrangement with interest.
“I’ll go get your trunk. Please come to the parlor when you’re refreshed and we’ll go in to dinner,” Luke said, hurrying back down the hall, pulling Filly along behind him. He hustled her to the kitchen and gave her a quick kiss before going to get his mother’s trunk.
After depositing it in the bedroom, he went out and put both the sleigh and horse away, careful not to get his suit dirty because it would make his mother even more disagreeable.
Coming in the kitchen door, the smells hitting his nose made his stomach growl in anticipation of a delicious meal.
“Luke,” Filly whispered, motioning him over to the pantry. Pulling him inside, she quietly shut the door. Luke snaked his hands around her waist and held her close, burying his face in the curls piled on top of her head.
“This is nice,” he growled, his lips nibbling her ear.
“Oh, good gracious,” Filly whispered hotly, placing a hand on either side of his face and drawing his gaze to hers. “Could you please turn your attention to the matter at hand?”
“I could try, but this is much more fun,” he whispered back, inhaling the rose scent of her hair while his lips explored her jaw line.
“How should I serve dinner?” Filly asked, trying to ignore the shivers Luke’s touch provoked. When she finally spoke her voice sounded uncertain. “You know I’ve never done a formal meal and I assume your mother is accustomed to a kitchen staff doing the serving.”
“Yes, she is,” Luke said, straightening up and growing more serious. He hadn’t given any thought to the lack of domestic staff in his home. This could be a challenge if his mother decided to pursue it and he had no doubt she would.
“Once they come into the parlor, I’ll ring the bell on the mantle. You go ahead and use the servant’s door into the dining room and set all the food on the table. I’ll keep them busy for a few minutes. When you’re ready, come to the parlor door and we’ll go in together. Maybe mother won’t notice the lack of staff.”
“I don’t think you give your mother enough credit,” Filly said, lifting a shapely brow Luke’s direction. “She appears to be quite astute and you are going to be hard-pressed to stay a step ahead of her.”
“But I have to try,” Luke said with a boyish grin that made Filly’s heart melt. Backing into the door, he kissed her lips lightly and smiled. “Have I mentioned how lovely you look tonight, Mrs. Granger?”
“Maybe, but it is nice to hear it again, Mr. Granger,” Filly said, her cheeks blushing under Luke’s perusal.
“Then I shall make it a point to repeat it as many times as possible before the day is through,” he promised with a rakish grin.
Filly smacked at his arm playfully as they came out of the pantry. Luke hurried to the parlor while Filly finished dinner preparations.
She found a serving cart in the butler’s pantry earlier and dusted it off, making sure it was ready to use this evening.
With the chicken sliced and potatoes and carrots in bowls, Filly also had buttered corn, fried apples, hot rolls and peach jam ready to serve for dinner. Water was already poured into the goblets, chilled by the snow Filly had packed into the glasses earlier.
Hearing Luke’s bell, Filly loaded the cart and carefully rolled it into the dining room. Placing the food on the table, she left the cart in the corner of the room, hurried back to the kitchen and made a fresh pot of coffee, then whipped off her apron. Washing her hands, she carefully dried them then walked to the p
arlor, where she found Luke and his father laughing over some story and his mother sitting by the fire with a bored look on her face.
“Filly,” Greg said, stretching out a hand her direction, which she gladly accepted. “The house looks so festive. Luke said you made the decorations yourself. I see we have a talented artist in the family now.”
“Thank you,” Filly said, basking in his praise. Luke’s father was quite similar to his son and Filly found him easy to like. “I enjoyed decorating such a beautiful home. Did you and Mrs. Granger design it yourselves?”
“I did,” Dora said, being drawn to her feet by Luke.
“You did a marvelous job,” Filly said, with a sincere compliment. “The house is very well laid out and so welcoming.”
“Thank you,” Dora said, tilting her nose a little higher in the air, but Luke could tell she was quite pleased by Filly’s words.
“Shall we go in to dinner?” Luke suggested, taking his mother’s elbow and escorting her across the hall to the dining room.
His father escorted Filly and settled her in the chair to Luke’s right. Dora sat to his left with his father next to her. The table looked every bit as nice as anything Luke had seen Dora set and he saw her look around with begrudging approval.
Greg offered many compliments about the fine meal while Luke poured out a steady stream of adoration geared to his lovely bride. Every time he said something endearing, Filly had to fight the urge to giggle as she remembered his statement in the pantry of repeating his compliment about her being lovely as many times as possible before the day was through. So far, she had counted a dozen.
While his mother was occupied buttering her third fluffy roll, Filly reached under the table and squeezed Luke’s hand. He squeezed hers back and casually patted her leg, which nearly made her jump in her seat.
Looking at him wide-eyed, he winked at her before turning his attention back to his father, who was discussing who still lived in the area and who had moved away.
After dinner, which went surprisingly well, Luke escorted his parents back to the parlor. Filly closed the dining room’s pocket doors behind them, following the trio into the parlor.
“May I offer you some coffee or tea?” Filly asked as Dora took the small chair by the fire and Greg sat in the large chair across from it.
“I’d love a cup of coffee,” Greg said. “Would you like some Dora?”
“I suppose so,” she said, running her fingertip across the top of the side table and inspecting it for dust. When she found none, she pinched her lips and studied the fire.
“I’ll be back shortly,” Filly said, escaping to the kitchen. Readying a tray with the silver coffee service Mrs. Kellogg helped polish that afternoon, she ran into the dining room, blew out the candles, loaded the cart with the dishes and hurried back to the kitchen. As fast as she could, she put away the leftover food, placed the dishes in the sink to soak, poured the coffee into the server and carried the tray to the parlor.
“Here we are,” Filly said, setting the tray on the low table in front of the couch. “Would either of you care for cream or sugar?”
“Nothing in mine, Filly,” Greg said, accepting a cup of the rich brew.
“I’d like both, please,” Dora said. Luke took her cup and added sugar and cream, remembering how his mother liked her drink prepared - a touch of coffee, smothered by plenty of cream and a heaping spoon of sugar.
Luke accepted the cup Filly held out to him, laced with plenty of sugar, and watched her prepare a cup heavy with cream for herself.
The conversation continued mostly with the men catching up on the news of the area, while the women sat quietly listening. After an hour passed, Filly excused herself and prepared a tray with the dessert.
Carrying it into the parlor, she set it alongside the coffee tray and watched Mrs. Granger’s eyes widen with interest.
“Would you like some Boston cream pie?” Filly offered, turning her gaze to Luke’s mother. “Luke said it’s one of your favorite desserts, Mrs. Granger.”
“Yes, it is, but I think I am far too full from that heavy dinner to eat another bite,” Dora said, turning her head from the tray to again study the fire.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Filly said, cutting generous slices for Luke and his father, and a smaller piece for herself.
“This is delicious, Filly,” Greg said, devouring his piece, then accepting a second helping. “As good as any I’ve ever eaten. Did you make this yourself?”
“Yes, I did,” Filly said, pleased that dessert had turned out so well.
“Dora, perhaps Filly will share her recipe so you can have Cook try it,” Greg said, looking at his wife. “The one she makes is dreadfully dry and the filling often tastes like sweetened paste.”
Luke, who was taking a sip of coffee, nearly spewed it out his nose at his father’s comment. Filly hid her broad smile behind her napkin, but her eyes bespoke her merriment.
“There’s no need to be crass, Greg,” Dora sniffed. “Cook’s desserts are the envy of many of our friends.”
“That’s because they haven’t had her Boston cream pie, or pudding, or any of the sawdust-like cakes she creates,” Greg said, mirth erupting from his features.
“Well, I never,” Dora huffed, glaring at her husband.
“But you should,” Greg said, holding out a bite of the dessert on his fork. “It’s quite delicious.”
“You insufferable man,” Dora said, getting up from her chair, cutting a slice of the dessert and plopping it on a plate. Sitting back down, she took a bite, ready to tell her husband it was no different from their cook’s recipe when the blended flavors filled her mouth with pleasure.
Swallowing the bite, she forked up another. “This is quite good,” she said, proceeding to quickly eat her piece and helping herself to another small slice.
Luke gave Filly a knowing look that made her cheeks flush.
As his mother yawned behind her hand and his father’s eyes grew drowsy, Luke finally suggested they might like to retire after their long day of travel.
“I should say so,” his mother complained as he walked them down the hall. “It is such a pity the train didn’t come through here instead of Heppner. It would have made traveling here much more pleasurable than being tossed from hither to yon on that overcrowded stage. They really should not sell so many passenger tickets.”
“Yes, mother,” Luke said, kissing her cheek at the bedroom door. Turning to his father, he shook his hand warmly and bade them both good night.
Walking into the kitchen, he found Filly swathed in her big apron, already at work on the dishes. He retrieved the coffee tray from the parlor since she had already carried in the dessert tray, then helped dry and put the dishes away.
“That went much better than I was expecting,” Filly whispered as they finished up the dishes and she wiped down the counter.
“That’s because you were so charming and lovely,” Luke said with a grin.
Filly giggled and swatted his arm. “You’ve called me lovely nineteen times this evening. Aren’t you afraid your mother will think you are up to something?”
“Not at all,” Luke said, taking her hand as they turned out the lights and made the house ready for the night. “The only thing she’ll think is that I am quite smitten with my wife.”
“Are you?” Filly asked in jest as they climbed the stairs up to the master bedroom.
“Quite possibly. I might even be completely enamored,” Luke said and waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “I may even, at this very moment, be entertaining the most wicked thoughts about taking any number of liberties with her.”
Filly laughed, assuming he was teasing. While his words were light-hearted, he meant each one.
Going into the master bedroom, Luke closed the door behind him and Filly felt tension settle on her shoulders. It was going to be a challenge to sleep in the same room with Luke, especially when her longing for him already filled her dreams.
Expecting
the room to be cold, she took in the warmth. When Luke had found time to cart wood up the stairs and build a fire, she didn’t know. He had also opened the radiator to let in heat to the bedroom, bathroom and closet. She appreciated his efforts to make her comfortable.
While Luke poked at the fire, Filly went into the bathroom and readied for bed. Putting on her nightgown, she fastened her robe securely over the top before taking out her hairpins and brushing her hair thoroughly then braiding it. Taking a deep breath, she walked back out into the room, to find Luke asleep in the chair by the fire.
His hair looked like liquid gold in the firelight and in sleep, his face appeared so young and boyish it tugged at Filly’s heartstrings.
Leaning over him, she gently pushed against his arm and whispered his name. He didn’t stir. She gave him a stronger shake and bent closer to his ear, again whispering his name.
In a drowsy state between awake and asleep, Luke soaked in the warmth of the fire while waiting for Filly. They still needed to figure out sleeping arrangements because with the way he felt at the moment the situation could quickly escalate from challenging to out of control.
Dreaming of her, he imagined her soft hands touching his arm, and her sultry voice whispering his name. He could feel her breath warm on his face and felt the gentle brush of the end of her braid against his neck. It seemed so real.
Opening his eyes, her face was mere inches from his, glowing in the light of the fire as it set her hair aflame with deep red and gold highlights. Groaning, he sat up and wiped his eyes.
When he opened them again, she was standing by his chair, looking at him uncertainly.
Tonight was not the night to pursue his desire to make her his wife. Even though his hands itched to unwind her braid and bury themselves in the silken mass of her hair. Even if her lips called out for his kisses. Even when her billowing gown and robe did little to hide her womanly curves and made his temperature spike.
Getting to his feet, he staggered into the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. How would he ever make it through a night alone in this room with her? He felt like a naughty schoolboy who had snuck in somewhere he shouldn’t be with no immediate means of escape, not that he really wanted to be anywhere else.
The Christmas Bargain Page 18