Season of Love (Cutter's Creek Book 11)

by Vivi Holt

  Heath crept closer. “No, Danny. Don’t move. The ice around you is thin, buddy. Just stay where you are – I’m going to find a branch to reach out to you, and you can hold onto it. Just wait a moment.”

  Danny looked around his feet in dismay, and Heath saw his lower lip tremble.

  “It’s okay, buddy. You’re gonna be fine.” His eyes scanned the riverbank quickly, looking for something to use as leverage to get the boy back to safety. He spotted a long, sturdy tree branch that had fallen to the ground and was partially buried in the snow. He pulled it free, dusted it off, hurried back toward the bridge and held it out to Danny. “Here you go. Just grab hold of the end and you can slide carefully toward me. Move slowly …”

  Danny reached as far as he could toward the branch, but his arms weren’t long enough. His face crinkled and he frowned in concentration. “I can’t,” he cried. He suddenly took a step forward, then another.

  Heath heard the crack before he saw it. Then a long jagged line formed in the ice between he and Danny. Danny watched it in horror, his little face collapsing as he burst into tears. He ran toward the outstretched branch as the ice began to crumble beneath his feet. Just as he wrapped his hands around it, the surface gave way. Heath towed the branch, with Danny clinging to the end of it, across the disintegrating ice toward the riverbank. The boy slid and stumbled, but didn’t fall until he reached a snowdrift at the river’s edge.

  Heath ran to him, sliding on his knees over the ice. “Danny, are you all right?” he asked, pulling the little boy into a bear hug, then looking into his frightened face.

  Danny’s lips quivered, and fresh tears fell from his eyes and rolled down his round cheeks. “Ahhhh!” he cried, rubbing his eyes with his fists.

  Heath sighed with relief and hugged him again. “You’re fine, buddy boy, you’re fine.”

  Footsteps crunched across the snow, and Margaret arrived at the river’s edge, puffing like a bellows. “Danny?” she cried, sliding down the bank to land with a thud beside them.

  “He’s okay,” said Heath, passing the boy to Margaret.

  She embraced Danny tightly and kissed the top of his knitted hat. “Daniel Singer, don’t ever do that again!” she exclaimed, lifting his face toward hers. “You can’t wander off like that – you had us all worried to death about you! And where is your coat?” She raised her eyebrows at Heath and whispered Thank you!, relief written across her face.

  Danny’s teeth chattered as he snuggled close to her. “It’s on the bank. I couldn’t slide on the ice real well ‘cause it’s too small – it made my arms stick out.”

  Heath groaned and cleared his throat to suppress laughter. “I’ll get it.”

  “Let’s go home for some hot cocoa, shall we?” crooned Margaret, stroking Danny’s hair.

  “Yes, please,” he sniffled.

  Heath retrieved Danny’s coat and gave it to Margaret, who helped the boy back into it. They made their way back to the bonfire where the rest of the children were waiting anxiously for them. As soon as they were within sight, Mary Beth ran as fast as her legs would carry her to Danny and lifted him up into her arms. “Danny, ya know ya shouldn’t wander off in the snow like that!” she scolded him.

  “All’s well that ends well,” said Margaret, patting Mary Beth’s arm.

  The girl looked up at her in indignation. Then her face collapsed, and she threw herself into Margaret’s arms. “Oh Miss Hutchins, thank ya for findin’ him!”

  Margaret’s eyes, brimming with tears, found Heath’s, and she smiled at him, eyebrows arched in surprise. “There, there, my dear. It’s all okay. Danny’s fine, and we’re going home for hot cocoa. We still have a lot of baking to do for the competition tonight and Christmas Day. I was still hoping you might help me with that?”

  Mary Beth pulled away and wiped her tears with her mitten-covered hands. “Well … I would like that. I guess.” She turned to walk with Danny and the other children back to the sleigh.

  Margaret’s eyes widened as she watched them leave. “Did you see that?” she asked Heath.

  He nodded and grinned. “I sure did.”

  “She didn’t say anything sassy or angry, and she’s going to bake with me. Wonders never cease!”

  Heath watched her follow the children, a smile lingering on his face. The more he got to know Margaret, the more he liked her. He’d never felt this way about anyone before. She made him feel comfortable, happy and excited all at the same time. Just being around her sent a thrill of pleasure running through him, yet he didn’t find himself stammering or falling over his words the way he often did around beautiful women. Margaret was beautiful, but for some reason it didn’t make him uncomfortable or awkward. She simply felt like home.

  He traipsed through the snow to hitch the horses back to the sleigh. The thick coats he’d covered them with had kept them comfortable while they waited, and they greeted him warmly, seeming anxious to get back to their snug barns and a feed bag. This Christmas was going to be different to any he’d experienced in recent years. This year he’d spend the celebration with the closest thing he’d had to family in a long time.

  Heath wished he could talk to his mother about Margaret. He’d have to write her a letter when he next got the chance. She’d want to know when the wedding would be – she was always in such a hurry for him to find a wife. Well, maybe this year she’d get her wish.

  ***

  The members of the festival committee each lifted a piece of Mary Beth’s shortbread to their mouths. They chewed slowly, savoring the flavor, texture and sweetness of the dessert. By the time they were done, Margaret felt as though she’d sweat right through her gown. She wanted so desperately for Mary Beth to win.

  Mary Beth had worked so hard that afternoon. Margaret watched her gently mix the batter, a smudge of flour on her upturned nose, Margaret’s floral-print apron tucked neatly around her slender waist. Margaret herself had baked a walnut pie and a pumpkin pie, which had won second and fourth prize respectively in their category earlier in the evening. She was rather proud of herself for that, seeing as how she’d never entered a baking contest before, and competition in Cutter’s Creek was stiff.

  Agatha Waverley hovered close to the table containing the shortbreads. She’d won this category every year since it was created back in ‘67 (in addition to the overall prize twice), and she sure didn’t intend to start losing now – that much was obvious by the look of determination on her lined face. Margaret clasped her hands in front of her dress. Oh God, please let Mary Beth win a prize of some kind. Anything will do, really. Please. She watched with shining eyes as the judges called the contestants forward to stand by their entries.

  Then, uproar, as Rev. Latsch announced Mary Beth as the winner! He gave her the first-prize ribbon as she stood in shock, the crowd shouting and clapping in delight. Agatha frowned, accepting her second-place ribbon begrudgingly. She spotted Margaret in the crowd with her small beady eyes, then shook her head.

  Margaret didn’t care. She giggled and hurried to congratulate Mary Beth. “Oh my dear, that is wonderful! Well done! You deserved to win – I tasted some of the pieces you cut off when you weren’t looking, and they were delicious! I’m so proud of you!”

  Mary Beth’s eyes shone, and she held the ribbon carefully between her hands, glancing down at it incredulously every so often. “Thank ya, Miss Hutchins. I couldn’t have done it without yer help. I cain’t believe I won. ‘N they didn’t know it was mine, so they chose it fair ‘n square. I’m pinchin’ myself.”

  Margaret wrapped an arm around Mary Beth’s thin shoulders and pulled her close. “I can believe it, and they did choose fairly – and well, in my opinion. Next year, you can enter again if you wish, or choose another category. Or, maybe you can give me some tips with my pies – they came close, but weren’t quite good enough, I’m afraid.”

  Mary Beth nodded. “We’ll win the pies next year, won’t we, Miss Hutchins?”

  Margaret felt her heart swell in he
r chest. Joy surged through her, and she blinked back tears. “Yes, we will.”

  A band of two violins and a piano started up in a corner of the grange hall. All the seating had been pushed against the walls, and the tables of goodies filled one end of the long rectangular building. Couples made their way to the center of the hall to dance a jig.

  Margaret and Mary Beth hurried over to where the other Singer children were waiting to congratulate Mary Beth on her win. Margaret grinned at the looks on Danny and Tommy’s little faces – they knew the end of the judging meant the tables would soon be open for everyone to dig into, and they’d been waiting for that moment all day long. Their little mouths hung open, and she could almost see the drool trickling down their chins as they eyed the goodies that crowded the tables at the end of the hall.

  “Is it time yet?” asked Tommy, licking his lips.

  “Just about,” Margaret replied. “Mrs. Latsch will announce the overall winner, then call you over, I’m sure,” she said.

  “Thanks to everyone for your wonderful contributions to yet another fabulous dessert contest,” cried Mary Latsch from the front of the hall. Her hands were clasped together in front of her black calico dress and her face beamed at the crowd. “The judges have decided on the grand prize winner … congratulations to Charlotte Brown for her authentic English plum pudding!” Delighted applause as Charlotte came forward to accept. “Now won’t you please come and help yourselves to this delicious feast. Plates are over on the right …”

  The children ran headlong toward the tables. “Tommy, Danny – company manners! Don’t run!” Margaret called after them. They slowed, but walked as quickly as they could to grab a plate each. She smiled as she watched them.

  Then she felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned around and looked up into Heath’s smiling face. He wasn’t wearing a hat for the first time in as long as she could remember, and looked as though he’d had a bath. His hair was neatly combed and lay parted against his head. “I see Mary Beth won,” he said. “That’s good news.”

  “She’s delighted, and so am I.”

  He bowed and held out his hand to her. “Could I have this dance, Miss Hutchins?”

  The band had finished the jig, and begun a waltz. Sets of couples moved slowly and gracefully around the small dance floor. She nodded and took his hand. As he pulled her close, she breathed deeply, taking in the scent of soap, leather and manliness that made her tremble. It felt so right to be in his arms, as though it was where she belonged. She couldn’t imagine being anywhere else at that moment. She felt her cheeks warm under his gaze, and lifted her eyes to meet his. “I had no idea you could dance like this.”

  “You’re pretty good yourself,” he chuckled, pulling her closer. “You know, Miss Hutchins, these last weeks have been the happiest of my life. I hope you know that.”

  Joy bubbled up in her and overflowed, pouring through her soul at his words. She nodded, holding his gaze. “I feel the same way, Mr. Moore.”

  Chapter Eight

  When Heath stopped by the farm house to pick Margaret and the children up on Christmas Eve for the church service, he found them all in a lather. Children were running to and fro, yelling and crying. Margaret was nowhere to be seen, and no one had answered his knock at the door.

  “Hello?” he called, then caught Tommy as he ran by. “Hello, what’s going on? Are you ready for the Christmas Eve service?”

  Tommy faced Heath with a frown. “Miss Hutchins is goin’ up on the roof. I don’t want her to – she’ll get hurt. Then who’ll take care of me?”

  Heath let him go in surprise and dismay. What in Heaven’s name did he mean, she was going up on the roof? He ran to the back door and flung it open. “Meg! Meg, where are you?” Since the dance, they’d been on a first-name basis and he loved hearing the sound of her name on his tongue.

  He heard the scramble of boots on the side of the house, and ran outside to see Margaret’s full skirts billowing above his head in the darkness. He blushed and looked quickly away. “Meg, what are you doing scaling the side of the house like that?”

  Margaret’s voice was labored. “Well, there’s a hole in the kitchen roof. Snow is coming through and it’s awfully cold. I thought I could just patch it up with some paper, but now I’m halfway up and I think I’m stuck.”

  He scratched his beard and stifled a chuckle. “You’ll break your neck trying to climb up a pipe in those boots. Come on down, I’ll fix the roof tomorrow.”

  “But tomorrow’s Christmas,” she complained.

  “That’s okay. You know what – you can all come to my house for Christmas dinner. Mrs. Smythe always makes a big meal for the ranch hands – I’ll just ask her to make more.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. Then I’ll fix the roof after dinner, or the next day.”

  Silence for a moment. Then, “Okay. Thank you Heath.” His heart warmed as she said his name, and he grinned.

  “Well, are you coming down?”

  “I’m stuck, remember?”

  “Right.” Heath rubbed his hand over his eyes. “I don’t suppose you have a ladder in the barn, do you?”

  “Ummm … I don’t know.”

  The children were all crowded around the back door, peeking out through the window as best they could. He opened the door and hurried to the kitchen to get a lantern. “I’m just going to get Miss Hutchins down with a ladder, then we’ll head off to church,” he told them. “So everyone make sure you’re ready and fully dressed in your coats, scarves and boots.”

  The children reluctantly headed upstairs, not wanting to miss the spectacle of Heath retrieving Margaret from the side of the house.

  Lantern in hand, he made his way to the barn, where he found an old ladder pushed up against some hay bales and carried it back to the house. When he reached her, Margaret’s hands were shaking. She was holding tight to the edge of a piece of siding, trying to balance herself on the slippery pipe. He climbed up quickly and put an arm around her waist. “Here you go, just take hold of me. That’s the way.”

  He gently lowered her onto the ladder in front of him, and descended the steps with her. She pressed close against him, and he resisted the urge to pull her closer still. Finally they reached the ground and she stepped away from him. “I don’t know what you were thinking, coming out here in the dark to climb onto the roof by yourself,” he said with a shake of his head.

  “I’m sorry. I know it was silly, but I felt as though I had to prove I could take care of the children on my own, that we didn’t need anyone’s help. That we’d be fine.” Her voice wobbled as she spoke, and she crossed her arms over her chest.

  He lifted his hand to caress the side of her arm. “You don’t have to do it alone, Meg. You can ask for help, and it’s okay. It doesn’t make you an unfit mother. Everyone needs help sometimes.”

  She nodded in the growing darkness, and turned to head back into the farmhouse. He thought he heard a sob, and it tore at his heart. She was so strong and determined, and he could see how much she hated to rely on anyone. He just hoped she knew she could always count on him.

  ***

  The Christmas tree in the living room was full, its branches drooping with the homemade decorations Margaret and the children had constructed in the preceding days. It sparkled warmly in the dim morning light as Margaret set a tray of coffee and mugs on the squat table and poured herself a cup. Danny had woken them all before the crack of dawn, anxious to see whether Father Christmas had paid them a visit during the night.

  Now Margaret looked around the room with satisfaction. The children were all seated on the floor, leaning back against her legs and the sides of the couch. A fire snapped and sparked in the fireplace, filling the room with warmth and blocking out the cold that emanated from the hole in the kitchen ceiling. She opened the worn Bible on her lap and quietly read the Christmas story from the book of Matthew, relishing the looks of wonder on the children’s faces as she read about Jesus’ birth
so many years ago.

  When she finished the story, she closed the Bible with a contented sigh and took a sip of coffee. “Okay, children, you may take down your stockings now.”

  She laughed as they scrambled to the mantle, chattering loudly. The twins brought their stockings back with them to sit at Margaret’s feet together. Harriet and Elspeth leaned against her legs as they examined their gifts. She leaned forward to kiss each of them on the top of their heads. “What have you got there?” she asked Elspeth.

  “It’s an orange, a whole orange! And look, I got a rag doll – it even has button eyes. Oh thank you, Miss Hutchins!”

  “And a peppermint stick!” exclaimed Harriet in delight, shoving hers immediately between her lips.

  A knock at the door interrupted the reverie, and Margaret stepped through the children and gifts, careful not to crush any. She straightened her skirts and her hair as she hurried to answer it.

  Heath stood there, tall and broad-shouldered, a big grin on his face and his hat in his hands. “Good morning, Meg. And Merry Christmas to you all.”

  “And to you, Heath. They’re just looking in their stockings – won’t you come in for some coffee?”

  He nodded and stepped through the door, shrugging off his coat. They sat together in the living room, sharing easy conversation and sipping the hot black brew.

  When the children had finished emptying their stockings and eating the cornbread and buttermilk Margaret had prepared for breakfast, they bundled into Heath’s sleigh. He packed them in tightly with furs and blankets. Little Danny’s face was almost lost beneath all the layers as he huddled on Margaret’s lap.

  Snow fell thickly as they drove along the trail to Heath’s property, coating their blankets, hats and coats in a thin white layer. Only the sound of the horses’ hooves against the snow and the bells jangling along the traces broke the silence of the snowstorm. Margaret watched it all through a thin slit in the scarf she’d wrapped around her mouth and neck.