A Grand Teton Sleigh Ride: Four Generations of Wyoming Ranchers Celebrate Love at Christmas (2 page)

The idea almost made him snort, even now, but one of the mules beat him to it.

The mules, dubbed James and John, were apt to act like sons of thunder, but today the mud and chill made them want to hurry back to the warm barn. He didn’t blame them.

Shadows continued to gather at the end of this gray day. Zeb had come along at the ideal time. He couldn’t envision leaving the young woman stranded on the trail home, left to her own devices.

“I–I’m very grateful, Mr. Covington, that you happened along,” Belle said. “I can’t imagine what I would have done.”

“I’m sure you’d have thought of something. B’sides, I couldn’t right well leave a lady on the trail. Wouldn’t be proper, nor gentlemanly, of me.” He couldn’t resist a tease.

“It’s quite gallant of you, sir.” She paused. “I did think of unhitching Patch, gathering which provisions I could, and riding home, to return for the rest of the items and the cart when the trail dries out.”

“Good idea. But you never know who might happen along and see those things. Or the cart. Can’t be too careful; they might come up missing.”

She nodded slowly. “You’re right. Do you expect we’ll get snow soon?”

“Possibly. Perhaps tonight.”

“It’s so cold, already.”

“Didn’t it get cold in Boston?”

“Yes, it did. I’m sure it still does.”

“Well said, Miss Murray.”

It was her turn to chuckle at him; the soft bells pleased his ears. He wanted to make her laugh again.

“People think I’m going to leave now, but I’m not.” She glanced his way, blinking up at him through long dark lashes framing blue eyes. “I know Melanie and Ham would want me to stay. This is the family’s land, and I can’t let their legacy go.”

“Miss Murray, no offense, but you have no idea of what it will take to winter over in Jackson. There’s not someone to dash around the corner to call on, should you need help. Winters are long, and lonely. When the snow gets deep, we don’t go much of anywhere. There’s no fancy mercantile you can pop over to pick up the latest lady’s book.”

He couldn’t help himself. The idea of a woman living on her own in this part of the country, well, it was madness. Especially one green with ignorance of what living out West entailed. She could die, and no one would know.

“I appreciate the fact I’m not in civilized country. Ham, Melanie, and I have … had already formed a plan for the winter. We have adequate provisions, and since it’s just … just me in the home now, I’ll have plenty of food. I can make the fuel last, too.”

Zeb shook his head. “Miss Murray, please do me a favor. Please, allow me to pay for your safe passage to the nearest rail station. I’ll take you there myself, over Teton Pass. But I suggest you seriously consider leaving Jackson before it’s too late and there’s no chance of you making it out of here until spring.”

Belle frowned, and for a second Zeb regretted being the cause of her somber expression. “Thank you, Mr. Covington. Thank you.”

“For passage out of here?”

“No sir, not at all.” She stuck her chin out, and he noticed the tiny dimple in its center. “You’ve made me all the more determined to stay.”

The mules’ pace had slowed to a casual stroll, and Zeb chirruped to the beasts, who responded more readily than Belle had.

Women. Sometimes, there was no sense in trying to talk logically to them. This one, anyway.

Stubborn though she was, he had to keep an eye on this one, whether she liked it or not. Her life could very well depend on it. And he’d promised Ham. If he had his way, he’d be toting her over the pass to Idaho, first thing.

Women.

B
elle Murray picked up the primer and held it above Rosemary Smythe’s head. They stood before the looking glass in Rosemary’s bedroom. The luxury items spoke well of Rosemary’s family and her determination to care for her appearance, even out here in the wilds of Wyoming.

“Stand straight; don’t slouch your shoulders as if you have a sack of flour strapped around your neck.” Belle tapped Rosemary’s shoulder gently with a finger.

“All right.” Rosemary wiggled her shoulders, thrust them back, and stuck out her chin.

“No, I can’t set the book on your head with your chin like that. Your head must be level.”

Rosemary lowered her chin. “Is that better?”

“Indeed, it is.” Belle released her hold on the primer and let it balance on the crown of Rosemary’s head. “There, see? Your posture is perfect.”

“I do look taller.” A faint glow suffused Rosemary’s cheeks. “Am I standing as well as a lady back East?”

“Even better, Rosemary, even better.” She realized how much she sounded like Miss Elizabeth Monroe, a governess she’d once served beside while employed by the Skinner family. Miss Monroe had studied in Paris, the woman had told her. Miss Monroe had carried herself ever the bit of a lady, and eventually went on to marry a gentleman who’d done quite well for himself.

To marry well was also Rosemary’s wish.

“What is it, Miss Murray? You appear deep in thought.” Rosemary turned, and the primer slipped from her head.

“I was thinking of my own inspiration, a Miss Elizabeth Monroe, a refined and genteel woman who found herself in difficult circumstances. I first knew her when I was about your age. I learned from her etiquette, style of dress, manners, and how to conduct oneself in every situation.”

“Whatever happened to her?”

“She found a most suitable gentleman, married well, and went on to manage a well-run household. After she wed, I didn’t see her anymore.” Belle didn’t add that Elizabeth Monroe had left the industrial magnate’s grand home and never looked back. As soon as Belle could manage it, she did the same.

Instead of finding a most suitable gentleman, however, she’d found herself here, in the West, longing to teach young women such as Rosemary social refinements.

“I’d like to find a most suitable gentleman. I’m nearly eighteen.”

“So you are.”

“After all, before I know it, I’ll be nearly as old as you.”

Belle tried not to wince at the reference to her own unmarried state. No, nearly twenty-two wasn’t ancient, by any means, but she’d surely envisioned herself married by now. Except, she hadn’t found anyone to match her list. Anyone who’d take notice of a self-educated woman whose unmarried parents had arrived in Boston with suitcases and dreams, that is.

“Time does fly, Rosemary. Now, what do you consider most suitable in a husband?”

The young woman sank onto her mattress and pursed her lips. “Handsome, strong. Hardworking.”

“Those are good places to start. However, handsome is as handsome does.” A brief flicker of memory struck her. She’d nearly surrendered her heart to handsome, once, but God in His mercy had allowed her to see his true colors. “A man should have other qualities. Considerate, respectful. Kind to the weak, especially animals and young children. Submitted with his heart and life to the Almighty.”

“Yes, I see.” Rosemary looked thoughtful, and placed her finger on her lips. Then she locked her gaze with Belle’s and sat up as straight as any debutante before Belle could remark about the slouch. “I know who.”

“Who?”

“All those qualities sound like Mr. Covington.”

“You mean, Zebulon Covington?” Her voice almost squeaked, but she cleared her throat to mask the sound.

“Oh, yes. I don’t know why I’d never thought of him as a possibility before. He’s definitely unmarried.”

“But he’s so … so …”

“Hairy.” Rosemary nodded. “But even trappers-turned-ranchers need to shave, eventually. He has beautiful eyes, so blue. And a kind face under all that beard.”

“And he’s … quite …”

“Old?” Rosemary shook her head. “He’s not so old. Almost twenty-six, I heard him tell Pa one time. They were talking, not long after Zeb—Mr. Covington—started building his house this past spring. Pa said the man was planning to settle down.”

“I see.” Zebulon Covington seen as a possible catch? Belle couldn’t wrap her mind around the idea. The man was kind enough to have rescued her the other day on her way home, but she didn’t see him as possible marriage material.

Evidently, Rosemary knew more about the man than Belle did. Rosemary’s face glowed. Perhaps something could come of this and Rosemary could be one of Belle’s first success stories.

“Rosemary,” she announced, gliding over to the mattress and settling gracefully onto the bed, “if you believe Mr. Covington is a suitable match for you, then we shall see what happens.”

“He’s … he’s coming to supper tonight. Ma takes pity on him, says someone needs to feed the bachelors, and Pa said he ought to come while the weather holds, before another snow comes in.”

“Well, you should practice tonight on your conversation and manners.”

“Oh, my heart flutters at the idea. But what if he’s not interested? What if he doesn’t want a wife?”

Belle took Rosemary’s hand and squeezed. “Dear Rosemary, a man gets to a point in his life and he will see the need he has for a good wife. And when Zebulon Covington does, you’ll be right there.”

“Please, please, Belle, stay for supper. Ma won’t mind. And I’ll feel so much better to know you’re here. I’m so afraid I’ll say the wrong thing or look like an imbecile. And my little brother will only vex me, by teasing me unmercifully. He’ll accuse me of putting on airs if I try to show my manners.”

Belle pondered that for a moment. “I suppose I can. But I can’t stay too late; I’ll need to see to the animals in the evening, and I don’t like the idea of caring for them in the dark.”

“I won’t keep you one moment longer than you may stay. Perhaps Pa can send one of his men to your place to feed them.”

“I wouldn’t want to put them through the trouble. Mr. Tolliver will be coming to work tomorrow.”

“No trouble. You’ll be helping me, too.”

“All right, then. Supper it is.”

“Belle, thank you, thank you. I’m ever so grateful. Ma, she doesn’t … she doesn’t understand. It’s been hard sometimes, living here. We were in Missouri when Pa got the idea to move to Jackson. Sometimes I miss knowing the latest news, seeing the latest fashions.”

“Ah, I see. How long have you lived here?”

“Two years. I miss living back East, but my mother won’t agree to send me.”

Belle nodded. “I understand. But here, it’s so … unspoiled. It’s beautiful.” Beautiful wasn’t an adequate word to describe the Teton Range. “I still remember the first time I caught sight of the mountains. I had no words. All I could do was stare.”

“Yes, they look like they’re so close they could fall on you, don’t they?” Rosemary stood then crossed the small room to stand before the mirror again. “So, should I change my dress before supper? Is this day dress good enough?”

“You look just fine. Besides, manners and decorum will make up for any lacking in wardrobe, although a lady should always try to look her very best in any situation.” Belle joined Rosemary at the glass. “Perhaps we should do your hair again, with a fresh braid and pins.”

“We should.” Rosemary pulled the first few pins from her hair. “Because I want Zebulon Covington to notice me, and notice me but good.”

Zebulon noticed the Smythes had set an extra place for supper at the table, making six for supper instead of the expected five. The four Smythes and him, plus one more.

“Coffee, Zeb?” Mary Smythe asked from her place at the stove.

“Yes, ma’am.” He removed his hat and set it on the nearest empty hook on the wall by the door.

“Mary, I hope the brew’s hot and strong tonight,” Jake Smythe said as he gave his wife a peck on the cheek.

“Strong and hot, just like you like it, Jake.” She took the coffeepot from the stove and poured coffee for all of them. “We have another guest for supper, my love. That sweet, young Belle Murray. She’s spent the afternoon tutoring Rosie.”

“As long as we have enough to feed her, too.”

“Oh, you—“ Mary grinned and shot her husband a look, and the two commenced a banter perfected after nearly two decades of marriage.

The sight was both mighty cozy and mighty constricting at the same time. Zebulon knew, sooner or later, he ought to take a wife. No, he didn’t need to take a wife. Not really. He could darn and mend passably, he could cook meals he liked, whether or not anyone else did. He didn’t keep clutter around the two-room cabin he’d finished adding to in August, giving him some more breathing room than the original single-room building he’d constructed not long after staking his claim. He didn’t have time to pay attention to a woman, what with all the cattle needing his attention, and fences, and general everyday chores.

Of course he found the couple’s conversation constricting. Wasn’t quite sure he cottoned to someone requiring his attention. Made a man itch like a scratchy wool blanket.

Still, though, there was something comforting about it. Jake’s warm look at Mary as she basted the chicken she’d had roasting in the oven all afternoon, if judging by the mouthwatering aroma in the kitchen. To have companionship, supper cooked to perfection, and coffee on the stove. Now that was something a man could look forward to. A man could stand to give a lot in a marriage, but oh what he’d receive in return.