Carol Ritten Smith (13 page)

There was a scramble between Mary and Davy, but Mary, despite her size, got to him first. She threw her arms around him, chocolates, guitar, and all, and planted a smacking smooch upon his cheek. “Merry Christmas, Tom dear,” she said, hugging him close, rocking him like a six-foot tall baby.

Tom grinned helplessly over her shoulder.

Earl came to the rescue. “Woman, at least let the poor man put his things down before you attack him.” He divested Tom of his load. “Sure doesn’t get that excited when
I
walk through the door.”

“That’ll be the day when you come home with chocolates,” Mary chided.

“Ah, you poor dear. How you suffer.” Tom laughed and draped his heavy coat onto a chair and sat down to yank off his boots.

Davy had waited long enough. “Merry Christmas, Tom.”

“And to you too, Bud.” Tom picked him up, squeezed him, flipped him upside down and carried him around the kitchen, pretending he hadn’t noticed he was holding the giggling, squirming boy wrong side up. “Yessiree. Something sure does smell good. Turkey, potatoes — wait a minute! What’s that?” He sniffed as if testing the air and then frowned. “I just got a whiff of something rotten.” He sniffed until the scent led him to turn and look at the lad’s stocking feet. “Well, Davy Patterson, what in the name of holy socks do you think you’re doing? Don’t you know which way is up yet?” He flipped the delighted red-faced boy around. “There, that smells better.”

He grabbed a couple cookies from a tray, giving one to Davy and biting off a chunk of the other before Mary slapped his fingers.

He turned to Beth standing in the doorway to the parlor. “Merry Christmas.”

“Thank you. Same to you,” she answered, smiling congenially.

Davy practically climbed up Tom’s chest to whisper in his ear, and when Tom nodded and set him down, Davy giggled behind his hands.

Beth watched the blacksmith swallow his cookie, brush away the crumbs from his mouth and run his tongue over his teeth as he sauntered toward her. By the time she realized his intentions, it was too late to escape. He grasped her gently by her shoulders and whispered, “Mistletoe. I’d be less than a man if I let this opportunity pass by.”

Panic coursed through her as he leaned forward, closer and closer, until his slate blue eyes nearly filled her vision. And then her own eyes closed just as naturally as she breathed and she felt his lips gently press against hers for a few seconds.

Peppermint. He smelled of icy peppermint, though his lips were anything but icy cool. They were soft and warm, and her stomach did a wonderful little flip-flop.
So this is what it’s like to be kissed by a man. Rather nice.
Her lips turned up slightly.
I feel so … so tingly all over.

A second kiss brought Beth abruptly from her reverie. Her eyes popped open to find, not Tom’s, but Earl’s face lifting away from hers. She blushed profusely as chaotic thoughts coursed across her mind. What had Earl thought as she stood there with her eyes closed? Did he presume she was waiting for a Christmas kiss from him also? Across the kitchen, Tom leaned against the dry sink, his arms crossed in front of him, and an amused smirk upon his face.

Though she would have preferred racing out the door to cool her burning cheeks, she held her head high, and thrust her chin out as if daring him to say a word.

“Earl dear, come carve the turkey, would you please?” Mary ushered them both into the parlor and when Beth protested, insisting she should be helping, Mary answered, “Heavens, you’ve already helped more than any guest should.” She pointed to a chair. “Sit. We’ll call you when it’s ready.”

Tom stood until Beth was seated and then he took the armchair across from her. Davy crawled right up on his knee, no invitation extended.

“Davy,” she admonished, “there are plenty of chairs.”

“I know.” Nevertheless, he settled comfortably against Tom’s chest.

“Where’s Bill?” Tom asked, rearranging Davy so the boy’s bony butt didn’t dig into his thigh.

“At Annaleese Hewn’s,” she replied.

“I’ve seen them together around town.” He turned to Davy, who, at the moment, was playing with the strings of his bolo tie. “So, Bud, what did you get from Santa?”

Davy sat forward on his knee. “A spinning top. And it whistles. Don’t it, Beth? It’s in my coat. Wanna see it?”

“I sure do.”

Davy scrambled off his knee and when the boy was out of earshot, Tom said, “I hope you don’t mind, but I have a gift for him.”

“That wasn’t necessary.”

He shrugged. “I wanted to. It’s my old knife. My pa gave it to me when I was about Davy’s age. He’s had his eye on it for some time now, and I don’t need two.”

“But it’s from your father. Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” He placed the small wrapped package under the tree and was back in his chair before Davy returned. Soon the two of them were on their hands and knees, chasing the spinning top across the hardwood floor, while Beth lifted her feet whenever it scooted past.

Before long, Mary called them for dinner. “Beth, why don’t you sit here and, Tom, you take the seat on her left.” She steered Davy by the shoulders to the opposite side. “How would you like to sit beside Earl on the other side? That’s a boy.”

Tom shook his head and decided if there was one thing his dear aunt lacked, it was subtlety. Mistletoe in every doorway. Special seating arrangement. What a matchmaker! She just couldn’t bear to see anyone unattached.

“Shall we bow and join hands for grace?” Mary suggested as she took her seat.

“Who’s Grace?” Davy asked.

Beth cringed.

Not to embarrass the boy, Tom patiently explained, “Grace is the prayer we say before we eat to ask God to bless the food.”

“You say prayers before you eat?” The look on his face displayed that this was something he’d never before considered. “Gee, I only say prayers at night.” He shrugged his shoulders as if he didn’t care, so long as he got to eat soon.

Around the table, they all joined hands. Tom’s large hand covered Beth’s, his fingers curling hers up inside his palm, and he gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

• • •

“Let’s go, Tom.” Davy positioned the sled at the top of the hill.

“You go ahead. I’d better wait awhile. I think I overdid it on your sister’s Christmas pudding. Here, I’ll help you get going.” He held the sled while Davy climbed aboard. “Ready?”

At the boy’s nod, Tom gave a hefty push. It was a swift ride to the bottom, but a long walk back up. The adults watched as the boy went repeatedly down and up the hill.

“Land sakes, I wish I had that boy’s energy,” Mary laughed.

“I don’t know about anyone else,” Tom said, “but I’m ready to give it a go.” The next time the sled went down the hill, Tom was on the back with Davy squeezed between his knees.

A short while later they returned and Tom flopped back in the snow, grinning ear to ear. “That was great. You should try it, Beth.”

“Yeah, you and Tom go,” Davy suggested.

Mary was quick to agree. “Yes, do. That’s a wonderful idea.”

“But the sled’s not long enough for two adults,” Beth protested, shaking her head.

“Nonsense. Why it held three of my big strapping boys when they were growing up. There’s plenty of room.”

“Come on, Beth,” Davy coaxed. “Don’t be scared.”

“I am
not
scared.”

Tom grinned as he swept the snow off the sled. “Prove it.”

Under duress, she plunked herself down on the sled, rearranging her bulky skirt so it wouldn’t drag on the snow or get run over by the runners.

“You’ll have to slide forward to make room for me,” Tom said.

She wiggled her way forward some and he sat behind her, his bent knees cradling her body in an all too personal way. She felt his arms come around her to hold the rope, hugging her from behind. It was strangely exciting yet disconcerting at the same time.

Tom worked his feet under her skirt and then leaned forward and whispered, “There’d be more room on this sled if you were wearing those britches you had on the first time we met.”

That did it! She was getting off, but just as she tried to stand, Earl gave the sled a mighty shove and she fell back into Tom’s arms. They were off.

It was a fast, fearsome, heart-pounding ride. Snow from the runners sifted up into her face and the ground passed in a blur of white. Sturdy twigs, poking through the snow, snagged her skirt, pulling until the hem dragged in the snow. The sled veered right. Too late, she saw the jump made by some dare-devil. They hit it going full tilt, sending the sled airborne. Its two passengers flipped and landed like rag dolls tossed upon the snow. Tom, laughing, stood first and brushed the snow off his clothing.

Beth didn’t stir.

“Beth?”

She didn’t move.

Fear gripped at his heart. He quickly knelt beside her. She was lying face down in a tangled heap of skirts and petticoats. Her hair was torn from its tidy chignon and fanned out upon the snow. “Beth,” he repeated, distressed by her stillness, “are you all right?” Ever so gently, he rolled her on to her back.

She blasted him with a handful of loose snow, hitting him in the face. For a fleeting second he was too surprised to respond and she took advantage of his momentary disbelief to scramble to her feet.

“That’s for the remark about my britches,” she said indignantly, though she had a difficult time remaining that way when he looked so comical with snow caught in his hair and eyebrows and eyelashes. Furling her skirt around her, she turned and trudged up the hill.

Thud! A snowball hit her squarely between the shoulders.

“And that’s for scaring the hell out me,” he called after her. “I thought you were dead.” And then he threw another one at her which whizzed past her head.

She spun about. “And what was that for?”

Tom held up his hands in an innocent shrug, his grin wider than a sickle blade. “No reason. Just because.”

Okay, mister, if a snowball fight is what you want, a snowball fight is what you’re going to get.
She retaliated by grabbing up a handful of snow, forming a hasty snowball and winging it for all she was worth at him. She took refuge behind a cluster of shrubs on the side of the hill.

He raced to the sled, flipped it on its side and took cover. They hurled snowballs back and forth in fast and furious succession, most missing their mark, but a few right on target.

Eventually there was a lull from Tom’s front line.
He’s stockpiling them to throw all at once.
Beth busied herself doing the same, giggling in nervous anticipation. Cautiously, she peeked around the shrubbery. He was coming toward her, waving his handkerchief above his head like a white flag.

“Truce,” he called innocently.

She crouched low behind her cover.
Is that so? Come a little closer and we’ll see.
She waited until she estimated he’d be just a few yards away and then she let him have it, two snowballs at a time.

Laughing, Tom charged her, dodging the barrage of snowballs. He dove at her and grabbed her arms with one hand. “Hey, lady, don’t you know what a white flag means?” he asked.

“I’m not as gullible as you might think, Tom Carver! Usually when someone raises the white flag of surrender, he doesn’t have the other hand loaded with ammunition,” she responded, laughing.

He brought his hand from behind his back. “Guilty,” he confessed and then tossed the snowballs high in the air so they would come down on her. She ducked them.

Laughing, the couple fell back on the snow, exhausted, and stared at the clear blue sky above them. Then Tom began to chuckle and soon his chuckle turned into a down right good laugh that chugged puffs of white vapor into the air like steam from a locomotive engine.

“What? What’s so funny?”

“Oh nothing.” He laughed in spite of his reply.

“What? Tell me!”

He could barely get the words out. The more he thought of it the funnier it seemed. “I just remembered the last time I pelted a teacher with a snowball.” He broke into another spasm. “He gave me the strap for it.” By now, tears were rolling down his face.

Beth raised herself on her elbow and looked at him in disbelief. “And that’s funny?”

“No,” he answered and then rolled back and forth, arms folded across his gut as he succumbed to another fit of laughter. “It hurt like the dickens.”

She stared at him for a minute and then began laughing too. It was ludicrous to laugh about something so serious, but somehow that made it seem all the more hilarious, and they rolled on the snow holding their sides.

Finally, when the humor passed, Tom turned and studied Beth, a smile still playing on his lips. He hadn’t had a good belly laugh in a long time. It felt wonderful, and it felt even more wonderful because he had shared it with her. “You know,” he said, “I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you laugh. I like it.”

Beth sat up abruptly.

“And your hair, you should leave it down, like at the Christmas concert. It’s real pretty that way.”

Pretty!
She was unaccustomed to compliments, and especially from him. He was making it increasingly difficult not to like him. It had been so much easier to keep her guard when he had been taunting her. She hastily rolled her damp hair and pinned it back up as best she could and then stood, brushing the snow from the folds of her skirt.

“We’d better get the sled back up the hill before Davy has a fit.” She marched on ahead of him, leaving him to drag the sled. And he didn’t mind one bit because he got to watch the sway of her skirt as she sallied up the hill.
Not bad, not bad at all.

The moment the sun started sinking behind the hill, the temperature dropped drastically and the exhausted group hurried back to the Betner’s home.

“Now you all go into the parlor,” Mary instructed, taking everyone’s coats. “Why don’t you get out your guitar, Tom, while I fix us something warm to eat. Earl, would you help me, please?”

It amused Beth the way Mary could take control, firing orders and everyone automatically obeying them. She presumed that years of teaching in a one-room schoolhouse had made Mary that way and it was only a matter of time until she would be the same. She smiled, thinking that, as far as Bill was concerned, she was already too bossy.