The Christmas Bargain

by Shanna Hatfield

  “There you are,” Luke said, walking toward her with a warm smile. “The house was empty and I wondered where you’d gone.”

  “Sheeba and I needed some fresh air, so we went for a little ride today,” Filly said, closing Sheeba’s stall and helping Luke feed the animals, since they both were already in the barn. “I lost track of time, so I don’t have supper finished yet. I’m sorry. I know the only thing you’ve asked me to do is make sure you get three hot meals a day and I’m failing to meet that expectation.”

  “It’s fine, Filly. No need to worry,” Luke said, as he hauled fresh water for the horses, filling the buckets in their stalls.

  “But it’s my job and you count on me to have meals done on time,” Filly said, feeling agitated and unsettled after being out at the farm.

  Luke set down the bucket he was carrying and put his hands on Filly’s arms. “That is not your job. It might have started out as your job, but if you want me to hire a cook or a housekeeper or a lady’s maid, just say the word and I’ll hire someone. Your job is to be my wife and make our house a home, which you’ve done with admirable skill. Your job is to be a helpmate to me, which you do exceedingly well. How many other women do you think would be out in the barn helping their husbands feed and do evening chores? Not many. So no more of this nonsense about not doing your job properly. Understood?”

  “Yes,” Filly whispered, trying to hide the tear that rolled down her cheek by ducking her head. Luke however saw it glisten in the lantern light and wiped it away with his thumb.

  “What’s got you all full of frowns today, Filly girl? You’re usually pretty chipper, especially after you and Sheeba go for a ride. This isn’t like you.”

  “I’m just a little out of sorts,” she said, trying to avoid telling Luke the real reason she was so upset. “I was remembering things today I probably shouldn’t have been and it made me sad.” That much was true.

  Luke pulled her into a hug and held her quietly for a few moments before leaning down and kissing her forehead.

  “Go on up to the house, make yourself a cup of tea and sit by the fire. I’ll be in shortly and we’ll see about cheering you up.”

  “Luke, you don’t need to baby me,” Filly said, pulling back so she could see his face. Her gaze got lost in the dimple in his chin.

  “I’m not babying you, I’m trying to pamper you a bit. Just indulge me this once. I know you like to argue, but I’m not accepting any debates this evening.” He put his arm around her and walked her to the barn door. Giving her bottom a playful swat, he pushed her out the door. “Go on, wife, I’ll be there in a minute.”

  Filly shot him an indignant glare over her shoulder before marching toward the house. He assumed she would fuss and fume, then hurry to make a cup of tea and be sitting by the fire right before he walked in the door.

  Luke was mostly right. Instead of a cup, Filly made an entire pot of spiced tea and had it waiting when he came in.

  Coming in the front door, he looked into the parlor to make sure she was following orders. She sat in the small armchair by the fire, staring into the flames, with the tea tray on the low table in front of her. Looking up at Luke, she offered a small smile, and he grinned back at her.

  “You just sit tight, Mrs. Granger,” Luke said, removing his outerwear. “I’ll be back with our dinner momentarily.”

  “But Luke,” Filly called after his retreating form. “I can…”

  “Not another word. Sit there and be patient,” Luke said, walking into the kitchen.

  After washing his hands, he found a large tray and put slices of cheese and leftover pork roast from dinner the night before on a plate. He added pieces of buttered bread, a couple of boiled eggs, an orange, and a plate of sour cream cookies.

  Carrying the tray into the parlor, he told Filly to “wait a minute more,” before hurrying into the hall closet where he dug out an old woolen blanket he had taken on more than one picnic with a pretty girl, and laid it down before the fire.

  Tossing down a few pillows from the couch, he set the tray on the blanket, knelt down then offered his hand to Filly along with a smile he had been told could charm the clouds right out of the sky.

  Apparently the effect was not completely lost on his wife as she took his hand and seated herself on the blanket next to him. He filled her plate with bread, cheese and meat as well as an egg before handing it to her. She, in turn, poured him a cup of the spicy tea. He could smell the cinnamon. Taking a drink of the sweet brew, he closed his eyes to better savor the experience.

  “This is really good,” Luke said, taking another drink as he enjoyed the wonderful sweet flavor.

  “I’m glad you like it,” Filly said, studying the napkin on her lap. “I’m sorry I wasn’t in the best of moods earlier.”

  “It’s fine, Filly. We all have off days,” Luke said, taking a bite of the sandwich he made. “But I get the next turn.”

  Filly laughed and all seemed right in the world again. “Fair enough,” she said, eating her dinner. “Thank you for providing supper tonight.”

  “You’re welcome. You can see why I need a cook. About all I am capable of is buttering bread and peeling eggs,” Luke said, making another sandwich while Filly nibbled at hers.

  They chatted for a while, discussed Christmas plans and talked about some of Luke’s childhood escapades. While he told her a story about he and Chauncy bringing a pet mouse to church to be a part of the nativity and it's getting loose during the program, he peeled the orange, and divided it into sections. Giving Filly half, he watched as she took a bite, the juice clinging to her rosy bottom lip. He wanted, more than anything at that moment, to kiss the juice away. Looking up into her eyes, the bright green emeralds seemed to glow in the light of the fire.

  Swallowing down his desire, he remembered his promise to himself to take things slow and not get carried away again. At least not until Filly showed some sign that she felt more for him than a passing admiration for his role as her rescuer and guardian.

  Wiping his hands on a napkin, he leaned back against the pillows and gave Filly a grin that was all male flirtation. “Let’s play a game.”

  “What kind of game?” Filly asked, wiping orange juice from her fingers on her napkin.

  “A guessing game,” Luke said. “I pick an object and you try to guess what it is. You can ask twelve questions and if you don’t guess it by then, I win.”

  “That sounds easy enough. Does the object have to be something we can see or can it be anything anywhere in the world?”

  “I think we should start with something in this room and see how it goes,” Luke said, resting against the cushions and relaxing in the warmth of the fire. “I’ll go first. I have an object selected, so start asking questions.”

  “Is it bigger than a couch pillow?”

  “No.”

  “Is it smaller than a penny?”

  “No.”

  “Is it made of glass?”

  “No.”

  “Is it made of iron?”

  “No.”

  “Is it painted?”

  “No.”

  “Is it humble?”

  Luke looked at her in surprise before answering, “Yes.”

  “Is it the manger in the nativity set?”

  “Yes.” Shaking his head, Luke grinned. “How could you possibly figure that out so quickly?”

  “Because you and I think alike,” Filly said with a knowing smile. “Now it’s my turn.”

  It took Luke ten questions to guess the teapot, but he got it right. After that they worked hard to challenge each other. Finally, Filly had Luke stumped.

  “I give up,” he said, sitting up and looking around the room. “What in blazes is it? We established it is strong, beautifully made, useful, handsome, and big. I’ve got to know, what is it?”

  Filly giggled, gently placing her hand on Luke’s chest. “You.”

  Luke sat in shocked silence for a moment, then pulled Filly into his lap and tickled her s
ides until she begged for mercy. “That is not fair at all. You were supposed to pick an object in the room.”

  “I did. You are in the room, visible to us both. I can’t help it if you thought it was the couch,” Filly said, squirming in his grasp.

  “How did you know I thought it was the couch?” When Filly started to answer, he held up his hand. “Never mind. And I think I might be insulted to be considered an object, even if you did agree I was beautifully made.”

  Filly blushed. “But you are an object, an object of my…” She cut herself off before she said too much. Before she revealed her heart and embarrassed them both.

  Luke leaned close so that his breath was warm on her cheek, his lips near her ear. “The object of your what, Filly?”

  “Teasing,” Filly supplied. What she wanted to say was affection or maybe even desire. What she wanted to do was turn her head and kiss him until they were both breathless. What she wanted to feel was his arms around her for the rest of forever.

  Backlit by the fire, Luke’s golden head beckoned for her to run her fingers through the thick tousled stands. His skin looked tan and warm and so utterly masculine, she felt herself getting light headed.

  Jumping to her feet, she picked up the tea tray. “Thank you for a wonderful evening, Luke. I appreciate you taking my mind away from my memories.”

  “You are most welcome,” Luke said, picking up the other tray and carrying it to the kitchen.

  Filly rinsed off the dishes and dried them while Luke banked the fire in the parlor and folded the blanket, putting it away in the closet.

  Returning to the kitchen, Luke locked the door while Filly hung the kitchen towel on a hook to dry and turned off the lights. “Guess we better head to bed. It seems like there is still much to do before Christmas is here.”

  As Luke walked her to her bedroom door, he wondered if she had any family traditions from when her mother was alive. Maybe he’d remember to ask her tomorrow. As she opened the bedroom door, he could see her mother’s quilt spread out on her bed.

  “I’m glad to see you using your quilt, Filly. It certainly makes your room look festive.”

  Turning to look at the bed, Filly nodded in agreement. “And it makes it feel like my mama is here with me.”

  “I’m glad, darlin’,” Luke said, kissing her cheek before continuing down the hall to his room. Hours later, he tossed and turned as sleep eluded him. The more time he spent with Filly, the harder it was to block visions of her mahogany curls, emerald eyes, rosy cheeks and silvery laugh from his mind. Rolling over, he punched his pillow and prayed, again, for patience.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Luke was tallying up a row of numbers in a ledger the next morning when Horace Greenblum, the telegraph operator, rushed into the bank waving a slip of paper above his bald head.

  “Luke! Luke! You’ve got an important message that needs read right away,” he said, hustling to Luke’s desk as fast as his short bandy legs could carry him. “I don’t know how it happened, but it was sent some time last week and just now made it through to our office.”

  Standing, Luke took the paper from Horace, scanned through the message and felt the air whoosh out of him. Slumping into his chair, the collar of his shirt began to strangle him. Clawing at his tie, he jerked it loose then undid his top button. A few words that were guaranteed to make Chauncy lecture him on Christian living and redemption rattled through his head. He managed to stop them before they spewed out his lips.

  Staring at the telegram on top of his desk, he felt Harlan’s hand on his shoulder.

  “Are you okay, boss? You don’t look so good.”

  “I’m fine,” Luke said, raking a hand through his perfectly combed hair, sending it flying every direction. Digging in his pocket for a coin, he handed it to Horace and thanked him for delivering the message.

  “Are you sure you’re fine?” Harlan asked once Horace left. “You look a mite pale. Did you receive some bad news?”

  Luke swallowed then nodded.

  “How bad is it?”

  “The worst,” Luke said with a sigh, rolling his eyes heavenward, praying for deliverance. “My mother is coming to visit.”

  Harlan laughed and returned to his desk. “That explains a lot. When is she due to arrive?”

  Luke picked up the message and read it again.

  MERRY CHRISTMAS SON STOP ARRIVING DECEMBER TWENTY TWO ON AFTERNOON STAGE STOP SEE YOU THEN STOP LOVE DAD STOP

  Getting up so fast, he knocked over his chair, Luke grabbed his Stetson and slapped it on his head. Ramming one arm into a coat sleeve, he yelled, “today!” as he ran out the door toward home realizing it was, in fact, the twenty-second of December.

  Anyone watching the town’s banker run pell-mell through town might have thought Granger House was aflame. Bursting through the kitchen door, Luke hollered, “Filly!” as he flung off his coat and hat, not bothering to hang them up.

  Mrs. Kellogg ran out of the laundry room, a wet towel hanging from her hand. “Mr. Granger, lands sakes. Whatever is the matter?”

  “Where’s Filly? I need her now,” he said, glancing around the kitchen, expecting his wife to materialize out of thin air.

  “She just returned from visiting Mrs. Dodd. She said she was going to put away a few things and then be ready to serve you lunch.”

  Luke ran down the hall to the bathroom, but the door was open. Backtracking, he opened Filly’s bedroom door only to find an empty room.

  “Filly,” he yelled again. “Filly!”

  Hurrying down the hall, he checked the parlor, the library and even his bedroom. Racing up the back stairs he glanced across the second floor hall to see all the doors shut. He was about to head out to the barn when he heard a noise overhead and yanked open the attic door.

  “Filly! Are you up there?” he bellowed up the stairs, holding his hands around his mouth so the noise would carry farther. A loud thump followed by a muffled shriek drew him up the stairs, two at a time.

  Despite his sense of urgency to make ready for his mother, Luke stopped as he stepped into the room and doubled over in laughter.

  “You blathering fool, come help me out of here,” Filly said from her position wedged bottom first into an open trunk. Her feet in the air, Luke got a generous view of stocking clad legs and a frothing of lace-edged petticoats.

  Barely able to stand, let alone be of assistance, Luke continued laughing while Filly’s glare shot daggers of annoyance his direction.

  “If you hadn’t bellowed like a bull in the chute up the stairs, you wouldn’t have frightened me and I wouldn’t have tripped and fallen into this blasted trunk,” Filly said sharply. “Now stop your laughing and get me out.”

  Wiping the tears from his eyes, Luke took her hands in his and pulled. “I don’t think you are in any position to be making demands, Filly girl.”

  “Be that as it may,” Filly said as Luke hauled her upright, “it is still your fault. Suppose you tell me what has you all in a dither.”

  “I just got a telegram that dad and mother are coming for Christmas,” Luke said, watching as Filly tugged her skirt to straighten it.

  “That’s wonderful,” Filly said, plans whirring through her head at this welcome news.

  Turning her to look at him, he had to make two things perfectly clear to his wife. “It isn’t wonderful news, not in the least. First of all, I haven’t gotten around to telling them I’m married. And second, when they do find out, they’ll expect us to be really married, sharing a room like a happily married couple.”

  “Oh,” Filly said, her eyes wide as she soaked in what Luke was saying.

  “The other little problem is that they are arriving today,” Luke said quietly, hoping to soften the blow.

  “What?” Filly said, her voice raising a good octave in volume. “Good heavens!” Picking up her skirts, she ran down the stairs, followed closely by Luke.

  “Filly? Filly! Where are you going?” Luke asked as he grabbed her arm before she ran d
own to the main floor.

  “Isn’t it obvious? I’m running away until after they are gone,” Filly looked at him soberly, but a twinkle in her eyes gave away her teasing.

  Putting his arms around her waist and giving her a quick hug, he pulled back and swatted her backside. “You shouldn’t tease me like that, especially when I’ve had such an unexpected bit of news.”

  “I know, but I couldn’t help myself,” Filly said, taking Luke’s hand and hurrying down the stairs. Arriving in the kitchen, she stopped long enough to dish up their lunch, which they hurriedly ate. Afterward, Filly sent Mrs. Kellogg to the mercantile with a list of supplies.

  Luke quickly began the business of moving his things out of the downstairs guest room up to the master bedroom. While he was doing that, Filly opened the room’s windows to air it out, changed the bedding and managed to put together an arrangement of greens to sit on the dresser, adding a bit of festive flair to the room. When the last of Luke’s things were out, Filly slammed the window shut and they looked around the room critically. It was ready for the arrival of his parents.

  Filly, however, was not. When Luke opened her bedroom door and started racing up the stairs with an armful of her gowns, she tried to stop him.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, flabbergasted.

  “You can’t stay down here,” Luke said, grabbing another armful of gowns. “You’ve got to move into the master bedroom as well.”

  Spluttering, Filly stared after him. Running up the stairs, she jerked at his arm. “But, Luke, we can’t…I can’t…we aren’t…”

  “You know that, and I know that, and even Mrs. Kellogg knows that, but my parents don’t and they won’t. So while they are here, we will be staying in the master bedroom. This is not up for discussion,” Luke said, hanging her dresses in the massive closet. “Now run your sweet little posterior back down to your room and get the rest of your things.”

  “But Luke,” Filly began to protest again, trying not to think too much about him calling her posterior sweet.