Hitched by Christmas

by Jule McBride

  “I mean, where did you go before dinner?” prodded Emma Jane. “I saw you drop off your Jeep here. Then you left again with Luke.”

  Claire’s heart missed a beat. Without wanting to, she could still remember how he’d felt on top of her in the snow, how the weight of his body shielded her from the wind, and how dampness soaked through her jeans, cooling the backs of her thighs. Even now, she could feel the warmth of his breath on her cheek. It had made the core of her ache, and she was still longing for the kiss that had never come. “I ran into Luke in town,” she found herself saying. “He’s...working over at Cross Creek, but he’s thinking about taking a job at the Lazy Four. Since I had things to do at the new house, Luke and I naturally decided to share the ride over....” Hadn’t she explained that last night? Or had she and Luke said something else, to cover the fact that he was helping her find Clive? All Claire needed now was for Emma Jane to catch her in a lie.

  “Naturally,” Emma Jane echoed.

  Claire winced. What she’d said had sounded lame. And she hated lying. While she wanted to shield her family from the fact that the wedding might be canceled, at least until she knew for certain, she felt as if she was...covering up her activities for reasons concerning Luke.

  Emma Jane gazed at her thoughtfully. “I thought you two being together might have something to do with the bachelor auction last summer.”

  Claire fought the telltale heat rising in her cheeks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Emma Jane.”

  Fortunately, Tex appeared and leaned in the doorway, grinning broadly. Plucking an unlit cigar from his mouth, he shoved his other hand deep into a jeans pocket. “I was just heading to the porch to smoke a cigar when my ears started burning. You girls weren’t talking about me again, were you?”

  Josie released a bright peal of laughter. “We’re afraid everybody in town’s going to sue you for putting up so many Christmas lights, and if you go to jail, we were trying to decide whether or not we’d bust you out.”

  “You’d better bust me out.”

  “Even if we have to call off the wedding?” Vickie asked, giggling.

  Tex sent Claire a grin. “After all the money you girls have made me spend, you’d better not call off that wedding. Isn’t that right, Claire?”

  Claire managed a smile. “Of course we wouldn’t, Tex.”

  Lifting a hand to his chest, Tex rubbed the space over his heart, releasing an exaggerated sigh of relief. “I knew you wouldn’t do something like that to me, Claire. After all, if you don’t get married soon, I can’t start working on Emma Jane.”

  “Me?” Emma Jane said.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Tex returned in a mock-serious tone that sent all the girls into another round of giggles. “Emma Jane’s the next to go.” Narrowing his eyes, Tex slowly stared from girl to girl. “And then we get rid of Vickie and Rosie and Josie....” His eyes settled on Mama. “And then you’re stuck with me.”

  Mama’s shoulders shook with suppressed laughter, and she surveyed Tex, her eyes twinkling. “Fortunately,” she shot back, “that cruel fate doesn’t await me yet. I’ve got four more weddings to plan first.”

  Five, thought Claire, her heart giving a nervous start. She glanced around the room at her family. Shouldn’t she tell them now?

  * * *

  MIGHT AS WELL STOP and tell Claire what Wesley said, Luke thought later that day, half aware it was really just an excuse to see her. Vaguely he realized he hadn’t bothered to change the radio station since last night, either. Listening to “Jingle Bells” as he put the Cherokee into Park, he braced himself for the cold, got out and circled Claire’s Jeep Wrangler, which was parked next to the main house at Lost Springs. Pursing his lips, he eyed the wheel wells, where rust was eating away the baby-blue paint.

  “Now, why hasn’t Clive seen to this?” he muttered. There wasn’t a man who’d grown up in Lightning Creek who didn’t know how to patch a rusting vehicle. If Clive wouldn’t fix it, maybe Claire could drop the Wrangler by Luke’s cabin some morning. So what if she’s getting married? he tried to reason, pushing aside his unwanted feelings about that matter. They were friends, weren’t they? he thought, even though, deep down, he knew he and Claire could never just be friends. Still, the woman couldn’t drive around town in a rusted-out Jeep, could she? Between the snow and salt, the rust was bound to get worse by winter’s end.

  “Hey there, Luke.”

  Glancing up, he realized Claire had been watching him from the porch. Dressed in jeans and a red-checkered sweater, and framed by the doorway, she looked like a pioneer woman on the prairie. Luke headed toward her, pausing and kicking his boots against the steps to dislodge the snow. “’Morning, Claire.”

  Brady appeared next to Claire, looking happier than Luke had seen him in days. “Howdy, Luke,” the little boy called with a quick wave.

  Coming up the steps, Luke grinned. Brady was tugging excitedly on the collar of a worn plaid flannel shirt, and his white-blond hair, cornflower-blue eyes and the smattering of freckles that covered his cheeks and button nose made him look for all the world like the proverbial hayseed farm boy. A toy gun holster was strapped around the waist of his baggy, faded jeans. “Now, ain’t you a regular cowboy?” Luke teased.

  “Look what Claire brought me for an early Christmas present!” Brady grinned and held up a bright blue toy truck.

  “Nice,” Luke returned, raising his hands as he came through the door and into the foyer. “But watch those guns. Don’t shoot me, pardner.” Shutting the storm door behind himself, Luke glanced at a large paper in Brady’s truck-free hand. It was a white sheet, painted over in white.

  “It’s a painting of snow,” Brady explained.

  “My, you’re showing real talent there.” Luke couldn’t help but wink at Claire. “Better watch out, Claire. This one’s serious competition.”

  “Me ’n’ Claire wouldn’t never compete,” Brady assured Luke, “’Cause we’re both artistical.”

  Claire’s lips twitched. “That’s right. Artistical. Now, c’mon, you’d better scoot, Brady. I think you’ve got some chores to do.”

  Luke chuckled. “Better go milk them cows, pardner.”

  Tilting his head, Brady shot Luke a dubious sideways glance. “I’m not milkin’ no cows.” Pulling a tiny silver pistol from the holster, he twirled and reholstered it. “I’m holding up banks.” With that, Brady whirled around and bolted down a hallway behind them.

  “From now on,” Luke called after him, “we’ll just have to call you Wild Brady Spencer.”

  As the boy vanished, Luke’s eyes drifted to the main room beyond the foyer. Wrapped gifts, mostly from people in the community, were stacked on a red felt skirt beneath the spruce the boys had decorated. Come Christmas Eve, Luke would sneak over and add countless other wrapped presents to the pile. He suddenly remembered years ago, reading a tag that had accidently been left on one such gift. For a seven-year-old boy, the tag had read. As if Luke didn’t even have a name. Only when he’d read the tag had Luke realized that the gift hadn’t been purchased especially for him. Of course, he’d been glad to get the chemistry set. Still, memories such as that had prompted Luke to start answering Dear Santa letters when boys from Lost Springs gave them to the postman. Luke wanted each boy to receive at least one special gift that was his heart’s desire. It was just too bad that not every Christmas wish could be fulfilled. Luke still had no leads on who’d abandoned Brady.

  Sighing, he glanced at Claire, forcing himself to crack a smile. “You sure put Brady in a good mood.”

  She nodded. “For a while, anyway.” She shrugged ineffectually, her eyes clouding. “But he’s having such a rough time right now. The holidays leave him hurting.” A soft smile suddenly curled her lips. “It’s clear you spend a lot of time over here with the boys, though. And Brady adores you. You know that, Luke? He tal
ks about you all the time.”

  Vaguely, Luke wondered if Claire had been keeping up with him through the boys and the gossip chain in Twyla’s. Oh, c’mon, Lydell. She doesn’t care. She’s getting married this week. He allowed himself a teasing glance. “That so?”

  “He says you taught him to throw a lasso, and that you’re trying to fix things so some boys can take an overnight trip to Cheyenne next summer for the Frontier Days rodeo.”

  “That damn Brady,” Luke bit out, playfully narrowing his eyes. “So, he’s telling womenfolk about all my evil doings, huh?”

  Claire chuckled. “Only sweet lil’ prairie gals like myself,” she assured him. “And anyway, I found out even more of your secrets last night.”

  Lifting off his Stetson, Luke hung it on a peg behind him, slicked his hair back with a hand, then turned to Claire again, raising an eyebrow. “Secrets?” he asked, trying not to notice how much he liked flirting with her. “Such as?”

  “You’re a good dancer.”

  “Your old man ain’t bad with a fiddle, either.”

  Their eyes met, holding shared memories of last night. The Buchanans hadn’t been a bit like Luke expected. Despite a passing acquaintance, from seeing one another around town, they’d never spent any real time together. While Luke had anticipated the Stop Awhile’s impressive interior, with its spacious entryway, cathedral ceilings and polished paneling, the simple hominess of the rough-hewn log furniture and wood floors had come as a surprise as did the fact that he and Tex shared a common interest in Native American and pioneer artifacts.

  At Tex’s urging, Luke had been given a full tour, including Claire’s attic quarters, and he was stunned by the hunger with which he’d collected intimate facts about her—that she kept her bathroom messy, the temperature low in her studio and sketch pads piled by the simple iron bed where she slept. “To draw things I see in my dreams,” she’d said in such a husky voice that Luke had found himself wishing he’d figure in those nocturnal ramblings. For a long time, he’d studied a painting she’d done that hung above her bed; it was of a log cabin in the woods that looked much like his own.

  “I had a good time last night,” he found himself saying.

  “We enjoyed having you. Tex, especially. He likes you, Luke.”

  The news made Luke feel better than it should have. He’d liked Tex, too. Luke had always imagined it would be impossible to fit in with the Buchanans, but given Claire’s lack of pretension and the behavior of her sisters at the bachelor auction last summer, he should have known better. “Your folks are more down-to-earth than I expected,” he admitted.

  “What?” Claire laughed. “Did you think Mama fed us our grub on fine china and with sterling silver just because we’ve got a lot of land?”

  “Something like that.” Instead they’d eaten steak and potatoes on paper plates, since Mama Buchanan said she was saving up all her culinary wherewithal for tonight. She said she’d be too excited about the wedding to cook on Christmas Eve, so she was making the annual turkey dinner early this year. Last night, as they ate, the girls squabbled merrily, and Tex made a show of ordering them around. In turn, they made just as much show of ignoring Tex, right until they fell all over themselves trying to please him. After dinner, Luke had helped Tex push back the living room furniture so the group could dance near the Christmas tree. Tex fiddled and shouted square dance calls, while Luke, the only eligible male, wound up dancing nonstop.

  At one point, Claire’s mama had asked, “Why isn’t Clive here for dinner, too?”

  Claire had elbowed Luke. “He’s away on some business, Mama. But don’t worry, he’ll be back tomorrow.”

  In addition to the concern with Clive’s whereabouts, signs of the wedding had been everywhere, and the girls had chattered about it constantly during dinner. Upstairs, Luke had seen a basket of neatly tied net bundles of seeds, and Claire’s unhemmed wedding dress hung in a guest room.

  Obviously, the wedding was utmost in their minds, but Luke could tell it hadn’t overshadowed the other things mentioned at dinner—Josie’s breakup with a boyfriend, the stray calico cat Emma Jane had rescued and that was now living in the stables, Vickie’s stellar report card, which was apparently a first, and Josie’s pleas that she be allowed to wear makeup.

  “Think they’re strange?” Claire asked now.

  “Your folks?” Luke shrugged. “I figured everybody would be going crazy, what with it being both Christmas and your wedding day so soon. In a way you do seem strange, I guess,” Luke continued. “Not bad strange,” he quickly corrected himself. “But you’ve obviously got your special ways of doing things.”

  Claire smiled. “That’s what makes us a family.”

  Luke surveyed her a moment. “Did Clive call?”

  She shook her head. A second passed. She glanced down the hallway where Brady had gone, then lowered her voice. “In addition to worrying about Clive, I can’t get Brady off my mind. All he talks about is meeting his folks. But...the police found him when he was just a baby in a motel room in Douglas, so you know his folks are never coming for him.” Anger touched her voice. “Brady even told me he wrote Santa, asking him to find them. Now he says Santa didn’t do so last year because Brady sent the letter too late. This year, he’s convinced himself that Santa’s going to come through.” Claire’s usually soft blue eyes hardened with growing fury at a world that could be so cruel. “I really think that’s why Brady paints things like snow.”

  Luke narrowed his eyes, not following her train of thought. “Snow?”

  Distractedly, Claire lifted the braid that lay on her chest and tossed it over her shoulder. “He’s really painting the emptiness he feels inside,” she continued, her voice catching. “That sweet little boy’s got such a horrible feeling of emptiness....” Her penetrating eyes lifted to Luke’s, and he suddenly shifted uncomfortably, realizing she was analyzing not only Brady, but him, too. “How can you feel right when you don’t know where you came from?” she asked. “How can you know where you belong?”

  Luke was reminded of Claire’s uncanny powers of perception, and how she used her artistic skills to help counsel the boys. He thought once more of her painting of Lost Springs, and of how those silhouetted boys reached for the sky. He sighed. “Maybe you can’t, Claire.”

  Her eyes had turned watchful. “I don’t believe that, Luke. Not for a minute. Even if you don’t know your folks, you can find yourself.”

  Find love. That’s what she meant. “Maybe, darlin’,” he conceded. “But the emptiness never goes away.” He could vouch for that, and it was the most honest thing he’d ever admitted.

  Sudden fire came into her eyes. “But I think it can go away, Luke.”

  “I think,” he returned gently, “with a family as loving as yours, it’s no wonder you’re so positive in your thinking.”

  Claire didn’t seem to hear. Shaking her head, she said, “Sometimes I just want to grab him and hold him tight.”

  For a second, Luke didn’t know if she was talking about Brady or him, but many times he’d wanted more for the boys who lived here. “I know what you mean.”

  She surveyed him a long moment, then she said, “Well...I’m about done here. I guess I’d better get my coat.”

  Luke reached before she could, lifting the white down parka from a peg where it hung beside his hat and countless little-boy coats. Holding it open for her, he watched as she turned gracefully, slipping into it. Driven by an urge to touch her, Luke skimmed a hand beneath her collar, his fingers grazing her satiny neck. Gently tugging her braid, he freed it, laying it down the back of her coat.

  When she turned in his arms, she was too close for comfort. Her voice was a tad too soft and inviting. “Thanks, Luke.”

  He managed a nod. Was she crazy, taking that seductive tone with him? Didn’t she realize she was walking down the aisle in a co
uple of days? Sighing, he started once more to tell her about the call he’d received from Wesley, but he found himself saying, “I’ve been looking for Brady’s folks.” Claire was the only person he’d told.

  Surprise came into her eyes. “You’ve been what?”

  Luke shrugged, then explained what he’d done during the past year. “No leads, though,” he concluded. “And anyway, even if Brady’s folks did turn up...”

  There was a long silence, then gently Claire said, “Whoever abandoned him left him in a motel room, Luke. You can’t forget that.”

  Whoever Brady’s folks were, Brady might be better off without them. Luke’s chest felt strangely tight. Even as unwanted emotion touched him, he couldn’t quite bring himself to shut out Claire’s perceptive eyes. Somehow, she instinctively understood the deeper things that drove him. It wasn’t logical, but Luke identified with Brady. Somehow, he felt that finding Brady’s folks would be like finding his own. Like Luke, Brady had been abandoned when he was too young and defenseless to care for himself. Wordlessly, Luke gazed at Claire, his attention drifting from her kind eyes to her lips, and back again.

  “Who knows?” she said, her voice low as she rested a hand on his jacket sleeve. “Maybe you will find them, Luke.”

  He nodded, then he glanced away, wanting to change the subject. “Meantime, Wesley ran down that number we gave him last night.” Wesley had also said one of his buddies passed a black Ford Explorer on the road, and that the driver could have been Clive, but Luke withheld that information. He couldn’t yet rule out the possibility that Clive was seeing another woman. If so, Claire would have to know, but Luke hoped to minimize the damage.

  Relief had flooded her features, and now she withdrew her hand. “Good. You said Wesley would check the number.”

  “Turns out the phone’s disconnected, but it was in an office at some stables on Elmer Green’s property.”

  Claire started digging gloves from her coat pockets, and as she slipped her hands inside, Luke admired their long-fingered elegance, thinking they were an artist’s hands. “Elmer Green,” she said, frowning. “That name’s familiar.”