He could no more stay away from her than not breathe, and he stepped inside, carefully latching the door closed. The muted click pricked her attention, and her startled glance lifted.
“Mick!” she gasped.
He put a finger to his lips. “Shh. You’ll wake Catalin.”
She held up a hand in mute command to keep him from getting closer.
“Go away,” she said in a loud whisper, but something about the light in her eyes belied the words.
“Why?” His curiosity raged. He kept coming.
“I don’t want you to see what I’m doing yet.”
He halted at the side of her bed. “When then?”
She splayed her fingers over the papers, hiding them from view. “Soon. I’m just not ready to show you yet.”
Gently, firmly, he removed her hands. “Show me what?”
He deciphered sketches of something. A building. He tilted his head to see it better. A very intriguing looking building, three stories high and cathedral-like.
She swept her hair behind one ear. Tapped her pencil in obvious procrastination to keep from answering.
“Your Christmas gift,” she said finally.
He blinked down at her in stunned surprise.
“Come. Sit beside me. I’ll show you.” She patted the mattress, her excitement clearly growing.
He sat, and the bed dipped from their combined weight. Allie lifted a set of blueprints from beneath the pile of sketches.
“This is the library that the Ladies Literary Aid Society intended to build before—all the trouble began.”
So this was the project that meant so much to her, he marveled. Damned shame she couldn’t see the job done. His gaze soaked in the details of the structure. Handsome details, professionally drawn.
“And this—” she lifted a single sheet “—is an idea I had. To honor my father.”
Mick studied that drawing, too. Noted the similarities to the blueprint. Saw her talent, the beauty of her vision.
“For Paris?” he asked, amazed, knowing the man couldn’t help but be honored.
“Yes. I’ve modified the Minneapolis design, just quick changes, really. I know how much he’s respected here in the territory for his work with the hydro-electric plant and all. Because of him, Great Falls is growing, but there’s no school for higher learning here, and I thought that—that the town could use one. Named after him.”
“It’s a damned good idea, Allie.” He meant it. Paris Gibson was fast proving himself an icon in the territory. Folks would fall over themselves in their haste to revere him in such a way.
She lifted another paper. And gently laid it on his lap.
“And this is for you,” she said softly.
For a moment, Mick didn’t move. “Me?”
“And the Basque people.”
He stared at the penciled outline. A striking four-sided clock tower, incorporated into the school’s design.
“The tower will be a symbol that will reach out across the territory for all to see. It will be a part of the school, a reminder that all are welcome. It will represent the time has come for Montana to prosper. My father’s hydro-electric plant will be instrumental in that.”
Emotion lodged in his chest. He stared and stared.
“Do you remember when you told me that change begins with the young?” she asked.
“Yes,” he croaked.
“This design, my school, will be an opportunity to bring education to those who don’t have the opportunities that others have. The Basque children, and so many others, will have a promising future inspired by knowledge.”
Her generosity, her brilliance, humbled him. Filled him with a love and hunger that burned his throat and robbed him of words.
“It will take some doing, of course.” She kept talking. Because he couldn’t. “The townspeople will have to approve the venture. Funds will need to be raised. It could take months, probably a couple of years, before everything is said and done, but—”
An unsettling wave of unworthiness roared into him. He’d never be able to repay her. He’d never make her feel as happy, as complete, as she was making him feel right now. How could he, when he was only a sheepherder’s son? A cattleman’s bastard son? A cowboy, deep in his heart?
“Allie.” He swallowed. “I can’t—I’m not sure—I could never—”
“What’s the matter, Mick?” She cocked her head. Though a small smile curved her lips, uncertainty dimmed the glitter of excitement in her eyes. “You don’t like my idea?”
His brain scrambled for assurances, but their differences stifled them. Would they always?
“I know my reputation is in a shambles right now,” she said, the admission coming in a fractured rush. “But I’ll—”
“To hell with your reputation, shambles or otherwise,” he growled, grasping her shoulders, desperate to make her believe.
“I’ll find the truth in who stole the library’s money, I swear.”
“I swear it, too.” His grasp tightened. “We all will.”
“Then what is it, Mick?”
Still, he hesitated, his heart torn that she was high-society, and he was cattle and sheep. She knew only big city living. He’d never live anywhere else but on this wild, unforgiving land. She was born and bred culture, and nothing could change that. He was born and bred Basque and cowboy, and nothing would ever change that, and—
“I love you, Mick.”
His worries screeched to a blazing halt.
She kept her gaze direct on his, and he almost fell into the pools of blue, darkening with a little desperation of her own. She knew his worries, his fears. Read them as plain as words on a page.
Because they matched her own?
His reservations crumbled.
“Allie. Sweet, sweet Allie. I love you. I’ll always love you.”
His arms took her against him; his mouth captured hers in a fervent declaration of all she made him feel. Love, happiness, exhilaration. Relief, too, that the burden of his responsibilities, his need to give back to his beloved Basque people, was lifted and shared by this incredible woman.
How had she known her dream could be so perfect? How could she have guessed she’d given him the most perfect of gifts?
How could she have doubted?
After long, delicious moments, his head lifted, and his finger traced the swollen wetness of her mouth. He intended to spend the rest of his life making sure she never doubted again.
“Guess that means you’ll have to live in Montana for a spell,” he murmured.
“I don’t want to leave,” she admitted in earnest. “Not for a single minute.”
“Then live here as my wife, Allie. Make your home with me forever.”
Her breath caught. “Your wife?” On the wings of an elated cry, she gifted him with a new plethora of kisses that assured him of forever. “Oh, Mick! Yes!”
He fell back with her against the pillows. With his heart filled with love, he showed her just how glad he was that she’d found her way home to him.
To live a lifetime of Christmases together.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-4119-4
COWBOY CHRISTMAS
Copyright © 2009 by Harlequin Books S.A.
The publisher acknowledges the copyright holders of the individual works as follows:
A HUSBAND FOR CHRISTMAS
Copyright © 2009 by Connie Feddersen
THE HOMECOMING
Copyright © 2009 by Elizabeth Lane
THE CATTLEMAN’S CHRISTMAS BRIDE
Copyright © 2009 by Pam Crooks
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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