“Dixie, are you sure? Please—”
But she had already disappeared back into the boardinghouse.
He hurried forward and yanked open the boardinghouse door, but the lobby was empty. He stilled. She must have hit the interior running. He debated about going inside to hunt her down, but maybe giving her some more time would be a good thing. Or maybe it wouldn’t.
He growled and let the door swing shut. His frustrated breath fogged the air before him.
Grumbling about some things he’d like to do to Sheriff Callahan, Flynn turned reluctantly for the livery, but deep in his heart that stubborn hope thrust its rays of light over the horizon again.
CHAPTER THIRTY
With the pale morning light streaming through her window, Dixie stood before the long cheval mirror in the corner of her room. Her hands fluttered over her black skirt and adjusted the golden silk of her blouse.
She laughed at her nerves. She hadn’t been this anxious about an outing since, well, she couldn’t remember when.
Yesterday afternoon, she had gotten Rose’s tea and biscuit as quickly as she could. And once she’d carried the tray upstairs, she had grabbed her shawl and headed outside, determined to find Flynn and tell him she’d changed her mind. But when she’d stepped out onto the street and seen him standing there, all her hesitation had rushed to the fore. And when Reagan had come out of the office, she’d taken the excuse for escape and run with it, quite literally.
But an evening of prayerful pacing in her bedroom, and another talk with Rose had convinced her that if she didn’t at least try to see if these feelings between her and Flynn could go anywhere, she would regret it for the rest of her life.
She was choosing to keep her hope in God. And His word said that He had good plans for her. Plans to prosper her and not to harm her. Plans to give her a hope and a future. She didn’t know if Flynn would be part of that future—only time would tell that—but she knew that she wanted him to be part of her future. At the very least, she wanted the opportunity to get to know him better now that she didn’t have Steven to worry about.
She gave herself one last assessing look and decided she would have to do. She didn’t have anything very colorful or Christmassy to wear. She would probably look like a dull weed next to Charlotte and the other women at today’s party.
She turned from the mirror and lifted the blue hat that matched her shawl from the bed.
Rose stepped into her doorway, still wearing her long flannel night dress and cap. “Oh my, you look lovely.” Tears brimmed in her eyes as she smiled.
Dixie glanced at the clock on her bedside table and lifted her shawl. “Thank you. Are you sure you are going to be fine here all on your own today?”
Rose waved a hand. “Go on with you. You’ve brought me a pot of tea and more snacks than I’ll be able to eat in a month of Sundays. Please, take time to enjoy yourself. I certainly plan to enjoy myself, snuggled all warm and comfortable beneath my covers with my book.” She leaned forward and whispered. “I might not even get dressed today.”
Dixie smiled. “What are you reading?”
“Pride and Prejudice.” Rose hummed a delighted sigh.
One of Dixie’s eyebrows lifted. “How many times have you read that one now?”
Rose batted the question away with the swipe of one hand. “’Tis of no matter. It’s a book that can never be read too many times.”
Leaning close, Dixie pressed a gentle kiss to a crepey cheek. “I’d best be off. The wagon might leave without me and I’ll be left to walk to the logging camps, alone in the cold snow.”
Rose squeezed her shoulders and returned the kiss on Dixie’s cheek. “The good doctor won’t let them leave without you.”
Just the mention of the man returned Dixie’s nerves to full roil.
Obviously having read her expression, Rose dipped her chin and gave her a firm look. “You just remember that any man would be lucky to have a wonderful woman such as yourself. And you also remember that Dr. Griffin claims a relationship with the good Lord that my poor mean son never did.”
Just the reminder of that seemed to calm Dixie’s tumultuous emotions somewhat. “He does, doesn’t he?”
Rose nodded affirmatively. “He does, indeed.”
“You’re sure you are going to be fine on your own?”
“Get on with you before I lose my patience and boot you out.”
“All right. All right.” But Dixie couldn’t resist one last squeeze of the woman’s shoulders. “Happy Christmas Eve, Rose.” She started for the door before the woman could chastise her more. “Tomorrow I’ll bake some quail that Kin Davis came around selling yesterday afternoon. And we’ll sit by the fire and you can read me the best parts of your book.” She didn’t mention the lace shawl that she’d spent a good part of the last few months crocheting in her room during the evenings where Rose wouldn’t see it.
Rose headed across the main room of their chambers toward her own bedroom door. “I’ll look forward to it.”
“Rose?” Dixie paused with the door partially open, waiting for the woman to look at her. When she turned, Dixie offered her a smile. “I really am glad to see you doing so much better.”
Rose nodded. “And I’m glad to be so, as well. Have a good day, now.”
“You too. I’ll pop in to check on you when we get back to town this afternoon.”
And with that, Dixie left her in their apartment. As she practically skipped down the stairs, she felt as light as the flakes of snow that had started to fall outside.
Kin Davis huddled near one of the fireboxes and watched the proceedings going on around him. All across the field citizens of Wyldhaven laughed and chatted and mingled in a swirl of colors that made him want to smile.
Kin had thought he would be bored by the day’s proceedings, but found instead that he’d quite enjoyed the experience, despite the fact that he’d just sat back and mostly kept quiet.
Earlier, they’d all met at the livery where the men had loaded four wagons with hay and people had piled onto the wagons and Sheriff Callahan and Marshal Holloway had played Christmas carols on their guitars, one seated on the front wagon and one on the rear. Everyone had sung their hearts out—well, except for him because he couldn’t carry a tune even if he had a new galvanized bucket. He’d taken it all in from his place on the bench near Parson Clay, who was driving the first wagon. He’d been thankful not to have to sit in the hay. He’d done his fair share of sleeping in haymows, and it always left him itchy the next day. He’d enjoyed the music as he’d studied the snowflakes that drifted down from the blue-gray sky above.
Parson Clay had a strong mellow tenor voice that Kin honestly could have listened to all day. But they’d arrived at the logging camps before the sun had even reached its zenith.
The contests out at the logging camps had been fun to watch. Butch Nolan, Wash’s pa, and his team had won all of the races, and people were still spilling into town from down near the river where the last leg of the last race had ended just a bit ago.
There were tables and tables of food. And as soon as the parson had said the prayer, Kin had gotten in line to fill his plate.
Several had brought hams. And old Mrs. Carver had brought two of her largest turkeys, baked to golden brown perfection. There were mashed potatoes, baked potatoes, sweet potatoes, and potato pies. There was enough bread to probably feed an army, and so many preserves Kin’s mouth watered just looking at them. Pickles, and salads, and creamed corn, and green beans cooked with bacon and onions and slathered in butter had filled every available surface of his plate. He’d lamented the lack of room on his plate as he’d passed the dessert table. Mrs. Callahan had brought several apple pies with thick cinnamon scented juices bubbling over the lattice tops. And Mrs. Pottinger—or was she back to “Miss” again now that her husband had died?—had brought plates and plates of fresh baked cookies. There was a chocolate cake, three tiers high and covered with thick chocolate frosting. And another pie
that looked like it had strawberries in it. Merengues, and puddings, and plates of fudge had all called his name. But he’d had to pass them by with the hope that there would still be some available when he got done eating.
His hopes were not dashed, for it seemed that everyone else had also filled their own plates as full as he had. And, though he barely had room for dessert by the time he’d polished off the last roll smothered in blackberry jam, he’d heaped his plate almost as full of sweets as he had food. The last bit of Mrs. Callahan’s apple pie mocked him. Would he explode if he ate it? He grinned and scooped it into his mouth. If he did, he would die happy.
He felt like an overstuffed scarecrow as he waddled across the field to deposit his plate into the bin meant for them. Several ladies bustled back and forth from Dixie’s Boardinghouse kitchen to collect the dirty plates, or to bring out more food to replace dishes that had been emptied. Kin had carried a bin full of dirty dishes to the back door of the kitchen where it was whisked out of his hand, and then he had parked himself back by the firebox and simply enjoyed watching the bustle.
But now things were starting to wind down. The women must have decided the kitchen was under control, because most of them had returned to the festivities taking place in the field.
Miss Pottinger cranked the handle on a gramophone set on a table near the dance floor and couples swept onto the platform, their shoes clanking on the hollow boards in time to the rhythm. Doctor Griffin, who had hardly left Miss Pottinger’s side all evening, was laughing with her about something or other. Kin smiled. Mrs. or Miss, it didn’t matter, she was probably the prettiest lady here.
Well, maybe with the exception of Miss Liora, who stood off to one side of the gathering by herself. With her blond curls splaying like a golden halo around her head, and her Christmas red dress that was accented with lace at collar, cuffs, and hem, she could have been on a holiday postcard. Kin felt a bit sorry for her standing there all by herself, but then Deputy Rodante stepped up to her side and nodded a greeting to her. Hands clasped behind her back, she rose up on her tiptoes and the skirt of her dress swung a little. She looked relieved to have someone to talk to. And he’d bet it was no hardship on the deputy’s part to be the one to rescue her.
Kin grinned and turned his focus back to the dancers.
The doctor took Miss Pottinger’s hand and led her onto the dancefloor, and Kin felt a bit of pride in the fact that he and PC had built that floor. PC was what he’d settled on calling Parson Clay in his head. It worked two ways, because the man’s name was Preston, so whether Preston Clay or Parson Clay, PC worked just fine.
Remembering the package that was still in his pocket, Kin glanced around the clearing, wondering where the man had gotten to. And then he spotted him near one of the other fireboxes. Much like Kin was doing, he stood with his arms folded over his chest, seeming to simply enjoy his observation of those around him. Their eyes met across the clearing, and Kin nodded at the man. He supposed if he had to live with someone now that Pa had passed on, it wasn’t so bad being saddled with the minister. Kin still wrestled with the fact that if he hadn’t done what he’d done to try and get Pa’s attention, Pa might still be alive. And yet, Dr. Griffin had been the one to say that Pa’s heart had been so severely damaged from the drinking that it was likely that anything could have caused the attack that took him.
Truth was, Kin wasn’t yet sure what to do with the muddle of emotions that overtook him when he pondered it, so he kept shoving the thoughts to one side. The minister said time was a gift from God that healed all wounds. Kin supposed that was true. He still thought of Ma now and then, but he didn’t miss her so fierce as he’d done right after her passing.
Someone stepped up beside him.
He turned to find Wash holding his hands out to the warmth of the fire. Bits of hay still clung to Wash’s clothes.
Kin grinned. “Did you enjoy your hay ride with Zoe?”
Wash shushed him, looking around to see if the comment had been overheard.
Kin only laughed. He knew no one had heard him because he’d been watching the crowd and no one had been close enough to hear his lowered words.
When Wash was assured of the same, he grinned. “I might have at that.” Wash searched those gathered, and Kin knew exactly who he was looking for.
He thrust his chin in Zoe’s direction. She was chatting with a group of girls who were admiring the decorated Christmas tree and the piles of presents beneath it. “Might as well go ask her to dance.”
Wash’s face turned so red it rivaled the polished apples hanging from the branches of the candlelit tree. “Nah, I couldn’t.”
“Why not,” Kin prodded.
Wash kicked at the snow beneath their feet. “Don’t know how to dance.”
Kin shrugged. “Me either.”
They both turned to study the couples swooping around the dance floor. Though it was still afternoon gray clouds had swept in to obscure the sun and someone had lit several lanterns that sat on tables around the dance floor and gave the area a festive look.
Several adults stood around the edges of the dance floor looking as though they might like to dance, but they weren’t. Marshal Holloway stood talking to Sheriff Callahan, but his gaze kept drifting to Mrs. Callahan, who was in conversation with Miss Brindle catty-corner from the two men. And every time he returned his focus to the sheriff, Mrs. Callahan looked over at him as moony-eyed as a newborn calf.
The sheriff and Miss Brindle, on the other hand seemed to be doing their level best to focus their attention anywhere but on each other.
But old Mr. Heath was sitting in a rocking chair that had been placed by one of the fireboxes, and his gaze kept traveling first from Sheriff Callahan to Miss Brindle and back again.
Kin gave a little shake of his head. It was clear the sheriff and Miss Brindle had an interest in each other, but hanged if he could tell what Mr. Heath’s business was in it all.
Beside him, Wash shuffled his feet. “You got a new coat, I see.”
Kin looked down and smoothed his hands over the fine brown leather of the wool-lined duster. He still could hardly believe how warm it was. “Yeah. The minister said I did good work helping him put together the dance floor for today, so he bought me this from the mercantile. It was machine sewn and came all the way from San Francisco!” He swiped at his mouth. He hadn’t meant to sound so excited about a silly coat. He covered the slip with a shrug. “It was partially a Christmas present too because I really didn’t work enough to earn all of it, but the minister said the rest of it could be my Christmas present. Whadya get?”
Wash shook his head. “Nothin’ yet. Pa always makes us wait till Christmas morning to open our presents.” Wash’s gaze moved to the minister. “Hear he’s staying at your place?”
Kin shrugged. “He don’t take up much room. And he’s some easier to live with than Pa ever was.”
Wash nodded. “Still right nice of you to give him a bed.”
Wash’s younger brother Jackson bounded up to them just then. He tugged on his brother’s arm. “Wash, come on, I need your help. You have to ask Belle to dance so’s I can ask Marsha Belgrade.”
Wash snatched his elbow from Jackson’s grasp. “I’m not asking Belle Kastain to dance for anything in the world.”
But Jackson was not to be put off. “Well then ask Zoe for all I care. I just need you to come over there with me. And you don’t need to worry about the fact that you can’t dance. All you have to do is move your feet in time to the music just like Pa was showing you last night.”
“Jackson!” Wash leaned close and tried to whisper the next words, but Kin heard them plain as day. “You aren’t supposed to tell that Pa was giving us lessons.”
Jackson didn’t even seem fazed by his brother’s chastisement. “Come on, it’s Christmas!”
Kin grinned at the two brothers. It was times like these that he could be thankful he was an only child. The thought sobered him. He was an only only now. He didn’t
have any family left at all.
Wash reluctantly said his goodbyes and Kin’s grin returned as he watched the brothers argue all the way across the field, only to cease speaking abruptly when the girls by the tree took note of them.
Footsteps approached again, and PC spoke from by his side, his attention on the Nolan brothers who looked as though they were stuttering to beat the band as they attempted to ask the girls to dance. “You got any special young lady you’d like to ask to dance?”
Kin’s gaze darted to Belle Kastain, who was even in that moment being escorted onto the dance floor by Wash. He chuckled to himself that Jackson had somehow talked Wash into dancing with her. And the truth was, it didn’t bother him even a little bit to see them together, which surprised him somewhat. He lifted a hand to the back of his neck and replied to the parson’s question. “Nah. Not really.”
PC clapped him on the shoulder. “Well, never fear. Your time will come. Some pretty lady will knock you off your feet one of these days.”
Kin angled a glance up at the man. “What about you? You got a lady pining for you somewhere?”
The man pursed his lips and shook his head. “Only my ma.”
They both laughed at that.
PC jostled Kin’s shoulder. “I guess we’re just a couple of old bachelors, huh?”
Kin studied the snowy ground near his feet. “Yeah, I guess so.” And surprisingly, he was perfectly content with that.
He tugged the small, paper-wrapped package from the pocket of his new coat. He’d been meaning to give PC the gift all day, but had felt awkward each time he’d tried to do it, so he’d better get it done or it would be New Years and he’d still be packing it around in his pocket. He tapped the package against one hand and looked up at PC. “So…I caught a few quail and sold them, and—” He didn’t know how to finish, so he just thrust the package at the man. “I got you this.”
His insides squirmed around worse than a canful of fresh-caught fishing worms.
PC just looked at him for a long moment, a glimmer of appreciation shining in his eyes.
On Eagles' Wings (Wyldhaven Book 2) Page 25
