The 12 Brides of Christmas Collection

by Mary Connealy

  His ma held the back of her hand to the woman’s forehead. “Do you know anything about her?”

  “Said she was on her way to Leadville to meet someone. But I’ll be danged if I know why she threw her satchel in the wagon. Said Beetle wouldn’t let her get it.” He rubbed his hands over his head and down his face. “Maybe you can get more out of her.”

  “Did you get her name?”

  “Ara Taube.”

  His ma’s hand drew back, and her voice dropped to a whisper. “Taube? She must be German.”

  He added a log to the fire and poked around it until it flamed. “You’re up late. Is everything all right?”

  She set the lamp on a small table and pulled a footstool close to the settee. “We’re all fine here. Buck went to bed hours ago. But I knew you’d be home.” She patted her chest.

  Nate couldn’t count the times his ma had “known.”

  “I’ll take the wagon and Rose to the barn. The stores’ll keep for tonight.” He glanced at the mantel clock about to call the hour. “Be back ‘fore long.” He hitched his collar up, called the dog, and ducked into the wintry blast as the New Haven clock began to chime.

  Ara bolted upright at the striking tones. Her heart jammed her throat, and she clutched at the tarp. The culprit perched on a broad mantel above a roaring fire. Where was she?

  “Hello.”

  Startled, she jerked around to a kind-eyed woman with a smile as warm as the hearth. Relief weakened her shoulders, and she slumped, waiting for her heart to find its way back to her chest.

  “I’m Nate’s mother, Lilly Horne. You’re at our ranch, and this is my home.”

  Nate? The wagon driver? “P–Pleased to make your acquaintance.” Ara cringed. This was no social call. “I mean …” She fingered her hat, askew on the side of her head, and held out her hand. “I am Miss Arabella Taube. From Chicago.”

  Lilly’s eyes brightened, and she took Ara’s hand. “Oh, it’s been so long since we’ve had guests. I do hope you’ll stay awhile and visit. There’s so much I’d love to hear about. The latest fashions. The theater—” She swept Ara with a worried look. “Please forgive me. Here I am thinking only of myself.” Standing, she helped Ara rise. “Let’s get you out of this dirty thing. Land sake, look what it’s done to your beautiful velvet suit.” Crumpling the dusty tarp in her arms, she continued. “Oh my, but that deep green is absolutely lovely against your dark hair.”

  Ara sat again. The tarp soon found its way to the door, and Lilly pulled the small quilt from her shoulders and draped it over Ara’s lap.

  “I have a kettle on the stove, and I’ll be right back with a cup of tea.” She paused at the door to the kitchen. “You do drink tea, don’t you?”

  Ara tugged the fingers of one glove. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”

  The woman’s smile broadened, and then she hurried through the door in her trousers.

  Chapter 4

  Ara blinked. Lilly Horne was wearing britches.

  The second of her gloves joined its mate on the cushion, and Ara laid aside the quilt. Gingerly standing, she tested her legs for balance before moving closer to the fire. With her back to the luscious warmth, her stiff joints relaxed, and she took in the cozy room. Log walls bore lovely paintings of forested landscapes, and above the mantel hung a portrait of a dark-haired man astride an exquisite horse. A large desk sprawled beneath one wide window, and as she watched, snow built up on the sill, reminding her of the long cold ride. But she didn’t remember arriving.

  “Here we are, dear.” Lilly brought a tray to the small table.

  Ara returned to the settee, and Lilly took the footstool rather than one of two large leather chairs. With a warm smile, she handed Ara a delicate cup and saucer. Such contrast. A woman in trousers crouching on a stool serving tea in fine china. Beautiful artwork covering rough log walls, and a blazing fire dispelling the cold of a stormy night. Somehow it all seemed so natural.

  “The paintings are lovely.”

  Lilly appeared pleased. “Thank you.” She lifted her gaze to the portrait above the fireplace. “I haven’t done much since Nathan passed.”

  Heavy footsteps on the porch jerked Ara’s attention to the door, and her cup rattled on its saucer. Had the brown-bowlered man found her?

  “Don’t worry.” Lilly touched her hand. “It’s only Nate dusting the snow from his boots.”

  With a whoosh, the door flew back. Flurries raced over the threshold to die in the entryway. Beetle darted in, and the stranger followed with Ara’s carpetbag in hand, looking for all the world like a fairy-tale giant. She’d not realized earlier how big he was. Freezing to death had been more on her mind than appraising his stature. He set her bag against the wall, hung his coat and hat on the hall tree, then pulled his boots off in a metal jack that looked like a large beetle. That couldn’t be where the dog got its name.

  A cold nose touched her hand, and she sloshed her tea. Beetle eyed her, that odd grin tugging his jowls, then he trotted to the hearth and curled into a ball.

  The driver passed behind her, smelling of leather and snow. A dark wool shirt hugged his broad shoulders, and the scarf still circled his neck. Without his hat, blond hair fell across his brow, and bright pink tipped his ears and nose. He stood with his back to the flame, and blue eyes swept her with bridled appreciation. He nodded once.

  Rattled by his obvious assessment, she returned his nod as curtly as possible. She could be just as tight-lipped as he.

  Lilly chuckled. “Nate, Miss Taube is from Chicago. I’m hoping she’ll stay awhile as our guest and bring me up to date on the latest happenings in the city.”

  Not wanting to offend her hostess, Ara quickly arranged her refusal. But not quickly enough.

  “She’ll be staying.” He looked toward the window. “Storm’s comin’ hard. We’ll all be staying.”

  Ara’s heart leaped back to her throat. She sprang from the settee, spilling tea on her skirt, and rushed to the window. Ice lashed the pane like tiny claws across a hardwood floor, and the drift on the sill swept twice as high as before. Cupping a hand to her face she leaned against the glass but saw only swirling white assailing the house. Tears stung her eyes, and she gritted her teeth, determined not to appear childish and ungrateful.

  A log gave way, and the fire crackled. Beetle sighed heavily, but the Hornes remained silent. Straightening, she faced them. At last she’d fled her uncle’s dominance, only to be held hostage by the weather, a captive houseguest of a family she knew nothing about in a wild and mysterious land.

  Oh Lord, if only I had wings like a dove, for then I would fly away.

  Nate rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck. The gal’s hair lay knotted on her shoulders, and the fine dress was smudged from being wrapped in that old tarp. He still wanted to wrap his arms around her.

  His ma rose from the stool. “Come stand by the fire, dear. You’ll catch your death over there by the window.”

  Nate stole into the kitchen for coffee he knew would be waiting. Cradling a tin mug in both hands, he returned to the parlor door. Ara slumped on the footstool near the fire, staring at the copper flames. The hat shared the table with the teapot, and his ma was working through the tangled hair the same way he’d pulled cockleburs from a mare’s mane one spring.

  He pressed his fingers to his thumb, felt again the prickly burs that itched for days. His uncle had laughed at him for not wearing gloves. Next time he did.

  She looked at him then, those doe eyes filling up her face. He moved closer to the fire and gentled his voice. “You hungry?”

  “I set a plate in the oven for you, Nate. There’s enough to share between the two of you.” His ma spoke quietly, intent on untangling that mess of brown mane. He returned to the stove, grabbed a towel, and pulled out a tin platter heaped with beef and potatoes and carrots. He scraped some onto a plate and added a fork and napkin. She was probably a dainty eater.

  When he returned, her hair hung smooth and shiny over her shou
lder and pooled like dark water in her lap. “Thank you, Lilly.” Weariness edged her eyes and voice.

  His ma patted Ara’s arm and handed her the pins. “My pleasure. Always missed having a daughter to fuss over.” She stood, took one of the plates, and handed it to Ara. “Though Nate here kept me plenty busy, growing out of his clothes faster than I could make them.” She pulled the leather chairs closer to the fire so each one angled toward the warmth and gestured for Ara to take a seat in one. “Do you have more than the satchel Nate brought in, dear?”

  “My trunk is still on the train.” Easing into the nearest chair, Ara sent Nate a worried look. “What do you think will happen to it?”

  He took the other chair, ducking her pleading eyes. “They’ll offload it in Spruce City or take it on to Leadville.”

  “And then?”

  She made him feel responsible. “They’ll hold it.” He forked in a mouthful.

  Ara relaxed against the high leather back, fitting to it like she’d fit beneath his arm.

  “Morning will be here before we know it.” His ma smoothed her hands down the front of her britches and picked up the lamp. “Your room is on the right as you go down the hall, Ara. Mine is across from yours. Just knock on my door if you need anything. I’m a light sleeper.”

  Ara laid down her fork and gave his ma a weak smile. “You’ve been very kind.”

  As his ma left the room, darkness leaped into the corners where the fire’s light didn’t reach. Ara stiffened and gripped her plate with both hands.

  He leaned toward her, close enough to hear her quick, shallow breaths. Softly he spoke, like he would to a jittery colt. “It’s all right. You’re safe here.” He had a need to touch her, but he held back.

  She turned her head, and the fire glinted off her dark eyes like a flame against obsidian. He’d seen that look before.

  “I’m not afraid.”

  He returned to his meal, determined not to argue the point. Arabella Taube might not know it, but she was scared to death.

  Chapter 5

  Sparrows twittered, water dripped, and a dove called, insistent in its beckoning. Ara rolled to her side and burrowed into the warm feather tick. Her elegant bed in Uncle Victor’s mansion could not compare. Hoping to see the same log walls that had housed her for a week, she opened one eye then offered a silent thank-you. Somehow, the Hornes made her feel wanted.

  “It’s all right. You’re safe here.” Nate’s deep, soft words spun a tight coil in her stomach each morning when she rehearsed them. He’d tried to ease her worries—quite unlike his frightening demeanor on that dreadfully cold ride. He was different here in this house. No longer the cloaked bedouin or masked bandit, his very presence commanded safety. And next to him and his mother, Ara felt less the gangly giant that towered over others. She fit in.

  But she was far from where she needed to be, and Lilly had seemed to understand when Ara explained she’d taken a position as a private tutor for a Leadville banker’s children. Even Nate and Buck had nodded mutely at that dinner conversation. Everyone knew that when the snow melted enough for the wagon’s passage, she’d be on her way to Spruce City and the train.

  A part of her dreaded that day.

  She tossed back the quilt and tiptoed across the cold floor toward the incessant dripping. Beyond the heavy lace curtain, icy rapiers clung to the eaves, pouring themselves one drop at a time into tiny pools beneath the window. A sapphire sky spread over the mountain-rimmed valley, and the brilliant landscape shone like a blue willow dream. Eyes aching, she turned from the window with Nate’s warning in her ears. “Don’t stare at the snow. It’ll blind you.” She squeezed her eyes tight and drew in a crisp breath. Winter was so different here. In Chicago, all was gray for weeks on end.

  And the tall horseman was different from any man her uncle had pushed upon her. Had she met Nate Horne in the city, she might never have left. A wrenching shiver sent her to the foot of the bed where a blue calico dress and two flannel petticoats lay over the footboard. More of Lilly’s kindness. That first morning the woman had brought black coffee on a tray. Her blue eyes smiled over her cup brim, and she pulled Ara in with a motherly gaze.

  “From the size of that satchel, I imagine you don’t have another change of clothes, and your traveling suit is ruined. Would you accept something from me to wear for the time being?”

  Embarrassed, Ara considered refusing. But what choice did she have? Lilly took the dress and petticoats from a chest against the wall. “I wore this dress the day I met Nate’s father, and I saved it back for my daughter.” The last word faded with a shadowed pause. “It’s been packed away so long it has creases where it shouldn’t.” The simple style and fabric spoke of a young woman not well-to-do by any means.

  “It’s lovely.” Ara took the dress and held it against her breast. “You wore it when you met Nate’s father?”

  Lilly picked up the tray. “I was a mail-order bride and wore that dress on the train, all the way from New York.” A sad smile drew the corners of her mouth. “Nathaniel Horne met me at the Spruce City depot with my picture in his hand and a promise in his eyes.”

  Ara’s heart pinched at the thought of such risk, but from the look on Lilly’s face and the sprawling log house, their marriage must have worked out for the best.

  “Those were wonderful years, and the good Lord blessed us with Nate.”

  Who, with his uncle, ate nearly as much as the foaling mares kept close in the barn, Ara had since learned. The rest of the horses and a few cows wintered beneath the mountain.

  Shedding her gown with a shiver, she stepped into the petticoats and dress again, flouncing the skirt over the warm flannel layers. Lilly had worn nothing but britches since Ara arrived. What might that be like?

  Nate drove the team into the barn, and Buck unhitched the sled. Haying the horses took near all morning after they bogged the runners. At least the band was close, on the south side of the mountain. He pulled the heavy harness from the Clydes and led them to their stalls. A good brushing, a can of corn, and a pile of hay paid them for their labor. A pitchfork-full to Coffee one stall over, and Nate paused to run a keen eye over the bay’s distended belly, ready to drop any day. She whiffled her thanks as she nosed into the sweet grass, her long, dark neck as smooth as Ara Taube’s eyes. Coffee black and lit from the inside out, they were. Longing sneaked in and curled around Nate’s heart like Beetle near the fire.

  It’d only been a week, but if he could, he’d take Ara in his arms and beg her to stay. Then he’d ride out, whistle up a bear, and make a winter coat from its hide. He huffed at the likelihood of either prospect.

  The close warm air splintered with a sudden crack. Buck lifted the ax and moved to the next bucket in line down the alleyway. “It’s thinner this mornin’. Too bad we can’t keep this ice for summer when your ma makes lemonade and we’re sweatin’ like the Clydes.”

  Nate grunted in agreement.

  His uncle paused and tugged on the galluses holding up his pants. “That little gal seems to like it here.”

  Nate tossed a fork of hay and shot him a look.

  “Your ma was hummin’ in the kitchen this morning.” Buck’s ax rang through the barn like a rifle shot. “I ain’t heard her hum in years. Not since your pa died.”

  Nate kept his thoughts to himself.

  “You think a city gal would take to the high country?”

  He ignored the question, moved on to Rose, and rubbed between her ears. She tossed her head and blew warm air in his face. No foals for her, but she’d earned her hay.

  “Lilly’s bakin’ cookies today.” Buck set the buckets in the stalls, hefted the ax to his shoulder, and grinned beneath his wide brim. “Think I’ll go in and help her out with ‘em.” His whiskered face bubbled on the sides. Made Nate laugh every time.

  He hung the fork on the wall. “Be right behind you. Need to check a couple things first.” Like what he was going to do around Ara Taube until the road was passable. In a short we
ek he’d grown partial to her gentle ways and lively eyes. He’d like her to stay, forget about Leadville. A frozen knot in his belly thawed at the notion. He dug through a box of rawhide and horsehair bundles, hoping he could untwist his thoughts by twisting mecate reins or building a headstall. He felt near loco thinking about her.

  Beetle woofed at him.

  “It’s all your fault.”

  The dog looked away.

  “If you’d scared her off like you were supposed to, she wouldn’t be here, and I wouldn’t be feeling like I had hot coals in my chest.”

  The dog grinned. Nate snorted and headed outside.

  Chapter 6

  At the porch, Nate stomped his boots and side-stepped Beetle as the dog skedaddled through the front door. He shed his coat and hat, scrubbed his hands through his hair, and smoothed his mustache. Anticipation had him all bowed-up. Laughter snagged him like a dried thistle bush and pulled him to the kitchen, where his ma was taking cookies from the oven. Buck and Ara sat at the table drinking coffee, and Beetle lay at Ara’s feet, the turncoat. As Nate stepped through the doorway, his ma laid a pan of gingersnaps atop a towel on the table. Then she knifed under each one to loosen it from the tray. His mouth watered like it had when he was a boy.

  Caught in conversation, Ara looked up with a laughing smile that melted like a pale sunset the moment their eyes met. His chest tightened. She dropped her gaze and pushed at the braided twist of hair at her neck. Buck caught the sudden shift and cocked a ragged brow at Nate.

  But his ma chattered on. “Take a seat, Nate. My brother is going to get most of them if you don’t scoot to the table.”

  He grabbed a cup from the counter and straddled a high-back chair. Buck poured the coffee, and his ma flipped a cookie in the air with her knife. Nate snatched it and watched Ara’s eyes and mouth go round with surprise. His ma flipped one to Buck, paused with a look at Ara, then flicked one her way. To her credit, Ara caught it and laughed aloud. The sound shimmied up Nate’s back and down his arms like cool rainwater. Dunking his cookie in the coffee, he leaned over to take a bite.