She considered that for a bit. Her eyes narrowed in thought. Then she glanced back at her mother, who was laughing with the white-haired man in the apron. Honey’s quick glance in their direction proved she knew exactly whom her daughter was speaking to at that moment. That she didn’t come over to draw the girl away gave Warren hope.
“It would be nice if you and I could be friends as well,” he ventured.
The girl looked back to him with a smile brightening her face. “Mama always says that friends are the family you get to choose. We have a lot of friends,” she said with an impulsive open-armed spin that made it look as though she were giving a swift hug to the entire room.
“I would love to have another,” she said when she came to a stop again. Then she held out her hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you, sir. My name is Stella, what is yours?”
The name immediately brought to mind a memory from that summer long ago. He and Honey had slipped out of town in the middle of the night to find a quiet patch of earth beside a slow-moving stream. It had been a beautiful night, filled with love and hope. Forever had stretched out before them like the endless night sky. They’d lain side by side in the grass with her head on his shoulder and their fingers interlocked as they stared up at the blanket of summer stars overhead, and he’d told her the Latin word for each of the shining points of light. Stella.
“My name is Warren Reed,” he said finally, his throat tight as he took his daughter’s small fingers in his. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Stella.”
She smiled and gave his hand a vigorous, heartfelt shake. “There,” she said, “now we’re friends.”
Eight
How was it possible for a heart to feel like it was filling up and breaking at the same time?
Seeing Warren with Stella was something Honey had never expected to experience. And now that she had, she feared what it could mean.
To Stella.
And to herself.
Her world had twisted itself inside out. She was desperate to do the right thing by her daughter, but she wasn’t sure what that was. Not when her own heart’s desires were too powerful and confusing to ignore.
With the truth about the past known and the anger that had sustained her obliterated—or at least shifted to the correct target—Honey was forced to acknowledge that she had never really stopped loving Warren. She had hated him, but only because of how badly she had been hurt by his abandonment.
Now all that was changed.
She did her best to stay occupied with preparations for the holiday dinner. But it was a challenge. Especially once Warren began to interact with the rest of the boys. It was unnerving to see him, so sophisticated and refined, in the midst of a gang of former cowboys, soldiers, and wanderers who had come together to form a sort of family. There was even a point when Warren approached Luke, and the two of them had what appeared to be a frank discussion that perhaps started out with an inquiry into her brother’s condition and ended with a handshake.
It was all so strange.
Just before dinner was to be served, Honey claimed a moment to step outside and grab a few deep breaths of the crisp night air.
The sky was still clear and the moon was nearly full, casting a bright silver glow through the night as it reflected off the snow. Her breath puffed in the frigid atmosphere, but she welcomed the icy nip on her skin. Drawing her woolen shawl around her shoulders, she wandered down the length of the porch to the corner where she could peer up through the trees in the direction of her little cabin. Just knowing the home she’d created for Stella was there, comfy and secure, filled her with a sense of rightness.
Stella’s happiness and safety were what mattered most. Honey’s personal longing would never take precedence over her daughter’s well-being.
Acknowledging that to herself cleared some of the anxiety she had been fighting since seeing Warren riding into the valley with Eli. She didn’t know why he’d returned and she couldn’t deny the combination of thrill and fear it ignited, but she wouldn’t lose sight of what was most important.
Just as she turned to go back inside, the door opened and a large figure stepped out. The shadows of the covered porch concealed his face, but Honey knew it was Warren. She knew it by the fiery rush through her blood and the way her breath froze midexhale.
The door closed behind him, blocking out the light and noise from within as he approached her. Stopping only when they were nearly toe to toe, he looked at her with an expression she could not read.
And she looked back. Unable to turn away. Unwilling to break eye contact even though her heart pounded so hard, her ribs ached.
Then, still without a word, he lifted his hand to the side of her face. The warmth of his bare palm contrasted against her cold skin. When his thumb brushed across the crest of her cheek, she knew he was going to kiss her.
Considering what they had done the last time he had been there, a kiss shouldn’t have terrified her. But it did. This was different.
Because he had come back. Because they both knew the truth now. Because it felt the way it had that summer when she was seventeen.
Breathless, hopeful, new.
He leaned in slowly, his gaze holding hers. The touch of his mouth was warm and soft. Her eyes fell closed and her body swayed toward him. Though she still clutched her shawl with her arms folded tight across her chest, he wrapped his arms around her anyway, drawing her into the heat of his body.
He wore his heavy coat, but he hadn’t buttoned the front. She pressed in against his chest and the edges of his coat came around her, enclosing them both. It felt safe and warm.
And then it felt hot as his kiss changed from soft to passionate with a tilt of his head and sweep of his tongue. She opened to him and returned the stroke of his tongue with more of her own. Relaxing her arms, she slid them around his waist and rose up on her toes, wanting nothing more than to get closer to him. To feel the way she remembered in her dreams.
He tightened his hold around her, and the hard evidence of his desire brought her back to reality. They couldn’t exactly slip away to find a quiet corner somewhere, no matter how badly she wanted to.
She broke from the kiss, her breath puffing harshly as she dropped her forehead to his shoulder. He tightened his embrace even more.
“I have to go back in,” she whispered.
“Not yet.” His voice was raw and deep. The thick emotion revealed in his words matched the weight of her own. “I’m not going to let you go this time.”
A lump rose in her throat at his declaration. Heartache returned with the force of a winter storm.
“You have to.”
“No.”
“There is more than just my heart at stake.”
“I would never hurt her.”
Honey tipped back her head to see his determined expression. “Not intentionally, I know. But we have security here. A home and family—”
“With a bunch of renegades and outlaws,” he interrupted, frustration coloring his tone.
Honey stiffened and drew back. He let her, his hands dropping to his sides as she grasped the edges of her shawl to fold it tight across her chest again. “Yes,” she replied, pride in her tone. “I built a home here. It is a place where Stella and I are loved and happy. Why should I risk that?”
Warren frowned. “You don’t trust me.”
She didn’t deny it. He may not have left her in the way she had believed, but he had left her. She had been on her own, forced to take responsibility for her life and her daughter’s and make the most of what they had available.
Luke had done what he could to help, but his life was about taking risks. Honey’s had been about the opposite.
And loving Warren again felt like the biggest risk she had ever faced.
“It’s time for dinner,” she said as she stepped around him and strode across the porch to ree
nter the house.
He did not immediately follow, only coming back in just as everyone was taking their seats around the long table for the Christmas Eve feast. The table was loaded with the results of her loving labor: a large ham glazed with a brown sugar syrup, a haunch of venison that had been basted with butter over several hours, thick gravy, mashed turnips, roasted sweet potatoes, cranberry sauce, mince pie, pickled beets, sugared nuts, and more.
Stella had helped in the preparations of nearly everything that was being served, and her little face glowed with pride as the men expressed their praise and gratitude for the delicious food.
It was hard to ignore Warren’s presence throughout the meal, but Honey focused her attention on Stella and purposefully engaged in the raucous conversation flowing around the table.
Still, she felt his regard and knew their conversation was not finished.
Nine
After dinner, the men went back to their talk and their cards as bottles of whiskey and brandy got passed around more freely. A new set of kitchen helpers cleaned up while Luke supervised the roasting of chestnuts over the fire, and the older man who had been talking with Jackson when Warren arrived pulled out a fiddle. He seemed to only know a couple of Christmas carols and the music soon shifted to more rollicking dance tunes. Warren assisted with the clean-up where he could, enjoying the sight of his daughter dancing through the room, delight evident on her face.
It wasn’t long, however, before the girl’s eyes began to droop and she curled up into a corner of the sofa. Honey noticed as well. She fetched the girl’s boots and coat and started bundling her into her winter gear. The task was made difficult as Stella had decided she didn’t want to leave just yet and resisted Honey’s efforts even though her limbs were heavy with sleep.
“Let me help,” Warren said.
Honey looked up at him, not saying anything. Her eyes were guarded, but after a moment she nodded.
He crouched beside the sofa and leaned toward Stella with a conspiratorial smile.
“You know, the sooner you get tucked into your bed, the sooner you’ll wake up to Christmas morning, and I might just have a few packages in my bags with your name on them.”
The girl gasped and her eyes grew wide. “Presents?”
Warren shrugged. “Maybe. You won’t know for sure until Christmas Day.”
The reminder of what the morning would bring gave her enough motivation to finish dressing.
Honey gave him a stern look as she secured a scarf over her daughter’s head. “You didn’t have to—”
“Yes, I did,” he replied firmly.
While Warren fetched his bags and Honey said her goodbyes, Stella nodded off to sleep. Warren returned to her first and scooped her up into his arms to wait for Honey by the door.
The three of them left the longhouse in silence, stepping out into the crisp, white world. Warren followed Honey as she trekked along a well-trod path up into the woods. He breathed deep and reveled in the feel of his daughter’s small body nestled against his chest and the sight of her mother leading them home.
He doubted he would ever forget the way he felt along that walk.
Not far into the forest, tucked in against the side of the hill, was a quaint little cabin with a small front porch decorated in pine boughs and red sashes, just like the longhouse. A couple of steps up, and Honey was opening the wreath-decorated door.
Warren took a deep breath and followed her across the threshold.
* * *
The fire in the hearth was still lit but had dimmed to glowing coals. A little woolen stocking hung from the mantel, waiting to be filled with treats and surprises from Santa Claus. As Honey stoked the fire and added fresh wood, Warren set Stella on the sofa before the fire and started drawing off her winter gear. Soon the place was filled with warmth and flickering firelight.
“I’ll put her to bed,” Honey said quietly.
Warren was crouched in front of the sleeping child, pulling off her second boot. At Honey’s words, he rose to his feet and backed away. She lifted the sleeping girl in her arms and carried her through a doorway into the bedroom beyond.
He turned in place, taking in the details of Honey’s home.
It was a small cabin, tiny really by comparison to the longhouse down in the valley. The room was barely large enough for the sofa and one small end table, with a corner kitchen open to the living area. There was no stove, but a large black kettle rested on the woodpile beside the fireplace. It appeared she did the cooking here over the fire. Books were stacked in the corners and woolen blankets draped the back of the sofa, pillows were scattered on the floor in front of the sofa, and a braided rug covered the wood floor. A tattered and obviously beloved rag doll rested among the pillows.
Warren scooped it up before taking a seat on the sofa. He stared at the doll, noting the places where it was most threadbare, where its dress had been mended and lace had been resewn.
The doll had been made from the remnants of a dress he remembered Honey wearing a lot that summer. It was a beautiful pale green with a pattern of pink and yellow flowers. He had loved seeing her in that dress and had told her so, which in turn made her wear it more often.
And now the dress had been refashioned for Stella’s doll. Something he had loved had become something she loved. It made him feel more connected to the daughter he had only barely met.
Honey reentered the room and he hastily swallowed the thickening lump in his throat.
“Would you like some coffee?” she asked from the kitchen. “Or tea? I think I have tea.”
“Coffee would be wonderful. Thank you,” he said without looking up.
As Honey bustled about, he set the doll aside and refocused his purpose. After a few minutes, she approached the fire and hung the coffeepot on a hook that moved on a swivel over the flames to heat up.
Then she turned to face him. Warren’s heart nearly broke.
She looked so scared and strong at the same time. So proud and uncertain. Did she feel the fierce tug between their hearts like he did?
“Tell me what happened after I left,” he said, doing his best to keep his tone neutral.
Honey took a deep breath and came forward to sit beside him on the sofa, far enough to keep their bodies from touching. Though she angled her shoulders toward him, she directed her gaze at the fire.
“Everything changed,” she said simply.
“Tell me,” Warren said again.
“Not long after you went back East, Freeman started making a nuisance of himself. He came around as often as he could, most times catching me when Mama or Luke were gone. He didn’t force himself on me or anything,” she said quickly when Warren stiffened beside her, “but he made sure his intentions were clear. He wanted to marry me. Said he’d been biding his time since I turned fifteen, thinking I needed to grow up a bit more.” She grimaced and gave a little huff.
“I thought everyone in town knew how I felt about you, but when I said I wouldn’t marry him, that I loved someone else, he got real angry.”
Warren had never been a violent man, but his hands curled into fists at her words. “What did he do?”
Her brown eyes found his and held there. Sadness swirled in the dark depths.
“We know now that he sent us those letters. He also made things difficult for Mama. People stopped bringing her business. He put pressure on the sheriff to hassle Luke for every little thing. It got so Luke couldn’t walk down the street without breaking some obscure town ordinance and landing in the jail for the night.
“It was around the same time your uncle left the area.” She tipped her chin to look at him questioningly. “I always worried that Freeman had done something to force them out.”
Warren shook his head. “No. Uncle Randolph’s a born wanderer. He never stays in one place for long. He and my cousin headed off on some whim or ano
ther.”
“I always liked that girl of his,” she replied with a wistful smile. “Such a bright little hellion.”
“She was that,” Warren smiled, thinking of his young cousin. “Alexandra has actually been in Boston with my mother for the last few years.”
Her eyes widened. “In the big city? Now, that is hard to imagine. That girl was born to run in the wilderness.”
“The last time I saw her, she had become quite a lady.”
“Amazing.”
“It is,” Warren agreed with a nod, before he lowered his brows, “but I think this conversation has digressed quite enough.”
She gave him a look that said she wasn’t grateful for the reminder as she rose to her feet and crossed to check on the coffee.
“There’s not much more to say. When I wouldn’t be bullied by Freeman’s tactics, he decided to make the whole damn town suffer. He made sure everyone knew that if I’d just agree to marry him, the troubles would all stop.”
Warren wanted to punch something. Preferably, Freeman’s fat nose.
Honey came to stand in front of him, holding out a steaming cup of coffee. He took it from her hand and then caught her fingers in his.
She tried to keep the emotions from showing in her face, but the evidence of what that time had been like for her darkened her eyes.
“I should have been there,” he said softly. “I wish I had known.”
She lowered her lashes and pulled away.
He let her go.
“You had to leave and I don’t begrudge you that, Warren. Truly. Maybe things would have been different if Freeman hadn’t interfered as he did. But we can’t change it now.”
After pouring coffee for herself, she reclaimed her seat on the sofa, curling her legs beneath her.
“And when you learned of the baby?” he asked, his stomach tightening at the thought of her, so young at seventeen, discovering she was going to have a child. Alone.
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