“I’ll haul this up and put it in the room you’ll use.” He stepped over the threshold and couldn’t help but look to see her reaction.
Charlotte’s brown eyes trailed over the main room and she lifted the hem of her fancy green traveling gown, as if she didn’t want it to get soiled.
He didn’t blame her. It was filthy—but when Susanne was alive, his home had made him proud. A large fireplace dominated one wall and modest furniture was spread around it. Four glass windows, a rare treat in Minnesota Territory, looked out at the river. Susanne had kept them shining, just for him—yet now they were dull with grime, just as his soul felt dull with grief. A shelf with Susanne’s books was near the desk in the corner and several muddy rugs were tossed about the room in no particular order.
A chicken ambled in from the kitchen and he winced. Caleb must have left the back door open again. It cackled at them and Charlotte squealed.
Abram balanced the trunk on his shoulder as he pushed the chicken toward the door with his boot.
“I was under the impression that this was the house.” She glanced around the room once again, a wrinkle wedging between her eyes. “Have we mistakenly entered the barn?”
He couldn’t help but goad her. “Hopefully only the chicken wandered in. We’ve been known to attract a few skunks and weasels, too.”
Her eyes grew wide and he tried not to smile. Instead he cleared his throat. “As soon as I get your trunk to your room, I’ll rustle up some supper.”
“Aren’t we going to see the boys?”
“It’s getting too late tonight.” Abram started up the stairs.
“Why did you wait?”
He paused and turned. The agony on her face twisted his heart. “Wait for what?”
“To tell me Susanne had died.”
He frowned. “I wrote to you immediately.”
She pulled a letter out of the pile she still held in her hands. “This didn’t arrive until three weeks ago—almost three months after she died.”
He readjusted her trunk on his shoulder. “Look at the date at the top of the letter. You’ll see it says July sixteenth, the day after her death.”
She glanced at the piece of paper and shook her head. “There is no date.”
He hadn’t put a date on the letter? She couldn’t blame him for the oversight. Right after his wife had died, he’d barely been able to put two thoughts together. “It must have been lost in the mail.”
“Didn’t you wonder why I hadn’t come until now?”
“Frankly, I didn’t think I’d ever see you again, Charlotte—and neither did Susanne. Not after the way you treated us when we said we wanted to marry.”
Anguish passed over her brown eyes yet he couldn’t help but say what he had wanted to say for the past six years. “You broke Susanne’s heart when you didn’t give us your blessing and when you never once inquired about our marriage in your letters. Until her death—” He choked on the word and didn’t have the heart to tell her that Susanne had wept on her deathbed over their broken relationship. “She carried the pain with her until the end.”
Tears fell down Charlotte’s cheeks but Abram didn’t wait for her response. Instead he continued up the stairs.
He stopped at the top and took several deep breaths. He had always hoped to convey to Charlotte how much she had hurt Susanne, but it didn’t make him feel any better. If anything, he felt worse.
With a sigh, he opened the door to his left and stepped into his modest-size bedroom. It had a large bed, a bureau, a rocking chair, the boys’ cradle and a washbasin. He had packed up all of Susanne’s things, except her Bible, and put them in a trunk, which sat at the foot of the bed. It had been too painful to have the memories surrounding him.
Abram set down Charlotte’s trunk and then rubbed his whiskers as he surveyed the dust in the corners and the bedding that hadn’t been washed for weeks. Dirty clothes hung from the back of the rocker and the foot of the bed.
The room needed some fresh air. He went to the single window looking toward the river and opened it, thankful for the mild November weather.
With another sigh, he gathered up his clothing and piled it near the door and then threw the bedcovers over the sheets, hoping Charlotte wouldn’t come into the room until after dark.
He stood for a moment, rolled his shoulders and looked toward the ceiling. “Lord?” It was more of a question than a statement. “Why did you let Charlotte come? Don’t I have enough trouble to deal with already?”
He snatched up his clothing and strode out of the room and downstairs.
Charlotte stood with her back to the stairs, a handkerchief hovering near her face.
He moved past her and went through the kitchen and into the lean-to, where Susanne had kept her washtubs. He dumped his clothes in the corner, planning to get to them later. After Susanne’s death, Abram had devoted almost every waking moment to his business. It had been the only way to deal with his pain, but the housework had slipped.
Charlotte entered the kitchen as he came back in. She was out of place with her extravagant dress and perfectly styled hair. She looked nothing like Susanne, who had been short and blonde. Charlotte had dark brown curls and she was tall and slender—almost too thin for his tastes. Her face would be pretty if it wasn’t scrunched up in disapproval all the time.
He went to the cupboard and pulled out the coffee beans and grinder. “Feel free to take off your hat and gloves. We’re not going anywhere soon.”
She didn’t move but her eyes roamed this room, as well.
Abram assessed it as he ground the coffee beans, trying to see what she would see. The kitchen was a generous room with a long table, a cookstove and a large cupboard. Susanne had spent hours in this room preparing meals for him and the children. She hadn’t been a very good cook, but she had tried—he’d give her that. When he was able to hire his first laborer, she had taken on the extra responsibility without complaint. She had often told him she’d learned her work ethic from her sister, who had been forced to provide for them after their parents had died.
He continued to turn the grinder, uncomfortable with Charlotte’s perusal. “Have a seat. I’ll get the coffee boiling and then fry up some bacon.”
She took a handkerchief from her handbag and wiped the bench.
He tried to ignore her as he fried the bacon and tended to the coffee—but it was almost impossible. Her presence filled the room, just as it had years ago when he’d first met her and Susanne at the Fireman’s Ball in Iowa City. He had actually noticed Charlotte first, with her tall, dark looks—but as soon as he had met the sparkling Susanne, his attention had been stolen.
Neither one spoke as he prepared the simple meal. When it was ready, he went to the front door and clanged the large triangle dinner bell.
The waterwheel was no longer spinning, which meant Caleb and Josiah would hear the call. Harry and Milt were delivering lumber to Fort Ripley, so they probably wouldn’t arrive back until after dark.
He went into the house and found Charlotte had finally removed her hat and gloves and sat with her back rigid as she waited for the meal to begin.
What would his laborers think of the pretty young woman in his home? Single females were so scarce, having one at his table would be a rare treat. If this one wasn’t so unreasonable, maybe they’d enjoy having her.
Caleb and Josiah rushed in through the back door, as if they had been waiting for the call—and they probably had been. Both men drank up Charlotte’s presence like men dying of thirst.
“Boys, this is my sister-in-law, Miss Charlotte Lee.” Abram set four mugs on the table. “Charlotte, this is Caleb and Josiah.”
Caleb bowed and offered her a dimpled smile, his green eyes shining with appreciation. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Lee.” If his easy demeanor and gregarious pe
rsonality couldn’t charm Charlotte, then nothing would. “I don’t believe I’ve ever met such a lovely woman in my life.”
Charlotte dipped her head ever so slightly with embarrassment. “Thank you.”
Josiah pushed Caleb to the side in a great show of aplomb, his curly black hair falling over his forehead and into his dark eyes. He also bowed, unwilling to be outdone. “Lovely does not do you justice, Miss Lee. Gorgeous would be a more appropriate description.”
This time her cheeks filled with color—yet still she did not smile. “I’m pleased to meet you,” she said.
Undeterred, the young bucks took a seat across from Charlotte at the table, still vying for her attention with compliments.
They were in their late teens and had come to Abram fresh off their family farms back East. Eager and energetic, they reminded Abram of himself when he’d left his parents’ home in Michigan eight years ago. He had been full of confidence and invigorated with optimism. Raised by a man who had founded the successful town of Cooper, Michigan, Abram had set out to make his father proud and start his own town. But it had been much harder than he’d realized and the reality of the obstacles had almost crushed his spirit as he went from Michigan to Iowa to Minnesota Territory.
Father had died before Abram could prove himself—and then Susanne had died. The only two people who had ever believed in him, and he had disappointed them both.
Now he must succeed for his sons.
“Shall we say grace?” Abram asked.
Charlotte closed her eyes and inhaled a slow breath. Her face lost all trace of grief and became almost serene.
Abram dipped his chin to pray. “For this meal, and our lives, Lord, we are eternally grateful. Amen.”
“Amen,” echoed the others.
Abram opened his eyes and watched as Charlotte opened hers. Their gazes met for only a moment before Caleb and Josiah nabbed her attention again. They reached for the platter of bacon at the same moment and then handed it to Charlotte as one, grins on their faces.
Charlotte suddenly seemed quite interested in them. “Maybe you gentlemen can help me.”
They looked at each other, their grins growing.
“We’d love to help,” Caleb said.
Abram picked up the coffeepot and poured the steaming brew into his blue-speckled mug. The aroma filled his nose and made his stomach rumble. He had stocked the pantry and cellar with a bountiful harvest, but he had little time to prepare a decent meal. For weeks all they had eaten was bacon and coffee. But with his appetite, he hardly cared.
“Could one of you take me to Susanne’s children?”
The coffee sloshed out of Abram’s cup and pooled on the table. “What?”
Josiah and Caleb grinned. “Yes,” they both said at the same moment.
“No,” Abram said with force. “I’ll take Miss Lee when I’m ready.” He wanted to be there when the boys met their aunt for the first time, and it would be impossible to go this evening.
Charlotte let out a sigh and then took two pieces of bacon off the platter.
The woman was definitely determined.
Here, at least, was something they had in common.
Yet a niggle at the back of his conscience suggested Charlotte wasn’t completely out of line in asking to take his boys. Susanne had never spoken an unkind word about her sister, and it didn’t surprise him that she’d want Charlotte to help raise the boys—but surely she didn’t want Charlotte to take them away from Abram. She wouldn’t want them separated by four hundred miles—which only left one solution.
If Charlotte wanted to help care for the boys, she would have to stay in Little Falls.
He hated to even contemplate such a thing, but the idea was there nonetheless.
Copyright © 2016 by Gabrielle Meyer
ISBN-13: 9781488008139
Cowgirl Under the Mistletoe
Copyright © 2016 by Louise M. Gouge
All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Intellectual Property Office and in other countries.
www.Harlequin.com
Cowgirl Under the Mistletoe Page 24