A Season of the Heart: Rocky Mountain ChristmasThe Christmas GiftsThe Christmas Charm

by Jillian Hart

  Then the face brightened, revealing pink lips and pretty teeth, a sparkle to her eyes.

  “You’ve come,” she whispered, holding out a china bowl filled with red mulled wine. Its fragrance, laced with cinnamon and lemon rind, was irresistible.

  Their fingers met on the dainty bowl, someplace over the painted picture of snowflakes falling on a chapel. Her fingers felt warm.

  She removed her hand first. “Wassail, James. Merry Christmas.”

  There was so much he wanted to say to Maggie, but the crowd pushed closer, reminding him they weren’t alone.

  “A toast to Maggie Greerson,” James said softly. He drank the small amount of wine in one gulp, enjoying the way it warmed his throat.

  “Isn’t it wonderful, James, what my sisters have done for me?”

  “What have they done?”

  Maggie ran a hand over her misty eyes. Emotions flared through her words. “They invited everyone in town, it seems, to do something for me today, as a Christmas gift. To show me how much they love me, my sisters say.”

  “Everyone does love you.”

  The bootmaker’s wife whizzed by, piercing the personal moment. “Your bedspread’s been darned and the kitchen pantry’s scrubbed clean.”

  Her husband added, “The wood’s all chopped and stacked right beside your back door so you don’t have to walk too far.”

  Mr. Furlow, the schoolteacher, squeezed through the pack. “I cleaned out those two spice bins. My wife scoured them with boiling water so they no longer smell like ginger. Now we’ve gotta run. We’re joining our grandkids at the festival. Bye, Maggie!”

  “Thank you,” she whispered to each one as James watched with quiet pride.

  “Oh, and great job, James,” Mr. Furlow added, “on finding the Lattimers!”

  Just as he left, the Lattimers entered. James heard Maggie’s sharp inhale, then watched her eyes follow Angelina’s sleeping face.

  “We heard what the town was doing,” said Lynne Lattimer, extending her hand to shake Maggie’s. The woman looked remarkably well rested. Her black hair was tucked into an impeccable bun and her clothes were freshly pressed. “We came to give our warmest wishes for a merry Christmas to you and Sergeant Fielder.”

  Maggie’s fingers trembled at her collar. “Thank you kindly for your thoughts.”

  “Would you like to hold her?” asked Mrs. Lattimer.

  “Very much.”

  “I’m sorry we left in such a hurry last night. Truth was, we were exhausted and needed our beds.”

  James watched the woman remove her baby from a roll of fox skins. As soon as the cooler air reached the infant, she twisted awake.

  Maggie laughed gently and lifted the baby. She kissed a smooth cheek and cupped Angelina’s soft head.

  The embrace lasted for a long time, in James’s opinion. Long enough for him to take in and appreciate the gentle wrinkles at the edge of Maggie’s brown eyes, the swell of adoration in her upturned mouth and the unspoken bond between her and Lynne, that each woman valued human life above everything else.

  Her husband stepped forward. He’d trimmed his beard overnight, so it lay crisp and flat. “We heard you’re stuffin’ boxes of food to give away to the poorer folks in the valley. Could my boy and I help you pack ’em?”

  “Yes, indeed.” Maggie looked to the boy, who stood staring at the other children across the room. They were just starting to sing their carols. “The Twelve Days of Christmas” filled the air. “But why don’t you let David go join the other children. Maybe he’d like to sing along. Singing’s important work, too.”

  With his parents’ permission, the boy raced away.

  Maggie turned back to his folks. “I’ll just set down the baby and show you to the—”

  “Let me,” James insisted. “I’ll show Kyle to the charity boxes. You stay here with Lynne and Angelina and enjoy yourself.”

  The smile Maggie gave James turned his heart to mush.

  “But you’ve never—”

  “I can figure it out. Your mother and sisters over there can fill me in on what needs to be done.”

  “Have my sisters gotten to you, too?” Maggie asked with a hint of mischief. “Is this your gift to me? Taking over my duties?”

  He watched the sensuous play of her lips. In the background, the children were singing about five gold rings, and he was reminded of his first kiss with Maggie, during this very song. If she didn’t watch out, he’d kiss her here on the spot again, proprieties be forgotten. “No, I’m saving my gift till later.”

  “You don’t have to give me a gift, James. I’m teasing.”

  “I’m not.” Pressing his shoulders through the crowd, he winked at her. The Lattimers looked away during the exchange, as if Maggie and James were discussing something very private. Either his wink, or their embarrassment, made Maggie blush.

  James and Kyle left their women and stepped over to the counter. After Maggie’s sisters showed them how to pack the large crates each with firewood, dried fruit, spices and frozen fowl that the butcher and business folks like Maggie had donated, the men worked hard.

  Providing charity boxes filled with food and firewood for the poor the day after Christmas had been a tradition rooted in Queen Victoria’s time, some of the women explained to passing children. There was also a centuries-old tradition of dispersing money collected in church boxes on the twenty-sixth. That’s how the twenty-sixth had become known as Boxing Day in England and Canada and elsewhere, a day also known as the Feast of St. Stephen. And this Feast of St. Stephen—the saint who provided for widows and the poor—they explained, was the reference in the song “Good King Wenceslas.”

  But here in the town of Goldstrike, James told the children proudly, Maggie and the others insisted on creating boxes on the twenty-fourth. She had her volunteers deliver them that evening so that needy folks might enjoy the food with their families on Christmas Day itself, like everyone else in town.

  During the next three hours, James could only catch glimpses of Maggie in the busy store. He waited and watched for an opportunity to have her to himself, but none came.

  From across the room, James watched her package some baked goods—shortbread cookies and berry pie—to those who hadn’t the time or inclination to bake for themselves.

  When a woman screeched softly in laughter, his gaze shot to the punch-bowl area. Beneath the dangling kissing ball, Tamara had been caught by her husband, Cliff, who’d rewarded her with a loud kiss.

  Folks chuckled. James caught Maggie’s eye. Her velvet cap danced along her shoulders. Her trim waist in that red skirt stood outlined by the sunshine behind her. Maybe she could see the desire in his stare, for she glanced away quickly, rubbing the back of her long neck, which left him to contemplate how she felt about him.

  It made him wonder if she needed him. She seemed to have everything she wanted. A loving family of sisters, a town full of people who adored her, her store the way she liked it and her life running smoothly without a man.

  He was still thoroughly perplexed by Maggie when the afternoon had turned to early evening and folks began to leave.

  “We’re going to join the others at the town square,” some indicated, while others said they were going home to dinner.

  When everyone had left—all but Maggie’s youngest sister, Anna, and her children—James stayed behind. He knew Maggie was well aware of him, for as he carried crates to the back room, she flushed when he brushed by her thigh. She did her best to avoid standing close to him, and spent more time directing silly questions at the children than speaking to him. There was a lot James had to say, and this time he’d say it before returning to the barracks for another lonesome night.

  “Let me take you to the festival,” he said to Maggie.

  She adjusted her blouse, the lace peek-through at her throat revealing satiny skin beneath, making temptation race through him. “It’s been a long day—”

  “When’s the last time you went?”

 
“Likely the last time you were there, too. Years ago.”

  They shared a smile. That was more like it, he thought. Give me some hope.

  “You two should get out of here,” hollered Anna from behind the counter. “I’ll lock up. The children will keep me company till my darling husband swings by. We’ll join you at the festivities. They’re roasting corn and sausages and we plan on eating dinner there.”

  James found Maggie’s fur coat and held it up for her. “It’s up to you. I’d still like to give you my gift, but in order to get to it, we’ve got to go out there.”

  And there he stood with arms extended, longing that she’d accept, for he couldn’t live with another rebuff from Maggie.

  The town square was humming with activity. James felt eyes peering at him and Maggie in the setting sun the moment they’d left her store. Some nudged each other and whispered in their direction, making him wonder if they’d known all along about the feelings he had for Maggie.

  He walked tall beside her, thrilled she’d agreed to come. But dozens of people walked beside them, making it impossible to share an intimate conversation. Some stopped to enter the competitions—stilt walking, who could spit prune pits the farthest, or who had made the best-tasting fudge.

  The Mounties had placed rows of logs onto the hillside, forming rudimentary bleachers. James and Maggie squeezed between the people to sit on the hill and watch the skaters.

  After the winter storms of last week, they’d been lucky to get a burst of warm weather for Christmas Eve.

  James bought Maggie and himself a cob of corn and a handful of roasted chestnuts. They sat together surrounded by dozens of others bundled in fox, beaver, buffalo and raccoon furs.

  “The key to keeping warm in this weather,” he said to Maggie as he cracked a chestnut, “is dressing properly.”

  She swallowed a mouthful of corn. “And what’s the key to you?”

  “Dressing me properly.”

  His answer made them both laugh.

  The wind whisked through his hair. He removed his buffalo coat and placed it beside him. He’d be warm enough in his wool uniform. Kerosene lamps, strung on a temporary wire above the crowd cast a rich glow over Maggie’s face. Her red-colored wool cap and coat made her skin shine like smooth crystal. And her curly hair, thick as ivy and despite her braid, was beginning to unravel at her neck and temples.

  James grew serious. “The key to my heart is very simple.”

  Growing quiet and reflective, Maggie set down her half-eaten cob of corn onto the cardboard platter in her lap.

  His bulging shoulder bumped her slender one. “I like being outside on nights like this. I like honest work. Sincere friendship.”

  “Is that where I fit in? As your friend?”

  It was difficult to get the words out, more so when there were heads turned in their direction, negating privacy. “You’re more than that, I hope.”

  Maggie turned her head away to look at the passing sleigh filled with laughing children. He wasn’t sure if he’d sprung something on her she didn’t want to talk about, or if she was measuring her words. But either way, he watched a tiny frown build between her eyebrows, and gentle lines of concern pucker on either side of her mouth.

  And then the musicians, the Mountie band, struck up, interrupting their conversation. It was a warm enough evening for them to play their instruments outdoors, as well as inside the town hall where quieter events were taking place—board games and the stringing of popcorn into garlands.

  The hillside grew silent as folks listened to the Mounties play. The sun faded behind the slopes and lavender shadows colored the snow.

  “I thought long and hard about a Christmas gift for you, Maggie. What I’d like to do is show you that I’m not that bad, that I do like folks. You were right about me in that regard. Being with them and with you isn’t torture.”

  “You don’t need to tell me that. What I said about your family was none of my business. It was inconsiderate and I shouldn’t have opened my big mouth.”

  “I’m glad you said it.” Then he added, “I’d like to sing you a Christmas carol.”

  Her tender brown eyes searched his. She smiled gently. “What a lovely gift.”

  When he saw the commander pressing his tuba to his lips, James excused himself to join the group. He used to be a good singer in his childhood. And so as the commander began playing “Good King Wenceslas,” James sang bass in harmony with the others.

  It was warm and comforting to be surrounded by friends on a starry night like this. His deep voice filled the cold night sky. He felt the words coming easily, the tune smooth and jovial. James concentrated on enjoying himself, on his many friends in the crowd, on how beautiful the night was and how extraordinary he felt being here with Maggie.

  He saw her sitting forward, cupping her palm beneath her chin, smiling at him in a way that made his hopes soar. It had been a mighty long time since he’d sung a Christmas tune, and never, ever had Maggie stared at him like this.

  When he finished, the crowd clapped, Maggie the most enthusiastic. The other Mounties continued with another song, but James slid his way around the people to rejoin Maggie.

  She stood up, weaving away, her sensual figure dipping out of reach, making his heart pound an obscene rhythm and his body tingle with arousal. “I’ve got to tell you, James,” she murmured. “I’m crazy about you, too.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Snowflakes tickled her forehead and the wind sent her scarf rolling along her cheeks as Maggie dodged James. She skipped and hurried on toward her store, pleased to see him following, so very pleased she’d heard him sing.

  She scuttled through the folks on the boardwalk. Heading back and forth from the square, people swiveled to watch James chasing her, then stared and chuckled.

  “Come back here, Maggie! You can’t say something like that to me and then run off!”

  “You’re a great singer, James Fielder!”

  “Shh, you’ll wake the sleeping!”

  “It’s early—no one’s sleeping yet!”

  “The snow owls haven’t awakened. They’re just rising for their midnight feast!”

  With a throaty laugh, she reached her store. Removing her key from the inside pocket of her coat, she unlocked the door and stepped inside. The room was still warm from the last embers of the fire. She raced to the stove, poked the fire and added two more logs.

  “If you don’t come here right this minute, I’m going to drag you out into the street.”

  Maggie spun to face him. With hat in hand, he was gazing at her from the open doorway, seeped in moonlight, his fur collar turned high around his jaw while the wind tousled his thick, black hair. The fire glow illuminated his face and trapped tiny shards of light in his dark, intense eyes.

  The light caught his forehead, too, his rough cheeks, his tense jaw, making his features stand out starkly against the night sky behind him and the moonlight tracing his body. He smiled a little bit, and still with eyes upon her, tossed his hat to the sofa. She seemed unable to move as she pounded with emotions, all at odds with each other.

  He walked closer as she fought to speak. What had she done, telling him she was mad about him, and then leading him to her home? She trembled as she surmised that he might think it an intimate invitation. A sexual one.

  She was reminded how big he was by the force of his stance, the size of his boots and that she had to crane her neck to stare up at him.

  “Thank you for the song. How did you know I’d enjoy your gift?”

  They were completely alone, things were more serious now than out there at the festival and he was unsmiling. “Because you’re sentimental.”

  With one smooth motion, he pulled off her hat and tossed it to the sofa beside his. Then he yanked open her coat and tugged it off one arm. “Shall I undress you here and now?”

  “James, don’t…” But it slipped off her shoulders into his hands. He tossed it, as well.

  “I shall do as I pl
ease.”

  Sliding from his grasp, she escaped to the other side of the room. “Just because we declared we’re…we’re crazy about each other doesn’t mean…”

  “It means everything. That’s all there is to life.”

  “We need to figure out what to do. If you’d like to court me, then—”

  “Court you? I want more than that.”

  His meaning was clear when he lowered his eyes over her breasts and the intake of her waist. She felt a flood of heat start in her chest and move to her thighs. He wanted to bed her? Is that what he wanted?

  “If you think that all you have to do is look at me that way…and that—and that I’ll melt in your arms…then…”

  “I’ll look at you any way I please.”

  He came closer but she stepped away.

  He laughed as if it was a game, unbuttoning his big coat, dropping it on a chair and leaning back with a rough hand propped against an archway. He stretched his legs, his back, his neck, as she’d seen him do a dozen times before, and each time she was riveted by the size of him. And how breathtaking he was in his red uniform.

  “Tell me why you brought me here.”

  Lord, he sounded like a gruff commander. “To thank you for tonight,” she began clumsily. “To tell you how much I admire you for finding Angelina and bringing her to safety.”

  He tilted his head and brushed his fingers along his jaw. “You know, when the light shines on you like that, it gives your hair the color of spring honey. From the first moment I laid eyes on you today, I wanted to wrap my arms around your tough, proud shoulders and never let go.”

  “But I hurt you, James. So terribly when I advised you about your father. I don’t know anything about your situation and yet I did what I always do. I stuck my nose into your affairs—”

  He swooped to her side and spanned her waist with his massive hands, pulling and tugging and telling her to hush.

  She buried her face in his tunic, aware of firm muscles beneath the cloth, loving the way he smelled and felt. Maggie sensed his lips brushing lightly against her hair.