Western Winter Wedding Bells

by Cheryl St. John, Jenna Kernan

  Chloe kept an eye out for Owen, and at last he arrived with his mother and JoDee. Millie and Judd had already taken seats, so Owen showed the ladies to the pew beside them and returned to greet Chloe.

  “That color suits you,” he told her, then turned and studied the tree. “It’s beautiful.”

  “Thank you.” He was always handsome, but tonight he wore black trousers and a matching jacket with a white shirt. In her eyes he’d never looked so good.

  “Well,” he said. “This is it. Everything you worked for.”

  “Everything we worked for,” she answered.

  He glimpsed something or someone over her shoulder and his attention shifted. She turned and spotted Pamela and Sully.

  “Are Richard and Georgia coming?” she asked.

  “Don’t know. I haven’t heard.”

  Chloe was overjoyed at the number of people who arrived and took seats.

  The church hadn’t been assigned a chaplain in many years. Since they’d been meeting at the schoolhouse, the male members took turns planning the services and doing the readings. Occasionally a circuit preacher passed through, but they hadn’t seen one for months.

  Tonight, Dr. Morris White would be officiating. Willa had been beaming about her son’s participation all week.

  “Well, I guess it’s about time to get started,” Owen said.

  She nodded and glanced around, wondering where she would sit. Perhaps in the front row beside Zeb. Sarah was already seated at the piano.

  “Would you like to join me with my family?” Owen asked.

  Chloe’s gaze shot to the Reardons taking up most of two pews. His question riddled her with disappointment. There was nothing she’d like more in all the world, but she wasn’t one of them and wanting to be was wishful thinking. She wanted to say yes, but sitting with the Reardons tonight didn’t seem right. She’d already made the decision not to use Owen just so she could be part of his family.

  “You know,” he added, “I have a better idea. May I join you in the front, beside Zeb up there?”

  “What about sitting with your family?”

  “I see them all the time. There’s no rule that says I can’t change where I sit from time to time.”

  “All right then,” she agreed.

  They seated themselves in the front pew just as Dr. White stepped up to the pulpit.

  “Well, this is an exciting evening, isn’t it? Not only are we celebrating the birth of Jesus, but we’re celebrating the rebirth of this beautiful church that was once and will again be an important part of our community.”

  After a few more opening words, he nodded to Miss Sarah, who played the opening chords of “O Little Town of Bethlehem.” Men’s and women’s voices blended and swelled behind Chloe and around her, and the moment transported her back to her childhood, the church filled with worshippers and her grandfather presiding over the service. She could almost hear his deep baritone raised in song—and the sound became so pronounced that she stopped singing to listen. The resonating voice belonged to Zeb on the other side of Owen.

  She and Owen exchanged a grin.

  After a few songs, the children were invited to come up and sit on the floor at the front. They filed into place and Dr. White helped them get situated.

  Zeb stood then, and Chloe realized he’d been holding a Bible with his finger marking a page. Morris had pulled over one of the heavy chairs, and Zeb now took a seat in front of the children, and facing the congregation. He opened his Bible.

  “‘And it came to pass in those days that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be taxed.’”

  In his deep vibrant voice, Zeb read the familiar story of the first Christmas. The children leaned forward eagerly. The entire room hushed in expectation and reverence. Chloe listened to the verses, remembering her grandfather reading them, thinking how no Christmas since had been as complete or as meaningful.

  “‘And she brought forth her firstborn and wrapped Him in swaddling clothes and laid Him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn.’”

  When he got to the part and read, “‘Peace and goodwill toward men,’” a shiver ran up Chloe’s spine.

  Owen reached over and took her hand at that moment, and she looked up. His eyes were filled with appreciation and something else…hope maybe.

  Some dear soul—most likely Agnes—had coached the children ahead of time and now she came forward and urged them to stand and form two rows.

  Miss Sarah played a couple of measures and the children sang “Silent Night.” On the last verse, the rest of the congregation joined in. Chloe got tears in her eyes and had to dab them with a handkerchief.

  Zeb resumed his seat on the pew, and Dr. White stood while the children found their way back to their parents. “That just about winds up our Christmas Eve service,” he said. “Except we have one more thing to do.” He glanced toward where Chloe and Owen sat. “And Owen Reardon is going to present something.”

  To Chloe’s surprise, Owen released her hand and stood. Was he going to sing? Say a prayer? She couldn’t have been more curious.

  But instead of going to the pulpit, Owen walked forward and then turned and looked at Chloe. “Miss Hanley, I’d like you to come over here for a minute, please.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Startled, she glanced at Zeb and the woman behind him before looking back at Owen. Slowly, she got to her feet.

  He asked the people sitting on the opposite side of the room if they’d mind trading spots, and Chloe ended up on the left, near the Christmas tree.

  “As most of you are aware, Miss Hanley is responsible for everything you see here. She took on the project of restoring the church and saw to it that every last detail was handled—with excellence, I might add.”

  Applause broke out, and Chloe’s cheeks warmed. In embarrassment she shook her head.

  “Well, there was one thing she had her heart set on that didn’t quite happen because of the snow.”

  She tilted her head in question. The fact that they hadn’t been able to get the window in place was a small blemish on an otherwise perfect occasion. He hadn’t needed to bring it up—in fact, they’d gone to a lot of work to disguise the fact that the window was boarded up.

  Owen nodded at Zeb, who got up and came to help him. Both men knelt and reached into the tree, where they extricated lengths of rope and, as if on cue, stood and stretched the rope until the tree slid toward them.

  Completely taken off guard and expecting the whole thing to topple, Chloe covered her face with her hands and peeked between her fingers.

  The entire tree slid as though it had been… She stared in wonder. The tree had been set on some sort of wooden sled and moved easily when they tugged. The two men pulled it completely away from the tapestry that hung over the boarded-up window.

  Owen grabbed a stool and climbed upward until he could reach the cords that held the tapestry. He then paused and turned to Chloe. “This is for you.”

  He tugged, untying the cords, and the fabric fell in a heap.

  Chloe didn’t look at where it landed, because her attention was fixed on the stained-glass window he’d revealed.

  There it was, in all its previous splendor—and while she watched, flames lit the colored glass from behind as though someone had lit lanterns on the outside of the building.

  Standing, she approached the window and stared up. Jesus, in a flowing robe against a green background, held a white lamb in the crook of His arm and a shepherd’s staff in the other.

  Men and women exclaimed in approval, and after a moment of hushed appreciation, soft applause broke out.

  Chloe couldn’t contain the overwhelming sense of well-being and joy that flowed up from inside. She smiled and laughed and even cried a little.

  Dr. White closed the service to cheers and joyous laughter and conversation. Chloe couldn’t seem to move away from where she stood.

  “How did you— When did this—?” She
stared at Owen. “Owen, however did you do this?”

  “I made a trip to Bullhead yesterday and didn’t get back until today. After you and the ladies left the church this afternoon, Zeb and Ernie helped me put it in.” He gestured to the sill. “Paint’s still wet.”

  “But travel was dangerous, wasn’t it? That’s why no one else was willing to bring the delivery.”

  “There was a lot of snow,” he conceded.

  She finally moved, stepping closer to where he stood. “But why?”

  “Because I couldn’t bear for you to be disappointed.”

  Confused and guilty about him risking his safety, she absorbed his words and tried to grasp what he’d done. Her mind wouldn’t even wrap around the magnitude of this gift.

  “You’d already done so much,” she said.

  “You wanted the window in time for tomorrow. To prove Richard was wrong. We did this thing, Chloe. You did it. The church is ready for Christmas Sunday. And Richard was wrong.”

  People milled about, eating cookies and drinking coffee. Chloe mingled, listening to words of praise and admiration for the workmanship. Nearly everyone mentioned how good it was to hold a service in this place once again. And she couldn’t agree more.

  Eventually everyone cleared out, and Miss Sarah told her she’d be leaving with Zeb. Chloe swept up crumbs and snuffed the wall candles, leaving those on the altar flickering.

  Owen remained behind with her. They sat on a step that led up to the platform where a choir would soon be seated and studied their surroundings.

  “Thank you for the window,” she said.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “If anything had happened to you, your family would have held me responsible.”

  “No, they’d have held me responsible. I’m a big boy.”

  “Well, I’d have felt responsible.”

  “Nothing happened to me.”

  “Thank God.”

  He studied her.

  She looked away. Considered the new window, no longer lit from outside. “I can’t wait to see it tomorrow, with the sun streaming through.”

  “You did all the work to make replacing it possible.”

  “I’m just thankful the pieces were there.” She reflected for a few minutes. “When I was a girl, this was my favorite place in the world. This was where my grandfather prayed and preached. I used to sit and listen right in that front pew where we sat tonight. He was everything to me.”

  Owen studied her profile in the candlelight. He understood the feeling of peace she experienced here. “I used to come here at night sometimes,” he said, and his stomach dipped at the confession. No one else had ever known.

  “At night?” she asked. “You mean to evening service?”

  “No, I mean night.” He gestured with a thumb. “There’s a small window back there in that little room that will jimmy open with a thin file or an ice pick. I used to climb through that window and sit in here. There were always candles on the walls or the front tables, and I’d light a couple.”

  “How old were you?” she asked.

  “Twelve, fourteen, fifteen.”

  “Which?”

  “All.” He looked at her. “I come from a big boisterous family. That meant crying sisters and a father who yelled and a brother who made things…more difficult.” He looked away. “I never felt like I belonged there. And Richard worked to make certain I didn’t. My father had definite ideas about what he wanted us to do and become. He was a good father. He only wanted the best for us.

  “Richard did as was expected and did well in school. But me? I couldn’t wait for school to be over. I’d watch the clock and stare out the window, seeing the trees on the mountains in the distance. I wanted to be hunting or fishing, not adding figures and studying.”

  Chloe just listened. He’d always liked that about her. A gust of wind whistled through the stovepipe.

  “One time,” he told her, “I pulled my father’s prize bull out of the mud after a rain. Animals can die of exposure if you don’t find ’em and get ’em out. It wasn’t easy. He was one stubborn animal, and big. Anyway, after getting him out, I led him closer to home and then went to the house and bathed. I was covered with mud from head to toe.

  “One of the hands saw me coming in, but didn’t recognize my horse and told my father he’d seen someone leading the bull back. That night at supper, my father asked who’d saved his bull. Richard spoke up and said it had been him.”

  Chloe blinked. “Did you correct him?”

  “Nope. While my father thanked him and clapped him on the back, I just thought that if the man couldn’t recognize an obvious lie—if he believed him, knowing that Richard never went anywhere near the cattle, then he didn’t know Richard and he sure didn’t know me.”

  “What happened with Richard?”

  “I was angrier with my father than I was with Richard. The behavior was typical of Richard, but my father…should have known better. This place was my escape from things like that.

  “I spent time alone here, enjoying the peace and quiet, admiring the architecture.” He looked overhead at the carved beam that had always given him inspiration. “I had as much reason to want to see this place fixed up as you did. You wanted to preserve your grandfather’s memory and his legacy. I wanted to honor the place that inspired me to learn a trade.

  “As soon as I was out of school, I headed out. I traveled for a while. Did all the hunting and trapping I’d wanted to do. Finally I ended up being mentored by a master carpenter. The man took me on, and for three years I worked beside him and learned everything he had to teach me. I didn’t come back until my mother wrote me about my father’s health, and then I came home to help her.”

  Chloe studied him. “Did you make peace with your father?”

  “More or less. I’d long gotten over the offense. If Richard hadn’t been so obnoxious, I’d probably have never come here. And if I hadn’t come here, I wouldn’t have discovered the connection to woodworking as a craft and an art. And if my father had been any other way, I may not have left and found out what I wanted to do with my life.”

  “You never mentioned any of this before.”

  “I’ve never told anyone.”

  “Why did you tell me?”

  He studied her ivory skin and fair hair in the candlelight. He liked the way she looked at him, waiting for a reply. “It’s easy to jump to conclusions about people,” he said. “And I just wanted you to understand that I took on this project as much for myself as I did for you. Granted, you were persuasive, and I didn’t want to let you down, but you didn’t twist my arm…and I never expected anything in return.”

  She turned her upper body so she was facing him and raised her hand to lay her palm along his jaw. His skin tingled with warmth where she touched him, and he wanted to close his eyes and fall into her caress, but he didn’t want to miss her expression.

  “I’m sorry,” she said in a whisper that sent an arousing message to his heart and his body.

  He fingered a silken tress of her hair that had lain against her neck, and then trailed his fingertips over the velvet-soft skin of her jaw and her ear.

  Her lips parted.

  She had turned toward him in an invitation, and he wasn’t about to refuse it. She didn’t shy away at his touch, so he wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close.

  She immediately raised her head, and it was natural to capture her lips with his. She grasped the front of his shirt and clung to him. He kissed her the way he’d thought about kissing her for days, tasting her, nipping at her lower lip and finally probing the seam of her lips with his tongue until she understood and hesitantly returned the deeper contact.

  Owen framed her face with both hands and held her fast for the duration of the kiss until he couldn’t breathe for his blood pounding erratically, and he covered her cheek and jaw with a series of pecks and nips before holding her away and looking into her eyes.

  “Tell me now that you didn’t like
that.”

  She reached up to cover the backs of his hands with hers, then drew them away from her face and released him to stand.

  He remained seated and watched her.

  She was quiet for a few minutes before saying, “I offended you that day when I said we weren’t obligated to each other. But I didn’t mean it the way you thought I did. You had me all flustered talking about…talking about…”

  “Kissing?”

  She nodded, but didn’t meet his eyes.

  “Is it kissing in general you object to—or kissing me that puts you off? Because it sure feels like you’re kissing me back.”

  She sat back down, but turned away, so he saw only the curve of her cheek and the downward flutter of her lashes. She hadn’t seemed to mind any of their kisses, which was why the woman had him so confounded.

  At her lack of reply, he figured he’d pushed too far. He pushed to his feet in one movement. “I suppose we’d better go. Morning will be here before we know it, and I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

  She didn’t stand, but she stretched a hand toward him. “Thank you for the window, Owen. That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

  The tight expression she wore seemed in contrast to her words of appreciation. “I wanted to do it,” he answered. “I’ll get our coats.”

  Before he’d turned completely away, she spoke again. “It’s not that I don’t like kissing you,” she blurted.

  Slowly, he turned back. And waited.

  “I do, in fact, like kissing you.”

  He absorbed her confession, only a measure reassured. “What’s the problem then?”

  “The problem,” she explained, “is your family.”

  Ah. Of course. They drove him crazy, too, and he was used to them. Kissing meant courting, and courting was a prelude to marriage, and who’d want to marry into his family and be related to Richard? “You don’t have to explain. I understand.”

  “You do?”

  “Perfectly.” He headed back to the cloakroom, finding her cranberry coat and his black one the only remaining wraps, and carried them out. He held open her coat.