“A clever solution.” Willa shrugged and hung her cape back on the chair. “Eight inches long will be fine, Daniel. And when you have stripped a limb that is long and supple enough, if you would bend it into a large circle and bind the ends together, we will attach bundles of pine to it to make the wreath.”
He nodded, draped the coil over the end of a log sticking up out of the wood box, snaked out the twine and chopped off eight-inch pieces as he dragged it over the upended log. That shrug meant Willa wasn’t going to give up. Sly woman! She knew he wouldn’t confront her about her matchmaking efforts in front of Ellen. He tossed the fistful of twine pieces onto the table, grabbed a branch, hacked off the greenery and grabbed another. Small sprigs of pine littered the floor around his boots. He gathered them into a pile and scooped them up, kicked aside a few pinecones that had fallen off the branches and carried the greens to the table. Ellen stood there, still wearing her fancy cloak and bonnet. She might as well have waved a flag announcing his inadequacy. But there was a blessing in it, as well.
He dumped his armload of greens in the middle of the table where they could be easily reached from either side. “I hope you aren’t thinking of working with this pine in that fancy cloak of yours, Musquash. Your fine beaux won’t be so admiring when it’s all dotted and smeared with pine sap. Come to think of it, you’ll likely ruin your fancy dress, too. Perhaps you’d best forget about helping.”
Ellen’s finely molded nostrils flared. “I’ll do no such thing, Daniel Braynard!” She shot him a haughty glance, undid the bow beneath her chin with a sharp yank and tossed her bonnet onto a chair. “I gave my word to help Willa and that is exactly what I intend to do. If I ruin my garments it’s none of your affair. Nothing I do is of your concern!”
More salt rubbed in old wounds. She used to look to him for advice in everything. He gave a lazy shrug. “True enough. Ruin your cloak if you’re of a mind to.”
Her cheeks flamed. The heel of her boot clacked against the floor, the sound muted by her long skirts. “I am not going to ruin my cloak! Or my dress. I wore one of my old ones.” She whipped the blue wool off of her shoulders, tossed it over the chair back and jutted her chin at him. “I’m not a child, and I’d appreciate it if you would stop treating me like one.”
“Then stop stomping your foot.” He forced a grin and turned away, snatched up a branch and his ax to keep from grabbing Willa and demanding to know what kind of torture she was putting him through. The sight of Ellen in that plain green gown with her face tipped up toward his was enough to make him dream for weeks! Any man would! He swung the ax so hard the blade buried itself in the log. He gritted his teeth, yanked it free and lopped greens from the branch so fast the blade blurred. From the corner of his eye he saw Ellen pull the kid gloves from her hands and toss them onto the chair atop her bonnet.
“You’ll have to show me what to do, Willa. I’ve never made decorations.”
He shot a quick glance at her face at the odd sound of the words—she was gritting her teeth, all right. It wouldn’t be long before she’d be so mad she’d head for home. He relaxed his own jaw and grabbed another branch.
“It’s not hard, Ellen. You simply gather the greens one at a time until you have a nice full bunch, like this—” Willa picked up some greens, holding the stems in her left hand “—then wrap a piece of twine about the twigs good and tight, cross the ends over and tie a knot. See?” Willa held up the tied bunch and smiled. “When we have made enough bunches, we will use the dangling ends of the twine to tie them to the branch ring Daniel will make for us. Now you try it.”
He turned his head slightly to watch as Ellen gathered and tied pine sprigs into a bunch.
“Is this right?”
Ellen held the bouquet of sprigs out for Willa’s approval, then glanced his way. He jerked his head down.
“Perfect. Keep making them exactly like that.”
“All right, I— What are you doing?”
That sounded a little panicked. He slid his gaze back toward the table, stiffened at the sight of Willa putting on her cloak. He lifted his head and cleared his throat, but she ignored him and smiled at Ellen.
“I have to go to the house and check on the baby. She’s probably awake and crying to be fed. I’ll be back when I get her settled again.”
The words held him mute. How could you argue against a baby? Willa tugged her hood in place and headed for the door. He scowled and opened it for her. She gave him another of those sweet smiles, stepped outside and hurried down the steps to the pathway. And there was nothing he could do about it. He stifled another growl and went back to work, the thunk of his ax and the whisper of the falling offshoots loud in the sudden heavy silence in the small room.
* * *
Ellen tied the small bunch of pine twigs, placed it with the others at the end of the table and stole a glance at Daniel from under her lowered lashes. The muscles along his shoulder and arm rippled beneath his wool shirt as he wielded his hatchet. The steady thud grated on her nerves. Why didn’t he say something? Even his mocking and teasing would be better than this weighted silence.
The heaviness settled in her chest, pushed a sigh into her throat. They used to talk so easily with one another, the way he talked with Willa and Callie and Sadie now, only...different somehow. He’d been so thoughtful of her, so protective during those years when they’d all followed him wherever he went—probably because she was the youngest. Whatever the reason, she’d thought then that their friendship was special, especially after he dove into the flood-swollen Stony Creek to save her. Now he couldn’t bear the sight of her, and he certainly didn’t want to talk with her.
Tears stung her eyes. Well, that was what she got for remembering when she was a silly, impressionable young girl, and Daniel was her hero. She blinked the watery film away, gathered pine sprigs from the pile on the table and formed them into a small cluster. Thankfully, her mother and father had told her the true way of things and set her on the right path to achieve a life of ease among the wealthy and influential people of society. She could so easily have erred....
She fought an urge to look again at Daniel, tucked a rough piece of twine between her thumb and the pine cluster, careful to leave the end dangling as Willa had shown her, then wrapped the twine twice around the stems and tied it off. He looked so different without the bushy beard and long hair. Handsome and more like...well, Daniel.
The urge strengthened. She stole another look at him from under her lowered lashes, yielded and raised her head to study his profile showing clean and clear against the plastered wall. There was no need for her to hide her perusal; he was paying her no mind. It was as if their friendship had never existed.
She swept her gaze from his brown crisply waving hair with its lingering hue of boyhood red to his pronounced cheekbone and on to the shadowed area beneath his strong square jaw. How well she remembered that jaw. He always clenched it when he set his mind to something, and that little muscle at the joint jumped. It was a sure sign that he was determined about something. She stared at his jaw. That muscle was twitching now. What—
“We’ll never get this work finished if you stand there looking holes through me. Do you need something?”
She jumped. Hot blood rushed into her cheeks. “No, nothing. I was only thinking about Willa and...things.” She jerked her gaze from his face, threw the finished bunch onto the pile and snatched up more pine sprigs. “Ouch!” She dropped the pine and shoved the tip of her finger into her mouth, then yanked it out again. “Ugh!”
“I guess how pine sap tastes wasn’t one of those ‘things.’” He buried the edge of his hatchet in the log and held out his hand. “Let me see your finger. Slivers can get painful if you don’t take them out.”
She stared at his big, callused, sap-dotted hand and swallowed hard against the sudden lump in her throat. His touch had always made her feel
so safe, so...cared about, and it wasn’t that way any longer—his stiff posture and the hard edge to his voice made that clear. She took a breath and shook her head. His long fingers curled into his palm, and his hand jerked back.
“Sorry. I forgot. Perhaps one of your beaux with clean, soft hands will remove the sliver when they arrive.”
Her beaux! The thought jolted her from the past. She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “I’m certain they would.” Not true. They would be appalled at the way her hands looked—and by the old plain gown she wore. “However, as you can see, there is no sliver. It was only a prick.” He didn’t even glance at the extended index finger she held forward, merely grunted, stepped back to the log and picked up his ax.
How could she have forgotten what an insufferable man he’d become? She batted her long skirts out of the way of the chair leg, stepped around the table so her back was toward him and shot a look at the door. Where was Willa? How long did it take to feed and settle a baby, anyway? She frowned and snatched up a sprig of pine, put it in her left hand and snatched up another. Did an infant go right back to sleep or remain awake after being fed? She had no idea. But one thing was certain—her mother was right. A woman’s life was much easier with a wet nurse and nanny to care for any babies. Her wealthy lady friends in Buffalo never missed any activities because of their children.
She looked down at the spot of blood among the sticky dabs of sap on her fingers and scowled. And those women didn’t ruin their hands making costumes or Christmas decorations either. It had been a mistake to offer. How was she to get the pine sap off?
Daniel would know. No! She’d swallow her tongue before she’d ask his advice about anything! She pressed her lips together, thrust more pine sprigs into her hand and reached for the twine to bind them. The quicker this job was finished, the better!
* * *
That was the last branch, and he’d no reason for going outside to get more. Daniel scowled down at the lopped-off greens so deep they brushed against his ankles, buried the edge of his hatchet in the chopping log and turned to sort through the heap of denuded branches. He’d put off making the circle for the wreath as long as he could. Where was Willa, anyway? He’d agreed to help her make Christmas decorations, not to work with Ellen. He snatched up one of the longer branches, tested its flexibility, threw it down and snatched up another. The third one he tried curved easily into a large circle. He held the overlapping ends together, carried it to the table and bound the juncture with a piece of twine.
“What’s that?”
“The circle Willa asked me to make for the wreath.”
“Oh.”
Ellen’s sigh pierced his determination. He braced and looked at her. She was staring at the rounded branch in his hand and tugging at the corner of her lower lip with her teeth the way she did when she was unsure of what to do. Her head lifted, and her blue eyes fastened on his. He gritted his teeth as the old urge to help her, to take care of her, rose. He jerked his gaze down to the table before his emotions became more entangled. The pile of pine bunches she’d made was pitifully small. “I’ll put more wood in the stove, then give you some help. There’s no sense in my going outside to get more pine until what I’ve already cut is used up.”
More’s the pity! He could use a good dose of cold air to clear his head—memories were powerful things. And the room was too small. He couldn’t get a decent breath. He hunched his shoulders forward to make them as narrow as possible when he stepped around the table, but his arm still brushed against Ellen’s. Warmth tingled along its length. You’d better get back here soon, Pest, or I’m leaving—promise or not! He opened the draft, tossed two small pieces of split log into the firebox, then adjusted the draft for a slow burn and stepped over to the chopping log. He bent and scooped his arms full of pine sprigs, dumped them in the center of the table, then snatched up a handful and tied the stems together.
Silence, taut and uncomfortable, stretched between them. He made another bunch, threw it on the pile and grabbed more sprigs. Ellen reached for more at the same moment and his hand brushed against hers. His fingers twitched.
“Am I doing this wrong?”
He shook his head and snatched up a piece of twine.
“Then why are you scowling?”
The stubborn tilt of her chin told him she would not stop until she had an answer. But he for sure wasn’t going to tell her the real reason—only the one behind it. “I’m wondering what’s keeping Willa so long. It seems as if she should be back by now.”
She studied his face for a moment, then nodded and brushed at a lock of hair that fell loose with the movement. “I was wondering the same thing. I’ve no idea how long it takes to feed and settle a baby, but it’s been a long while.”
It feels that way for certain! He dragged his gaze from the blond curl now nestled cozily behind her ear and fought the desire to fall into their old, comfortable way with one another. That would lead to disaster—his. “No doubt you’ll soon find out. After you’re married to one of your beaux, that is.” The ends of the sprigs he was tying into a bunch snapped off. He blew out a breath, eased the pressure of his grip and unwound the too-tight loops of twine. “Have you decided which one you’re going to accept yet?” He forced his lips into a grin and looked over at her. “Will it be Mr. Money or Mr. Prestige?”
“That is not the basis for my decision! They both have money and prestige.” Ellen threw the bunch she held onto the finished pile and glared at him. “And their names are Mr. Lodge and Mr. Cuthbert.”
He dipped his head in a mocking bow, and if the flash in her eyes was any indication, he no longer had to be concerned about a return to their childhood ease with one another. He tossed the sprigs he’d ruined onto the pile of denuded branches and gathered up more.
Wind moaned around the stovepipe. Driven snow plastered against the remaining bare spots on the small window and closed off the outside world. Light from the sconces played among the golden curls atop Ellen’s bowed head and created a shadow beneath the one dangling behind her ear. He gritted his teeth, set his mind against the soft candle glow on Ellen’s smooth cheeks and focused on the conversation he was going to have with Willa as soon as he got her alone.
The door latch clicked. Cold air rushed into the room and the candle flames flickered behind their protective globes. He swiveled his head toward the door and watched in silence as Willa stepped inside, stamped her booted feet and shoved back her cloak’s snow-covered hood.
“Glory be, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a storm as ferocious as this one.”
Wait until we’re alone, Pest. He let his eyes telegraph the message.
“Oh, dear....” The worry in Ellen’s voice drew his gaze. She was staring at the snow-clogged window and nibbling at the corner of her lower lip. “I hope the storm hasn’t caused Mother and Father to return home early.” The nibbling increased. “Perhaps I’d better go.”
An excellent idea. He jerked his gaze from the assault her teeth were inflicting on her lip and cleared his throat to tell her so.
“There’s no need. Your parents haven’t come home.”
His brows zoomed skyward. She’d been watching? He shot Willa a look.
“How can you know that?”
Indeed. Answer Ellen’s question, Willa. He quirked his lips into a challenging smile.
“I...er...glanced out the window a time or two while I was gone.”
“Tending the baby?” The comment earned him a look. He tried to emulate one of those sweet smiles she’d been giving him earlier.
“It’s possible to hold an infant and look out a window at the same time, Daniel.”
He raised a brow and dipped his head.
Willa lifted her chin and sniffed.
“You are taking ill, Willa.” Ellen backed up.
“Careful!” He shot out
his hand and grabbed her arm.
“Oh!” Ellen glanced over her shoulder, then looked up at him. “I forgot about the stove being so close.”
He stared down into the azure depths of her eyes and all the feelings he’d been holding at bay flooded through him. He gave a curt nod, let go of her arm and straightened, the muscle along his jaw jumping in time with his racing pulse.
Willa swooped into view. “I’m not sick, Ellen. It’s only the heat of the room after the cold.” She gave him a look, then snatched up one of the sprig bouquets. “My, you’ve done a lovely job with these! And, Daniel, this wreath circle is the perfect size.” Her hand touched his arm. “Why don’t you carry out those bare branches and bring in more. Ellen and I will have these sprigs used up in no time.”
He looked at the greenery still littering the floor but was in no mood to argue the point. All he wanted was to get out of that room. “You’re the boss.” He shrugged into his jacket and pulled on his hat and gloves, then stooped and filled his arms with the useless branches. There was the soft swish of a woman’s skirts behind him. The door latch clicked. His lips twisted into a sour grin. It’s going to take more than your opening the door for me to forgive you for this, Pest. He straightened and turned. Ellen peered at him over the tangle of branches he held, then pulled the door wide. He cleared the tightness from his throat and moved forward. “Thank you.”
“It’s little enough. You saved me from harm...again.”
Like old times. He stepped outside, the bitterness he kept under tight control swelling with the snick of the latch as she closed the door behind him. “Except nothing is the same. I’m a nobody you look down on now.” The wind whipped the words away. Good. There was nothing worse than self-pity. All the same, it was too bad the wind couldn’t carry off memories. He had a heartful he’d like to be rid of.
A Season of the Heart Page 7