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THE PRE-DAWN HOURS of December 25, 1891
For long hours past midnight, Clara refused to move from her bed, willing herself to sleep, but losing the battle. It haunted her. Nothing frightening, no phantom of ghoulish appearance. Instead, it was the visage of the fair-haired Scotsman that refused to leave her thoughts. Every conversation, every argument, every line of his face, every touch of his hand, every subtle twitch of his lips when amused, the scent of lanolin on his hands, all of it consumed her.
When at last she relented of her inability to find relief in sleep, she pulled on her clothes and tiptoed through the silent house. Letting herself out the back door into the chilling hour before dawn, she gasped in the cutting edge of a north wind. She didn’t bother with lighting a lantern, trusting the snow trodden path to lead her to the barn.
Daisy lifted her head as Clara approached. Settling close, she drew the dog’s head onto her lap. Tempted to pick up one of the puppies, she thought better of it. Seeing how comfortable they looked nestled close to their mother for warmth, she couldn’t disturb them. “You’re a natural mother, Daisy. I never expected that.” The dog pressed her wet nose into Clara’s hand. It was such a tender moment that tears sprang to her eyes. Daisy was still her special companion.
As they sat together in the darkened interior, Clara listened to the quiet sounds of the barn, the snuffling of the goats, their hooves crunching the straw in their stalls, the small grunts the puppies made in sleep. From somewhere nearby came the sound of the scurrying feet of a mouse, but it didn’t alarm her, as once it might have. Even as she sat on Daisy’s bed of coarse straw with her face chilled by a draft from the open barn door, she thought the stall even more cozy than the soft bed she’d abandoned.
She tipped her head back to rest against the hard wall, opening her senses to everything about her that was real and natural. Her eyelids grew heavy, and she fell into a dreamless sleep.
Footsteps crunched in snow outside the door, and she awakened with a start. The barn door opened, admitting the pale light of early morning. She waited as the steps grew closer, pleased when at last Graham Kincaid appeared outside the stall, looking down at her.
Not wishing to disturb the puppies, she spoke in a whisper. “I thought you’d sleep in today. It is Christmas.”
“The beasts still have to eat,” he said in that practical, straight-forward manner that defined him.
Feeling awkward beneath his gaze, Clara dropped her eyes to Daisy. Could he see the warmth that colored her cheeks, or read her mind, all those unseemly thoughts she’d entertained last night?
“I just saw Bart,” he said. “He invited us into breakfast. Seems the Hartmanns and the Longs have some gifts they want to give out to the hands. I think Mrs. Long put considerable thought into the meal.”
“Your impression is correct.” She gave a nervous laugh and added, “I think I’ll stay here a while longer.”
Daisy rose to her feet, making a long languid stretch forward before resettling herself beside her puppies. The smallest of the litter suckled first. Clara looked up, excited. “That’s a good sign, isn’t it?”
Graham gave a mild grunt of affirmation and stepped into the stall, sliding his back down the wall to sit beside her. “I had a hunch.” They sat for a time in companionable silence. Graham picked up a stalk of straw, sliding his long fingers along the hollow shaft. “Which one do you want to give to the little girl?”
“I thought you should decide.” She turned to him, giving him a quick, uncertain smile. “I want them to be happy. You’ll know which ones will be better to work with Alec. Won’t you?”
He took his time answering, tapping the straw against his clean-shaven chin. She noticed then that he was wearing a fresh shirt beneath his jacket, his cable sweater put aside for the day, and hair brushed back from his forehead. His pale, blue eyes looked even larger now. And he smelled of chamomile soap, probably something Jessie had made for the wash house. He turned his gaze to her, and she bit her lip, looking away.
“It’s not always obvious,” he said. “Some have more aptitude than others, but it might not show up until they’re given a chance with the flock. Alec’s savvy. He’ll let me know.”
“Oh.” She was just beginning to understand this deep connection he’d formed with the animals in his care. He’d spoken of bonds, and such was his with his dog. They shared food, long hours alone in the mountains, and they’d shared the responsibilities of watching over the sheep.
“If the runt continues to do well, she might be a good choice. Maybe the Hartmann’s little girl will know. There’s a knowing in them we don’t share.”
“I see.” She stroked the top of Daisy’s head. “Like the way Daisy knew I wanted to help her when I found her in the alley.”
“She might have chosen to bite you instead. But she sensed your intentions were to help her.” His lips broke into a wide, wonderful smile, from which Clara could not look away. “She bonded to you in that moment,” he said softly.
Her heart pounded an emphatic tempo against her ribs, deafening in her own ears. She knew she should divert her gaze, but could not. As if of its own volition, her hand lifted, and she traced the sharp line of his jaw, the stubble rough against her fingertips. “You’re a lovely man.” Had she spoken aloud or was this still the dream she only thought she’d awoken from? Shocked at her boldness, she pulled her hand away, but he stopped her.
The smile touched his eyes, and he wrapped his hand around her finger, bringing it to his lips.
She watched with fascination as he kissed her fingers one by one, feeling as though she were an observer, standing apart. A heroine in a romantic Bronte novel. But the rapid beating of her heart made it all so very real. As she met his eyes, she felt herself falling into them, no longer an observer. Did he see that she welcomed his kiss?
In the next instant, the smile faded from his eyes and he wrapped his hand around hers, squeezing it until she gave a little cry. He eased his grip with a mumbled apology and pulled in a quick breath. “I’ve something to say to you, Miss Clara Webster, something I need you to know.”
Clara attempted to swallow. He looked so solemn. Was he about to tell her of his betrothal to another woman? Had Jessie misunderstood that his wife had passed away? Her stomach clenched as she prepared herself for his rejection. She prayed he would not be kind as he told her there was no hope for any further bond to form between them. She’d rather hate him.
“It’s about my vision of my future, the vision that brought me here, that made me leave my family behind. I want you to know that I’ll not always be a hired hand.” His blue eyes turned to steel. “I came here to work my own land and tend to my own flocks. I’ll not always be as poor as I am now with nothing to offer a woman as fine as yourself.”
She searched his face, only half-comprehending what he was saying. Was he declaring a vision, not just for his future, but hers?
“I don’t know how long it will take, but by the grace of God it will happen before I’m an old man. I wouldn’t ask you to wait for me to prove it. That would be unfair. But might you give me hope you would consider my courtship one day?”
He didn’t wait for a reply, but rose to his feet and took her hand again, leading her to the barn door. As he threw open the door, they squinted into the brilliant light of sun reflecting off the sparkling snow. He turned to her with hopeful eyes and asked again, “On this the loveliest of days, will you make me a happy man and say you’d consider what I’ve asked of you? Give me hope that I’d be working not only for something, but someone to share it with?”
Stunned beyond all ability to speak, she could only return his earnest smile with her own tremulous one. She nodded her answer.
Before she could take a breath, he pulled her into his arms, crushing her against his chest. “That’s enough.” He pressed her head against his shoulder. “I didn’t expect it to be you.”
She tipped her head back to look up into his face, asking his explanation with her eyes.
Seeing her confusion, he smiled. “I didn’t expect to fall in love again, and not with the likes of you.”
“The likes of me?” she asked in mock offense.
“Aye, the likes of someone as headstrong as you.”
“Me?”
“Aye, you.” He laughed so long and hearty that someone must have heard him. Someone stepped out of the house. Graham’s eyes drifted past her shoulder to the woman standing on the porch with a crisp white apron and a smile to match it. She waved the dishtowel in her hand, and he followed the direction of her gesture. Hanging above their heads, nailed to the barn’s doorframe, was a sprig of mistletoe.
Graham slid his hands to grip Clara by the arms and smiled into her eyes. “Would you look at that?” He nodded to the mistletoe, taunting them from above. “That Mrs. Long is one single-minded woman.”
Clara looked back at Jessie standing on the porch, her hands planted on her hips, with a wide grin spreading across her face.
Chuckling, Graham shook his head. “I give in.” He held Clara’s eyes with his own and whispered just for her ears to hear, “I willingly give in.” Then he drew her close, lifted her chin and kissed her, a long and delicious kiss that she felt all the way to her toes.
A pleased smile on her face, Jessie stepped into her kitchen and checked on the cinnamon scones baking in the oven. She turned to the stove and began humming. “God Bless Ye Merry Gentlemen” while she turned substantial chunks of bacon in the frying pan.
“I think the men will appreciate all you’ve done to make this morning special. The scones smell amazing.” Lena carried the platter of scrambled eggs into the dining room, where she counted the place settings. There would be two empty chairs if Evan didn’t come, and with each passing hour it seemed less likely. No, she couldn’t let her disappointment ruin the day for everyone else. Jessie must have enough disappointment of her own, her lovely party ruined by the unexpected snowfall.
“Here we go,” Jessie said as she set a platter of warm scones on the table. “There’s more when that’s gone.” She folded her arms over her stomach and examined the table with a rather smug look on her face.
Lena was just about to ask her about what had lifted her spirits when a commotion of shuffling boots and deep voices announced the ranch hands at the back door. Bart stood at the back of the tight cluster of men, looking as if he was herding cattle as he encouraged them to step farther into the kitchen.
Jessie scurried through the dining room door to help. “Come on in, boys. Merry Christmas!”
The half-dozen men responded in kind, the house echoing with their greetings. When the twins joined them, the men visibly relaxed. Tommy ran up to each and wished him a Merry Christmas in a loud voice that would have been more appropriate shouted from the porch.
Randall, the bunkhouse cook, grinned. “Remind me to have him call the boys for dinner in the evenings. I think they might hear him better than the bell I’ve been using.”
“Gentlemen, please come in. Find a seat at the table,” Lena said as she lifted Rowena into her arms. “Where’s Mr. Kincaid?”
Bart shot a furtive glance at Jessie, and whispered, “I think he’s in the barn with Miss Webster looking after the dog.”
“Why are we whispering?” Lena asked, whispering back.
“Because.” He rolled his eyes in his wife’s direction. “You know, I’ll never hear the end of it once Jessie decides her matchmaking scheme has worked.”
“Has it?”
“I don’t know for sure, but let’s just say, I have a pretty good idea they aren’t the enemies they once were. And when I saw them just now, they sure weren’t talking about puppies.”
So, that was it, the reason for Jessie’s smug smile. Neither of them would hear the end of her I-told-you-so’s. She glanced up at Jessie, who was in the brightest of Christmas spirits. When Jessie met her gaze, she winked in a self-satisfied manner.
If it was true, Lena couldn’t be more delighted. For the past month, she’d recognized in Mr. Kincaid talents beyond shepherding. They’d shared some conversations about children that revealed the man had more than his fair share of experience because of an abundance of nieces and nephews he’d left in his homeland. He must miss them this season.
But Miss Webster? Were they compatible? Clara’s city upbringing was certainly different from Mr. Kincaid’s country farm life. And what would marriage be like if the shepherd remained a shepherd? Could they overcome such disparities of backgrounds? Suddenly, her thoughts transported her to Sawtooth City in the winter of 1886, remembering a man and a woman who’d built a bridge to span their differences. And love set upon a foundation of respect had grown more beautiful over the years.
Lena sat Rowena on a high chair next to her father, and walked to the window where she gazed out at the white landscape. She recalled what she’d asked Ely that winter of 1886 as they waited for Evan to return over the rugged Galena summit. Then, as now, she wondered how something so beautiful could be so deadly. But they were not in the Sawtooths now. This valley didn’t terrify her as that one in the higher elevation had. Still, just as she had that first winter not so long ago, she prayed for Evan’s safety and now, for that of the child, Rebecca.
With astounding efficiency, the men finished Jessie’s splendid breakfast. There were a few sniggers when she brought out the Toad in the Hole dish. Lena chuckled to herself when Jessie introduced the custard as Spotted Duke rather than by its more offensive name.
Randall, the bunkhouse cook, leaned over and commented on the men’s appetite. “You don’t see them digging in like this at my table. Can’t blame them. I ain’t half the cook Mrs. Long is. She’s a gourmet.” He pronounced the word to rhyme with corset.
Lena looked through the open dining-room door when she heard voices in the kitchen. Jessie was about to leave her seat when Lena waved her back, mouthing that she’d go.
When Lena stepped into the kitchen, she found her young friend, Clara, and her shepherd looking equally bashful as they removed their coats, casting furtive glances at the men’s voices coming from the dining room.
She looked over her shoulder, understanding in a moment the awkwardness of their situation. The men must have discussed the absence of Graham and that of the attractive Miss Webster. She imagined many nudged elbows and whispered remarks if they were to walk into the dining room just now.
“You two must be famished,” she said, trying her best to maintain a nonchalant tone. “I’m afraid the men have cleaned the platters in the dining room. But I know there’s more here in the oven. Pull those chairs up to the kitchen table and I’ll get some plates for you?”
“I can help,” Clara hurried over to the cupboard and pulled out two plates and two mugs.
Graham hung back by the door, looking like a barn sour horse, ready to bolt for the barn at any moment.
“Mr. Kincaid, why don’t you pour some coffee for yourself and Clara?”
He obliged, looking grateful for something to do.
“There you go.” Lena set the dishes before them and stepped back. “Take your time. Enjoy your Christmas breakfast and join us in the great room when you’re ready. We’ll be moving over there in a few moments to open a few gifts and enjoy the fire.”
Lena saw the look of gratitude in Clara’s eyes, and gave her an encouraging and slightly conspiratorial smile before leaving them. But for the next half hour, Lena could think of little more than the way they’d looked at each other. It was that expression of wonder at love given and received. All the signs of love were there, the shared smiles, the way she touched her finger to his hand as he set the coffee mug before her, the way her cheeks glowed with happiness.
It was a good Christmas. They all were, some better than others, she supposed. If she was not happy, the fault was hers. She’d held onto expectations, things beyond her control. Much like the child that hopes for a doll, receiving a stuffed animal instead, she hoped for a specific gift.
Bart settled himself in the oversized arm chair, the one usually reserved for Evan. With Rowena curled up beside him, Bart read the story of the first Christmas from the book of Luke. Tommy couldn’t settle, but traveled from one ranch hand’s lap to the other, staying only a few minutes with each. Jessie didn’t stop him. She understood how impossible it would be with unwrapped Christmas presents beneath the tree
When Bart had finished the telling, Lena handed out gifts to the men. New work gloves for two, a warm hat for the bald-headed cook, a pair of boots to the skinny kid with a promise to exchange them if Bart had guessed the wrong size. The men accepted with awkward words of gratitude, some more gruffly put than others, those least accustomed to generosity from employers.
At last, they rewarded the children for their patience, and Jessie allowed them to open one gift each. Not one man made an excuse to leave. With various expressions of interest and delight, they all watched as the children experienced the wonder of the day.
Jessie turned to Lena with a sad smile. “I suppose I should cut the plum cake. At least the men will enjoy it.”
Lena shrugged. “It just isn’t the Christmas either of us expected, but it’s still Christmas. And the men will enjoy all you’ve done. I know I have. And the children are happy.”
Jessie had just stepped away when there came a sound that at first seemed born of sheer imagination. Lena threw a glance at Jessie and they exchanged a smile.
Jessie squealed. “Sleigh bells!”
Two sleighs, one close on the tracks of the other, pulled into the yard. From the first one, Evan waved to everyone spilling from the house onto the porch. Behind him, Dr. Reynolds and Maddie rode in fine style, with fur blankets over their laps. In the back seat, Ely sat close to his lady friend.
Prancing in their traces, the horses set the bells to ringing again, the merry sound mixing with a dozen voices shouting “Merry Christmas”.
Lena held back on the porch steps, waiting for Evan to lift the child from the sleigh. Bundled in fur, it was impossible to see her face. Evan’s eyes found Lena at the back of the crowd, and he made his way through the deep snow with the child in his arms. In their own little circle of Christmas joy, Evan lowered the child’s hood, and whispered, “Here’s the lady I told you all about, Rebecca. This is Lena.”
The child turned wide eyes to take in the porch, the house, the yard filled with people until finally she looked at Lena. Her lips parted, bewilderment in her eyes. All Lena wanted to do in that moment was take her into her arms and speak soothing words into her ear. And yet, some ancient wisdom told her this was not what the child needed, not yet. Evan was her only sure anchor. It would be up to Lena to earn the child’s trust until one day soon she’d need to say nothing. Her presence alone, like Evan’s, would be her comfort. Or that was her dream.
“Welcome, Rebecca. Welcome home.”