More Than a Miracle

by Raine Cantrell

  The door of the cabin opened, and Maureen turned. Chris stood there, a wide smile and sparkling eyes telling her he was happy.

  “Papa wants to take us sledding. We want you to come with us.”

  A day of playing with the children? Why not? With Gabe along, she would have someone to share the burden of climbing back up the hill.

  “All right, Chris. Give me a few minutes to change.”

  He was gone in seconds, running back to his father, and Maureen heard the excitement in his voice along with a whoop from Kathleen.

  She took from her chest the heavy twill pants that had belonged to her husband along with a woolen shirt. She stripped and redressed quickly, knowing the impatience of the children. Tucking her long hair beneath a wool cap, she paused for a moment to whisper a prayer, then hurried out to join them.

  Gabe hid every painful wince walking brought to his aching muscles. It had been a long, long time since he had split wood. Yet, despite the pain, he felt good when he saw the pile of wood stacked against the cabin. He knew that Maureen had watched him, and he was thankful that she had not seen his first attempts.

  He glanced back to where Maureen walked with Chris. She almost looked like a child dressed in clothing too large for her. A man’s clothes. He wondered whose they were.

  He knew too little about her. Where had she come from? Yet he trusted her. That in itself was unusual for him.

  But what else could he do? Whenever he thought about his coming here as he did, meeting Maureen and then finding out she had his son made a man wonder if the Lord hadn’t had a hand in the planning of this.

  His mother used to talk of miracles. His father didn’t believe that anything but hard work would give a man all he needed.

  Gabe had thought himself the same, but now he wasn’t sure.

  He couldn’t believe he’d suggested going sledding. This was play, a child’s play and here he was leading the way up the gradual rise of the slope where he had sent his own sled flying down years ago.

  The air, cold and crisp, had a bite to it. Without the wind the sunlight made it feel warm. He had forgotten how the woods looked with their drapes of thick snow piled on the towering pine’s sweeping boughs, and icicles hanging with rainbows trapped inside. Above, the sky was blue without a cloud and nothing but the crunch of their boots broke the silence.

  He looked upward, toward where the mountains lifted abruptly, ragged slopes broken by steep ledges, covered with snow. It was a lonely place, but he remembered being happy here as a child. He had the woods and his books.

  “We marked this place,” Maureen turned to say. “All summer, the children cleared rocks from the slope. We had a few spills because of them last winter.”

  The children’s laughter brought his smile. He could well imagine who had done the spilling into snowdrifts.

  “Well, who goes first?” Gabe set the sled he carried down, working the runners back and forth to give him a smooth start.

  “Chris should have the first ride with you.” Maureen stood off to the side with her daughter. Gabe dropped belly first onto the sled and Chris scampered to climb on top of him.

  “Give us a push. A good one,” Gabe said.

  Maureen and Kathleen did as he asked, and watched as the sled sped down the hill, Chris’s shout filling the air. She wasn’t sure what Gabe did, but the sled slid to a smooth stop down where it was level. Chris climbed off, and if Gabe was a little slower, it was barely noticed.

  Gabe took Kathleen down next, then Maureen had a turn with each child. When she came back up with Chris, there was whispering among the three of them, but she didn’t hear it as she set the sled in place for another run.

  “We’re all going down on this one.”

  Maureen stared at Gabe, her mouth open, but her protest died when she looked at the children. Still, someone had to be sensible.

  “I don’t think we’ll all fit.”

  “Sure we will.”

  He made her sit first, with Kathleen snug between her legs and Chris on her daughter’s lap. Maureen was afraid the sled would go over before Gabe got in position behind her. They were packed together like peas in a pod, warm, too, with Gabe’s body cutting the cold behind her.

  “Hold tight. Here we go.”

  Gabe pushed off with one foot and then they were flying down the hill, the children screaming with delight. Maureen hid her face against her daughter’s shoulder, afraid to look. She wasn’t sure who twisted to the side, but felt the sled tilt and before any of them could right the sled, over it went, dumping them into a snowbank.

  It was a cold, wet, hungry group that trudged their way back to the cabin. But there was laughter, too, a wonderful sound to a man who had heard little of it from his child, and more so to a woman who enjoyed the deeper laugh of a man who had not laughed much at all.

  Boots and coats dripping with melting snow were by the door as the children ran for the sleeping loft to get into dry clothes.

  As if they had done this a hundred times, Gabe moved to replenish the fire and Maureen moved to stoke the stove. She made a fresh pot of coffee, and then heated a pan of milk for the children.

  “You’d better change into something dry,” she said without looking at him. She couldn’t explain this sudden feeling of shyness that came over her. “By rights the back room should be yours. I’ll bed down out here.”

  “You go change first,” he countered. “I saw the fixings for flapjacks. That and bacon I can handle.”

  “You cook?”

  “Don’t sound so surprised. I did for myself for a long time before I had a claim that paid off. Simple grub, nothing fancy.”

  Maureen left him to it and hurried back to change. Her turkey twill skirt had seen better days, but its dark-brown color hid much of the mending she’d done. Her shirtwaist was once white, but repeated washings had turned it to the color of cream. A bit of black ribbon tied her hair at her nape.

  The bacon was sizzling when she rejoined them. The children were seated at the table, eating the first of the flapjacks Gabe had made.

  “Sit down. I’m told they are passably good. Not as good as yours, but filling just the same.”

  “Kathleen,” she said with a warning look.

  “Wasn’t me, Ma. Chris said it. I like them just fine. I’ll even have seconds. Please,” she added quickly at a look from her mother.

  Maureen watched Gabe with the children while they ate, him doing most of the talking about favorite places he had while growing up around the cabin. He had a great deal of patience with their questions, but it was the sound of his husky voice that lulled her into daydreaming.

  Pleasant it was, to sit in the middle of the day with the sun streaming in through the window and the fire’s warmth at her back.

  She listened to the days of a boy alone finding his way through the woods, making his own discoveries from a beaver’s dam to a small herd of buffalo in a mountain valley almost a day’s ride from the cabin.

  “Take a summer afternoon and find a meadow sweet with wildflowers blooming and just lie there watching the clouds form. Listen to the breeze ruffling cottonwood leaves or stirring the aspens.”

  “Golden coins,” Maureen murmured, watching him with half-closed eyes.

  “Just like that with the sun shining on them,” he agreed.

  “We picked berries in the summer,” Kathleen told him.

  “And see deer all the time. We even found a fawn but Maureen said we had to leave it be. She let us watch from the edge of the forest until its ma came for it.”

  “You liked that, Chris?” Gabe asked his son.

  “I love being here. Up in the grove of aspens we see elk when we gather dry wood. And I get to fish. Maureen showed me how to make fish traps.”

  “An unusual skill for a woman to have.”

  His soft voice sent no alarm to Maureen, yet she was not so sleepy that she did not miss the question there.

  “W
e like to eat fish. And it takes time to sit with a line in the water. Keeping the three of us fed and putting up stores for winter, the traps seemed like a good idea.”

  Chris yawned and Kathleen followed with one of her own. It was catching, for Maureen put up a hand to cover hers. The sledding had been a good idea, but she was accustomed to steady work that didn’t take so much out of a body.

  With her elbow resting on the table she propped her head on her hand, smiling as Chris, then Kathleen each told of the adventures they had had since coming to the cabin.

  “The berries were the biggest I’ve ever seen and Chris, well, he picked a bucketful in spite of all he ate. Then this old bear came, a big silver-tipped grizzly and treed us. We was scared. But Ma, she came looking for us near to dark. She had to fire a few shots to chase that bear away.”

  That was the last story Maureen heard. To the soft rise and fall of their voices her breathing became deep and even and she made a sleepy murmur when she felt herself lifted from the bench. Someone warm and strong held and carried her, but some inner sense told her she was safe, that it was all right for her to sleep.

  Gabe stared down at her for a few moments before he drew the thick quilt over her. There were faint bluish shadows beneath her eyes. The woman needed someone to take care of her. She worked hard, and he guessed she found little enough time to rest. He remembered how it had been living in the cabin for his mother, working from before sunrise to after sunset.

  From a chance remark made by her daughter, he knew she had been widowed before the child was born. But the men in Colorado weren’t blind. Why hadn’t she remarried?

  Without thought he reached out to touch the cool, silky hair, brushing a loose tendril from her cheek.

  There was a danger here for him. She was making him feel things he didn’t want, and maybe want something he couldn’t have.

  But he committed himself to staying. And there was Christmas to think about.

  So while she slept, he led the children back into the forest to gather pinecones lying close to the trunks. They in turn played hide-and-seek within the shadowed caves formed by the weighted branches. They had a snowball fight, which he promptly lost, and once back inside he showed them how to pierce the cones, then string them into garlands for the tree they would have.

  He found himself promising all sorts of things to his son and the less shy Kathleen. By the time Maureen woke up and joined them, filled with apologies for sleeping the afternoon away, he silenced her with his intent to stay.

  “We are going to have a fine Christmas together.”

  “Oh, Pa.” Chris threw his arms around his father’s neck. “You already gave me what I wanted most. And just you wait till you’ve tasted one of Maureen’s cakes. You are gonna love them. Love them as much as me.”

  His gaze sought Maureen’s. Love? There was a thought. And who knew what the cold winter days would bring by Christmas?

  Chapter Seven

  Three days later, Maureen, with a faint ghost of amusement in her eyes, turned away from the corner where Gabe and the children were whispering. There was a lot of that these days, and she left them alone to make their plans. Gabe Channing filled a void she hadn’t known was there. He had a quiet, easy way about him that drew her to spend time in his company. Her daughter adored him, overcoming her painful shyness to speak her mind whenever he urged her on.

  Only last night, Kathleen confessed that she wouldn’t mind having a papa just like Gabe. Maureen had been so flustered, she couldn’t even remember what she answered.

  She had never thought of another husband. Perhaps if she didn’t have money put by she would have done what most every other woman did—remarry as quick as a fox runs.

  She wasn’t sure she was comfortable with how easy it had become to depend upon Gabe. He chopped the wood, he shoveled the snow from another light fall. He was up before her every morning and tended to chores out in the barn. And he took such pleasure in the work that she said nothing to him about usurping her place. He ignored her every query about the ownership of the cabin. Actually walked away when she mentioned that she would buy the land from him.

  Patience, she warned herself. Lots of patience. Just as much as you have with teaching the children their sums or reading.

  But it was hard to bridle emotions when the man took special care with her daughter. He was so gentle with her shy child. And Chris… Oh, she couldn’t believe the change in the boy. He was full of mischief, laughing and talking and making plans.

  One thing she knew, Gabe didn’t have a selfish bone in his body. He was so considerate of her feelings, of those of the children that she knew it carried into everything he did. Tempting her. The man was temptation itself when he smiled at her in that special way of his, as if she were the prettiest lady in his life.

  Maureen returned to mixing the thick batter for corn fritters. She had soaked the dried corn in milk with a bit of grated sugar before she added the eggs, cornmeal and flour.

  “My mother always put a pinch of salt in the batter.”

  Maureen almost dropped the bowl. The words were whispered in her ear and Gabe was so close that she could feel the heat of his body as he leaned over her shoulder. If she moved her head a fraction her lips would likely brush his cheek. As it was she felt her pulse leap and her heart seemed to speed up its beat.

  She licked her lips, ready to answer him, but he had turned away.

  “I’ll be in the barn until supper,” he said.

  “I’m coming.” Chris jumped up from where he’d been reading by the fire. “Kathleen?”

  “No. You go on. I’ll help Ma with supper.”

  Maureen saw that her daughter had a dreamy expression as she stared into the fire. “Anything wrong, honey?”

  “I like that man, Ma. He’s so sweet to me. Wait till you see what he’s—Oh, I’m not to tell you. It’s a surprise.”

  “A surprise?”

  “For Christmas, Ma. A present. And don’t you go around peeking any.”

  Maureen laughed. Her daughter sounded like her when she warned the children against hunting for the gifts she had hidden in her chest. But Kathleen’s words stayed with her and later in her room with the candles lit, she wondered what she could make for Gabe for Christmas.

  She had been as amazed as Gabe when Chris had asked about his mines, naming them all. Then mentioned the ranch, and the men working there.

  What kind of a homemade gift could she give a man who already had so much?

  For the first time she felt the lack of money, and of being near a town where she could buy something fitting for such a man.

  And she didn’t like this feeling at all. She had nothing to be ashamed of, and it was more for the children to give him something nice. Something special.

  She had to think quickly for the days were passing.

  In the barn the same thoughts were passing through Gabe’s mind. His hands were busy smoothing out the wood for a small quilting frame that Chris and Kathleen swore Maureen longed to have. All her daughter would tell him was that her mother’s got broken, but wouldn’t say where or when or even how. But he wanted to make her something else, a thing so special she would always remember the gift and the man who gave it. He didn’t even know where this need came from, only that it was there when he finally fell asleep at night and was the first thing in his mind in the morning.

  Now in the quiet night, the scent of fresh-cut wood curls filling the air along with the hay and animals, he thought of the years behind him. And of the lonely nights.

  He had wealth and a fine house, a ranch and respect. He had ridden the wild country but left that aside when he married until he understood the poor bargain he had made. Now he wanted more. He wanted that house to be a home. One filled with love and laughter. And children.

  He wanted more nights where the fire blazed warm and the talk flowed easy and sleepy children needed to be carried and tucked into bed. He wanted what he
had found here.

  But he wasn’t at all sure of what Maureen O’Rourke wanted or needed.

  He’d always been a direct man. Yet he found himself shying away from prying into her past, or asking about her future. She wanted the land and cabin. Beyond that, he knew too little.

  He was sure she liked him. She had been lingering awhile after the children were asleep and their time was quiet, but a shared quiet that brought him a peaceful feeling. She was a woman who would always walk beside her man, rich or poor, good times and bad.

  And that very kissable mouth held a temptation he was finding hard to resist.

  The woman was as deep as the still waters of the pond below. She had said nothing that wasn’t all polite and respectful without a bit of suggestion to tell him how she felt about him. If she felt anything at all.

  Gabe might have saved himself the questions about Maureen if he had seen her slip outside to stare up at the night sky. The stars were coming out, one by one, bright and brighter still like lamps lighting the night.

  She knew Gabe was back in the barn with Chris and she wondered if he ever thought about her. There was a great strength in the man, but something more, for with him she felt at ease, calm, secure and at home. There was that special something a few men have, that quiet assurance that was balm to her spirit that come what may, Gabe would stand tall.

  They had so much in common. If only he would make some move, say a word or maybe…kiss her.

  Lord, she thought, I’ve not asked for much in this life, but if You truly brought us all together for a reason, I’d like to know.

  Gabe was born for this land. She couldn’t see him living in a city like Denver. He was born of these mountains, or the tree-clad hills, and she believed this is where the home of his heart was.

  A good man, a little rough, and a whole lot lonely.

  Very much like her. She huddled within the thick coat, looking up at the bright north star. She hadn’t made a wish on a star since she was a child. Foolishness. That’s all it was. But she whispered the words and made her wish.