Tears dimmed Sarah's eyes again as she watched him, his huge hands cradling the tiny bundle. She found herself wondering if Stephen would hold their first child with so much reverence — so much tender concern and pride. Placing a hand on her stomach, she soothed the emptiness there, all at once becoming aware that Wyn had turned his head to look at her. She heard Sissy's voice saying something, but couldn't seem to focus on the words.
When she realized everyone in the room was looking at her, she gave a start. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't hear what Sissy said."
"She asked if you minded if she called the babe Sarah Maria," Wyn said. "Maria was my mother's name."
Her brimful eyes spilled over, and Sarah could only nod, since her throat was far too choked to allow a word past. Very carefully, Wyn walked over to her and handed Sarah her namesake. She cuddled the baby close.
"Hello, Sarah," she whispered.
~~~~
Hours later, Sarah wiped the last plate and put it away in the cupboard. She'd sent Mandy on home a half hour before, assuring her she would be right along. Carrie, with Pris and Mairi's help, had done an admirable job of getting Bobbie, the twins and themselves to bed, and Sarah sank down in one of the rocking chairs in front of the fireplace for just a second.
The quiet around her would have been utterly impossible to imagine earlier, with the cacophony of the noisy family ringing from the rafters. When she'd taken a plate in to Sissy, she asked her if she would like her door closed, to barricade the noise somewhat. Sissy had shaken her head, saying the baby might as well get used to the noise, since she would be living in it.
Now only the crackle of the fire in the grate sounded, and a faint rustle as one of the children turned over on a mattress. Baby Sarah whimpered, but only for a second. Hearing a tiny slurping noise, Sarah knew her namesake was nursing. It was so peaceful she felt her eyelids droop — until a crash from downstairs brought her to her feet.
Chapter 4
Chewing her bottom lip in deliberation, Sarah took her cloak from the peg beside the stairwell and peered down the dark tunnel leading to the first floor. She heard a snicker, then a chuckle, then murmured voices. After that came what sounded like a hiccup, and more snickers. It didn't sound like burglars, so she donned her cloak and silently crept down the stairs, the tiredness seeping into her bones making her long for her bed over at Mandy's boardinghouse.
Someone had left a lantern burning, hanging on a ceiling hook, so she could see well enough to wend her way through the goods in the store. The noises were coming from Dan's room, off the back of the storage area. She could only make out a few words.
"Here's . . . new grandpa."
" . . . uncle again. And one for Robert."
Glass clinked, and Sarah decided the men must be celebrating the birth of the baby. Smiling tolerantly, she felt certain it was safe enough to stick her head into Dan's room and let them know she was leaving. She retraced her steps, intending to knock on Dan's door, but found it standing wide open.
Dan, Wyn and Doc MacKenzie sat in front of the fireplace in Dan's room, holding glass fruit jars with a clear liquid in them. Even from the doorway she could smell the aroma from the jars, but she couldn't identify it. The fruit jars didn't surprise her that much, since the family also used them to drink from upstairs. But the only liquor she had ever seen was brown in color. This didn't look like white wine, either, and the ale her father drank was only a little darker than the beer the father of one of her friends drank.
"Yep," Dan said, then drew the back of his hand across his mouth. "One of the best batches Ro . . ."
He caught sight of Sarah and fell silent, but only for a second. "Sarah," he said, bringing the other two men's attention to her. "Are you on your way back to your room? I want to thank you kindly for your help today."
His words were slightly slurred, and Sarah smiled in understanding. "I'm glad I could help," she replied. "I see you're toasting your new granddaughter. I may be partial, since she shares my name, but I think Baby Sarah's very deserving of having her birth celebrated. Might I join you in a toast?"
The men's eyes widened, and a rather guilty expression filled Wyn's face.
"Oh, I don't imbibe that much," Sarah assured them. "Only a sherry now and then. But I see this is a man's time, so I'm sorry I interrupted you."
"No, no." Dan motioned to her with his free hand. "That's all right. Come on in and set a spell with us. You're right. Sh . . . Sarah's your namesake, and you oughta toast her with us."
"Pa . . ." Wyn began.
"Pour her a glass, Wyn," Dan ordered. "She's a lady and ladies don't drink out of fruit jars."
"Well," Sarah denied as she sat in the chair Wyn vacated and motioned her into, "I drank ice tea from a fruit jar at the table tonight. And I have to admit that it tasted wonderful from the jar. There was something different about it — a taste that you don't get when you drink from crystal."
Dan choked on a laugh, then drew the palm of his hand across his mouth as though to silence himself. A soft snore met her ears, and Sarah saw Doc MacKenzie slumped in his chair, chin on his chest. Wyn quickly grabbed the fruit jar Doc held when it threatened to fall from his hand and, shaking his head, placed the jar on the fireplace mantle. Then he handed Sarah a small glass of the clear liquid.
"Thank you," she murmured, and Wyn started to say something, but clamped his mouth shut.
Sarah held up the small glass. "I'd like to propose a toast to Sarah . . . oh, it just dawned on me. Since Sissy is married, I guess her last name isn't MacIntyre."
"It's Frugel," Wyn informed her.
"Then, here's to Sarah Frugel, a precious, beautiful baby." Sarah held her glass steady until both Wyn and Dan clicked their jars against it, with Dan having to lean forward somewhat in his chair to accomplish the task. Dan weaved just a bit, and Wyn placed a hand on his shoulder to push him back. Then they both lifted their jars to their mouths.
The innocuous looking liquid fooled the tar out of Sarah. It looked like water, and she drank it with that thought in mind. To Wyn's credit, he moved toward her as though realizing she was going to take way too large of a drink. But he was too late, and a generous swallow slid down Sarah's throat.
It almost came back up immediately, and she choked violently on the fiery liquid — the complete opposite of the sweet sherry she was used to. Tears filled her eyes, then flowed down her cheeks. She opened her mouth, having trouble breathing. Surging from the chair, she stared around wildly, waving her hand in front of her mouth and searching for a water bucket for a drink of real water.
Any second she expected to hear the men laughing their fool heads off at her, but instead Wyn slipped an arm around her waist, speaking in a soothing voice.
"Easy, Sarah. You drank too much. Let it set a minute, and you'll be fine."
It couldn't have been his voice that did the trick, but it seemed that way. The fieriness diminished, replaced by a spreading warmth. Wyn took a handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped her cheeks, and she leaned back in his arm.
"Ohhhhh," she breathed. "Oh, my, that was . . . what was that?"
"Just liquor. If you're ready to go, I'll walk you over to the boardinghouse."
For some reason Sarah's mouth curved into a smile and a giggle erupted from her throat. "But I haven't finished my drink."
"I'll bring it with me, and you can finish it in your room. Pa needs to get into bed now, and I don't think he'd feel comfortable doing that with a lady in the room."
"'Course," Sarah said with a regal nod. "'Night, Dan." She glanced at Doc MacKenzie, the sight of him sending her into renewed giggles. "'Night, Doc."
Wyn gave a half chuckle, half sigh and led her from the room, through the store and out the front door. The cold air outside didn't faze her. Instead, she took a deep breath and gazed overhead. The path had been shoveled at some point that day, and she had no problem walking beside Wyn while studying the sky.
"Isn't it beautiful?" she asked. "And I'd be w
illing to bet it's absolutely gorgeous in these mountains in the springtime."
"It is," he agreed. "There's mountain laurel, rhododendron, azaleas, and meadows filled with wildflowers and sweet clover. There's not a more beautiful place on earth than the mountains in the spring."
"I'll have to come back during the spring and see Mairi," Sarah said with an emphatic nod.
When Wyn halted, she glanced around to find herself at the boardinghouse porch steps. She lifted her foot for the first one, but her toe caught on the edge of it. When she stumbled, Wyn caught her to keep her from tumbling into the snow. She heard a small plop, which was probably her glass of liquor falling when Wyn dropped it to catch her.
"Whoops," she said with a smile, then realized she was looking straight into Wyn's eyes, her lips so close to his that her breath feathered across his face when she spoke. She froze, feeling as though a cocoon were closing around her, encasing only her and this broad-shouldered mountain man in its circle.
She expected him to draw back any second, but instead he continued to gaze into her eyes, his arm taut around her to keep her from falling. Even with her balance now, her legs threatened to spill her into the snow.
"Sarah," he whispered. Then he kissed her.
There was no preliminary caress of his lips. He took her mouth fully, as though he expected any moment for her to flee and he wanted to take everything he could before she pushed him away. He buried one hand in her hair, holding her firmly enough that she would have had to struggle to get him to release her quite a bit more than she was able to manage at the moment. The instant that thought crossed her mind, she knew the last thing she wanted him to do was release her.
Stephen's kisses were obligatory, as had been any of the other kisses her potential suitors gave her. This kiss came out of the blue from a man who had absolutely no reason to kiss her — unless he actually wanted to. From a man who was as handsome and as attractive as those men whose attention she had yearned for in years past. From a man she now admitted she had wanted to kiss from the very first moment she saw him.
The tip of his tongue licked at her lips, and she instinctively parted them. The thrill shooting through her when his tongue entered her mouth centered in her breasts, and the nipples peaked into hard points. He swept his tongue around her mouth, and the sensation crawled downward, starting an ache between her legs.
He seemed to know what to do about that ache, because he lowered one arm and cupped her hips in his palm, pulling her against his lower body. That brought her to her senses, and she frantically pushed against him, stumbling backward and ending up sitting on the step when he released her.
Staring up at him, she stuttered, "Oh! Oh, I . . ."
Wyn ran the fingers of both hands through his hair before he stuck his hands in his pockets, his shoulders slumping. "I . . . look, Sarah, I apologize. I guess it was the liquor. I'm sorry."
She frowned at him as she rose. Maybe the liquor also gave her the courage to say what she did, but she didn't regret it even for an instant.
"I'm not sorry," she murmured. "Not one bit."
She turned and climbed the steps, opening the door and sweeping through it without pause. As soon as she closed it, she cautiously pulled back the curtain over the window to peer outside. Wyn was still standing in the same place. He hadn't moved even an inch. And his eyes were glued to the door.
Suddenly his shoulders straightened and he pulled his hands from his pocket. She thought it looked like his lips pursed, perhaps to whistle. Her own lips pursed in response, and she once again felt his kiss. When he turned and sauntered back down the path, she watched him until he disappeared back into the store.
~~~~
The next morning, she woke with her cheeks flushed from embarrassment and a slight headache. She had been dreaming about a broad-shouldered, blue-eyed mountain man, and even in her dream she had known she was betraying her fiancé. She was betrothed to Stephen, and she had allowed another man to kiss her.
Land sakes, she had not only allowed it, she had participated wholly in it and gloried in the participation!
Her headache could be either a result of her imbibing the liquor last night or her restless night of betraying dreams. Whichever, she concluded she deserved it and would just have to suffer, instead of lying in bed and coddling herself. Sissy would need some help today, and Sarah intended to be there for her.
By the time she rose, washed and dressed, her headache had disappeared. As she descended the stairs, she smelled breakfast cooking. She took a slight sniff at first, wondering if her stomach would rebel, as she had heard happened sometimes to people the next morning after they overindulged. But the odors wafted through her senses deliciously, and her mouth watered. Then she became aware of the chattering in the kitchen.
She walked in to find the MacIntyre children gathered around Mandy's kitchen table, and their older brother standing behind the twins. Wyn's gaze came to her unerringly, and her breath caught in her throat. His expression was unreadable, and she desperately wished she could read it. He nodded, as though to indicate 'good morning' to her, but he didn't speak.
"Sarah," Mandy called from the stove. "Good morning. I'm glad you're up, because I was afraid the children's chatter would wake you. I'm fixing them breakfast over here this morning, since I'm more familiar with my own kitchen. Sit down, sit down. I'll have you something ready in just a minute."
Sarah tore her gaze from Wyn and walked over to the stove. "Nonsense. I can't sit down while you've got all this to do. Let me help."
"Oh, but you're a paying guest," Mandy said in a flustered voice. "I can't ask you to serve yourself or work here."
"Mandy, it didn't bother me at all yesterday to help out when Sissy was birthing the baby. And I'd feel very guilty sitting here and letting you wait on me with all these hungry children needing fed. Now, what can I do?"
"Well, can you fix three plates for Wyn to take over to the store? Or better yet, just wrap a stack of flapjacks and ham, then stick them in the picnic basket over there on the shelf. Wyn can get plates over at his place. And I made two pots of coffee. Give Wyn one of those to take over to Dan."
"I made coffee this morning," Wyn said from right beside Sarah. "And I can load the food into the picnic basket myself, if it's ready. I think those young'uns would shut up some if they had flapjacks to stick in their mouths."
Sarah stared up into his smiling face, wishing that smile was for her instead of the thought of the children quieting down. But she instantly admonished herself, remembering her contrition that morning when she recalled kissing one man while engaged to another one.
She moved away from him and picked up one of the stacks of flapjacks Mandy had piled high on a plate. Carrying it over to the table, she started placing the flapjacks on the children's plates. By the time she had them all laid out, buttered and syruped, Wyn had left. Mandy sat down, reaching for Carrie's hand, and the rest of the children took hands, circling the table. Mandy bowed her head and said grace, and as soon as the last person had uttered "Amen," Jute gave a shout.
"Flapjacks! Boy, them's my favorite! Thanks, Miz Tuttle!"
A mannerly bedlam settled in, and finally the children were all fed and headed off to school. Mandy assured Sarah that Prudence Elliot would conduct classes that day, since the mountain people would send their children in. Only on days when a blizzard made traveling much too hazardous would the mountain people permit the teacher to close down the school.
As soon as the last child — Lute — scampered out the door with a lunch pail in his hand, Mandy fell into a chair and sighed tiredly.
"I'm too old for this," she told Sarah, as Sarah headed for the stove to pour them each another cup of coffee and enjoy the quiet. "Raising children is for younger women."
Sarah smiled and placed Mandy's coffee in front of her. "I don't understand why you had to also pack everyone a lunch. The children are right next door to home, and they could just as easily come back for their lunch."
Mandy shook her head and took a sip of coffee. Reaching for her coffee cup, she said, "All the other children eat lunch at school. The MacIntyre children wouldn't want to stand out and be different. Besides, it gives Dan, Wyn and Sissy some peace and quiet."
"I understand. I suppose Prudence will be leaving soon. When I looked outside, I saw the snow already melting. I imagine Jeeter will be able to get back up here by tomorrow."
"Prudence will probably tell the children to inform their parents that she's leaving when they go home today," Mandy conceded. Then she tilted her head and looked at Sarah.
Sarah instantly interpreted the gleam in Mandy's eyes and jumped to her feet. "Oh, no, you don't, Mandy! I can't stay here and teach until another teacher is found. I need to get back to New York."
"Why?" Mandy asked. "You said your father had passed on. Is there someone else waiting for you?"
Sarah was reluctant to talk about Stephen for some reason. But why? Land sakes, Mandy would never meet her fiancé. She couldn't imagine Stephen in these mountains. Stephen had probably never walked on anything except bricks, cement or carpet in his entire life. Heaven forbid that he traipse across a dirt road. She'd even seen him ride his horse across a courtyard and dismount, rather than risk dirtying his boots in front of a barn door. The various grooms always made the trek back to the barn with his mount.
"Yes, I lost Father," Sarah admitted. "But despite that, my life is back in New York. I . . . well, there's a few things yet to settle on Father's estate, and . . . uh . . ."
Her voice trailed off when Mandy shrugged and stood. "I see. And I apologize if you thought I was trying to push you into something. It's just that I care so much for Dan's children and know how important an education is to a child having a good future. Sissy got lucky with Robert and married for love. She'll never want for a thing as long as it's within Robert's power to give it to her and their children."
She sighed and shook her head. "Carrie is already looking around for a man, although Maria was adamantly opposed to the mountain tradition that a girl of fourteen is of marriageable age. But Pris and Mairi are smart — they could easily be something more than some man's wife."
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