The Holiday Courtship

by Winnie Griggs

  Displayed on the table, Janell saw a set of tin soldiers, a wooden horse that was obviously homemade, an old rag doll that had seen better days and a small doll-sized cradle.

  Both children drew close to the table but neither touched the items.

  Hank rubbed the back of his neck, as if uncertain what to do next. “These things belonged to me and my sister—your mother—when we were kids growing up here.”

  “You mean this is where Ma grew up?” Alex stared at his uncle with wide eyes.

  “It is. In fact, she slept in that same bed Chloe’s sleeping in now.”

  “What about my room?”

  “That one was mine. I moved into the one that used to belong to my parents when I took over the house.”

  Hank picked up the wooden horse. “My pa, your grandfather, made this for me when I was about five years old. Carved it with his own two hands. I named him Captain and he went everywhere with me for a long time.”

  Alex’s eyes got big. “Can I hold him?”

  Hank handed it to him. “If you promise to take real good care of him, you can keep him.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  He turned to Chloe and picked up the slate. This is Penny he wrote, then pointed to the doll. It was your ma’s when she was a little girl.

  Chloe picked up the doll, then looked up at him with questioning, hopeful eyes.

  Hank erased the slate, then wrote again. She’s yours if you want her.

  Chloe nodded vigorously and hugged the doll tightly.

  Hank cleared his throat. Was that a touch of tenderness Janell saw in his expression?

  He touched the cradle and wrote This is Penny’s bed. Your grandfather made it for your mother.

  Then he turned back to Alex. “These tin soldiers were a long-ago Christmas present to me. You’re welcome to them as well.”

  Janell crossed the kitchen and reached for the apron she now kept on a peg by the door. Those three people who had become so dear to her were definitely beginning to draw closer as a family. It was both heartwarming and bittersweet to see. Because more than ever, it made her long to be a part of it, something that could never be.

  “Why don’t you take your things to your rooms,” she told the children, working to keep her voice cheerful. “I’m going to get lunch started and then get to work on these curtains.”

  Janell grabbed some carrots and potatoes and pulled out the chopping board and a knife. By the time she had everything gathered, the children were gone, but Hank remained.

  She glanced up at him, then back down at the chopping board. “The children will treasure those toys for a long time to come.”

  He shrugged. “I wasn’t even aware that my mother had saved those things until I went digging around in the attic.”

  He seemed uncomfortable with the subject. Perhaps a change of subject was in order. “I’ve been thinking about the problem of how to enter Chloe’s room since she won’t hear a knock.”

  “And you’ve come up with an answer?”

  She nodded, ignoring the touch of dry humor in his voice. “A privacy screen.”

  “Privacy screen?”

  “Yes. You know, a tall, three-paneled—”

  He waved impatiently. “I know what a privacy screen is. What I don’t know is how that solves the problem.”

  “When Chloe needs privacy—such as when she’s changing clothes—she can make certain she’s behind the screen. That way, when you or Alex enter her room, you won’t inadvertently embarrass her or yourselves.”

  “I see. Yes, that could work. At least it’s something to try.”

  “If you want to order one, I know the furniture catalog at Blakely’s mercantile has them. And there’s one in my room at the boardinghouse. You can borrow it until—”

  “That’s not necessary. It would be simple to make. In fact, I’m sure I have everything I’ll need down at the sawmill. I could take care of it today.”

  She looked up in surprise. “That quickly?”

  “It won’t be anything fancy, but like I said, it’s a simple construction if you already have the materials.”

  “Perhaps Alex would like to go with you.”

  He frowned at that. “I don’t know. It could be dangerous for him to be around all that equipment.”

  “Not if you keep a close eye on him. And I’m sure he’d like to spend time with you. I’ll fix a cold lunch for the two of you to take with you—this soup will taste better for supper anyway. And while you two are gone, I’ll teach Chloe how to make curtains.”

  He still seemed hesitant, but she was confident. This was going to be a very good day, especially for Hank and Alex.

  Later, once the male members of the household were gone and the kitchen had been cleaned up, Janell picked up the slate and started writing. Do you know how to sew?

  Chloe frowned uncertainly. “Mother taught me to embroider.”

  Not a direct answer but it would do. She erased the slate and picked up the chalk again. Then you should be able to sew something as simple as curtains.

  Janell ignored Chloe’s skeptical expression. Her next written message was on a different topic. While we’re sewing the curtains, we’ll also work on your communication skills.

  This time the girl shot her a suspicious look.

  Janell nodded firmly. No more slate. While we work, I will sign, and you will speak.

  Chloe bit her lower lip, then nodded.

  Janell signed Good.

  As they got to work, she wondered how Hank and Alex were faring.

  * * *

  Hank helped Alex down from the wagon and the little boy looked around with wide eyes. “This whole place belongs to you?”

  “It does.”

  “Just like the dry goods store belonged to my pa.”

  Hank felt a tightening in his chest when he realized where the boy’s thoughts had drifted to. “Yep, just like that.”

  Alex kicked at a rock, keeping his head down. “Pa always said the store would be mine someday.”

  Hank studied his nephew helplessly, not sure what to say that would ease his hurt. “Your father was a very good man,” he said softly. “And he was always very proud of you.”

  Alex looked up at him without turning. “How do you know that? You weren’t there.”

  “No, I wasn’t.” He regretted now that he hadn’t taken time to visit his sister when he’d had the opportunity. “But your ma was my sister and she wrote me letters. She always told me about the family and how proud both she and your pa were.”

  “She did?”

  “Of course. She told me about the time you won your school’s frog jumping contest, and about the time you and your pa caught that huge fish together, and how you were able to count to one hundred before anyone else in your first-grade class.”

  That seemed to make Alex feel better. The slump left his shoulders and he seemed ready to focus. “Do you know how to run all of this equipment?”

  “I do. But of course, I don’t run the place all by myself. I have one man who works full-time with me and another who comes in when I have an extra heavy workload.”

  “But you’re the boss.”

  “That I am.”

  “Can I see the big saw cut something?”

  “As a matter of fact, I’ll be cutting some boards to make that screen for Chloe’s room. If you promise to be real careful, and do exactly as I say, I may just let you help.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Hank took his time making the privacy screen, patiently teaching Alex how to use a hammer, sandpaper and paintbrush. The boy was eager to learn and turned out to have a natural talent. The screen they’d constructed was rather plain but well made. He’d deliberately kept it free of decoration because he had something
else in mind.

  He thought perhaps he’d purchase some paints and see if Chloe would like to decorate it herself.

  At the last minute he decided to work on a second project. Together he and Alex constructed a wooden box, complete with hinges and a latch, to hold Alex’s tin soldiers.

  Alex was as proud of the finished product as if it had been covered in jewels.

  All in all, Hank was pleased with how the day had turned out.

  It was nearly four o’clock by the time Hank loaded the newly constructed privacy screen on the wagon and helped Alex climb in. He cast a worried look up at the sky. It had become overcast—they might be in for some rain tonight. He’d need to make sure he got Janell home early this evening.

  When they arrived home, Hank let Alex help him unhitch the wagon and tend to the horse. The boy chattered nonstop about the sawmill and the work they’d done there.

  They carried the screen in through the kitchen door and Hank gave a satisfied smile as he inhaled the savory scent of a stew simmering on the stove.

  They had just stepped into the hall when Hank heard a clatter and a yelp, closely followed by a cry from Chloe. He quickly set the screen down and sprinted for Alex’s room, where the sound had come from.

  He rushed into the room and halted abruptly on the threshold. Janell sat on the bed trying to calm an upset Chloe.

  “What happened here? Are you two okay?”

  Janell glanced up with a self-recriminating grimace. “We’re fine.”

  Chloe also turned and he could read the fright in her expression. “Miss Whitman fell off the chair and hurt her foot.”

  He crossed to where Janell sat and looked down at her. “How bad is it?”

  Why hadn’t the fool woman waited until he got home so he could have helped her hang the curtains?

  Because she was Janell I-can-do-anything Whitman, that was why.

  If he didn’t care for her so much, he’d seriously consider sitting her down and giving her a stern lecture on being aware of her own limitations.

  And he might do it still.

  Just as soon as he made certain she was all right.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Janell tried to wrestle control of the situation from Hank. “I just stepped down wrong and twisted my ankle. It’ll be fine in a bit.”

  But he ignored her and stooped down, motioning for her to let him see her foot. “Let me have a look.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I told you, it’s nothing.”

  He raised a brow, looking anything but ridiculous. “If you prefer, I can carry you to Dr. Pratt’s office so he can take a look at it.”

  She glared at him, but he maintained eye contact, refusing to budge, and she finally gave in. It wouldn’t be good to get into an argument in front of the children.

  With a little huff of irritation, she lifted her foot just high enough for Hank to take it in his hands.

  He eased her shoe from her foot, with surprisingly smooth, gentle movements. The warmth of his hands penetrated through her stocking and sent little shivers skittering through her.

  Then he glanced up, his eyes expressing a concern that touched her on an entirely different level. “This may hurt a bit.”

  She nodded mutely and he began to prod and massage her foot and ankle. She tried not to show any signs of distress, but a couple of winces escaped her as he touched the tender area of her ankle.

  He finally set her foot back on the floor. “I don’t think it’s broken.”

  She tugged her skirt back down to cover her foot. “Of course it’s not broken. I told you, it’s just twisted a bit. Nothing to worry about.”

  “What in the world were you doing up on that chair? You could have broken your neck when you fell.”

  She excused his tone because of the worry she’d seen in his eyes earlier. “Chloe and I were hanging the curtains we made. And I didn’t fall. I just landed wrong when I stepped down. It’s happened to me a few times before and no doubt it’ll happen to me again.” She smoothed down her skirt. “Now stop making such a fuss—you’ll worry the children.”

  She spotted Alex, still standing in the doorway. “Come on in and tell me how you like your new curtains.”

  Alex studied the window covering with a critical eye. “They look good.”

  Janell nodded. “Yes, you did a great job of picking out the fabric—it suits this room perfectly.”

  Then she waved him closer. “But tell me about your day at your uncle’s sawmill. Did you enjoy yourself?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Uncle Hank let me help make the screen. I got to use a hammer and sandpaper and everything.”

  “Oh my. He must really trust you if he let you use his tools.”

  “Alex was a big help.” There was a touch of protective pride in Hank’s voice.

  The boy’s chest puffed out even farther.

  Janell braced her hands on the mattress on either side of her, ready to push to her feet. “Speaking of the screen, let’s have a look at it.”

  Hank frowned. “Do you think you should be up and walking so soon?”

  “I’ll be limping more than walking for a while, but it’ll be fine.”

  He helped her to stand, then placed her hand on his shoulder. “Lean on me. You shouldn’t put any weight on that ankle right now.”

  She hesitated, not because she disliked the idea of leaning on him, but because she liked it too much. She hoped the warmth in her cheeks didn’t translate to heightened color.

  As soon as she placed her weight against him, his hand wrapped around her waist. Startled, she glanced up but saw nothing more than patience and concern in his gaze. “Just to steady you so you don’t fall again,” he said reasonably.

  Perhaps she was the only one affected by their nearness.

  He led her to Chloe’s room at a snail’s pace. Not that she minded. Truth to tell, she was enjoying leaning on him this way. He was so close that she could feel the tautness of his muscles through the fabric of his shirt. Could see the tension in his jaw. Could inhale the masculine scent that was so uniquely his—sawdust, resin, fresh air and something faintly spicy that she couldn’t quite identify.

  She was actually sorry when they reached Chloe’s room and she had to let go of him to sit on the spare bed.

  “I see no screen,” she said, looking around with a mock frown. “Are you gentlemen certain you built it?”

  Hank clapped Alex on the back. “Come on—let’s go get it.”

  Once they’d left, with Chloe in their wake, Janell chided herself for her reaction to Hank’s closeness just now. Was she so starved for attention that she would allow herself to act like a schoolgirl? This wouldn’t do at all. Thank goodness he hadn’t noticed anything amiss.

  That would have been absolutely mortifying.

  But she couldn’t let this continue. Could she?

  * * *

  Hank felt a deep sense of satisfaction as he lifted the screen. His strategy was working. Her reaction to him had been edifying, to say the least.

  Of course, if he was being honest, he’d have to admit that his reaction to her had been just as visceral.

  When they walked into Chloe’s bedchamber, Janell was half-standing, testing her foot with a bit of weight.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” he asked with a frown.

  “My ankle is much better. I should have no trouble walking home this evening.”

  “Nonsense. I’ll take you home in the wagon. But not until after supper.”

  A horrified look crossed her face. “Oh my! Supper—”

  “Keep your seat. I’ll check on it. Tonight, we’re waiting on you.” He turned to Chloe and Alex. “Right?”

  Alex nodded vigorously, but Chloe, who obviously hadn’t understood
him, just stared blankly.

  With a smothered sigh, Hank hefted the screen. “But first we set this up.” And with a great deal of fanfare, he did.

  * * *

  Later that evening, Hank opened the kitchen door and looked out at the sky, which was much too dark for the hour. The sound of pinging told the story. Ice.

  He turned back to Janell, who sat at the table. “That settles it. There’s no way I’m letting you go out in that. You can spend the night in Chloe’s room.”

  “But—”

  “No buts. You’re staying, and that’s all there is to it.”

  “But it wouldn’t be—” she glanced toward the children “—seemly for me to spend the night here.”

  “I know it’s not ideal, but this is an unusual situation. And you have my assurances that I will do nothing to take advantage of the situation.”

  “Of course.” She waved a hand dismissively. “I never imagined otherwise. It’s only—”

  “And with the two kids here, I’m sure your reputation can survive this.”

  “But—”

  “Look at this weather. I can already see ice forming on the leaves on my pecan tree.” He closed the door. “I’ve made up my mind—you’re staying put. If it’ll make you feel better for me to bed down with Hector, I will.”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Then it’s settled.”

  * * *

  Janell lay atop the spare bed in Chloe’s room, fully clothed except for her feet. But sleep eluded her. She could tell from the sound of Chloe’s rhythmic breathing that the girl was sound asleep. Every so often there was a muffled snap and crash as the ice broke another limb from a tree. Otherwise the outside world seemed eerily quiet.

  Even without the jarring noise, though, she would have found sleep impossible. It wasn’t her ankle bothering her—that pain had gone away, just as she’d told Hank it would. No, it was the reminder of the concern in his eyes when he’d learned of her injury, the memory of the way his strong but gentle hands had cradled her foot, and the memory, too, of the way his expression had, just for a moment, changed from concern to something deeper, warmer.