Naomi's Choice

by Claire Sanders

  He was trying to decide between The Deerslayer and Ralph Waldo Emerson when a timid knock sounded on the front door. The dogs barked discordant warnings and ran into the parlor, their tails wagging furiously and their ears pointed in vigilance.

  No callers came to the front door. Ethan knew without checking it would be a stranger, probably some traveler caught in the storm and seeking shelter. When he opened the door and saw a wet, shivering Naomi, his mouth dropped open in surprise. “What in the world?”

  “M-m-may I come in?” Naomi asked through chattering teeth.

  Ethan reached for her. “What are you doing out in this storm? Come into the kitchen, it’s the warmest place in the house. I’ll get you a blanket.”

  Naomi’s shoes squeaked as she shuffled toward the kitchen. Ethan hurried into his bedroom, took the quilt off his bed, and followed her into the kitchen.

  The dogs sniffed the wet visitor. “Lie down,” he commanded. They both sent him entreating gazes, but he had no time to indulge canine curiosity. He snapped his fingers and pointed to the horse blankets. The dogs hung their heads and retreated to their beds. Ethan draped the covering around Naomi’s shoulders and sat her close to the fire. “Try to warm up. I’ll take care of your horse.”

  “N-n-no. I walked.”

  That explained why she was so wet. The brim of the pretty blue bonnet she’d worn on the stagecoach hung limply around her lovely face and her curls lay flat against her neck. Her complexion was paler than usual, and her lips had a dangerous tint of blue. He took her hand and rubbed it between his. “You need to get out of those wet clothes, Naomi.” He moved an A-frame drying rack near her chair and opened it. “I’m going into the parlor to start a fire. Spread your wet things on this rack and call me when you’re ready.”

  She nodded her head, her teeth still chattering and slender shoulders still shivering. He noticed the basket at her feet. “What did you bring?”

  “A p-p-pie. Grandmother…” Her words disappeared as a shudder passed through her body.

  “All right. Don’t worry about it now. Just take care of yourself.” He moved into the parlor and struck the tinder box until the kindling caught fire. He added one log at a time, coaxing the flames until the room warmed, and then moved the sofa closer to the fireplace. Satisfied Naomi would be comfortable there, he headed back toward the kitchen. “Naomi?”

  Her voice sounded stronger when she replied. “I’m ready. You may come in.”

  She’d draped her dress, petticoat, corset, shawl, and stockings on the rungs of the drying rack. Her shoes and bonnet were on the hearth. Beneath the quilt, he glimpsed the white straps of her shift. “Are you warm yet?”

  “Almost.”

  “You need something warm to drink. I can offer you milk or coffee.”

  “Milk, please.”

  He swung the fireplace crane toward him, hung a small iron pot from it, and filled the pot with milk. Then he used a long-handled spoon to stir the liquid.

  “Do you have a cow?” Naomi asked.

  “Not anymore. I get milk from the Novak farm, same as Miss Ruth.”

  Naomi brushed a strand of wet hair off her face. “I met two of the Novak girls when they brought the milk.”

  “They sell milk and butter to just about everybody in this area. The Novaks have five daughters and no sons. Havel Novak—he’s the father—says he’s got so many females in his house, he’s afraid he’ll put on a bonnet one day instead of his hat.”

  Naomi smiled at the joke. “I don’t know if the pie survived.” She picked up the basket and passed it to him.

  Ethan removed the dishcloth. “It’s a little wet on one side but still edible. Let’s put it next to your shoes and see if it dries.”

  “You won’t eat my shoes by mistake, will you?”

  A smile slid into Ethan’s heart. She’d made a joke. A sense of humor was a definite asset. “I’m not that hungry. Not yet, anyway.” He noticed bubbles forming at the edges of the milk and moved the crane away from the fire. He used a cloth to remove the pot from the crane and poured the milk into two cups. As he handed one to Naomi, she shifted in her chair and grimaced.

  “The parlor’s warm by now. You’ll be more comfortable there.”

  “All right.” She stood, one hand holding the quilt tightly closed around her, the other holding her cup of milk. “Will you lead the way?”

  The lady was supposed to leave a room first. Those were the rules his mother had taught him. But Naomi clearly wanted to follow. She must have seen his confusion, however. “I find it difficult to manage the quilt and the cup at the same time,” she explained.

  His cheeks warmed. He should have realized her modesty was in peril. “I’ll take your cup. Just follow me.”

  The parlor glowed with amber light from the fire. Ethan set the cups on a table near the sofa. “Stretch out and rest,” he suggested. “I’ll find another blanket.”

  When he returned, Naomi had snuggled against the edge of the high-backed sofa. She’d tucked her legs under her, but adorable bare toes peeked out from beneath the edge of the quilt. He set the folded covering next to her feet and sat down on the opposite end of the sofa. “What else can I get you?”

  “I’m fine for now. Please don’t go to any trouble.”

  “When your clothes are dry, I’ll take you back to Miss Ruth’s in my buggy. The storm should be over by then.”

  Naomi blew on the hot milk in her cup and sipped. “Mm…makes everything inside nice and warm.”

  She appeared relaxed and carefree, as though she found no discomfort in calling on him. Surely she knew young, single women never called on a bachelor. Good thing he didn’t live in town where gossips could witness her boldness. “Marta Garcia makes a kind of Mexican hot chocolate that’s downright delicious. Wish I could whip some up for you.”

  “Maybe it’s the same kind we have in San Antonio. Does Marta make it with cinnamon?”

  “And a dash of ground chiles.”

  “Chiles? In hot chocolate?”

  He chuckled at her reaction. “You’d be surprised. Next time we’re both in town, I’ll buy you a cup.”

  “It’s a deal.” She smiled over her cup and drank more. “Won’t Paloma be jealous? She’s mighty sweet on you.”

  Naomi was teasing him. Only the best of friends could poke fun at each other. “Paloma is easily impressed,” he answered.

  Naomi raised her eyebrows. “She’s not the only one. Do you know Veronica Wright?”

  The daughter of the mercantile owner. Word was, Veronica wanted to marry and she wasn’t particular about the groom. “We went to school together. Why do you ask?”

  “She said you could outride and outshoot everyone in Loma Verde.”

  “I don’t know about that. It’s been a while since I competed.”

  Naomi smiled and gazed at the fire. A comfortable silence stretched between them. Ethan finished his milk, set the empty cup on the table, and stretched his legs toward the fire.

  A gust of wind whistled around the corner of Ethan’s stone house and thunder boomed nearby. Bad weather could spook restless cattle, causing them to trample each other or run into inescapable ravines. He’d be out early tomorrow, checking the herd.

  “I didn’t come just to bring the pie,” Naomi said in a near whisper.

  Ethan straightened and faced Naomi. “Is there something I can do for you or Miss Ruth?”

  She bit her bottom lip and shifted her gaze from the fireplace to him. “No. It’s just…I wanted to thank you for helping me the night of the Harvest Dance.”

  This was dangerous territory. He’d prayed for Naomi, but mostly, he’d hoped she’d be able to forget that terrible night. “Have you recovered?”

  “Almost completely.”

  What did that mean? “If I’d looked for you sooner…”

  Naomi shook her head. “It was my mistake, not yours.”

  “It was Anderson’s mistake. My parents taught me women were to be respected and tre
ated like the special creations they are. Anderson never learned that lesson.”

  Naomi took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Grandmother wanted to report him to his commanding officer. Maybe I should have let her. The next girl he convinces to trust him may not be as lucky as I.”

  “You’re not responsible for Anderson or for girls he may harm in the future. And if anybody’s going to Fort Croghan, I’d like it to be me.”

  “You? Why?”

  “I’d like to have a long, painful conversation with the lieutenant.”

  Naomi’s eyes widened. “With your fists?”

  The corners of Ethan’s mouth turned down as he considered that scenario. “Possibly. Or a bullwhip.”

  Naomi gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. When Ethan smirked, she began to laugh. “Oh! You’re joking. Thank goodness. There’s been enough trouble. I just want everything to go back to normal.”

  Ethan smiled, relieved to see Naomi laugh. “Fair enough. Would you like more warm milk?”

  Naomi shook her head. “No, thanks.” Rain began to batter the window, causing Naomi to crane her neck toward the sound. “Goodness! It’s only early afternoon but it’s too dark to see anything.”

  Thunder boomed overhead, sending a shiver through the house and Naomi. “We get about one really bad storm every year,” Ethan said, “and the house has withstood every one. You’re safe here.” Naomi pulled the quilt tighter. She’d been calm when they’d been talking earlier. Perhaps conversation would restore her equanimity. “December is just around the corner. Will you return to San Antonio for Christmas?”

  “I don’t plan on it. In fact, Grandmother and I are working on Christmas gifts for the children of the church. I’m making dolls.”

  “Do you enjoy the holiday?”

  “Of course. Don’t you?”

  Ethan shrugged one shoulder. “Since my parents passed on, one day seems like another.”

  “Don’t you get lonely out here by yourself?”

  She didn’t know the half of it. Work occupied him during daylight hours, but nights crept by with aching desolation. He prayed every day for a family who would fill his house with noise and his heart with love.

  An unwelcome sound at the windows saved Ethan from answering Naomi’s perceptive question. “Hear that?” he asked.

  Naomi turned her head toward the window. “Sounds like sand is blowing against the glass.”

  “Not sand,” Ethan answered. “Ice.”

  Naomi straightened. “Ice? The storm’s getting worse rather than better.”

  “I think you’re right. Wait here while I check it out.” Ethan stepped into the kitchen. The dogs woke, their keen eyes watching him with interest, but they shrank back when he opened the door. The meager light from the kitchen showed him what he feared. The plummeting temperature had turned the rain into ice and was coating tree limbs and buildings. Good thing he’d sheltered the horses in warm stalls before the weather hit, but if this kept up, he’d have dead cattle to deal with.

  He closed the door and stopped at the kitchen fireplace to warm his hands. It wouldn’t be safe for Naomi to return to Miss Ruth’s house until the storm had blown itself out. Even then, traveling on an ice-covered road was asking for trouble.

  Naomi called to him from the other room. “Are my clothes dry?”

  Ethan fingered her clothing. “Not yet.” He walked into the parlor. Naomi looked at him expectantly. “We’ve got a problem. Ice is building up on the road. It’s too dangerous to take you home. But spending the night with me…if anybody found out…”

  “Who’s going to know except you, me, and Grandmother? No one will be out in this weather, and there’s a good chance Grandmother stayed in town. She was having Sunday dinner with your old school teacher.”

  Ethan shoved his hands into his pockets and looked around the room. Naomi couldn’t leave, he couldn’t leave, and there was no one to play chaperone. “I admit our choices are limited. If it’ll make you feel any better, I can sleep in the barn.”

  “If it’s too cold for the dogs, won’t it also be too cold for you?”

  She had a point. “As long as I stayed under the covers, I’d be all right.”

  “You might not freeze to death but you’d be far from comfortable. If there were some way to contact Grandmother and tell her of our predicament, I’m sure she’d approve of both of us staying inside this warm house. You’ve proven your trustworthiness to Grandmother time and time again. I may have been wrong about Bret Anderson, but I don’t think I’m wrong about you.”

  A warm glow enveloped Ethan’s heart. Naomi trusted him. After all she’d been through with Anderson, no one would blame her for being defensive. But she trusted him.

  “What do you usually do on Sunday afternoons?” Naomi asked.

  Ethan rubbed the back of his neck. “Work around the house, or read, or visit friends. Vicente and Marta Garcia always welcome me when I’ve had enough of my own company.”

  Naomi gestured toward the chess set near the window. “Do you play?”

  “Dad taught me, but I haven’t played much since he passed away.”

  “That means you’ll be easy to beat.”

  Ethan smiled at the competitive gleam in her eye. “The loser has to make dinner.”

  “It’s a deal.”

  * * *

  Two hours later, Naomi woke to the smell of biscuits. Every part of her body felt snug and warm. She’d won the first game of chess, but Ethan had been more careful during the second match. Her eyes had grown heavy waiting for him to decide the best move, and she must have drifted to sleep in a cozy nimbus of comfort.

  There was movement in the kitchen and a low whistling. Ethan was preparing a meal and, from the sound of it, he was happy. She’d been so wrong about everything. Especially him. Her father had put professional men above common laborers, and Naomi had unconsciously adopted that bias. But what was wrong with a man who earned his living through hard work and determination?

  Ethan’s parents had come to Loma Verde to build a future. They’d constructed this beautiful house and worked the land so that Ethan could carry the dream forward. Ethan had brought their dream to fruition. What did Ethan dream of?

  Naomi gathered the quilt around her and walked into the kitchen. The black-and-white dogs of indeterminate breed tore their attention away from the food Ethan was preparing. They approached her, tails wagging and heads lowered.

  “Good dogs,” Naomi said as she scratched their ears. “I bet you’re glad you don’t have to sleep outside tonight.”

  Ethan turned at the sound of her voice. “They’ve earned a warm night. Chased off a mountain lion a few weeks ago.”

  Naomi sat at the kitchen table and continued to pet the dogs. “What are their names?”

  “They don’t have names.”

  “No names? How do you call them?”

  “I whistle or I yell, ‘here dogs!’ and they come running.”

  “I’ve never heard of someone who didn’t bother to name their pets.”

  Ethan grinned at her. “Ranchers don’t have pets, Naomi. We either raise animals for meat or they do some kind of work. I don’t name the horses. I don’t name the cattle. Why should I name the dogs?”

  “The dogs’ work is to guard the cattle?”

  “And to help herd them. They nip at the heels of the laggards. Keeps the cattle together when I have to move them.”

  The dogs sat on either side of Naomi, their heads turning from her to Ethan. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

  “Once you taste our dinner, you’ll know I’m not much of one. Hope beef stew is all right.”

  “Grandmother says people should never complain about food they didn’t have to hunt, slaughter, or cook themselves.”

  “That sounds like her. She’s always got some pearl of wisdom to impart. I’m glad you came to Loma Verde.”

  Naomi gazed into Ethan’s eyes, both surprised and heartened by the bold disclosure of his feel
ings.

  The tips of Ethan’s ears turned as red as yaupon berries. “I mean…for Miss Ruth.” He gestured absently with a wooden spoon. “You’re good company for her.”

  Naomi hid her smile behind her hand. Embarrassment looked so precious on him. “Oh…yes…anyway, I’m here to stay. Grandmother says I’m too old for my father to order me about, so if he commands that I return to San Antonio, she’ll explain how much she needs me.” Naomi shook her head and laughed softly. “Before this, I never suspected there was a rebel hiding within me.” She stood to examine the clothing on the drying rack. “These are dry. I’d like to dress now.”

  Ethan moved the pot away from the fire. “I’ll show you where the bedroom is.” He went back toward the parlor and turned down a long hallway. “It’s going to be cold in here,” he said, opening a door.

  Naomi stepped into a room with a large bed and shivered. “It certainly is. I can see my breath.”

  “You’d be warmer if you dressed by the fireplace in the parlor. I’ll call you when the food is ready.”

  Naomi smiled at his innocence. The parlor had no door, but he’d assumed she understood she would have all the privacy she needed. “Yes, that would be better. I’ll get my things.”

  They returned to the kitchen. While Ethan set plates on the table and removed the biscuits from the Dutch oven, Naomi gathered her clothes and retreated to the parlor. He was whistling again. What made him so light-hearted?

  The petticoat and dress were stiff but Naomi managed to slip them on. The warm stockings thawed her numb toes. Her best bonnet was ruined and her shoes had turned up at the toes. She’d stay in her stockinged feet for the time being.

  Ethan was ladling stew onto stoneware plates when Naomi returned to the kitchen. “It smells good.”

  “Hope it’s all right. At least we have Miss Ruth’s pie for dessert.”

  They took their seats at the wooden table and Ethan bowed his head. “Thank You, Lord, for providing us with food to sustain our bodies. We will praise Thee all our days. Amen.”

  “Amen,” Naomi echoed. “That was a nice blessing.”

  Ethan used a biscuit to push stew into his spoon. “My father said it before every meal. Didn’t see any reason to create my own.”