by Leah Atwood
Maeve, who’d been stunned into silence, jumped up and ran to her husband. Her arms flew around his neck and Candace heard her whisper, “I was so worried.”
Shifting her gaze, Candace took a sip of her tea. She felt like a voyeur watching the tender reunion between Maeve and Sam. The love they shared was so easy, so effortless. Would she ever have the opportunity to know a love like that?
Ma Holden had gone to her youngest two sons, assisting them out of their cold and wet clothing. Upon her sons’ return, Ma Holden became a mothering hen, clucking over young. The action was so contrary to the behavior that Candace had come to expect from her that she bit back a chuckle. No one could ever doubt that Ma Holden loved her children dearly.
The sweet smell of baked apples drifted into Candace’s nostrils. The pies! She’d forgotten all about them. Everyone else was busy with the reunion and listening to details of the storm that young Benjamin and Lucas shared. Not wanting to hear about the storm—it only further edged her worry for Patrick and dissolved the peace the prayers had given her—she excused herself and returned to the kitchen.
After grabbing a rag, she folded it twice and used it to withdraw the hot pies. The crusts were a golden tan, another few minutes and they would have cooked too long. She set them on a rack to cool and then placed the pumpkin pies in the oven.
Those were Patrick’s favorite, and she’d made an extra just so there would be plenty. She’d even set aside some heavy cream to whip and put on top as he liked. With each passing minute, she missed him more. All she wanted was for him to come home, and she didn’t even care if he brought news of their marriage. She needed to know he was safe, not stuck in the storm, freezing to death because instinctively, she knew he was on his way.
She sank down on a nearby bench and buried her head in her hands. “Please Lord, keep him safe and bring him home.”
Chapter Seven
He wasn’t going to die, not if he had any say in the matter. Patrick pushed forward, haunted by Leroy’s words. Wisdom dictated he should have stayed in Pine Prairie, but it was a virtue that often eluded him.
Sally Sue, his faithful mare, faltered.
Patrick rubbed her neck. “I’m sorry, girl.”
Snow blanketed the entire landscape. The closer he got to Weatherton, the deeper it became. The wind blew the flakes into drifts, and some of the ones he’d encountered were already two feet high. In the dark, there was little he could do to avoid them except pray for Sally Sue to navigate around them.
Before he left Pine Prairie, he’d covered up as much as he could in preparation for the trip home. The wool shirt he wore under his duster scratched his skin, but he barely gave it a second thought. A red bandana barely protected his nose, mouth, and ears from the elements, and too often the whipping gusts penetrated the thin material.
Everything on him was cold. He’d long since passed the tingling stage and moved straight to burning nerve-endings. Immediate fear for his safety propelled him forward.
He nudged Sally Sue’s flank. “Show me what you’ve got. Find the way home.”
The truth was, he didn’t know where he was. The dark, the snow, the cold—it all obscured his sense of direction. It was affecting his brain and his concentration, but he hid it because horses could smell fear, and he was relying on Sally Sue to get them home.
Back to Candace.
In the first ten minutes after leaving Pine Prairie, he’d made his decision regarding her. Ma probably wouldn’t be happy with it, but would probably accept it once he explained. He prayed Candace would understand.
It was for the best and he was at peace with what he’d determined as a solution. If only he could make it back to Weatherton.
So cold. He couldn’t feel anything now. The sound of Sally Sue’s hooves clopping through the freshly fallen snow was the only sound he heard between the howling winds.
“Please, God, see me through this storm. Let me make it back.”
His eyes began to flutter. Tired. Maybe he would just close his eyes for a minute, keep the frigidness out for a bit. He blinked. No. Must keep them open. His head nodded and his chin drifted. He jerked it back up.
Gripping the reins tighter, he pleaded with Sally Sue through chattering teeth. “Not much longer. You can do it.”
He should have stayed in Pine Prairie. There was no reason to risk his life.
“Keep. Your. Eyes. Open,” he shouted to himself, the words lost in the blizzard. “Stay. Awake.”
Death was a certain outcome, he could feel it in his bones, right below the layer of numbness. No, he wasn’t giving in. He would make it to Candace tonight.
She needed him. He needed her.
His body slumped. He envisioned Candace waiting for him and forced himself upright.
Sally Sue’s pace quickened. A new energy emanated from her and seeped into Patrick’s weakened body. Minutes later the faint outline of a building came into view, then a second one, and another. It was Weatherton. Thanks to Sally Sue, he’d made it.
Thank goodness the layout of the town was imprinted on his memory. He could find his way to the Simpson’s house without any problem, even with the lack of visibility. Would anyone be awake? By his estimate, midnight was well behind him.
He gave Sally Sue a pat. “Thank you, girl. I knew you could do it.”
When they came to the Simpson’s place, he jumped off Sally Sue, stumbling in his haste. Looking through a window, he saw the faint glow of firelight through the closed drapes. He knocked on the door. No one answered, so he knocked again, louder and with more force to be heard above the wind. While he waited, he pulled the collar of his duster around his neck.
Did he hear footsteps? He knocked a third time, then blew into his hands for warmth. The thuds came closer.
“Who’s there at this hour?” The voice was croaky as if the person it belonged to had been asleep. Patrick recognized it as Glen Simpson.
“Patrick Holden, Sir.”
The door flew open, assisted by the wind. “Come in.”
“Thank you.” He dusted the snow from him the best he could before stepping through the door.
“What are you doing?” Glen asked. “We thought you’d have the good sense to stay in Pine Prairie until tomorrow.”
“You know me.” Rubbing his hands, he wondered if he’d ever be warm again. “Is Candace here?”
“Yes, the lot of your family’s inside but asleep. Shall I wake them?”
“No, let them sleep.” He removed his hat and ran a hand through his hair. “Do you have somewhere I can put Sally Sue for the night?”
“There’s a lean-to out back. She’ll be protected from the wind there.”
“I’ll take care of her and be right back.” He didn’t move, his gaze drawn to the inviting warmth of the fire.
“It’s been a while since I’ve made some, but I’ll put some coffee going. You must be freezing.” Glen glanced behind him for a second. “Come back in through the rear kitchen door. It will save you a trip around the house.”
“Much obliged.”
An hour later, he was burrowed in a makeshift bed on the floor near the fire. His bones still ached from his stint in the blizzard, and he thanked the Lord he’d made it safely and without frostbite. He couldn’t sleep, even knowing the house would come alive with activity in a few short hours. Thoughts of the future circulated his mind until doubt ridiculed him.
The room was still dark, the sun not yet risen when the first footstep sounded. Patrick lay still, not sure if he should announce his presence yet. A slim outline walked to the window and pushed aside the curtains.
His breathing hitched when he realized the figure was Candace.
She peered outside into the darkness, a hand pressed against the glass. “Where are you, Patrick? Are you safe or lost somewhere in the blizzard?”
His heart constricted. The way she spoke, it didn’t sound like she begrudged him. Quite the opposite. It almost sounded like a deep affection. He sat up and
pulled his shirt over his head.
“Candace.”
The simple utterance made her jump. She turned around, seeking out the voice in the blackness. “Patrick?”
He pushed aside the blankets and stood. “It’s me. Over by the fire.”
She walked toward him. He met her in the middle.
“I was so worried.” Her hands flew around his neck. “You said you’d be back for Thanksgiving, and I just knew you’d try to brave the storm to keep your word.”
All remaining traces of cold immediately evaporated. She trusted him, however, ill-placed it seemed. The realization stunned him.
“I’m here.” Soft illuminations from the fire flickered behind them. Brushing the mussed hair out of her face, he was struck anew by her beauty.
Her lips parted as she stared at him. The moment took him away, and he threaded his fingers through her hair, down to her nape. His hand rested on the rear of her neck, gently pressing her head forward. Angling his head, he met her lips, claiming her in a kiss he’d wanted for months but hadn’t believed he deserved.
He deepened the kiss, understanding what he hadn’t before—he loved her. It was a love bred from respect, admiration, humility.
Respect. The word echoed in his mind and he broke away. They weren’t married—he had no call to kiss her that passionately without the benefit of marriage.
Candace looked away but not before he saw the hurt in her eyes. He gently took her arm and brought her to him.
She shrugged away. “It’s okay. I know you were only caught up in the moment.”
A curse almost slipped from his tongue, but he bit it back in time. “It’s not okay, and if that’s what you think, then you don’t know anything.”
Hugging herself, she blinked several times. “Enlighten me.”
“I stopped kissing you because I respect you.” He raked a hand through his hair. “We’re not married—a kiss like that should be saved for matrimony.”
“Oh.” Surprise flickered across her face. She moved to a settee and sat down.
“I’m sorry, Candace.” He strode to her and sat down beside her, leaving a space between them. “The man who married us, he was a gambler your father met somehow.”
“I guess I already knew that answer.” She swallowed. “Thank you for making the trip to confirm it.”
“There’s something else you need to know.” Reaching over, he took her hand. There wasn’t any love lost between him and Burl, but he was Candace’s Pa, albeit a poor excuse for one. “Your Pa died Monday evening.”
She stared at him with a blank expression, impassive to say the least. Then the news must have struck her because her shoulders began to shake, then her chest, down to the hand he held. He repositioned himself so that he could put an arm around her, offer the comfort that she needed.
“How?” she whispered after a minute.
“In his sleep. They found him in his hotel room.”
“I shouldn’t care. He was horrible to me.” She sniffled. “Yet he was all the family that I had left.”
Patrick stroked her shoulder. “You have us now, Candace. My family is your family.”
“Not really. You say that, and the others also do, but for how long? Eventually, I’ll have to move on.” The way she spoke, so matter-of-factly, like it was a certainty, tore him to pieces.
But he couldn’t blame her. He’d purposely not led her on by telling her they would get married because, for once, he wanted to make a decision after weighing all the consequences. He hadn’t wanted to promise marriage in haste. Not until he was sure it was in her best interest.
“Don’t move on. Stay here.”
“It would be too difficult.” She looked away.
“Why?” He let go of her.
“Because of my arm. Most times, you can’t bear to look at me, and I’m positive you wouldn’t want to marry someone you can’t stand to look at. I won’t wed out of your pity.”
He bit down on his bottom lip before answering. “Do you really think that?”
She nodded. “It’s obvious.”
Shaking his head, he silently called himself every sort of name. “That’s not it at all. I couldn’t bear to look at you because of my own guilt and shame. I’ve brought you nothing but pain, but Heaven help me, I want to marry you, Candace. Maybe it’s selfish, but I can’t bear the thought of losing you.”
“You want to marry me?” Her eyes were widened, filled with disbelief.
“We had something good going prior to the fire, didn’t we?”
Still appearing surprised, she nodded weakly. “Yes.”
Moving to the floor, he knelt in front of her. “Tell me we can find our way back there, and then move forward to a brighter, happier path. I’m sorry for all the pain and trouble that I’ve caused you in the past, and I can’t promise the future will be easy, but I won’t leave your side. I’ll love you and protect you for all of our lives.”
The sun had begun to rise, sending small streams of light into the room—enough that he could watch the tear trickle on Candace’s face and land on his hand that now covered hers.
“I need to know something first.”
“What?” He squeezed her hand, praying it was an answer he could provide.
“Tell me the truth. Does the sight of my arm repulse you?” She didn’t look at him as she asked.
Not for the first time that day, he wished he’d done things differently, talked to her before they had gotten to this point. “You are beautiful, every part of you, inside and out. I am sorry if I ever made you think otherwise.”
Her eyes met his. “I need to hear you say it.”
“No, Candace, seeing your scarred arm doesn’t bother me, nor does it change my feelings for you. What kind of man would I be if it did?” He pushed up the sleeve of her pink flannel nightgown—the satin trim was smooth against the tips of his fingers—and stopped at her elbow. Half of her scars were visible. With a single finger, he traced the worst one. He finished by placing a soft kiss on it to eliminate any lingering doubts she still maintained. “If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have those scars.”
“It’s not your fault. I don’t blame you for what happened.” She leaned over, placed one palm against his cheek and sighed. “We’ve been so silly, making our lives more difficult than they needed to be.”
“Then will you marry me, Candace? A real marriage this time, based on love.”
“Yes.” She smiled at him, the wondrous smile he’d thought he’d never again receive. “We’ll do it the right way this time, the way it was meant to be.”
He moved from the floor back to the settee. Staring at her, gratefulness overcame him, a proper sentiment for the day. “I’m glad you agree because I had an idea of how we should do this.”
Chapter Eight
Only several hours into Thanksgiving and Candace already had more to be thankful for than she ever could have dreamed. Even more so than yesterday when she’d focused on having a spirit of gratitude.
She had to pinch herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. Patrick loved her and wanted to marry her. After his sweet, chivalrous gesture of kissing her scars, she would never think again that they revolted him. They’d been so wrong in their assumptions of the other’s thoughts.
Noises from upstairs gradually increased. Realizing she was still in her nightgown, she jumped up. When she had come downstairs an hour ago, she hadn’t expected to see anyone and had planned to return to her room after getting a drink of water. She never did get her drink and didn’t have time now.
“I need to go.” The words spilled out in a rush.
“Did I say something wrong?” The stricken look on Patrick’s face was sweet in a way that showed he cared about her feelings.
“No, but I’m still wearing this.” She pinched a sleeve of her nightgown. “It wouldn’t look right to be with you alone downstairs in the dark, especially dressed in this.”
Understanding lit his eyes and he winked. “You’re rig
ht. I wouldn’t want my future wife’s reputation ruined.”
Giggling, she savored the light moment. “I’ll be back shortly.”
A slow smile stretched across his mouth. “I’ll be waiting.”
She ran up the steps, her own grin lifting her cheeks with its breadth. Turning right at the top of the stairs, she walked down the hallway, then entered the room she shared with Liza.
“Well, well.” Liza sat on her bed, fully dressed and a teasing smirk on her face.
“What?” She scurried to the wardrobe and withdrew a dress, the cornflower blue one with tiny white flowers designed on the fabric.
Patrick bought her the dress the day they left Pine Prairie, thinking they were married. When he realized she only had the dress she wore, he took her shopping and purchased two new dresses for her, along with the nightgown and other necessities. She’d known then he was a good man even if it didn’t always seem like it. Of course, once they got to Weatherton, and she realized how little money the Holdens had, she felt the expenditure too extravagant, but Patrick insisted she not worry about it.
“It’s there again. That blush and smile from yesterday.” Liza stood from the bed. “I don’t suppose my brother downstairs has something to do with that.”
Candace’s fingers stilled on the button she fastened. “How do you know he’s downstairs?”
Liza laughed. “We all know, dear. Maeve started downstairs when she heard your voices.”
“Oh.” She covered her mouth, discomfited.
“Don’t be embarrassed,” Liza’s smirk turned to a gentle smile. “We all want a happy ending to your and Patrick’s story.”
“Did Maeve hear any of the conversation?” Candace asked cautiously as she secured the last button on her dress.
“If she did, she didn’t say, but knowing Maeve, she walked away as soon as she realized the conversation was between you and my brother.” Walking to the vanity, Liza unplaited the braid she’d slept in.
“I didn’t mean to imply she would eavesdrop.” Knowing everyone was privy to the fact she’d been downstairs talking to Patrick flustered her. Nothing they did was wrong, but it was an uncomfortable situation, nonetheless. She should have realized under normal circumstances, everyone would have been up and about before sunrise.