Western Christmas Brides

by Lauri Robinson

  At the moment it was so blistering cold that it didn’t even help to imagine that sort of heat. Why, the mass of stars overhead looked like chips of sparkling ice, so frigid and beautiful.

  No, the warmth she felt came from her heart. The leftover melody of “Jingle Bells” tinkled through her veins. She hummed it out loud because she didn’t want to let go of the glowing moments they had spent in town with everyone so full of good cheer and the anticipation of Christmas.

  Glancing behind, she checked to make sure the children were still under the blankets heaped over them. Giggles and churning limbs made the covers heave.

  All was well.

  “Dashing through the snow,” she sang under her breath, wondering if Kit would think her a fool.

  “In a one-horse open sleigh...” In case his voice didn’t sound rich and sultry enough, the wink he slid at her made her feel all fuzzy inside.

  My word. Maybe she didn’t want to go dashing through the snow after all. Gazing into Kit’s eyes made her feel more like lounging on the couch beside him in front of a crackling fire, feeling his hands in her hair and his—

  “Something wrong, Livy?” He waggled his brows. His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. “Don’t care for my singing?”

  “Actually, it’s very nice. Maybe you ought to take to the stage.”

  “Can you picture me there, entertaining the crowds? Making them laugh or cry.”

  “I’d rather not.” Indeed she would not! Who would get her house ready if Kit suddenly ran off to become an actor? “Actors are not the most reliable of people.”

  He laughed, shook his head. “You believe that?”

  “I have reason to. Frank Gordon, my friend—special friend, I thought—ran off with an acting troupe. He’d been gone a year when his pa found him and brought him home. But we all noticed he was never the same.”

  “Maybe the boy was capable of being unreliable even without joining an acting troupe.”

  Possibly. It was true that Frank had always been a bit reckless.

  Something whined.

  “What was that?” How odd. Funny that Kit didn’t seem surprised at the sound.

  “Mrs. Runne loaned you a gown and sent some laundry. It’s in the box behind you.”

  “A gown?” She glanced behind in the wagon bed and spotted the wooden box nestled in with the paint tins with its lid slightly open. “One that whimpers?”

  Kit’s answer was to flash her a one-cornered grin.

  Turning, she got to her knees, then reached over the buggy seat to lift the lid from the box.

  There was something wrapped in oilcloth. She pulled the string to reveal what it contained.

  Her breath caught at the sight of a dress as red as Christmas, as fluffy looking as whipped cream.

  The fabric heaved. A small brown nose poked up from under the oilcloth. Tall tan ears twitched at her. Brown, doe-like eyes blinked up.

  “You found a puppy!” Sam had been asking for one. It felt more like Christmas every second.

  “Yes, ma’am. Keep on looking.”

  She stroked the small white blaze on the pup’s head. What else could be in the box that was more pleasing than a pup? The sleeve of a smudged shirt shifted under the dress. No, not a sleeve, but a tail swishing madly.

  Another pup burst into view. This one was as white and fluffy as a snowball except for its ears and the patches around its eyes, which were a mottle of gray, black and brown.

  “That’s all of them.” He said in a reassuring tone.

  “My word, that’s a relief.”

  “I hope you don’t mind. I couldn’t leave them to freeze under the boardwalk. I’ll care for them in the barn.”

  “I don’t think that will do. These little—” She glanced at him, arching her brows in question.

  “Girls.”

  “These sweet baby girls will find bucket loads of mischief to get into out there.” She retied the oilcloth, then set the lid back on the box exactly as she’d found it to let in some air for the pups. She turned back around on the bench. Somehow she ended up a bit closer to Kit than she had been before. He didn’t move to allow for a friendly distance...so neither did she. “We’ve got two children and two puppies. They will keep each other busy so we can work on the house.”

  “That’s my job, Livy.”

  “And I’m sure you’re capable, but it is my house, and imagine how much faster we can get it done together.”

  “A good bit faster, I imagine.”

  For some reason his tone sounded glum.

  * * *

  Kit sat at a desk beside his bedroom window staring out at the snow-crusted ground. The glow of the lamp spread golden fingers across the open page of his book.

  He raked his hand roughly through his hair, feeling uneasy—no, more than that, downright worried. Livy was confident that he was going to get her house in order.

  If he didn’t dread waking the pup who had at long last fallen asleep on his lap, or the one dozing on his bed, he would laugh, or curse. Probably curse.

  Livy had proclaimed him capable. Hell, he was capable of finding the single page that had to do with whitewashing a fence, but the truth remained that he was an unreliable actor. He could act the part of a handy fellow but that was not going to get any paint on the walls.

  In ten days—no, rather nine now—Edwina would be here. It was up to him, in part, to make sure she did not take Sam when she left. Also, unless he set this place to rights, Livy would be humiliated in front of her cousin.

  Humiliation was not something to take lightly. On stage, he’d experienced it a time or two. To be shamed in front of people who mattered? Damn, Livy did not deserve her cousin’s scorn.

  “Hell,” he muttered, then ran his finger down the page.

  “Stir paint well. Lather it generously on the fence with a paintbrush but avoid letting the paint drip. Once the paint has dried pick out any bugs that have adhered to it, then apply another coat.”

  That didn’t sound so hard. It couldn’t be much different painting a wall than a fence post.

  The pup sat up with a start. Her long pointed ears erect and twitching.

  “You hear a coyote out there?” He stroked her long forehead, smoothing away the anxiety.

  Then he heard the noise that had caught the pup’s attention.

  “Sounds like something being dragged across the floor.” The pup jumped off his lap. “We’d best see to it.”

  The fluffy white pup already had her nose to the crack under the door. Her pristine tail wagged back and forth over the floor.

  “Oh, blame it!”

  Kit rushed out of the room and down the stairs two at a time. The puppies scrambled past him.

  By the time he burst into the parlor, the small beasts were leaping upon Livy, who sat on the floor cradling her foot in her hand, her eyelids squeezed tightly shut.

  “You all right, Livy?”

  She blinked her eyes open, giving him a nod. Clearly she was not all right; she just didn’t want to admit to it.

  “I smashed my toe,” she gasped while pushing both puppies away from her face. “And I’m under attack.”

  “Let me help.” Since the small canines were not about to give up lunging and licking, he scooped Livy up off the floor and carried her to the couch.

  Slowly.

  It wasn’t every night that a man got to hold a woman in his arms—at least this man didn’t.

  Besides, this was not just any woman. She fit like she was meant to be this close to him. Soft and curved, the swell of her breast pressed against his chest, the line of her thigh nestled into the crook of his arm and—

  And he ought to put her down.

  Just didn’t want to.

  Maybe she�
�d give him half a minute more.

  “Put me down. The couch is right there,” she murmured softly a full forty-five seconds later.

  “We don’t know for sure if you can walk.” That was a foolish thing to say. As far as he knew, a banged-up toe never kept anyone from taking two steps.

  He did set her down, though. If he held her a second longer it would be considered improper, and he had told Hank Runne that he was a respectable man.

  No doubt when he eased down beside her he should have sat a foot farther away, but she sure did smell good.

  “Let me have a look,” he said.

  Blushing, she lifted her sleeping gown barely enough for the big toe of her right foot to peek out.

  “How does it feel?” It looked red and was starting to swell.

  The pups made a dozen leaps, trying to get on the couch but were still too small to manage that trick.

  “It hurts some.”

  This was a lie. It had to feel like a dozen stinging bees.

  “I’m going outside to get some snow for the swelling.”

  “It’s too cold. Don’t bother,” he heard her say while he was closing the door behind him.

  She wasn’t wrong about it being too cold, especially since he’d rushed outside without putting on a coat or boots.

  Luckily, there was snow just beyond the porch and he was back inside well before frostbite set in.

  He found a cloth in the kitchen, wrapped it around the ice then hurried back to the couch.

  This time he sat even closer than before. She’d probably think that it was out of necessity since he had to hold the cloth to her toe.

  It wasn’t the truth. She was capable of holding the cloth by herself.

  His heart made a ruckus in his chest when he realized that the thought must have occurred to her, too. And yet, she made no move to snatch her foot from his ministrations.

  So here he sat enjoying the scent of cinnamon and vanilla coming from her hair. And under that was the scent of—

  Damn, why did he have to actually be the gentleman he assured Runne he was?

  “How did you hurt it?” He lifted the cloth, peered at her purpling toe. “How does it feel? I imagine it hurts like blazes.”

  “It’s much better.” Not likely, in his opinion. “I’ll be good as new by morning. I banged it when I was moving the couch.”

  “It’s one in the morning. Why were you moving the couch?”

  “Since I’m used to being up late, I hoped to get an early start on the painting by moving furniture away from the walls.” She sighed, then flopped back against the cushion. “Not the best decision I ever made, as it turns out.”

  “That’s a man’s job—my job. Livy, I know what I’m doing.”

  “Of course you do!” Did she notice that he had set the snow aside and was still holding her bare foot in his hand? Stroking her heel with his thumb? “I have complete faith in you—I only thought I might help.”

  “You know, Livy, I’m grateful you hired me.” He stared at how pretty her foot was. Not all feet were pretty. “But you don’t need to go to all this trouble just to impress your cousin.”

  “You only say so because you don’t know Edwina. The appearance of wealth is everything to her. She grew up believing that money and happiness are the same thing. Do you know that just because my mother married a common man, her family believed she lived in poverty and was therefore miserable? I would bet she was as happy as any of them—no, I’m certain she was happier.”

  He didn’t know if rubbing her heel made her toe feel better or not. It sure did make him feel good, though. Good enough to trail his fingers up her ankle and rub the slender indentation near her heel.

  Suddenly, she yanked her foot from his grip and placed it on the floor. The squeak she tried to stifle when it hit the wood made him feel like a cad.

  “I’m sorry,” he murmured.

  “You only meant to help, I’m sure.”

  That wasn’t what he was sure of.

  What he was sure of is that he wanted to kiss her. And not as a way to ease the pain in her toe.

  She placed her foot on his knee again, sighing deeply. “I hope you don’t mind if I rest it here. It throbs like the dickens otherwise.”

  There was a nice soft pillow on the other side of her that she could have elevated her foot upon. Maybe she didn’t notice that.

  Then again, maybe she did. If she was willing to touch him this way, maybe she would be agreeable to touching him somewhere else—like on his lips. Could it be the kiss he wanted was closer than he first thought?

  “I don’t know why folks have to put on airs, try and be things they are not. Like happy. For all Edwina’s imagined advantages, she was never as happy as I was. It’s like she’s an actress, playing a part.”

  “So you believe Edwina’s unreliable, too? Like an actor?”

  “Oh, not as bad as that. She does put on airs, though. Being upper crust is what gives her satisfaction, whereas I take satisfaction in making a grungy shirt white.”

  “Everyone appreciates a white shirt. Would you like to stay up for a while? I’ll build up the fire.”

  “Oh, that is tempting. But there’s so much to do tomorrow.” She glanced at the cooling hearth, sighed. “And the children will be up early. In fact, I should check in on them.”

  “All right.” He stood, then gathered her up into his arms. Again, he was struck, no, overwhelmed with the feeling that this was where she belonged.

  “Put me down, Kit. I can walk.”

  “I reckon you can, but it will take you an hour just to make the stairs.”

  The puppies, who had fallen asleep, woke up leaping and whining while they followed Kit toward the downstairs bedroom where the children slept.

  He opened the bedroom door.

  “They look sweet as sugarplums all cuddled up together.” Livy sighed.

  She glanced up at him, a pink tint staining her cheeks. The children were not the only ones sweetly cuddled together.

  To be honest, his thoughts were on her and not the children. The picture forming in his mind was a great deal less pure than sweet cuddles.

  “I’m so grateful Emmie’s here.” Livy’s voice brushed his ear, warm and a bit breathless. “She’s filling up an empty space in Sam’s heart.”

  “Mine, too.”

  Kit closed the door on the children, carried Livy through the parlor then began to climb the stairs.

  Halfway up he stopped, caught by the glimmer of moonlight streaming through the stairway window. It shone on Livy’s face, on her neck and on her bare feet, which peeked out from under the ruffle of her robe.

  Did her skin taste like it smelled—like the tempting blend of vanilla and cinnamon?

  “I think we should—” Damned if she wasn’t looking at his mouth when she spoke.

  “I do, too.” He leaned forward, nuzzled his nose against her hair, brushing her cheek with his lips. This was a moment to savor—to cherish.

  “Name the pups,” she whispered softly. He felt the sweet, moist warmth of her breath cross his face. “We should name the pups.”

  “White one’s Penny. Brown one’s Dixie.”

  “Oh, that was—”

  “Not what this is about, Livy.”

  “No.”

  “It’s not that I think you can’t make it up the stairs on your own. It’s that I want to hold you, and I reckon you want me to.”

  She nodded slowly, trapping him in her honey-warm gaze. In a light, ticklish stroke, her fingers trailed up the back of his neck then into his hair. She pressed his head down and tipped her face up for his kiss.

  Chapter Five

  Livy balanced a bowl of cookie dough on her hip. She didn’t need to look at it to know wha
t she was doing. After all, she had been stirring dough since she was small enough for Mama’s apron strings to tickle her nose.

  What she did need to do was look at Kit. All night long she had seen his face in her dreams, relived the scent of his breath on her face and the way his heart thumped hard and fast under her palm.

  The kiss she shared with him had been nothing like the one Frank had stolen behind the schoolhouse that first time. The very last thing she wanted to do was run away and hide from Kit.

  So, she stood in the doorway to the kitchen, leaning against the jamb and listening to the click-clack of the wooden spoon against the bowl.

  She watched Kit paint the parlor wall. As she suspected, the flesh-and-bone man was even more compelling than the one in her dreams had been.

  The dream version of Kit had caused intense feelings but he’d been shadowy. This Kit, dipping the brush in the paint and then smoothing it on the wall had arms whose muscles flexed, whose hair caught the glimmer of the afternoon sunlight leaking through the curtains.

  Kit in the flesh cursed the drops of paint rolling down his arm and dripping off his elbow.

  Evidently, even an expert painter had his struggles.

  She laughed. He glanced away from his work and winked.

  Turning back to the kitchen, she couldn’t help but wonder what he would think if she boldly walked into the parlor and kissed him again.

  She’d appear a regular Jezebel, but—

  Shaking her head, she carried her bowl to the kitchen window and looked out.

  Just beyond the back porch, Sam and Emmie played in the snow. They appeared to be having some trouble with the snowman they were building. Trouble in the form of Dixie, who dug away at the base, and Penny, who snatched the stick arm and ran merrily off with it.

  In ten minutes she would have to call them all in from play. This late in the afternoon, the temperature could drop in a hurry. Also they needed a bit of rest before they went to town for the Christmas reading.

  Livy set the bowl of dough on the counter then removed a tray of cookies from the oven. She was baking a large batch today, enough for all the children attending the reading. And a dozen for Mary Runne, who was confined to home until her baby came.