Kit paused at the top landing, gazing out the window at the snow floating to the ground like dandelion seeds, barely a dusting, but a perfect match for the fluffy flakes that had fallen and piled up yesterday. Ideal for Christmas Eve. Movement, or maybe just instinct, had her turning toward the bottom of the stairs.
Clay, dressed in a black suit, stood there, near the large decorated tree, and as he caught her gaze, he held up one hand. Her heart tumbled sweetly, and she lifted her burgundy skirt high enough to glide down the steps. He took her hand and kissed her knuckles as she arrived at the bottom.
“You look lovely,” he said in that husky way that sent her senses askew.
“You have to say that,” she teased. “You’re my husband.”
“Which means I get to appreciate your beauty more than anyone else.” His gentle kiss was one of those she cherished the most. The tenderness made her insides hum like a lullaby.
“How long until the children arrive?” she asked, almost breathless when his lips left hers.
“Not long enough for what you have in mind,” he said, running his hands down the length of her back.
She giggled. “You’ve gotten so good at reading between the lines.”
He laughed as he drew her farther into the vast parlor of their house. That beautiful, wonderful house on the mountainside, where love percolated in every room.
“Sam sent a message with the miners,” Clay said. “He’ll be here for supper.”
“Wonderful,” she said. “I hope he’s bringing Massachusetts with him. I had Mr. Wilson save a ham bone just for him.”
Clay laughed. “His cabin is done, too. If the weather holds, we can ride out so you can see it.”
She nodded, but didn’t instantly agree, knowing he might very soon change his mind about allowing her to ride up the mountain. Switching subjects, she pointed to the packages piled beneath the tree. “I hope the children like the gifts we picked out.”
“How could they not?” Clay replied. “You bought practically everything they asked for.”
Kit placed her hand on her stomach, thinking of the gift she’d wrapped and tucked under his pillow in their bedroom upstairs. She could barely wait for him to open it tonight. Afraid he might be reading her mind at this very moment, as he had the uncanny ability to do, she said, “Well, thanks to Adeline, the meal will be perfect. She left a short time ago, to help Clarice get the children ready.” Feeling her cheeks warm, Kit added, “There will be no burned biscuits for our Christmas Eve dinner.”
“I don’t mind burned biscuits,” Clay said, kissing that sensitive spot beneath her ear he knew drove her crazy.
Giving him a gentle, teasing shove, she said, “Only because you’re too kind. You’ve endured eight months of my terrible cooking without saying a word. You would rather eat burned food than hurt my feelings.”
“You’re learning,” he said. “And it hasn’t been that bad. Besides, you make up for it in other ways.”
Her mind flashed again to the gift upstairs, and her hand was back on her stomach. The spot where a miniature Clay—or possibly Kit—Hoffman grew. It had been hard to contain, especially once she knew for sure, but she wanted to keep the secret until he opened the package. She’d bought the frame in Denver, on one of their trips there. Inside the private car he’d had refurbished just for their travels, she held no fear of traveling over the bridges. Actually, Clay kept her so occupied while the train rolled along, she never knew when they crossed a bridge.
The hinged frame was for his desk, and had space for two pictures. She’d put a picture of the two of them, taken shortly after their wedding, in one side, and in the other she’d slipped a piece of paper with a penned message. A large question mark, followed by the words due to arrive summer 1886.
“What,” Clay said, running a finger down the side of her face, “are you thinking about so hard?”
The desire to tell him had her nerves jittering.
“Your cooking is—”
She kissed him, stopping him from praising something that was awful. He was the most wonderful man on earth. Another subject popped into her head. “I received a letter from Mr. Watson today.”
He eyed her suspiciously. “You did?”
“Yes. He’s sold the house in Chicago.”
“He did?” Clay kissed her brow. “You’re still sure about that?”
She nodded. “Yes. There’s nothing in Chicago I need. Never really was. It was all out here.” Kissing his lips, she added, “Just like Gramps always knew it would be.”
Clay took her arms, held her gaze with one filled with love and care. “Some days I wonder how I could have missed exactly what that stipulation said.”
“Gramps wrote it that way, so neither of us would know what he was doing.”
“The old matchmaker,” Clay said, kissing her nose. “Though I’m still glad Watson confirmed we were reading ‘see stipulation two as it pertains in direct relation with stipulation one concerning specific marriage of said heir’ correctly.”
The way he quoted the will made her laugh again. “He knew exactly what specific marriage Gramps was referring to.”
“I guess I was just being cautious.” Clay tugged her hips against his. “I’d already been robbed.”
She frowned. “By One Ear? The dynamite?”
“No, by you,” he said, kissing the tip of her nose again.
“Me?”
“Yes, you robbed the heart right out of my chest. Lock, stock and barrel. I’m still trying to figure out how that happened so fast. I didn’t feel a thing.”
Smiling, she looped her arms around his neck, nuzzled his chin with her nose. “Well, you’d best get used to it, because I’m not giving it back. Ever.”
“Ever?”
She laid her head against his chest, held him tight. “Never, ever.” Leaning back, she added, “You’re all I’ll ever need. Ever want.”
“We can still do the Oscar Becker Memorial Community Library here,” he said, kissing her forehead. “If it’s something you still want.”
Knowing she’d soon be too busy with their child, and future children, to worry about a library, she shook her head. “No, I like the addition you had built onto the school. The children have full access to the books, and their parents do as well. Besides, our love for each other is the best tribute we could give Gramps. He knew all I ever wanted was a family.”
“Somehow he knew that about me, too,” Clay whispered.
He kissed her then, until she was practically dizzy and her stomach was fluttering. It couldn’t be the baby moving, not yet, but the thought of the new life growing inside her made the urge to tell him peak. She bit her lip, really wanting to wait until they were snuggled in the big bed upstairs.
A suspicious glitter was back in his eyes. “Kit,” he said hesitantly, “what aren’t you telling me?”
A knock on the door and the giggles of children on the porch kept the words in her mouth. This once, she’d keep her impulses in check. “I’ll tell you later,” she said, tugging him toward the door. “Tonight, while we’re snuggled in our bed.” Then, unable to resist giving him something to read between the lines, she added, “When we’re talking about our family.”
* * * * *