Maybe This Christmas: A Sweet Historical Western Holiday Romance Novella (Holidays in Mountain Home Book 2) (11 page)

During her youthful romance with Gus, they’d never uttered the words. Yes, she’d fancied herself in love with him, but now it was obvious she had not. Her infatuation had withered upon their separation.

She’d never been in love, and sincerely doubted she
could
be.

How could she lie about something so crucial to Luke, who
knew
what love was? To force those words, just to please him, seemed a greater betrayal than the lies she’d told upon arriving in Mountain Home.

Staring into Luke’s heated gaze, she knew she couldn’t say it,
wouldn’t
.

He waited. As if he desperately needed to hear the words.

Resignation formed on his dear features, firming the set of his jaw, dimming the hopeful light in his eyes. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in the column of his throat. “We cannot go on like this. I
won’t
go on like this. You must tell him you’ve chosen me.”

That was no hardship. Her heart
had
already chosen. “I have. I’ve told him repeatedly.”

He shook his head. “Telling him you will never marry again is not the same thing as telling him you’ve chosen
me
, that you will wed
me
.”

Yes, she’d kissed Luke,
wanted
his affection and his kisses, and been moved by an undeniable connection between them. But it was all happening far too quickly. Without warning, her head swam and she feared she’d faint.
Had
she decided she would forfeit every freedom and marry Luke Finlay?

Her pulse pounded. What had happened to his gentle promises of patience? Hadn’t he told her he’d wait until she was ready? But that was before Gus announced he would live in Mountain Home, spent far too much money on a grand house, and applied for a marriage license.

“You’re right.” She’d held Gus at bay with claims she’d never remarry—and her foolish choice to step into Luke’s embrace the day he’d installed the new stove. But she’d not explained herself, hadn’t told Gus how her heart had softened toward Luke. “There is a difference.”

“Tell him.”

He’d always looked at her with patience, compassion, as if the sun rose and set with her. Was it merely the marriage license and home purchase that triggered this lack of patience and compassion?

“I will. Soon.”

She searched his face, alarmed at the coldness in his expression.

“When?”

“By Christmas—maybe after the holidays. I’ve tried to make him understand—and he couldn’t—this might take time.”

“You have until Christmas, Effie. Five days.” He swallowed, his throat working even as his jaw clenched. “If you can’t let him go, if you can’t
choose
me, tell the world you’ve chosen
me
—” Emotion tinged his words with a bone-deep desperation that cut her to the quick. “We’re through.”

Chapter Nine

“Mrs. O’Leary—why, what brings you out in a snowstorm?” Mrs. Talmadge, a hen-breasted, middle-aged woman with kind eyes ushered Effie into her warm kitchen. The house smelled of spiced apples and buttery pastry, mingled with rich coffee.

“I’m looking for August Rose, or your husband. The Sheriff’s office is vacant.”

“Haven’t you heard?” Mrs. Talmadge took Effie’s cloak and bonnet and seated her near the warmth of the stove. “My man’s in bed with a cough. Doc was here two nights ago, insisted he stay down.”

“He’s ill? I hadn’t heard. I’m sorry—”

“Thank goodness that man of yours came—”

“He’s not—” Effie interrupted, but it was no good. Mrs. Talmadge kept on as if Effie hadn’t spoken.

“—to town when he did. Deputy Rose is out with a half-dozen riders, searching for that troublesome Erickson boy who ran off night before last. He’s caused his mama more than her share of worry.”

It all made sense now, why messages left at the boardinghouse—both verbal and written, as well as on the sheriff’s desk—had gone unanswered.

Mrs. Talmadge set a steaming cup before Effie.

“August Rose is not my man.” She stirred cream and sugar into her coffee.

“That’s not what I heard tell.”

“That’s the problem—lots of talk going around, but it is inaccurate.”

No wonder Luke had reacted so strongly to hearing about a marriage license on top of all the whispered bits of developing romance. He hadn’t known what to believe.

Perhaps it was time to send a note to Luke. He deserved to know she’d made every reasonable attempt to locate Gus. Sooner or later, the trouble with the Erickson boy would pass, and Gus would go back to sitting at the sheriff’s desk until Talmadge recovered and could hold down that post.

“It’s not accurate? Whatever do you mean?”

“August and I are friends, that’s all. I have no intention of wedding him.”

“I hear tell he bought you the mayor’s house. And plans a New Year’s wedding in that fancy parlor.”

“It’s news to me. I never agreed to either.”

“Why ever not?” Mrs. Talmadge blinked, startled by the news. “Why would you walk away from a fairytale?”

She’d asked herself that question a half-dozen times since Luke issued his ultimatum. Her irritation and anger had passed, and now she saw the good sense behind it. “I don’t love Gus. He’s a good man and deserves better.”

“Folks marry for good reasons all the time, often without love.”

Effie savored the strong brew. “I’ve been down that road once, Mrs. Talmadge. I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“You’re mourning awful long for a husband you didn’t love.”

Now that the Christmas rush was over, she have time to sew for herself. Perhaps the cornflower blue that just arrived. “I do believe my mourning period is coming to a close.”

“That’s good to hear. If you’re not sweet on the deputy, maybe you have your eye on someone else.”

“That I do. Perhaps you’ll help spread a bit of accurate information.”

“Oh?” A twinkle lit Mrs. Talmadge’s eye. She no doubt remembered Luke and Gus arm wrestling in her shop. “Wouldn’t be Luke Finlay, would it?”

Effie nodded.

“You’ve fallen in love. That must disappoint Gus.”

Her belly tingled with an anticipation and excitement. “I haven’t had the chance tell Gus my heart is elsewhere.”

Mrs. Talmadge
tsk-tsked
. “The young man will no doubt stop here to check in with the sheriff, and the minute he does, I’ll make sure he knows you’re waiting on him.”

“There’s my girl.” Gus met her on the mayor’s front porch. “Merry Christmas.”

Gentle swells of festive piano music filtered through the residence. Laughter and muted conversation floated above it like a countermelody. The mayor’s annual Christmas Eve party for the merchants and civil servants of Mountain Home was already in full swing.

“Happy Christmas. I’m glad you’re finally back—I’ve been looking for you for days.”

“I got your messages.” He stepped too near. Warm lamplight spilled through lace curtains, casting patterned shadows on his features. “I’ve missed you, and it looks like you missed me, too.”

“We need to talk.” In moments, someone else would come up the walk, the door would open, and the host and hostess would expect them to enter. Now was as good a time as any to ensure he heard her decision.

If she waited until the evenings’ festivities were over, Gus could easily come to an inaccurate conclusion. He’d no doubt expect to dance with her, sit with her at dinner, and escort her to the Christmas Eve service.

“Later. Let’s get you inside where it’s warm.”

“What I must say won’t take long.”

“Come along. Not two minutes ago, Mrs. Abbott announced supper would be served shortly. Can’t it wait?”

She held her ground. “Now.”

He examined her expression. “Let’s walk. Less chance of an interruption that way.” He offered his arm, led her down the stairs and onto the paving stones that wound through flower beds, now barren and covered in snow. “In summer, I hear these gardens were exquisite. Mrs. Abbott’s pride and joy.”

He squeezed her hand where it lay in the crook of his elbow. Her other hand remained tucked in her muff. He gazed up at the house where lamps burned in nearly every window. Eaves dripping with wooden lace and winter’s icicles. She saw this house through his eyes and all it represented.

“I bought this home for us.” He cleared his throat. “For you.”

“I’ve tried to explain, from the beginning, that I had no interest in remarrying. But I was wrong. I didn’t explain myself well.”

He cupped her face, searched her eyes. “Effie, if you’re saying what I think you’re saying, my answer is yes. It’s always been yes.”

“No. Wait.” She tried to step back, but his soothing caress held her fast. “I’m not the woman for you, August Rose, and I cannot marry you.”

“Perhaps, in time…”

“No—and with good reason. These past weeks, I’ve realized my heart belongs to Luke.”

She waited for the statement to sink in. Tinkling piano music carried from the house on a gust of frigid night air. In the dimness of the gardens, she couldn’t make out his expression, but in her heart, she knew she’d wounded him…and it hurt.

“I want
you
to be happy, Gus, and find all your heart desires. I want you to find the perfect companion who’ll love you for the man you are today, who’ll be thrilled you came into her life—” her breath caught on a sob. “
I
deserve those good things, too.”

“I
have
found that perfect companion, the one woman I want.” His hands still framed her face. “I have you.”

She shook her head in denial. He couldn’t miss the gesture, not while cupping her head. “
I love Luke.”

“I gave up everything for you,” he whispered, so quickly, he may not have heard her heart-rending statement. “You said you wanted to remain in Mountain Home, so I uprooted myself and found employment here, for you.” Emotion tightened his voice with deep, raw emotion. “I offered to return with you to Hartford so your sister could stand up with you in our wedding. At home, I purchased a diamond ring to put on your finger. I bought the best house in the valley, for you.”

Why couldn’t she love him back?
That
was what he asked. Every expensive, tangible gift was a gut-wrenching plea. He wanted her to love him.

And she didn’t.

She
couldn’t
.

Her heart belonged irrevocably to someone else.

Tears flowed freely over her cheeks. Shame washed through her and turned her stomach. How she regretted allowing things to get this far. She should’ve tried harder from the beginning to ensure he understood her. “I’m sorry, Gus. So terribly sorry.”

“Then take pity on me. Marry me.” He dropped to his knees on the icy paving stones. He pulled off her muff and swallowed both of her hands in his. His face turned up, catching just enough distant light to show intense and genuine desperation on his face. “I love you, Euphemia Scofield, enough for both of us. It’s OK you don’t love me back, not right now. I know I can win you. It’ll just take time.”

“Gus—” Obviously, he still had not
heard.

“Unless you say yes, don’t speak.” He swallowed, a soft, audible thud. “Marry me out of pity. Marry me because I should have whisked you away from your father and saved you from Carmichael. We could’ve been blissfully happy.”

He fell silent, kissed the back of her right hand, then her left. A hot tear upon her bare flesh signaled the depth of his distress.

How could she do this to him? She remembered that summer, how her young heart had broken when confronted with her father’s fury. How desperately she’d missed Gus after Father sent him away.

But he’d come for her, across two thousand miles, because he loved her still.

She could understand his reasons, why he’d searched for her for nearly a year, why he’d resigned from a coveted post with the Marshals.

Ultimately, comprehending wasn’t enough. In the darkest moment of the past four days without Luke, with his deadline ticking ever closer, she’d come to the stark, life-altering realization that Luke deserved better and Gus deserved better…and ultimately, so did she.
She
—Euphemia Carmichael—
deserved
better
. Better than marriage to a man who loved her enough to move to Mountain Home and buy her the best available house. Better than marrying a man who loved her but she did not love in return. She deserved better.

“I’ll make you happy,” he vowed, his tone conveying the depth of his conviction. “I’ll ask your opinion on every decision. I’ll share every corner of my life with you. We’ll have children, God willing. If you want to keep your business, then do it. Give me the dream I’ve sought for nearly ten years—you.”

He reached deep into his trouser pocket and pulled something out…a ring. She saw it reflect in the long shadows from the house.

A more impassioned proposal, she’d never heard. But side-by-side, compared to Luke’s simple declaration of love and his desperation to know she belonged to only him, Luke’s touched her heart in a way she’d never thought possible, while Gus’s saddened her.

“August.” She tugged, urging him to stand.

He rose, that ring offered on the palm of his hand. Lamplight from the distant windows shimmered in his eyes as he held her gaze.

Her heart squeezed. “I’ve heard every word. Now hear me. I will marry Luke Finlay—not right away, and maybe not for months or even years. But I
will
marry Luke. I love him with the depth and breadth you’ve just voiced. Can you understand why I won’t give that up?”

Slowly, as if swallowed in physical pain, Gus clenched a fist around that ring.