Emily stared at the list in front of her then gazed at the sky outside the window. A gray day, with flat, dove-gray clouds to the west. That morning when taking the dogs out for their run, she felt a tinge of ice in the air. She wouldn’t be surprised if they had another snow in the next day or two. However, on the inside, she basked as if under the sun’s glow—Will was coming this afternoon to do business with her father, and staying for supper. Mother sat across from her in the matching chair, working at mending.
Emily dragged her attention back to the list—cookies, fudge, and taffy.
She’d been thinking about anything this afternoon except refreshments for the family’s Christmas caroling night. The family would sing carols together, and sometimes the Olsens and their extended family would join them. Some years, other friends from Jackson would take their sleighs to the ranch.
“We’ve invited William, and his friend, Miss Clark, to the caroling night,” Mother said.
“I don’t want to sound like a poor hostess, but I must say I’m not overly anxious for Miss Clark to visit.” Emily regretted the choice of words. Christmas was the most charitable time of year, and Emily truly bore Amelia Clark no ill will. But that didn’t mean she wanted to spend more time with the young woman than she was required to.
“We must include her as well. She’s likely homesick, especially now. I know I was. My first Christmas here, I welcomed the chance to celebrate with my new friends. And, your father.” Mother looked up from her needlework and stared at the dancing flames in the fireplace.
“They’ve had supper nearly every night together at the hotel.”
“Maybe, maybe not. That bit of information came from Estella Greene, and I don’t trust the reliability of her words. I think it’s her attempt at stirring the pot.” Mother shook her head. “Anyway, don’t trouble yourself about Amelia. Better he decide now who he loves, and if there’s anything we can do to make it happen sooner than later, all the better for both you and Amelia.”
“I don’t like feeling this way.” Emily set the list and pencil down on the end table. “We spoke at church, and he told me how much he’s looking forward to coming today, and having supper, too. He … he said he missed me.”
“Ah, that’s a good sign. Well, I should check on supper. We’re having roast with vegetables. And he’s going to love the pie you made for dessert.” Mother rose from her chair and set her mending on the cushion. Then she tugged on the hem of her shirtwaist. “I’ll be back soon.”
As Mother stepped from the parlor, the clock gonged two, and at the sound, Emily’s heart skipped a beat. She at first resisted the urge to go to the front window and see if Will had ridden into the ranch yard. But no one was there to see her, so she stepped to the window anyway.
The scruffy dark brown horse, ridden by a familiar figure, was in the distance and approaching. Will! He made a good figure on horseback, with his leather satchel bouncing on his hip, his hat slung low over his brow. A gust of wind made both him and the horse duck their heads as they moved forward.
She glanced down at her trousers and everyday shirtwaist that had strands of dog fur on it. Mother hadn’t said anything about her appearance earlier, for which Emily was thankful. Of course she wasn’t a child who needed prompts regarding her wardrobe. She left the window and scurried up the stairs to her bedroom before Will arrived. Pa would leave John and Sam out feeding the cattle today. In fact, the kitchen door creaked below the moment Emily opened her own door.
“How’s my lovely Belle?” her father’s voice echoed up the stairwell.
“Doin’ just fine, Mr. Covington.” Mother’s voice held a teasing tone.
Emily smiled as she closed her bedroom door behind her. Then she marched to her armoire and flung open the door. No, the outfit she’d worn to the town meeting would be too fancy for supper. Trousers weren’t an option, either. She pulled out her favorite skirt of gray-blue. Mother said it made her eyes appear bluer. She chose her Sunday-best white shirtwaist to go with the skirt and lost no time changing.
A murmur of voices—Will’s voice as he stepped into the house then Pa welcoming him.
She descended the stairs just in time to hear Pa say something about Will and him meeting in the study. Pa’s “study.” It sounded stuffy, but it contained a simple desk along with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, reminders of Pa’s days studying to be a preacher before he moved west.
Ah well, so she didn’t get to see Will before he and Pa went to conduct business. Pa had only said he wanted to file paperwork and needed Will’s assistance. Pa hadn’t bought any more land in the past few years, that she could remember. So perhaps it wasn’t about real estate. Unless he was now enlarging the borders of the ranch because of the general lack of elbow room in his opinion. However, she knew enough about the ranch to know they’d had a hard go of it the past few years but looked ahead to an upswing.
Emily headed for the kitchen, where Mother bustled about. She’d taken the roast from the oven and was slicing a generous chunk off one end.
“Dishing up some supper for the hands. They’ve worked hard today, and I figure if we’re eating so well, they ought to have a share.”
Sam stepped into the kitchen. “Smells good, Ma. Hey, Em, your beau is here.”
“I saw him riding up.” Her beau. She didn’t take his teasing bait.
“I guess you did.” He studied her outfit. “You look mighty dressed up for a Friday night supper.”
“If I want to dress for supper, I can.” Really, there were times it seemed as if he were five years old again, tagging after her.
“Here.” Ma held a large covered pan in Sam’s direction. “Before you take your coat off, run this out to the bunkhouse for Stu and Bud.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Sam nodded and took the pan from his mother. “Be right back.”
“I’ll get the door for you,” Emily volunteered and headed for the kitchen door. She flung it open and allowed Sam to pass. “Oh, it’s snowing.”
Lovely white flakes drifted down, peaceful and soft. A breath of wind pelted some of the flakes past her shoulders and into the kitchen.
“What you’re proposing is fairly simple, Mr. Covington. However, this isn’t part of your will?”
“No. Ownership won’t change until after my death, but the land will still belong to the family.”
Zeb Covington stood from behind his desk then went to the window. “A man gets to the age when he knows he’s looking at fewer days ahead of him than behind.”
“Sir, I’d like to think you still have many, many days ahead of you.” Will took more notes.
“Thank you, Mr. Adams. Truth be told, none of us on earth knows. But I want more than my soul to be prepared. I want to know they’re all well taken care of. I’ve seen this place grow from barely a house on the landscape to a thriving town. And someday, after I’m gone, I still want there to be a Covington Ranch.”
“Well, Lord willing, Mr. Covington, that will happen.”
Nodding, Zeb took his seat behind the desk again. “So, young lawyer, I’d like to ask you an important question.”
“Yes, sir?”
“What are your intentions toward my daughter? I understand there’s another young woman, too, who’s come a long way to see you and try out Jackson, to see if it’s to her liking.” Zeb stroked his beard and stared at Will across the desk.
Will met the full force of Zeb’s gaze. “Well, my intentions toward your daughter are entirely honorable. Ever since I’ve been back in Jackson, she’s claimed my attention. Also, she helped save my life. She’s a formidable woman.”
“I’m sure your intentions are honorable. You’re spoken well of in the community, and you’re faithful in church and a temperate man. Not given to rage, but a man more given to prayer, I’m told.”
Will nodded. “Thank you.”
“That said, given you recognize my Emily’s attributes, I won’t tolerate anyone being double minded about her. She doesn’t deserve it. Emily’s not like many women. She’s got her mother’s grace and my backbone.”
If this was how Mr. Covington grilled all of Emily’s suitors, no wonder she still hadn’t landed a husband. Despite the fact there was no woodstove in the room, Will’s forehead beaded with sweat.
“I’ve seen Emily’s attributes, like I said. And I would never want to hurt her, or cause her pain.”
“But you have this young woman, traipsing around as if she’s waiting for you to propose. Again.”
“Sir, I had nothing to do with her coming here. I didn’t encourage it, not in the least. I’ve told her, too, that I’m not leaving Jackson, not for her, or anyone.”
“Yet still, she stays. Which is why I need to know: if you’re not intending to marry my daughter, tell her so. I’d rather her know now, than let more time go by and her end up heartbroken. You proposed marriage at one time to this Miss Clark. That’s a very serious thing, indeed.”
“Yes, it is. However, I’d always told her I planned to return west one day, and not stay in the East.”
Zeb nodded slowly. “Then for Miss Clark’s sake, I hope you convince her she’s not the one for you.”
Will tried not to squirm on his chair. Yes, Zebulon spoke the truth. Every day that Amelia remained in the West was one day closer to a broken heart, and one day closer to being stuck in Jackson for the remainder of the winter.
He had a sudden recollection of a summer’s day, out fishing with his father.
“My father used to have a saying he told me when I was a little boy: fish, or cut bait.”
“I’d say that’s excellent advice, Mr. Adams.”