Jillian Hart (6 page)

 "Six men?" Sara lifted her skirts to step off the icy road and into the softer snow of Connie's yard. "I guess I should have figured on it too. In Oak's Grove there's a shortage of marriageable women."

"And yet look at you, still unmarried."

"For a long time after Andrew's death I wasn't ready." Sara thought of the gentle man, his loss made all the more difficult for the love he'd given her. Somehow, seeing a hint of Andrew every time Mary smiled made it easier now. "And then, when I was, my father felt he had the right to interfere."

"I'm glad you're free of him." Connie's touch was pure comfort, the kind that warmed from the inside out.

Sara was glad too. Returning home to her father, after she'd been widowed, had been difficult. Had she had one other choice, she would have taken it. And she'd worked hard to make her own life, a tough thing in a world where a woman couldn't vote, couldn't make a man's wages to support herself. "That's why this job offer from my aunt is so important to me."

"Don't you worry. The men will get the train running and you'll be on your way to a happier future. Although we're going to hate to see you go."

"Sara, you're gonna stay and watch me sing, right?" Mary spun around, a bright red angel against shimmering snow. The girl might have had Andrew's smile and Sara's eyes, but there was no mistaking that Mary's face was her own, soft and not quite oval, and so very dear.

"I would love to stay, but I can't risk being late. I never meant to stay so long in Moose Creek—" Her mouth clamped shut when she realized what she'd said.
I
never meant to stay so long.

"Who knew a blizzard was going to hit the mountains?" Connie reached out. "Come, Mary. Take my hand. Let the men pass."

 Sara bit her lip, grateful. Connie hadn't noticed her slip. Her chest squeezed so that the cold air burning in her lungs could not escape. In today's happiness, in the excitement of shopping for gifts and keeping them secret, she had forgotten who she was. She didn't belong here. And if Connie and Gabe knew the truth, they couldn't help but hate her for every minute of her deception.

Ashamed, she bowed her face, unable to meet the men's gazes as they filed by, tipping their hats to her, murmuring hellos. Maybe in Missoula she could hope to find a man with broad shoulders and a kind smile, someone who could love her. Someone she could love in return.

"They were disappointed, but I chased them off, like the tough sheriff I am." Gabe held open the front door, his confidence as brazen as his smile. "I tell you, it was dangerous there for a few moments."

"Then they realized you weren't any competition." Connie tossed her brother a saucy grin. "They saw you land on your behind on the ice and thought, 'Hey, that clumsy sheriff isn't good enough for the lovely Sara.' "

Sara's face flamed as he winked at her.

Mary giggled. "Pa's not clumsy. Not all the time."

"That's a comfort to know." Sara stepped into the warm home, cozy with its papered walls and braided rugs. Connie already knelt before the potbellied stove in the parlor, stirring the embers to life.

"Pa, where'd you put my dress?"

"I hid the packages in the kitchen, because I knew someone would want to rifle through them." Gabe stepped close.

Sara's skin tingled at his nearness, at the way he towered over her, iron strong and dependable. Mary's shoes pounded against the wood floor as she raced to the kitchen, and Connie sprung up to catch her, reminding the girl there were surprises hidden in those packages and she would search for Mary's dress herself.

"Let me help you with your coat." How warm his voice was, deep but not dark, rich as hot chocolate after a long winter's day.

His hand settled at her shoulder, holding the heavy wool garment so she could slip out of it. Even though they did not touch, she could feel his body's heat, radiant and substantial like the man. He smelled of fresh snow and sharp cedar and faintly of soap. She could see the dark indigo flecks in his eyes, true blue and focused on her face. A small smile tugged dimples into his cheeks.

She stepped away, breathless, as if she'd run three miles. Still, his gaze did not leave hers and she turned away, tugging at her muffler to keep her hands busy. "I appreciate how you had those men leave. I'm not staying, and I'm just not...not looking for a reason to stay in Moose Creek."

"That's too bad." He took the ragged scarf from her fingers, slim and so beautiful. He hung the length of wool on a peg near her cloak. "Moose Creek is not a bad place to live. Friendly. Safe. Besides, we're here—Mary and me."

"Yes." How breathless she sounded, how magical. He hadn't realized quite how much he missed a woman in his life, not until he'd seen her walking home, snow clinging to her scarf and those wispy curls over her brow. Her laughter, low and pleasant, still rumbled through his memory and her sheer concern that he'd hurt himself on the ice.

His heart clenched. How long it had been since a woman, so beautiful and fine, had shown concern for him.

"Here's my dress, Sara." Mary bounded into the room, her velvet red dress scrunched in her arms. "Can you do the cuffs too?"

"Sure I can. It will take no time at all." Sara settled down on the sofa, her soft skirts shivering around her. "I bet I could have this done today."

"Truly?" Mary's adoration shone. "You must be a really good sewer."

"I'm not bad." Pleasure pinkened Sara's face, and he could read her affection for this child as surely as if she'd said the words. She had a kind heart and was fond of children.

Gabe shrugged off his coat. Mary had been a great comfort after Ann's passing. How much harder had it been for Sara, who had no daughter of her own?

"Come over and have supper with us." The words tumbled out before he could call them back, before he lost his nerve.

"Yeah, Sara. Come have supper!" Mary hopped up and down.

Sara's dark-as-a-storm gaze flicked from the girl up to him. "I thought you said you couldn't cook."

"No, but I can make a tolerable stew. If you'd care to risk it." Gabe strode forward, encouraged at not hearing an instant no. After all, she hadn't screamed and bolted from the room at his invitation. That had to be a good sign. "We'd like to have you, Sara. In appreciation for sewing on Mary's dress. You're my sister's guest. You didn't have to agree to do this."

"It's no trouble at all. But a pleasure."

"I don't see how." He sat on the chair near her, unable to stop noticing she was a woman, all curves, slim but firm. "When Connie has to mend something, she curses and swears she's never done such tedious work in all her life."

"I don't find it tedious." Sara placed the lace collar at the dress's neckline. "I enjoy sewing. It beats scrubbing clothes in a laundry for a living."

"Ooh, it's so pretty!" Mary bent over Sara's knees. "Can you make it look that good?"

"Better. You just wait until I have the cuffs on it. You know, we have a bit extra of that matching ribbon you picked out. I could lay it here, over the cuffs, so that the trim at the sleeve matches the trim on the hem."

"Could you, Sara?"

"You bet I can."

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Mary hopped to her feet and charged back into the kitchen. "Aunt Connie, Aunt Connie, guess what Sara's gonna do?" The door swung shut, snapping off her words and Connie's answer.

"You made her happy." Gabe touched the dress laid out on her lap, his fingertips brushing the snowy-white collar. "You never agreed to come."

"To supper?" She could hardly think past the drum of her heart, chugging away like a train uphill. He did this to her, impressive and handsome, substantial and capable. He was all she saw, not the room, not Mary's dress, not the braided rug at her feet. Just Gabe Chapman, his chiseled good looks only part of the attraction. He tugged at her heart, made her feel things she had never known.

"Yes, supper." He reached out, his male-hot fingers brushing the curve of her cheek, then smoothing away the curls tumbling across her brow. How feather soft his touch, yet it made her blood heat, made her want more tenderness, more of his touch. "Give me this chance to thank you, Sara."

"I should be the one thanking you. You rescued me from the train and brought me here, shown me what I've—" She caught herself in time.
What I've never dared to dream of.
Time with her daughter.

"Supper's at six." He stood, withdrawing from her, leaving her cold and aching for more of his closeness. How she wanted more. "I live right across the road. The little log cabin. You can't miss it."

 She stood, clutching Mary's dress in her arms, against her chest where her frantic heart thundered. "But I—"

"No buts, no arguments." Gabe lifted his coat from the pegs, the sincerity in his gaze drawing her like nothing could. "We want you to come."

How she ached at his words. He stepped through the threshold, leaving her alone.

Chapter Five

"I got a question, Pa." Mary skipped into the kitchen, her stick horse clutched in both hands.

"Let me have it." Gabe, used to his daughter's questions, gave the stew a good stir. "I'm ready for anything."

"Oh, Pa." Apparently not amused by her father's humor, she rode her play horse close to the stove. "Do you think Santa brought Sara to us?"

"I don't know. Seems to me Santa specializes in bringing toys, not people." He settled the lid on the kettle. "Where did you get an idea like that? From Aunt Connie?"

"Nope. Just wondered." Mary tilted her head to one side. "Maybe Santa brought the blizzard."

"The one that trapped the train?" Gabe tugged open the pantry door. "I don't think Santa brings blizzards."

"But what if he does?" Mary swiped at the yarn mane of her stick horse. "Sara's awfully pretty, don't you think?"

"Yeah, I do think she's pretty." Beautiful, actually, with a gentle way about her that made his insides curl up. He rifled through the pantry, looking for the basket of fresh biscuits Connie had donated for supper.

"And she's nice. She knows about clothes and how to sew 'em." Mary parked her horse against the corner, where it couldn't topple over. "She was much better than Aunt Connie at pickin' out stuff. She got me the lace collar and the ribbon to match. And the shoes. You didn't get to see the shoes, Pa."

"I have a feeling I'm about to."

With an elfin grin, Mary took off, clattering through the house like a wild buffalo.

Maybe it was one way to look at it—that Santa had brought Mary the opportunity for a new mother. Gabe decided he liked that viewpoint.

He set the covered biscuits on the counter, ready to be popped into the oven to warm at suppertime, and took a look around his kitchen. Checked curtains at the windows framed the view of rapidly falling snow. With the way it was accumulating, there was a chance the crew might not be able to clear the tracks before tomorrow.

And if they did, then all sorts of other events might conspire to keep her here. The engine might be broken. Another blizzard could hit.

The way Gabe looked at it, he ought to take advantage of such an opportunity. Besides, he'd rescued her from the train. He ought to have a shot at winning her heart. He was a lonely man, and not one woman he'd met since Ann's death had made his blood hot, made him feel good from the inside out.

"Look." Mary presented the pair of shiny black patent leather shoes. "And these stockings too."

The lace pattern was a close match to the dress, he would bet. Gabe knelt down to take a look. "She did a good job helping you."

"Just the way a real mother ought to."

Gabe's throat ached looking at the hope glistening in his daughter's blue gray eyes. Through a child's eyes, anything was possible. He knew Mary had watched other girls and their mothers in town walking or shopping together, seen the small touches a woman knew how to do, braid hair a fancy way or tie a ribbon just right.

"Maybe you ought to make Sara fall in love with you, Pa."

"Maybe we shouldn't condemn the woman to such a terrible fate. Jail would be better."

"Oh, Pa. Sara
likes
us."

"How do you know that?"

"Can't you tell?" Mary huffed, apparently exasperated at her thickheaded father. "She smiles when she's with us. If she hated us, she'd frown a lot."

"I'm glad you've thought this through."

"I've done a lot of thinkin'."

Any woman who spent time with his daughter without expecting anything, who did a kind deed for her, whose face changed simply looking at her was a fine lady in his estimation. He had noticed the fondness Sara showed toward Mary. Maybe it was because she'd been widowed so long, without children of her own, without the hope for any until she married again.

He gave the stew another good stir, satisfied with how it was simmering. "We've got some time before Sara shows up. What do you want to do?"

"Let's go play in the snow!" Mary set her new things on the trunk in the parlor, then dashed to the coat tree.

"We'd better get those snowmen built before another blizzard hits." Gabe's gaze slid to the windows. The snow had become a haze, blocking out the view of the street and the houses beyond. "Bundle up."

"Or I'll freeze up like an icicle, I know." Standing on tiptoes, Mary tugged down her coat. "Pa? Maybe you ought to tell Sara she's pretty. That way she'll like you more."

"Thanks for the advice." Gabe knelt to help her with the small buttons. She might be almost five, but she was still little. "Now keep this snug around your throat. I don't want you getting sick."

"I know, Pa." Mary tucked her scarf beneath her coat's collar. She looked like a cardinal, bright red and eager. "Hurry up. We've got snowmen to build."

"I'll be right out." Gabe opened the door and Mary flew out, all pounding boots and excitement. The force of the cold air struck him to the bone.

Before he joined his daughter outside, he checked both stoves to make sure the fires would be warm when Mary clamored half frozen back into the house. Then he lifted his coat from the hook. Dishes sat ready and waiting on the table by the window. The scent of meat and vegetables simmering lingered in the air.