Mountain Christmas Brides

by Mildred Colvin

  No matter where he was in the house, somehow he sensed Rose’s movements as she went from group to group of her friends, always staying on the opposite side of the room. A fact that wasn’t lost on him. When he meandered toward the fireplace, she drifted through the archway into the dining room where the table stood laden with so many good things to eat that everyone here would probably gain a pound or two.

  He, as graciously as possible, ended his conversation with those near him and headed toward the punch bowl on the sideboard near the food. By the time he arrived, Rose stood at the bottom of the staircase, talking to three other young women of similar age. After filling his cup once more with the delicious beverage, he headed toward the cluster of giggling femininity. Before he took two steps out of the dining room, the group broke apart and scattered toward other people in the parlor.

  Rose began talking to a tall, thin man. If Thomas remembered correctly, his name was Newbolt … Maximilian Newbolt, to be exact. And if he had all the details right, the man was a young widower with no children. Could Rose be interested in him? Maybe he should mosey over and check out the situation.

  The two were deep in conversation as he approached. He didn’t think they noticed him until Maximilian smiled toward him.

  “Rose, have you met Dr. Stanton?”

  When Newbolt turned his gaze back toward her, did Thomas see a hint of proprietorship in his face? After a moment, Thomas was sure he only imagined the extra connection.

  She swiveled and glanced toward Thomas. “Yes, Maximilian, I’ve known the doctor for a long time.”

  That seemed to surprise the man. “I thought he was new to Colorado.”

  “No.” Thomas moved halfway between the other two. “I actually lived here before I went to medical school.”

  “Here in Denver?” Creases between Maximilian’s eyebrows signaled his puzzlement. “Should I have known you?”

  “No, to both questions. I lived near Breckenridge.” Thomas hadn’t felt this gauche since he was in his teens. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, because he couldn’t think of anything else to do with them. “My father was the foreman on the Fletcher ranch.”

  A slow smile spread across Newbolt’s face. “No wonder Rose knows you.”

  She peered at a young woman on the other side of the room. “Excuse me, but I need to ask Patricia something.”

  The object of Thomas’s sensory attention turned and walked away. His gaze followed her until he heard a deep chuckle.

  “So that’s how it is.” The twinkle in Newbolt’s eyes didn’t bode well for Thomas’s peace of mind.

  Thomas glared at the other man. “I don’t know what you mean.” He knew he would be considered rude, but this was the last time Rose would get away from him. “Excuse me.” They needed to finish their previous conversation.

  Rose had worked hard to stay as far away from Thomas as possible. She didn’t really want to converse with him until her mind was settled. This wasn’t the boy she’d longed for as a girl in her teens. This man was even more imposing, and his effect on her was hard to understand.

  She’d matured and learned how to be gracious, but all her graces fled when he came near. Disturbing, because deep in her heart of hearts, she knew there could never be any kind of romantic relationship between them—no matter how much she wished otherwise.

  A scene from her childhood returned to her thoughts. She had finished a thrilling ride then cooled down her mare. Next she lovingly brushed her best friend’s hide, using just the right amount of pressure to give the chestnut the most pleasure.

  Thomas came through the barn door, leading his mount. “How you doing, squirt?”

  How Rose hated for him to call her that. “I’m taking care of my horse.” She patted the mare’s flank before moving to the other side with her brush. “I think horses are some of God’s greatest creations, don’t you?”

  A harsh laugh burst from the young man. “God? You don’t believe all that stuff, do you?” Derision dripped from every word. His attitude had caused the first bit of doubt about him to enter Rose’s heart.

  Over the next few months, she had tried to bring up God’s goodness, but only a few times. His response remained much the same. The man was not a Christian, and he didn’t sound as if he would ever change his mind.

  Those memories warred with the strong attraction she felt toward the mature man across the room. His reactions to her attempts to talk to him about God had made her mad when she was younger. Now his lack of interest in the Lord grieved her heart.

  How could they ever really be friends, much less anything more?

  Rose stood beside the heavy green draperies and gazed almost unseeing at the snow filling the scene outside. She’d always loved winter when she was home. Getting snowed in didn’t have to be a problem in the house in Breckenridge, or even the log one on the ranch. Father and mother kept both stocked with games and books, plenty of things to do indoors during the extended bad weather.

  No matter how much she tried to turn her thoughts to other things, they winged back toward Thomas Stanton. She didn’t remember ever hearing his last name when she was growing up. Dad always called his foreman Farley and the son Thomas. No wonder she didn’t recognize his name when she first heard it.

  “Rose?”

  Her whispered name on his lips so close to her ear made her gasp for breath. How had he come so near without her hearing him? She turned slightly. “Yes?”

  Thomas moved around until she could see his face. “I’d like to continue our conversation. You didn’t recognize me when I arrived, did you?”

  She glanced down at her clasped hands. “Not at first.”

  “I immediately knew who you were.” His voice carried a husky tone, entirely too intimate. “But you were no longer the boss’s young daughter. I want to get to know the woman standing before me.”

  The heat returned to her cheeks, and she glanced back toward the window. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” Her words trailed away.

  This was not the reaction Thomas expected. He conjured up the memory of her beseeching eyes following his departure when he left for Cambridge, Massachusetts. Why wouldn’t she want to get to know him better now?

  Walking in a resolute manner, she opened the door and floated out onto the porch.

  He followed before she could shut the door behind her. “Have I upset you?”

  She crossed her arms and whirled to face him. “Seeing you again after all this time has somewhat unbalanced my emotions. I’m trying to calm myself and cool off.”

  He smiled to himself. So she felt something, too.

  The frigid wind cut through his suit. Surely her dress, as pretty as it was, wouldn’t keep the air from chilling her. “You should be cool now.”

  “You’re right. Maybe I should return to the house.” She started to go around him.

  He moved one step over to keep her in front of him. “Here, take my coat. We need to finish this subject.” After slipping off the garment, he snuggled it around her shoulders.

  Rose clutched the lapels and pulled them together. “Thank you. That feels better. But aren’t you cold?”

  “I’ll live.” Thomas leaned toward her. “Why are you shying away from me?”

  “Father will want to know you’re back in Colorado.” The wind blew a wave of auburn hair across her forehead, and Rose brushed it away.

  She hadn’t answered his question. He’d have to practice patience to give her time to feel comfortable with him again.

  Thomas placed his arms loosely around her and leaned his chin on the top of her head. “This should help keep you warm.” He wanted to enjoy holding her in his arms for as long as he could, even if it wasn’t a romantic tryst. “I’ll have to go to Breckenridge to see him soon.”

  She pulled away, and he wondered if he’d made her feel uncomfortable. That hadn’t been his intention.

  Rose turned toward the snow that had grown so thick Thomas couldn’t even see the iron fence at the
edge of the front yard. “Thomas, I’m worried about the weather. We could end up being snowbound.”

  He took her hand and led her back through the door into the heated house where she relinquished his suit jacket. “Let’s warm up by the fireplace. Then we’ll find Thalia and share our concerns with her.”

  How easily Thomas had moved beyond her defenses. Rose followed him toward the blazing logs. For those few moments when Thomas sheltered her from the harsh wind, she’d felt protected … and even almost cherished. But that could never be.

  After he stopped on one side of the fireplace, she took up a position as far from him as she could, while still taking advantage of the warmth. Her fingertips felt like icicles. She held her hands toward the flames and kept her attention on the dancing colors. She’d always been fascinated by the way fire moved and glowed.

  “There you are, Rose.” Thalia joined them. She looked at Thomas standing nearby. “I wondered where the two of you had gone. Catching up on old times?”

  Rose glanced at her friend then back at her hands, which tingled as the warmth infused them. How could she answer without letting Thalia know how much his presence rattled her?

  “Trying to.” His strong baritone held a hint of laughter. “We seem to be always talking to other people.”

  “Didn’t I see you come in from outside?” Thalia placed her hand on Rose’s arm. “Weren’t you cold?”

  Rose nodded. “That’s why we’re warming up now.” She peered into Thalia’s eyes. “Actually, we’re concerned about the weather. Thomas and I spoke about it while we were on the porch. People might have trouble getting home tonight.”

  “Oh pooh, Aunt Dorcas said it’s just a Denver winter storm. We always have snow.” Thalia’s bright smile could light up a whole room. “Besides, you don’t have to worry about that, since you’re staying overnight.”

  Rose moved back from the heat, which was becoming overwhelming. “It could be snowing even more up in the mountains. What if it covers the railroad tracks?”

  Thalia looked up at Thomas. “Has she always been such a worrier? I know she did a lot when we were in school.”

  He chuckled. “I don’t remember that about her. Maybe it came later.”

  They were talking about Rose as if she weren’t standing there. Although she didn’t know what to say right now, their conversation made her feel uncomfortable. She might as well go get something hot to drink.

  Thomas watched Rose glide across the floor, wishing she would come back so they could finish their conversation.

  “Don’t worry.” Thalia’s voice pulled his attention back to her. “I think the storm will be over before morning.”

  “Dr. Stanton!” A girl named Nanette hurried toward them. “We need your help. Maximilian is having a problem breathing!”

  Thomas followed her as they hurried to the library. Maximilian’s breathing was even. He didn’t seem to be in imminent danger, but his skin had red splotches all over. Deciding that a better plan of action would be to have all his implements and medications with him when he examined the sick patient, Thomas wanted to get his satchel first.

  “Please try to keep him quiet. I’ll be with you in a moment after I retrieve my medical bag from my buggy.” Thomas hurried from the library.

  He shrugged into his overcoat and slapped on his hat, then slung his scarf around his neck before going out into the storm to retrieve the medical equipage from his buggy. Thankfully his vehicle was parked in the carriage house.

  Why hadn’t he brought his medical bag in with him? Of course, he hadn’t really expected to need it, but he never left home without the black leather satchel. Much simpler to bring it in with him and leave it with his coat, hat, and scarf. A lesson learned.

  At Nanette’s words, Rose forgot she was peeved at Thalia and Thomas. She turned back before she reached the hot chocolate and watched people scurrying around. Thomas hurried outside, and others flocked to see what was happening in the library. Why did people always want to gawk at someone who was in distress?

  She knew something better to do. Not wanting to kneel in her party dress, she dropped onto an upholstered wingback chair near the fireplace. After folding her hands in her lap, she closed her eyes and began to pray silently.

  Her prayers were interrupted when Thomas returned from outside. The amount of snow that had accumulated on him the brief time he was gone shocked her. She peered outside but could see nothing except white. Her father called this a whiteout. Snow so thick it was almost impenetrable. How ever did Thomas find his way back to the house? For a moment, her heart almost stopped beating when she thought about him lost in the snowstorm. No matter how much she told herself that she couldn’t have feelings for the man, her heart didn’t listen.

  When he returned to the house, he realized that even though he and Rose stood on the porch only a few moments ago, that wouldn’t be possible now. Icy wind swirled the flakes, flinging them against the windows and door with a fury. He couldn’t get back into the house without bringing windy swirls with him.

  Thomas opened the door and entered as quickly as possible, slamming it behind him. He glanced around and found everyone looking at him while he brushed the accumulated snow from his hat and overcoat. “The storm doesn’t seem to be letting up.”

  Varying reactions answered his pronouncement. A few of the guests talked about leaving before the conditions worsened. Thomas didn’t agree that was a good plan, because the weather already looked dangerous, but he couldn’t think about that right now. He needed to get to his patient. They’d have to make their own decisions without his input.

  A rumbling murmur that started while partygoers watched Thomas remove his outer garments grew to a dull roar. Everyone was talking at once. Many said they wanted to try to get home.

  “I don’t think that’s a very good idea.” Rose tried to make herself heard above the others, but no one paid any attention.

  Soon most of those at the party were donning their coats, gloves, hats, and scarves and setting out through the dense storm. Now Rose had something else to pray about.

  Evidently, everyone except Thomas, Maximilian, Josiah, and herself had started home. Josiah stood in front of the fireplace to chase away the chill caused by the door being opened so many times. Rose stayed where she sat and once again prayed for Maximilian … and those who ventured outside.

  Thomas hurried down the hallway to the library where Newbolt sat on a sofa in front of the fireplace. Other people gathered around him.

  “Move aside everyone, please. I need to see the patient.”

  Red splotches scattered across Newbolt’s face and neck—and even on his hands.

  Thomas set his bag on the table at the end of the sofa and pulled his frigid stethoscope from the interior. The instrument felt much too cold to touch anyone with, so he started rubbing it with his hands. He was glad to see that everyone had left the room. “Can you breathe okay?”

  Newbolt shook his head.

  “Has anything like this ever happened before?”

  Newbolt squinted his eyes and stared at the mantel. Thomas could tell he was thinking, maybe trying to remember.

  “Has there been another time?” Thomas needed to know before he proceeded.

  The other man sighed. “Fruit … rhubarb.”

  “With the rash and difficulty breathing, I thought this might be an allergic reaction to something. Is your throat closing up?” Thomas certainly hoped not. That could be really serious.

  Maximilian shook his head. “Throat’s sore and a little tight.”

  “We can take care of that.” Thomas hoped he could keep the patient calm. That often helped in situations like this. “Have you eaten rhubarb today? I don’t remember seeing any on the table.”

  Newbolt shook his head.

  The culprit might be something else. Thomas needed more information. “How many times has this happened to you in the past? Do you recall? You don’t have to speak, just hold up your fingers to indicate the nu
mber.”

  Newbolt once again stared toward the fireplace while he pondered the question. Finally, he held up one finger.

  The door opened, and Miss Dorcas Bloom entered. “Can I get you anything, Dr. Stanton?”

  Thomas looked at her. “Not right now, but you could wait a minute while I question Mr. Newbolt.”

  She glided through the door and gently closed it behind her.

  “Maximilian, when did you first notice your symptoms?” Thomas studied the man’s face as he prepared to answer. Sometimes he learned as much from a patient’s expression as he did from the words he spoke.

  Newbolt shook his head slightly as if trying to remember. “About … fifteen … or twenty minutes ago … itch in my throat … nose started running.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a rumpled handkerchief, and blew his nose.

  Finally the chest piece of the stethoscope felt warm enough to use. Thomas slid it inside his patient’s jacket and pressed it against his shirt. “When did you first notice the rash?”

  “A few minutes later.” A croupy cough punctuated the answer, followed by a gasp that ended in a wheeze.

  Thomas didn’t like the way the man’s lungs sounded, and his throat might be closing up. “Does your throat feel full?”

  This time Newbolt nodded instead of answering.

  “We need to figure out if you had rhubarb.” Thomas put the stethoscope into his jacket pocket. “If not, we have to find out what else you’re allergic to.”

  He called in Dorcas, who appeared with Thalia.

  “Ladies, was there any rhubarb in anything you served tonight?”

  Thalia blanched. “Yes. Why?”

  “From the best I can tell, Mr. Newbolt is allergic to rhubarb, and he has had a reaction.”

  “Oh, no!” Their hostess gasped. “Maximilian, did you eat one of the tarts with red filling?”

  “Yes … strawberry, Edith said. Delicious. I had … another.”

  “It’s all my fault.” This time she wailed. “That was a new recipe that called for strawberry and rhubarb preserves. Oh, what have I done?”

  Thomas turned toward their hostess. “We need to get him into bed. Could we move him to a guest room?”