After leaning the shovel handle against the stall, he pushed the mounded wheelbarrow down the barn’s aisle. He crossed the yard to the plowed earth where the summer garden had been and shoved the handles upright to dump the contents. Steam rose from where the warm straw rested on the cold dirt. Come spring, the straw would be plowed into the dirt before planting new seeds. He narrowed his gaze on the moist dirt. Maybe with Vika here to tend the garden, they could expand the square footage and she could preserve the vegetables for winter use. So much of ranching was about preparing for what came next.
Footsteps clattered on the back porch.
He glanced around to see Vika settle her dark hat with a small feather on her head then walk toward the barn. So, she thought one lesson was enough to harness and drive the buggy? He rolled the barrow back to the barn and stopped at Lady’s stall.
At the next stall door, Vika held out the stub of a carrot to entice Princess closer.
“Better have the harness bridle ready or you won’t get a second chance.”
“What?”
“Princess will steal that treat then head toward the farthest corner and wait for a second one.”
Frowning, she pulled back her hand then stomped to the tack room to retrieve the bridle with trailing reins and chest straps. “Why was this information no’ part of my lesson?” After draping the leather and buckles over the stall gate, she again held out the carrot.
He shrugged. “I made it easy on all involved by having the horse in the yard.” Five minutes later, he took pity on her unsuccessful attempts and stepped into the stall, tired of giving Princess a chance to respond to sweet cajoling. Although he’d enjoyed hearing all the ways Vika changed her pitch and tone. Once he secured the bridle and chest strap, he led Princess from the stall and tied the reins to a thick ring hammered into the outside tack room wall. “Come over here, Vika.”
She stopped next to him, one hand holding up her skirt hems.
“What’s the next step?”
Biting her lip, she glanced between the horse and him, her brows bunching.
“Here’s a hint. Does that leather look like the entire harness?”
“Nay. I need the middle and end parts.” She turned toward the tack room.
The saddle and the breeching. He’d worry about the names of pieces later. “That’s right.”
By the time she returned, she’d tangled the straps and frowned at the twisted mess.
By sheer will, he kept from warning her to treat the tack right. Living miles from the closest neighbor or town meant self-sufficiency was vitalt. When he caught her beseeching look, he stepped close and pointed. “Find the saddle piece. That’s the broad strap that’s long enough to go around the mare’s stomach.” A lemony scent released each time she moved.
She stooped and laid the straps on the barn floor, pulling one this way and another in an opposite direction. Mutterings in her native language accompanied her head shaking. “I found it.” As she stood, she waved the strap in the air.
Wincing, he pressed a hand to her forearm and squeezed. “Careful. Sudden movements scare horses.” In that moment, all he could focus on was the connection between their bodies.
She turned, eyes wide.
For several beats, he stared into her gray eyes, wanting to simply enjoy the present circumstance of them working together on a task.
“Chad.”
“Huh?”
“The reverend won’t delay the service for those arriving late.”
“Of course.” Stepping back, he crossed his arms to avoid reaching for her again. His smile grew at the delicate way she set the crupper under the mare’s tail.
Several minutes passed before she buckled all the necessary straps and ran the reins through the correct rings. Then she glanced between the buggy parked along the barn wall and where Princess stood.
“Grab a shaft and roll over the buggy.” He could help, but while she was occupied with that task, he wanted to ensure the straps held the correct tension and no buckles were loose. When he was done, he pulled out his pocket watch to check the time. She’d never reach the church with Princess at a trot, the only gait she’d trained on.
Jumping to her aid, he helped steer the buggy into the middle aisle. “Think you can set Princess in between the traces and lead the end of the shafts into the togs?”
“Aye, I think so.”
“I’ll collect the children and be right back.” Without waiting for an answer, he jogged across the yard, the ground springy from the melted snow. On the porch, he kicked off his work boots then entered the kitchen. From the stove’s water reservoir, he drew a bowl of warm water and stepped to the loom room. He fished keys from his pocket to unlock the door then went inside. The water went into a basin then he stripped off his jacket and shirt before running a wet washcloth over his face and neck then, after unbuttoning the front of his undervest, across his torso. His wall pegs held a choice of white or blue shirts, and he grabbed the blue one. Then he stooped to reach under the bed for his newer boots and strode to the foot of the stairs. “Lance, Guinie, grab your coats. Time to leave.”
The children appeared on the landing, with the little dog trotting behind.
“Lance, put the dog in Miss Vika’s room. Guinie, hurry downstairs.”
Chad guided his daughter to the entry and handed down her coat. A red knitted scarf hung on his peg. He grabbed it and draped it around his neck.
Lance tromped down the stairs.
“Catch this, buddy.” Chad tossed his son’s jacket. “Let’s go.” He shepherded them through the house and out the back door. Unable to resist, he checked the togs holding the shafts before lifting his kids into the back seat. Then he picked up the end of the scarf and lifted an eyebrow as he looked at Vika. “From you?”
Blushing, she nodded. “When ye come inside at night, yer neck is always so red.”
“Appreciate the effort.” After jogging around the buggy’s back side, he hoisted himself into the front seat.
“Yer coming along?”
He grinned at her surprised look. “Princess has to canter part of the way to get us there on time. Hold tight.” Halfway to town, Chad slowed the mare’s pace and glanced back at the kids in the buggy’s back seat. “You both warm enough?”
Lance nodded. “I’m warm and toasty.”
Guinie jumped to her feet and lifted her skirt hem. “See, I gots long stocks just like Vika.”
Chad spotted a flash of light blue covering his daughter’s legs past her knees.
“Stockings, a chuilein.” Vika smiled over her shoulder.
Her voice speaking what must be an endearment sent a shiver between his shoulder blades.
“I got a vest with a pocket for holding stuff.” Lance elbowed his sister and pulled apart the lapels on his jacket to show hunter green.
Chad nudged Vika with his elbow. “You’ve been busy.” He hadn’t seen evidence of these projects, so she must knit them while he worked at the loom. Maybe, if he rearranged some things in the room to fit a chair and a lamp, she could share the space.
Vika relished being part of the church service. She loved the hushed atmosphere, the candles at the altar, the hymns, and the grins on the bairns’ faces when they dropped their pennies into the collection basket. Most of all, she enjoyed the feeling of sitting together as a group. What she dinna enjoy were Chad’s restless movements. If he’d been Lance, she would have suggested he make a trip to the privy.
Reverend Weatherwax ended the sermon and gestured for all to rise for the final hymn.
Chad huffed out a breath.
Contentment filled Vika, and she dinna do more than hold up the hymnal between them.
“I don’t sing.”
His warm breath tickled her cheek, and her stomach fluttered. Facing forward, she nodded. Singing dinna matter. The fact he attended service at her side did. The lyrics to “Crown After Cross” were unknown, so she focused on the print until the last, long note.
C
had cupped her elbow and guided her into the aisle. “Let’s get to the mercantile before the lines build.”
“Oh, all right.” She made sure the bairns followed then glanced around as they walked the aisle. She expected Chad would be interrupted by a friend or acquaintance wishing to chat. By the time they exchanged greetings with the reverend and stepped into the street, she realized her husband had a purpose and wasn’t to be deterred. Of course, he’d have different expectations of the trip to town. She was the one hungry for new associations, not him.
As she stepped onto the boardwalk fronting Drycker’s Dry Goods, she heard her name and glanced over at Chad, who shrugged. Then she looked toward the stores lining the boardwalk.
“Vika Carmichael.” Roy sauntered from a nearby beer hall, smiling. “I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw you. How long has it been?”
She stepped away from Chad and the bairns then hurried to close the distance, her ire building with each step. “I’m Vika Rutherford now. Six years, Roy McFie. Six long years without a single letter.”
Laughing, he grabbed her arms and kissed both cheeks. Then he tucked thumbs into his suspenders, exposing the tattered cuffs on his jacket.
His surprising action flustered the words right out of her mouth. Up close, the man still looked nothing like when he’d been Birk’s best friend. Whatever happened in the intervening years roughened his chiseled features into a haggard mien. His nose glowed red like someone who imbibed too much. She refused to be the one who spoke next. Let the man explain his callous actions.
“Really, six years? Time does fly.” He glanced at Chad and the children. “Well, I guess you didn’t wait long after I left to get hitched and start that family you always wanted.”
Flushing, she spoke through tight lips. “These bairns are my step-children. My marriage to their father is recent.”
“Felicitations are in order, I suppose.” He dipped his head in a mock bow. “Tell me, how’s stodgy ol’ Birk?” He spat toward the street. “Still working as a lowly bank clerk?”
Just the mention of her brother’s name brought a lump to her throat. Tightening her grip on the strings of her reticule, she blinked back tears.
Smile disappearing, Roy reached out a hand.
Ye willna touch me again. Sucking in a breath, she stepped back. “Birk was killed several months ago during a robbery.”
“Tough break.” His eyes narrowed, and his gaze shot over her shoulder then back. “As sole heir, you must be a rich woman. Probably brought along a sizable dowry to the new husband, especially your mother’s jewelry.” He scratched a hand over his bristly chin. “I remember that pretty ruby necklace and bracelet set.”
Vika stilled. Roy befriended Birk no’ long after their parents’ deaths. Birk must have told him of his unsuccessful recovery of the jewelry he knew his mother would have placed in the hotel’s safe. Guilt unnerved her stomach. She hadn’t even told Chad about her hidden jewels. Not that she meant to be deceitful, but she wanted to keep her wealth a secret until she was sure the marriage was solid.
Roy sidled close and wrapped fingers around her wrist. “If I’d known you’d come into your inheritance in only a few years, I might have stuck around Lincoln. You know, gold mining hasn’t made me rich. Maybe you could see your way to loaning me some money.”
Even at this hour, his breath stank of stale beer. What inheritance did he think she had? She straightened to her full height but still had to tip back her head to look him in the eye. “I am no’ giving ye a single dime. I really have nothing more to say to the man who left and stayed away with nary a letter. Yer actions are no’ the ones of an honorable man.”
Narrowing his gaze, he sneered. “Watch that uppity tone.”
“Excuse me, sir, what business do you have with my wife?” Chad stepped close.
Vika jerked then glanced up. Chad’s face looked carved from granite. The warmth at the small of her back gave her strength to maintain her frosty glare. The bum before her displayed none of the attributes of the man she used to be infatuated with. “I bid ye good day, Mister McFie.”
“This isn’t the last you’ll hear from me, Vika.” He turned and strolled down the boardwalk.
“Who is that man?” Chad wrapped an arm along her back and turned her.
His concerned tone did no’ go unnoticed, but Vika wouldn’t allow the unpleasant encounter to ruin her town visit. “Someone my brother used to know. But he’s fallen on hard times.” Gazing into his dark eyes, she forced a smile and linked her hand in Chad’s arm. “Forget him. He’s nothing to us.” After she allowed herself to be guided inside, she gave one hurried glance through the front window.
Roy stood across the street, arms crossed as he stared at the store.
Goose flesh rose on her skin.
Chapter Ten
Preparing herself and her family for the coming winter filled Vika’s days. When she wasn’t knitting hats and mittens to replace what the bairns had outgrown, she inventoried their wardrobes for what new garments she’d need to sew. From what Chad told her about winters in the Colorado mountains, she learned at times their cabin would be isolated from town. She wanted to have sufficient fabric on hand to keep herself busy.
After experimenting, she developed a recipe for lorne sausage using the venison, ground beef, breadcrumbs, and spices that proved palatable. When she took the time to sit and sip a cup of tea, she fretted over how to make her marriage real. Discovering Neria was with child and would deliver in the spring caused Vika a night of tears cried into her pillow.
One afternoon, she called for the bairns, who came clumping down the stairs.
“Here ye are.” She handed out cloth scraps.
“What’s this for?” Guinie scrunched her nose.
“We’re dusting the downstairs.”
“Nah.” Lance dropped the cloth to the rug. “I don’t want to.”
He always started out the chores this way. Vika shrugged and walked to the desk. “Too bad ye’ll miss the game.” She removed a stack of correspondence from a small cubby, releasing a puff of dust.
“What game?”
She glanced over her shoulder. “Pick up yer rag and go a table then I’ll tell ye.” Watching them move to an end table, she rubbed her cloth inside the boxy area. “I’ll call out a letter, and ye’ll write it on the surface with yer finger.”
Guinie slumped onto the davenport. “I don’t know my letters.”
“Stand close to Lance and do what he does.” Vika figured the game might get most of one table clean. “Ready? Write a C.” Immediately, she spotted the flaw in her game. She’d have to work nearby to check each letter. Ten minutes later, and with only half the alphabet completed, the bairns were bored and she’d only dusted one lamp and one table. “Let’s sing together while I finish. What songs can ye sing?”
Lance shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Vika winced. He’d no’ yet been to school so probably hadn’t learned any. Nor did the family attend church often enough so they could follow along with a hymn. “Here’s one I learned as a wee lass. Everyone in my family sang it together during Hogmanay.”
“Hog-what?” Lance tossed the rag into the air and caught it on a pointer.
Hearing interest in their voices, Vika took heart and moved back to the desk. “’Tis a celebration at the end of December, readying to welcome the coming of the New Year.”
“Where’s your family?” Guinie stood close, one arm wrapped around the neck of her dirty rag doll.
Sudden tears filled her eyes, and she blinked fast. “Right here. Yer my family now, a chuilein.” Before she dwelt on her losses, she turned to the desk and brandished her dust rag. “Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind? Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and auld lang syne!” She moved to the next cubby and pulled out envelopes, stopping when she recognized her own handwriting.
“Keep singing, please.” Guinie tugged on her skirt.
Vika glanced down then brus
hed a tendril of hair from the girl’s forehead. She looked again at the envelope, wondering if the letter inside showed signs of being re-read many times like Chad’s letter to her did. “For auld lang syne, my dear, for auld lang syne. We’ll take a cup o’ kindness yet, for auld lang syne.”
“Some words sound funny.” Lance sat by his crate of blocks and stacked a tower. “What do they mean?”
The door opened, and Chad entered. “I always wondered that myself.”
“Ye heard?” She shoved the stack of envelopes into the cubby.
“I waited on the porch until you finished.” He removed his hat and unwound the scarf from his neck. “I like your voice, Vika.”
A flush climbed her throat. He’d lowered his tone, and the rasp sent tingles over her skin. “Auld lang syne translates to days gone by. The song is for remembering the good times. And ‘tis a tradition in Scottish families.” A pain lodged in her chest at the thought of no’ hearing Birk’s strong alto voice this year. She looked into Chad’s intense gaze. Would he be willing to learn the lyrics and sing it with her? Singing had always brought her own family close.
He clapped his hands. “Kids, do you know what day it is?”
Both children moved toward their father.
Vika leaned a hip against the desk and let out a breath. Her yearning for the man grew with each day, and she probably relayed that feeling with every look.
“Today’s the day we chop down our holiday tree. Only ten days left until Christmas.”
She gasped then quickly covered her mouth.
A Vow for Christmas Page 7
