by Jillian Hart
“He made me this.” Thomas thrust up his treasured toy. “Bingo is a real mustang now.”
“Why, he certainly is.” Selma beamed. “What a fine job that is. Your Mr. McGraw has many talents it seems.”
“He’s not my Mr. anything.” Four years it had been since she’d lost her family. It would never stop hurting. She couldn’t open her heart like that again. Not to Caleb. Not to anyone. She helped Thomas out of his coat. “Go play quietly, Thomas.”
“Bingo wants to gallop along the canyons.” Thomas took off, eager to discover what great thrills and perils Bingo might find on the tables in the front of the bakery. It would keep him busy until it was time to leave for school.
“Such a sweet little guy. He’s gold, that’s for sure. Reminds me of my boys when they were that age.” Selma handed over a steaming cup of tea. “You must be cold. Come in and warm up. I need your fingers nimble. I was in the mood to make cinnamon rolls and that’s a lot of rolling.”
“I don’t mind one bit. I’m happy to roll all the dough you want.” She wrapped her cold fingertips around the cup and followed her employer down the hall and into the kitchen. Now, if only she could forget Caleb. Just the thought of him, attractive and manly, made her blood skitter.
She didn’t want to be attracted to the man. How did she stop her reaction to him?
“Excellent. So, tell me more about this Mr. McGraw.” With a merry wink, Selma adjusted the oven’s damper. “Is it handy having him around?”
“Why are you determined to marry me off?” She took a bracing sip of tea and let its warmth sluice across her tongue. Over the long counter she spotted Thomas racing Bingo along the edge of a table. Caleb had already made his son happy. She set down her cup next to the basin, poured water from the pitcher and washed her hands. “I’m content as I am.”
“Yes, but I’m holding out hope for you. You deserve more than a lonely existence.” Selma plunged a measuring cup into a flour bag. White powder puffed into the air like a cloud.
“Lonely? I’m not lonely.” She soaped up and rinsed. “I have Thomas.”
“I won’t argue there, but you are young. Don’t you want more from life?”
“No comment.” She dried her hands. “I’ve buried my husband. I don’t know if I can ever feel that way again.”
“I can see your point.” Selma sifted, turning the handle crank. Fine white flour rained onto the breadboard. “Mac came in late yesterday. He was on duty when your Mr. McGraw brought in that wanted man. Said it took a lot of skill and courage to face an outlaw like that. Mac thought highly of him.”
“I’m not surprised.” She couldn’t imagine who wouldn’t hold Caleb in high esteem. She did. At least she could take comfort in the fact that respect wasn’t love; it was a matter of admiration. As long as she could keep control of her feelings and her attraction to the man, then her heart would be safe.
Chapter Six
“Aunt Caroline?” Thomas scooted forward on the sled seat to get a better look through the twilight of winter’s early sunset. Blizzarding snow hampered his efforts. “What’s he doin’ up on our roof?”
“I don’t know.” She drew Kringle to a stop. The storm raged so fiercely she could barely see the porch. “Where is he?”
“There. By the chimney.”
She recognized that silhouette. A wide-shouldered shadow with his Stetson bowed against the wind raised a hammer and drove it downward. Perhaps hearing Kringle’s hooves on the hard-packed ice, he stopped, turned, rose slowly. A spectacular silhouette, unconquerable against the background of the storm. Her blood stilled. Why couldn’t she control her reaction to him?
“Hello, there.” Caleb swung down from the roof and dropped to the ground. Athletic, self-assured, glorious with every step he took. From her seated position in the sled, he seemed to rise up over her, a Goliath of a man. “Hope you two had a good day.”
“I could say the most S words of anybody in my whole grade.” Thomas spoke up. “What to hear ’em?”
“Sure I do.” Caleb’s gaze swung to meet hers and the great heart shining there made her blood feel like slow-heated molasses.
“There’s snow. Snowflakes. Sugar. Sugarplums.” Thomas’s pure voice rose and fell earnestly. “Sleigh. Santa Claus.”
“That’s a mighty fine list.” Caleb took hold of Kringle’s bridle bits. “I couldn’t think of that many words.”
“I’ve got more. There’s sugar cookies. Sweets. Stockings, the kind you hang from the fireplace. Socks, the kind you wear on your feet.”
“No wonder you came in first.” Caleb offered her his hand. “Let me help you. You’ve had a long day.”
“So have you by the looks of things.” Her palm met his and her legs felt weak as she rose from the seat. She lost her balance, lost her center and she knew why. Caleb. Her feet sank into the snow and found solid ground, but he did not release her hand. “You fixed our leaking chimney?”
“With any luck I did. We’ll have to go inside and see if it’s stopped leaking.” He brushed a curl of hair from her eyes with the lightest brush of his gloved thumb. “I had to make myself useful and pay back your hospitality.”
“You didn’t need to.”
“I wanted to do it for you.” His gaze found hers for a long moment, jarring her to the soul. Snow ceased falling, the icy wind stopped blowing and Caleb dominated her view. Uncertainty crossed his face. “I never want you to regret letting me into your life.”
“Regret it? I could never.”
“Never say never. That word has a way of coming around to bite you good and hard.” He had to close his eyes to keep them from drifting down to her lips. The need to kiss her, to know the sensation of her hammered at him, so he spun on his heels. Arctic winds battered him as he knelt to lift Thomas from the sled. “Hang on tight to Bingo.”
“He’s not afraid of blizzards.” Thomas reached out with both little arms and wrapped them around Caleb’s neck.
Nothing—not one thing—had ever felt as precious. He cradled his son tight for one priceless moment as he carried him to the porch. As much as he treasured Thomas, it was Caroline he noticed. He didn’t know why she drew him. There was some magic connection that bound them. A mystery he could not solve, because if he did then he would have to accept his deepening feelings for her.
Feelings he could never admit or acknowledge, much less reveal.
“I thought of more words that start with S and one that doesn’t.” Thomas released his arms the instant his shoes touched the porch. “Stormy. Strong. Friend.”
Hard not to fall in love even more with the boy. He saw himself in Thomas’s eyes, the child he’d once been. Innocent and open and infinitely good. He never thought anything could touch him this deep, not after what he’d been through. All the hardship, the abuse, even torture in that prison had worn the softness right out of him.
Thomas had given it back.
“I can think of a few words, too.” He gave the boy’s cap a gentle tug so it covered his ears completely. “Good. Smart. Friend.”
Thomas’s grin split his face, chasing away the shadows. Clutching Bingo, he dashed past Caroline, turned the doorknob and tromped inside, where it was warm. Caleb had lit and built the fires earlier so the house would be welcoming to him and Caroline, a refuge, the way home should be.
“I can’t believe you.” She breathed up at him, appreciation shimmering like a rare gem. When she looked at him like that, he felt ten feet tall. His past vanished, a tarnish that could not touch him as her smile grew. “How did you do all this?”
“I stopped by the jail and talked to the marshal. Learned who your landlord was and knocked on his door. He agreed to provide the supplies if I did the work.”
“And you’ve been busy all day.” She didn’t need his slow nod of confirmation to know it was true. She could see the evidence of his hard labor. The porch eaves no longer drooped, the porch boards didn’t squeak and the door no longer sagged. Not to mention the chimney. �
��What other kinds of trouble did you get into while I was at work?”
“Lots. When you go inside, you’ll see. I’m off to the stable next. If you want to write down a list of what else you need repaired, I’ll get to it tomorrow.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Consider it an early Christmas gift.” He shrugged, a bit bashful, and it looked good to her, a contrast to his breath-stealing masculinity. Her heart beat a little faster as he swept off his hat to brush away the snow clinging to it. “I said I would do what I could. I aim to take care of you and Thomas.”
“Just Thomas. Me?” She had to ignore the affection sweeping through her, strong enough to knock her off her feet. “You shouldn’t have to worry about me.”
“Sure I do. You and Thomas are a package deal. You take care of him, and I’ll take care of you.” As if unaware of what he’d said, of the commitment that rang like a promise made to be kept, he donned his hat, adjusted the brim. “Go on inside. I have a surprise in there.”
“A surprise?” Curiosity didn’t have a chance against the rising tide of pure emotion threatening to engulf her. Undiluted affection overpowered any thought about what awaited her inside the cabin. All she could see—all she could ever see—was him.
I vowed I wasn’t going to get carried away. She set her chin, straightened her shoulders and dug down deep for a way to stop it. But the emotion remained, refusing to end. Against her will it strengthened as he caught Kringle by the bits. The gelding nickered a friendly greeting, offering his nose for petting. The man obliged, stroking the old horse’s nose, a caring gesture.
This was Caleb’s fault. His alone. If he wasn’t so gentle, then she wouldn’t be hurting. If he wasn’t so kind, then she wouldn’t be struggling. His integrity was the reason she could not stop the wave of affection from rising higher, threatening to drown her.
I cannot love him. She planted her feet and fisted her hands. I must not. It took all the effort she had, every last scrap of strength to force her gaze away from the man, to resist the current of her emotions and break away. She stumbled through the doorway as if blind, pulling it closed behind her.
Warmth greeted her. Toasty air chased the chill from her clothes and the sting from her skin. She unwound her scarf in one frustrated tug.
“Aunt Caroline, look!” Thomas stood stock-still in the center of the sitting area, arms dangling, Bingo forgotten in one hand. “Is that a Christmas tree?”
“Yes, it is.” The pine tree stood tucked in the corner near the window, green boughs proudly high. Tears lodged in her chest, knotting tight, as memories of Christmases past rose up, happy ones as a newlywed and as a new mother. She hadn’t celebrated the holiday properly since the double funeral.
“I’ve never had one before. Granny didn’t approve of ’em.” Thomas hugged Bingo tight. “It’s like Christmas is already here.”
“There’s still more to come.” Her emotions tangled up, making it impossible to speak. She unbuttoned her coat, warring with her feelings for Caleb, with her warm memories of what was past and of her hope for what could be.
Hope. That was new.
She knelt down beside the boy and brushed his wayward dark locks out of his eyes, exactly like Caleb’s. Affection rushed higher and she found her voice. “Trust me, we haven’t started our celebrating yet.”
“But how’s it gonna get even better when it’s already so good?” Uncertainty etched across his button face as he stared at Bingo and then at the tree.
“Sometimes life just gets better and better. Usually about the time you think it never will.” She couldn’t help brushing a stray lock of hair out of his eyes. Impossible not to love this boy. “Tonight we’ll decorate the tree. That will be fun. Right?”
Thomas nodded, just once, turning to perhaps imagine those branches decorated with strings of popcorn.
“Tomorrow after work I start baking all our Christmas treats.”
“Does that mean cookies?”
“Cookies and fudge and popcorn balls.”
“I’ve never had popcorn balls.”
“See? And that’s just tomorrow. Caleb will be here the whole time. He can help hang your Christmas stocking. Does that sound good?”
“Santa Claus has never been to my house before. But now that I live here, do you think he might come?”
“You can count on it.” Her arms moved of their own accord to draw Thomas against her. The little boy stumbled against her, his small arms encircling her neck, holding on tight for the first time since he’d come to live with her. Bingo, clutched in one hand, bumped into her back but she didn’t mind. She gave Thomas a good squeeze so he felt secure, so he knew she was there for him.
When he released her, he kept hold of her heart. His boyish smile lit up the night.
“That was a mighty fine supper.” Caleb pushed back his chair, pleasantly full. He was hard-pressed to remember a tastier meal. Caroline’s roast beef, mashed potatoes and baked beans had spoiled him for the plainer fare he was used to—that he would be having once he was on the road again.
“I’m glad you think so.” Across the table, she set down her fork. Lamplight polished her with a lustrous glow. Porcelain complexion, ice-blue eyes, gold hair gleaming. She was more than beauty. Grace defined her as she cradled a teacup in her slender hands, long fingers curled around the mug.
Better get out of this chair. He’d be wise not to linger here, making more conversation, letting the domestic scene pull at him. He was in too much danger already; in danger of wanting to stay.
“Haven’t you done enough today?” She peered at him over her steaming tea. “Do you actually think I will let you do the dishes, too?”
“It was worth a try.” He liked Caroline. She sure knew how to hold her ground. He envied the man who would win her heart one day, who would have the right to marry her. He stacked his plate on Thomas’s—the boy was already playing with Bingo under the tree. “Don’t you even consider getting up. Sit and enjoy your tea. You deserve a moment off your feet.”
“And you don’t?”
“No, I do not.” He liked the shake of her head, the esteem and something more he didn’t know how to describe that shone from within her, emotions he could feel as he hefted the dishpan from its shelf and carried it to the stove’s reservoir.
“You’ve worked hard all day, Caleb. I don’t think three men could have done the amount of work as one of you.” She sipped slowly, watching him over the rim. “You are our guest. You didn’t need to do a thing.”
“Yes, I did, and there’s still more to do.” That something more he felt from her tugged at him, reeling him in like a fish on a hook, giving him no choice. He could fight it, he could give in but the end would be the same. “I intend to do right by you, Caroline, and you can’t stop me.”
“If that’s the case, then I don’t want to try.” It wasn’t appreciation ringing in her voice, but more.
It wasn’t gratitude he felt but more as he slid the pan on the edge of the table and began shaving curls off the soap bar.
“Tell me something about you. Something no one else knows.” She set down her cup with a faint clink, captivating him with a tilt of her head and a bob of her chin.
“When I was a boy, probably Thomas’s age, I wanted to grow up to be my father.” He set the bar of soap aside and dropped flatware into the steam and bubbles. “I couldn’t imagine anyone better. My father was a great man.”
“Tell me.” She rose from her chair with a whisper of petticoats. “What was he like?”
“Steadfast. Trustworthy. Honorable. He was like a mountain. Unshakable.” His granite features transformed, as if hopelessness no longer dogged him, as if he had come out of the cold, no longer drifting. “He was as tough as a Montana winter, but unbelievably kind.”
“Sounds like someone I know.” Her affections layered her words, impossible to hide because they were so big. Embarrassed, she grabbed the second pan to fill it for rinsing.
“
No, not me.” His arm brushed her shoulder, sending a spark of lightning zipping from flesh to soul. He didn’t seem to notice, he didn’t jerk away as she did, but took the pan from her. Always capable and steady, dependable Caleb. He cleared his throat, emotion troubling him, too. “I couldn’t have had a better pa. I followed him everywhere, the barn, the fields—where he was, I was. He taught me how to care for horses, how to grow wheat, how to stack hay.”
“Mending chimneys and sagging front doors?”
“Yes, those, too.” He slipped the pan onto the table beside its twin, so tall he took her breath away, so good he captured her.
How he captured her.
“All I wanted to be was him. I was seventeen when I lost him.” He bowed his head, as if determined to gloss over sad memories.
“Seventeen? You were still a boy.”
“I had to step up and be a man when ma fell ill. She went first. Pa lived for her. He couldn’t bring himself to leave her bedside.” A few splashes and he dropped a trio of forks into the rinse water. “The care of the crops and the cattle fell to me.”
“That was a lot of responsibility.” She plucked the forks from the water and swiped them with a towel. “I’m sure you were a great comfort to your parents.”
“I loved them so much, I refused to let them down. It was harvest, our entire income for the year, so I threshed the wheat, cut the corn and hay. We had a good yield that summer, but it wasn’t enough. Ma lingered, her doctor’s bills grew. After we lost her, Pa became ill. His care fell to me.”
“He was fortunate to have you.”
“I did my best for him. I gave him all I had. I mortgaged the farm to get him the medical treatment he needed, but nothing could stop the inevitable. When he was gone, I was alone. I was able to hold on to the land but it’s gone now. I lost everything. I have nothing left of them. Not one thing.”