Abiding Love

by Melody Morgan

  "Well, it sure will be nice to have another man around. I sort of felt outnumbered, if you know what I mean," Howard said, smiling.

  Emma was too shocked to say anything.

  After that, the women went to the kitchen and busied themselves with preparing and serving a delicious meal, while the men retired to the parlor to talk and wait.

  Lydia added another setting to the table, secretly glad that Irene had insisted that Ross was staying, although she would never voice her feelings in the face of such obvious disapproval by Winnie and Emma. It was plain to see that Winnie refused to talk, even to her. And Emma, with her eyes still wide in disbelief, couldn't seem to talk if she wanted to. Silly women, Lydia thought. They acted as though Ross was a bank robber, when he was actually a very nice man with deep feelings for Irene. Couldn't they see that?

  Still bristling, Irene spoke to both women, ignoring their disapproval of Ross's presence at the dinner table.

  "Would you make the gravy, Mother? And Emma, would you ask Howard if he'd carry the turkey to the table?"

  When Emma had left the room, Irene heard her mother mumble, "I'm surprised she didn't ask the saloon owner to do it." Then she stirred the gravy hard enough to make the spoon ring against the side of the pan.

  In a short time, everyone was seated and Howard had carved the turkey, releasing even more of the spicy aroma. Plates were passed and compliments were given.

  "I suppose Christmas has been good for the mercantile?" Ross asked Howard, ladling gravy over his potatoes and stuffing.

  Nodding, Howard replied, "This year was better than last for some reason."

  "I got two fishin' poles," Jonathan offered, smiling.

  Laughing, Howard said, "Maybe that's why."

  "Next year you'll be doing some extra shopping," Ross said to Howard, including Emma with a glance. "Congratulations again."

  Three forks suddenly suspended in mid-path. Emma's eyes widened once more while Winnie and Irene simultaneously turned their heads to stare at her, then at Howard.

  Unaware of the consternation of the three women, Howard replied with a proud look, "Yes, I guess we will."

  "Emma?" Irene asked, trying to hide the small hurt she felt that Emma hadn't confided in her.

  Winnie pressed her knee into Irene's. "The children," she whispered behind her napkin.

  Irene ignored her. "I'm so happy for you," she said quietly to Emma. And she was. But she was suddenly reminded of the vast differences in their lives. Emma was in love and married and expecting her first child. They really had very little in common anymore. No wonder she'd kept the news to herself.

  Turning a bright pink, Emma smiled and forced out a "thank you."

  "I thought I saw some pie," Jonathan interjected.

  "And maybe some coffee to go with it?" Howard asked with a knowing grin.

  Winnie, still balking at the entire scene, got up to cut the pies. Irene happily escaped to the kitchen to grind the coffee.

  "I think I'll give her hand," Ross said, pushing back his chair.

  Winnie threw a glaring look over her shoulder at his back just as he disappeared through the doorway.

  Ross found Irene in the pantry, her hands stilled against the pie safe, her head slightly bowed in thought.

  "I'm sorry . . ." he began.

  Startled, she faced him.

  ". . . about everything," he finished quietly. "I only intended to drop by to bring the gifts."

  Uncertain about her feelings, she shook her head. "No. It isn't you. I . . . Sometimes . . . Mother . . ."

  "Sometimes your mother is a pain in theuh, neck?"

  She nodded with a half smile on her lips. "Sometimes, yes."

  He shrugged. "If nobody else minds, you shouldn't either." He gave her a warm grin and leaned a shoulder against the door frame of the small pantry. "I don't mind."

  "It isn't just mother." He looked so at ease and comfortable standing there, as though he had all day to listen to her problems when in fact he was one of her problems.

  Actually, he was her main problem.

  "It's me, right?"

  "RossI mean, Mr. Hollister, I have to return to my guests with the coffee, and I haven't even ground it yet."

  "Here, I'll help you."

  In the confines of the pantry, it was impossible for two people to move without touching. With her back against the shelf, he faced her, reaching around her for the grinder. A flowery scent lifted from her hair to his nostrils and mixed with the tangy odor of dried herbs and spices that hung by strings at the ends of the shelves. Held as if spellbound, he gazed into the warm depths of her honey-brown eyes until she looked away. He was tempted to kiss her again, long and sweet. But he reminded himself of her guests just a room away and promised himself that at another time he would, when neither of them was fettered by the presence of others.

  "Where's the tin of beans?" he asked, still close enough that he could almost feel her breath on his neck.

  "Over there . . . behind you."

  He stepped aside, allowing her the opportunity to breathe and move a little distance from him. She took hold of her emotions as best she could with him standing so close. "I'll grind them," she offered. "It can't be too difficult."

  Once more he leaned against the door jamb.

  In a short while she had ground enough beans; looking up, she waited for him to leave the pantry so she could do the same.

  He continued to stand in the way, his gaze fixed on her face.

  "You're beautiful," he said. And he meant it. He'd never seen a more beautiful woman in his life.

  Surprised at his remark, she returned his stare. Andrew had said similar words and she had believed them, but she heard a sincerity in Ross's voice that she'd never heard in Andrew's. Suddenly, she felt beautiful, as though a glow suffused her inside and out, bringing a warmth she hadn't known before. This was certainly like no moment she'd ever shared with Andrewso personal, so intimate and so honest that it held her mesmerized.

  The clanking of the coffeepot lid broke the spell.

  "Are we going to have to eat the whole pie before we get any coffee?" Winnie called from the kitchen.

  "Excuse me," Irene said, squeezing past Ross.

  As he watched her perform the task of making coffee, he decided it was about time she escaped from her daily duties and from the watchful eye of her mother, even for a short while.

  And although it wouldn't be easy, he had an idea about how to achieve this that he was sure would work.

  Chapter Sixteen

  After restlessly walking the kitchen, Irene decided to make herself a cup of hot milk. Perhaps then she'd be able to sleep. She moved about the warm room, getting a pan, pouring the milk, turning down the damper, and stirring the milk to keep it from scorching as though this was a nightly occurrence. Thankfully, it wasn't. Only lately, since Christmas actually, had this restlessness gripped her. Each night she'd gone to bed only to toss and turn, unable even to keep her eyes closed until finally she fell asleep. But tonight her thoughts plagued her so thoroughly that she hadn't even attempted going upstairs, knowing sleep was impossible.

  With the damper partially closed, the stove cooled, giving off an occasional cracking sound as the cast iron contracted. In a matter of minutes, the milk was hot and she poured it into a stoneware mug. Holding it between both hands, she sipped it. This was not her favorite drink, but she took it like medicine, grimacing only slightly.

  Another cracking sound emanated from somewhere,

  but hardly paying attention, she assumed it was the cooling stove. Then it came again. Alert now, she realized that it sounded more like tapping, and it echoed softly in the room. Glancing at the window, she saw a small flickering light beyond the glass. Straining to see what it could be, she rose from her chair to peer outside for a better look.

  There, standing ankle-deep in the cold snow, was Ross. She hurried to the door and opened it.

  He met her at the door, a finger to his blue lips and a smi
le lurking in his eyes. "Sh-h-h!" he said, tiptoeing inside. "I thought you'd never see me!" he whispered.

  "What are you doing?" she whispered back.

  "Waiting for you to let me in." He hugged his body as close to the stove as he dared.

  Opening the damper, she frowned at him. "But what were you doing waiting out there in the dark like some kind of thief?"

  He peeled his gloves from his hands and carefully laid them on the table, then stretched his hands over the warmth of the stove.

  "I thought we'd go ice skating," he answered with a shiver. "After I warm up a little."

  Incredulously, she stared at him. "Ice skating? It's practically the middle of the night!"

  "Sh-h-h! I don't want to take your mother with us. I only want you to go." He smiled at her wickedly. "Are you scared?"

  "Of what?" she asked, forcing her voice to stay low. She recognized the challenge he offered, just as she'd recognized it the night he walked her home.

  And she would accept the challenge; he could see it in the warm bronze of her eyes.

  "I don't have any skates," she said as the rising excitement of doing the forbidden seeped into her bones, almost making her shake.

  Ross shrugged casually. "Nothing to worry about. There are two pair outside. Waiting." He raised his eyebrows. "Ready?"

  Irene bit her lip, but was unable to hold back the smile. This was just the thing for her restlessness, not the mug of tasteless warmed milk. Without hesitation, she nodded her answer.

  He helped her on with her coat and the mittens and scarf that Winnie had knitted for her. In a short time she was bundled for a midnight skate on the canal. Quietly, Ross closed the door behind them, picked up the skates he'd laid in the snow, and pulled her along in his hurry to get her away before she changed her mind.

  With her free mittened hand clasped over her racing heart, Irene had difficulty resisting the urge to laugh aloud. This was the best, and certainly the most daring, adventure she'd ever entered upon! The exhilaration was almost more than she could bear as they dashed along the snowbanks and over the bridge. Only the clinking of the skates in Ross's hand and the rush of their breathing filled the cold night air.

  When they reached the canal, staying Upstream from the mill, Ross pulled Irene behind a tree, where they flattened their backs against the rough bark.

  "Do you think anyone saw us?" he asked, out of breath.

  Laughing, she responded, "No. I can't imagine anyone else being up this time of night."

  "Me neither." After a minute he confessed, "I waited three nights in a row for you."

  "You what?" Her tone implied disbelief, but inside she felt warmly flattered.

  "I finally decided that you probably never stayed up late. I figured I'd have to throw stones at your bedroom window, but I wasn't sure which one it was." Turning his head, he smiled at her. "I almost gave up."

  "I'm glad you didn't. I feel just as Jonathan must have when he skipped school to go fishing."

  Ross shook his head. "No, that's an entirely different feeling. Do you want to try it sometime?'' he asked seriously.

  She laughed again. "Me? Skip school to go fishing? What would the children think? What would the superintendent say?"

  He shrugged. "would it matter?"

  "Of course, it would!" But she didn't want to talk about reality. Not on an ice-covered canal in the small hours of a winter morning, when reality and fantasy hovered so close together that they could easily be intertwined. "Are we going to skate or are we going to talk?" she asked.

  He pondered the options for a moment. "Skate."

  Aided by only a meager light from a sheltered moon, they found a log nearby. Irene sat while Ross helped her on with her skates. After he fastened on his, he pulled her to her feet until they stood toe to toe while his gloved hand held her mittened one.

  "Are you steady?" he asked, feeling her tremble. "Here. Give me both of your hands."

  She offered the other one, and he took it in a strong, secure grip, pulling her closer until the only thing between them was the bulkiness of their coats.

  While her heart hammered loudly, not at all muffled by the layers of warm clothing, his hat tipped toward her, and she dosed her eyes. Waiting.

  The kiss was gentle, almost asking if she was in agreement with him. Her only answer was compliance as she leaned against him, liking the clean soapy smell of him as it mixed with the cold air.

  Slowly, he deepened the kiss, searching now, no longer asking. Compelled to draw her closer, he wrapped both arms around her, nearly crushing her to him.

  Weakening, her knees began to give and her palms, overly warm inside her mittens, became moist so that it was impossible to grasp the sides of his coat. In an almost dream-like state, she gave herself over to the wonderful feelings dancing through her body. This was similar to the last time he'd kissed her, yet inexplicably better.

  All too soon, the kiss ended and she stood shaken in its aftermath.

  "I thought we came here to skate," she said, her voice a hoarse whisper.

  "That was part of it." He relaxed his arms around her so that they rested at the back of her waist, not at all ready to let her go.

  "And this was the other part?"

  "Yes, but I hadn't planned on this part coming first," he replied with a grin she could barely make out in the darkness. "But I don't mind if you don't," he teased.

  She reached up to touch his thick mustache, but the silkiness of it was kept from her fingers by the heavy yarn of her mitten. "And if I should agree to skip school with you, would you have a two-part plan for that, too?" she asked, enjoying his lightheartedness.

  "That would be telling."

  "Mmm. I see," she replied, tracing the firm line of his jaw. "And should I believe that we would actually go fishing if I skipped school?"

  He smiled at her. "Are you asking if we really are going to skate tonight?"

  Blushing but answering bravely, she replied, "Yes."

  "That was part of the plan." He dropped his hands from her waist to grasp her elbows. Moving backward, he gently pulled her onto the ice, stumbling a little over a twig in his path. He managed to catch his balance without upsetting both of them.

  "Oh! Oh!" Irene cried in alarm. "Are you all right?"

  "Just a little clumsy, I guess. But don't worry, I'll keep us both on our feet. Ready?"

  "I don't know . . . it is awfully dark." She peered through the dim shadows. The snow along the banks cast some illumination across the darker, solidly frozen canal.

  "Are you afraid?" he challenged.

  No, she thought, not as long as she was with him. Shaking her head, she replied, "No."

  They made a few circles around the ice near the log where they'd sat with their skates. Feeling less afraid and more sure on her feet, she embarked on her own, making a wide turn and skating back toward Ross who stood still, watching and waiting.

  Laughing, she said, "I don't know how to stop." And she would have skated past him except that he reached out and grabbed her hand, surprising her. He swung her in a tight circle, until she begged him to stop.

  "I'm getting dizzy!"

  He pulled her to him, braking her skates with his. "Me too."

  Dropping her head to his chest to restore her equilibrium, she smiled at the pleasure of feeling his arms surround her once more.

  "Better?" he asked.

  "Mmm. Yes," she replied softly.

  "Cold?"

  "No, not really." She wiggled her toes, wishing she'd worn another pair of stockings.

  He lifted her chin with one finger and stared long into her eyes. "What does 'not really' mean?" Then he touched the tip of her cold nose.

  "Well, maybe just a little."

  "Some exercise will help that." And he tugged her along after him. Letting go of her hand, he said, "Can you keep up?"

  With a valiant effort, she stayed at his side while they skated farther down the canal. When he turned suddenly in front of her, she was unprepar
ed and slammed against him, bringing them both down in a tumble of skirts and a tangle of legs. He had taken the worst of it and lay flat on his back with her staring into his face.

  "Oh! I'm so sorry! Are you hurt?" she said, trying to raise herself to her feet. But the attempt only made her slip and fall on him again.

  "Ooof!" he grunted.

  With a cry of despair, she tried once more, but he quickly grabbed her and said, "I think it's better if I get up first." Rolling her over with his nose inches from hers, he lay across her. The softness of her woman's body was apparent in spite of the heavy clothing she wore, and even if he'd tried, he couldn't have ignored the curves that lay beneath him.

  Irene inhaled sharply as Ross's hand crept along her side, subsiding only when he reached her chin. The pressure of his body on hers brought a forbidden tingle of excitement and she hoped that he would kiss her once more.

  Hidden by the darkness and the banks of the canal, they lay upon the ice, aware only of the heat building within them.

  "This isn't as easy as I thought it would be," he said, his voice vibrant with emotion.

  "No," she whispered her agreement, "it isn't." Then her world reeled again as his lips pressed hers, searching, fulfilling. Unbidden, the thought came to her that it had never been like this with Andrew and it would not be like this with anyone but Ross.

  Bracing himself on one elbow so as not to hurt her, he cradled her head in his other hand while his mouth plundered hers. She was so soft, so willing, so right.

  Lost to everything but the brush of his mustache and the strength of his hands, Irene succumbed to emotions she'd only dreamed about. But this wasn't a dream or a page from one of her novels. It was happening now, and it was real.

  And she didn't want it ever to stop.

  Using more control than he'd believed he was capable of, Ross lifted his head and forced his thoughts to take a different route. With an impatient sigh, he rolled away onto his back, staring up at a patch of stars revealed by a passing cloud. The cold ice beneath his bare head helped clear his mind.

  Reaching over, he grasped her hand.

  She lay there, chilled on the outside but glowing on the inside, sprawled upon the ice, wondering how they must look to any brave winter bird sitting on a lofty perch. The image brought to mind the snow angels that children made by lying in the snow to make an imprint of their bodies. She smiled. Two grown adults acting like children. Well, not exactly.