by Various
Morgan rubbed a hand over his eyes and heaved a frustrated breath. What his uncle said made sense, much as he hated to admit it. Fact was, he hadn’t taken what she wanted into consideration. He’d just assumed they were on the same page because it was the page he wanted to be on. Six years ago, she’d been so cowed by life with her father, she never had the chance to determine what she wanted. But now she had the freedom to choose. And the idea that he expected her to give up everything had sent her running.
How could he have been so obtuse as to not see that? How had he forgotten to tell her that this new version of the woman he fell in love with six years ago amazed him. Made him proud. While he had faltered in the past six years, she’d pulled herself up by her bootstraps and flourished. He didn’t love her less because of it, he loved her more. Then he’d opened his big mouth and everything but that had poured out.
He’d made such a mess of this. No wonder she’d turned him down.
“I think I may have dug myself a hole I can’t get out of. It’s going to take something special to make this right.”
His uncle smiled and winked. “Don’t need fairy dust, my boy. It’s Christmas. The season is ripe for all kinds of miracles. But miracles don’t always happen on their own, you know. Might be you have to coax them along a bit. I’m pretty sure you can enlist some help in that regard.”
“Help?”
“To keep you from mucking it up again.” Bertram walked over to the peg where he’d hung his coat and shrugged into it. “Ain’t no shame in asking for help and I’m sure anyone in town would be more than happy to lend a hand.”
“You think?”
“Sure enough.” Bertram stopped at the door. “Except Fritz. Don’t think he’s warmed up to you quite yet. Good luck, son!”
Morgan stared after his uncle and shook his head in disbelief. One minute he’d been mooning over Willa’s rejection and now he was supposed to enlist the town to help him change her mind?
This day had just gone from miserable to downright strange.
* * *
“What do you mean you’re not attending the festivities,” Meredith Donovan said, holding the dress she’d specially designed for Willa close to her growing belly.
“I just...” She drifted off. What could she say? Meredith had outdone herself with the forest-green dress with a red-and-green-plaid overskirt.
Meredith took a seat on the bench that rested against the wall of the dressing room and gave Willa a concerned look. “Does this have anything to do with Mr. Trent?”
“No! Of course not.”
“Which means yes, of course it does. I watched you avoid him when you left the boardinghouse, skirting behind the post office and coming out through the alley.”
Willa’s mouth dropped open to deny it, then clamped shut. Meredith was far too astute at judging people for Willa to bother arguing. “He asked me to marry him,” she admitted, sinking down onto the platform where Meredith’s customers stood for fittings.
Meredith clasped her hands beneath her chin. “Oh, that is wonderful!”
“No, it’s awful! His proposal mostly consisted of telling me how wonderful our being married would be for him. He never once considered that maybe it wouldn’t be so wonderful for me!”
Meredith arched one golden eyebrow. “How so? Mr. Trent seems like a fine man.”
Willa shook her head and stared down at her hands. “He is. And I love him, but...”
She let out a long breath. In the two days since Morgan’s proposal, she had gone back and forth between being firm in her belief that she couldn’t marry him to wishing she had said yes. The problem was, her feelings in the present were too tangled up with everything that had happened in the past.
“But what?”
“I don’t know. Part of me thinks I should say yes and hope for the best, but the other part fears if I do, it will end in misery. The last time I agreed to marry Morgan Trent, he broke my heart. I don’t know if I can survive that kind of hurt a second time, especially if I were to have a hand in bringing it about.”
Meredith’s smile softened. “Well, then, I think there’s only one thing you can do.”
“Leave town?”
“Hardly.”
“Convince him to leave town?”
Meredith laughed and shook her head. “No. You simply need to tell him exactly what it is you want. Sometimes men can be horribly obtuse in this area. And if it turns out he’s not willing to give you what you need, well then you have your answer. But you can’t tell him that if you’re avoiding him as if he’s carrying the plague.”
Willa dropped her face into her hands and groaned. Avoiding Morgan was so much easier than facing him. If she told him she had no intentions of turning her back on the life she’d built for herself, a life she was proud of, and he decided that wasn’t the kind of wife he wanted—what then?
“I don’t know if I can withstand losing him all over again,” she admitted.
Meredith leaned over and patted Willa’s knee. “Have a little faith. You said he’s a good man and he obviously still loves you. That’s not such a bad foundation to start with, is it? Give him a chance to prove he’ll do right by you. I think maybe you’ll be surprised. Now, stand up and let’s try on this dress. When Mr. Trent sees you at the dance tomorrow night, I want you looking so beautiful it will knock his boots off.”
Chapter Eight
The day of the festivities arrived and though the morning had started off a bit gray, by afternoon the sunshine had muscled its way over the mountains and chased away the clouds, leaving its brilliance shining down upon the pristine snow that had fallen again overnight. There wasn’t too much snow, but enough to cover the landscape and take your breath away every time you looked at it.
It was a sight Willa never tired of and each time she stood on the porch of her boardinghouse and gazed upon the mountains, open sky and rolling hills, she whispered a silent thank-you for the chain of events that had brought her here. Caleb Beckett had declared Salvation Falls and the land surrounding it as God’s Country and Willa was of a mind to agree.
Would that change if Morgan decided the woman she had become was not the one he wanted to call his wife? And if it did, what then?
Despite her claim that they could live peaceably in the same town, she knew better. She had never gotten over Morgan Trent. She’d tried. Lord knew, she had tried. She’d buried her feelings for him in a dusty corner of her heart and piled as much as she could over them. Marriage to Clancy, starting a new life, her own business, her independence. And in the time it took Morgan to ride into town, all of that had blown away with the storm, exposing the truth for what it was.
She loved him. Still. Despite the broken dreams, the rejection, the heartache. She didn’t want to, but there it was. Irrefutable. The fact that it was Christmastime didn’t help matters. She watched other happy couples and families filled with excitement over the season, purchasing tokens of affection to place beneath their trees, humming carols as they passed on the street, shopkeepers decorating their windows with bows of pine and fir laced with cranberries.
And mistletoe. She swore she could not turn a corner without finding it hanging somewhere. It was as if it had sprung up overnight and now hung from every rafter in town! She couldn’t look at it without the constant reminder of the night Morgan had left and the promises he’d made to her echoing in the brittle air.
Why, just yesterday she’d caught Caleb Beckett of all people nailing a bunch of the accursed weed in the doorway of her boardinghouse’s entrance hall and another clump in the archway that led to the dining area. When she asked him what he was doing, he looked down from the chair he stood on, smiled that enigmatic grin of his and said, “Decorating.”
If her guests hadn’t been so busy oohing and ahhing over it like they’d never seen it
before, she would have torn the offending plant down.
“Good heavens, Willa, what are you doing standing out in this frigid air? You’ll catch your death,” Lettie scolded, coming out to stand next to her. Her sister’s small frame was lost in the folds of a wool shawl pulled over a wool coat.
“I don’t think a little fresh air and sunshine will be detrimental to my well-being, Lettie.”
“Then why are you not partaking in the activities this afternoon?”
Willa glanced over at her sister. She had planned on going. Truly she had. But when the time had come, fear and uncertainty had all but glued her feet to the floor. Not even the coaxing of Fritz and Huck or the emptiness of the entire boardinghouse as its guests left for the church to take part had convinced her. And that made her a first-rate coward.
Not something she was about to admit to her sister.
Willa’s gaze traveled down to where a burst of frothy pale blue frills poked out from the edge of Lettie’s wool coat. The frock looked completely unsuitable to the cold temperatures. “Is that what you’re wearing?”
Lettie arched one eyebrow and her gaze drifted over Willa from head to toe. “Should I not be the one to ask that question? Where is the dress Mrs. Donovan made you? You’re never going to win Morgan over to doing things your way with this marriage business if you look like that.”
Willa knew she should never have told Lettie about Morgan’s proposal, or her hope of convincing him that in order to be happy she had to have her independence. It had been a definite mistake. Her sister had been harping on it ever since.
“I hardly think a dress is going to be the deciding factor. Besides, I’m not sure I’m going to go through with it.”
“What kind of nonsense is that? Willa Barstow, are you telling me you’re turning chicken? After everything you’ve overcome in the past six years, you’re going to let something as simple as a little conversation cause you to turn tail and run?”
Willa spun on her heel and glared at her sister. “It is hardly a little conversation. I am asking him to paint an entirely different picture of our life together than the one he’s always dreamed of. How do I do that? And what if he doesn’t care for the picture? Where would that leave me?”
If her outburst had any effect on Lettie, Willa could see no signs of it. “I believe it will leave you alone, so you best be convincing. Unless you want to die an old woman with no children or grandchildren to send you off to your final rest. No one to care that you were ever here on this earth to begin with. And don’t give me this nonsense that your business will keep you warm at night because that is just a load of crap!”
“Lettie!” Willa’s mouth hung open. She’d never heard her sister use such language nor get so fired up over anything that didn’t directly involve herself.
“Don’t Lettie me. And don’t look so surprised. If you’re able to change, so am I. And so is Morgan.”
“But what if—”
“Stop being a scared little mouse, Willa. It doesn’t become you. The time to act is now. Morgan Trent is not going to wait around forever.” Lettie took a step forward turning her pert nose up at a haughty angle. Willa had always marveled at how Lettie could look down her nose at someone while glancing upward. It was a skill she’d never mastered.
“I never asked him to wait. He is free to do as he pleases.”
“Is that so? And how do think you’ll feel when he proposes to someone else? Or when you see their children running about, knowing the whole time they could have been your children?” Lettie reached out and placed a hand on Willa’s arm, in an uncommon show of affection. “That you should have said yes when you had the chance.”
Unwelcome tears filled Willa’s eyes. She blinked the offending wetness away and swallowed past the lump in her throat.
“I don’t know.”
Lettie’s expression softened. “Willa, I know I haven’t always been the best of sisters. I spent far too many years blaming you for Mama’s passing and I was wrong to do so. I know that. I just thought...”
“Thought what?”
Lettie pressed her lips together briefly before continuing. “I thought maybe if Mama had lived, Father’s control over our lives would have been tempered. That maybe we would have had a better chance at happiness. And when we didn’t, I was angry and disappointed and I took it out on you. I’m sorry.”
Her sister’s apology left Willa stunned into silence. She had been aware of the roots for Lettie’s animosity, but not the underlying reason. Lettie had always seemed to thrive in society, making herself the belle of every ball their father had insisted they attend. It had never occurred to Willa that maybe the reason for that had been her sister’s own attempt to escape from under Father’s thumb, much as marrying Morgan would have given Willa the escape she’d longed for.
Lettie sighed and took Willa’s hand and led her over to the bench, sitting them both down. A squeal escaped her sister as the cold quickly worked its way through the layers of her coat and dress. “Please tell me this town warms up come summer!”
Willa smiled. “Somewhat.”
Lettie moved closer, likely for warmth, but she continued to hold Willa’s hand. “The truth of it is, Willa, you’re a strong woman, stronger than any of us ever gave you credit for. The things you’ve accomplished leave me speechless. But I can look in your eyes, sister dear, and see the loneliness that lives there. And I see it in Morgan’s eyes too. The two of you deserve to at least try to make a go of it. Maybe it will work, maybe it won’t, but if you don’t at least try you will be dogged with regret until the day you die, mark my words.”
Lettie’s words held the resonance of truth and much as Willa tried to dodge and weave around it, she couldn’t. She would regret it. But would the regret hurt more or less than taking a chance and having it fail miserably?
Willa let out a long sigh and leaned against the wooden bench. There was only one way to find out.
“Good,” Lettie said, pulling her off the bench and toward the entrance to the boardinghouse. “Now, let’s get you ready for your showdown, shall we?”
Chapter Nine
“Leaving town is an asinine idea. Drifting is a young man’s game. You’re best off being done with it.”
Caleb Beckett stood next to Morgan, his arms folded over his chest as he stared straight ahead to where some of the townsfolk were ice-skating. His wife, Rachel, was out on the frozen pond with a blond-haired boy Beckett had referred to as Evan.
“I’m not that old.” Heck, he hadn’t even hit thirty yet.
“You ain’t that young anymore either. And there’s nothin’ wrong with a man puttin’ down some roots. Can’t grow if you’ve got no roots. Know what happens if you don’t grow?”
“Enlighten me.” It appeared the man had every intention of doing so regardless of his answer.
Beckett’s mouth quirked to one side. “You die. Simple as that. Problem is, you die on the inside, and that’s a far sight worse than dying on the outside.”
“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”
“Might be that I am.” Beckett threw back the last of the coffee in the tin mug he’d carried out with him from the sheriff’s office and winced. “Hunter makes a fine cup of coffee.”
Morgan gave Beckett a dubious look. He’d tasted Sheriff Donovan’s coffee. It had the consistency of sludge and tasted even worse.
“I don’t think I can stay here, seeing her every day and not being a part of her life,” Morgan admitted.
He’d given the matter a lot of thought and decided on the plan to speak to her at the Christmas dance. He’d seen no sign of Willa in the meantime. All her efforts appeared to have gone into avoiding him at all costs. He’d come up with the bright idea of hanging mistletoe about the boardinghouse thinking maybe it would remind her of their past, before e
verything had fallen apart. A time when they had loved each other completely, told each other their long-held secrets, talked of their hopes and dreams. He’d mistakenly mentioned the idea to Beckett, however, and true to Bertram’s word, by the next day the entire town had been decked out. Now you couldn’t walk more than ten feet without running into a ball of mistletoe hanging in a window or over a door.
But if it had had any effect on Willa, he’d seen no hint of it. He was running out of options. The festival had been his last chance to convince her that they could be happy. That the changes in them both had come at a price, yes, but they would ultimately make them stronger. But now the festival was coming to a close and there had been no sign of her.
“You giving up that easy?”
“Easy? She didn’t even come to the Christmas Festival,” Morgan pointed out. If her absence wasn’t a glaring declaration of her lack of interest in a future with him, he didn’t know what was. “And what do you know about it, anyway?”
Beckett gave him a long look. “I fought my own uphill battle on that account with more charges stacked against me than you can count. And I’ll tell you this—it’s worth the fight, even when it feels like it isn’t. You think you can give up and walk away and not have that haunt you for the rest of your days?”
Morgan shifted his feet. Beckett was right. He knew it. Even now, he regretted not telling Willa the whole story, explaining what her absence in his life had done to him. What it would continue to do if he had to watch his last chance slip through his fingers and what he was willing to do to ensure that didn’t happen.
“The sun is going down and my feet are freezing,” he muttered, glaring down at the snow-covered ground. He’d waited all day for Willa to make an appearance.
“That’ll make it harder to run off.”
“I didn’t say I was running off. I just said I—” He stopped and let out a growl. He didn’t know what he was saying. Or thinking. Or doing. His life since she’d struck down his proposal had been a jumble of determination mixed with frustration and desperation. And failure.
