by Danni Roan
Sara placed a small, gloved hand over her mouth at the shock. “That’s terrible.” She stood there for several long seconds, then moved closer to him. “I see you’re ignoring his warning, though,” she half-smiled at him.
Rafe grinned. “I wanted to see you again,” he admitted. “I like talking to you. It’s nice to have a friend.”
“So we’re friends?” Sara asked.
“Uh hm,” Rafe intoned, reaching out and taking her hands in his.
“I do rather like you,” Sara admitted, enjoying the way her hands felt in his as a warmth like none she’d ever experienced before ran up her arms.
“I like you, too,” Rafe agreed. He wanted to kiss her, but knew he shouldn’t. Slowly he released her hands.
“Seraphina,” he said.
“Hm?” Sara queried.
“You’re name, it’s really Seraphina?”
Sara smiled, “Yes, it was my mother’s idea. She’s always hated her name.” Sara giggled softly. “Mama says her name is plain as mud, and only one letter away from it.”
Rafe smiled at the girl’s humor but held his tongue, waiting for the rest of the story.
“She said she wanted special names for her daughters, names people would remember. Do you want to know a secret?” she asked, leaning forward and looking up into his dark eyes.
“Yes.” He leaned closer, listening.
“Mama wanted to name Prissy Cherubim, but Pa put his foot down on that one,” she giggled, and Rafe laughed.
“That would be a pretty tough handle to live with, I have to agree,” he chuckled, his eyes shining with mirth.
“So Mama named Priscilla and Aquila from the Bible and me from some story she read.”
“Do you mind?” Rafe asked. He was still standing close and could smell her hair. It had an earthy quality to it, like sunshine and wheat fields.
“No, at least mine can be shortened easily,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Poor Pris has been teased since she was little.”
Rafe shifted and leaned against the stall door, examining the old mare that was busy munching hay from her manger.
“She came up lame this morning,” Sara said, sidling up to him and watching his eyes on the old horse.
“What happened?”
“It looks like a simple stone bruise, but it will take a couple of days before she’s sound again.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t give you a ride home today,” Rafe said, his eyes falling again.
“It’s alright,” Sara replied, reaching out and laying her hand on the sleeve of his coat. “I like walking in the snow.”
“You do?”
“Yes, I love the outdoors. I’d ride if we hadn’t had to sell all of our saddle stock.” Sara looked around the barn, noting each empty stall, her eyes sad.
“How do you manage the cattle if you can’t ride?” Rafe asked, wondering just how tough things were for the Adams’.
Sara flushed. “Mr. Brody and his family are looking after them this year,” she admitted. “Mama says we’ll try something new in the spring, but the herd is small right now anyway, after the sales this fall.” Again her eyes fell, and he knew she didn't want to discuss it.
Rafe could see that the conversation was troubling her and quickly changed it. “If you like to ride, you could borrow Chester sometime,” he offered.
Sara laughed. “Me on your Appy?” she giggled. “If your father saw that I’m sure he really would disown you.” She grew serious again. “We’ll be alright,” she added. “Somehow we always manage.”
“I’d better head back,” Rafe finally said, turning to go. He didn’t want to leave the pretty young woman there on her own, but there was little else he could do.
“Where’d you leave that spotted horse, anyway?” Sara asked.
“In the grove.”
“I’ll walk with you,” she offered, her eyes bright. “After all, I like walking in the snow.” She smiled brightly and it zinged straight to his heart.
As quietly as possible, Rafe Dixon opened the back door of the barn and let Sara step out into the snow that rimmed the woods. A light breeze tugged at their clothing playfully, and he offered his arm to his companion.
Sara took Rafe’s arm and walked toward the grove of birch and pine trees in the distance. In the tree tops winter birds chirped merrily as they ruffled their feathers against the cold.
Behind a clump of white-barked trees, Chester raised his head and nickered low as his master approached.
“Are you sure you don’t want a ride?” Rafe asked.
“Not today,” Sara said, stroking the pony’s nose.
“I’ll come again when I get a chance,” Rafe offered, swinging into the saddle.
“I’d like that,” Sara replied, running her hand along his sleeve and plucking at the buttons at the end with a smile as he gripped her hand.
Laying the reins along his horse’s neck, Rafe Dixon turned toward home, leaving his heart in the little grove of birch and pine.
Chapter 7
Rafe was kept busy over the next few days, moving cattle to the lower pastures where he could provide hay if they needed it. Being so close to the Rocky Mountains had benefits, but the views didn’t keep the cattle fed.
He worked with some of the men who had been part of his father’s operation for a long time and soon the herd was settled in wide open pastures where the snow wasn’t so thick.
“If the weather holds like this,” a grizzled wrangle said, “we’ll have a nice profit come spring.”
“I hope so,” Rafe agreed. “Seems like some folks aren’t as lucky as we are in these parts.”
Boden, a long time cowboy, turned dark eyes on his boss’s son, smoothing his long black handlebar mustache into place. “You just worry about you and yours and let the rest of the world get on with itself,” the older man said.
Rafe smiled. “I see you’re in the Christmas spirit,” he chided jovially.
“I got nothin’ against Christmas, but I learnt a long time ago that you can’t help no one, ‘lest they wants ta help themselves.” With his final word, he kicked his mount into a trot and disappeared across the snow.
Rafe studied the cattle as they milled about, pawing the snow to get to the grass below. Was that really what it was all about? he wondered. Had the Adams somehow brought their own difficulties upon themselves?
He remembered dancing green eyes and a pretty smile. No, that just didn’t seem right. Sometimes folks got into a mess by no fault of their own. He smiled a secret smile, thinking of the four women nestled in the little log home, and turned Chester east toward the trees.
***
Sara let Saddie into the corral and watched the old roan horse trot a few steps toward a pile of hay. She’d recovered from the stone bruise and seemed back to her spritely self. “Glad to see you’re feeling better,” Sara laughed as the mare shoved her nose into the hay, “and just in time, too.”
A pebble bounced across the frozen yard in front of her toes, and Sara turned, trying to see where it had come from. A pair of white tufted ears peeked over a low pine and she smiled. Looking about to see if anyone was watching, she headed for the grove, her sturdy boots crunching in the frosty snow.
“Rafe,” she called in a hushed whisper, “where are you?” She moved around the stubby evergreen and Chester pushed his white nose toward her, snuffling. She stroked his neck that was almost as white as the ground below him but for the large, irregular splotches of brown and black that dotted his hide.
“Now where’d that scamp get to?” she asked the horse.
Strong arms grabbed her around the middle and she barely managed to bite off the scream that rose in her throat, making it a soft squeal instead.
Rafe turned Sara in his arms, smiling wide at the start he’d given her. Her eyes flashed and she smacked his arm. “You could have scared me to death, Rafe Dixon,” she sniped, but then softened it with a smile.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, lettin
g her shock turn to happy surprise.
“Old Chester was missing you,” Rafe replied, his eyes twinkling with a mischievous light.
Sara squirmed out of his grasp, moving up to the big horse and placing a kiss on Chester’s cheek. “Thank you for thinking of me, Chester,” she said, a devilish grin tugging at her lips.
“Hey, what about me?” Rafe grumbled.
“Oh, did you come to see me, too?” Sara asked, her green eyes laughing.
“I guess I was feeling a little lonely,” Rafe admitted, then stuck his cheek out hoping for a kiss.
Sara giggled and planted a soft kiss on his rugged cheek. He shivered and grabbed for her hand.
“Come with me,” he said, tugging her and his horse deeper into the woods. “Are you going to the pageant tomorrow night?” Rafe asked, still holding her hand.
“Yes, we’ve all been working on the costumes and decorations,” Sara said, twining her fingers with his. “We’ll go to town first thing in the morning to set things up.”
“I’ll try to be there,” Rafe said. “Pa won’t care if I go to church, as long as I’m home after the services.”
“Won’t he come as well? It’s Christmas Eve, after all.”
“No, after what happened at church last week, he told me never to ask again.” Rafe dipped his head and Sara could feel his sadness.
Tugging on his hand, she stopped him and gazed up into his soft, brown eyes. They were kind eyes and she didn’t like the shadows that flitted through them now.
With her free hand, she tipped his hat back on his head, then lifted up on her toes to place a soft kiss on his lips, hoping to comfort him.
Rafe closed his eyes, pulling Sara close. She was warm and tasted like Christmas, all spice and spunk. He could feel her hand at the back of his neck as he kissed her back.
Hot breath puffed in his ears as something heavy came to rest on his shoulder and Sara pulled away, giggling when Chester stretched between, them nuzzling her hair.
“I think Chester’s jealous,” she said, blushing pink in the chill air.
Rafe reached for her hand again. “I’ll find a way to see you tomorrow night,” he said, studying her face. “Where will you be?”
“I don’t know. My whole family is helping out, so we’ll be all over the place.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll find you.” Rafe smiled, then kissing her softly on the cheek, threw himself into the saddle and raced away into the trees.
***
“Where on earth have you been?” Sara’s mother called as she walked through the door. “You look half frozen to death.” Maud added, noting the pink cheeks and rosy nose.
“I was just walking in the trees,” Sara replied. She didn’t dare tell her mother about Rafe. She was sure that her mother wouldn’t understand, especially after Mrs. Adams’ behavior with Rafe’s father.
“Well come over here by the fire and get warmed up,” her mother said, smiling. “We’re hanging stockings.” She handed one to Sara as the girl approached.
They’d each been hanging a stocking on the mantle as long as Sara could remember. “It looks so pretty,” She said, admiring the fresh greenery that had been laid along the top of the fire place. The only-slightly-faded red ribbons looked festive.
“I love Christmas,” Priscilla said. “Everything’s so bright and pretty,” she enthused. “Remember the year Pa brought home all the newfangled decorations?” she asked, turning to look at the dark green tree that sat on the far side of the fire place.
Together the family turned to look at the tree. The deep green boughs where still thick and bright. Baubles twinkled in the light of the afternoon sun as it streamed through the windows. Tiny cones hung from the tree’s limbs like natural decorations, and flashing tinsel dripped from each bough.
“It sure is a pretty tree,” Aquila said, stepping up and putting an arm around her mother. Priscila did the same and together the family gazed at the twinkling tree.
“What a beautiful time of year,” Maud said. “I’m so very blessed to have each and every one of you girls with me,” she sighed contentedly.
Supper was a simple meal that night, but it was made cheery by the laughter and conversation around the table.
“Have you finished all of the sewing?” Maud asked, as Quil placed a cup of fresh coffee before her. “We’ll be terribly busy tomorrow, making sure the children remember their lines and when to come off and on the stage,” she added, smiling as she remembered her girls having their turn in the annual nativity production.
“Yes, Mama,” Quil replied. “We even have extra needles and thread in case of emergencies.”
“I wish we could have done more,” Maud mused.
“If wishes were horses, beggars would ride,” Pricilla spoke, the words tumbling off her tongue in a rush.
Everyone around the table laughed. It had been one of their father’s favorite expressions when one of the girls would grumble.
“Speaking of horses,” Maud said again, “is Saddie alright, or do we need someone to collect everything?” She turned her blue gaze on Sara.
“She’s fine, Ma,” Sara replied. “I turned her out into the corral earlier and she’s walking fine.”
“Good. Now let’s get everything packed up for tomorrow so we can make an early start of it, then it's off to bed."
As they placed each carefully stitched item into bags and boxes for the next day, Sara added a few extra things from her room, then prepared for bed, but sleep didn’t come easily as she remembered the kiss she’d shared with Rafe earlier that day.
Rising from her bed in the quiet house, she walked to her window and gazed out at the starry blanket above. The midnight blue sky sparkled, each heavenly body a bright diamond twinkling down to earth.
In the yard, a rabbit hopped across the fresh powdery snow in search of some tiny morsel, while the shadows of night stretched and rolled over the white crust, bathing the whole world in an other-worldly, purple glow.
“Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight,” Sara’s voice whispered into the darkness. “I wish I may, I wish I might, have this wish I wish tonight,” she finished, closing her eyes and seeing Rafe's rugged face. With a smile, she turned and bundled herself back into her bed. She knew she was losing her heart to the young cowboy who lived only a few short miles away.
With a sigh, Sara snuggled down into the heavy quilts that covered her bed, then closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.
Chapter 8
“Prissy, did you bring the scissors?” Quill called as she loaded another crate into the wagon.
“Yes.” Pricilla snapped, lifting a heavy bag up to her sister. “I’m not a complete ninny, you know,” she scowled.
“No one said you are, Pricilla,” Mrs. Adams chided, bustling toward the buckboard. “I wish we had more to offer this year,” she added with her own scowl. “Still, everyone has pitched in and it should be a lovely day.”
Sara bounded down the stairs of the cabin carrying two large trays of cake, still warm from the oven, as she smiled knowingly. This year, instead of frosting the dark chocolate sheet cakes, she’d whipped up another batch of fudge and poured the still-hot, gooey candy over the top, smoothing it with a knife.
She giggled, hoping the treat would be well-received, and she knew the fudge topping would set on the cold drive to the church.
“What are you laughing about?” Priscilla asked suspiciously, pulling her coat tight against the morning chill.
“I’m trying something new with my cakes this year,” Sara said brightly.
“Seraphina what did you do?” Her mother’s eyes pinned her to the spot.
“I poured fudge over them,” Sara replied, jutting her chin defiantly. “You’ll see; they’ll be a favorite today.”
“I hope you’re right,” Aquila said. “Your fudge is divine, after all.”
Sara settled the cakes in a long box under the wagon seat, then hopped into the back with Prissy.
�
�Ready, Ma,” She called cheekily, grasping her sisters hand and kicking her feet. Wishes weren’t horses, but at least today a few beggars could ride.
“Did you finish all of your gifts already?” Prissy leaned over conspiratorially.
“Oh, yes,” Sara affirmed, “I finished them days ago.” Her hand strayed to her pocket where she felt a tight, reassuring lump wrapped in brown paper.
***
The whole town seemed to have turned up to prepare for the Christmas Eve festivities. The blacksmith and the baker were both busy setting up tables with a group of other men, while women ferried buckets, baskets, and boxes of items into the church.
Ladies in brightly colored dresses bustled about the little building, tying sprigs of holly or bits of pine to the end of each pew with a wad of red ribbon.
A Christmas tree was placed in a corner of the raised dais and younger women bustled around it, hanging decorations and colorful ornaments. Outside, children played in the snow, building whole families of snowmen and even a snowhorse or two.
Props and a backdrop were set up against the back wall behind where the pulpit usually stood, and a light dusting of straw covered the stage, accompanied by two sturdy bales of hay.
“Everything looks so lovely,” Mrs. Roberts commented, studying the stout tree. “You girls are doin’ a find job,” the cheerful matron stated.
“Lunch!” George Olson called from the back of the church. “Polly said yer ta come have lunch,” he said a little more softly. “She’s made up a big pot a’ soup and bread, so ya can all eat,” he finished, then turned and stomped back out of the church.
The women grinned at each other, wondering what Polly would have on today. It had become a tradition for her to serve a noon meal while everyone put the church together.
“Do ya suppose she’ll make that vegetable soup again?” one woman asked her companions as she shrugged into her coat and headed out the door.
Sara smiled, feeling the excitement of the Christmas Season. The whole town buzzed with cheer. Well most of it, she thought as she followed her family down the hill toward the boarding house. She wondered if Rafe would get away and how sad it would be to come to the play without the only member of your family with you.
