“I hope you’ll be here for a while,” Blake heard himself say then wondered what possessed him to voice his thoughts. He had no intention of getting involved with Ginny Granger again. As spoiled and ornery as she was when he knew her, she seemed to have gotten worse with age. The woman sitting at the dining room table was arrogant, headstrong, and opinionated.
All through the morning church service, he’d forced himself not to notice the streaks of gold in her blond hair or the wayward curls escaping the pile on top of her head as they danced enticingly along her delicate neck. Sitting in the row behind her, he inhaled her sweet fragrance every time she moved. So distracted by her presence, he almost missed Chauncy’s call to stand for the closing hymn.
Now, seated across the table from her, he realized some part of him was still interested in Ginny Granger. Some stupid, obviously idiotic part of him that didn’t realize the danger involved in caring for the smart-mouthed woman.
She’d leave his heart in an even more destitute condition than she had as a young girl because it would be broken by a grown woman. A decidedly beautiful, lusciously curved woman who could no doubt cause him more pain and torment than he ever wanted to endure.
Turning his attention to the banter going on between Luke and Chauncy, he did his best to ignore the way Ginny’s big blue eyes kept glancing at him, how her dark lashes fanned against her porcelain cheeks, and her pink lips slipped into a becoming pout.
Feeling the temperature in the room suddenly rise, Blake fought the urge to tug at his shirt collar. Instead, he placed his napkin beside his plate and arose, drawing all the attention his direction.
“Sincere thanks to you, Filly, for this lovely meal. You’ve outdone yourself once again, and I appreciate the invitation to join you for one of your delectable feasts,” Blake said, taking Filly’s hand in his and kissing the back of it with a gallant flair.
“Mine, Unca Bake. Kiss mine, too,” Erin said, leaning against his leg, holding up her chubby fist.
Blake squatted down, so he was closer to eye level with the child. Pressing his lips to the tiny hand with a noisy smack, he tickled the little imp beneath her chin, eliciting a giggle.
“Tank you,” Erin said, holding her hand against her chest while her other clung to Abby’s skirt.
“Leaving so soon, Blake?” Luke asked, getting to his feet and shaking his hand. “No need to rush off.”
“I really must be on my way, but I do thank you for your hospitality and the comfort of spending a lovely afternoon at Granger House with such pleasant company,” Blake said, his British accent increasing in direct proportion to the unsettled feelings Ginny evoked just by looking at him.
Blake tipped his head her direction as he stepped away from the table. “Miss Granger, nice to see you again.”
“You as well, Mr. Stratton,” Ginny said, frowning at Luke as he gave her a gentle shove in Blake’s direction.
“Be a good sister and walk Blake to the door, Ginny Lou. Please,” Luke said, grinning at her with a knowing look in his eye. “You look like you need a breath of fresh air.”
Biting her tongue to keep from telling him what she thought of his behavior, she tossed her head and stomped after Blake. She found him at the hall tree in the front entry, taking his hat off a hook.
“You don’t need to see me out. I can find my way,” Blake said, both glad and dismayed to have a moment alone with Ginny. She was even more beautiful than he remembered.
“For some reason, Luke is sure you’ll get lost between the front door and the road, so I’m to accompany you down the walk,” Ginny said, trying not to thrill at the feel of Blake’s fingers briefly touching her back as he held the door and followed her outside.
Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Blake settle his hat on his head as they strolled down the front walk. Her fingers itched to run through his thick hair and may have done just that if Bart hadn’t run around the house and into her skirts, nearly toppling her to the grass.
Blake’s quick reflexes kept her on her feet, although his arms wrapped around her waist and held her against his chest.
Ginny could have kissed the mutt on his furry head for the result of his actions. In no hurry to leave the wonderful warmth of Blake’s arms, she let him hold her a moment before stepping away.
“That beast is the most ill-behaved lunkhead I’ve ever encountered,” Ginny said, glaring at the dog while silently singing his praises. “Must you be so ornery?”
“Don’t begrudge Bart a little fun,” Blake said, hunkering down and rubbing his hands over the back of the dog. Bart immediately rolled on his side while Blake gave his belly a good scratching. “You’re a fine dog, aren’t you, old boy?”
Bart yipped happily, got to his feet, and lapped at Blake’s face, making him chuckle. Rubbing the dog’s ears one last time, Blake stood and continued down the walk. Ginny kept in step with him, wishing she’d followed her impulse to bury her fingers in Blake’s hair.
She’d never done that as a girl and she had no idea where such an errant idea came from now. It must be the vital masculinity so readily apparent in Blake causing her to think such unacceptable thoughts. Despite his cultured speech and accent, a rugged element clung to him, piquing her interest and leaving her thoroughly intrigued.
“I didn’t see your parents at church. Are they well?” Ginny asked, groping for a safe topic of conversation. One that wouldn’t make her think of Blake’s strong arms or muscled chest or how badly she wanted one of his kisses.
“They are indeed well, at least at the writing of their last letter,” Blake said. At Ginny’s confused look, he continued. “They returned to England six years ago.”
“Oh. I had no idea. I’m sorry, Blake. I’m sure you miss them terribly,” Ginny said, remembering how close Blake had always been with his parents. “Do you see them at all?”
“We try to get together at least once a year. I spent the holidays with them two years ago, they were here to visit in the early summer, and I’m planning a trip to see them in the spring,” Blake said, coming to a stop next to his horse where it stood tied to a post near the fence around the front yard. “Although I miss them, I’m happy for them to return to their lives near London. Father missed it more than he ever let on.”
“Do you still live at the farm?” Ginny remembered many meals she’d eaten at the humble Stratton home. Lacking servants and the air of pretentiousness that clung to Granger House, Ginny remembered feeling the love shared among the Stratton family. When she was with Blake, it encompassed her, too.
She wished, again, things had ended differently with the handsome man.
“Yes. I rent out the ground to a neighbor to farm, but I’ve still got a few cattle, and Dad’s horses, and my workshop there,” Blake said, adjusting the cinch on his saddle for something to do with his hands. If he didn’t keep them occupied, he was afraid they might reach out and pull Ginny to his chest again. The feel of her leaning against him a moment ago scrambled what few wits he had left in her presence.
“Workshop?”
“I’m a carpenter, Ginny. You knew I loved to work with wood. It’s what I always wanted to do,” Blake said, turning to look at her, wondering if she’d listened to any of his dreams and plans when they were younger. Working with wood was the only thing that stirred an unquenchable passion in him, other than her. “I went to Portland and spent two years studying with a master carpenter before coming back here and opening my own business.”
“I’m happy for you,” Ginny said, remembering not only how much Blake loved working with wood, but how talented he was at it, too.
The little lump of smooth wood in her pocket was a constant reminder of both his talent and the love she’d left behind when her parents carted her off to New York. She wondered if her infatuation with Blake had anything to do with her parents moving when they did. Her mother had such great aspirations of Ginny marrying well and a poor boy who planned to be a humble carpenter didn’t fit in Dora’s plans at
all. Especially not when Ginny was only fifteen and had her whole life ahead of her.
Wondering what might have happened if her parents had stayed in Hardman, Ginny changed the direction of her thoughts before she grew maudlin.
“Me, too,” Blake said, realizing he was grateful his parents encouraged him to follow his dreams and made it possible for him to go to Portland. “It’s a good, honest life.”
Ginny studied the toes of her shoes peeking out from the hem of her dress instead of listening to the voice in her head telling her to reach up and trace her finger over the familiar mole on Blake’s cheek. He’d always hated it, but she thought it somehow kept him from looking too perfect.
“Ginny?”
“Yes?”
“Did you ever miss it here, in all those years you were gone?” Blake asked. Did you miss me?
“I did, Blake. There were some things, people, I missed so much my heart ached just thinking about them,” Ginny said, wondering why Blake would ask such a question. He was the one who broke his promise to keep in touch. He was the one who broke her heart.
“I see,” Blake said, not really seeing anything. He hoped he was one of the people she’d missed, but knew it wasn’t likely. If she’d missed him that much, she would have written him at least one letter. “I better go. I’ve got things to do at home.”
“Certainly,” Ginny said, taking a step away from the warmth and wonderful masculine scent of Blake. Spending the last several years surrounded by the soft, spoiled boys in her crowd, she found Blake beyond appealing and entirely fascinating.
“Enjoy your afternoon, Ginny,” he said, mounting his horse. Starting to turn away, he stopped, reaching down and rubbing his fingers across her smooth cheek. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re home.”
Before she could utter a reply, he turned, urging his horse down the street.
Chapter Three
Sitting at the breakfast table, yawning over a cup of tepid tea, Ginny couldn’t fathom how Filly and Luke could both be so wide-awake and chipper at such a detestable hour of the morning.
Taking pity on her, Luke merely raised an eyebrow her direction when she slumped in her chair at the table wearing an old dress with her hair falling around her in a wild tangle. Even after eating breakfast, she still felt half-awake and unable to function. She barely acknowledged Luke’s departure to work or the sound of Filly beginning to wash laundry.
Contemplating the amount of effort it would take to wander back to bed versus resting her head on the table for a while, Ginny stifled a yawn when a knock sounded at the kitchen door.
“Ginny, would you mind answering that please?” Filly called from the room off the kitchen where she was doing laundry.
Muttering to herself about ill-mannered people who didn’t know better than calling so early in the day, she yanked open the door to see Blake standing on the step, wearing a broad grin as one hand patted Bart on the head.
“Miss Granger,” Blake said, amused by her disheveled state, as well as the shock widening her big blue eyes. Not only was her dress sadly in need of an acquaintance with a hot iron, she’d missed a couple buttonholes, resulting in the front of her gown looking like a drunk fastened it together. Combined with her untamed, blond curls flying every direction, she looked like a child playing dress up.
“My stars!” Ginny’s hands flew to her unruly hair as Blake stepped inside, carrying a large toolbox. “Blake, er… Mr. Stratton. What are you doing here so early in the day?”
“Is that Blake, Ginny?” Filly asked, sticking her head out the laundry room door.
“As a matter of fact, it is.” Ginny wanted to throw something at Filly’s smirking face. Her sister-in-law knew Blake was coming and never said a word about it during breakfast.
“I’ll be right there,” Filly called. She entered the kitchen wiping wet hands on her apron. “Good morning, Blake. You’re right on time. Can I make you a cup of coffee? Maybe offer you a leftover muffin?”
“I’ve had my breakfast, but I do thank you for the offer. Maybe you’ll save that muffin for later this morning, if I need a break from my work,” Blake said, smiling at Filly although his eyes remained firmly fixed on Ginny.
Following the direction of his gaze, Filly swallowed back a grin. “Blake is going to do some work in the corner bedroom upstairs. The last storm we had knocked a limb through the window and the rain all but ruined part of the wall and floor.”
“The brown room?” Ginny asked, realizing she hadn’t even looked around upstairs to see if Filly and Luke had redecorated any of the bedrooms.
“Yes, that’s the one. I’m afraid the beautiful woodwork beneath the window is beyond repair. Luke and I were in Portland for a few days when it happened and Mrs. Kellogg, bless her heart, didn’t realize anything was amiss since we keep the extra bedrooms closed most of the time.”
“That’s unfortunate,” Ginny said, wishing someone had mentioned Blake’s impending arrival. She had a sneaking suspicion Luke instructed Filly to feign innocence in the matter.
“Shall I show you the room?” Filly asked, turning to Blake.
Nodding his head, he followed Filly, tugging mischievously on one of Ginny’s errant curls as he walked by whispering, “You might want to have another go at getting dressed this morning.”
Ginny’s gaze dropped to the front of her gown and she felt hot embarrassment fill her cheeks. Waiting until she heard Filly and Blake’s footsteps on the stairs, she ran down the hall to her room and dug through her clothes, finding one of her favorite dresses.
“That man is such a… a… oh!” Mad beyond words, she hurriedly changed clothes, put on her shoes and worked a brush through her hair. Piling it on top of her head, she jabbed in enough hairpins to keep it somewhat contained.
Studying her image in the mirror above the dressing table, she eyed herself critically. Deciding she looked fit to be seen, she harbored no small sense of irritation toward her sister-in-law for not giving her fair warning that Blake would be knocking on the door before she made herself presentable for the day.
Luke probably planned for her to be embarrassed all along, knowing she’d drag herself to the table with her hair uncombed and whatever dress she happened to find with her eyes half shut. Her brother wasn’t nearly as funny as he thought himself to be.
With all thoughts of a nap thoroughly chased from her head, Ginny instead found herself trying to think of some reason to go upstairs and watch Blake work.
Returning to the kitchen, she tied one of Filly’s voluminous aprons around her waist and stood looking at the orderly kitchen, wondering what she could do to be useful.
It didn’t take long for her to observe Luke’s wife worked every bit as hard as he did. In the time it took Ginny to make herself a cup of tea, Filly could have a cake batter mixed and pans baking in the oven, or the dishes washed and dried. Twice, the woman had even gone out in the evening to help Luke feed the livestock.
Accustomed to a leisurely pace with no expectations of actually accomplishing anything, Ginny felt useless around Filly. As much as it rankled, she couldn’t bring herself to resent her sister-in-law. The woman was kind, gracious, big-hearted, and a lot of fun. On top of that, Luke clearly adored her and Ginny was beginning to as well.
“Oh, there you are,” Filly said as she came in the kitchen, her apron damp from finishing the washing. “Would you like to help me make some cookies?”
“Certainly,” Ginny said, having no idea where to start. Filly gave her direction as she creamed butter and sugar then added the eggs, baking powder, salt, and flour.
“Then we just roll it out like this,” Filly said, rolling the cookie dough on the floured surface of the counter. “Would you like to cut out the cookies?”
“Yes, please,” Ginny said, picking up the glass Filly indicated and cutting perfect circles in the sweet dough. She used to sit in the kitchen and watch their cook make cookies. The woman often allowed her to cut circles in the dough, at least until
Dora discovered her in the kitchen and shooed her off to practice playing the piano or work on her embroidery skills. Blake’s mother also tried to teach her some useful skills, to no avail.
“Now, just sprinkle a little sugar on top,” Filly said, watching as Ginny carefully spread sugar on the tops of the cookies.
Sliding the sheets of cookies into the oven, Filly quickly washed the dishes then began preparations for lunch.
“What are you making now?” Ginny asked, watching as Filly peeled potatoes and carrots.
“Beef stew,” Filly said, removing the lid from the meat she’d started simmering earlier that morning. “Luke’s quite partial to it.”
“Why do you cook the meat before you add the rest?” Ginny asked, watching as Filly added chunks of potatoes and sliced carrots to the stew pot.
Looking at Ginny, Filly offered her a kind smile. “The meat takes longer to cook and become tender. If we put the vegetables in as long as the meat, they’d be mushy by the time the stew was finished. This way both the meat and the vegetables come out just right.”
Ginny nodded her head, realizing for perhaps the first time in her life she had a marginal interest in the process used to create the delicious meals she’d always taken for granted.
Taking a tray out of a cupboard, Filly poured hot coffee into a small pot, added cups, napkins and a plate of the warm sugar cookies then handed it to Ginny.
“I’m sure Blake could use a break. Would you take that up to him?” Filly asked, nodding her head toward the back stairs.
“Don’t you think… maybe you should…” Ginny sighed, out of excuses as she removed her apron. Straightening her shoulders, she carried the tray down the hall and up the back stairs.
Taking a deep breath, she walked into the corner bedroom and set the tray down on a dresser. Glancing around, she noted the room looked much like it did the last time she’d seen it a decade ago.
The Christmas Token Page 3
