The woman stood up straight and maneuvered, trying to glance out the window, but the café didn’t lend itself well to a view of Town Square.
“What on earth are you looking at, Mable?” a woman in a large purple hat asked, bending down and pulling back the curtain.
“Annabelle said the nativity is back.”
The café quieted and it seemed all ears had turned to her.
“It’s been four years,” a man, Gabe couldn’t see, called out. “You’d think there would at least be a baby in that manger.”
“I think it’s sweet. After all, aren’t we all waiting for Jesus?” Mable placed a hand on her daughter’s shoulder.
Little Annabelle looked over at Gabe and her eyes widened, sparkling with a gleam, and she smiled. She tugged on her mother’s skirt.
“Well, it certainly has brought some hope back to Thistleberry. It seems right fitting that it’s an angel.” The woman in the purple hat stood up straight and nodded.
“Do you think it was Father Christmas?” The waitress’ shrill voice carried from the table behind Gabe.
The little girl tugged again on her mother’s skirt.
“Certainly, you don’t believe in such nonsense, Cornelia Wilson?” another young woman called out with a giggle.
“Of course, I do,” Cornelia retorted. “How else would that bag of foodstuffs have just appeared on the Doherty’s porch when they’d just eaten their last loaf of dried bread?”
“Or how did a carved bedframe and down-filled mattress show up on the Jensen’s doorstep when they moved into town with nary a chair to sit in?” The girl’s mother chimed in.
Gabe smiled despite himself.
“I see your point.”
“Speaking of those in need, did you hear?” Cornelia started and the others quieted to listen as the young mother moved past Gabe to join in their conversation.
Annabelle stopped in front of his table and looked up at him discerningly. She tilted her head from one side to the other, then she raised her elbow up to rest on his table and leaned in.
“Are you,” she asked with a voice barely above a whisper, “Father Christmas?”
Gabe nearly choked on the sip of apple cider he’d just taken.
The girl giggled as he mopped up the drink from his beard. He set down his napkin and winked at the child, placing a single finger over his lips.
Her eyes grew wide and a knowing smile spread across her features. She nodded. Then, she rounded the table, walked up to him, and stood as tall as she could on her tiptoes. He leaned down, expecting her to whisper a secret, but she placed a light kiss on his cheek.
“Thank you,” she whispered and quickly joined her mother, who was already in deep conversation with the other ladies.
Gabe’s insides warmed his outsides. Annabelle reminded him of his own little granddaughter, Sophia, who’d been named after his mother. From the day she’d been born, they’d had a special bond that had incited him to start something special.
“Several of the men lost their jobs at the mill,” Cornelia was saying as he returned his attention to the chatter. “Dear Mr. Collins was among them. His poor wife. I don’t know what they’ll do. I guess there just isn’t much work for them during the winter months.”
Gabe sipped at the hot apple cider the woman had brought him earlier, his ears perked to the conversation behind him.
“They really depended on the work,” she continued, “and without the money, they’re going to lose their house. Mr. Crumpett owns the deed and, well, you know him. They’ll be thrown out in the cold with all seven of their children. And just before Christmas.” The town busybody tsked loudly.
Shame, Gabe thought. Mr. Collins was like the good kind of fellow in that Christmas book Lucy had given him to read with his grump of an employer. What was his name? Gabe squinted his eyes as if the action would increase his memory, with no such luck.
“Ah, it’ll come to me,” he dismissed quietly.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Deardon, did you need something?” Cornelia asked, popping her head around the table.
Thistleberry had always been a close-knit community, but Gabe had often chosen to keep his distance from the townsfolk here—especially from women like Cornelia, who gossiped as much as the day was long. However, her heart seemed to be in the right place and he’d found a use for her gossip—especially at Christmastime—and smiled to himself as he shook his head, raised his cup toward the woman, then took another sip of his drink.
The wind blustered outside and a bare branch with a single leaf, clinging on for life, scratched eerily against the windowpane. A cold chill trickled down his arms and he shook it off, delaying his departure another moment as he tipped the bottom of his mug trying to extract every last drop of the deliciously warm concoction.
Resigned to the inevitable, he pulled some money from his pocket and slid it beneath the base of the cup, slipped on his thick coat with the woolen interior, and grabbed his hat from the rack at the edge of his table. He tipped the brim at Lyla, the owner of the place, as he braced himself for the cold weather.
“Oh, Dad, there you are,” Lucy, his daughter-in-law, said as she balanced a couple of boxes in her arms.
“Here,” he said, reaching out, “let me take some of those.”
They walked over to the livery where they’d stowed the wagon.
“Did you get what you came for?” Lucy asked with a twinkle in her eye.
“Yes, ma’am. Just need to make one quick stop on the way home.” He loaded the boxes into the back of the buckboard, then turned back to Lucy and clapped his hands together, rubbing them against the cold.
“Ready?’
“You seem a little…giddy.” Lucy scrunched her eyes and then raised one brow. “What are you up to Gabe Deardon?”
He dropped the smile from his face and donned a scowl. “Me? Giddy? Absurd.”
“Back to one word answers. That’s more like the Gabe I know.” She stepped up onto her tiptoes and placed a kiss on his cheek.
Pleased, heat flooded his face. He cleared his throat.
“Storm’s coming in. We’d better be on our way.” He held out his hand and helped her up into the wagon.
It didn’t take long for them to reach the mill. He climbed down, his cracking knees evoking a grunt from him as he reached the ground, but he couldn’t help the little jaunt that had worked its way into his stride. He had to consciously slow his step.
A little bell rang as he opened the door and the moment he saw Ethel Fawcett he froze. An awkward smile tried to break onto his face, but his breath caught in his chest and he spun back around and placed his hand on the wooden handle to leave.
“Did you need something, Mr. Deardon?” Ethel asked in a voice that spilled like warm butter down his shoulders.
He dropped his head, turned back to face her, and removed his hat.
“Is Myron here, Mrs. Fawcett?”
“He’s out in the yard.” She pointed to the back door that led out to the barn-like structure where the saws were stationed. “Is there something I might do for you?” She looked up at him with eyes that sparkled in the light.
“I just need a word with your son, ma’am.”
“Oh,” she said, and Gabe thought he detected disappointment in her voice. “All right, then.” She nodded.
“If you’ll excuse me.” Gabe placed his hat back on his head and tapped the brim.
“I must say, Mr. Deardon,” she called out before he could leave, “that beard is coming along quite handsomely.”
Heat flooded his neck and he reached up self-consciously to stroke the lengthening whiskers. He winked brazenly, then strode out into the back without a second glance behind him. Once outside, he released a long breath. How did that woman affect him so? Wasn’t he a little too old to let a woman get under his skin?
Myron, the owner of the mill, looked up from one of the boards he was cutting. As soon as the wood had made its way over the saw, he wiped his hands on his apro
n and jutted his hand out to shake Gabe’s.
“I’m glad you stopped by, Deardon. It saves me a trip out to your place. I’m afraid your lumber order has been delayed.”
“What do you mean my lumber has been…delayed,” Gabe grumped at the man. He was running out of time and needed at least some of the wood to complete his secret projects. With the addition of today’s discovery, he would need even more.
“An emergency order came in from Middleton and I’m a little shorthanded right now.”
“Shorthanded indeed. Word has it that you just laid off several of your men. Holidays are coming. A lot of folks are going to have a real hard time of it.”
Myron’s face flushed and Gabe immediately regretted his judgement. Old habits were hard to break—even after years of trying.
“I’ve got quite a large order of my own.”
“How large?” the mill owner asked, scratching his chin.
“Big enough it will make Humville’s order look like beans.” He made sure to catch the man’s eyes. “And I’m willing to pay handsomely—if you can have at least half of the order to Whisper Ridge no less than two weeks before Christmas.
He handed the millworker a scrap of paper and the man whistled softly as he read. Gabe hadn’t used any of his inheritance in more than thirty years, not since his wife had left him with four small boys to raise on his own, until a few years ago after his newest granddaughter was born. She’d had an effect on him that he couldn’t explain—inspired him to be a better man and to do something with his life. Now was as good a time as any to use it.
“And how am I supposed to get an order like that done in less than a month’s time?”
Gabe didn’t say anything, but waited.
“I guess I could hire Mr. Collins back—temporarily,” he noted with a raised finger. “And maybe some of the others.”
There it is.
“Cratchit!” Gabe yelled out.
“I’m sorry.” Myron looked at him as if he’d gone mad.
“Bob Cratchit.” Gabe laughed remembering the name of the character who reminded him of Mr. Collins. Good man.
“Who?”
Gabe cleared his throat and returned a stern expression to his face. “Never mind. Just get me that lumber.”
Chapter Three
December
As Noah Deardon pulled through the gates of the Whisper Ridge Ranch with his little family, it took everything he had to stop himself from slapping the reins of the wagon team to incite them to move faster over the compressed snow path. It had been a long time since he’d seen his brothers. Christmas had been nothing more than an inconvenience in the Deardon household when he was young, but over the last few years he’d grown to love the holiday. Kate, his wife, loved Christmas and took every opportunity to make it a special time full of love and laughter.
“Does Uncle Lucas have any children for us to play with?” Easton, Noah’s oldest son of twelve, asked as they came to a stop in front of the homestead.
Noah placed a hand on his son’s shoulder and squeezed. “I’m sure you will make friends with your cousins in no time,” he reassured him as he helped Kate down from her cold wagon seat, and placed her lightly on the porch with a quick kiss. He stepped up to the door, ready to burst in, but before he could grasp the handle, it squeaked open and a little girl with a headful of bouncy curls looked up at them with wide eyes.
“Hello,” she said with a smile that looked just like her father’s. “Who are you?”
“Hello, Sophia,” Noah said, dropping down to a knee in front of her.
“How do you know my name?” she asked in a small voice, her eyes wide and twinkling.
“Well, I…” he wasn’t sure how to answer her.
“It’s Uncle Noah, dear. Daddy’s brother,” Lucy, Lucas’s wife, said as she placed her arm on the little girl’s shoulders and gently nudged her forward.
Sophia gasped with delight and jumped forward unexpectedly with a hug around his neck. “I’m so glad you’re here!” she squealed, holding him tighter than he would have expected.
Noah stood up, his arms wrapped around her, basking in the attentions of his little four-year-old niece.
When she pulled away, she still beamed at him. “It’s a pleasure to meet your acquaintance,” she said with a slight nod of her head. Then, she looked down at his boys.
Noah set her down on the ground with an amused grin.
“That means you are…” she looked up at the air, as if trying to remember, “Easton, Gavin, Quinn, and Ian,” she said the last as she pointed up at the toddler in Kate’s arms.
Each of the boys’ eyes lit up as she said their names.
Kate giggled.
“Come on,” she said, grabbing Gavin by the hand and dragging him into the house. “We have to let papa know that you’re here.”
Easton looked up at his father for approval.
Noah nodded and the boys happily followed Sophia inside.
“She is beautiful, Lucy,” Kate said, wrapping her arms around her sister-in-law.
“She’s been practicing everyone’s names for days,” Lucy said with a laugh, reaching out to hug Noah as well. “Where are my manners? Come in. Come in. Lucas will be so glad to see you. We weren’t expecting you until early next week, so give me a minute and I’ll just get your room fixed up.”
Noah stepped inside and placed a large travelling case on the floor next to the door.
“Can I help?” Kate asked, switching Ian to her other hip.
Lucy nodded and grasped his wife by the hand, then turned back to look at Noah. “I think the men are all out in the barn. There is plenty of room for your wagon and stalls for the horses. Jake will help you see to them.” With that, she, like her daughter, pulled Kate into the house and disappeared.
Noah breathed out a laugh and turned back to take care of the wagon.
When Lucy had first contacted them about coming to Whisper Ridge for the holidays, Noah had been reluctant. After his mother had left them to sing on a big city stage when he was but nine years old, it had only been him, his three brothers, and their father, who had decided that Christmas was just another working day, and happy memories of the holiday season were hard to come by.
Sentimentality had not been a priority in their home, and while he and his brothers had been close, they’d not experienced the same type of family life they’d seen when they visited their cousins at Redbourne Ranch in Rock Creek, Kansas. Besides, Thistleberry was a long way from Laramie and would be an arduous journey with his little ones—especially since the rail line had not yet been completed between the two places.
Being married to Kate and starting a family of their own had changed him, and what he’d believed was simply an unachievable ideal, only experienced by others, had grown into a reality he and his wife had created for their own children. When he finally realized just how much he missed his brothers…and his dad—though that was the hardest to admit, he’d sent a telegram back to Lucy with a resounding yes.
Gabe Deardon was a stubborn man, and none of his sons had ever seen eye to eye with their father, but Noah felt life was too short to allow misunderstandings and petty differences get in the way of family. Besides, his father had been at Whisper Ridge now for several years. He hoped that he’d been able to rebuild his relationships with his own brothers in that time, but couldn’t help his desire to see his father proud of him and all he’d accomplished.
As Noah stepped off the front porch, he looked over to the barn, where Lucas was already running over the snow toward him. A few strides closed the distance between them and he pulled his not so little brother into a fierce hug. Noah clenched his jaw, refusing to allow the tears welling up in his eyes to escape down his face. He just held on. It had been so long.
“I thought you weren’t going to be here until next week,” Lucas finally said once they pulled apart. “Where are Kate and the kids?”
“The boys are with that little sweetheart of yours. Does th
at girl just have you wrapped around her little finger? She is a doll.”
Lucas laughed. “Sounds like she’s already worked her charms on you. I know she’s got Dad right where she wants him.”
Noah stared at Lucas. “No,” he said, disbelievingly.
“Sure does.” His brother nodded. “He’s like a different man when that little girl is around.”
“This I’ve got to see.”
“You will.”
Chapter Four
The sound of several small voices outside the door alerted Gabe to his granddaughter’s presence.
“It’s here! It’s here!” The excited squeals of the little girl had Gabe to his feet in moments.
“What’s here?” he asked as Sophia took his hand and dragged him across the house to the front door where Lucy stood watching with her hand resting at her chest.
As he made his way to the entrance, he glanced out into the yard and was greeted with a sight he hadn’t thought he would ever see again. His boys—all but Henry, God rest his soul, were inspecting the sleigh his nephew Ethan had shipped to him. He clenched his jaw and ground his teeth to quell the emotion that threatened to surface. He opened his mouth to call out, but fear overtook him and he started to back away.
Lucy glanced back over her shoulder. “Gabe. Can you believe it? They’re here. All together. Finally.”
“Come on, Granddad. What are you waiting for?” Sophia tugged on him, but he stood his ground.
“Nobody asked them to come,” he said gruffly as he pulled his hand from the little girl’s steady grip and dropped down as far as his knees would allow, then placed a light kiss on the child’s small nose. His heart flooded with mixed emotions. “Maybe later.”
“Gabe,” Lucy tried to stop him as he strode to the kitchen, “your sleigh is here,” she called after him.
He threw open the back door and headed into the barn. Seeing his sons all together like that brought back memories he’d sooner forget. Years of Christmases that had been ruined with grief and bitterness. He hadn’t been the best of fathers and didn’t blame any of them for the resentment they felt for him. He regretted the years his anger had stolen from them, but nothing could make up for lost time.
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