Loving the Horseman

by Davalynn Spencer

  In spite of the drop in temperature, he smoldered with the closest he’d ever come to righteous anger. Lord, vengeance is Yours, You say …

  A sudden wind whipped down the street, swirling giant snowflakes into his face. He screwed his hat down, turned up his collar, and shoved his hands in his pockets. His need to see Annie was as stinging as the wind. He had to make sure she was all right, let her know Cooper was locked up until a hearing.

  Scouting both ways along Main Street, he bent his head against the wind and crossed the frozen roadway. A large evergreen filled the mercantile’s front window, and a dozen such trees from his childhood paraded across his memory. As he reached for the knob, the door flew open and Springer Smith darted out with a miniature tree, his sister chasing close behind. Caleb stepped back and tugged his hat brim to Springer’s mother, who quickly followed, arms heaped high with wrapped bundles.

  “Can I help you, Mrs. Smith?”

  Tired but smiling blue eyes met his for a moment before latching onto running children. “Thank you, but I’ve got help aplenty—if I can just catch it.”

  The woman dashed down the boardwalk as if a child herself. Springer had already tossed the little tree in a nearby buckboard and was lifting his giggling sister in. He relieved his mother of her armload, then helped her to the seat before climbing in and gathering the reins.

  The family scene clutched at Caleb. Would he ever know such blessings?

  “Well, are you coming in or are you going to stand there until you look like a snowman?” Annie stood in the doorway, hands on her hips.

  He stomped his boots on the walk and stepped inside, wondering which he was more grateful for—the inviting atmosphere of the mercantile or the beautiful woman who worked there.

  Slapping the snow from his hat, he smiled into gold-flecked eyes. “Don’t mind if I do.”

  Her gaze dropped to his knuckles and she reached for his arm. “Your hand.”

  Her touch stalled his speech for a moment. “No need to worry, Annie. It’s you I’m concerned about.”

  Daniel Whitaker tossed two coal chunks in the stove and clapped black dust off his hands. “Looks like we’re about to have the first good storm of the season.”

  Responsibility pulled Caleb’s attention to the windows. Snowfall had thickened in a matter of moments and blanketed the boardwalk. From what he’d heard of Rocky Mountain blizzards, he should leave now for the livery and check the stock before the storm worsened.

  “Surely you’ll stay and have a bite with us, won’t you, Caleb? I’m sure my father is as eager as I to hear what happened with the magistrate.”

  A slight flush replaced her pallor from that morning, and he ached to pull her into his arms again. Torn between duty and desire, he chose the latter, convincing himself that a quick meal, hot cup, and good company would give him the sustenance he’d need to weather the storm in a stable.

  “Let me take your hat while you warm yourself at the stove. And I’ll have the stew ready in no time.”

  He followed her with his eyes and watched her assign his worn felt to a peg on the back wall. Her father filled a tin mug and raised it in Caleb’s direction.

  “Coffee’s hot, son. Come have a cup.”

  Caleb took the mug and a chair and felt as naked as a jay under the storekeeper’s scrutiny. He glanced at the tree. “That’s quite a spruce you’ve got there, Mr. Whitaker.”

  “That it is.” The man lifted his gaze to the tall evergreen at the window.” Sorrow slid across his features, landing briefly in his eyes.

  “That blamed tree nearly cost me the most precious thing in my world.” He blinked a time or two and rubbed the back of his hand beneath his nose.

  “Daddy, such language.” Annie tightened her apron sash and gathered tin plates from the cupboard. “We’ve the good Lord to thank and Caleb here.” She shot a bright look his way and her eyes settled on his fingers worrying the hole in his sleeve.

  He jerked his hand away.

  “Daddy, didn’t we get a ready-made wool shirt or two in our last shipment?” A look passed between father and daughter that Caleb didn’t quite understand.

  Daniel pushed out of the chair with a grunt. “I’ve got a wool shirt that might just fit you, son.”

  Caleb set his cup beneath his chair and followed Whitaker to the front. The storekeeper reached under the counter and pulled out two waistcoats, heavy socks, and a deep blue wool shirt that probably cost half the wages Caleb had managed to save.

  Fingering the dark wool, he weighed the promise of warmth and knew he’d be a fool not to buy it. He set it aside and pulled the notepaper and Cañon City Times from his waistcoat and laid them on top. Then he unbuttoned a heavier tweed waistcoat that looked like it fit, and exchanged it for the lighter one he wore. Already he felt better.

  “I’ll take this waistcoat and the shirt.” He dug his money from the old waistcoat pocket. “And a soap bar if you’ve got it.”

  Whitaker pulled a box from a shelf behind him. “If you need it, we’ve got it.” Then he tore a large square of brown paper from a roll on the counter, laid the shirt and Caleb’s old waistcoat in the center, and topped it with a soap cake and two pairs of heavy socks before wrapping it all together with twine.

  “That’ll be two dollars.” A cocked brow and sober eyes dared him to quibble with the storekeeper’s generous assessment.

  Caleb laid his money on the counter, fully aware that Daniel Whitaker was giving him five dollars’ worth of merchandise, at least by Missouri standards. It was all worth a lot more out here, but he’d not assault the man’s dignity—or his tender show of gratitude—by arguing.

  “Thank you.”

  Whitaker’s mustache twitched and his eyes watered, and Caleb thought of Saint Nicholas, though a sadder saint than usual.

  “I’ll leave this here until I go.”

  “Go?” Annie’s question floated to him on a meaty current, chased by the smell of warm, buttery biscuits. “We’ve got a tree to decorate, and I can use all the help I can get stringing choke cherries and popcorn.”

  She stood before the stove, a plate in each hand, loose hair curling against her neck. The most beautiful site Caleb had set eyes on in his entire life.

  “You hear that?” Whitaker blew his nose and returned the handkerchief to his pocket. “You’ll not get away without poking a hole in every one of your fingers.”

  Caleb laughed but glanced out the window at the steadily falling snow. He’d stay just long enough to eat and then get back to the livery.

  Returning to his chair, he accepted the heaped plate Annie offered and waited until she had seated herself between her father and him.

  Whitaker bowed his head and began nearly before his daughter settled.

  “Thank you, Lord, for protecting my Annie.” His voice cracked, and he paused to clear his throat. “And thank you for sending Caleb when you did, and for this food and the strong roof over our heads. Amen.”

  The memory of Annie pinned beneath Cooper pushed itself unwelcomed into Caleb’s mind. He turned his thoughts instead to the stately spruce in the store window and last year’s tree in the parsonage decorated by the Women’s Society. Glittering guilt tried to top the pine, but he doggedly knocked it away and replaced it with gratitude.

  Cañon City might just be where he belonged. For what reason he wasn’t yet sure yet, but he hoped it had something to do with the storekeeper and his auburn-haired daughter.

  ~

  Annie pushed hard against the door after Caleb left. Thin powder drifted through a gap at the bottom and swirled against her shoes. She hugged her arms across her chest and watched until he disappeared into the blowing snow. Without his duster, he’d be frozen solid by the time he made it to the livery. Thank goodness she’d given him another quilt before he left.

  Shivering, she retreated to the stove. Her father sat sipping his coffee and staring at the potbelly. She had to get his mind off the Cooper incident—for her sake as well as his. They
’d both go crazy this winter if she didn’t.

  Caleb had assured them that the People’s Court would meet soon to deal with Cooper. At least that was what Magistrate Warren had said.

  Annie had made the acquaintance of several men who served on the court—upstanding citizens who often visited when they came for their mail or shared coffee round the stove. Edna had been right about one thing: there was no law in Cañon City. At least not like they had in Omaha. No sheriff or marshal yet, but these men didn’t seem to brook much nonsense. She’d already seen a couple of scoundrels run out of town, and she prayed the same fate would befall Jedediah Cooper.

  She filled the dishpan from a crock by the wall and set it on the stove. Gazing at the beautiful spruce in the window, she shifted her thoughts to Christmas, which was only two weeks away. Oh, for the delicate ornaments that adorned Aunt Harriet’s tree, and the crèche that held the highest honor on the mantle. All the way from France it had come, Mary, Joseph, and baby Jesus tucked into the stable—

  With a jolt, Annie thought of the livery and Nell. She hadn’t checked on the mare in weeks, and she’d not thought to ask Caleb about her condition.

  She rubbed her forehead with the back of her hand. It was just as well she hadn’t brought up the subject, because Daddy still didn’t know. But what if Nell foaled during the storm? Alone? And needed help?

  Caleb was there.

  Relief nestled in her thoughts. He knew what to do.

  Warmth threaded through her arms, and she doubted it came from the stove or the water bubbling in the dishpan. She shaved in soap curls and from the corner of her eye noted her father’s pensive mood.

  “As soon as this weather lets up, we could invite Martha and Caleb and the Smiths over for a tree trimming. What do you think?”

  Her father let out a deep sigh, drained his coffee, then stood and added his cup to the dishpan. “I think that’s a fine idea, Annie girl. A fine idea.” He planted a kiss on her cheek and twisted the end of his mustache.

  Turning his back to the stove, he clasped both hands behind him and looked through the front windows. “I doubt we’ll have any more customers today.”

  Nerves fluttering like a sparrow, she pressed on. “I’ve been meaning to tell you, but Nell’s in a …”

  Waiting for the right word to form on her lips, Annie gathered her skirt in her hands and lifted the dishpan from the stove and set it on the back counter.

  “In a what? A stall? ‘Course she is, and I still don’t think it’s worth what I’m paying to board her. Can’t sell her now, but come spring, I’m sure the Turks or Deacons will offer a good price.”

  Annie’s pulse quickened. “She’s in a family way, Daddy. She’s carrying a foal.”

  His gasp sucked the air from the back of the store, and Annie clamped her mouth tight to guard her own desperate breath.

  “How long have you known?”

  She glanced over her shoulder. Surprise, rather than anger, rimmed his eyes, and she heaved the breath out as quickly as she had grabbed it.

  “Caleb told me. I’d thought she was just getting a hay belly, but he expects her to foal sometime around Christmas.”

  If she phrased it right, things might still turn around. She shook her hands over the dishpan and rubbed them against her apron before joining her father at the stove.

  “Isn’t it wonderful, Daddy? A Christmas foal. A new little life in the stable, just like—”

  He pulled her into hug and kissed the top of her head. “I feel you twisting me around your finger, Annie Whitaker.”

  He chuckled and the laughter shook her as he held her close. “But I guess it’s as Martha says—the more the merrier.”

  Brimming with gratitude, Annie inched back from her father’s embrace. “Speaking of Martha, is there anything you’d like to tell me?”

  Her father harrumphed and sputtered and flushed from his collar to his snowy crown. But his eyes took on a mischievous gleam and he pinched Annie’s chin like he had when she was little.

  “Don’t avoid the subject, Daddy. Will there be a wedding this spring instead of a horse sale?”

  His full-bellied laugh bounced Annie from his arm, and she sent a silent thank-you heavenward.

  “How did you know?”

  “I’d have to be blind and deaf not to.” Annie returned to the dishpan, dunked the plates and spoons in the rinse water, and set them upside down on a towel to dry on the sideboard. She’d worry about details later—like living alone in the back room once her father moved into Martha’s home. Right now she wanted to simply share in his good news.

  “I’m not blind either, Annie girl.”

  She looked up from the water.

  “What’d you learn at the livery that day you took Caleb the quilt?”

  Resting her hands on the edge of the dishpan, she studied his smug expression. He knew. “When did you figure it out?”

  He smoothed his mustache and sat down. “I didn’t. He told me a couple of weeks ago, but I had my suspicions. Remember the morning I asked him to offer thanks? A prayer like that comes from a man who’s on a first-name basis with the Lord.”

  She picked up a plate and absently rubbed a cloth against its clean surface. “I think he’ll be returning to his calling.” Sadness gripped her belly, followed by regret that she would react so, rather than be happy for Caleb—happy that he’d found his way back to the Lord and his life’s purpose.

  The front door rattled in a sudden forceful gust, and concern needled into Annie’s mood. Snow drifts climbed the windows. She looked to the halfempty coal bucket and through the storeroom entrance to the back to the door, where a fine white powder swirled in eddies along the floor.

  Her father shrugged into his coat and gloves and headed toward the back with the coal bucket. “Find towels for the doors and I’ll bring in more coal. We’ll probably need a full fire going all day and night.”

  Annie followed him and kept the door from blowing clear open, filling their makeshift home with snow. In a moment he returned, stomping in like a wooly white bear.

  “At least it’s dry.” His words huffed out on a white cloud. “Tend to the front door and I’ll take care of this one.”

  She knelt at the trunk and withdrew blankets and fine linens intended for the table, not the floor. But they had no table and staying warm was a priority. Aunt Harriet would be appalled.

  At the thought of her proud and proper relative, Annie’s heart squeezed with longing for her sister. And though she missed her sibling desperately, for the first time in her life she was grateful for their satin and calico differences. Grateful that she didn’t panic before a howling blizzard and the possibility of being snowbound for days. Grateful that God had brought her and her father safely to Cañon City, to people like the Smith family and Martha Bobbins and …

  And Caleb Hutton.

  With this wind, snow would easily penetrate the slatted stable walls. Nell wasn’t the only one she prayed would be safe and dry and warm during the storm.

  She tossed the extra blankets on the beds, gave her father a length of toweling, and took two finely stitched dish towels to the front, where she weighted them against the door with flat irons. After she carried two new skillets to the back, her father shoved them against the door and the toweling he’d wedged along the threshold.

  Not exactly the way she’d planned to use those embroidered pieces from her hope chest, but at least she had them to use.

  Small blessings were still blessings.

  Indeed. It was the smaller blessings they needed to stave off the cold—linens and coal chunks, unglamorous amenities in Omaha and her aunt’s fine home. But Annie would not trade this narrow store and potbelly stove for all the finery and wealthy beaus Omaha could offer. Here she belonged.

  And here she would stay.

  ~

  Caleb dropped his bundle by the stable doors and ran to bring Rooster and Sally inside. Shouldering his weight against the broad panels, he managed to close th
em against the wind before too much snow blew into the alleyway.

  He led his horses to the last two empty stalls and tossed them each an armful of hay. Unsettled by the creaking rafters and whistling walls, a few of his other charges blew and stamped nervously. Rooster, Sally, and two of the mules seemed unconcerned. Nell dozed in the ruckus, one back leg cocked at the knee and her eyes half closed.

  Caleb heaved a heavy sigh. At least there’d be no delivery tonight.

  He pitched his bundle and the new quilt onto the bedroll, rousing the cat from a tight curl. It blinked once, stretched its toothy mouth in a wide yawn, and recoiled itself against the quilt.

  Annie’s quilt.

  He knew because he’d held it to his face all the way back from the mercantile and her scent had nearly driven him mad. Did she really care that much about his well-being, that he was warm during the storm?

  Henry had a fire in his forge, bless him, but he must have gone home to ride out the storm with his wife. The thought set a yearning inside Caleb stout enough to push him out into the wind and back to the mercantile. But what would he say? Marry me, Annie. Come live in a barn and be my wife.

  The sheer audacity of such a proposal disgusted him. He’d not ask her to share his life until he knew where and what that life would be. It’d be a long while before he shared anything more than a simple meal with Annie Whitaker.

  He unwrapped his bundle, tucked the soap in his pocket, and took his water bucket to Henry’s furnace along with his new shirt. In the fire’s radiant warmth, he stripped down and washed, then exchanged his thin cotton shirt for the new dark wool, grateful for the comfort and fit. Whitaker had judged right.

  Back in his stall, Caleb lit the lamp and unfolded the Times. Milner was quite the writer, setting his opinion in plain view of the paying townsfolk. Touting the rise and economic progression of Cañon City, he reviewed how it had weathered bad reports of disheartened gold seekers following “prominent discoveries lying in a northerly direction.”

  Caleb huffed. Those prominent discoveries had resulted in Fairplay, Oro City, and a half dozen other mining camps.