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

by Kristin Holt

  She’d asked herself that question a half-dozen times since Luke issued his ultimatum. Her irritation and anger had passed, and now she saw the good sense behind it. “I don’t love Gus. He’s a good man and deserves better.”

  “Folks marry for good reasons all the time, often without love.”

  Effie savored the strong brew. “I’ve been down that road once, Mrs. Talmadge. I wouldn’t recommend it.”

  “You’re mourning awful long for a husband you didn’t love.”

  Now that the Christmas rush was over, she have time to sew for herself. Perhaps the cornflower blue that just arrived. “I do believe my mourning period is coming to a close.”

  “That’s good to hear. If you’re not sweet on the deputy, maybe you have your eye on someone else.”

  “That I do. Perhaps you’ll help spread a bit of accurate information.”

  “Oh?” A twinkle lit Mrs. Talmadge’s eye. She no doubt remembered Luke and Gus arm wrestling in her shop. “Wouldn’t be Luke Finlay, would it?”

  Effie nodded.

  “You’ve fallen in love. That must disappoint Gus.”

  Her belly tingled with an anticipation and excitement. “I haven’t had the chance tell Gus my heart is elsewhere.”

  Mrs. Talmadge tsk-tsked. “The young man will no doubt stop here to check in with the sheriff, and the minute he does, I’ll make sure he knows you’re waiting on him.”

  “There’s my girl.” Gus met her on the mayor’s front porch. “Merry Christmas.”

  Gentle swells of festive piano music filtered through the residence. Laughter and muted conversation floated above it like a countermelody. The mayor’s annual Christmas Eve party for the merchants and civil servants of Mountain Home was already in full swing.

  “Happy Christmas. I’m glad you’re finally back—I’ve been looking for you for days.”

  “I got your messages.” He stepped too near. Warm lamplight spilled through lace curtains, casting patterned shadows on his features. “I’ve missed you, and it looks like you missed me, too.”

  “We need to talk.” In moments, someone else would come up the walk, the door would open, and the host and hostess would expect them to enter. Now was as good a time as any to ensure he heard her decision.

  If she waited until the evenings’ festivities were over, Gus could easily come to an inaccurate conclusion. He’d no doubt expect to dance with her, sit with her at dinner, and escort her to the Christmas Eve service.

  “Later. Let’s get you inside where it’s warm.”

  “What I must say won’t take long.”

  “Come along. Not two minutes ago, Mrs. Abbott announced supper would be served shortly. Can’t it wait?”

  She held her ground. “Now.”

  He examined her expression. “Let’s walk. Less chance of an interruption that way.” He offered his arm, led her down the stairs and onto the paving stones that wound through flower beds, now barren and covered in snow. “In summer, I hear these gardens were exquisite. Mrs. Abbott’s pride and joy.”

  He squeezed her hand where it lay in the crook of his elbow. Her other hand remained tucked in her muff. He gazed up at the house where lamps burned in nearly every window. Eaves dripping with wooden lace and winter’s icicles. She saw this house through his eyes and all it represented.

  “I bought this home for us.” He cleared his throat. “For you.”

  “I’ve tried to explain, from the beginning, that I had no interest in remarrying. But I was wrong. I didn’t explain myself well.”

  He cupped her face, searched her eyes. “Effie, if you’re saying what I think you’re saying, my answer is yes. It’s always been yes.”

  “No. Wait.” She tried to step back, but his soothing caress held her fast. “I’m not the woman for you, August Rose, and I cannot marry you.”

  “Perhaps, in time…”

  “No—and with good reason. These past weeks, I’ve realized my heart belongs to Luke.”

  She waited for the statement to sink in. Tinkling piano music carried from the house on a gust of frigid night air. In the dimness of the gardens, she couldn’t make out his expression, but in her heart, she knew she’d wounded him…and it hurt.

  “I want you to be happy, Gus, and find all your heart desires. I want you to find the perfect companion who’ll love you for the man you are today, who’ll be thrilled you came into her life—” her breath caught on a sob. “I deserve those good things, too.”

  “I have found that perfect companion, the one woman I want.” His hands still framed her face. “I have you.”

  She shook her head in denial. He couldn’t miss the gesture, not while cupping her head. “I love Luke.”

  “I gave up everything for you,” he whispered, so quickly, he may not have heard her heart-rending statement. “You said you wanted to remain in Mountain Home, so I uprooted myself and found employment here, for you.” Emotion tightened his voice with deep, raw emotion. “I offered to return with you to Hartford so your sister could stand up with you in our wedding. At home, I purchased a diamond ring to put on your finger. I bought the best house in the valley, for you.”

  Why couldn’t she love him back? That was what he asked. Every expensive, tangible gift was a gut-wrenching plea. He wanted her to love him.

  And she didn’t.

  She couldn’t.

  Her heart belonged irrevocably to someone else.

  Tears flowed freely over her cheeks. Shame washed through her and turned her stomach. How she regretted allowing things to get this far. She should’ve tried harder from the beginning to ensure he understood her. “I’m sorry, Gus. So terribly sorry.”

  “Then take pity on me. Marry me.” He dropped to his knees on the icy paving stones. He pulled off her muff and swallowed both of her hands in his. His face turned up, catching just enough distant light to show intense and genuine desperation on his face. “I love you, Euphemia Scofield, enough for both of us. It’s OK you don’t love me back, not right now. I know I can win you. It’ll just take time.”

  “Gus—” Obviously, he still had not heard.

  “Unless you say yes, don’t speak.” He swallowed, a soft, audible thud. “Marry me out of pity. Marry me because I should have whisked you away from your father and saved you from Carmichael. We could’ve been blissfully happy.”

  He fell silent, kissed the back of her right hand, then her left. A hot tear upon her bare flesh signaled the depth of his distress.

  How could she do this to him? She remembered that summer, how her young heart had broken when confronted with her father’s fury. How desperately she’d missed Gus after Father sent him away.

  But he’d come for her, across two thousand miles, because he loved her still.

  She could understand his reasons, why he’d searched for her for nearly a year, why he’d resigned from a coveted post with the Marshals.

  Ultimately, comprehending wasn’t enough. In the darkest moment of the past four days without Luke, with his deadline ticking ever closer, she’d come to the stark, life-altering realization that Luke deserved better and Gus deserved better…and ultimately, so did she. She—Euphemia Carmichael—deserved better. Better than marriage to a man who loved her enough to move to Mountain Home and buy her the best available house. Better than marrying a man who loved her but she did not love in return. She deserved better.

  “I’ll make you happy,” he vowed, his tone conveying the depth of his conviction. “I’ll ask your opinion on every decision. I’ll share every corner of my life with you. We’ll have children, God willing. If you want to keep your business, then do it. Give me the dream I’ve sought for nearly ten years—you.”

  He reached deep into his trouser pocket and pulled something out…a ring. She saw it reflect in the long shadows from the house.

  A more impassioned proposal, she’d never heard. But side-by-side, compared to Luke’s simple declaration of love and his desperation to know she belonged to only him, Luke’s touched her
heart in a way she’d never thought possible, while Gus’s saddened her.

  “August.” She tugged, urging him to stand.

  He rose, that ring offered on the palm of his hand. Lamplight from the distant windows shimmered in his eyes as he held her gaze.

  Her heart squeezed. “I’ve heard every word. Now hear me. I will marry Luke Finlay—not right away, and maybe not for months or even years. But I will marry Luke. I love him with the depth and breadth you’ve just voiced. Can you understand why I won’t give that up?”

  Slowly, as if swallowed in physical pain, Gus clenched a fist around that ring.

  Agonizing seconds crept past.

  At last, he answered. “Yes.”

  “Can you let me go now? Will you respect my choice?”

  He tucked the fist containing his ring back into his pocket. “On one condition. Does he love you the way you deserve to be loved? Does he love you as much as I do?”

  She considered the question, weighed it in her heart. She’d come to understand, sometime in these past four days without Luke, what setting a deadline had cost him. He’d known he might lose her—he’d said so himself. But he’d loved so much he’d been unable to share, unable to live another week without securing her promise and a brighter future. “He does.”

  “Forgive me,” he said, “if I must assess that for myself.”

  Anticipation tingled through Luke as he made his way into the church for the Christmas Eve service. Yes, technically, he’d given Effie through tomorrow, but he couldn’t help hoping she might come through the church’s doors, search the crowd for his face, and join his extended family on their standard three pews.

  He missed her with a bone-deep ache he couldn’t shake.

  Mrs. Gilbert, the reverend’s wife, played Silent Night on the old organ. Heady scents of cinnamon and bees’ wax candles brought to mind every Christmas of his past. Happy, joyful memories, centered around family and peace. Pine boughs decorated the caps of every pew, embellished with velvet ribbons and silver bells.

  “Good to see you, neighbor.” Hunter’s father offered a handshake and warm smile.

  “Merry Christmas, sir, ma’am.” He nodded to Mrs. Kendall.

  Right behind them came Hunter’s older brother, Warren, with his wife and children. The church filled up as more and more folk left their rigs in the snowy yard and hurried inside.

  Luke kept his attention on the door.

  One of the little kids tugged on his sleeve. He glanced down to find his niece, Jessie. “Is Miss Effie coming?”

  “I hope so.”

  His older brother, Del, heard what the little one said and glanced at Dallas. These two brothers evidently knew something he did not.

  “What?” Their expressions told him he wouldn’t like it.

  “Nothin’.” Del busied himself helping his little ones off with their coats and seeing them seated.

  Mrs. Gilbert segued into With Wondering Awe and Luke’s stomach dropped to the vicinity of his boots. “You know I’m waiting on Effie. If you know something I don’t, now’s the time to tell me.”

  Jessie squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry, Uncle Luke.”

  Mindful of her fancy curls, he resisted rubbing the crown of her head. Instead, he squeezed her hand. “It’s OK, Jess.”

  Del seemed to debate the wisdom of sharing whatever was on his mind, but Dallas, far younger and apparently less concerned, met Luke’s gaze. “We came into town early, right?”

  Luke nodded—one sleigh left nearly an hour ago, as they’d agreed to drop off Christmas surprises for Hunter, who’d stayed home with Miranda and the baby.

  “I don’t think Effie’s comin’ tonight.”

  Luke’s chest squeezed and he found himself clenching his jaw. He rubbed at the aching teeth with thumb and forefingers. He fought to keep his tone neutral. “Oh? Why not?”

  Dallas split a glance between Luke and Del. “As we drove on past the mayor’s place, we saw Gus down on his knees in plain sight, proposing marriage to Mrs. O’Leary.”

  Luke choked. His throat slammed shut and his heart seized in mid-rhythm.

  Del clamped a hand on Dallas’s shoulder. “Now we don’t know that’s what we saw.”

  The image burned on the inside of Luke’s eyelids, and he hadn’t been there.

  “Don’t know what else he would’ve been doin,’ Del. He had both of her hands in his, kissed one and then the other.”

  “Thanks, Dallas.” Del cut the boy off. “You’ve helped quite enough.”

  Chapter Ten

  Effie came awake to a soft knock on her shop’s front door.

  She blinked against the sunlight streaming through her bedroom window’s curtains. Fog muddied her thoughts and left her sluggish.

  Christmas morning.

  Quite possibly the lowest point in all her twenty-three years.

  Luke’s rejection still stung and tears threatened.

  She’d gone in to the Abbotts’ party only long enough to ask her hostess for paper and pencil, and the favor of delivering her note to Luke at church.

  Please stop by—I’ve made the deadline.

  She’d been intentionally vague, given Mrs. Abbott’s penchant for gossip and the certainty she’d read it. She’d wanted the other woman to believe she’d completed an order to be picked up. But she’d fully believed Luke would understand and be eager to see her.

  So why hadn’t he come? It was the same question she’d debated much of the night, and it nagged her still.

  In retrospect, she desperately wished she’d gone to Luke herself. She’d suffered an intense headache after the emotional exchange with Gus and wanted nothing more than to climb into bed and close her eyes. The thought of staying at the party and feigning joyfulness while Gus suffered was simply too much.

  It had been a wretchedly long night and sleep had eluded her until mere hours ago.

  She’d never felt so alone in her life. Not even when married to Reuben and isolated from her emotionally distant family.

  The knock came again, more insistent this time.

  She rolled over, snuggled deep beneath the warmth of the covers upon her bed. She rubbed her eyes and felt the grit of dried tears.

  There wasn’t a soul in Mountain Home she wanted to see. Not until she’d washed her face, put up her hair, and dressed properly.

  Maybe she still wouldn’t want to see anyone, even then.

  She reached for the pocket watch she’d left on her bedside table. Ten-o’clock.

  She sighed, yawned, and nestled in deeper. Perhaps she’d stay in bed all day. No one expected her. After Luke ignored her invitation last night, she could not imagine he would call on her to spend the holiday with his family. Why would he?

  She had no delusions Gus might want to see her, either.

  She’d gotten exactly what she’d originally wanted. She was perfectly alone in the world.

  She’d just tried on that wretched realization for size, looked at it from all angles in her mind’s eye and berated herself soundly for thinking this would make her happy, when another knock sounded at her back door. Whoever had come calling at her shop’s front door hadn’t given up after all.

  She decided to lay perfectly still and let whomever was there believe she’d gone out.

  A minute passed, perhaps two.

  The knock came again.

  Maybe it was Luke. Her pulse leapt at the thought.

  Of all her friends and acquaintances in Mountain Home, Luke was the most likely to seek her out today, Christmas day. Maybe he’d reconsidered.

  No better day, ever, to seek forgiveness. Perhaps his heart would be softened because of the day’s holiness.

  Knowing she must look a fright, she slipped out of bed into the stark chill of her room, pushed her toes into waiting slippers, and donned her wrapper. She ran fingers through her snarled hair, gave up on trying to improve her appearance, and drew a breath for courage. “Yes?”

  She’d raised her voice enough to be he
ard through the door—but whoever it was wasn’t eager to respond.

  “Who’s there?”

  Another gentle knock.

  If this were Hartford, she’d think twice about opening the door. But this was Mountain Home and it was Christmas. She opened the door to a bright splash of morning sunlight and a rush of frigid air.

  Her heart jumped at first glimpse of her visitor—Luke!—but no. A man, bundled up in a greatcoat—Gus.

  His haggard appearance told her he’d passed as wretched a night as she. His usually jovial face had lost every trace of happiness, as if he’d aged ten years overnight. His luxurious curls were uncombed, tangled beneath his hat and his shoulders slumped with defeat.

  She had done this to him.

  Unfortunately, he seemed to see the worst in her, too. He tried to smile. “You look like death warmed over.”

  “I’d say the same about you, I’m afraid.” She stepped back, opened the door wider. “Come inside before you catch your death.”

  He remained on the snow-packed path. She waited—maybe he would come in.

  He watched her expression with such intensity it became more than uncomfortable.

  “Why are you here?” she asked, just to break the silence.

  He lifted a hand, offered a battered envelope. She’d not seen the once-white stationery clutched in his fist until he presented it. No street, no house number, no city. Just a name—her name—in her sister’s painfully familiar hand.

  “Merry Christmas, Effie.” He gestured with the envelope once more, as if begging her to take it.

  She reached for it, this letter from Tori. The younger sister she’d been as close to as Scofields knew how to be. They’d been estranged from the day of her marriage to Carmichael. When she’d fled Connecticut, she’d not dared notify her sister.

  “How long have you carried this letter?”

  “Since Reuben’s death.” He sounded exhausted, as if the flame had gone out in his soul. “I promised Tori I’d find you. I promised I’d give you her letter. Now I have.”

  He turned to go, his hands thrust into coat pockets.

  “Why didn’t you give this to me weeks ago?” Why now? Why give it to her at all, after their reunion turned sour?