The 12 Brides of Christmas Collection

by Mary Connealy

  Gripping the horn that looked nothing like a horn, she did as he said. For once, her height proved a definite advantage. Rose danced sideways.

  “Relax.” Nate pulled her foot back until only the front rested on the stirrup. “Keep your heel down.” He stepped around and repeated the process on the other side.

  “Why?”

  Blue eyes squinted up at her. “You want to get dragged?”

  She gasped and gripped the horn with both hands.

  “Relax,” he said again but gentler. “Rose can feel your tension. The boot heel will keep your foot from slipping through the stirrup.” He pulled the reins from the railing and looped them over Rose’s head. “Hold these in your left hand. Don’t pull back unless you want to stop.”

  Evidently, Nate Horne didn’t mind talking about horses. Gathering his own reins, he mounted, leaned forward, and patted his horse’s neck. “Badger will lead.” A near smile tipped his mouth. “Do what I do.” With that he turned toward a snowy peak across the valley.

  Rose didn’t follow well. Ara tried to relax, but the mare trotted to catch up, pounding Ara’s teeth and body with each jolting step. At last she settled alongside Badger in a more relaxed gait. If Ara were a gambling woman, she would bet Nate was silently laughing.

  Ara was no horsewoman, but she had promise. Nate imagined her riding the high parks with him, becoming confident enough to help drive the mares down. This was what he’d been missing—someone to be his partner other than Buck. And someone who was easy to talk to as long as he wasn’t looking at her. As they cut across the open valley side by side, her dark eyes and perfect mouth didn’t distract him. He huffed and shook his head. Half the morning she’d had him dishing up more words than he’d used in a month.

  “Have you always lived here on the ranch?”

  He slid her a look. She was taking in their surroundings and sat a little easier.

  “Don’t know anything else. Pa started with that sorrel stallion in the portrait over the fireplace. High Park King.” He patted Badger’s neck. “Direct descendant here.”

  She eyed his mount. “Shouldn’t his name be Prince or Duke with King for a sire?”

  Nate laughed. “Too sissified.”

  She looked straight at him and cocked one brow. “And King isn’t?”

  “Nope.” He held back a grin trying to figure her next comment.

  “What happened to your pa?”

  Danged if she didn’t get right at it. He swallowed a sharp pain in his throat and reined Badger around a gnarled cedar stump. “A horse fell over backward with him. Broke his neck.”

  She gasped and jerked on the reins, but Rose ignored the impulsive tug. “I’m so sorry.”

  Her comment was to be expected, though sorry didn’t cover what he’d learned to live without the last twelve years. “I’ve been as long without him as I was with him.” He reset his hat, squinted at the mountain. “Buck moved in after the accident. Helped Ma and me with the ranch and just stayed on. He’s got a good head for horses.”

  As they neared the mountain, evergreens flaunted their heavy robes among the naked aspens. Any of a dozen young trees would suit the parlor. Nate pulled up.

  Ara stretched her back and neck. “I’ll probably hate you and Rose tomorrow.”

  Her comment jabbed a fearful dart, but he held his tongue, stepped off Badger, and dropped his reins to the ground. Ara threw her leg over then buckled beneath her own weight.

  He reached for her arm. “Give yourself a minute to get your land legs. You’ll be sore, but it’ll wear off.”

  She grimaced and rubbed one thigh. “It’s not that I don’t believe you. It’s just that I highly doubt it.”

  He laughed outright and impulsively reached for her hand. “Come on. You need to pick a tree.”

  Chapter 10

  Ara’s heart sang. Nate didn’t hate her. His spontaneous grasp was as good a proof as anything, and nearly as perfect as the tree she chose.

  After he felled the spruce, he tied off the bigger end and looped the rope round his saddle horn. Then he returned the hatchet to his saddlebag, loosed a tarp from behind his saddle, and spread it on a snowless patch away from the horses. “It’s too cold to stay long, but we might as well eat sittin’ as ridin’.”

  Ara knelt on her heels, her stomach threatening to consume itself. Nate dropped cross-legged in the opposite corner and unrolled the bundle between them. Sliced bread and roast and cookies made up the fare. She’d never tasted better.

  Nate drank deeply from a canteen and passed it to her. The water was cold and sweet. “Thank you,” she said, handing it back.

  He smiled as if relieved she’d accepted his offer, twisted on the lid, and laid the canteen beside him. Then he pushed his hat up and rested his arms on his knees. “What do you think of this country?”

  Disappointed that he wouldn’t speak of something besides the scenery, she held in a sigh and scanned the horizon, admitting that it had no rival. “It’s magnificent. I had no idea the Rocky Mountains were so breathtaking.”

  He rumbled a wordless response, apparently pleased that she appreciated the raw and rugged terrain as much as he did. Leaning back on her hands, she boldly stretched out her legs and squelched a vision of Grandmother coming down with the vapors. A blue swath spread above them, jays sassed from the near trees, and the horses nibbled at bare spots in the snow. Chancing a look at her companion, she found him as majestic as the land on which he lived—strong and tall and silent. Like the stand of dark pine on the mountain that braved harsh storms, he survived on his own, and she admired him for it. A sorrowful heat filled her chest. His loss was greater than hers, for he had known and loved the parent he lost. She had not.

  “I didn’t know my parents, but I can imagine the pain of losing a father you so admired.”

  He flinched ever so slightly, as if she’d touched a bruise, and fingered a hole in the tarp. “Your uncle raised you?”

  At last—a personal question. “With his mother, my grandmother.”

  He glanced up from beneath his hat brim, and his eyes flashed like the darting wing of a blue jay. “Why’d you leave?”

  Ara chose her words carefully, not wanting to spoil the moment by speaking too intimately. “Uncle Victor arranged a business deal contingent upon my marriage to the other party. I refused.”

  He grunted and worked his jaw with obvious disapproval.

  “I was running from his hireling when I dared to hide in your wagon.” The confession brought his eyes to hers, and he held her gaze for a long silent moment. A question dangled in the air. He cleared his throat and fiddled with the tear, working it bigger with his finger. His nervousness sparked her own, and as he worried the tarp, an unseen thread tightened between them. She tucked her fingers beneath her legs to keep from slapping his hand from the growing tear.

  He cleared his throat again and shot her a look. “Could you live here?” He frowned, and his hand jerked back, ripping the hole farther. “I mean, do you still have your heart set on going to Leadville and teaching that banker’s young’uns?”

  Breath froze in her lungs. Of course she could live here, but what did he mean? Stay on the ranch and help his mother or stay in Spruce City as a teacher? Or something else? Her heart began to pound, and she tucked her feet beside her and folded her hands in her lap. “I made a commitment to tutor Mr. Lancaster’s children.”

  Nate smoothed his mustache and mumbled under his breath. She leaned toward him expectantly. “Excuse me?”

  He slid her a quick look. “If you liked it well enough here on the ranch, I thought you might want to …” Again he mumbled and looked away.

  She leaned closer, forcing him to face her, and tried to hear what he wasn’t saying. “Might what?” If he had intentions toward her—and she hoped he did—he’d have to put them into words. She needed to know if he was looking for a ranch hand or a wife.

  He huffed out a breath and looked her straight in the eye. She held his gaze, and her
heart thrummed with anticipation. Yes, he was a man of few—hardly any—words, but three would do if strung together in the right order. Suddenly he jumped to his feet and towered over her, his hands working like billows. She stood as well, a spiny tingle ringing her neck and running down her arms on fiery feet. The heat in his eyes left no doubt. But instead of coming for her, he stooped and made quick work of the tarp, rolling it into a tight bundle, remains of their lunch and all.

  “Sorry ‘bout that.” He pulled his hat down and strode to his horse where he retied the tarp behind his saddle and mounted. Badger danced in a circle, proving a horse does indeed sense its rider’s distress.

  Deeply embarrassed, Ara looped the reins over Rose’s head and attempted her earlier success at mounting without assistance. But now she fumbled and could not pull herself and her heavy heart into the saddle.

  Nate leaned from his saddle, grabbed her around the waist from behind, and hefted her up. She looked to catch his eye, but he turned away. The rope tightened on his saddle horn, and the beautiful blue spruce dragged behind them with a scolding swoosh as they rode wordlessly back to the ranch.

  Ara would never accept him after the dust-busting he’d just put her through. Hope had risen like mist in the morning, but Nate said something wrong or didn’t say something right, and now that hope had burned off, leaving him dirt-dry and empty. From the corner of his eye he caught her stiff back and shoulders, that pert chin squared out over her hands. She was right. She’d hate him and Rose tomorrow. Him more than Rose.

  Daylight was running the ridge by the time they reached the barn. Without a word, Ara jumped down, tied the reins to the rail, and politely thanked him for the ride and lunch. Then she walked away and left him standing with his heart in his hands and a tree tied to his horse.

  Chapter 11

  Ara made it to her room and managed to shut the door with a quiet tick without alerting Lilly. Throwing herself across the bed, she buried her face in the feather pillow and pounded her fists on the ticking. She wanted nothing more than to stay on the ranch with Nate. But he hadn’t even professed affection, let alone love. She could have had that kind of marriage in Chicago.

  And what of Mr. Lancaster’s children awaiting their teacher? Oh Lord, what am I to do?

  “Don’t fret,” Lilly had said. Ara growled into the pillow. How not to? Pushing herself up, she rubbed her face then went to the washstand. Tepid water stood in the pitcher, and she filled the basin and bathed her face and neck and hands. Then she changed out of the denims and put on Lilly’s calico. She didn’t even have her own clothes. The least she could do was wear her own worth.

  Freshened, she drew her Bible from the nightstand and sat on the bed. The thin pages fell open to her favorite psalm, and she read the words aloud, as much from memory as sight. “‘I have set the Lord always before me: because he is at my right hand, I shall not be moved.’” That’s what she needed—to not be moved from her goal. But was tutoring in Leadville the Lord’s goal for her? Had she answered Mr. Lancaster’s ad simply to escape her uncle’s dominance?

  “Oh, Lord, have I made a mess of things?” She rubbed her temples and thought back over her path to the Hornes’ ranch that seemed only a series of missteps. Had God been directing her? She looked again at the familiar scripture, and it soothed the ache, just as it had countless times when Grandmother blamed her for her mother’s death. Ara truly believed she was never alone, but she longed for something more, something she feared she might never have. Closing her eyes, she whispered a prayer for guidance. If the storms cleared and the ground dried enough, perhaps Buck would drive her to the train.

  Revived and encouraged, she returned her Bible to the nightstand and marched down the hall and into the parlor. Lilly held the tree, and Nate lay half hidden beneath its branches, tightening the screws of an iron tree stand.

  “Ara, you outdid yourself. It’s beautiful.” Lilly’s face shone, like the angel atop Uncle Victor’s enormous tree in the great hall. “Tonight we will pop corn over the fire. I have cranberries saved in the root cellar, and when Nate finishes the star cutter, we can add sugar-dusted cookies.”

  Ara’s brave plans melted like butter on warm bread. She could no more leave now than fly to the rafters, for she refused to dampen this generous woman’s Christmas. Mr. Lancaster surely had other resources, a man in his position. And how much studying would two eager children accomplish anyway, so close to Christmas? The Leadville banker would simply have to wait.

  That evening Ara strung fluffy corn and red cranberries and lost more blood from pricked fingers than she’d thought possible. Even Nate set aside his muted manners and joined the festivities. But Buck kept his distance in the corner, where he sat whittling a figurine, gathering the shavings to toss on the fire and twitching his whiskers every time she caught him watching her.

  In spite of the tension with Nate, Ara had never known a Christmastime as warm with Grandmother and Uncle Victor. With a twang of sadness, she doubted they knew such a family hearth was possible.

  The next morning, Nate’s neck and shoulders cramped like a froze-up well pump. His belly felt full of prickly pear, and even his fingers itched. He sat on a stump at the barn, soaking up borrowed sunlight and making a set of short ties for Ara’s hair. They’d be her Christmas gift if she didn’t refuse ‘em like she’d refused him.

  “Didn’t go so well?”

  Nate’s hands stilled, breaking his rhythm, and his heart dropped to his belly. His uncle read sign like he was tracking a six-toed lion. The man came up from behind, leaned against the wide door, and pulled a figurine and his knife from a pocket. Nate frowned and went back to twisting the red and gray hairs into a pattern. These heart-to-hearts were rubbin’ a sore on his temperament.

  After a few fumbles, his hands fell against his thighs, and he blew out a heavy breath. “I figured she knew. That look she gets when she takes in the land—I thought she’d like living here with me.”

  An extra-long piece slid from the willow. Nate tied off the hair, set it aside, and rubbed the back of his tight neck. Then he stood and kicked the stump he’d been sitting on.

  “Don’t spit the bit now, son. She’s not gone yet.”

  Nate stashed his work and beat it outside, scratching at the stinging itch in his fingers. He couldn’t reach the one in his heart.

  Chapter 12

  Anticipation hung in Ara’s heart like diamond icicles, sparkling and pure. Cradled as they were on the breast of the mountain, glitter and glamour didn’t fill the house. Instead, the special care given to selected recipes and homemade gifts graced this home. The scent of cider and cinnamon and cloves curtained the kitchen, and star-shaped cookies winked from red yarn on the popcorn-and cranberry-laced spruce.

  She shrugged into the sheepskin coat and tucked the denims into her boot tops before making her way to the barn with the scrap can. Another snowfall had chased her out of the calico and into the borrowed britches.

  Just inside the barn’s wide door, she paused by a new wooden manger filled with fresh hay as if awaiting a heavenly guest. Bending to breathe in the grassy perfume, she closed her eyes and marveled at the simple pleasure. A scuffling step said Buck was near.

  “It’s an offering.” He stopped beside her and fluffed the hay with his large, rough hands. “He came to stockmen, you know. Like us. And His ma made His bed in a barn.”

  Ara’s heart warmed at Buck’s uncharacteristic tenderness. “It’s a wonderful gift. Exactly what the Christ child would need.”

  His thick brows rose with hope. “You really think so?”

  “Of course. Warmth and shelter and love. The same things we all need. I’m sure He would have been most comfortable in this crib you’ve made.”

  A smile puffed out his whiskers, and Ara swallowed a laugh. Such pleasure in a modest gift made from what one had at hand.

  Her gifts would be far less than modest, for she had little else but her efforts to give this generous family come Christmas Eve. I
f there were enough dried fruits in the larder, perhaps a stollen each? Her stomach fluttered at the idea of giving Nate a part of herself, even if only her labor. She longed to give him more.

  At the barn, she tossed the kitchen scraps to the hens and watched them vie for the choicest bits. Once she’d stopped scraping and scratching over Leadville, peace had settled in her heart. Worry did not help clear the road or ward off the storms. Nor did it get her to the Spruce City depot. What a waste to miss all the joy of the season worrying about something over which she had no control.

  Returning along the alleyway, she stopped to visit each mare and foal. Three had delivered beautiful, long-legged youngsters since she’d been at the ranch, and Ara delighted in the mother-and-child atmosphere that filled the barn.

  A shadow suddenly darkened the doorway, and a man stood backlit against the sun. The breadth of his shoulders and the line of his hat brim gave him away. Her breath quickened. “Good morning.” She smiled, hoping he would join her at the stable’s half door to watch Coffee with her baby.

  Nate came to stand beside her, smelling of wood smoke and leather. His gloved hands folded over the edge of the door as he regarded the dark brown mare and her foal. “Named him Bean.”

  Laughter burst out before she could stop it, and she covered her mouth. The tilt of his mustache said he’d intended the joke, and she admired his wry wit. “With those gangly legs, it’s a wonder he can stand at all.”

  Nate huffed a brief laugh. She’d grown accustomed to his silent conversation. No wasted words, no foolish prattle. Just a deep and quiet presence. She would miss it.

  He looked at her, and she listened with her eyes for what he was thinking and feeling. Her pulse thrummed with what she thought she saw in the way he held his mouth and the intensity of his blue gaze, but his words stilled the song.

  “Ma wants greenery for the parlor.”

  She let out a deep breath. “Well then, we’d best be at it.”