“Technically, I asked her.”
Seth pulled the curry comb through Coop’s tail, then moved to his shoulder and worked back. He hadn’t ridden the gelding in the last couple of days, and Coop’s heavy winter coat needed a good brushing.
“All right. Maybe not. It wasn’t the most poetic proposal known to man, but I’m not some high-collared gent she’d meet in Denver.”
Coop bobbed his head as if in agreement. Seth ran the comb down his back, and the flesh quivered in response.
After finishing the left side, he moved around to the right, continuing along Coop’s body and upper legs, then removed the long tail hair from the comb, dislodging the short thicker hair with it. He brushed the horse, checked each hoof, and rewarded Coop’s good nature with a can of oats.
Seth had worn a groove in his brain, deep as a wagon rut going over what he’d said to Abigale last night in the barn. He’d shown his hand, and he didn’t know what to say different now. He loved her and thought he’d told her so.
But she’d pulled away.
Coop looked at him over the stall and tossed his head. For no good reason. Same thing he’d done when Seth was training him as a colt.
He did it again and blew, then went back to the oats. The mannerism was something Seth’d had to figure out. It’d taken him a while, but he was no quitter, and he eventually won the gelding over.
If he’d given up, he wouldn’t have the fine horse he had today. The working relationship they had. The mutual trust and companionship.
Some things were worth repeating until you got them right.
He reached over the stall and patted Coop’s neck. “You’re a good man, Cooper Brown.”
“Did you just call your horse a man?”
More than the surprise of her showing up, the challenge in Abigale’s tone tilted Seth’s heart toward hope. Where there was a spark, there was chance of a flame.
Keeping a tight rein on anticipation, he turned and faced her.
She was different somehow. Just as pretty, just as bold, but there was a softness around her eyes as she handed him a small bundle.
“These are from, uh, your mother. She thought you might be hungry.”
Abigale always had been a horrible liar.
“Thank you—I mean, her. Thank her for me.” He unfolded the napkin and found a gingerbread man with a frosted smile. The cookie beneath it had been cut differently, without legs, but what looked like a skirt. He met Abigale’s gaze as she read his reaction.
She crossed her arms and glanced away. “We’ve been experimenting.”
The cookies were still warm. “Want a bite? I’ll share.”
“No, they’re for you. I—your mother—wanted you to have them. There are plenty more inside.”
He finished off the first one. “No milk?”
Her fists shot to her hips, her eyes narrowed. “Seth Holt, you ungrateful, incorrigible—”
One step took him to her, close enough to smell flour and cinnamon on her clothes. Close enough that her skirt brushed his leg and his boot clipped the edge of hers.
She didn’t back away.
He gentled his voice, resisting the urge to trail his fingers along her lovely neck. “You say there are others where these came from?”
She looked up at him with more than cookies on her mind, that much he knew for certain.
“Yes.” Her hands dropped from her waist, and she pressed one against his chest, pinning him like a nail through a horseshoe. Quiet-like, as if she was telling him a secret, she raised up on her toes and her breath danced against his ear. “All you have to do is ask.”
~
Christmas Eve arrived as frozen and lustrous as Abigale had found Aspen Falls, sheathed in a crystalline snow that kept Seth and his father parading from the wood pile to the back porch.
But the smells circling the kitchen were enough to warm her from the inside out. Turkey and dressing, pot roast and gravy. Pies—pumpkin, canned cherry, and mincemeat—and crocks full of cookies.
Her peppermint-candy pull had succeeded on her first attempt, so she’d made a second batch just for fun, resulting in a tidy bundle of twisted white canes for everyone in the family. In each length of ribbon securing the candy, she tucked a sprig of blue spruce harvested from the windbreak that hedged the ranch. The festive appearance pleased her immensely.
Almost as much as Seth’s reaction to her peace offering.
There was no way of knowing if he’d understood her unspoken message with the gingerbread man and lady. But there was no doubting the hammer of his heart beneath her hand when she’d whispered in his ear.
Heat to rival Ida’s cookstove shot through Abigale every time she thought about it. Which was nearly every minute and the main reason she’d opened the collar of her blouse and rolled up her sleeves.
Preparations were completed, the tree decorated, and the table set with Ida’s best dishes. Emmy poked at packages until her mother set her to sorting buttons from an old jar.
Dinner was planned for near two o’clock, and wood was stacked on the back porch to last through the night. Seth and his father had made themselves scarce, and Abigale rejoiced in that small mercy. In the last few days, her hesitancy to love Seth had reverted to her earlier impulse to fling herself into his arms. Especially since she knew what those arms felt like.
Abigale stole away to her room, where she could work on her gifts. From the brown paper wrapping the scarf had come in, she cut fanciful shapes and tied one to each ribboned bundle of candy, labeling them with the recipient’s name and a verse she thought appropriate for the person.
Her own verse played through her thoughts, impressed there as permanently as Mams’s fine stitches on the pillow. Trust in the Lord, and do good.
Ida’s remarks about faith and trust had shed new light on the familiar phrase, particularly the little word Abigale had so often skipped over. Somehow, it now made a world of difference.
She wrapped Seth’s candy with the remaining paper and then the silk scarf before sliding it into one of the woolen socks he’d used the night he’d found her. That night seemed so long ago now, though it had been merely weeks.
Oddly enough, she’d been able to find only one sock, and when she asked Emmy if she’d seen the other, the girl merely looked away and shrugged.
After freshening herself, doing up her hair with a sprig of spruce and donning a lighter-weight but appropriate dress, she slipped downstairs and tucked her gifts into the tree branches. The fireplace mantel was dressed with pine cones and aromatic evergreen boughs, and she hung Seth’s sock next to Emmy’s.
When the family finally gathered at the table, Abigale noted that each person had dressed for the occasion. The men were freshly shaved and wearing clean shirts, and Emmy and Ida wore pinafore aprons over their dresses and high color in their cheeks. The meal was as delicious as anticipated, and by the time everyone had finished dessert and moved to sit by the fire, Abigale felt as giddy as Emmy. Her gaze strayed repeatedly to Seth, who seemed to watch her nearly as much as she watched him. She chose a chair easily moved and scooted it as far from the fire as possible without appearing rude to the people who had so generously welcomed her into their home.
Ben Holt took his place near the hearth and opened his Bible. Emmy propped her dolls around her where she sat on the floor, and Ida folded her hands in her aproned lap. Seth could have been standing on his head for all Abigale knew, because she refused to look at his handsome face. The flinging impulse might be more than she could resist.
Ben cleared his throat. “‘And it came to pass in those days …’”
Pop’s tradition had been similar, reading from the second chapter of Luke, though he did so on Christmas morning. Bittersweet memories laced through Abigale, and she looked at each one before tying them off and tucking them away.
“‘And so it was, that while they were there, the days were accomplished that she should be delivered …’”
Abigale considered, perhaps for the first time, the double meaning of the word delivered. As a woman, and a ranching woman at that, she had a clear understanding of what the Scripture was saying. Birth. New life. A fresh start with a high-priced risk. But this year the word struck her differently, for she had been delivered from deep sadness, loneliness, and fear.
“Jesus was born in a barn.” Emmy’s commentary brought a smile to Ida’s lips and raised her father’s eyebrows at her interruption.
Ida’s hand on her daughter’s shoulder appeared to comfort and encourage Emmy at the same time. The woman had a gift for that, and Abigale thought again of her pointed question regarding Mams and Pop. The barb had dulled with perspective, for Abigale had seen that one did not protect herself from loss by refusing to give love.
“‘And the angel said to them, “Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, which is Christ, the Lord.”’”
Emmy leaned over her dolls and whispered loudly, “They put him in the feed trough.”
Ben finished the chapter, and everyone bowed their heads, so Abigale followed suit.
“We thank You again, Lord, for the gift of Your son, Jesus, and for Your love. We thank You for Your provision throughout the year, our safe herds, this home, and our family. And we thank You for sending Abigale to us this year to celebrate Christ’s birth. Amen.”
Abigale quickly swiped at her eyes before everyone’s responsive amen.
Emmy sprang up, dislodging her dolls, and dug into the presents tucked in and around the tree. Ida rose and headed for the kitchen. Abigale stood to follow her, but a warm hand to her arm paused her progress.
“You stay here, Abigale. It’s only hot cocoa and cookies I’m passing out. I want you to relax and enjoy the moment.”
Abigale had known Ida Holt long enough to know that her word ruled in the kitchen, so she smiled her thanks and took her seat.
In mere minutes, everyone had a pile of small gifts on their lap, and Emmy was wriggling beneath the tree and out again with a woolen sock. The woolen sock for which Abigale had searched. With an imp-like glimmer in her eye, she laid it in Abigale’s lap.
Abigale glanced around to make certain all the gifts were distributed, then pointed Emmy toward the sock on the mantel and indicated she give it to Seth.
“Why, it’s just like the sock I gave you.” The girl glanced between Abigale and her brother.
Ida had returned with a tray of steaming mugs and cookies, and she and Ben exchanged a knowing look. Everyone was glancing about, a most comical situation, Abigale thought, except for Seth who looked as nervous as she’d felt during her entrance exam at Wolfe Hall, afraid she’d disappoint her grandparents by not being accept—
She squeezed the sock in her lap, seemingly empty, until she came to a small lump in the toe.
Every eye in the room rested on her, but she refused to be the center of attention. “Please, open your gifts. I cannot wait to see what you each received.”
Emmy needed no more encouragement and squealed with delight at the lovely doll dresses from her parents and the new bridle from Seth. Each person thanked Abigale for their personal bundle of peppermint sticks, and Emmy begged the ribbons from Ben and Ida’s candy to use in her dolls’ hair.
Seth’s gaze held Abigale in place, and she feared he would stare a hole all the way through her, discovering all her secrets while he was at it.
In truth, she had very few secrets he didn’t already know about, but one glimmered so brightly she felt he must see it in her eyes.