The 12 Brides of Christmas Collection

by Mary Connealy

  Ara’s brow pulled down. “Do you always dunk your cookies in your coffee?”

  “Don’t you?”

  Buck choked trying to hold back a laugh.

  “Ara, I must apologize for the men of this house. They’ve always dunked my gingersnaps. My dear Nathan taught them his atrocious manners, and living way out here in the high parks, I couldn’t see any point in spoiling their fun.”

  Ara dunked her cookie, but it broke in half and sank.

  “Like this.” Nate repeated the move. “In and out.” Then he popped the softened part in his mouth.

  She mimicked him, grinned with her success, and puckered her lips around the bite.

  His pulse bucked and ran. Wanting to run himself, he went to the parlor to check on the fire. By the time he returned, his uncle was gone and Ara was pouring hot water in the sink while his ma scraped the cookie sheet. He stopped at the doorway.

  “Your family seems to enjoy one another.” Ara set the coffee cups in soapy water then unbuttoned the cuffs of her blue dress and rolled up the sleeves.

  His ma chuckled and shook her head. “A merry heart is medicine indeed. It’s so much easier to laugh and joke and carry on. I can’t imagine living any other way.”

  Ara pushed a rag inside the cups and nearly washed the color clean off.

  His ma looked over her shoulder. “Is it different in your family?” The question came out quiet and gentle, in that way she had of getting at the truth.

  Ara sighed. The blue fabric stretched across her back as she drew in a deep breath. “Yes, very. That’s why I’m on my way to Leadville. Trying to start a happier life on my own.”

  Nate turned on his heel and made for the front door with Beetle close behind. He had to get outside, away from that tall, slender woman who wouldn’t leave him be, whether he was drowning in her dark eyes or trying to drive her from his thoughts.

  But it was hopeless. He was already roped and snubbed to the post.

  Ara had fallen easily into the rhythm of ranch life. She rose early to help Lilly with breakfast, listened without blushing as the men talked about the latest foaling, and decided once and for all that Nate hated her.

  He kept darting off to complete some chore rather than remain in her company for any time at all. And he had every right to hate her. She had stowed away in his wagon, won over his dog, barged into his family, and was traipsing around in his mother’s dress. Not that Ara had any choice over what she wore, but resentment was a bitter and familiar enemy. She didn’t want to be the cause of anyone else’s gall, but there wasn’t one thing she could do about her situation other than set out on foot for Spruce City.

  But that was no longer what she wanted.

  She placed four dripping cups on the counter, and a heavy sigh escaped before she could stop it.

  Lilly touched her arm. “Leave those, and come sit. I need more coffee.”

  The woman clearly ran this ranch just as Grandmother ran Uncle Victor’s household, but with a far gentler touch. Ara dried her hands on her borrowed apron and took a seat at the table, cradling the cup Lilly had refilled.

  “Tell me what troubles you.” Lilly swirled her coffee, looking into its depths, leaving Ara free to speak without scrutiny.

  Avoiding her suspicions about Nate, Ara chose the safer of two troublesome thoughts. “I gave my word to Mr. Lancaster that I would arrive before the holidays and take over his children’s education. Yet here I am, snowbound far from the train and unable to even send a telegram. He must think I’ve gone back on our agreement.”

  Lilly’s eyes shadowed with worry. “Is it so bad here?”

  Remorse flooded Ara’s heart and burned her cheeks, due retribution for a partial truth. “Oh, please, that is not what I meant. You have been nothing but kind to me.”

  Lilly reached across the table and patted her hand. “Don’t fret, dear. The Lord tells us to let Him take care of the things we can’t. And we can’t do a thing about the weather.”

  Mutinous tears crowded Ara’s throat. “This is all my own foolish fault for hiding in Nate’s wagon. For not showing myself and begging him to take me to the hotel as soon as I knew he was a good man.”

  With motherly pride, Lilly leaned in. “And when did you know my Nate was a good man?”

  Now it was Ara’s turn to stare at her swirling coffee. She’d not even admitted the truth to herself. “As soon as I heard him sing.”

  Lilly sputtered and covered her mouth. Ara squirmed with embarrassment.

  “It’s a wonder his singing didn’t send you running in the opposite direction.” Lilly shook her head and her eyes crinkled shut with laughter. “You should hear Buck. He’s worse. I don’t know how Beetle stands it when they ride out after the mares. All that caterwauling.”

  “I did cover my ears, but his tune was less of a threat than the man following me.”

  The news stilled Lilly, and a sharp line formed between her brows. “Do you know who he was?”

  “He’s one of my uncle’s henchmen, sent to drag me back to Chicago. Uncle Victor had his own ideas of whom I should marry, but I chose not to accommodate his business dealings.”

  Flushing with anger, Ara gripped her cup tighter. “That’s why I hid in Nate’s wagon.” The surface of her coffee rippled. “I’ll not be traded like chattel.”

  Chapter 7

  Wind licked the mountain’s summit, and snow danced up like white dust devils. After a month of alternating cold and snot-slick thaws, the weather’s siege appeared to be over. Ara Taube might be on her way back to town. Out of Nate’s sight and out of his life. And he’d go plum out of his mind longing for her. He leaped onto the porch and reached for the door, but it opened on its own, and he nearly stepped on his ma’s boots. His eye ran the length of sheepskin coat and found Ara peeking over the collar. It still caught him off guard.

  “Beg pardon.” Habit shot his hand to his hat brim.

  “No—it’s altogether my fault.” She clutched the scrap can with a smaller tin inside it and peered at him with her big brown eyes.

  His insides turned to marmalade. “You huntin’ the chickens?”

  She nodded. “Lilly said they’re in the back of the barn.”

  The gal had set her hand to every other household chore. Might as well see the coop. “Come on.”

  She followed him off the porch and along the sloppy path to the barn, where she plowed into him when he stopped at the doors. “Oh!” Her breath puffed out like a new heifer’s.

  He tipped his head back and squinted at her.

  “I know,” she said with a deep sigh. “I’m not to stare at the snow. But it’s so beautiful, I can’t help it.”

  Neither could he. He dragged his eyes from her perfect lips. “No smokestacks.”

  Curiosity lifted her brow. “You’ve been to Chicago?”

  “Shipped some horses there. Rode along on the train.” He unlatched the barn door and held it open for her. “I saw enough.”

  Curiosity gave way to judgment, and her brows dipped. “You make it sound like a horribly disgusting sight.”

  “Truth is—” The words caught in his teeth. It wasn’t her fault he didn’t take kindly to crowded streets and close-packed buildings.

  She held out the small can. “Truth is you like it better here.” Her voice dropped. “So do I.”

  Shocked by what he thought she’d whispered, he thumbed his hat up a notch and took the can. “You do?”

  She walked inside and switched leads without a stumble. “Lilly said you can make a star-shaped cookie cutter out of that tin.”

  “I can.”

  She moved deeper into the barn. “The chickens back here?”

  He led her to the back of the barn and held the wire gate open while she tossed in the scraps, then pulled it shut. “We open that wide door to the outside yard when it’s not so cold.”

  Curling her fingers through the mesh, she watched the chickens scrabble. The top of her head came to his nose. He leaned toward her t
o catch a whiff of her hair. She noticed.

  He jerked back.

  “I won’t bite.” She tipped her chin toward the chickens. “But they might.” With a wry smile, she left him standing by the coop holding an empty peach can and a bucketful of foolish.

  The next storm frosted Ara’s window with fernlike patterns and bound her to the house. She and Lilly did nothing but cook for the men, who did nothing but shovel snow and feed horses. Dreams of Leadville faded as if they belonged to someone else, and tallies in the back of her Bible marked off four-and-a-half weeks. She’d never been happier.

  In the kitchen, Lilly punched down a creamy mound of bread dough, puffing yeasty goodness into the air. She folded two smooth loaves into baking pans, smeared butter on each top, and set them on the back of the stove. Then she wiped her hands on her apron and went to the small pantry off the kitchen while Ara peeled potatoes for dinner.

  “I imagine it will be hard without your family this year at Christmastime.”

  Ara’s mouth went dry with distasteful memories of Christmas in her uncle’s mansion. Cold. Formal. Forced. Slicing back the tight skin, she peeled away her family’s facade. “Not really.”

  Lilly returned with canned green beans, strawberry preserves, and a face full of curiosity. Ara accommodated her.

  “I was as much a decoration in Uncle Victor’s home as the towering tree he insisted upon each year. Something to flaunt when his associates came to parties. I abhorred them.”

  “His associates or the parties?”

  “Both.”

  Lilly gathered her apron in hand and took hold of a jar, twisting against the tight seal.

  “Grandmother saw to it that I was properly schooled and churched, but I learned at an early age that she resented me.”

  A choking noise fell from Lilly’s lips, and she sloshed bean juice down her apron and onto the floor as the lid gave way. Ara reached for a towel.

  “Lately these jars are a fight.” Lilly turned aside and swiped her face with the back of her hand. “I do believe they’re sealing tighter, or else my hands are getting older.” She pulled a thin smile across her lips.

  Ara stooped to mop up the water. “Let me help you.”

  For a moment, Nate’s eyes looked out from beneath his mother’s graying brow. A longing washed over the woman’s face that shot an unnamed ache deep into Ara’s chest.

  Lilly gathered herself, set out a large skillet, and filled it with strips of salt pork. “We’ll add onions and the beans. It’s Buck’s favorite.” She checked the fire and situated the skillet. “What of your parents?”

  Heat licked Ara’s face like fire beneath the cast iron. Would she never be free of her past? Halving the peeled potatoes, she took a deep breath. “My mother died unwed in childbirth. She was Grandmother’s only daughter, and I was hers.”

  Ara filled a kettle with water, added the potatoes, and waited for judgment to stab with a pointed remark or a disgusted tsk. Instead, a breathy “Oh my” followed her explanation. Pity was as distasteful to Ara as resentment. She moved the kettle to the stove and prepared for the onslaught.

  Lilly sliced an onion into her skillet. The pork sizzled. “That explains how you ended up on the train to Leadville alone.” Not a speck of disapproval seasoned the woman’s words, as if Ara’s background made no difference at all. Ara’s brow relaxed and cooled, and condemnation drained from her heart like the water she poured off the green beans.

  Chapter 8

  By the time dawn blushed the sky, Nate was dressed and holed up in the barn, looking for peace in the familiar scent of horseflesh and hay. Lantern light haloed the stalls as he fed, and Coffee greeted him with a deep rumble.

  “I see she’s done tangled your spurs.”

  Buck’s sleepy voice rolled down the alleyway, and Nate turned to see him leaning against the doors, daylight licking his boot heels. Nate grumbled a greeting.

  “That kinda talk ain’t gonna win her.”

  Nate flexed his grip on the pitchfork. “I don’t know any other.”

  Buck ambled to the corn bin, scooped out a can, and gave it to the Clydes. “Sure you do. Just tell her how you feel.”

  Nate jammed the pitchfork into the ground. “What if she doesn’t feel the same?”

  An honest stare drove his uncle’s point marrow-deep. “Would you be any worse off than you are now?”

  Nate made for the door and tromped across the frozen mud to the chopping stump. The smooth ax handle in his hands and the snap of the splitting log helped ease the burn in his gut. And if that burn didn’t let up soon, they’d have enough firewood for three winters with some to spare.

  An hour and half a row later, a hearty mix of steak, potatoes, and coffee lured him to his seat at the table. Ara set out the serving dishes, and her arm brushed his shoulder when she drew back. He cut his ma a look to see if she’d noticed fire sparking on his sleeve, but she took her seat smug and satisfied as a milk-fed cat, holding her hands out for prayer. Ara’s soft fingers slipped into his, and he bowed his head as Buck said grace. No calluses on Ara’s hand. No cuts or rough edges. Could she survive on a horse ranch in the Rocky Mountains, or would she resent him for filling her life with hard work and worries?

  A canyon stretched between holding her hand and asking for it.

  “Nate, have you got a cookie cutter for me yet?” His ma’s question startled him, and he dropped Ara’s hand. Buck coughed and helped himself to the fried potatoes.

  “Almost.” Regretting the lie, Nate knifed a slab of beef and tried not to look guilty. He hadn’t even started on it.

  “Good. Christmas is only ten days away, and Ara and I have plenty of baking to do. Buck, have you seen any promising trees yet?”

  “Saw a little bunch at the mountain’s base when we hayed the mares.”

  “Good. I’d like to get our tree up early this year since I have help decorating.” Her eyes sparkled like tinsel when she looked across the table at Ara. “You men won’t be bothered.”

  Buck drooped his face like a hound pup. “Now Lilly, you know I was countin’ on helpin’ you put those doodads on the tree again.”

  “I’ll remember that, little brother.”

  Nate concentrated on his beef, washing it down with hot coffee.

  “Did you see the trees, Nate?”

  He glanced at his ma and nodded, grateful for a full mouth.

  “Good.”

  That was her third good in less than two minutes. Something was up.

  She snagged Buck again. “And you’re still working on the new crèche I asked for, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Got a fine piece o’ willow and started Joseph last night.”

  “Will you have all the pieces finished before Christmas with all the other chores you have?”

  Nate filled his mouth. There were hardly any chores at all other than shoveling snow and mucking out stalls. He shot Buck a look in time to see something pass between him and his ma.

  “We can’t have missing pieces in the crèche. It wouldn’t be right.” Without so much as a sidestep, she collared Nate. “Why don’t you cut the tree today? Take Ara with you. It would do her good to get some fresh air, and we may have only one clear day before the next storm hits.”

  Ara’s fork stopped in midair the same time as Nate’s, and they both stared at the innocent-looking woman at the head of the table.

  “I’ve got some old trousers I think will fit you just fine, Ara. We’ll get you bundled up good, and I’ll trust you to pick the best tree for the parlor. Can’t be taller than Nate, though, to fit in the corner by the window.” She gave Ara a winning smile and completely ignored her son.

  Buck took great interest in buttering his bread and kept his head tucked. Nate couldn’t see his mouth, but his whiskers twitched. That was a dead giveaway.

  Chapter 9

  The denims scuffed when Ara walked across the bedroom, and she giggled behind her hand. Grandmother would be scandalized. But the trousers didn�
��t chafe as she’d expected, and already she was warmer in the wool shirt and belt that held everything together. The thick socks Lilly had given her weeks ago were now comfortable old friends, as was the sheepskin coat she wore almost daily.

  After her initial embarrassment dissipated at breakfast, Ara found herself giddy with anticipation. She could not have planned a better outing. This time, Nate couldn’t run off without her. And she would know for sure if he hated her or felt the same tug in his heart as she.

  Or maybe he felt nothing at all.

  The cold thought ushered in a more worrisome concern: she’d never ridden astride. If she fell off and broke her arm or leg, it would be even longer before she was fit to take the train to her promised employment. Guilt wagged a pointed finger at her as Ara wrapped Lilly’s red scarf around her throat. Instead of riding out to find a tree for the parlor, she should be riding into Spruce City to send a telegram.

  Boots stomped onto the porch, and she took one last look in the hall-tree glass. Beneath the wide-brimmed felt with her hair tucked up, she could pass for a boy. The door swung open, and Nate’s presence consumed the close entryway and most of her breath. “You’re ready.”

  She raised her chin to his typically abrupt statement. “Of course.”

  His eyes snapped with amusement, but he didn’t laugh outright. Lucky for him, for this morning, dressed as she was and near as tall as he, she felt certain she could set him down.

  “Come on, then.”

  Would he ever speak to her in more than three words? Warmth spread through her chest at the thought of one three-word phrase she wouldn’t mind hearing.

  Rose and another horse stood tethered to the front porch railing. Nate stopped next to the mare. “Grab the saddle horn with your left hand and the cantle with your right.”

  Stunned by the lengthy explanation, her eyes followed as he touched each part of the saddle.

  “Then put your left foot in the stirrup and pull yourself up.”