Heather Graham's Christmas Treasures

by Heather Graham

  Once filled, her table was nearly ostentatious. She'd cooked a huge turkey, a generous-sized ham, and a tender, spit-roasted side of beef. Their guests were Daniel and his wife and the baby, Kevin Richard Newton, and the Reverend Samuels and his wife, Jemimah—a wonderfully short and round woman with the most delightful smile Kaitlin had ever seen—who came out from town. All the day before, Kaitlin and Francesca baked and prepared, and the next morning, they started with all their meat dishes and fresh vegetables.

  In the soft glow of the candles, the dining room was beautiful. Kaitlin was pleased to overhear the reverend telling Shane that he had indeed brought a beautiful and talented wife into the wilderness, and later she was doubly glad to hear Daniel telling Shane that he was one lucky fellow, Kaitlin was just amazing.

  The pity was that she was entirely certain that Shane didn't find her amazing in the least, and lately it seemed more and more that he had grown very weary of her.

  He hadn't been coming home until very late at night. Often past midnight. And she'd heard that there was a certain place in town, as establishment called Nelly Grier's, where ranchers were known to congregate.

  Kaitlin wasn't quite sure why, because she did realize that she'd asked him to leave her alone and that that was exactly what he was doing, but she was furious with him.

  Maybe it was because she didn't really want to be left alone anymore.

  Or else she didn't want it to be so easy for him to leave her alone. She had wanted to make up, she just didn't really know how to do so. And once Mary had let it slip about Nelly Grier's place... well, then she'd been just too stubborn and angry to even think about trying to make things right with Shane.

  Maybe he just didn't care at all anymore. That thought made her miserable, but it didn't really change anything. Night after night, they lay there, their backs to one another.

  But then Thanksgiving came, and Kaitlin was determined to prove her worth, and it seemed that she was able to do so. The meal was delicious. Conversation flowed easily around the table—until the reverend mentioned Black Eagle and the Blackfeet who were really so very near Shane's property.

  "You know the Indians attacked three riders just last week, Shane," Reverend Samuels said, pausing with a portion of turkey halfway to his plate.

  Kaitlin glanced at Shane. He hadn't mentioned Black Eagle lately. In fact, he'd really said very little to her about his visit with the Indian. But then, they'd scarcely been talking since that night.

  Shane shrugged. "So I heard. But I also heard that a fool trapper named Nesmith raided one of Black Eagle's camps and kidnapped one of his sons. If that's true, we might well have a major war on our hands very soon."

  "Oh, dear God!" Mary Newton cried, hugging her baby close to her. "Are we in danger?"

  Shane shook his head. "Not yet, at any rate. Except maybe..."

  "Maybe what?" Kaitlin demanded.

  "Maybe in the north woods, and the north fields. Black Eagle feels the roadway just beyond it was built on his land. He can be dangerous. Unless that little boy is found and returned to him quickly." He looked at Mary and smiled gently. "Don't be afraid. There hasn't been any real Indian trouble here in a long, long time."

  Kaitlin's festive party had grown rather somber. She stood up. "Pumpkin and apple pies, coming right up. And we'll have coffee and brandy here at the table. Gentlemen, you are welcome to your cigars right here. We are not going to part ways on a holiday with the men going one way and the women another!"

  She was very busy for some time then, collecting the dishes, putting out the pie plates and the coffee. But a little while later she had some time, and she insisted on taking little Kevin Richard Newton from his mother. She and Shane were going to be godparents and she was delighted. The little boy was an adorable little bundle of love, and all the fear and uncertainty she had felt when he was born was fading away.

  While she held him, she was startled to find Shane staring down at her. She looked up, feeling guilty. "He's beautiful, isn't he?" she said.

  "There's only one thing wrong with him."

  "What's that?"

  "He isn't ours."

  Kaitlin's cheeks burned. "Well, Shane MacAuliffe, heaven knows you could have half a dozen children, from what I understand," she whispered, walking away from their guests, to the other side of the room.

  "Really? And how do you understand this?" he asked, following her.

  "Well, you've disappeared far more than half a dozen nights."

  "I didn't realize that I was missed. And I didn't seem to have any reason to hurry home."

  "As long as you seem so determined to visit Nelly's, you don't have any reason to hurry home. And as long as I have a choice—"

  "You don't have a choice, my dear, lovely—amazing little ice princess! Just bear that in mind, and stay on my good side. And bear in mind this fact, too. This state of affairs is not going on forever!"

  It didn't go on forever. It was stopped that very night, for some fever had swept into Kaitlin's system, and she was determined to cause him some heartache.

  Perhaps it was because of her own.

  But when all the guests were gone, when it was time for bed, she found that she was not really ready to lie down. Nor did she dress in anything prim or made of flannel, but chose an ethereal white gown of soft silk. And she stood before the window, watching the moon, brushing out her hair, certain that he would prove his point that the choice was not really hers at all.

  He ignored her until her hair had been brushed at least two hundred times. Then he had told her irritably that he had a great deal of work the next day, even if she didn't.

  Rejected, furious, she crawled into bed.

  And then he let her simmer until she was just at the boiling point before he suddenly and forcefully pulled her into his arms.

  She opened her mouth to yell at him, but he stopped her words with a kiss. Then, within minutes, the urge to stop him had disappeared.

  Each time he touched her, the magic came more sweepingly upon her. And when it did seem to skyrocket through her at last, she buried her face in a pillow, determined that she would not cry out at the intense pleasure he'd given her.

  She was not one of Jack Leroux's women, nor one of Nelly Grier's tarts.

  No, she certainly was not, for in the morning, he apologized offhandedly for his tough treatment of her.

  And in the evening, he came home very late.

  Kaitlin wanted to rip him to shreds. She wondered why it hurt her so very badly, like knives tearing into her soul. Then she knew. It had happened slowly. It had happened for many good reasons.

  She had fallen in love with her husband.

  But love was a brutal emotion, one she didn't dare trust in. Once again, she decided that her best defense was to ignore him. It was incredibly difficult when he slept beside her, but she told herself that he wasn't getting anything from her again, anything at all.

  Still, it was almost December. And she had a home this year, a beautiful home. He had given it to her. She could decorate as she chose, she could do anything she wanted.

  And there was Francesca. Francesca who had learned so very little about the mysteries of Christ and Christmas and Santa Claus and caroling.

  "It there a Santa?" Francesca asked her excitedly just a few days after Thanksgiving.

  "Well, he is really Saint Nicholas, you see," Kaitlin said, winking. She and Francesca had done the laundry, and were now making the beds. "He was a bishop hundreds and hundreds of years ago and he was kind and generous and the patron saint of children and he loved to give out gifts. To the Dutch people who came to live in New York, he was 'Sinter Klaas.' So for us now, he is Santa Claus! And he comes every Christmas to bring gifts. A minister named Mr. Moore described him in a poem back in 1823—before I was even born!—and he is wonderful, Francesca, truly wonderful! He dresses in a red suit with white trim, and he is this huge roly-poly bear of a man, so kind, so very wonderful."

  She heard a noise. It was ea
rly, but Shane was home. He was standing in the doorway, watching her.

  Kaitlin finished the bed, and tried to walk on past him. He caught her arm. She gazed at him, waiting.

  "Thank you."

  "For what?"

  "For giving her Christmas."

  He touched her cheek. She was startled by the tenderness in his fingers. "You're just like her, you know. A child deprived of Christmas." And his voice was soft, so soft. "This year, we will have Christmas. We'll drink mulled wine before the fire. I'll chop down a fir tree and we'll decorate it with angels and stars. And we'll all put gifts beneath the tree. You will have Christmas, Kaitlin."

  This kindness from him almost brought tears to her eyes. She pulled away. "I have no money of my own. I shall have no gift for you."

  He laughed huskily. "Oh, but, my love, think of it, you do, you do."

  And then the laughter was gone, and she was in his arms, held there so hard. "A son, Kaitlin, give me my son."

  She pulled away from him. "You'll have to speak to God on that, sir, since I seem to have no choice in the matter."

  "But you do. You run. You fight me."

  "I don't seem to run fast enough," she informed him, her flashing eyes reminding him of the night so long ago when she had teased and taunted...

  And he had won in the end.

  He started to laugh, but then Francesca was suddenly there, looking worriedly at them both.

  "What is it, Shane? Is something wrong?"

  "Wrong?" Shane lifted her into his arms. "When I live with two of the most beautiful women in the Western world? Never! We were just discussing Christmas, Kaitlin and I. And Santa Claus is coming this year."

  "He never came before," Francesca said.

  "Well, he is coming this year. Right down the chimney."

  "He'll singe his rump!" Kaitlin advised.

  "Never. Santa Claus is invulnerable to fire."

  Francesca laughed. "Will he come for us both, for Kaitlin and me?"

  "Oh, yes. Santa will come for you. And for Kaitlin." He smiled at Kaitlin, his golden eyes afire. "Will he come for me, do you think?"

  "I hardly know," Kaitlin said sweetly. "I hear it on good authority that you have not been a very good boy this year." And with that she swept by him.

  At dinner that night Chancey came in with news and they heard that one of the ranches had been burned to the ground. The rancher and his wife had been spared, but Black Eagle's warriors had forced them to watch the destruction, and Black Eagle himself had said that they must warn the whites that there might be worse to come.

  Shane came into the kitchen as Kaitlin was washing dishes. "It could prove to be dangerous here. I'm thinking of sending you and Francesca down south until this is over."

  She dropped her dish and spun around. "No! I'm not going anywhere. We're going to have a family Christmas. We've—we've promised Francesca."

  "Kaitlin, listen—"

  "Please, Shane!"

  He sighed, watching her. She wondered what lay behind the glitter of his eyes. Then he spoke softly. "Well, you've courage, my love. And a will of steel." He stared at her hard. "Yes, I'll grant you that."

  Then he was gone.

  It was the next day when Genevieve disappeared.

  Kaitlin decided to ride into town. She didn't need the buggy because she wasn't going to make any major purchases, but she did want ribbon, red ribbon and green ribbon. She and Francesca were going to begin to decorate. Thanksgiving was over, they were into December. Perhaps it was a bit early, but Francesca was one child who had really had just too little Christmas in her life.

  Maybe Shane was right. Perhaps Kaitlin was also a child who had really had too little Christmas in her life.

  She was determined to make up for it.

  But when she had brought Genevieve out of the stall to brush and saddle her, she had been distracted when Daniel had ridden by. He always had such a nice smile for her. She had stopped to talk. And when she had turned back, Chancey was just warning her that the wayward mare had broken loose and gone running off.

  Right for the north field.

  Kaitlin didn't really remember any of Shane's warnings. She was just desperate to find her affectionate little mare. Old Henry the plow horse was still in the bam and so she saddled him quickly and rode out. Chancey was shouting behind her, but she ignored him.

  She rode straight for the north field. And she searched and searched, calling to her, but she didn't see a sign of the little mare.

  Then she did see Shane, riding toward her on Diablo. He was furious. "What the hell are you doing out here, you fool!"

  "I'm just—"

  "You're just getting back to the house. Now!"

  "I'm not your prisoner, Shane—"

  "No, you're a damned idiot! Get back there, or I'll get you back there!"

  She rode ahead of him, urging old Henry into as quick a pace as he could manage, and she and Shane fought all the way back. When they reached the barn she leapt down from old Henry and started for the house. She meant to reach it before he could yell anymore.

  But his hand was on her arm.

  "Dammit, Kaitlin, listen to me—"

  "I didn't do anything—"

  "Tell it to the Blackfeet when they find you the next time!"

  She wrenched away from him. He didn't stop her. But as she started for the house, he was right behind her. And when she realized that he was following her into the kitchen, she headed for the stairway.

  He followed her there, too. And when she would have slammed the bedroom door, he pushed it open and then slammed it shut behind him.

  "I'm not worried about the Indians!" Kaitlin said sharply. "Chancey told me that they're a distance away."

  "They're right on our border!"

  "Living their lives. While we live ours—"

  "Don't fool yourself, Kaitlin! The Blackfeet were the most warlike tribe in the area!"

  "Yes, and they killed a lot of whites, and the whites killed them. But that's because the whites were infringing on their fur trade. And now we buy the furs from them and—"

  "And that's supposed to make everything all better?"

  "But the Indians don't come in this close—"

  "The hell they don't! Ever since that fool trapper disappeared with Black Eagle's boy, the Blackfeet have been coming in closer and closer. All kinds of rumors are going around of Indian war—real, horrible, disastrous war. Damn you, Kaitlin, I know Black Eagle! I know him well. You stay the hell out of the north field and the north woods!"

  "But Genevieve—"

  "Genevieve is an Indian pony now. There aren't any finer horse thieves in the world than the Blackfeet. If you ever really cared for a living thing around you, she might not have disappeared!"

  Kaitlin gasped, stunned. Tears teased her lashes. She'd tried so very hard...

  "You're the only living thing around me that I don't particularly care much about, Shane MacAuliffe!"

  Her words seemed to have been as sharp as a knife, for his eyes flashed and his jaw tightened. "I pulled you out of a New Orleans sewer. Maybe that's where you belong!"

  She struck him. And suddenly she was being dragged across the room, and tossed on their bed.

  "I've seen the fire in you," he told her. "I've seen you smile, and laugh. By God, it's there. It was there for Daniel Newton."

  "Daniel's a gentleman—"

  "And a half-assed fool. And he isn't for you. But damn you, Kaitlin, the fire is there. Within you."

  "Maybe you haven't the spark to light any fire within me!" she snapped.

  Shane's eyes narrowed. Then he spoke softly. Too softly. "Oh, but I do. Oh, but I do!"

  She leapt up, suddenly afraid. She had never really been afraid of him before, but she had never, never seen him so angry.

  He blocked the door with his body. She couldn't possibly reach it and throw it open.

  "Well, let's see, we have agreed. You've courage, my love. And a will of steel. But that won't help you
now. Not one bit. Whether I wooed you or won you, Kaitlin, I made you my wife. And you agreed to the terms. And I'll be damned if I'll let you try to cast me out one minute longer. You want a match, Mrs. McAuliffe? I'll light a boxful of them, Mrs. MacAuliffe, and so help me, we will find the fire within you!"

  "Don't you dare talk to me so, Shane—" she had begun, lifting her chin and trying to walk on by. But she couldn't do so. His hand caught her arm tightly.

  "You're right. Let's not talk."

  She was stunned by the sudden ferocity of his kiss, swept away by the passion within it. Indeed, he had the match to light the fire within her, for within seconds, she felt the soaring heat throughout her body. She felt his touch on her flesh, and she seemed to feel it within her blood, too. And she wanted his kiss, wanted his touch, more than she had ever imagined wanting it before.

  She heard the rent of fabric, and she thought with a certain amazement that he had actually torn her clothing. And it didn't matter. Not in the least.

  But his eyes touched hers, in challenge, in defiance. She cried out, slamming her fists against his chest, but he didn't seem to care. They were falling together, and the softness of the bed was there to catch them. He whispered in her ear, soft. His kiss feathered against her throat.

  And the heat began to rise.

  His kiss was silk against her naked flesh. His whisper brushed her skin with tiny laps of flame. His hands caressed the length of her, so intimately. She was dimly aware that her fingers moved against his chest, stroked, caressed. She breathed softly against his lips, and they were locked within a frantic kiss once again.

  Something was different. Her anger had dissipated, but an intensity remained. She was profoundly aware of his words, his whispers. The things that he said. Intimate things. Each touch became exquisitely keen. He was demanding so much, and yet gave to her so tenderly. Clothing seemed to melt away, and they were entwined as one, and everything that had been sweet before was ever more so now. Tonight, the stars seemed to explode in their room. She reached for the sky, and for a moment, her fingertips brushed it. And the stars burst out upon her with the most extravagant beauty she had ever imagined.