Authors: Jodi Thomas,Linda Broday,Phyliss Miranda
A Texas Christmas (31 page)
“You mean
my
children,” she corrected.
my
children,” she corrected.
Fury flashed through him. She’d confirmed his fear. She really didn’t trust him to be left alone with the children. It wounded him deep down inside. If only she knew how he hurt every day because he had so much love in his heart for the child he was never able to lay eyes on, much less hold in his arms.
Maybe he’d lost focus of the fact that Sarah’s children weren’t his, only the same age as his own, if the child had lived.
Rand stormed out and spent the next few hours working in his shop, drawing, shrinking, bending, and upsetting iron over the bright cherry heat until he’d formed a star, several round ornaments he figured represented balls, and two small bells that would eventually hang from his makeshift Christmas tree.
Deep inside he wanted to shed the whole charade of trying to celebrate the holiday. He could always ’fess up to the children that he didn’t know how to make a Christmas tree, but something inside wouldn’t allow him to seriously consider that as an option, since it wasn’t true.
It wasn’t his pride at having already told them he could make anything that halted him.
It wasn’t their challenge.
It was simply his heartfelt desire to show the children that he wasn’t a big, bad bear, plus a need to please Sarah, which was a fairly foreign feeling to him.
All he wanted was to make the best of a bad situation and provide Christmas for the little tykes.
Yet way down in his soul, he recognized it wasn’t just the twins and Sarah he wanted to make happy—but Rand, a man who had a heart overflowing with unleashed love.
Changes had to take place, and he’d be the first to make them.
Chapter 9
Tears welled up in Sarah’s eyes, and she leaned against the counter to support her shaky legs.
What had she done? From the look on Rand’s face when he stormed out, there was no doubt that she’d alienated him because of her own insecurities. Why couldn’t she let anyone in? Was she that scared of getting hurt? Or was she that scared of hurting someone else?
Moving to the table, she covered her face with her hands, determined not to cry. His comments hit hard. She’d been morally judged about her decision to not put the children up for adoption and to keep them for so long that she’d become obsessed with any possibility of losing them. But why should a well-intentioned man like Rand have to pay the price for what others had done?
After composing herself, she went upstairs to check on the children. Finding them fast asleep, she sat in the rocking chair and began working on the quilt. Absorbed in her own thoughts and stitching away, time passed quickly.
“Mummy,” Addie Claire mumbled. “Gotta go find Mr. Frumpy.” She yawned.
Sarah didn’t bother to correct the pronunciation of Rand’s last name. “I think it’s best that you and your brother play upstairs for the rest of the afternoon. Mr. Humphrey has a lot of work to do.”
“But Mummy . . .” The child trailed off, likely realizing she shouldn’t argue with an adult.
Sarah kept them entertained making some ornaments for the tree out of yarn. They were rather primitive, but kept their little fingers busy and corralled where Sarah could supervise them like she thought they needed.
Maybe she was overly protective?
Rand might well be right; children needed room to investigate and explore, and she was smothering them.
Had she always viewed the kids as being her possession, instead of a gift loaned to her by the Good Lord?
A new perspective flooded over Sarah. She had taken on not only the responsibility of raising the children, but of sharing them. Whether Rand was in their life on a temporary basis or not, she should not withhold the opportunity for them to get to know the blacksmith and let them learn a little about his trade, while celebrating the joy of Christmas.
Sarah set the quilt aside. “Children, let’s go downstairs. How about making some cookies and maybe even gingerbread men to hang on the tree?”
Addie Claire and Damon jumped to their feet and shrieked of happiness so loud that Sarah was afraid Rand would come running to see what was wrong.
“Let’s go wash your hands and I’ll gather up things to bake with.” Sarah scurried to the kitchen with the children close behind.
In short order, she had the bread for dinner ready to bake, then mixed cookie dough. Using a glass for a cutter, she formed several cookies, added extra sugar, and tried to talk the kids into believing they were balls for the tree.
“I’m tired of makin’ plain ol’ cookies,” Damon whined. “Cain’t you make an angel or something else?”
After several attempts to cut freehand angels, Sarah sighed in defeat.
“Those cain’t be angels,” Damon spouted. “Can you make a bear instead?”
“I’m sorry. I’m not very good at making angels out of dough, but I tried,” Sarah said, then added, “So a bear is out of the question.”
“Betcha you could if you had a cutter that looked like one,” Damon said. “One shaped like a bear.”
“I know. I know.” Addie Claire jumped off the chair she was standing on and headed toward the shop. “Mr. Frumpy can do it. He can make anything.”
Damon joined his sister before Sarah could wipe the flour off her hands. Rand was much too busy to deal with their request for a cookie cutter.
Hopefully Rand had gotten over his annoyance with her, but he still didn’t need the children to be underfoot when he had work to be done.
She caught up with them about the time they got to the shop, but came to a sudden stop. The sight before her took her breath away.
The metal tree frame she had seen Rand working on earlier had come to life at his hands. Strands of barbed wire created a beautiful and impressive Christmas tree that stood about the same height as the twins. The blacksmith had worked small pieces of metal into the shapes of balls and bells, then had added accents of a silvery metal, making them look festive and decorated.
“Rand, that’s beautiful,” she said.
He rubbed his hands on his heavy black apron and studied the tree. The warmth in his smile echoed in his voice. “Thanks. It turned out better than I imagined it would.”
Both children ran to the tree and began examining it.
“But there’s no angels,” Addie Claire proclaimed, while touching every ornament one at a time.
Before Rand could explain why there were no angels, Damon pulled a work stool close to Sarah and climbed up on it, then piped up and said, “And bears. Cain’t have angels without bears. Big ones, too.”
Rand stepped over to where Sarah stood and under his breath said, “Are you sure they are twins?” Before she could answer, he continued, “There’s no way Addie Claire survived nine months in the same womb with her brother. He would have driven her to an early birthing to escape him, I suspect.”
Sarah peered up at him and saw a softening to his face, yet an unspoken pain was alive and glowing in his eyes. His smile weakened a little when he noticed her watching him.
“Memories?” Sarah wanted to put her hand on his arm but refrained, not wanting to pry, plus she had her own memories she wasn’t ready to share with anyone . . . especially Rand.
“We all have ’um.” Rand seemed to shake off whatever thoughts were going through his head, and changed the subject. “Something smells really good.”
“Cookies,” she said.
“Bears!” Damon cried, jumped from the stool and headed for the loft with his tagalong sister. “I see the bears.”
Sarah opened her mouth, then clamped it shut, remembering Rand’s warning about stifling the children, but it didn’t help relieve the fact that her heart was in her throat seeing them climb the ladder to the loft.
“Kittens,” Rand said in a matter-of-fact way. “Think he’s found the kittens and calls them bears,” he said with a trace of amusement in his voice. “Might be ’cause I taught them the nursery rhyme Fuzzy Wuzzy the bear.”
“I see.” She tried not to stare at him, but failed miserably. “Don’t worry about making any cutters, I can manage.”
“It’s a challenge, and I told them—”
She finished his sentence, “That you can make anything!”
He nodded.
“Gotta keep a promise. I’ve got an idea. It’ll take me a little bit, but I think I can do it.”
“Make an angel?” Sarah asked.
“No, a bear,” he said. “Remember, Fuzzy Wuzzy was a bear?”
“Fuzzy Wuzzy had no hair,” she said. Then he added, “Fuzzy Wuzzy wasn’t fuzzy,” before she finished with, “Was he?”
They shared a good hearty laugh.
She stole another glance at his profile and stayed focused just a little too long on the seductive looks buried behind all of his facial hair, thinking he might favor a big, lovable bear on the outside, and decided he must have a heart as big as his physique.
“I, uh . . .” Sarah hesitated, confused with the thoughts that stampeded through her mind. “I need to check on the bread.”
Hastily, Sarah turned around to leave and caught her foot on the stool Damon had moved next to her.
Rand grabbed her from behind, his arms locking around her waist to keep her from falling. He was so close she could feel the heat and strength from his body. His breath hot against her ear, he whispered, “I’ve got you. I’m not going to let you fall.”
Turning her around, he gathered her into his arms and held her snugly. Surprised at her own eager response to his body against hers, she relaxed, sinking into his cushioning embrace, and had no desire to have him release her.
His lips brushed against hers as though by accident, but suddenly he gently covered her mouth, pressing his lips hard against hers. A delightful shiver of wanting ran through her as she responded, enjoying his kiss much more than she should. Wrapped in invisible warmth, she seemed to be drifting along on a cloud while her heartbeat throbbed in her ear.
Suddenly, Rand pulled back and tucked a couple of wayward curls behind one ear, then placed a light kiss on her forehead. “I’m not sure this is a good idea.”
Her heart screamed that she wanted another kiss, while her mind reminded her it wasn’t the right thing to do. With confused thoughts, she could only whisper, “Very bad idea.”
Rand released her, setting her on her feet, but looked down at her with a smoldering flame in his eyes. “But if you ever—”
“I won’t.” She rushed out of the room.
Once out of sight, Sarah leaned against the wall, perplexed at the burning, aching need running through her body. She wanted, desired another kiss and longed for the protectiveness of his arms.
She crossed her arms and pressed her palms against her chest. Closing her eyes, she rested her head against the wall and whispered, “He wouldn’t understand that I’ve never been with a man.”
Chapter 10
Rand returned to his project with a new lease on life. He was still trying to figure out why he suddenly had a newfound way of thinking about a woman—not any woman, but Sarah Callahan. He took a deep breath. His promise to never have feelings for another woman surfaced again; but when he had least expected it, Sarah came into his life.
Came into his life!
Had he gone soft in the noggin? She was only temporarily in his life because of circumstances. In a few days she’d go back to Carroll Creek and he’d never see her again.
Had he gone soft in the noggin? She was only temporarily in his life because of circumstances. In a few days she’d go back to Carroll Creek and he’d never see her again.
The thought knotted his gut. Did he really want her to leave? In only a matter of days, she and the children had made a huge difference in lifting the darkness that he’d grown accustomed to. They gave him a renewed purpose and joy. So what would the future be like when they were gone? He wasn’t sure he wanted to find out.
He thought back on the kiss, which was totally out of character for him. Oh, he’d kissed women before, hell, lots of ’um, but there was something innocent and special in the way Sarah responded. Almost as if it was a new experience for her, which of course was ludicrous, since she had born two children.
Picking up a piece of cooling metal from the slack bucket, he began bending and shaping it with pliers.
I’d sure like to kiss her again to see if my notions are way out in left pasture or not!
The pliers slipped and he slashed himself on the sharp metal. Not a big cut, just enough to bring blood. He wiped it off with his handkerchief.
How in the blue blazes had he worked all these years as a steel worker and blacksmith and never gotten seriously hurt, yet since Sarah had walked into his life, he’d managed to bang himself up twice? All because of having the sensual, tempting lady on his mind. If he wasn’t more careful, he might end up chopping his nose off to spite his face, and that’d put him in one mell of a hess.
As he worked, the aroma of supper wafted through the air and the sounds of children’s play filtered down from the loft. A concerto of giggles, whispers, and cries of happiness melded together, adding to the blacksmith’s contentment.
How could two children and a lady like Sarah change his mood from one of loneliness to being high-spirited in such a short time? He knew he hadn’t been happy for a while, but never thought when it returned it’d come from such an unlikely source.
He was filing off the jagged edges of a cookie cutter that somewhat favored an angel, when he heard footsteps descending the ladder to the loft.
“Mr. Frumpy, we need some warm milkth, please.” Addie Claire held a young, fuzzy kitten wrapped up in a threadbare printed flour sack. The animal rested on its back in the crook of her arm, purring like a newborn baby.
“I’ll go get some milk—”
“Warm milkth, please,” the little girl corrected him.
“Warm for sure, but guys, don’t take the kitten out to the stables, because he’s really little, and the horses might step on him accidentally,” Rand warned. “He’ll come out and pester them when he’s big enough.”
“What’s their names?” Addie Claire asked.
“Ain’t got no names,” Damon responded. “They’re horses.”
Rand spoke up. “That big chestnut roan is called Bushwacker and the dapple gray gelding is Big Tex, and—”
“Them are all boy names,” Damon spouted.
“You don’t have any girls.” Addie Claire looked up at him with sad eyes.
“Remember that pretty little bay with the black mane and tail? That’s Spit Fire, and yep, she’s a girl.” He wanted so badly to add, “A pretty little gal, just like your mama,” but resisted. Instead he said, “See, they all have names.”
Spying a small woven basket, he walked over and picked it up. “Looks about right for a bed for him.”
Addie Claire squealed with glee and placed her little charge inside and covered him up.
To Rand’s surprise, the calico nestled deep into the fabric. He was certainly more tamed than his mama, although he imagined the poor critter was exhausted at being played with by the children.
Holding the basket close to her, Addie Claire leaned against the workbench and eyed the angel Rand had made.
Damon stepped to her side and looked over the angel cookie cutter that Rand had just finished. “That cain’t be no angel. Don’t look like one. Need a bear anyhow.”
“Mr. Frumpy, we gotta have an angel for the top, please.”
Rand studied what could be an angel, but possibly was a bear. It gave him a notion on what he could do. “You guys don’t touch anything, and I’ll be back in a minute with some milk for,” he looked at the brown, black and orange splotched kitten, then added, “for Bear.”
A plan continued to form. He could use his failed attempts at making a cookie cutter to create a large cone shape where he could add wings, creating an angel for the top of the tree. He wasn’t sure whether he was more eager to make the ornament or eat dinner, but both promised to be worth the wait.
Rand grabbed the cookie cutter and headed to the kitchen, where he found Sarah elbow-deep in dough. Her cheeks were rosy from the kitchen heat. Oh, how he wanted to take her into his arms and kiss her, but on second thought, he probably had scared her silly when he did that earlier. Rubbing his beard, it occurred to him that she might not like the feel of all the hair on his face, which gave him a justifiable reason to refrain from making a fool out of himself—again!
“Try this.” He handed the metal cutter to her. “I’ve got to get warm milk.”
She looked up with strikingly beautiful blue eyes as bright as twinkling stars on a clear night. He couldn’t resist temptation, and reached over and dabbed away a splotch of flour from her cute little chin.
“Thanks.” An easy smile radiated across her face, and she raised a questioning eyebrow. “Milk with your cookies?”
“It’s for Bear.” He located a shallow dish from the cupboard and poured a tad of milk out of a small crockery pitcher Sarah was using to cook with. Then he added more, thinking maybe mama cat and the siblings might enjoy a little. “Sure glad Timmy managed to get some milk over here before the blizzard hit.”
“So, you’re now hand-feeding a kitten?”
“No, a bear.” He shrugged in mock resignation.
Rand returned to the shop and gave the milk to the children, who immediately rushed up to the loft, dribbling liquid all the way.
It was time for him to check on the animals and break up any ice that had formed in the water trough.
Grabbing his sheepskin coat, he walked out into the open.
The wind let out a mournful howl. Snow continued to fall, but there might possibly be more snow and less wind, so the worst could be waning.
With a little luck and a bunch of prayers, the train bringing the church bell from Boston could arrive in time for Rand to get it installed at the church. He mentally crossed his fingers because he really wanted to see the faces of the children when the bells rang on Christmas Eve.
Dang, what was wrong with him? He’d gone from praying for snow, so he could be left alone with his memories, to wanting to make them with someone, and it all seemed to be tied to the pretty lady in his kitchen baking cookies and making bread.
For the first time in a lot of months, he had a reason to shave. He grabbed a clean pan near the watering trough and dipped fresh snow out of a drift near the door to the livery. He took it to the forge and set it on the hearth. Once it melted, he’d use the water to shave. Or at least that was his plan.
Just as he neared the ladder to the loft, both children jumped down, and in no time they were beside him. “Whatcha got there, Mr. Humphrey?” Damon stood on tiptoes to see inside the pan he was holding. Rand had little doubt that the child knew exactly what he had.
Rand lowered it for them to see inside, and answered, “Snow.”
“Can we eat some, Mr. Frumpy?” Addie Claire asked. Standing on tiptoes like her brother, she had to clutch a handful of the blacksmith’s pants leg to keep from falling over.
“Sure can.” Rand smiled to himself, recalling his mama making something she called iced cream out of fresh snow and milk. She probably added some flavoring, but that he wasn’t sure of. Maybe Sarah would know.
“Gotta wear something warm to go outside or you’ll freeze.” Rand pointed to the coats hanging near the door.
With the help of the twins, he gathered a pail of snow. After returning their jackets to their proper place, they headed for the kitchen.
Sarah had finished baking the cookies and had cleaned up the mess, which he suspected was mostly made by the twins.
The savory aroma of stew and hot bread welcomed them, and the table was set for supper. In the middle sat a Mason jar filled with what he first thought was holly berries, but after a closer look he recognized it as the mistletoe Sarah had been wearing on her blouse earlier in the day. She’d added some greenery and a red bow tied around the neck of the jar.
“Mummy, Mr. Frumpy is makin’ us some iced cream from snow.” Addie Claire grabbed a chair and pulled it up next to Sarah at the table.
Sarah looked at Rand with amusement in her eyes, although a perplexed look crept across her face. “Iced cream?”
“It’s something Mama used to make. Snow, milk, and some type of flavoring.”
“Vanilla,” she said in a nonchalant way and turned to the twins. “Tell you what. Supper is almost ready, so if you eat all of your meal and don’t bother Mr. Humphrey, you can make some right after we’ve finished eating.”
Although their supper was a meager pot of stew, consisting mainly of canned vegetables, and hot bread, Sarah felt as though she’d eaten from a banquet table fit for a king.
The children bantered with one another, and even Rand joined in wiping broth from Damon’s face. The big man told the kids that if a bear smelled food, he’ll try to eat them. He turned to Damon and warned, “But a tadpole like you would only be a snack to a big bear.”
As much as Sarah wanted to fuss at him about scaring Damon, she refrained.
After the table was cleared and the dishes were in the sink, she spooned off cream that had risen to the top of the milk and placed it in a bowl. She stirred in sugar and a tad of vanilla, then drizzled the mixture over bowls of fresh snow.
“Hey, tadpole and little lady, tonight is the day-day before Christmas, so let’s have an iced cream picnic.” Rand placed a spoon in each dish and handed them to the children before he grabbed up a handful of cookies and walked to the hearth.
“Wait just a minute. I need to go get something.” Rand headed for the little room off the kitchen. Returning, he placed divinity that he’d purchased from the bazaar on top of the plate of cookies.
“Candy!” the twins yelled and snatched pieces of the sweet stuff before Rand even knew what had happened.
“I guess I had a premonition when I got some of Aunt Dixie’s divinity from the bazaar yesterday.”
Rand found a comfy spot on the rug and sat cross-legged close to the fire. Damon was quick to join him, while Addie Claire lagged, staying close to Sarah’s side, alternating eating the sugary treat with iced cream.
The blacksmith elbowed Damon and kidded him about how much iced cream he was eating on top of candy. In turn the little boy tried to elbow Rand, but only managed to smack the bowl, causing it to tip. As quick as if he was handling red-hot coals with his bare hands, Rand caught the dish and licked the splashes of syrupy snow from his hands.
Sarah tried not to laugh out loud but failed miserably. Biting her lip, she studied Rand.
Rand threw back his head and smiled warmly at her before he let out a hearty laugh.
Addie Claire joined her brother and they rolled on the floor in hilarity, no doubt to impress their new buddy, who elbowed Damon again.
Peering back at Sarah, Rand shot her a mischievous smile, stoking a gently growing fire within her. A slender, delicate thread of understanding began to form between them.
He turned back and gathered the twins and tucked them, one at a time, under his arm and tickled them until they could no longer squeal.
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