More Than a Miracle

by Raine Cantrell

  “No!” Chris found a refuge within Kathleen’s arms which closed protectively around the small shoulders.

  “Chris.” Maureen used a firm tone, without anger, but one every mother used to warn a child that it was enough, and every child heeded that warning or accepted punishment for disobedience.

  Maureen was torn in her sympathies for son and father. She had a feeling the reunion Gabe Channing envisioned with his son was less than he wanted, and having her be witness to his tears of joy wasn’t easy for any man, much less a prideful one. The thought helped her ignore the harsh flare of resentment in his eyes.

  With a look she warned her daughter to silence, and fixed her attention on Chris.

  “This has been a shock for you, Chris, but you must not speak to your father that way. It’s not respectful, and I know you know better. Now, both you children sit down. Mr. Channing, please join us.”

  She could only imagine how ill her ordering him sat with the man, but they all needed time to calm down. Though when she saw Chris’s lower lip tremble as he held back tears and his small hands clench into fists, she wanted to fight anyone, even his father, for the child.

  All her protective love was in her eyes when she met Gabe’s stare as he sat down. She thought of the power he commanded over them if his claim was true about owning this cabin. She could, by her interference, see her daughter put out in the dead of winter. A denial flared inside her at the thought, and she admitted to herself it was unlikely. But it didn’t change her mind. Chris needed her.

  She smiled at both children to show there was no anger with them and fought her instinct to take Chris up in her lap and just hug him.

  “What I wanted to say was this,” she began. “I’m sure your father doesn’t mean to ride out this very day, Chris. Do you?” she asked Gabe.

  “No. Of course, not. We’ll get an early start—”

  “In a day or so,” Maureen finished for him.

  “Another storm like yesterday and the passes will be closed. I won’t be able to get him home,” Gabe said in a controlled voice that held no hint of the anger he felt because of her interference. Yet he felt guilt, too. She was trying to smooth things over, and he could not fault her for that.

  “Won’t go. I like it here.”

  “You liked Denver, too. Remember our big sleigh and Mrs. Kingsley’s cookies? You liked the toy shops. Your friends miss you, Chris. Not as much as I did, but they all hoped and prayed that I’d find you and bring you home.”

  Gabe shook his head. His grin widened into a smile. “Just wait till they hear you talking. I can’t believe it myself. This will take some getting used to.”

  With a very serious expression, Chris remained still and silent for long minutes, then words burst forth. “They said you were dead.”

  “Who, Chris? Who told you that?”

  “Men were yelling in the hotel. I wasn’t sure. I wanted to see.”

  “Then you left the room, right?”

  He couldn’t meet his father’s gaze and looked toward Maureen. “She helped me say my prayers every night that you were alive.”

  “You can’t know how much that means to me, Chris.” Gabe’s voice, husky to begin with, broke a little. “I’d like to spend time with you and get to know this grown-up son.”

  Maureen thought father and son spending time alone was a wonderful idea. She ignored Chris’s resentment when she kept Kathleen from following him. But before Gabe stepped outside, she went to apologize to him.

  “I wish I could take back the moment I believed you were dead and took Chris with me.”

  “The how and why don’t matter. Nothing matters now that I have my son. But I can see I’ve a hard trail to get him to leave you and I’ve got to get back to Denver.”

  He appeared thoughtful as he snapped the brim of his hat forward and buttoned up his heavy jacket. “You might think about coming with us.”

  Giving her no time to answer, he was gone.

  “Mama, you can’t let that man have Chris. He—”

  “He’s the boy’s father, Kathleen, and that gives him all the rights in the world.”

  “We aren’t going to leave here, are we?”

  But Maureen couldn’t answer her daughter. It simply might not be her choice. Yet she had the uncomfortable feeling that Gabe Channing didn’t take no for an answer often.

  There was only one thing to do. Maureen made soup. Like her mother and grandmother before her, anything that happened, births, deaths, fights or weddings, they made soup. And the bread making came after, for there was time to think while kneading dough. And she had lots to think about.

  It was the aroma of baking that lured Gabe and his son back to the cabin. Gabe had learned quite a bit about his boy. He had taken some of that Irishwoman’s stubbornness and made it his own. He would not be moved about leaving Maureen and her daughter. And Gabe was in a neatly boxed corner.

  “It would be the best ever Christmas present to take them home with us. I don’t want a new pony or a new sled. I want Maureen and Kathleen. They love me, Papa. They really love me.”

  It was then that Gabe realized that the son he thought protected from the truth about his mother not wanting him had known the truth. He hurt for his son, and as he lifted the boy into his strong arms and just held him, he knew he would do anything, give anything, to keep his child happy. He was also mindful of the great debt he owed Maureen O’Rourke and her daughter. But how did a man pay back someone for loving his child?

  “I will try, Chris. I can promise you that much. But you understand that I can’t force them to come with us.”

  “Sure you can. You can do anything.”

  With that praise and belief a burden on his shoulders, Gabe walked into the cabin where the luscious scents of fresh-baked bread and steaming soup were enough to make his mouth water and his stomach growl. But there was another sight that aroused a far different hunger.

  Maureen O’Rourke.

  A bit of flour was smeared at her temple and tiny curling wisps of hair escaped her neat coil. She appeared softer somehow with her rosy cheeks flushed with heat from the oven and a warm smile of welcome that included him.

  He had not had much chance to think about the strength and courage it took her to travel with two children in this wilderness. And while he was not a religious man, he had to wonder what unseen fate had led her to this cabin, and then sent him here. He had not lived here in almost five years, and in that time been back only to make sure the cabin was snug against the weather.

  His gaze strayed to the well cared for rifle hung near the door rack, much the same as his father’s hunting rifle hung there when he was a child.

  He listened to the soft murmur of Maureen’s voice talking to the children and thought about her not asking for anything from him, other than a demand that he go gently in treating with his own child.

  Gabe had a bone deep, unshakable feeling there was not a mercenary thought in her head. She had to know she could ask and receive anything, everything he had for what she had done for his son.

  Strong enough for the land, pretty enough to stir a man, gentle and kind enough to love a stranger’s child. Maureen, he decided, was a woman a man could search long and hard to find. When a wise man found such a woman, he could count himself lucky, incredibly lucky.

  There had been women who had attracted him over the years, but none offered what he wanted. And if asked, he couldn’t have put names to what he was looking for. Yet, there was something about Maureen that drew him.

  He must not forget the woman had a temper. He smiled to himself. His mother had an Irish temper that kept the house roused with betting when she’d been alive.

  Cautioned by those memories, Gabe determined that keeping his promise to his son depended on planning and executing a good campaign to have his way.

  There wasn’t a moment to be lost if he was to get them all out of the mountains to celebrate a spectacular Christmas in
Denver.

  Chapter Six

  Gabe had his first opportunity to be alone with Maureen after supper when the children were tucked into the sleeping loft. For a man who was rarely at a loss for words, he wasn’t sure how to begin. He had seen the cool distance she had maintained all day. He thought a truthful compliment would be a good start.

  “You are a mighty fine cook. Don’t know when I’ve eaten better.”

  “I saw you enjoyed your supper, Mr. Channing, but I’m sure your Mrs. Kingsley takes good care of setting a fine table for you.”

  “Why, she does. But that doesn’t mean a man can’t appreciate another woman’s cooking.” He smiled at her, but she wasn’t looking at him. “Did you and your husband have a bakery?”

  “Bakery? Oh, you mean all the bread. I just like to bake.”

  Gabe thought he had never had a question turned aside so neatly. He decided to let the matter be for now.

  “Mr. Channing—”

  “Gabe, please.”

  “All right, then. It seems to me you’ve been chewing on something all day. If something is bothering you, just say so. I’m not a woman who cares to walk on eggs around a body.”

  “I never meant to worry you.” Gabe refilled his cup with the last of the coffee and set the pot aside. He glanced to where she stood at the end of the table, calm as could be.

  “Won’t you join me?” he asked, indicating the bench next to him. “This may take a while to say.”

  Maureen sat across from him. Her concern focused on one thing. Would he or wouldn’t he allow them to stay in the cabin? Direct she might be, but she could not force herself to ask that one question.

  “I know that you said you didn’t want anything from me,” Gabe began, “but I can’t allow that. There must be something you want or need. Chris is very fond of you. He said he won’t come home with me unless you and your daughter come, too.”

  She did not answer, only studied the man across from her. The more she looked upon him, the more perfectly each feature of his face blended into a handsome countenance. She resisted the urge to brush back the one lock of black hair that continually fell over his forehead. And his mouth was not as stem when he smiled.

  He cleared his throat and she roused herself, glancing away from him.

  “Have you no answer?”

  “Mr….Gabe, did you never wonder why your son came so easily with me? Or to think how we came upon this place?”

  “Of course I wondered. Chris said you found him outside the hotel and—”

  “Yes, that’s true. But did he tell you that he was running away? I kept him with me and Kathleen, fearing that he would run off with no one to care for him. When word came that you were believed killed, I asked if he would come with us. And it was Chris who spoke of this far-off cabin, although, I admit, he never said it belonged to you.”

  “Chris was running away?”

  Sympathy welled inside Maureen. Here was a father who knew little of his son. “It all turned out well and you have the boy back. But will you make a new beginning with him?”

  She knew she had shocked him silent, for he sat shaking his head. The rest was for Chris to tell his father, but she could start him thinking in the right direction and give the boy she had come to love as her own a true Christmas present. One that he would have for the rest of his life. And the present would be twofold, for Gabe Channing would receive a gift that could not be bought, yet was more precious than any purchased gift.

  “Chris,” she said softly, “told me this is where he wanted to come. He had to see the place where you were born and grew up. He heard the tales from your father before he died and this was a dream of his. He said you refused to make the trip with him. Being a bold and, to my mind, very courageous boy, he decided to set out on his own.”

  “But he’s only—”

  “Does age matter when a dream is to be followed?”

  “No. No, you’re right. I had no idea he felt so strongly about this.”

  Maureen went with her instinct and covered his larger hand with her own. “Gabe, before you leave here, spend some time with your son. He’s a very special boy, and one who loves you. But he needs to find his own way, too, and he thinks you protected him too much.”

  “My lord, I had no idea he felt this way.”

  “Now you do.” Maureen rose from the bench. “I’ll set a bed by the fire for you. No more talk about sleeping in the barn.”

  “You’ve given me a great deal to think about, Maureen. My mother often said things happen for a reason. Perhaps I was meant to lose Chris without harm coming his way so that I would understand that all I have is nothing without him.”

  Their eyes met with a silent understanding, but she found she had to be sure.

  “Then you’ll stay?”

  “You mean for longer than a few days?”

  “Yes, Gabe. Stay and spend Christmas with us. There is plenty of food, and the children have so much they wish to do. It would be a simple time and one for sharing.”

  Backlit as she was by the fire’s glow, he found himself nodding, and his son was not the only reason he agreed. There was something special about this quiet woman. Only time together would tell him if something more could come of it

  “One thing more, Gabe. All time is relative. One day may be a lifetime, a year can be forever. It is not the number of the days, but how those days are spent.”

  “As well as whom you spend them with.”

  “Yes, Gabe. That as well. Good night”

  Sweet dreams, lovely lady. He only thought the words and merely echoed her wish for a good night as she left him.

  Would it be so terrible to spend time here? To teach Chris and show him favorite places? Wasn’t part of being wealthy being able to do as he wanted and not needed to do?

  A wise woman, Maureen O’Rourke. Wise and lovely. He wouldn’t find spending time with her and the children less than a pleasure.

  Making his bed by the fire, he lay there with his eyes closed and thoughts filled with questions about Maureen.

  She appeared a young woman who had overcome some great adversity and found peace with herself. She intrigued him.

  And as sleep claimed him, he found that she filled his dreams, as well.

  Maureen lay tossing in the bed she had never shared with another and prayed for sleep to come. There was no wind tonight, but it was cold. She glanced to where the moonlight streamed through the frosted window.

  Shifting yet again beneath the thick down quilt, she tried to ease her mind of all thoughts and settle down to sleep.

  But thoughts of how lonely she had been intruded. Loneliness and the man on the other side of the fireplace seemed to go hand in hand. She tried to deny that she found him a threat. Not his size, which was taller and heavier than herself, but he threatened this new life she had made for herself and daughter. And Chris. She couldn’t forget the boy.

  She wondered how bad a mistake she had made to encourage him to stay on here. He was a troubled man, and one who needed some guidance with his son. He wouldn’t see it that way, she was sure, but her feelings were too strong to be denied.

  One has only so much time in this life, so devote it to the people most important to you, to work you love, and leave all else. She couldn’t remember how many times she had heard her papa say those words. And they were good ones to live by. Chris was someone she loved. She had to help him.

  Punching down her pillow, she turned again, wishing she could deny the strange stirring inside her whenever she imagined Gabe’s stormy blue-gray eyes. And the touch tonight of his hand, strong, long fingers that would both protect and soothe. Funny thought. She didn’t want a man to protect or to soothe her. Maybe one to share with, but men as a rule didn’t want women to walk beside them.

  There would be nothing more to these fanciful thoughts. She intended to make sure of that.

  Still, it had been pleasant to sit and talk over the
last of the coffee with him. It boded well that he was willing to listen to her. Perhaps… But the thought was never completed for sleep came and she dreamed of a man as lonely as she.

  It was the warmth that helped Maureen to wake up. In the year she had lived in the cabin she had gotten used to it being chilly until she stoked the stove and built up the fire.

  But sunlight was streaming into the back room and she smelled coffee. Coffee? She sat up abruptly, clutching the quilt to her chest. Then she remembered that Gabe had spent the night in the cabin. From outside came a rhythmic thud. Someone chopping wood. Gabe again.

  She dressed quickly, embarrassed over letting him take care of the children and the chores. What must he think of her? Lying in bed of a morning, lazy as could be?

  There was no sign of the three of them when she reached the table. The coffeepot was on the stove and still hot. The dishes were washed, too. She poured a cup of coffee for herself and moved to the one window and looked out.

  Gabe was there with a pile of freshly split wood and both Chris and Kathleen were moving pieces to the woodpile.

  Maureen stared at the ripple and play of the muscles in Gabe’s strong back. He had stripped off his heavy coat and worked in his shirt, sleeves rolled up to show powerful forearms as he lifted the ax and struck a clean blow to the wood. She didn’t want to think about his body, but alone now with none to see her, she felt the stirring of desire. It had been a long, long time since she felt attracted to a man. Her gaze held to his hands as he struck the wood again. He said something to the children, for she saw their smiles as he stepped back and allowed them to pick up the newly split wood.

  He had to feel her watching him. He turned quickly and looked toward the cabin. She almost stepped back and away from the impact of his intense gaze.

  He lifted his hand to shade his eyes from the sun and she held her place, lifting the cup and smiling at him.

  Kathleen approached him and he leaned down to hear what she said. It must be something serious, for Gabe crouched down and appeared to be listening with all his attention to her daughter.