by Jillian Hart
“I know, Pa.” The bedclothes rustled as Gertie settled deeper into her pillow, her fingers going slack. “I love you.”
“I love you more.” Ropes squeaked as he rose from the side of the bed to his impressive height. Towering in the dark, out of the lamp’s reach it was hard to see his face. “Sweet dreams.”
With a sigh, Gertie snuggled into the covers, already lost in sleep.
She watched his shoulders stiffen, as if he’d finally became aware of her presence in the doorway. He set the book on the night table, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he were biding his time to keep from facing her.
Now that they were alone together, now that he was healing, had his feelings for her changed?
“Felicity.” Her name warmed the low notes of his voice. In the dark where it was impossible to read his expression, it was easy to believe he cared. Easy to cling to the fondness gentling his tone. “She was waiting for you to kiss her good-night.”
“I’m too late. She’s asleep already.” Three steps into the room brought her close enough to see the flutter of the girl’s long lashes, before her breathing evened out, lost in dreams.
“You should tuck her in tomorrow.” Reassuring, Tate came closer, impossible to see in the inky far reaches of the room, but she could sense his nearness. She turned toward him, drawn by the sound. His cane whispered on the floor. “The coal is stocked up. The water bucket is full for morning.”
“Thank you.” He was a thoughtful man. He’d taken good care of her from her first night here. She backed into the main room, aware of the child sleeping. “The dishes are done. The kitchen stove’s fire is banked.”
“Is there anything else I can do for you?”
A thousand things, none of which she could ask him. She wanted to sit in front of the fire with him and talk over the events of the evening, like couples do. She wanted the comfort of his company while she knitted Gertie’s mittens. She wanted to know the marvel of his kiss.
“Then you are all set for the night.” He sounded more distant, as if the joy of the evening wore off. The shadows closed in, stealing him bit by bit. The man he’d been tonight faded. “I’d best go.”
“Wait.” She opened a cupboard and pulled out two of her quilts. “The temperature is falling fast outside. I can feel it creep into the room. You may need these tonight.”
“I appreciate it.” His breathing hitched. He came forward out of the dark, but his face wasn’t remote stone. His eyes weren’t bleak. He lifted the quilts from her arms. “You bundle up tonight, too.”
“I will.” Was this how it would always be? Mutual politeness, keeping a safe distance and going their separate ways? She watched him tap away from her, a silhouette outlined by the lamp’s glow. He hadn’t been like this earlier with his family around.
“I don’t know how to thank you for tonight.” His boots hesitated halfway to the door. “For what you gave to Gertie.”
He didn’t turn to face her. In the dark, the indomitable line of his back looked unbreakable, no longer a man of stone but one of steel. Invincible, but not cold.
“I want to give her Christmas.” She lifted her chin a notch, grappling for inner strength. “I want her to see that hardships end, that no matter how long or deep the darkness lasts, there isn’t a light that can’t eventually shine through it.”
“You did. You gave that to Gertie. To my family.”
Not our family. His family. She kept her chin up when it wanted to bob down. Maybe he didn’t mean that literally, she shouldn’t read too much into his choice of words. She wasn’t officially a member of this family yet. She stepped into the pool of lamplight, not trusting herself to speak. She had to accept the fact that Tate may be coming back to himself, that he was no longer the man who’d placed an advertisement in the paper. He might be rediscovering his heart and would no longer want a convenient wife.
No longer want her.
“I’ve got a light day tomorrow. There probably won’t be a lot of business at the store.” He ambled toward the door, his cane tapping a cautious rhythm. “I’ll pick Gertie up from school tomorrow. That will save you a trip.”
“All right.” She felt as if she were cracking apart. She fought to keep it from showing.
“It’s getting late, and you look tired.” Another hesitant step.
“I got a lot done today.” She was exhausted, but not physically as much as emotionally. He felt further away than ever, more distant than that man on the train platform wanting nothing to do with her.
“So I see. You are a force to be reckoned with.”
“I try. You haven’t seen anything yet.”
“I’m sure.” Not icy and not harsh, his tone held a note of warmth, not the cozy kind that a man would use speaking to the woman he was about to marry. But the polite and courteous kind a man uses when speaking with an acquaintance.
The door squeaked open and he merged with the night. He walked away from her easily, when he’d lingered with his brother and sister in their goodbyes and shown such openness at Gertie’s bedside, kissing her good-night. For her he didn’t look over his shoulder.
“Good night.” Not, “I’m looking forward to seeing you in the morning.” Not even, “I’m looking forward to another one of your breakfasts.” Just the ring of his boots on the porch.
All she wanted was a sign. The smallest encouragement that he might come to care for her, now that his heart was healing. Just something to let her believe this could still work out. That she wasn’t about to lose another family, to be torn apart from the man she loved.
Please, Father, just a tiny hint—anything. So I can keep believing.
Nothing. Just a click of the door. Tate was gone, leaving her alone.
The shadows gathered around her, or maybe that was the sorrow’s first blow. She eased onto the sofa, determined to do a little knitting on Gertie’s mittens, but her hands went to her face instead.
What if Tate was rethinking his decision? He had time to cancel their wedding, it was not Christmas Eve yet. Maybe she had to accept Tate could love again.
He just couldn’t love her.
She knew you didn’t always feel a great loss all at once. It could come in stages, first a great numbing realization. Followed by a crushing strike that booted her between the ribs. Finally came the tearing anguish of her heart shattering. Hope and her dreams leaked out of her.
No, wait, those were tears.
Chapter Ten
He couldn’t breathe. Not one squeak of air could slip into his lungs. A colossal invisible anvil had settled on his sternum, allowing nothing in. Nothing out. Every rib he owned felt near to breaking from the unbearable pressure. He eased onto the top step, unable to leave. All he could see was the silvered affection on Felicity’s face, her loving regard that he wanted to return.
He sank onto the step, wrapped in failure. The cloying jet-black of the night gave no definition to the world. He leaned his cane against a lower step. Bitter cold radiated up through the wooden planks and nipped on the wind. He felt more like himself. Tonight he’d seen glimpses of the man he used to be.
Glimpses, not the real thing. Not the whole man. But neither was he the bleak shell he’d come to be. Felicity, she was the reason. She lowered his defenses. She softened his hardships. She made him want to believe in fairy tales and the power of love and Christmas miracles. Things he’d given up on. Things he feared he couldn’t believe in again.
How did a man summon up something out of nothing? How did he find tenderness in a void? He blew out his breath, frustrated because he didn’t know. More than anything, he wished he could believe. He wished he’d stayed inside instead of fleeing out here. He should have responded to the silent plea in Felicity’s eyes to stay with her. To sit by the fire, to be the man she needed.
But no, he’d escaped out here where it was easier. Where he didn’t have to risk failing her. He ran a fingertip across the scalloped edge of one of her quilts. Soft, pretty, sweet, just like
the quilter. A smile touched his lips and softened the dark edges within him. Overhead stars winked out from behind thick clouds, casting a faint silver glow on the yard. On him.
Why don’t I feel alone? He rubbed the heel of his hand against his sternum, but the pain remained. Is that You, Lord? Why can I feel Your presence now?
The stars twinkled overhead, a heavenly wonder. He tipped his head back to gaze at those white specks strewn against the black. Not a void, after all, but full of blazing light.
Felicity, she’d changed him. No one else could ever have gotten so far inside him. He could feel the difference she made, cracking like thunder behind his ribs. Her radiant smile, her tenacious cheer, her rosebud mouth that looked as soft as satin…
Wait. Where did that thought come from? He placed his hand on his chest, but nothing could ease the torment buried there. The black heartless emptiness remained, a place not even God could touch.
Except that void within him no longer felt black. It was no longer unfeeling. His hopelessness had gone.
What was happening to him? He struggled off the step, teeth chattering, clasping for his cane. The quilts, a light weight in his arm, smelled faintly of roses. Of her. His chest hitched and it was her he saw in his mind’s eye, her quiet plea, waiting to be loved.
Impossible hopes ripped him into shreds, that teased him with what could be. That closeness he’d shared with her in the barn the day Gertie played in the snow. That’s what could be between them—gentle humor and loving understanding and the tender connection of her soul to his.
That’s what he wanted. More than anything. The emptiness was still a part of him as he turned toward the house. Did he go back in? Or did he leave? His grip tightened on his cane. Wanting was not the same as willing. Wanting to love was not the same as having the emotion alive within him. What if his spirit had been too broken? What if he could never fully heal? The windows glowed pink from the ruffled calico curtains, giving him no answer. The wind knifed through him, colder than it had ever been, and his teeth chattered.
He should go home, to his room above the store.
As he turned, he caught a different view of the window. Something he hadn’t noticed before. A woman’s silhouette fell onto the pink calico, backlit by the lamp. Felicity. Her face was buried in her hands, the perfect picture of devastation, slumped in defeat. Her shoulders shook slightly.
She was crying.
Crying. And he knew why. As the wind knifed him again, he knew the reason why she looked as if she’d lost all hope. Why her unconquerable optimism had failed. She needed a real husband, a man of kindness and heart.
He didn’t remember stumbling over the step or crossing the porch. Suddenly the knob was in his hand and the door swung wide. Concern blinded him. Caring cannoned through him, smashing the void within. He could feel it crash like shards of ice and right here, in the center of his chest, welled emotions pure and true.
“Tate.” Her blueberry-colored eyes widened. Her rosebud mouth opened in a shocked O. Tears tracked down her porcelain cheeks. Embarrassed at being caught, she swiped away the wetness but no amount of blinking stopped those tears.
Those tears broke him. He set down the quilts, his boots ate up the room, all he could see was her. Her misery, her fractured heart. She’d been alone most of her life, weathering hardship and disappointment and dreams that eluded her. She’d loved him when he had no faith in love. She’d given him a home, her kindness and Christmas. The tree held up branches festive with ribbons and bows and snowflakes. And what had he given her?
Not a home, but a house. Not a marriage, but an arrangement. Not her dreams, but the same loneliness she’d always known. But no more. He brimmed over with the wealth of gifts he could give her, freed from the prison of his sorrow. Love for her whispered within him as he went down on his knees before her, a quiet unfolding affection that would not end. It lit the darkest places until he felt basked in light.
“I’m sorry. It’s silly of me, a grown woman, crying like this.” She swiped at her pearled tears, embarrassment, shame, disgrace stealing the smile from her soft mouth. She sniffled. “Oh, I’m fine. Why did you come back? Do you need something? More blankets, maybe.”
“Shh. Don’t worry about me. What about you? You don’t look all right, darlin’.”
“F-fine.” Her chin trembled. She fought so hard but her eyes kept welling.
“Then maybe you won’t mind if I stay here with you for a while. I could read while you knit. Until it’s time for me to head across the street.” All he cared about, all he could see, was her. Golden tendrils, blue-tinted agony and the heartbreak wrung across her face. Her beloved face. “Maybe you would like some company?”
“You want to stay? With me?” Furrows dug into her forehead, as if she couldn’t figure out why he would ask, a man who did not want her. She blinked back the silvered tears pooled in her eyes, straightened her spine, determined to be strong. “Oh, I understand why you’re here. You want to talk.”
“I do.” He couldn’t deny it. Figuring out what to say and how to say it was tougher to figure out. He had no plan, he was just going on feeling.
“I know it’s never going to happen.” Vulnerable pain shone through her eyes for a single moment before she shook her head, winning the battle to hide it. “You are never going to be able to love me. I understand.”
“I don’t think you do.”
“It wasn’t as if you saw me across a crowded room and fell in love with me. This isn’t a fairy tale out of Gertie’s book.” She shrugged a slender shoulder, a little self-conscious movement, as if to dismiss her hurt, as if to say her risk in coming here was no big deal. “I answered a newspaper advertisement. It was a b-business arrangement. Nothing more.”
“I was wrong to say that. I thought it was all I could offer you. I wanted to be honest.”
“I know. You are an honest man, Tate.” Always caring, even when she was breaking apart. He wasn’t going about this the right way.
“I think it’s time we amend our business agreement.” He took a deep breath. “Render it null and void.”
“Of course, as you wish.” Her luminous eyes deepened, full of emotion, heavy with sorrow. “I can go on tomorrow’s train.”
“Go? Why would you want to do that?” Her cheeks were still damp, so he swiped away the remnants of her tears with the pads of his thumbs. Tenderness lived within him with a power that put a burn behind his eyes. “There is something about you that is extraordinary.”
“Me, extraordinary? No.” She shook her head, gossamer curls catching the light. “There’s nothing special about me.”
Yes, a man could lose himself in her eyes and never be found again. He wrapped a gossamer tendril around his forefinger and watched it gleam like liquid gold in the lamplight. “Extraordinary is too small of a word. I can’t think of one single woman in all of existence I would rather be with. I love you, Felicity.”
“You love me?” Surprise crumpled her forehead. Agony darkened her eyes, tears she could not let fall, a woman who could no longer believe. His chest hitched in sympathy, his heart alive just like it used to be. He knew a little something about hopelessness.
He cradled her delicate chin in the palm of his hand and lost himself a little more in her gaze. “Even if Gertie hadn’t picked you, I would have.”
“You would?” The pool of tears rising in her eyes undid him. The faint, rising hope shone through her tears, the heart of the woman, alone all these years, realizing she was loved beyond measure.
“It’s the truth. I could never love anyone the way I love you.” He leaned in until only a breath separated them, caught in those blueberry-colored depths. “No more marriage of convenience. It’s a real marriage I want, a real wedding with love at its center. I want to spend my life showing you exactly how much I treasure you, my beautiful wife.”
“Is this real? I’m afraid it’s just a dream.”
“I think it might be. A dream come true.” He leaned in,
his lips slanted over hers, his gaze full of love. Love for her.
So gentle, his kiss. His lips brushed hers like a blessing, faithful and true. Reverence filled her, a strong abiding affection that brimmed her heart and soothed her soul. She let her hands fall to his chest and beneath the bulk of his coat she knew his heart beat only for her. She let herself believe.
When he lifted his lips from hers, neither of them moved. The fire roared in the stove, the shadows faded from the room until there was only the two of them and the love soft on his face.
Love. She’d never seen anything as strong or true.
“I have a question to ask. It’s an important one.” His gaze held hers, full of sparkling emotion. The desolation was gone. Only grand affection blazed where despair had once lived. His smile gentled the sculpted handsomeness of his face, that was no longer stone. “Will you be my bride? Gertie and I can’t be a family without you.”
“Yes. I love you, Tate. I will always love you.” Dazzling joy sparkled through her, chasing away every sadness and leaving only hope. Not all loves lasted, but this one would. She could feel it in the poignant sweetness when he leaned closer to kiss her again. The lamplight flared, as if in a blessing, and she remembered to thank God for Tate’s love, the best Christmas gift ever.
Epilogue
Christmas Eve
Tate Winters tipped the brim of his Stetson to get a better look at the vestibule door. He couldn’t wait for his bride to come down that aisle. The church echoed around him with anticipation, and the flicker of candlelight fell like grace, a grace he could feel. He braced his shoulders, preparing for the best.
A commotion rose up in the vestibule, out of his sight, but the faint rush of the outside wind announced Felicity’s presence. A door whispered shut and light footfalls padded closer. With his heart whole, he turned toward the doorway, at peace. For a while there, hopelessness had gotten the best of him, but no more. Never again.