As Jake lifted Will’s chin to shave his neck, Will couldn’t deny a feeling of relief. He had been nervous about facing a husband less than delighted to have his home invaded just before Christmas. He was also curious to learn more about a woman who could not only run her own farm but also be willing to take in a stranger who had fallen sick, who could win his daughter’s trust enough for Clara to sleep in her lap, and whose kindness drew his thoughts back to her time and time again.
And not just her kindness. There was a sensuality about her, about the pucker of her full lips, the unblemished whiteness of her skin, the softness of her body’s curves. He might be weak from fever, but he could feel a physical tug, the kind of pull he had felt very few times since his wife’s death.
“Now you’re to get back in bed,” Jake said as he wiped the last bits of lather from Will’s face. “Your breakfast will be in shortly.”
“I’d like to see my daughter.”
“She’s getting dressed, but she’ll be having her breakfast in here with you.”
“And Miss Carson?”
“Her, too. The room’ll be full to busting with all of you and Gertie bustling about to make sure you don’t do nothing improper.”
“I wouldn’t think—”
“You can think all you want,” Jake said, “as long as you don’t do nothing.”
No, Will wouldn’t do anything, but his imagination wouldn’t be nearly so obedient.
* * *
Will was so weak he could hardly hold his spoon steady. He found it hard to believe fever could drain so much of his strength in less than twenty-four hours, but he was determined that Nan wouldn’t have to feed him. He didn’t want to look helpless with Clara watching him.
“He’s eating with a coming appetite,” Gertie observed from the foot of the bed. “He’ll be ready to go on his way by afternoon.”
“Mr. Atkins is too weak to resume his journey for at least another day,” Nan said. “Besides, Wilmer has closed the inn, so there’s nothing for him to do but stay here until he regains his strength. You won’t mind that, will you?” she asked Clara.
Clara shook her head happily.
Will would have been amused at Gertie’s effort to protect her mistress if he hadn’t been the one she was protecting her from. He had already asked about alternatives to the inn, but Jake had told him nobody was taking in strangers during the Christmas season. “They have enough to do worrying over their relations who moved to the city but always come home for the holidays.”
“Then if he’s so weak, you ought to let him get his rest,” Gertie said, her hands on her hips.
“Let Clara stay with me,” Will said. “You must have a lot to do to get ready for Christmas.” He was surprised that Clara was so happy to sit next to Nan.
“Not all that much. Would you like to help me?” Nan asked Clara.
“I don’t know how,” Clara replied.
“What do you mean you don’t know how?” Nan asked.
“She’s never had a proper Christmas,” Will explained. “The woman who’s been keeping her doesn’t celebrate Christmas.”
“What kind of heathen doesn’t celebrate Christmas?” Gertie demanded.
“Lots of people, especially people like me who don’t have anybody to share it with,” Nan said, hoping to stem Gertie’s embarrassing questions. “Now please ask Jake to bring all the greenery on the back porch into the front hall.”
“You said you wanted to give it to the church.”
“I changed my mind. Clara and I are going to decorate the front hall. Hurry up. We can’t get started without it.”
Gertie didn’t seem pleased to leave Nan unprotected, but she went off to find Jake. Apparently she thought keeping Nan out of Will’s bedroom for the morning was worth the risk of a few unprotected moments.
“I apologize for Gertie,” Nan said.
“Don’t. A lovely young woman like you can’t be too well protected. I’m surprised you don’t have bars at the gate to keep the men out.”
“The only bars we need in Beaker’s Bend would be to keep the men in. Now Clara and I are going to leave you to your rest. We’ll wake you for lunch.”
“I won’t sleep that long. I feel much better.”
“We’ll see. Clara, give your father a kiss.”
“You sure she’s not too much trouble?”
“I’ll enjoy having her. Christmas is a difficult time when you’re alone. But having lost your wife, I expect you know that.”
Will didn’t reply. Once again he felt the overwhelming guilt of not being able to stay at Louise’s side when she was so sick. He hadn’t even been in town when she died. He wasn’t sure he could ever forgive himself for that.
That was one of the reasons he was taking Clara to live with her grandparents. He didn’t want her to grow up staying with strangers, seeing her father only on weekends and not always then. She needed the kind of love, support, and comfort that could only be provided by someone who could be with her every day, sit with her when she was sick, share her happy moments. He might not like Louise’s parents, but he knew they would take good care of Clara.
“Any time is difficult when you’re alone,” Will answered.
Nan looked surprised. “I’m not alone. I’ve got Gertie and Jake, the people who work for me—the whole town.”
“You’re alone when you’re without a family.”
Will didn’t know why he’d said that. Maybe because he’d felt so alone during the five years since Louise died. He loved Clara with all his heart, but she couldn’t fill the emptiness left by his wife’s death.
“Well, I have a family today, don’t I?”
Odd she should say that. He did feel almost like part of her family. Clara certainly seemed to. Just as inexplicably, the emptiness inside him didn’t feel so overwhelming today. Maybe it was being in a real home with real people who cared. Even in the few hours he had been awake, he had felt more comfortable than he did in his apartment. It had been so long since he left the valley that he had forgotten how nice a real home could feel.
Louise had been just as anxious as he had been to leave the small town where they’d grown up as he was. Maybe more so. She’d probably worked harder to get ahead. Then she got sick and never recovered. It was as though giving life to Clara had completely used up her own.
He doubted that would happen to Nan Carson. He imagined she would glow with health. She was the kind of woman whose love and strength would never be exhausted. It would continually renew itself.
Will grew drowsy wondering why no one had claimed this woman. If he had been one of the village blades, he’d have camped on her doorstep. Just the thought of her lips, of the sweetness of her kiss, would have caused him to neglect any duties he might have.
He told himself he was too weak to get worked up over idle speculation, but he drifted off to sleep trying to imagine what it would be like to return each day to a home of Nan Carson’s making.
* * *
“We won’t be able to see out if we put anything else in that window,” Nan said to Clara.
“But we’ve got all these branches left.”
The room was littered with holly branches, pungent cedar, pyracantha heavy with clusters of dull red berries, pine boughs that filled the room with their fresh scent, magnolia branches with huge, shiny green leaves and brown seedpods filled with plump red seeds, and tiny sprigs of mistletoe, all on burlap sacks spread out to protect the carpets and floor. The broken pieces had been gathered up in a large wooden tub. Clara held a roll of red ribbon. Green and white lay just within reach.
They had decorated the parlor with spare good taste, but they had covered every corner of the gathering room. The deep brown of the walls and hardwood floor, the dark maroon of the leather chairs, the cheerful plaids and floral patterns were overwhelmed by green and red.
Each window held a wreath fashioned out of cedar branches and fastened together with bits of wire. Holly, bright with red berries, lay in each window seat. Branches of pine topped with magnolia circled every table in the room. More than a dozen candles stood in the windows and on the tables ready to be lighted.
“We need to save some for the wreath to go on the front door.”
“Let’s make that now.”
“How about waiting until tomorrow,” Nan said, laughing. “I think we ought to begin making the decorations for the Christmas tree.”
“Can we have a real tree?” Clara asked.
“Of course.”
“We never had a real tree. Mrs. Bartholomew doesn’t like Christmas.”
“Who’s Mrs. Bartholomew?”
“The lady I stay with when Daddy’s gone.” Clara paused. “He’s gone nearly all the time.”
“Well, he’s here this Christmas,” a deep, masculine voice announced from the doorway. “Not in very good shape, but here nonetheless.”
Nan looked up. She noticed how thin he was, as if he hadn’t been eating well. But he was still very attractive. She wondered if Mrs. Bartholomew was a young woman.
Clara ran toward her father as he walked into the gathering room with careful steps.
“Easy, easy,” he said when she seemed ready to throw herself into his arms. “You’re liable to knock me over.”
“He wouldn’t eat the lunch I brought him,” Gertie complained, entering the room on his heels. “He insisted on joining you.”
“I’m punished for my disobedience,” Will said, sinking into the only chair free of greenery. “I can’t stand up long enough to hug my daughter.”
“Of course not,” Nan said, getting to her feet. “You ought to have eaten your lunch and gone straight back to sleep.” She took a quilt from the sofa, unfolded it, and spread it over him.
“I seem to have slept away the better part of the day,” he said. “Gertie tells me it’s midafternoon. Have you eaten?”
“Hours ago,” Clara said. “We had pork chops in gravy and lots of potatoes and—”
“Our lunch was too rich for your father. Bring his tray in here, Gertie. He can eat while we make the tree decorations.”
“Eat in here?” Gertie asked, scandalized.
“Yes, in here,” Nan repeated. “It’s about time this room got used for something. Besides, it’s no use decorating if nobody’s going to look at it.”
Gertie looked displeased, but she soon settled a tray in front of Will. “Don’t spill anything,” she said. “I don’t have time for a lot of cleaning.”
“Gertie!” Nan exclaimed.
“Well, I don’t. Not with me doing all the cooking you haven’t got time for now.”
“Are we keeping you from—”
“You’re not keeping me from a thing,” Nan insisted, angry at Gertie. “There’s more than enough time for the cooking I need to do.”
Gertie sniffed in disagreement, but she left without saying anything more.
While Will ate his lunch of hot, clear soup, Nan showed Clara how to draw designs on colored paper and cut them out to make candy canes and other brightly colored ornaments. She showed the girl how to fold the colored paper to make boxes and pyramids. They glued narrow strips of gold and silver paper into shining garlands.
Nan couldn’t remember when she had had more fun. The chance to show Clara a Christmas like none she’d ever experienced restored Nan’s own excitement and anticipation. But one look at Will sitting in the chair watching his daughter with a rapt gaze made her realize that it wasn’t just Clara. It was her father as well.
She had been acutely aware of his presence. His gaze followed her, his expression inscrutable. She felt as though he was trying to probe her mind and expose her thoughts. Nan had none except to make Clara happy. Well, she did wonder about him, his job, why he hadn’t remarried.
She told herself it was silly to be curious about a man she had never seen before yesterday and wouldn’t see again after tomorrow.
“Now it’s time to string the popcorn,” Nan said in a very businesslike manner when Gertie took away the lunch tray. She opened a box Gertie had brought in earlier, and immediately the smell of freshly roasted popcorn filled the air.
“That smells delicious,” Will said.
Clara’s eyes grew big.
Nan laughed as she handed Clara a needle threaded with a very long piece of string. “Don’t eat too much. It takes a lot to decorate a big tree.”
Gertie entered long enough to set a plate of golden yellow cookies on the table next to Will.
“Clara, show your father how I taught you to string the popcorn. While you do that, I’m going upstairs to bring down some very special decorations.”
Nan returned several minutes later to find two chestnut heads together over a lengthening string of popcorn. Clara chose the kernels. Her father put them on the string. Then while Clara carefully pushed a fluffy white kernel to the end of the string, her father ate one of the golden cookies.
Nan couldn’t help but notice how long and slender his fingers were. Her father’s had been short and thick and powerful. Will’s hands gave the impression of elegance. They didn’t look as if they ever had a blister.
Forcing her mind back to her task, Nan cleared a broad hunt table, then covered it with cotton she unrolled in broad widths. “Let your father finish that,” Nan said to Clara. “I want you to help me.”
Clara came over to stare uncertainly at the cotton-covered table.
Nan knelt before the box and began to remove carved and painted wooden figures—men, women, children, dogs, a horse and sleigh, houses, trees, until she had an entire village.
“Ooooo, it’s beautiful!” Clara cooed. “Where did you get it?”
“My father had it made for me when I was a little girl. Each year I got something else to add to it.”
“Are you going to make a town?”
“No.”
Clara’s face fell.
“You’re going to make it.”
“Me?”
“Yes. All by yourself.”
Clara regarded the figures with a questioning gaze.
“Are you sure?” her father asked.
“Positive,” Nan replied as she came to sit in a chair next to him. “Setting up that village each year is one of my happiest childhood memories.”
“Thank you for sharing it with Clara. She has so few happy memories of Christmas.”
He’d never realized it before, but neither had he. Maybe that’s why he had been anxious to leave his own home, why he hadn’t thought it necessary to stay home with Clara. Nan, on the other hand, had experienced this happiness and was sharing this precious gift with two strangers.
He couldn’t remember Clara ever being this happy, a joyfulness he had longed for without knowing it. Maybe that was why he felt so strongly drawn to Nan. Maybe it wasn’t just her softness or her quiet allure.
“Forgive me if I’m prying, but don’t you have any family?” Nan asked.
“Not really.” Only Louise’s parents, and they were about the last people he cared to see.
“You must have been going somewhere.”
“To visit my wife’s parents.”
“Then you must resume your trip as quickly as possible. They must be anxiously awaiting—”
“My wife and I couldn’t wait to leave home, especially Louise. We were so sure life would be better in the city. Any city.”
“And was it?”
He reached for a cookie and ate slowly.
“Louise never regretted leaving, not even after she got sick.”
He paused to watch Clara. She had made the first decision, where to place her church. She arranged several houses around it.
“I’ve had to work
much harder since she died.”
“So that’s why you’re never home.”
Clara searched through the figures until she found what she wanted—a man, a woman, and a child. A family.
“Daddy,” she called, “which is our house? The one we’re going to live in when you get rich?”
“The big white one,” Will said, pointing to the largest house in the set. “It’s going to sit right across the street from the church.”
“Where’s your store going to be?”
“In the next block. Across from the bank.”
They watched as Clara placed the two buildings, then chose the people to live in each one.
“So why did you come back?”
“I’m taking Clara to live with her grandparents.”
Clara lifted a house out of the box that clearly belonged on a Southern plantation rather than in the Shenandoah Valley. “Daddy, who lives in this house?”
“Anybody you want, precious.”
“I can’t decide. You come help.”
Will had difficulty getting up from the chair. He had difficulty getting down next to his daughter, too, but he was thankful for the interruption. He didn’t want to have to explain to Nan his reasons for taking Clara to her grandparents. Or defend them. He didn’t owe her an explanation for anything—he was doing the best he could for his daughter while honoring his promises to Louise—but he couldn’t bear for her to keep looking at him like that.
“That’s a mighty fancy house,” he said as he watched Clara trying to decide where to place the house. “A mighty fancy lady ought to live there.”
Clara giggled. “No. This is Nan’s house.”
“I agree. Now, where can we find a Nan?”
Once again two chestnut heads came together as father and daughter set about the task of populating their village.
Nan watched, her mind prey to fruitless speculation. It would never have occurred to her to give up her child, not even for a short time. There must be some terrible pressure on Will to force him to take such a drastic step. It was plain that he adored Clara.
Looking at him over his daughter’s head, she could swear there were tears in his eyes. At least he was misty-eyed. No man who looked like that wanted to give up his daughter.
Longing for a Cowboy Christmas Page 3
