WESTERN CHRISTMAS PROPOSALS

by Various

Willa hugged the envelope she carried close to her chest as she pushed through the door of Connolly Designs & Dresses. She had come to deliver the documents Lettie had signed with respect to the dissolution of her marriage. It was a stark reminder of how things could go when a marriage didn’t work out as planned.

  “Good morning, Meredith,” Willa called as she walked into the dress shop and waved to her friend behind the counter, where she was helping a customer, likely doing finishing touches on a dress for the Christmas dance. Meredith Donovan had opened her business a year ago and she and Willa had bonded over their shared experiences as two of the few preeminent businesswomen in Salvation Falls. “I’m here to see Bertram.”

  Meredith waved back. “Go on upstairs. When you’re done with business, come back down and we’ll have a chat. I have a ready-made that I think you’ll love. I haven’t given up on getting you decked out for this dance.”

  “I’ll stop by,” she called over her shoulder, though she hoped Meredith would be too busy to speak by the time she returned. The woman was painfully stubborn when she got an idea in her head. Willa reached the second floor and knocked on the door before entering.

  “Oh.”

  Morgan looked up from the desk and her breath caught in her throat. She noticed immediately that he’d cut his hair, trimming up the shaggier edges. How was it that a haircut could make his eyes even bluer? Or was that the brilliant winter sunshine pouring in from the windows filling the room with light? Not that it mattered. The effect was the same. And it left her breathless.

  “Red? I didn’t know you were stopping by.” He stood. His denims and flannel shirt were gone, replaced by a pair of black wool trousers and a white shirt. He’d rolled up the sleeves to reveal sinewy forearms and unbuttoned it at the neck just enough to make her imagination wander where it had no business going. She looked quickly away and cleared her throat, trying to get the muscles there working. “You look different.”

  He had worn suits when he’d worked for her father, but the effect had never been this potent. Time had filled him out, removing the lankiness of youth and replacing it with the hard breadth of a grown man.

  His mouth quirked to one side. “I was told I needed to buy a suit.”

  “By Bertram?”

  “No. I was judged by a jury of two men who like to stick their noses in other people’s business.” His answer made no sense to her but he came out from behind the desk and motioned to a chair across from it before she could ask for clarification. “Sit down.”

  Willa hesitated. She had expected to deal with Bertram on this matter. “I have some paperwork for Bertram. It’s the divorce petition Ernest sent Lettie.”

  Morgan tilted his head to one side. “Ah. And she sent you over with it?”

  “She doesn’t particularly want to deal with it.”

  “That so?”

  “Yes. I suppose.” Though she was beginning to have her doubts. Had Lettie known Morgan would be here? Was that why she’d claimed a headache and refused to deliver the signed papers on her own? “Regardless, here they are. So—”

  “Red—”

  “Please stop calling me that.” The plea rushed out of her before she could stop it.

  “Why?”

  Because she couldn’t think straight when he did, that’s why. But she bit her tongue, holding the words inside. This was why she needed to avoid Morgan Trent. They couldn’t have a simple conversation like the one she’d had with Mr. Carstock on the sidewalk only moments before. Everything she and Morgan said to each other came weighted down by their past. Each conversation pregnant with expectation yet littered with the debris of what might have been. She didn’t know how to navigate them properly. They didn’t make maps for these kinds of things.

  “I’m not Red to you anymore. I am just...Mrs. Barstow.” She threw the name out like a shield across her heart.

  “You will never be Mrs. Barstow to me.” His words were hard and clipped and the skin across his cheekbones tightened.

  “It’s my name.”

  “It isn’t who you are.”

  Fire burned through her at his words, incinerating any hope she had of staying calm and collected.

  “How would you know who I am? You thought me a meek, pampered girl who would wait around like a faithful hound while you tried to build the life you thought I wanted. If you had known me, you would have realized none of that mattered a fig to me. I didn’t want things, Morgan. I wanted you!”

  Oh, no. What had she just done? Her hands flew to her cheeks, the heat of embarrassment burning into her skin. She needed to leave. To get away from him before she said something even more foolish. Like admitting that she loved him. That despite everything that had happened, despite every effort she’d made, she couldn’t stop loving him. She didn’t know how to stop. But that she couldn’t promise him anything beyond that. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

  “I have to go.” She turned and hurried to the door.

  “Hold up a minute,” Morgan called out, his footsteps echoing behind her.

  Willa grabbed the door handle. She hadn’t meant to lay her feelings bare. She needed time to figure them out, dissect them. Determine how best to deal with them. That was how she’d survived these past six years, using her head, not her heart, and the method had served her well. It gave her strength. But her feelings for Morgan threatened all of that, because in the end, what she really wanted was to turn around, throw herself into his arms and let him kiss her the way he had at the church. And that, in a nutshell, was a recipe for disaster. Because she had thrown caution to the wind once before and it had cost her dearly.

  Before she could wrench the door open Morgan’s hand came down and stilled hers.

  “You said you needed time, Red. Well, I’ve given you time. It’s been almost a week since we spoke...since we kissed.” A shiver wound its way down her spine. “Turn around.”

  She didn’t. Her brain worked furiously to find a way out of this predicament, to escape the conversation she wasn’t ready to have. It didn’t help matters that it was exceptionally difficult to concentrate when Morgan’s hand continued to rest upon hers and the heat of his body warmed her back through the wool cloak she’d worn. If she turned around, she’d be mere inches from his face. From those horribly distracting blue eyes. From his mouth, so sinfully tempting. So, no, she was definitely not going to turn around.

  “Red, we need to talk,” he murmured in her ear.

  She closed her eyes. Heavens, was there nothing about this man that didn’t make her insides feel like liquid fire?

  When it became clear he was not going to budge, she complied and turned around, pressing her back against the door. “What do you want me to say? You want to talk about a future, but I can’t forget the past. What happened between us wasn’t exactly a pleasant memory.”

  “Parts of our past were pleasant, weren’t they?” He leaned closer and her breath caught as he gave her that cocky grin that held the ability to render her stupid. “I remember a particular kiss that was most pleasant. And another, more recent one, that was even more so.”

  Willa’s heart jerked in her chest. Everything in his expression spoke of sincerity, deep and imploring. She let out a small sigh. There had been a time when she could have stood there and stared at him all day. The years apart had not diminished that in the least. If anything, that need had only increased, as now there was so much more to see. Stories written in the thin lines that fanned out from the corners of his eyes. A history that unfolded deep within his gaze. She wanted desperately to hear those stories, to know the history of what had happened after he’d failed to come back for her.

  “I admit I behaved abominably in the past, Red. I should have recognized that fact years ago but I was just too—”

  “Pigheaded?” Maybe if she remembered the hurt, she could clear her head. Think st
raight.

  He scowled at her. “Thank you. And yes, I suppose pigheaded would be one way of describing it.”

  “And self-absorbed?”

  The scowl deepened. “And that.”

  “Mired in your own—”

  “Can we stop now?” His mouth twisted and something deep inside of her keened with longing.

  “But I was just getting started.”

  “I’m sure you were. And I’m sure we could spend all day listing my faults and shortcomings.” He reached up to tuck a recalcitrant curl behind her ear, letting the tip of his finger linger upon the sensitive skin. “I’m not a perfect man. I’ve made mistakes that I deeply regret. But I want to be better. To do better.”

  Her heart picked up speed. “That’s very admirable. I wish you all the best in that regard. I hold in great esteem the idea that everyone can improve themselves.”

  She was babbling like a fool! Was that what awaited her if they continued living in the same town? A lifetime of staring into the face of regret whenever she passed him on the street as they continued on with their separate lives?

  Her heart wrenched, shrunk back. Curled in on itself.

  “Thanks,” he said, though his voice carried a note of sarcasm. “I think you’re missing my point.”

  “I need to go,” she whispered, the only truth she’d spoken in the past few minutes.

  “You need to stay. You haven’t answered my question yet.”

  “What question?”

  He looked at her as if she’d gone daft. His assessment wasn’t far from the truth. “About giving us a second chance.”

  “Oh, that.”

  The intensity of his gaze deepened. “Yes, that. I’ve been thinking on it and I want you to marry me, Red. Marry me like we should have all those years ago. You can give up the boardinghouse and we’ll find a nice little place and finally get our happily-ever-after. You know how much I’ve always wanted that, to have a family of my own. And there’s no one else I want to do that with but you.”

  His proposal lifted her up then let her fall. Like an idiot, for a second she was a heartbeat away from saying yes, to giving in to the dream they’d shared once upon a time. His nearness pushed through the miasma of hurt and blinded her with wanting. His sincerity wrapped around her heart and squeezed until it was painful. It was almost enough.

  Almost.

  I want you to marry me. You can give up the boardinghouse. I’ve always wanted that.

  The words pummeled the hope that had slowly built inside her since their kiss, forcing her back to reality and the fears she’d wrestled with.

  She shoved hard against Morgan’s chest until he stepped back and gave her room to breathe. To think.

  “You want me to marry you and give up the boardinghouse?” Her voice was shrill with the disappointment of having such a perfect moment snatched away.

  Morgan’s brows knitted together. “Yes. Why? What’s wrong with that? You love me, I know you do. You wouldn’t have kissed me like that the other day if you didn’t still have feelings. Nothing has changed, Red. We were meant to be together.”

  She shook her head. Because that was the thing. Something had changed. She had changed. She had lost everything that meant anything to her and then she’d rebuilt herself, her life. He couldn’t just ride into town and expect to pick up where they’d left off. Expect her to turn her back on everything she’d accomplished and marry him so that he could have his happily-ever-after? What about her happily-ever-after? What about what she wanted?

  Had Morgan stopped to consider that she no longer fit the mold of the submissive, dutiful wife? Maybe that had fit her idea of perfection six years ago, but she’d lived a different life in the time since and she’d learned a thing or two about herself. About what made her happy. What she wanted.

  And what she didn’t.

  And what she didn’t want was to be married to someone who expected her to be a version of herself that no longer existed. Someone who wanted her to give up her life for the sake of his.

  “Red, what is the matter? I thought we—”

  “Exactly,” she said, cutting him off. “You thought. And you want. And from what I can tell you expected me to just fall in line with all of that. Well, tell me, Morgan, what do you think I want? Do you think I’ve been sitting here for the past six years waiting for you to arrive and sweep me away from all of this? Because I haven’t. I like my life. I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished.”

  “I understand that, Red. But—”

  “There is no but, Morgan. I have no intentions of giving that up. And I have a sneaking suspicion you don’t want a wife whose life doesn’t revolve around yours. Do you?”

  Morgan didn’t answer her. He didn’t have to. His silence and the stunned expression on his handsome face gave her the answer she needed, even if it wasn’t the answer she wanted.

  “I can’t marry you, Morgan.”

  Anger registered in the tightness of his mouth and the sudden clenching of his fists. “Can’t?”

  “Won’t,” she clarified. “I won’t marry you. I won’t go back to the kind of life that’s ruled by someone else. I won’t deny I love you. I always have. But I won’t consign myself to a life that no longer fits the person I’ve become. Until you can understand that, I don’t see any future for us beyond friendship.”

  Silence lay heavy in the air around them and for the longest time neither of them spoke. Willa straightened her shoulders and took a deep breath. Her refusal had surprised him, annoyed him even, confirming her worst fears. That he thought he could march back into her life and have things the way he wanted without taking her needs into consideration.

  “Good day, Morgan. I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for.”

  She turned and groped through the tears that blinded her until she found the door handle and pulled it open. She forced her legs to move. To hurry down the stairs, out of the dress shop and as far away from Morgan as she could get.

  If only she could outrun the pain and disappointment taking over her heart just as easily.

  Chapter Seven

  I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for.

  Willa’s refusal rebounded around the room long after she’d left and he’d returned to sit at Bertram’s fire-scarred desk. What had just happened? He’d been so sure of everything. The kiss they’d shared at the church had clearly told him nothing had changed between them. The love, the attraction, all of that was still there, alive and well and stronger than ever. She’d even admitted that she loved him. So what the heck had gone so wrong?

  And why in tarnation did the idea of being his wife and mother to his children, creating a loving home, suddenly seem tantamount to death?

  “You keep scowlin’ like that, boy, and your face is gonna stick that way.”

  Morgan glanced up to see his uncle standing inside the office leaning on his cane, a smile brightening his blue eyes. The cane was mostly an affectation Morgan had discovered, as Bertram’s step still remained spry for a man in his sixties. Between the bushy white beard and snow-white hair, his uncle reminded Morgan of a rendering he’d seen as a child of St. Nicholas.

  “What do you know about women, Uncle Bertram?”

  His uncle laughed, the sound big and hearty. “No more than you, I’m afraid. As I’ve said before, mercurial creatures with far more going on inside their heads and hearts than we mere men will ever fully understand.” He walked over to the window and looked out. “Ah. Might’ve known. I take it you and Willa had a bit of a run-in, did you? Figured you two would have a bit of a rocky road trying to fit things back together.”

  “That a fact?”

  “Sure enough. Take it you mucked it up?”

  His uncle’s assumption grated against him. “No, I asked her to marry me
.”

  Bertram chuckled. “What kind of a fool are you?”

  Morgan didn’t appreciate the question—especially given he had no defense against it. Likely he was every kind of fool that existed, because for the life of him, he couldn’t understand her rejection. “A very large one it seems, because she turned me down flat. Turns out despite the fact she loves me, she has no interest in being my wife.”

  “That so?”

  “Apparently.”

  “Hmm.”

  Morgan glanced down at his uncle. “Hmm? That’s all you’ve got?”

  Bertram nodded and chuckled. “Pretty much. Don’t suppose it ever crossed your mind, son, that you can’t just blow into town with the storm and expect her to jump at the chance to give up everything she’s become to shrink back down into the woman you expect her to be?”

  Morgan turned and glared at his uncle. “I don’t expect her to be anyone other than who she is.”

  “You happen to mention that when you proposed?”

  Morgan cleared his throat and looked back out the window to the boardinghouse beyond. “I might have left that part out. It was a little hard to get a word in edgewise.” Not to mention the fact he’d been shocked into silence at her blunt refusal.

  “Here’s the thing, son,” Bertram said, pointing out the window in the direction of the boardinghouse. “Willa Barstow is a good woman, a strong woman. She’s made her way in this world and done a fine job of it. She doesn’t need you—”

  “Is this supposed to be helping?”

  Bertram turned the finger in Morgan’s direction and poked his arm. “She doesn’t need to marry you, so you’re going to have to make her want to.”

  “And how am I supposed to do that?”

  “By giving her what she needs. She loves you, no doubt, but she needs to know you love her enough to let her be who she is. She spent her life ruled by men who did nothing but muck up her life. You need to show her you aren’t going to do that. You need to show her that marriage to you isn’t a cage, but a freedom. The freedom to be what she needs to be in a way she needs to be it. And she needs to know that you’ll love her because of it, not in spite of it. You think you can do that?”