Fire and Ice

by Mary Connealy

  Curious, she stood and got down on her hands and knees to reach the item. As her hand touched it, she remembered exactly what it was.

  Kylie’s present.

  Laughing quietly, Bailey realized her little sister had managed to give her a Christmas present. Bailey hoped it was something useful, like a tightly wrapped package of beef jerky, though it was doubtful that would have survived her pecking chickens.

  She got comfortable and made a ceremony out of the parcel. First a prayer; then she spent time remembering the first Christmas, also spent in a stable. Strangely, her choice to stay in the barn seemed fitting. The smell of the animals, the musty straw, the occasional cackle of a chicken or rustle from her horse and cow as they crunched on hay. This was how it had been for Mary and Joseph as they awaited Christmas and their baby’s birth.

  That first Christmas had included gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. Bailey grinned, wondering if Kylie had given her one of those. Not likely.

  Finally, when she was calm and in a mood of peace, with her faith clear in her mind, she decided she’d delayed the pleasure of opening the gift long enough. She reached for the string that tied the parcel closed. The knot had tightened and didn’t want to give. Bailey could have cut the string with the knife she always carried in her boot, but she enjoyed drawing out the unwrapping.

  The sun was setting, and the barn was getting murky by the time she pushed back the brown wrapping and narrowed her eyes at the bright blue fabric. Had Kylie given her a length of cloth for a gift?

  Bailey lifted it. It unfolded and took shape. She was a long minute figuring out what in the world it was—and why wouldn’t she be confused? It was nothing she’d ever had before, or at least not for so many years it seemed like this was a first.

  A shout of laughter broke the silence of the barn as she stood and held the Christmas bounty up by its shoulders. The hem reached the floor.

  Kylie had made her a dress. The most useless piece of clothing ever invented, and almost certainly invented by man.

  A note dropped to the floor with the unfolding skirt. Bailey grabbed at it. A worthless gift and now a scolding note to tell Bailey she needed to start dressing and acting like a woman. Kylie had given her that little sermon any number of times.

  Tossing the dress over her shoulder, she sat again and read:

  Dear Bailey,

  You might consider trying on this dress. I think you’ll be surprised at how fun it is to feel pretty. I know if you’re reading this note, I was successful in my escape attempt, so you wouldn’t be able to throw the dress right back in my face.

  As much as it has been my dream to live in a civilized place, I find my heart is breaking to leave you and Shannon. I am going to miss both of you terribly.

  Please wear this dress at least once. Being a woman is a wonderful thing, and I hope and pray for you to learn to enjoy that part of yourself. You’re a beautiful woman. Always remember your baby sister loves you.

  Kylie

  Bailey laughed aloud, then was shocked when her eyes burned with tears. She sat there alone, except for her animals, with this note and these words of love.

  For a woman who had just decided her faith was solid and there was pleasure in sharing a barn with the animals to celebrate Christmas, she, a woman who didn’t cry, was fighting tears.

  The loneliness of it was deep. Her soul seemed to cry out for someone to share her life with. She prayed that God would be with her in this dark, cold place.

  She read the note again, then another time. She read it until she had it memorized.

  Was she a pretty woman? Kylie was kind and would say such a thing, true or not. One hand went to her hair, and Bailey realized she hadn’t cut it since before winter had closed in on her. Her fingers clenched in her hair, and she pulled until she forgot her tears. But the loneliness! Nothing could make that pain go away.

  Bailey had chosen a miserable life, but she had no idea how to change it. Her sisters had done it by getting married. The idea made Bailey nearly sick with fear.

  The darkness deepened and pressed down on her bowed shoulders. She sat and listened as the wind and snow blew against the barn roof and walls. The storm seemed to grow claws that reached out to dig through the walls and drag her into the cold night. Right now, outside the barn, from every direction, she was under attack from a desperate, raging lunatic.

  And she had no choice but to face that raging lunatic alone. Always alone.

  10

  Only a raging lunatic would consider what Gage had in mind.

  He slammed the side of his fist against the front door and waited. Just as he was about to start hammering again, the door swung open.

  He blinked, wondering if he’d truly lost his mind. Then he leaned forward—honestly he lurched, as if he’d lost all control of his muscles. He stared until he thought his eyes might pop out of his head.

  “Bailey Wilde, is that you?”

  It was impossible but for the golden eyes. It was her, like he’d never seen her before.

  “Howdy, Gage. It’s a little early for you to be over here, isn’t it? I can’t believe you got through the trails.” Her fiery eyes shifted in a way that struck Gage as devious, but then that was his Bailey all over again. A sneaky woman. That’s why he thought she’d cooperate.

  He’d figure out what she was sneaking about later; he didn’t have time now. Plus, she was probably doing something that would make him furious, and yelling at her was a mighty poor idea, all things considered.

  “Bailey, I . . . Your hair is long.” Not long really, but the woman hadn’t cut her hair since last fall.

  “Almost as long as yours.” That was definitely her sassy mouth.

  “Why’d you stop cutting it short?”

  The corners quirked up on her pink lips, which made Gage aware of just how closely he was watching her.

  “I did it for a stupid reason. Shannon always cut it, and when she moved she not only took her barbering skills with her, she also took the only pair of scissors around. I don’t own a pair, so it was either hack it off with a knife or leave it alone.” She ran a hand deep into the pretty curls that were about three inches long all over her head. “Honestly, I sort of forgot about it. Heaven knows there’s not a mirror anywhere around.”

  It was the prettiest yellow blond he’d ever seen, and it curled around her ears and highlighted those bright flashing eyes. It was also a tousled mess, like maybe Bailey didn’t own a hairbrush. Maybe she combed her fingers through it much like she’d done when it was short. That’s what Gage did with his.

  He looked down the length of her body at the blue calico dress . . . and completely forgot what he’d come over for.

  Bailey shrugged her shoulders. “Come in. You’re letting all the warm air out.”

  And then he remembered. He went in so fast he was embarrassed, but his plan was starting to look like it just might work. Her hair had really worried him.

  “You’re wearing a dress? I didn’t know you even owned one. In fact, I think I remember you boasting that you didn’t.” He closed the door behind him.

  “You want some coffee?” She almost smiled. He’d’ve never called it a smile on anyone else, but considering how rarely Bailey smiled, he could tell that’s what it was supposed to be.

  “Coffee sounds fine.” He pulled off his gloves, shook the snow off, shoved them in a coat pocket, then shed his coat and hung it on a peg by the front door. He removed his Stetson and snagged it on another peg. Then he followed her to the table and sat down. He’d never once taken his eyes off of her while he did all that. She turned away, her blue skirt twisting and turning around her ankles, the messy blond curls bouncing with every move.

  He was still staring when she slid a cup of coffee in front of him.

  The look on her face was hard for him to understand. She was staring at him just as hard as he was staring at her.

  “Bailey, what I came over for . . .” His voice faded. He wasn’t sure he could for
ce himself to say it.

  She broke the silence. “Were the trails passable?” Her voice sounded a bit rusty, as if she hadn’t used it . . . maybe not all winter. “I suppose they must have been because here you are. But I’ve ridden out daily since the first of April and found drifts so deep I was turned back every time.”

  She curled her hands around the tin cup in front of her and savored the coffee’s warmth.

  Gage wanted to talk about the weather and the trails and how the long winter had lingered up here in the higher elevations while spring had come to his ranch. Truth was, he wanted to talk about anything but what he’d come for.

  Which was why he couldn’t put it off—it was too cowardly. He shoved one hand into his own untrimmed hair. “There’s no right way to say what I need to say.” He gave her a long, level look. “Bailey, I need help.”

  “Is your horse hurt?” She half stood from the table. “I saw him outside.” She was no doubt ready to go carry the horse to safety, on her back if need be.

  “No, no, my horse is fine. I need help.” He raised his eyes to meet hers and watched her sink back into her chair. “Please just let me get it all out before you interrupt.”

  “Just say it, Gage. You’re scaring me.”

  “That’s probably just as well. Fear is called for, I’d say. I know I’m scared to death.”

  Her eyes grew wide. “Well, what is it?”

  “Bailey, I . . .” he began, sliding his hand forward to grasp hers. He also knocked her coffee aside. It skidded, but even with her hand in his, she used the other to snag the cup before it spilled into her lap.

  Great idea, douse her with boiling hot coffee! Oh, this was going all wrong. And he’d been rehearsing the whole way over, ever since he’d gotten to town to find a letter that had been sitting there waiting for him since last October. No one had brought any more mail to Aspen Ridge because of the weather, so who could tell how many letters might be out there waiting to jump up and bite him in the backside?

  “What is it?” she asked again. Her hand tightened on his.

  She’d be tightening that hand on his throat in just a few minutes, so he firmed his grip for his own protection. He also took just a second to grab her coffee cup and move it out of reach. Scalding hot coffee in the face would sting.

  “Bailey, I . . .” He’d given this part of the speech before. He couldn’t look her in the eye when he said it, so he stared at their clasped hands and forced the words out of his mouth. “I want you to marry me.”

  She inhaled at just the wrong time and started choking. She got her hands loose and stood, hacking, and tripped over her chair when she backed away.

  He jumped up and slapped her on the back. That was heroic, right? Keeping her from choking to death. He tried not to be too rough about it. No sense making her wonder if he was a ham-handed brute. Other than in how he proposed, of course.

  Through the coughing she managed one word. “Wha-a-t?”

  The choking was keeping her from talking but not from hearing. He’d better not miss his chance. “This is a desperate situation, Bailey. I’m in need of a wife, and honestly you’re the only single woman I know—not counting the ones who work in the saloon—unless some married man around these parts died over the winter.”

  That wasn’t part of his prepared speech. And her eyes grew wider, the cough easing. She’d start talking any second. He needed to get down to business.

  A bright idea came to him. “If you don’t want to marry me, you can just move in with me and stay until you’ve served my purpose.”

  “Until I’ve served your purpose?” He ducked just in time to miss her swinging fist.

  He’d never thought of Bailey as a screamer, but she was mighty good at it. “I mean, of course, the offer to marry is good, but if you just wanted to live with me, we could pretend to be married. That would be good enough for me. I’d even pay you.” He smiled. How generous did a man have to be?

  Her next punch landed square in his mouth. He staggered back from her surprisingly solid hit and was only kept from falling because he backed into the wall. He sure hoped he healed quick. “I must be saying this wrong.”

  “No, I think I understand your offer exactly right.” Bailey came at him again. He was ready this time. He caught her fist in one hand with the slap of skin on skin. Then he grabbed a second fist. He was ready when she tried to kick him, too.

  This was getting them nowhere. He lifted her off her feet and used his weight to turn her around and pin her to the wall. He had her hands and he was too close to kick. “Now you listen here, there’s no call to go to beating on me. That’s no way to start a marriage.”

  That brought a solid kick to his shin. “Ouch!” Maybe not too close to kick.

  “You expect me to live with you until I’ve served your purpose?”

  Yep, definitely a screamer.

  “You offer to pay me as if I’m one of the ladies at the saloon?”

  Gage was so offended he could barely answer. “Good grief, where’d you get that idea?”

  “I got it from you! You had such a lonely winter, you waded out here to . . .”

  Gage wrestled the slippery little woman’s two hands into one of his.

  “. . . through neck-deep snow, at risk of your own life . . .”

  He had to get this proposal back on track, and he couldn’t do it with her screaming.

  “. . . to insult me and act like I’m the kind of woman who—”

  He clamped his hand over her mouth. She tried to bite him, but he was properly cautious now and held her jaw shut.

  “That is not what I meant.” He sounded shocked, even a little prim and proper, which wasn’t a sound he could claim for himself real often. But honestly he was shocked. So shocked he regained the icy control that usually got him through tight spots. Although that usually involved slashing horns and wicked hooves, but he’d never been in a tight spot quite like this before.

  “What sort of man do you think I am?”

  Her golden eyes narrowed from behind his hand. She quit struggling, though the burning eyes told him exactly what kind of man she thought he was, and it wasn’t good.

  He was suddenly aware of just how close he was to her and jumped back. It wasn’t just her eyes that burned. Her skin was hot. He rubbed his hands on the front of his shirt, hopefully to rid himself of the feel of her. He stood watching her, trying to figure out what to say, how to get what he wanted—what he had to have.

  “I didn’t mean anything sinful when I spoke of my purpose. My purpose is keeping a big old heap of trouble from ruining my life. A wife will save me, and I want that wife to be you. I am willing to marry you and live with you without . . . without . . .” Now he was furious. “Blast it, Bailey, the saloon girls? You really thought that’s what this was about? How lonely did I get over the winter?” He crossed his arms and nearly growled. “I’m ashamed of you for saying such a thing, Bailey Wilde.”

  He’d honestly never been so insulted in his life, and he was a man who’d been called a coward so often it had driven him out of the whole entire state of Texas.

  And the reason he’d refused to fight was the exact same reason he needed a wife, and he needed her fast. “My offer of marriage doesn’t even include the . . . the rights of a husband. At least not until you are fully ready.”

  She stared at him, her head shaking in such a tiny way that he didn’t think she was saying no exactly; it was just that every instinct deep in her soul was saying no. Well, he felt the same, but he had his instincts under control and was acting against them. Except, since he’d seen her with her hair longer and wearing a dress, some of his instincts had thrown in to agree with marrying Bailey. Which no doubt spoke poorly of a man’s instincts.

  “If we find we suit each other, then that’s good. If not, you can walk away, come back here to live on your own. I never saw myself getting married. It’s a man’s life out here, and I was content with the idea. So I can be content with a married state that
doesn’t allow me to take another wife, even if I’m living apart from you.”

  In truth, he’d been so glad to get away from his mother that he’d washed his hands of the very thought of women entirely.

  “I will leave you strictly alone until the day you wish it otherwise.”

  Bailey opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. She had something to say, but she wasn’t getting the words out.

  “Just say yes, Bailey. I need help. You’ve never shown much inclination to marry, either. We’ll be a good team. How can this be a bad deal for you?”

  “Marriage isn’t a deal.” Bailey suddenly moved. He tensed, thinking she was going to attack again, but instead she sank into her chair. Then her head sank onto arms folded on the table.

  Still, she hadn’t said no.

  Gage dragged a chair around so that he was closer to her, not close precisely—his mouth still hurt from being punched—but closer.

  “Why?” Slowly she raised her head, and those eyes, pure fire, liked to burn him straight to death. “What happened that made you need a wife so confounded bad?”

  He was really dreading this question, because for as much as he’d messed up the proposal, he hadn’t begun to get to the hard part yet.

  “I need a wife and I need her quick.”

  “Yes, you’ve made that clear, Gage, but why?”

  Gage ran both hands through his hair and added to his list of things to do. He needed a wife and a haircut.

  “I need a wife because . . .” He paused, knowing he sounded as weak as water. Then he shrugged and went on speaking because there was no avoiding it. “Because my mother’s coming to visit.”