“Stomach problems. Nothing you want to know about.”
She looked at him, saw something in the set of his jaw and decided he was probably correct. She settled for asking, “Do you think she’ll make it?”
“Aye. I do now. It was touch and go for a while, but the ewe’s a healthy one.”
He rubbed his hand along his pants and picked up the slice of bread, taking a generous bite. She looked away, recalling her earlier thoughts of the day, how her parents would have judged him as uncouth.
Embarrassed now for having come, she tried to think of something to say,. “Mrs. Hartmann is worried that her husband won’t make it here in time for Christmas. I think she’s very disappointed.”
Giving out a little yelp of surprise, she jumped as one of the sheep bumped up against her legs.
He chuckled. “They don’t understand social etiquette.” He handed her the empty plate and stepped out of the stall. “I’ll walk you back to the house and make sure you don’t get lost along the way. It’s easy to do in fresh snow like this.” Taking the lantern from her hand, he invited her to take his arm.
They wove through the sleeping sheep, the lantern light showing the way, and he led her back through the barn and into the dark night.
As she’d done before, Clara was careful to keep to the tracks, but she also held tight to Mr. Kincaid’s arm. The only sound was the crunching of their boots. Storm clouds had moved to the south, and stars were twinkling above them in a velvet sky. Lights from the house spilled out windows, casting golden patches on a white blanket of snow.
“It’s so quiet,” she whispered. “Peaceful.”
He pulled up, turning his face to the heavens. She followed his gaze and her breath caught at the sight. So vast an array of stars as to be both terrifying and inspirational in the same moment.
He whispered, “Is it any wonder that the angels’ first words to the shepherds were, ‘Fear not’?”
She’d not thought of how significant such a night might be to a man who made his living tending flocks. Were those shepherds of long ago like Graham Kincaid, humble and unappreciated? And yet, it was to such men that the angels had been sent with the good news. Why them and not the wise and learned men? But she’d misjudged him. His reticence was not a reflection of his lack of education. And any perception of coarseness was not an absence of manners, but the practical nature of his work with the beasts in his care. It was this quiet strength, she mused, that drew her to him.
Clara shivered, grateful for the closeness of Mr. Kincaid as he held her arm looped through his. But it wasn’t the cold that made her tremble. Even as her teeth chattered, she understood. She felt a wondrous excitement, something so unexpected to be this attracted to the shepherd beside her. He was so unlike any man she imagined would one day win her heart. Was that what he’d done? Had he captured her heart?
As she took the slippery steps to the porch, he supported her arm. But he made no move to follow her beyond the steps. She turned to him and asked, “Aren’t you going to come inside? All the ranch hands are here.”
With a rueful grin, he ran a hand down his stubbled cheeks. “I’m not quite presentable. What I need is a good wash and long night’s rest.”
His voice conveyed the weariness she saw in his eyes. She suspected that he’d not slept at all last night. “Then tomorrow? Will you celebrate Christmas with us?”
“Aye. I’ll be there.”
He waited until she was inside the house before he turned to go, a refined and even gallant gesture. She slipped quietly to the nearest window where she could watch him cross the yard on his way to the wash house. His steps were slow and plodding, again confirming her suspicions that he’d not slept. She watched until he became a faint, dark figure against the white blanket of snow.
How could he continue to surprise her? At once provincial and, yet, profound. Coarse one moment and in the next exhibiting the manners of a gentleman. He’d changed so much since she’d first met him. She laughed aloud. The obvious truth had evaded her until now. The change was not in him, but in her. And she decided that it was a welcome change, one long overdue.
Chapter Seventeen
THE PRE-DAWN HOURS of December 25, 1891
For long hours past midnight, Clara refused to move from her bed, willing herself to sleep, but losing the battle. It haunted her. Nothing frightening, no phantom of ghoulish appearance. Instead, it was the visage of the fair-haired Scotsman that refused to leave her thoughts. Every conversation, every argument, every line of his face, every touch of his hand, every subtle twitch of his lips when amused, the scent of lanolin on his hands, all of it consumed her.
When at last she relented of her inability to find relief in sleep, she pulled on her clothes and tiptoed through the silent house. Letting herself out the back door into the chilling hour before dawn, she gasped in the cutting edge of a north wind. She didn’t bother with lighting a lantern, trusting the snow trodden path to lead her to the barn.
Daisy lifted her head as Clara approached. Settling close, she drew the dog’s head onto her lap. Tempted to pick up one of the puppies, she thought better of it. Seeing how comfortable they looked nestled close to their mother for warmth, she couldn’t disturb them. “You’re a natural mother, Daisy. I never expected that.” The dog pressed her wet nose into Clara’s hand. It was such a tender moment that tears sprang to her eyes. Daisy was still her special companion.
As they sat together in the darkened interior, Clara listened to the quiet sounds of the barn, the snuffling of the goats, their hooves crunching the straw in their stalls, the small grunts the puppies made in sleep. From somewhere nearby came the sound of the scurrying feet of a mouse, but it didn’t alarm her, as once it might have. Even as she sat on Daisy’s bed of coarse straw with her face chilled by a draft from the open barn door, she thought the stall even more cozy than the soft bed she’d abandoned.
She tipped her head back to rest against the hard wall, opening her senses to everything about her that was real and natural. Her eyelids grew heavy, and she fell into a dreamless sleep.
Footsteps crunched in snow outside the door, and she awakened with a start. The barn door opened, admitting the pale light of early morning. She waited as the steps grew closer, pleased when at last Graham Kincaid appeared outside the stall, looking down at her.
Not wishing to disturb the puppies, she spoke in a whisper. “I thought you’d sleep in today. It is Christmas.”
“The beasts still have to eat,” he said in that practical, straight-forward manner that defined him.
Feeling awkward beneath his gaze, Clara dropped her eyes to Daisy. Could he see the warmth that colored her cheeks, or read her mind, all those unseemly thoughts she’d entertained last night?
“I just saw Bart,” he said. “He invited us into breakfast. Seems the Hartmanns and the Longs have some gifts they want to give out to the hands. I think Mrs. Long put considerable thought into the meal.”
“Your impression is correct.” She gave a nervous laugh and added, “I think I’ll stay here a while longer.”
Daisy rose to her feet, making a long languid stretch forward before resettling herself beside her puppies. The smallest of the litter suckled first. Clara looked up, excited. “That’s a good sign, isn’t it?”
Graham gave a mild grunt of affirmation and stepped into the stall, sliding his back down the wall to sit beside her. “I had a hunch.” They sat for a time in companionable silence. Graham picked up a stalk of straw, sliding his long fingers along the hollow shaft. “Which one do you want to give to the little girl?”
“I thought you should decide.” She turned to him, giving him a quick, uncertain smile. “I want them to be happy. You’ll know which ones will be better to work with Alec. Won’t you?”
He took his time answering, tapping the straw against his clean-shaven chin. She noticed then that he was wearing a fresh shirt beneath his jacket, his cable sweater put aside for the day, and hair brushed back from his
forehead. His pale, blue eyes looked even larger now. And he smelled of chamomile soap, probably something Jessie had made for the wash house. He turned his gaze to her, and she bit her lip, looking away.
“It’s not always obvious,” he said. “Some have more aptitude than others, but it might not show up until they’re given a chance with the flock. Alec’s savvy. He’ll let me know.”
“Oh.” She was just beginning to understand this deep connection he’d formed with the animals in his care. He’d spoken of bonds, and such was his with his dog. They shared food, long hours alone in the mountains, and they’d shared the responsibilities of watching over the sheep.
“If the runt continues to do well, she might be a good choice. Maybe the Hartmann’s little girl will know. There’s a knowing in them we don’t share.”
“I see.” She stroked the top of Daisy’s head. “Like the way Daisy knew I wanted to help her when I found her in the alley.”
“She might have chosen to bite you instead. But she sensed your intentions were to help her.” His lips broke into a wide, wonderful smile, from which Clara could not look away. “She bonded to you in that moment,” he said softly.
Her heart pounded an emphatic tempo against her ribs, deafening in her own ears. She knew she should divert her gaze, but could not. As if of its own volition, her hand lifted, and she traced the sharp line of his jaw, the stubble rough against her fingertips. “You’re a lovely man.” Had she spoken aloud or was this still the dream she only thought she’d awoken from? Shocked at her boldness, she pulled her hand away, but he stopped her.
The smile touched his eyes, and he wrapped his hand around her finger, bringing it to his lips.
She watched with fascination as he kissed her fingers one by one, feeling as though she were an observer, standing apart. A heroine in a romantic Bronte novel. But the rapid beating of her heart made it all so very real. As she met his eyes, she felt herself falling into them, no longer an observer. Did he see that she welcomed his kiss?
In the next instant, the smile faded from his eyes and he wrapped his hand around hers, squeezing it until she gave a little cry. He eased his grip with a mumbled apology and pulled in a quick breath. “I’ve something to say to you, Miss Clara Webster, something I need you to know.”
Clara attempted to swallow. He looked so solemn. Was he about to tell her of his betrothal to another woman? Had Jessie misunderstood that his wife had passed away? Her stomach clenched as she prepared herself for his rejection. She prayed he would not be kind as he told her there was no hope for any further bond to form between them. She’d rather hate him.
“It’s about my vision of my future, the vision that brought me here, that made me leave my family behind. I want you to know that I’ll not always be a hired hand.” His blue eyes turned to steel. “I came here to work my own land and tend to my own flocks. I’ll not always be as poor as I am now with nothing to offer a woman as fine as yourself.”
She searched his face, only half-comprehending what he was saying. Was he declaring a vision, not just for his future, but hers?
“I don’t know how long it will take, but by the grace of God it will happen before I’m an old man. I wouldn’t ask you to wait for me to prove it. That would be unfair. But might you give me hope you would consider my courtship one day?”
He didn’t wait for a reply, but rose to his feet and took her hand again, leading her to the barn door. As he threw open the door, they squinted into the brilliant light of sun reflecting off the sparkling snow. He turned to her with hopeful eyes and asked again, “On this the loveliest of days, will you make me a happy man and say you’d consider what I’ve asked of you? Give me hope that I’d be working not only for something, but someone to share it with?”
Stunned beyond all ability to speak, she could only return his earnest smile with her own tremulous one. She nodded her answer.
Before she could take a breath, he pulled her into his arms, crushing her against his chest. “That’s enough.” He pressed her head against his shoulder. “I didn’t expect it to be you.”
She tipped her head back to look up into his face, asking his explanation with her eyes.
Seeing her confusion, he smiled. “I didn’t expect to fall in love again, and not with the likes of you.”
“The likes of me?” she asked in mock offense.
“Aye, the likes of someone as headstrong as you.”
“Me?”
“Aye, you.” He laughed so long and hearty that someone must have heard him. Someone stepped out of the house. Graham’s eyes drifted past her shoulder to the woman standing on the porch with a crisp white apron and a smile to match it. She waved the dishtowel in her hand, and he followed the direction of her gesture. Hanging above their heads, nailed to the barn’s doorframe, was a sprig of mistletoe.
Graham slid his hands to grip Clara by the arms and smiled into her eyes. “Would you look at that?” He nodded to the mistletoe, taunting them from above. “That Mrs. Long is one single-minded woman.”
Clara looked back at Jessie standing on the porch, her hands planted on her hips, with a wide grin spreading across her face.
Chuckling, Graham shook his head. “I give in.” He held Clara’s eyes with his own and whispered just for her ears to hear, “I willingly give in.” Then he drew her close, lifted her chin and kissed her, a long and delicious kiss that she felt all the way to her toes.
A pleased smile on her face, Jessie stepped into her kitchen and checked on the cinnamon scones baking in the oven. She turned to the stove and began humming. “God Bless Ye Merry Gentlemen” while she turned substantial chunks of bacon in the frying pan.
“I think the men will appreciate all you’ve done to make this morning special. The scones smell amazing.” Lena carried the platter of scrambled eggs into the dining room, where she counted the place settings. There would be two empty chairs if Evan didn’t come, and with each passing hour it seemed less likely. No, she couldn’t let her disappointment ruin the day for everyone else. Jessie must have enough disappointment of her own, her lovely party ruined by the unexpected snowfall.
“Here we go,” Jessie said as she set a platter of warm scones on the table. “There’s more when that’s gone.” She folded her arms over her stomach and examined the table with a rather smug look on her face.
Lena was just about to ask her about what had lifted her spirits when a commotion of shuffling boots and deep voices announced the ranch hands at the back door. Bart stood at the back of the tight cluster of men, looking as if he was herding cattle as he encouraged them to step farther into the kitchen.
Jessie scurried through the dining room door to help. “Come on in, boys. Merry Christmas!”
The half-dozen men responded in kind, the house echoing with their greetings. When the twins joined them, the men visibly relaxed. Tommy ran up to each and wished him a Merry Christmas in a loud voice that would have been more appropriate shouted from the porch.
Randall, the bunkhouse cook, grinned. “Remind me to have him call the boys for dinner in the evenings. I think they might hear him better than the bell I’ve been using.”
“Gentlemen, please come in. Find a seat at the table,” Lena said as she lifted Rowena into her arms. “Where’s Mr. Kincaid?”
Bart shot a furtive glance at Jessie, and whispered, “I think he’s in the barn with Miss Webster looking after the dog.”
“Why are we whispering?” Lena asked, whispering back.
“Because.” He rolled his eyes in his wife’s direction. “You know, I’ll never hear the end of it once Jessie decides her matchmaking scheme has worked.”
“Has it?”
“I don’t know for sure, but let’s just say, I have a pretty good idea they aren’t the enemies they once were. And when I saw them just now, they sure weren’t talking about puppies.”
So, that was it, the reason for Jessie’s smug smile. Neither of them would hear the end of her I-told-you-so’s. She glanced up at J
essie, who was in the brightest of Christmas spirits. When Jessie met her gaze, she winked in a self-satisfied manner.
If it was true, Lena couldn’t be more delighted. For the past month, she’d recognized in Mr. Kincaid talents beyond shepherding. They’d shared some conversations about children that revealed the man had more than his fair share of experience because of an abundance of nieces and nephews he’d left in his homeland. He must miss them this season.
But Miss Webster? Were they compatible? Clara’s city upbringing was certainly different from Mr. Kincaid’s country farm life. And what would marriage be like if the shepherd remained a shepherd? Could they overcome such disparities of backgrounds? Suddenly, her thoughts transported her to Sawtooth City in the winter of 1886, remembering a man and a woman who’d built a bridge to span their differences. And love set upon a foundation of respect had grown more beautiful over the years.
Lena sat Rowena on a high chair next to her father, and walked to the window where she gazed out at the white landscape. She recalled what she’d asked Ely that winter of 1886 as they waited for Evan to return over the rugged Galena summit. Then, as now, she wondered how something so beautiful could be so deadly. But they were not in the Sawtooths now. This valley didn’t terrify her as that one in the higher elevation had. Still, just as she had that first winter not so long ago, she prayed for Evan’s safety and now, for that of the child, Rebecca.
With astounding efficiency, the men finished Jessie’s splendid breakfast. There were a few sniggers when she brought out the Toad in the Hole dish. Lena chuckled to herself when Jessie introduced the custard as Spotted Duke rather than by its more offensive name.
Randall, the bunkhouse cook, leaned over and commented on the men’s appetite. “You don’t see them digging in like this at my table. Can’t blame them. I ain’t half the cook Mrs. Long is. She’s a gourmet.” He pronounced the word to rhyme with corset.
Lena looked through the open dining-room door when she heard voices in the kitchen. Jessie was about to leave her seat when Lena waved her back, mouthing that she’d go.
A Hartmann Ranch Christmas Page 10
