A Texas Christmas

by Thomas, Jodi Jodi Thomas

  Picking them up one by one, he set them on the bench, letting their legs hang off the side.

  For only a second a thought flashed across his mind. He should be lifting his own child up onto the table and teaching him the craft of blacksmithery.

  He sloughed off the thought.

  A child of his own wasn’t meant to be.

  “It’s sorta dark in here,” Damon complained. “I cain’t see good.”

  “It’s necessary, so I can cipher the temperature of the iron by its color.”

  “You cain’t make much more than horseshoes,” the little boy remarked.

  “I make a lot of things people need besides horseshoes. Pots, kettles, and ladles to cook with. Farming equipment, latches, nails, and hinges.” Rand put away the remainder of the hand tools. “All sorts of things.”

  “Betcha cain’t make a big ax, big enough to kill a bear,” Damon continued to rattle on.

  “Don’t know that I’d want to go after a bear with an ax, but I can make about anything,” Rand responded.

  “Betcha cain’t,” the little boy challenged.

  “Bet I can,” Rand replied.

  The test was on, with Damon rapid-firing items he was determined a blacksmith could not make.

  Rand countered on every thing . . . so far.

  “Christmas tree?” Addie Claire said.

  That stumped Rand, but only for a second. “I’m not sure that I can, but—”

  “You told us you could make anything,” Damon interrupted.

  “And decorations, please.” Addie Claire piped up.

  Pish-posh! Rand had told the children he could make anything, but anything didn’t include a Christmas tree and ornaments.

  Now what in the heck was he to do?

  Rand was a man of his word, so in order to stay that way there was only one solution—he had to come up with a Christmas tree for the children. A task that wasn’t as simple as it seemed.

  Chapter 8

  Sarah finished kneading the bread and placed the dough in a crockery bowl to rise, covering it with a tea towel.

  She felt odd having nothing to do, something that rarely happened to her, but with the snowstorm raging and Rand to ramrod the children, she had a little bit of time before she needed to heat the leftover chicken and dumplin’s for their noon meal.

  The idea of sitting quietly and reading A Tale of Two Cities to pass the time away was appealing, but doing some handiwork actually sounded like fun. She could use the distraction; and hopefully, the busywork would ease the nervousness that crept over her for allowing the children out of her sight for so long and not being there to protect them. No telling what might be lying in wait for them in the shop and livery. An animal could step on them or they could fall. The mother cat could bite them, and God only knew what types of varmints lived out there.

  It didn’t take her long to locate the trunk and discover what she presumed to be Rand’s mother’s hidden treasures, especially an exquisitely pieced quilt top she recognized as Grandmother’s Flower Garden. A needle was threaded in the last square that had been stitched; or at least Sarah presumed that she’d done the sewing, since Rand said the trunk held some of his mother’s handiwork.

  Finding a thimble and a spool of thread, Sarah lit the kerosene lamp beside the bed and moved to the rocking chair. Time passed quickly as she worked away on the project. Since it had already been partially stitched, if Sarah focused, she possibly could have the quilt finished before Christmas Day. What a perfect thank-you gift to Rand for his hospitality during the blizzard.

  Unaware of how long she’d worked, Sarah stopped to check the time. Two hours had flown by, and not only did she need to prepare a noon meal, but she was certain the children’s presence had worn thin on Rand.

  She hurried down the stairs into the kitchen. After pouring two cups of coffee, she crossed the great room to the blacksmith’s shop and came to a sudden halt.

  Where were the children? Searching the room with her eyes, she was unable to see or hear them. They must be missing! Her heart skipped a beat.

  “Where’s Addie Claire and Damon?” Sarah almost demanded.

  Rand lifted an item out of the fire and walked to the anvil. “Up in the loft playing. I had to do some work in order to make a frame for a Christmas tree,” he said, as though it was part of his regular duties to cast such an item.

  She took a deep breath, but that still didn’t relieve the uneasiness she felt with the children being unsupervised. “A metal Christmas tree?”

  “Yep. The kids wanted one and challenged me, so I have to live up to my word. Don’t worry, there’s nothing up in the loft except hay and a stray mama cat and her kittens. They can’t get hurt up there.”

  “I’m, um, not so sure.” She hesitated, feeling her everpresent need to protect the children slack up a tad. “Thanks for letting them help you, but I’m uncomfortable with them up in the loft alone.”

  “Sarah, they’re fine. Just doing what kids do. You needed some rest, and they got bored a little faster than I thought they would.” He bent the iron into a dome shape before stepping toward the forge and setting it in the slack bucket. “Are you a double-fisted drinker today or is one of those for me?”

  “Coffee’s for you.” She sat a cup on the worktable. “I’m sure you’re famished, so I’ll go pull together a noon meal.” She took two steps toward the great room before turning back to Rand. “Are you certain the children are safe?”

  “Don’t be so protective of them, Sarah. You’ll smother the kids. They need to be free to explore and learn things on their own. Getting banged up is part of growing up. I can hear everything from down here.”

  “You know nothing about what my children need.”

  A muscle flicked angrily at his jaw. His expressive face changed and became almost somber. Removing the piece he was working on, he said, “I hear them coming now.”

  Damon appeared first, pulling a length of barbed wire formed into a ball. Hot on his heels, Addie Claire let out one wail after another.

  Sarah rushed to her. “What are you doing with that wire? It’ll cut your hands to shreds if you’re not careful. Put it down right now!” She almost yelled at the little boy while squatting down to Addie Claire’s level to comfort her and soothe away the tears.

  Addie Claire shook her shoulders, as though shaking off her pain. Her tears dried up as quickly as a creek in a drought. She lifted her hands palm up for Sarah to show off the blood prickling up from several scratches. “See,” she said, as though they were warrior injuries.

  “Got the wire off a sleepin’ bear,” said Damon proudly. “And the bear almost bit off Sissy’s hand. Cain’t you see the claw marks?”

  “Well, I suspect you didn’t get the barbed wire off any bear—sleepin’ or not. Figure you found it up in the loft where my helper Timmy stored it thinkin’ it might be useful someday.” Rand folded his thick arms across his chest and frowned down at the children. “But it gives me an idea on how I can use it to make a Christmas tree.”

  In unison they chanted, “We’re gonna have a Christmas tree. Gonna have a Christmas tree.” Addie Claire jumped to her feet, and the twins grabbed one another and danced a circle around their mother.

  Suddenly, Addie Claire pulled away and shook her hands, “Hurts, Bubba.” Peering up at Sarah, she said, “Kiss my ouchy away, Mummy.”

  Sarah pulled the child into her arms and kissed her little hands. Seeming happy her scratches were healed, the child scampered away, saying, “I wanna see what Mr. Frumpy is doing.”

  “Mr. Humphrey,” Sarah corrected the child, who only shot a withering look back to her before joining Rand at the slack bucket.

  “That’s my girl. You’re tough, little lady,” Rand said.

  “Addie Claire, come with me so I can tend to those scratches,” Sarah ordered before adding, “I’m going to fix you all something to eat. Damon, go clean up any mess you made and don’t dally. You both need to wash up and get ready to eat and t
ake a nap. You’re both dirty as little pigs.”

  “And as happy as ones playing in slop,” Rand added, a tad too condescending for Sarah’s liking.

  Damon aggressively tackled his cleanup project, picking up pieces of paper they had played with. Before she knew what was happening, he ran toward the forge and tripped, but not before he managed to toss the scraps into the flames . . . along with an envelope.

  Rand caught the little boy by the seat of his pants and pulled him to his feet.

  She gasped at the thought of what might have happened if he’d fallen into the hearth.

  Turning to Sarah, the big man said, “Take a deep breath. He’s fine, although I wish he hadn’t tossed in that envelope since I hadn’t read whatever was in it.”

  “Damon, apologize to Mr. Humphrey,” Sarah ordered.

  “No need. It shouldn’t have been on the floor. If it was anything important, they’ll send another one,” Rand said.

  She knew she was frowning at Rand for making light of something that could have been a serious injury, not to mention Damon needed to apologize. However, since Rand had reasoned things away, she could hardly require Damon to say sorry for something Rand didn’t seem all that concerned over.

  “I’ve got some lanolin right here that’ll work.” Rand directed his comments to Addie Claire, then picked up a tin can and opened it. “To make your mommy happy, let’s put on some of this.”

  The child followed Rand’s instructions, and in no time wore the gooey, smelly stuff like a big girl.

  Taking in a deep breath, Sarah studied Rand before she shot him a look of disapproval just in case he’d missed the first one. She returned to the kitchen still concerned the children could have been seriously harmed, yet finding it strange that she knew Rand wouldn’t allow that to happen.

  Why couldn’t it stay like last night forever?

  For whatever reason, he was so grumpy and unyielding to her, while almost acting fatherly to the children. Her heart skipped a beat at her thoughts.

  Fatherly! Jumpin’ Jehoshaphat!

  On second thought.... How dare Rand tell Addie Claire to come to him when Sarah had made it clear she wanted the little girl to go with her to treat her scratches?

  Rand had just taken over, ignoring her wishes.

  Howling wind and snow assaulted the windowpane, causing it to rebel with a concerto of rattles and bangs, somewhat like the storm brewing inside Sarah.

  She inhaled and exhaled twice, trying to corral her thoughts. Nobody had been there for the children but her since they were born, and they didn’t need a hero now. She hated to admit it, but she probably felt a bit threatened. Was it that obvious that the need to protect the children shrouded her like widow webs masked pain?

  Sarah couldn’t recall ever being as frustrated with a man in her whole life. Not even her father. Rand agitated her in ways that he must deliberately set out to do. Why in heaven’s sake hadn’t she gone on to the hotel with her aunt when she had the opportunity? If she’d had any inkling what an unpredictable man Randall Humphrey was, she might have put up with her aunt Edwinna’s antics in lieu of imposing on him.

  Why question her decision now? But then she’d been questioning every decision she’d made for a while; however, the one thing she had never questioned was her decision involving the twins. No matter how hard her parents and others around her pleaded, she’d stuck to her guns. She knew she’d done the right thing in keeping the babies, regardless of how hard it had been on her or what persecution she had to face from some of the Bible-thumping citizens of Carroll Creek for being an unmarried woman raising two children alone.

  “That was yesterday and this is today,” she whispered.

  Once the weather lifted, Rand would be out of their lives, and she couldn’t allow them to become attached to him . . . nor should she.

  About an hour later, after having eaten and Sarah having put the children down for their afternoon nap, Rand sat at the kitchen table and watched as she poured him a second cup of coffee. He mustered up a thank-you, which seemed to fall on deaf ears.

  Although he had tried to make conversation during the meal, Sarah suddenly seemed cold and aloof to him, exchanging only necessary pleasantries while hovering over the children like a mama jaybird protecting her nest. She made sure their every need was met before they even recognized they had one.

  Of course, he’d seized the opportunity to mull over what had happened to his half brother and why he’d taken Jughead when there were a dozen healthy horses there to steal.

  Rand would never admit it, but he had finally concluded there had to be a reason, and Jim Crockett was not involved in the theft of the money for the children’s home.

  An idea struck Rand. Once the weather improved, he’d replace the missing money, but nobody—absolutely nobody—would know. He could clear Jim’s name while helping the children.

  Humbug, hellfire and brimstone, surely Sarah’s children hadn’t succeeded in weakening his resolution to keep his heart closed to anything or anybody who could hurt him again.

  One thing was certain, he’d be glad when Sarah was out of his hair; but when she left, so would the children. He didn’t relish the idea, and definitely wouldn’t own up to it if he got between a rock and a hard place.

  Sarah returned the pot to the stove with a thud, drawing his attention back to the moment. After placing the plates in the sink, she picked up the dishcloth and began washing glasses and silverware.

  Rand drank his coffee but couldn’t keep his gaze off her. He ran through the events of earlier in the day and couldn’t figure out what she was so put out at him about, except that he’d allowed the children to go up to the loft unsupervised.

  That was it . . . she was angry because she didn’t think he’d taken good enough care of the little ones.

  He needed to clear the air with the stubborn and very beautiful woman washing dishes in his house.

  Drawing to his feet, impulsively, he jerked up the tea towel and picked up a spoon. He wiped it dry.

  “Sarah, I don’t know what in the blue blazes I did to get you so out of humor with me, but it wasn’t intentional, and if you’re waiting on an apology for something I don’t even know what I did, it’ll be a cold day in hell before it’ll happen.” He set the spoon down on the counter with a clang.

  “Sorry you feel that way, but I don’t owe you or anyone else an explanation for how or why I feel the way I do.” With a quivering lip, she turned to face him.

  “I can see you’re more like your aunt Edwinna than I first thought.” He immediately hated himself for lashing out at her.

  “I’m nothing like my aunt!”

  Now, that was certainly the pot preaching to the kettle, since I’ve been compared all of my life to my rascal of a father!

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” He threw the towel down. Never turning his gaze away from Sarah, he continued, “I’m going back to work, so if you want to talk about what’s eatin’ on you, you know where to find me. Got a Christmas tree to make for the children.”

  “You mean my children,” she corrected.

  Fury flashed through him. She’d confirmed his fear. She really didn’t trust him to be left alone with the children. It wounded him deep down inside. If only she knew how he hurt every day because he had so much love in his heart for the child he was never able to lay eyes on, much less hold in his arms.

  Maybe he’d lost focus of the fact that Sarah’s children weren’t his, only the same age as his own, if the child had lived.

  Rand stormed out and spent the next few hours working in his shop, drawing, shrinking, bending, and upsetting iron over the bright cherry heat until he’d formed a star, several round ornaments he figured represented balls, and two small bells that would eventually hang from his makeshift Christmas tree.

  Deep inside he wanted to shed the whole charade of trying to celebrate the holiday. He could always ’fess up to the children that he didn’t know how to make a Christma
s tree, but something inside wouldn’t allow him to seriously consider that as an option, since it wasn’t true.

  It wasn’t his pride at having already told them he could make anything that halted him.

  It wasn’t their challenge.

  It was simply his heartfelt desire to show the children that he wasn’t a big, bad bear, plus a need to please Sarah, which was a fairly foreign feeling to him.

  All he wanted was to make the best of a bad situation and provide Christmas for the little tykes.

  Yet way down in his soul, he recognized it wasn’t just the twins and Sarah he wanted to make happy—but Rand, a man who had a heart overflowing with unleashed love.

  Changes had to take place, and he’d be the first to make them.

  Chapter 9

  Tears welled up in Sarah’s eyes, and she leaned against the counter to support her shaky legs.

  What had she done? From the look on Rand’s face when he stormed out, there was no doubt that she’d alienated him because of her own insecurities. Why couldn’t she let anyone in? Was she that scared of getting hurt? Or was she that scared of hurting someone else?

  Moving to the table, she covered her face with her hands, determined not to cry. His comments hit hard. She’d been morally judged about her decision to not put the children up for adoption and to keep them for so long that she’d become obsessed with any possibility of losing them. But why should a well-intentioned man like Rand have to pay the price for what others had done?

  After composing herself, she went upstairs to check on the children. Finding them fast asleep, she sat in the rocking chair and began working on the quilt. Absorbed in her own thoughts and stitching away, time passed quickly.

  “Mummy,” Addie Claire mumbled. “Gotta go find Mr. Frumpy.” She yawned.

  Sarah didn’t bother to correct the pronunciation of Rand’s last name. “I think it’s best that you and your brother play upstairs for the rest of the afternoon. Mr. Humphrey has a lot of work to do.”