Maybe This Christmas: A Sweet Historical Western Holiday Romance Novella (Holidays in Mountain Home Book 2)

by Kristin Holt

  “Thank you.” Gus was right, she was a grump.

  “Come to dinner with me.” He offered her his hand, his tone softer and more of a question than a command. Perhaps the man could be taught.

  She lowered the suit sleeve to her lap. She gestured helplessly at the stack of garments in various stages of completion.

  “We’ll eat, and I promise we won’t linger. When your stomach’s full and you’re feeling less irritable,” he winked at her, his happy disposition shining through, “we’ll come right back here and get to work. I’m mighty good at pinning things together—could hand them off to you ready to sew.”

  Her stomach rumbled and the mere thought of a sit-down dinner with hot food nearly had her giving in.

  “How ‘bout it?”

  She knew what was behind his dinner invitation—what was behind his presence in the shop this late afternoon. And she couldn’t allow him to misconstrue anything. She had to ensure he understood. “You do realize sharing a meal doesn’t mean anything has changed. We’re friends…and that’s all we can ever be.”

  “I’ll get your cloak.”

  On Thursday, Luke delegated every responsibility on the ranch and informed the crew and his family he’d spend the day in town with Effie.

  Five long days had dragged by since she’d confided her past and he’d told her it didn’t make him think less of her. He intended to court her, win her heart, and wed her. Nothing had changed. But if he didn’t get into town and act like it, Effie would doubt his sincerity…and August Rose would have the greater advantage.

  He hadn’t stayed away intentionally, and wasn’t a man to play games. But his dedication to the ranch and his family had interrupted his courting plans—everything from a heavy snowfall to illness among the hired hands that left them four men down.

  First thing, he’d bathed, shaved, put on his best clothes, selected a book from the shelf in the parlor, and hitched up the sleigh to take Noelle in to work.

  He decided to greet Effie before he took care of the horse and sleigh. He grinned broadly as he ushered his sister through Pettingill’s front door.

  The door was unlocked, though the shop wasn’t officially open and no customers were inside.

  “Good morning, Noelle.” Effie sounded good. Like herself. It was so good to see the anxiety and fear of last week gone.

  “Morning, Miss Noelle. Luke.” August. There he was, behind the counter, sitting on a stool…sewing buttons on a crisp white shirt?

  Gus grinned. Widely. He looked absurd, a rough-and-tough lawman sewing. He swept the needle through the eye on the back of the button and as if he’d done the chore a thousand times before.

  He sewed with the same ease Luke’s sisters, mother, and Effie displayed.

  For some reason, Luke detested the idea that Gus possessed a skill Effie appreciated.

  He should’ve known the competition would already be here, though he’d had Effie to himself for five days. He felt like booting Gus into the street and claiming the next five days for himself.

  Noelle hung up her coat and immediately set to work.

  Luke noticed August’s gaze followed Noelle to the cutting table where she picked up scissors.

  Luke used the distraction to approach Effie. Her dimpled smile was all the encouragement he needed. He clasped her elbow and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I missed you.”

  “It’s a surprise to see you here.” Gus said.

  Luke ignored the interloper. The man knew exactly why Luke was here. They’d made themselves clear last they met.

  “I’m glad to see you.” Effie’s dimples deepened.

  His heart kicked. When she looked at him like that he felt ten feet tall.

  “What brings you in?” she asked, but the light dancing in her eyes made it evident she already knew.

  He couldn’t help but grin. Why had he waited so long to declare himself? He liked the awareness in her eyes.

  “I’m here to spend the day with you.”

  “Good thing,” Gus interrupted. “Effie has three packages ready for delivery. Don’t unhitch your sleigh just yet.”

  Luke glared at Gus, but the agitator’s attention was on his sewing and missed it.

  “Oh, would you?” Effie spared Luke another smile and collected the precisely wrapped bundles from the counter. “That would help me ever so much. I’d thought I’d have to hire a Murphy boy to deliver them for me if he could get away from the store.”

  Now Gus looked up and smirked.

  How long had it taken August Rose, U.S. Marshal to come up with this plan to get Luke out of the way for a few hours?

  Luke’s jaw ached from clenching his jaw. He intentionally relaxed and determined to play this to his advantage. “For you, Effie, I’m glad to.” He slipped an arm about her middle and gave her a little squeeze.

  “Wonderful.”

  “Where to?” He searched the crisp paper wrapping for Effie’s pencil script with the owner’s name and her notation of amount due, if any, locating it just as she touched a finger to one corner.

  “I’d go, but don’t have any idea where these customers live.” Gus knotted off his thread and snipped it with miniature embroidery scissors.

  Luke had to admit the other man displayed a flair for finish work, and it was obvious by the lengthy list of projects detailed in Effie’s ledger, open on the counter, she needed the help.

  Gus pulled a new length of white thread off a spool and threaded the needle with deft hands. “I’m of more help here.”

  Must he point that out? Luke might know where everyone lived, but Gus had the upper hand…he was useful in the shop.

  Gus’s smile turned smug. “We’ll have another two or three packages ready to go by the he gets back, won’t we, Sweetheart?”

  Luke’s guts clenched and he had the sudden urge to attack. Sweetheart?

  Effie didn’t seem to notice the term of endearment or Gus’s meddling.

  There wasn’t enough room in this shop for two suitors.

  One way or the other, he had to find a way to spend time with her, alone. On top of that, he still had to come up with viable ways to win her heart, one thread at a time.

  Unfortunately, had absolutely no idea how to make that happen.

  Chapter Five

  By dusk, Luke had delivered nine packages, all around the valley. Each time he stopped back at the shop to give Effie the money he’d collected and report on the successful deliveries, Gus had presented him with one or more bundles.

  If Effie hadn’t been so delighted with the help, he would’ve quit long ago.

  But the time he spent out in the cold had proved effective, because now he had a plan he felt good about implementing.

  He knocked on the Sheriff’s office door and let himself in. The space felt gloriously warm and the scent of strong coffee welcoming.

  Liam Talmadge glanced up from the newspaper on his desk. “Well, I’ll be. I hear you’re working as Mrs. O’Leary’s delivery boy.”

  If Liam weren’t as old as dirt, Luke might take offense. “That’s actually why I’m here. I need your help.”

  All traces of jesting melted from the sheriff’s lined face. “You see somethin’ while you were out?”

  “No. Things are peaceful.”

  Liam relaxed. “Coffee?”

  “Sounds good. I’m froze clear through.”

  Once cups were poured and Liam reclaimed his seat, he asked, “What kind of help do you need?”

  “You’ve met the stranger in town, I suppose.”

  “The U.S. Marshal. O’course.”

  “He’s not here in official capacity. His name’s August Rose.”

  Talmadge nodded, apparently conceding the point.

  “He’s also making a nuisance of himself. Underfoot constantly, won’t give Mrs. O’Leary five minutes to herself. He’s attracting so many curious folk, her shop’s crowded and she’s got plenty to do as it is.”

  Liam sipped, holding Luke’s gaze over th
e rim of his cup.

  “Looks to me like the problem’s a simple one.”

  “I want your help with a simple solution—we’ve got to put August to work. Somewhere besides Mrs. O’Leary’s shop.”

  “You’re sweet on her. That’s the simple problem.”

  Luke had no trouble admitting it. “I am. I’m courting her, just spoke to her about it last weekend.”

  Talmadge’s smile twinkled with a bit too much enjoyment. “Mr. August Rose, it seems, believes he’s courting her, too.”

  “She refused him. Won’t even consider him, thank God.” The old man’s gaze had Luke fidgeting. “It makes sense you deputize him or something.”

  “You lookin’ for a fighting chance with her, son?”

  That question didn’t need an answer. The sheriff knew Luke couldn’t court his gal with the interloper constantly underfoot.

  Talmadge nodded. “I got an idea or two.”

  “I’ve got plenty of suggestions: snow removal, street patrol, cover your hours here. Tell him you’re sick and need the next three weeks off.”

  He chuckled. “When do you want him to start?”

  “Right now.”

  “Do you have another lamp?” Luke set aside the book he’d read aloud for the past hour. “You need more light and so do I.”

  The fine tale—A Cricket on the Hearth—had helped pass the time. She’d enjoyed it more for the resonance, cadence, and rhythm of Luke’s voice. The quality of his reading caught her by surprise. After all, he was a rancher, not a schoolteacher, not a writer like Dickens himself, not an actor upon a stage.

  “One. On the table in the back room.” She turned the balance wheel, sank the needle, and lifted the presser foot to exact a crisp turn at the collar’s point.

  Luke soon had the lamp filled and wick lit. He lifted it high. “How is this?”

  “Better, but you can’t stand there holding it indefinitely.”

  Luke set the lamp on the counter. “You can’t work in such meager light.” He shrugged into his coat and pulled on his gloves. “I’ve an idea. Give me five minutes.”

  He returned quickly. Snow, ice, and bitter wind swirled inside with him, though he’d had the door open mere seconds. Another gust rattled the window panes. A damp chill cut through her heavy winter petticoats and lined wool suit.

  Luke plunked a small paper-wrapped bundle onto the counter top and shed his coat. “Brackets to hold your lamps on the wall.”

  “Brackets?” Why hadn’t she thought of that?

  “Yes. I can’t have you losing your eyesight when it’s preventable.”

  He noticed her needs, acted in kindness, attended to her comfort. How could she not adore him? “I can see.”

  “I’ll go blind if I have to read another page in the dark.”

  She chuckled. “I didn’t ask you to stay.” She knew he wouldn’t go, not until she retired for the night. He’d been a constant fixture for the past two days, since he’d worked hard all day making her deliveries.

  She’d heard talk of Gus working with Sheriff Talmadge, but didn’t know what to think of it.

  “You didn’t need to ask. I’m here ‘cause I want to be.”

  He measured each side of the window, from floor on up, and marked a spot with pencil. He’d chosen well. The lamps would be out of the way and yet shed maximum light on her work.

  “It’s far too cold to head home tonight. Domino is bedded down in the livery, and I’ll take a room at the boarding house. I’ll head home once the sun is up. Can’t risk Domino on a night like this.”

  “No, I imagine you can’t.” She smiled and shook her head at his transparent efforts to stay with her until bedtime. His attention felt good, flattering, and she enjoyed his company. If it weren’t for the expectation of marriage, she rather liked courtship.

  It was all so new…and surprisingly enjoyable. Reuben Carmichael had not courted her for there’d been no need. Just an agreement between him and her father and it was done.

  She kept the sewing machine whirring and completed the collar’s facing. Her back ached from sitting so long in one place, so she moved to stand at the ironing board to run a basting stitch through the cap of the sleeves.

  With her chair vacated, he leaned across her sewing machine cabinet and finished affixing the burning lamps to the wall, tightening the brackets with care.

  She watched him work in the flickering light. He flashed her a happy grin as he picked up the second lamp and turned to the bracket on the other side of the window.

  By the time she’d eased one sleeve into the armhole and secured the seam with pins, Luke had completed his task.

  “Come see if the light is better.”

  She smiled as he tucked the chair beneath her. Aware of his nearness, she tucked the seam under the presser foot and spun the balance wheel to start the machine. Rocking the treadle, she continued around the armhole, removing pins as she went. “The improvement is significant.” She met his gaze in the reflection of the window. “Thank you.”

  His hands settled on her shoulders. Their reflection against the dark night beyond was almost as crisp as a mirror, enhanced by newly positioned lamplight.

  This picture of him standing behind her chair, his hands upon her shoulders, affected her more than she wanted to admit. This was a glimpse of the path their lives could take…if she dared. He’d suggested, a week ago, this conjoined future. Despite her refusal to take out the forbidden idea and turn it over in her mind, his declaration had ignited a yearning within her.

  Could she?

  She met his gaze and couldn’t miss the longing there.

  Time seemed to slow, elongate, in the dreamlike way some poignant moments do.

  She wanted—no, needed—to look away, for she feared she wore a similar expression. He’d notice, and it would be ever so much harder to keep him at a distance.

  At last he lowered his gaze. She watched, transfixed, unwilling to move as his fingers caught an errant wisp of her hair and rubbed it between his fingers. He focused wholly on her. Undeniable affection shone in his countenance.

  His sincerity caused a subtle shift within her—and evoked a desire to open her heart.

  This realization should have induced frustration if not outright disappointment…but it did not. She wanted the tingly sensation of his gentle tug on her hair and the comforting weight of his hand upon her shoulder. She wanted to watch him to her heart’s content in the window’s reflection. She simply…wanted.

  In one week’s time, in his absence and in his attentiveness, Luke Finlay had done the unthinkable…he’d shown her the better part she hadn’t known existed. He’d made her want.

  And just like that, her firm resolve and immovable determination lost its foundation of stone. She shuddered, a house built upon a foundation of sand.

  “I’ll carry in firewood. You’ll need more before dawn.”

  He must’ve mistaken her shudder for a shiver. He released her hair and squeezed both shoulders in capable hands. “Tomorrow, Effie, I’m coming to get you for Sunday dinner.”

  She blinked, refocused her thoughts. She’d been lost in a sea of fanciful imaginings. Sunday dinner…another thing she found she genuinely wanted. “Thank you, but I can’t. I have two short weeks ‘til Christmas.”

  “All the more reason why you need a day off. You need a break from these four walls. You need a rest. You need to relax. You need family.”

  How was right, of course. She needed as well as wanted.

  Was it possible to guard her heart against this man?

  On Monday morning Effie held the door open while Luke carried in the small stove he intended to install in her back room. On the way back to town last night after Sunday dinner with the Finlays, Luke had told her of his intentions to give her this second stove. His motives were pure—he simply wanted to see her adequately warm.

  It was his idea, a Christmas gift, he’d insisted, and he would do the work himself.

  Noelle waved in her
good-natured manner as she followed Luke inside. She hung up her coat and set immediately to work.

  Everyone in the valley trusted the Finlays. They all followed through and did exactly what they’d committed to. As Effie heard Luke unpacking the crate in her private quarters, she figured that strength was also her greatest danger.

  Luke had vowed to win her heart, bit by bit, and that’s exactly what he’d done. He had her doubting her resolutions, wondering if she had the capacity for love.

  She’d simply have to ignore him, concentrate on her customers and her work, and keep him at a distance.

  As she’d lain in bed this morning, dreading another day with Luke near, she’d rehearsed a lengthy list of reasons why she was better off unmarried, why she was far happier alone. She squared her shoulders. She could do this. She would do this.

  Mrs. Abbott, the mayor’s wife, came in shortly after nine to collect her orders. As Effie showed each item to Mrs. Abbott for her inspection, she couldn’t help but hear every rasp of the saw, every clank of iron stovepipe against wood. She was far too attuned to Luke. As they’d agreed, the door remained open. Customer curiosity would peak if they couldn’t see for themselves.

  Unfortunately, this meant Effie could watch Luke at work. With his shirtsleeves rolled up and sawdust clinging to his jeans, he looked more a carpenter than a rancher.

  Effie pulled her gaze away. She didn’t want to see the play of muscles beneath his shirt nor acknowledge the breadth of his shoulders.

  “I see the rumors can’t be true,” Mrs. Abbott said, leaning over the counter as if to confide secrets. “If young Mr. Finlay’s going to all that work installing another stove on your premises, you can’t be leaving town.”

  Effie looked up from folding Mrs. Abbott’s gabardine skirt. “Who said I was leaving?”

  “Why, that handsome U.S. Marshal of yours did. But I see you’re simply adding value to the operation so it fetches a better price.” Mrs. Abbott softened her words with a wink. “Mighty fine business sense you have, Mrs. O’Leary.”