The stiff brown grass in the field near the river had been cut down with a scythe, and raked up and hauled away.
Ewan McGinty had built four brick fireboxes, one at each corner of the field, where people would be able to gather and warm themselves.
Parson Clay and Kin had hammered together a wooden dance floor that now sat in the center of the field. The parson had said the boards could later be used for the flooring in the new church, and that he would be pleased to utilize boards that were first christened in joyous celebration of the Lord’s birth. Kin had rolled his eyes at that sentiment, and it had been all Dixie could do not to laugh at his expression. She was thankful to see that though the boy had lost his father, he didn’t seem to be withdrawing from the world, and she knew that the parson had a good deal of impact on that. She sent up a little prayer of thanks to the Lord for sending the man at just the right moment in Kin’s life.
As she quickly lifted the warm ginger cookies from the tray, she pondered the other preparations that were in various stages of completion for tomorrow’s celebrations.
The Kastains had outdone themselves with the beautiful decorations that hung on the tree that the sheriff and Deputy Joe had cut and set up in the field. The girls had strung together dried holly berries and small pine cones to form long sweeps of red and brown garland. Mrs. Kastain had been busy crocheting small white doilies, which looked like lacy snowflakes and would be added to the tree tomorrow. Red apples, polished to a sheen, sat ready on Dixie’s counter to be added to the tree just before the festivities. People would be able to eat them before they froze, that way. And Mr. Hines from the mercantile had donated fifty cents worth of red and white penny-candy peppermint sticks, which would also be added to the tree in the afternoon. Dixie smiled in anticipation of seeing the children of the town enjoying the minty hard sugar. The last decorative touch to the tree were the candles that had been tied to the ends of many of the branches. They would be lit just before the party started.
Dixie grinned in excitement. She couldn’t wait to see how the tree glistened in the frosty air tomorrow.
“Someone looks happy.”
She spun around to see Flynn standing by the door from the dining room. “I am happy.” The truth was she hadn’t felt this happy in a very long time, except for her concerns over Rose.
Yet guilt nagged at her for her happiness. Rose had hardly stopped crying since Steven’s death, though Dixie couldn’t seem to bring herself to feel anything but relief. And she really was concerned about Rose’s wellbeing. She probably shouldn’t feel so happy in light of that. “How is she?”
He spoke low and stepped further into the room, setting his coat and hat and doctor bag on the table by the outer door. “I’m happy to report that her lungs are still clear and she’s doing really well. I think her desire for solitude these past few days simply has to do with her grief over her son.”
Dixie nodded with a breath of relief. “Thank you for checking on her. I’ve been worried, but I think you are right.”
He took a step closer to her. “It’s good to see you happy, Dixie. Really good.” His blue eyes captured hers, and there was a soft light of pleasure about them that made her catch her breath.
She’d told him she needed time. But did she really? She’d known this man for a year and a half. He had been one of the first to greet Rose and her when they had come to town. And though she’d guarded her heart because of her circumstances, she’d admired him from almost the first day.
Her desire for time stemmed from a lack of trust in her own judgement. After all, Steven had fooled her in totality. And yet with her newfound determination to hope in the Lord, she’d been doing a lot of praying over the past several days. And each time she’d prayed about the future, the visage of a certain handsome doctor had come to mind.
It would be easy, so easy, to loose her feelings to travel where they willed. And she had a strong idea of just where they would take her. But she had Rose to consider now. She couldn’t grant Flynn permission to come calling only a few days after the death of her first husband and Rose’s only son! It would crush Rose. And Dixie loved her too much to do that.
Flynn’s brown hair was in need of a trim. It curled just slightly on the collar of his shirt, and her fingers itched to reach out and touch it.
Her face heated, and she fisted her hand and spun away. She quickly set to scooping more dough onto the empty cookie sheet. “There are warm cookies on the rack there.” She tipped her head toward the sideboard where she’d just laid out the last batch.
“Mmmm. Ginger. Not as good as your cinnamon ones, but a good close second.”
“I didn’t know you preferred cinnamon. I can make a batch of those next.”
“Perfect.” He spoke around a bite of cookie. “I’ll stay and help you.”
She spun toward him, a spoonful of cookie dough in one hand. “You will?”
He stuffed the last bite of his cookie into his mouth with a nod. “If you’ll let me.”
“D-don’t you have patients to attend?”
He shook his head. “I’ve done my rounds for today. So unless there’s an emergency, I’m free.”
Elation and apprehension vied for preeminence. “Oh, all right.”
“Dixie, I’ll only stay if you want me to,” Flynn said. His face shone with sincerity.
Dixie’s heart warmed to him seven times over, and she rushed to reassure him. “No, no. I—I want you to stay.”
“Perfect.” He grinned. “Where do we begin then?”
Dixie motioned to the bowl that was almost empty. “Just let me finish scooping these ginger cookies and then we can mix the next batch while these bake. There is an apron hanging just inside the pantry if you would like to put one on.”
Flynn scrunched his nose and waved a hand. “Let it never be said that I was caught wearing an apron.” He winked.
Dixie laughed. “Men! Well, don’t blame me when your suit ends up with flour all over it.”
Flynn gave her a bold look. “Unless you are planning to start a food fight with me, I don’t think I’ll have any problem.”
Dixie cocked an eyebrow at him. “Obviously you haven’t spent much time in a kitchen, Dr. Griffin.”
Flynn gave her a mock bow of concession, but still did not go for the apron.
Dixie smothered a chuckle and only offered a shrug. “All right. It’s your suit.” She spooned the last scoop of cookie dough onto the cookie sheet. “If you’ll just grab the gunnysack of flour from the pantry while I wash this dish, then we can get started.” She bit back a grin, knowing what the result of that mission would be.
And she was right. By the time Flynn returned with the twenty-five-pound bag from the pantry, the front of his suit was covered with flour. He glanced the length of himself and dusted at the white powder with his jaw cocked over to one side.
Dixie could no longer withhold her chuckle, and stepped into the pantry. She returned a moment later with her largest apron and pressed it against his chest.
A twinkle of acceptance lit his expressive eyes.
She used a rag to clean the mixing bowl in the sink. “I promise not to tell anyone that you wore an apron, Dr. Griffin.”
He laughed and gave another bow—a deeper one this time. “I concede to your obvious prowess in the kitchen, oh wise one.”
Dixie dried the bowl and tried not to think about how much she was enjoying herself with him here in her kitchen. “The canister of sugar is also in the pantry. Top shelf on the left. If you can fetch it, I will fetch the eggs.”
When they had both returned to the counter, Dixie reached for her measuring cup. “Now, cinnamon cookies, you said? We may as well make a double batch.”
Flynn put his back to the edge of the counter, folded his arms, and looked into her face. “Yes. Cinnamon. It reminds me of the eyes of a certain beautiful woman I have an affinity for.”
Dixie’s face immediately blazed as hot as the stove. “Do go on with you.” She s
et to scooping flour into the bowl.
He leaned closer to her. “Go on you say? Very well.” He winked. “This woman not only has the most beautiful cinnamon eyes a man could ever encounter, but she has skin as flawless as a pitcher of cream, and a blush as comely as a sunrise.”
If Dixie had thought her face warm before, it certainly was more so now, and yet for an entirely different reason. He spoke of flawless skin, but…
The whole time Flynn spoke he never took his eyes from her face. “Indeed. She truly is the most exquisite woman a man could ever hope to lay eyes on.” He reached out and stroked the backs of his fingers along her forearm.
Dixie set her measuring cup down with a clatter. “Oh, you’ve gone and done it now, Dr. Griffin.” She should tell him. Make him understand.
His brow furrowed in concern.
It pained her to see him hurt. And the words she needed to say would only bring more pain. Maybe even make him walk away. So instead she forced a laugh. “I can’t remember how much flour I have scooped into the bowl.”
Hope in me.
Flynn’s frown softened into a smile. “Then my job here is just begun. Would that I could make you forget your very name.”
She wanted to leave it there. To let him think that was the only thing bothering her. But it just wouldn’t do. Lord, don’t let him be too hurt, please.
Dixie pushed the bowl of flour away and pressed her hands into the counter, feeling the weight of her next words as though they might be punches she were about to throw. “Flynn, please. You must stop.” She looked over at him, and the questioning hurt in his eyes nearly made her keep silent again. She forced herself to go on before she lost her courage. “You speak of flawless skin and comeliness, yet…” A tremble threatened to steal the strength from her legs. “I—I have s-scars, Flynn. Scars on my skin, though it’s easy enough to keep most of those hidden. But there are others… Scars so deep inside that I don’t know if they will ever be healed.” She searched his face, willing him to understand that she might never be whole enough for him.
He would walk away now. Should walk away. She had nothing left to offer him.
Instead, he stepped closer and took her hand.
Dixie blinked back tears and held her breath.
He hooked their thumbs together and drew her hand near and pressed her knuckles to his cheek. Holding her close, he reached up with his other hand to tuck a stray curl behind her ear. “There is something interesting about scar tissue. Do you know what that is?”
She huffed a little laugh and blinked hard, willing her tears not to fall. “That it’s ugly?”
He shook his head solemnly. “Oh no, dear Dixie. That’s not it at all. When a wound heals over and forms a scar, that area is much tougher—much stronger—than it ever was beforehand.” He turned his head slightly and placed a kiss on the back of her hand. “You may have scars inside, Dix, but they are only proof of what strength resides in you now. Do you know what else is interesting about scars? Over time they soften, become malleable, sometimes even become such a part of us that they seem to disappear altogether.” He took both her hands in his. “Steven stole so much from you. I know he did. But don’t let him steal your future too. Don’t let him steal your happiness. Don’t let him steal us.”
Dixie felt the tears spill over and course down her cheeks. “I will try, Flynn. I’m just not certain—”
“Dixie?” Ma’s voice came from just beyond the kitchen door.
Dixie scrambled to put some space between herself and Flynn, but not in time. Ma had already stepped into the room. Her focus flitted between the two of them. “Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’ll just—” She started to retreat from the room.
“No!” Dixie rushed to reassure her. “You aren’t interrupting. Flynn was just leaving.” She gave him a pointed look. “Is there something I can get for you?”
Ma paused and turned back to face her.
Flynn tugged the apron off over his head and set it on the sideboard. He squeezed her shoulder, lifted his things, and left silently through the outer door to the street.
Ma watched him go and then her gaze fixed in sharp focus on Dixie. “He’s a good man.”
Dixie swallowed. “Yes. He is.” She prayed Ma wouldn’t be hurt by what she’d seen.
Ma shuffled toward her and cupped her face in both hands. She squeezed just slightly. “It would give me no greater pleasure than to see you happily settled with another man, dear daughter.”
“Truly?” Dixie searched her face for sincerity.
Ma swung her head in a little gesture of reassurance. “Most truly. From the bottom of my heart.”
Dixie smiled, blinking back tears of relief. “You are the last person in the world I would ever want to hurt.”
Ma smiled and patted her cheeks. “The only thing that would hurt me would be for you to give up your own happiness because you thought it was what I might want.” She dipped her chin, and Dixie almost chuckled at the mock stern look leveled upon her. “You would be a fool not to accept that man.”
Lower lip tucked between her teeth, Dixie felt a smile play around her lips. “I really would be, wouldn’t I?”
Ma nodded. “You would, indeed.”
Without another moment’s hesitation, Dixie pulled the woman into her arms and hugged her tight. “Thank you. I love you just as much as I did my own mother.”
Ma eased back and once more cupped her face between both hands. “The good Lord sent you to me, certain as the sun will rise in the morning. I have not the words to tell you what a blessing you are to me.”
Dixie smiled and blinked away tears of happiness. “I think you just did.”
Ma grinned. “Well, words are a poor reflection of the actual feelings. But they’ll have to do.” She nodded. “They’ll have to do.” She stepped back and glanced around the room. “Now, I don’t suppose I could get a cup of tea?”
Dixie’s elation lifted another notch. Ma wanted to eat! “Absolutely. And how about a biscuit with honey to go with it?”
Ma nodded. “Yes. That sounds lovely. Thank you.”
As Dixie prepared the tea tray, it hardly even felt like her feet were on the ground.
She had to find Flynn. Maybe they could make this work, after all.
Flynn slipped on his coat as he stepped out onto the street. He tugged the collar up around his neck and hunched his shoulders. The clear blue skies they’d been experiencing for the past few days had dropped the temperatures by at least ten degrees.
And his heart felt just about as cold.
He released a sigh and glanced toward the sky. All I want is her happiness. And I truly feel that I’m the one to give that to her. Haven’t I been patient enough?
Dixie had sparked his interest from almost the first moment she and Rose had arrived in town, and he’d been pursuing and biding his time ever since. He’d felt like he was thrashed sixty ways from Sunday when Dixie had told him she was married. And then when Steven had showed up in town as his patient, and he’d, Lord forgive him, been tempted to take matters into his own hands, he’d felt like his heart was shattering into a million pieces. But he’d trusted God and promised himself he would be happy with the outcome, no matter what. Then when Steven died, he’d felt hope springing to life like the first rays of sun peeking over a dark horizon in mid-winter.
And now to find that perhaps that man was reaching out from the grave to continue to steal Dixie’s happiness… Flynn felt the sorrow of that as deeply—maybe even more so—as he felt the biting cold here on the street.
He had hoped that maybe during this season—a season that of all seasons ever celebrated ought to be one that offered hope—he might be able to convince her to give them a chance. Yet he had failed.
His heart was heavy with the truth of it.
He pushed into McGinty’s and trudged up the stairs to his room. He dropped his bag onto the table by the bed and flopped back onto his mattress, arms spread wide. He stared for a lo
ng moment at the slats of the pine-board ceiling, and then with a huff of resignation sat back up again.
There was likely still work to be done. He’d better go down and see if Reagan or the parson needed his help with anything. There was no point in pouting like a schoolboy on his bed.
They would all be heading out to the logging camps first thing in the morning. The men would probably be preparing the wagons in the livery stables. He would head there first.
Once he arrived back on the street, he paused to tug his gloves into place. Was the sunlight dimmer than it had been only a couple hours ago? Or was that his morose mindset painting the skies gray? Likely the latter, for thick frost covered every surface that wasn’t already covered with snow, and the sun shimmered off every facet as though diamonds had been sprinkled liberally over the town.
He started to turn toward the stables, but a glint of cerulean to his left caught his attention. His heart scrambled up into his throat even before he turned.
Dixie stood before the boardinghouse, a bright blue shawl tugged around her shoulders. Her gaze was soft and inviting as she studied him.
He swallowed and checked the street behind himself to make sure he was still the only one standing here, for her gaze said something entirely different than her voice had said but fifteen minutes ago.
Behind him, a door opened then closed. But he couldn’t tear his focus from her.
She started towards him.
“Doc! There you are.” Sheriff Callahan spoke from behind him. “I was just heading to the stables. Can you join me? We’ve only one more wagon to fill and then we’ll be all ready for tomorrow.”
Dixie paused, and Flynn would have liked nothing better than to give Sheriff Callahan a good thrashing in that moment. He tossed a glance over his shoulder. “Give me just a moment?”
The sheriff glanced between him and Dixie, and his mouth lifted in understanding. “Sure.” He clapped Flynn on the shoulder. “I’ll meet you down there.”
When he turned back, Dixie was already retreating. She waved him on. “Go ahead and help. It’s not important. We can talk later.”
On Eagles' Wings (Wyldhaven Book 2) Page 24