Jubilant Montana Christmas (Bear Grass Springs Book 5)

by Ramona Flightner

  “If she were like she was before she married Ewan, she would write about Sorcha stuck at Frederick’s ranch,” Leena said. “He always seemed a nice man to me when he was in town in the spring to help his grandparents.”

  “That’s because he was flirting with you to make Sorcha jealous,” Annabelle said, earning a shocked stare from her friend. “At least that’s what we think he was doing.”

  “He was never inappropriate,” Leena stammered. “Karl would have been very upset had he known.”

  “It was harmless flirting, Leena, and you didn’t even notice it because you were so enamored of your Karl.” Annabelle smiled as Leena flushed. After Annabelle finished mixing together the dough for her oatmeal raisin cookies, she paused to look at her friend. Although Leena always attempted to remain positive and upbeat, she now sported dark circles under her eyes, and she lacked her usual vitality. “Why don’t you speak with him?”

  Leena frowned in confusion. “Why should I speak with Frederick? He’s at the ranch.” After a moment her gaze cleared, and she looked away. “What should Karl and I speak about?”

  “What matters,” Annabelle murmured. “You’ve shown him what you want. You’ve shown him that you can live apart. But do you want your separation to continue? Do you want to live away from him forever?” When Leena remained silent, Annabelle shrugged. “For, if you do, you should speak to Warren about obtaining a divorce.”

  Leena reacted as though she’d been sucker punched. “No, never that.”

  “Then you must do something. You can’t continue to hide here, refusing to leave, barely going to the café for fear you might see him.” Annabelle scrubbed at her forehead, swiping it with flour as she always did when she baked. “Be brave, Leena. Face Karl and your fears. For you already know what the worst could be.”

  Leena raised wounded, devastated eyes to meet Annabelle’s gaze. “Yes, a life without him.”

  Annabelle fought her own tears as she clasped her friend’s hand. “Yes.”

  The following evening, Leena looked at the scene she had prepared in the bakery. She had transformed the butcher-block countertop into a makeshift table. A fine cloth covered part of it, with the table set for two and candles lit. The scent of roasting chicken, rather than baking bread, filled the kitchen. Karl and she would sit looking across the counter from each other, with her goal to talk with each other.

  She fought wringing her hands together but failed as the hour of his arrival came and passed. She straightened an already straight fork beside one of the plates and then sat dejectedly on a stool as the candle wax seeped down the side of the candle and onto the tablecloth. She sniffled and then rose to take the chicken from the oven before it burned to a crisp.

  At the loud knock on the back door, she set down the chicken and then moved to the door. Unable to ascertain who stood outside, she eased it open. “Karl?”

  “Are you expecting someone else?”

  “No,” she whispered, suddenly shy. She stepped back, and he entered, covered in snow, ice clinging to his eyebrows and hair. “Oh, you’re freezing,” she whispered as she raised her hands to cup his reddened ears. She blushed at her impulsive action and moved to drop her hands, only keeping them in place when he held them there.

  “That feels like heaven,” he whispered as his eyes closed.

  After a moment she tugged away her hands. “Get out of your wet clothes, and stand by the large oven. Warm yourself over there.”

  He looked at the romantic scene and froze. “Leena?” He shook his head, sprinkling icy water on the floor. “I thought we would go to the café for dinner.”

  “I want us to talk without interruption or as others gossip around us. Harold and Irene are nice, and I’ve enjoyed their support.” She met his guarded gaze. “But I don’t want them to interfere tonight.” She gripped her hands at her waist as he remained quiet, staring at her. “I hope that is all right.” She relaxed as he smiled broadly at her.

  After hanging his coat, hat and scarf on a peg by the door, he headed to the stove. “Heaven again,” he whispered as he closed his eyes while the warmth permeated him. He shivered violently a few times as though his body fought giving up the cold it held within, and then he relaxed. “Ah, I already dread going back out in that storm.”

  “Come. Enjoy dinner before it cools too much,” Leena urged her husband. She motioned for him to sit on the side near the oven to continue to warm up. After serving their simple meal of roasted chicken, potatoes and root vegetables, they ate in silence.

  “Why did you want to see me, Leena? We aren’t talking, if that was why you wanted me here.”

  She set down her fork with a clatter and darted a glance at him. “I wanted to see if you still feel the same way.” She frowned at her whispered words.

  He took another bite of his meal before pushing away his fork and plate. “I will not lie to you, Leena. I do. I want you home.”

  She frowned. “You want me home to be only with you, or you want me to return home to live the life we were creating?”

  He sighed and clenched his hands together into tight fists. “I don’t know,” he whispered. “I wish I did.”

  She smiled, and he watched her in confusion. “Thank you for not lying. For not promising me that you’ve changed just to have me return, when you are still uncertain.”

  He nodded. “If I’ve learned one thing, my love, it is that I hate living alone. I miss you singing in the kitchen. Your scent. Your small touches as you pass by me.” His eyes lit. “I miss holding you in my arms at night.”

  She nodded. And, rather than appear encouraged, she looked miserable. “I know. I miss your deep voice. Your laugh. Your stories.” She sniffled. “I don’t like this disagreement, Karl.”

  “Then come home,” he urged, reaching forward to grip her hand.

  “I can’t. Not until I know we are in agreement about my work.” She tensed as she expected him to rise and pace and rail at her. Instead, he sat in quiet contemplation before nodding.

  “Ja, you’re correct.” He rose with reluctance. “I don’t look forward to the return trip to the sawmill tonight.” With that, a loud gust of air rattled the back door and windows.

  Leena rose and opened the door to peer outside. She shrieked as a pile of snow cascaded inside, and she jumped backward. An icy gust burst into the room, and she pushed with all her might to slam the door shut around the snow and wind, to no avail.

  Karl stood behind her and, with minimal effort, slammed the door shut. He chuckled and then stilled as he inadvertently had Leena in his arms for the first time in over a week. “Are you well, my Leena?”

  “Karl,” she whispered, turning into his arms. “I …” She raised a hand to trace his whiskered cheek. “You can’t travel home in this tonight.”

  He nodded. “I can sleep at the livery or rent a room at the hotel.”

  She stared into his eyes and shook her head. “No, you’ll stay with me tonight.” She shook her head to dampen the hope rising in his. “I can sleep in the comfortable rocking chair.”

  “No,” he growled. “Let me hold you again, my love.” He bent forward, brushing his lips against her hairline and then down the side of her cheek. “Let me dream.”

  “Nothing has changed,” she whispered.

  “But it has,” he countered as he pulled her into his arms. “We are talking rather than fighting. There is hope again.”

  She let out a shuddering sigh and gradually relaxed in his powerful arms. “Ja, we have hope again.” She rubbed her cheek against his chest and clasped her arms more tightly around him. “I’ve missed this. I’ve missed you.”

  “Are you sure?” he whispered, doubt present in his voice.

  She pushed back to trace her fingers through his hair and then down his face. “Ja.”

  His eyes were tormented as he stared deeply into hers. “You doubted marrying me.” His expression became even more serious as she flushed and broke eye contact. “Leena?”

  “Th
e man you were becoming wasn’t the man I thought I’d married,” she whispered. “You were a brute, trying to break my will.” She blinked as she fought tears. “I take pride in what you do at the sawmill. Why can’t you be proud of what I accomplish here?”

  He stared at her dumbstruck a moment before his hold on her tightened. “I am proud, Leena. It’s my pride that is the problem.”

  She shook her head and then shivered as the melting snow seeped into her slippered feet. “Come. Let me clean up the snow, and then let us retire.”

  He stilled her erratic movement away from him. “Together?”

  She met his hopeful expression. “Yes, together.”

  Karl tracked his wife’s movement through the small bedroom, frustrated as she turned her back and slipped into a voluminous white nightgown that could fit a family of twenty. She had never been shy about coming to bed with barely a shift on before their fight, and he found something else to mourn in their marriage.

  “Why are you frowning?” she whispered as she brushed her hair before deftly braiding it and tying it with a ribbon.

  “That ugly nightgown,” he said with a roll of his eyes in disgust before he flopped back onto the bed.

  Leena giggled. “It’s a hand-me-down from Irene. I didn’t leave with much.”

  Karl rolled to his side and propped himself up on one elbow. He had shucked his clothes, leaving them near the potbellied stove to warm overnight and only had on his underclothes. His strong arms and chest muscles caught her attention as he moved, and he smiled. “Come, Leena.” He held out his hand to her, frowning as she bit her lip and hesitated.

  “I think it would be better if I slept in the chair.”

  “Love, sleep in my arms tonight,” he coaxed.

  She flushed and looked down, her braid flopping over one shoulder and reaching to her breast. She remained standing near the bed but too far from him to touch her while laying or sitting on the bed.

  He threw back the covers, shivering as the cool air hit his skin, even though the air had been warmed by the stove. “Leena, what have I done?” He eased out of the bed to stand before her and traced a finger along her neck to her shoulder, stilling his movement when a tear tracked down her cheek. “Do you want me to go?”

  She lowered her head. “You’ll think me …”

  “What, my love?” he whispered as he bent over, breathing in her scent of ginger and cardamom as he kissed her head.

  “Shameless.”

  He froze at her breathed word. “Leena?”

  “I want to make love with my husband,” she said as she lifted her head and met his shocked gaze. “Even though we aren’t reconciled, and I’m not moving home.”

  He smiled and cupped her cheeks, chasing away her tears. “There’s no need to cry, my darling, for wanting me. For loving me,” he whispered, the last said with hope in his voice.

  “I should want to wait until we are fully reconciled,” she said, swaying toward him and his soothing touch. “I should be able to restrain this want. I should …”

  “Enough with the damn shoulds,” he rasped, swooping down and kissing her, the kiss demanding and passionate. He groaned as she stepped forward, pressing against his front and wrapping her arms around his neck. He shivered as her fingers traced over his muscles, and he pulled her even closer.

  After a moment he spun her, laughing with her as they toppled onto the bed.

  She pushed at him until she draped over him, and she pulled back farther, her fingers seeming to map each of his muscles. He arched up for more of her gossamer-soft touch when she sat up fully, easing herself off him.

  “No, my Leena, don’t go,” he gasped.

  He stilled his frantic grasping for her and silenced his begging when she looked at him with a passionate intensity and a mischievous look in her eye. She scooted up on her knees, hitching the large nightgown over her hips. She shivered as his hands caressed her thighs, and then she lifted the gown upward and over her head, tossing it to one side of the bed. She groaned when his hands rose, brushing over her breasts.

  “I’ve missed you so much.”

  As he rose up, kissing her neck and collarbone, she threw her head back, before he rolled her so she lay with him over her.

  Her fingers brushed away a lock of hair that hung over his forehead, and she leaned up, kissing him softly. “Love me, Karl. Love me like you used to,” she pleaded. She smiled as he groaned.

  “With pleasure, min kjærlighet,” he whispered as he kissed her neck. He fell into further passion as he slipped into Norwegian for “my love.” Rather than continue to speak in English, he returned to his native language to whisper to her, between kisses, how beautiful she was, how much her passion pleased him and how much he had missed her.

  Leena stirred when she felt Karl slipping from the bed. “No. Don’t leave me yet.” Her hands reached out from under the covers, tracing along soft skin as he moved from her. She peeked over the pillows in confusion as he chuckled.

  “I’m putting out the candles, darling. I don’t want to start a fire.” He blew them out and then banked the fire in the little stove before crawling into bed again with her. He hauled her up against him, shivering as she warmed him after his short walk around the tiny bedroom. “I’d hold you forever if you’d let me.”

  “Karl,” she whispered, “why is it so important that I remain at the house?” She rubbed her cheek against his chest as his fingers played with her hair, now loosened from its braid.

  “You know what my childhood was like, Leena,” he said in a soft voice as they listened to the wood crackling and the wind howling outside.

  She pushed up and attempted to see his face in the deep shadows of the room. “You were an orphan, taken in by the Johansens. You spent as much time with Nathanial as you could. I can scarcely remember a day you weren’t at a meal with us.”

  He nodded. “Did you never wonder why?” He held her face between his palms.

  “I always thought it was because they were old, and you liked our company better.”

  “I did my chores. I kept their farm running. But I was never their son. Never their family.” He shook his head. “Not after I refused to allow them to turn me into Bjorn.” He spat the name as though it were cursed.

  “Bjorn?” Leena whispered. “Their dead son?” She frowned when he nodded. She had never known Bjorn but had heard a lot about him from her family as their farm neighbored the Johansen farm in Norway. “But you’re nothing like Bjorn.”

  “I know,” he said in a harsh whisper.

  “No, what I mean is that he was fragile and bookish and quiet. Everyone talked about how he never would have been able to do the farm work and how fortunate the Johansens were to adopt you.” She shook her head in confusion. “You’re brawny and strong and filled with life.”

  His blue eyes gleamed with years’ worth of pent-up anger and impotent rage. “When I was chosen to leave the orphanage, I was happy. Few children older than one or two are chosen until we’re old enough to work a farm.” He paused. “But I was chosen when I was eight.”

  She frowned and bit her lip. When he looked at her in confusion, she whispered, “How many other boys were eight at the orphanage?”

  “None.”

  She cupped his face. “Bjorn was eight when he died. Did you meet the Johansens before you arrived at their farm?”

  “No, I was sent there after a letter arrived at the orphanage.”

  Her gaze grew mournful. “What happened after you arrived?” She ran her fingers over his shoulders as though reassuring herself that he was well. “Karl? What did they do to you?”

  “Mrs. Johansen slapped me. Said I was nothing like Bjorn, and I had to learn my place.” His gaze was distant. “I didn’t know what she meant. I thought they had wanted me.”

  Leena’s eyes filled at those revealing words. “What did you do?”

  He shrugged. “At first, they wanted me to act like him, speak like him, dress like him. When I didn’t, I earned
a whack with the cane. Soon I was big enough that I broke the cane in half.” He paused as he let out a deep breath. “Then Mr. Johansen ceased speaking with me. I was no more than a laborer to him. She”—his voice filled with loathing—“she decided I should not eat. I was not Bjorn and refused to replace him for them. Her Bjorn was dead and not eating, and thus I shouldn’t either.”

  Leena raised a palm and traced it over his brow. “Which is why you always were at our house for meals. Why you always had a neighboring fence or animal to work on at mealtime.”

  “Ja. Your mother suspected and never complained about making her food stretch for another. Even for another as hungry as I was. Growing boys eat so much.”

  “Oh, Karl,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around him and laying her head on his chest again. “I hate that you were shown such little kindness.”

  He kissed her head. “But I was,” he whispered. “By your mother. Your father. All of you. You never looked at me and wished I were different.” He pushed her back until they were looking at each other in the shadows. “Until I asked you to stop baking.” He shivered.

  “What?” she whispered.

  “You looked at me like she did,” Karl rasped. “Like Mrs. Johansen.”

  “How did I look at you?” She furrowed her brows as she stilled her hands. She wanted to focus on this conversation, rather than provoke any ill-timed passion.

  “As though I were wanting. As though I could never be what you truly desired.”

  She saw a fleeting flash of hurt and devastation in his eyes before he closed them. She sat there, perched on his chest as her mind raced at what she had unwittingly done. “Karl, you tried to take away something that brings me great joy. For no reason I could understand. I was angry.”

  “When I asked you if you were upset to have married me, you paused before saying no,” he said. “You paused, Leena.”

  “In that moment I was upset, and you weren’t acting like the man I thought I knew.” She traced her hands over his chest.