A Log Cabin Christmas (42 page)

Luis touched Molly’s hand. “Come outside with me. Perhaps we can see the Christmas star tonight?”

She raised her eyebrows at her brother.

“Go.” Jamie waved an indulgent hand. “Ye have my blessing.”

“Aye?”

“Aye,” he laughed.

She kissed him on the cheek. “Thank ye.” Molly put on her woolen shawl and followed Luis out to the wide breezeway between the cabins. They faced the pasture, where the horses huddled together against the December wind. Stars twinkled white in the ebony sky.

“I have long wanted to ask you about something,” Luis said. “Why did you offer to water my horse that day I met you?”

“My parents always said to watch for opportunities to do the right thing.” She shrugged. “Ye looked so tired and discouraged, I wanted to do something for ye.”

“Thank you.” Luis touched Molly’s arm. “Have you decided about my offer?”

Molly ran her hand along the cabin’s rough logs. “I been thinking about how different we be, but as I listened to ye read about Mary and her faith, it reminded me of how much faith it takes to live in Texas.”

Luis nodded. “Making a life from scratch took a great deal of faith for you and your brother. Like Mary and Joseph, you traveled a far way to make a home.”

“As did your family, and that took faith. I think we be like this dogtrot cabin. We each have our own way of living, our own cabin.” She pointed to both sides of the breezeway.

“Sí.”

“Like a dogtrot cabin, a marriage combines two different people to shelter one family. Do ye understand?”

Luis took both her hands. “Yes. Do you believe God’s love can cover our traditions and cultures to unite us?”

Her lips parted, and joy filled her voice. “I know what ye say be possible.”

“You have my heart, mi corazón. I love you, Molly.”

She looked him in the eye. “Te adoro, Luis. I love ye.”

His laughter rumbled low. “Then will you marry me?”

“Yes.”

He touched her cheek, tipped up her chin, and kissed her. Molly’s knees gave way, and he hugged her close. “When?” he whispered.

“Tomorrow.”

Luis laughed.

When Molly began to hum “Joy to the World,” he tucked her hand into his elbow and led her out from under the dogtrot roof toward the paddock. “Let me show the golden filly you’ll ride tomorrow, mi corazón.”

“A horse for me?”

“A present for my beloved to ride to her Christmas wedding.”

A direct descendent of the Reverend Thomas Hanks depicted in
The Dogtrot Christmas
, Michelle Ule is a writer, genealogist, and Bible study leader. She graduated from UCLA with a degree in English Literature and married a navy submarine officer whom she followed all over the world with their four children. Michelle lives in northern California with her family.

by Debra Ullrick

This book is dedicated to my eighty-seven-year old mom, who fluently speaks low-German and whose parents were Germans from Russia. Thank you, Mom, for answering my many questions about our heritage and for helping me with the German. God bless you, Mom. I love you.

A
wnya O’Crean hoisted her rifle, took aim, and eased the hammer back. Just as she narrowed her gaze through the sight and fingered the trigger, a large gloved hand covered her thumb and raised the barrel of her gun. “What are you doing?” she hissed through a whisper, not even looking at the person who had the nerve to deny her a much-needed meal. “You trying to get your fingers blown off?”

“Nein
. But that animal you vill not shoot.”

Snapped into the reality that some stranger had his hands on her rifle, Awnya’s gaze swung toward the man with the thick German accent. Her gaze trailed upward a foot or more before landing on the face of the barrel-chested giant standing beside her.

Her heart raced fast and hard, but she would not let him catch sight of her fear. That’s one thing her pa had taught her. Well, kind of. Pa had referred to wild animals not sensing her fear, but this man was big enough to be an animal, a two-legged version, so the lesson held true. She glanced at the deer that had raised its head and stared straight at her only twenty yards away. “Let go of my rifle.”

“Nein. I vill not. That deer is my pet.”

Pet? She lowered her gun. She couldn’t believe she’d almost killed someone’s pet. She wasn’t that hungry. Okay, she was, but she would never kill someone’s pet to fill her stomach. She slid her face upward and fought not to notice the bluest eyes or longest lashes she’d ever seen. “Your pet? Are you serious?”

“Ja.” He stared back at her from under a snow-covered cowboy hat.

Defeat settled into her weary bones. Now what would she do for food? Hunger cramps stabbed her stomach.

Snowflakes floated down like an erupted feather pillow. She needed to hurry and find some other game and get back to her cabin before she got stranded. But how? She’d burned up all her energy hunting for her next meal and had wandered around in circles for hours until she no longer knew which way was home.

Oh Pa. If you were still alive, there’d be plenty of food, and I wouldn’t be out in this blizzard hunting. Before her pa’s death seven weeks back, he had filled their
meat cave, but somehow wild animals had gotten the latch open and stolen every bit of it. Awnya had her suspicions about wild animals stealing it, and so had her pa, but proving it was another thing. No sense dwelling on that now. She needed to get food, and soon, or she might very well end up buried beside him.

With no money to buy supplies, her only other option was to hunt. If only she could trap animals like her father. Then at least the pelts would give her enough money to put food on the table. But that took more skill than she possessed.

Her gaze wandered toward the deer still standing there but no longer looking at her. She stared longingly at the animal. Despite the fact the doe was this man’s pet, she still pictured turning it into a large pot of venison stew. Her mouth watered, and her gut rumbled, sending sharper more painful cramps than before.

With no warning the man’s hand came to rest on her shoulder, now piled with at least a half-inch of snow.

She glanced at his hand then up at him. Snowflakes melted against her bare face.

“Since I am responsible for you not getting meat, come to my cabin,
und
I vill give you some.”

Tempting. Mighty tempting indeed. But she didn’t know this man. She looked around for a cabin and saw none. How far was his place? Did she dare trust him? For all she knew he could be a crazy person or a murderer. Well, she’d take her chances dying in the wilderness or starving before she would go anywhere with him.

Awnya stepped back, putting distance between them. “No thank you. I’ll keep hunting until I find something.”

He glanced upward at the snow falling heavier now then back down at her. “You must come to my place und stay the night.”

“What?” She put even more distance between them. “Are you gone in the head? I am a God-fearing woman, mister, and I won’t have my reputation tainted. I’ll take my chances getting home, thank you kindly.” It would be a chance, too. A huge one. If only she’d paid attention to where she’d traveled, but she hadn’t. She’d been too intent in her search for food. And now every rock, every draw, and every tree looked alike—stark white. Awnya’s heart dropped.

Things sure were simpler when they’d lived in the Colorado flatlands. Down there, she used the Rocky Mountains as her guide. She could find her way anywhere because the mountains were always west of where she’d lived. Here in the high country, she was surrounded by them. Aside from all that, she still loved living in Grand County. Or she had until her pa died.

Oh, Lord, why didn’t I pay closer attention to where I was going? Please help me out of this situation
.

Her stomach rumbled again, and her body was getting weaker and colder by the moment. The only thing left at home to eat was flour and lard, and there was barely enough to make even a small batch of biscuits—biscuits without milk.

“Fräulein
, I assure you. You are perfectly safe with me.” His deep, gentle voice pulled her attention off her dire situation and onto him. “I am a God-fearing man myself, und we vill not be alone. My children und
meine mutter
live with me.”

How many children could this man have? He didn’t look a day over twenty-five.

Her insides screamed at her not to go with him. Oh dear. What to do. Should she go? He said he wasn’t alone. And the snowfall had increased significantly.

In the short time she’d lived here, one thing she’d discovered was a person never knew what the weather would do. She could venture out in a cloudless sky and within an hour find herself in a blizzard. Like now. This morning she’d started out under a clear blue sky. Now the clouds hung low, and it would only be a matter of minutes before things turned into a complete whiteout.

She swallowed the lump of indecision stuck in her throat. No other sane choice remained but to take this man up on his offer. Trying to find her way home in this storm would be certain death. And not a pretty one either. “Is your place nearby?” she asked with a tilt of her head.

“Ja. Over the hill. We need to hurry, fräulein, before we can see no longer.”

“I’ve only been in this neck of the woods a few months, and I’m already finding that out.”

He chuckled. And what a nice chuckle it was.

A gust of wind slapped icy patches of snow onto her nearly frostbitten skin. Awnya wrapped her scarf around her nose and mouth and tucked the edges deeper into her coat. With a new resolve to do what she had to do to survive, she pulled her shoulders back and looked up at him. “Lead the way, mister.”

Rifle in one hand and her lodgepole pine in the other, she followed him. She used her pole like an oar and lifted the toe of each snowshoe upward, forward, and then down.

Thank the good Lord, when she and her pa had first moved here, Pa had purchased two pairs of Norwegian snowshoes and two lodgepole pines. The long snowshoes made maneuvering through the trees and deep snow much easier.

At the top of the hill the man extended his hand toward her. “Here. Take my hand.”

Because it was slippery, Awnya reluctantly complied. Her small hand disappeared in his.

Down the hill she and the stranger traipsed.

Stranger.

Awnya realized she didn’t even know his name. Apprehension crawled up and down her spine like a million spider legs. She yanked her hand from his.

He glanced at her. Then as if he understood her hesitation, he continued walking sideways down the hill, peering back often.

Awnya continued to follow him. She prayed for God’s protection from the weather and the elements but mostly from the brawny man who had piqued her curiosity.

He stopped at a corral gate, opened it, and then motioned for her to precede him. She stepped through the gate and paused. Since when does one go through a corral to get to a house? What was this man doing anyway? Was he even taking her to a house?

The urge to whirl and flee as far away from him as possible hung in her brain like a large icicle until the hazy shape of a cabin came into focus.

Several yards in front of her stood a log cabin with another log cabin on top.

Very strange. Very strange indeed.

The top cabin had a door with a window on each side, but the bottom cabin had no door, only an opening. What kind of person would build a doorway without a door? Just then a cow stuck its head through the opening.

“Oh!” She stepped back. “You share your home with animals?” Awnya couldn’t keep the incredulousness from her voice.

“Nein. We lived there until I built that cabin.” He pointed upward to the cabin sitting on top of where the cows were housed. “We live there now.”

“Above the animals?” This man was nuttier than a sack full of walnuts.

“Ja. Their body warmth rises und helps heat my home.” He smiled, revealing white even teeth.

“How many animals are in there?”

“Eight dairy cows.”

How big was that place? She really wanted to peek inside to see, but with the increasing snowfall, now was not the time to go exploring.

“Come, fräulein. We must hurry.” He clasped her free hand and led her through the corral.

On her left, nestled against the trees, stood a large barn. A single fence separated the corral they were in from the one with the plank wood barn. They stopped at another gate and went through it. Once he had it securely latched, they headed around the side of the lower cabin to a set of stairs that went to the upper place.

Before going up, she removed her snowshoes, tucked them and her pole securely under her arm, and then draped her rifle sling over her shoulder.

Up the slippery stairs she climbed, struggling the whole way to keep her footing. Partway up, a strong gust of wind pushed her body sideways. Her foot slid out from under her.

“Careful.” His strong hand clasped hers, pulling her upright.

Her foot slipped yet again.

“Forgive me, fräulein, for taking liberties but …” With that, he scooped her up into his arms, and Awnya’s breath fled. “This way we can quicker get there.”

He was right, and the quicker the better, so she let him carry her. Through her bearskin fur coat, the strength of his muscular forearms on the back of her legs and shoulders both frightened her and made her feel safe at the same time.

Horse, soap, a heated body, and crisp air drifted from him. Without trying to be too obvious, she studied the man.

Underneath the brim of his black cowboy hat, a lone strand of brown hair lay against his forehead. His masculine nose had a slight hump in the middle, and a day’s worth of stubble dotted his square jawline and upper lip. Having never been kissed before, she wondered what it would be like to feel his lips on hers.

His mouth curled into a smile, accompanied by two dimples, and his chest vibrated against her as a deep chuckle escaped. Oh dear. Had he caught her studying his mouth? Her gaze darted upward, clashing into his.

The mirth in his eyes said, yes, he had caught her. Her cheeks, no longer cold, burned with mortification.

Awnya yanked her attention away from him. She wanted to release her arm from around his neck, but she had no choice but to cling to him as he continued up the steps. If she were honest with herself, she really didn’t mind. Being held in his arms felt nice.

A little too nice. Cozy. Snuggly even. She could get used to this.

Amadeus Josef wanted to slow his pace. A long time had passed since he had held a woman. Lye soap, forest floor, mixed with damp animal hair teased his nostrils.

Since his wife’s death four years before, loneliness followed him like a yapping puppy. For two years now he had prayed for a mother for his children and a loving wife. Could this woman in his arms be God’s answer?

He was not sure. Deep inside something had stirred when he’d noticed her staring at his mouth. He knew the moment she realized he had caught her. Her green eyes widened, and her cheeks turned redder than they already had been from the cold. The temptation to laugh again came strong, but he didn’t. Women were inquisitive creatures. To have to admit his instant attraction toward her and how he wanted to feel her rosebud lips on his would not do.

He forced his attention from her and finished climbing the stairs. At the landing, he noticed a loose porch rail and a missing piece of chinking above his mother’s bedroom window. Tomorrow morning after chores, he would fix the rail. But the other, he had no choice but to wait until the ground thawed to mix mud and clay together to fill in the hole. For now, he would stuff a rag in the gap.

“Uh, you can set me down now.”

He looked at her amused eyes. He did not wish to put her down. He enjoyed holding her.

“I don’t even know your name.”

“Amadeus Josef. Und yours is …?”

“Awnya O’Crean.”

“Pretty name. You are Irish, ja?” He set her on her feet.

“Yes.”

“That explains the red hair.” He reached over and brushed at a lone strand the wind had blown across her face.

Their eyes connected and lingered longer than a moment.

“My mother’s hair was the same color.” Awnya turned her face from his, but not before he saw her glistening eyes.