Grayson Brothers Series Boxed Set (4 books in 1) (55 page)

“The kitchen bin is... if you wouldn’t mind, I haven’t brought in any wood today.” She flushed and lowered her lashes.

“Thank you, Claire.”

She looked up in surprise.

“For liking my dog and for accepting my apology when you have every reason not to.”

He turned away, giving her the opportunity to disappear inside while he filled his arms with wood. But when he turned back, she was still standing on the threshold.

“I’ll manage the door for you,” she said, opening it wide so he could step inside.

He did his job in silence. It was enough that she was allowing him into her home. He wouldn’t press her for more.

Not today. But tomorrow... tomorrow he would start over and win her friendship in a gentler, more considerate manner.

“Would you like a cup of tea?” she asked, as he returned from carrying his final armful of firewood upstairs to one of the guest rooms.

Her offer surprised him, and he stopped mid-stride.

Sailor, who had been following him step for step, ran into the back of his legs.

Claire smiled, and called the dog to her side. His toenails clicked on the oak floor as he scrambled across the room and butted up against her.

Boyd shook his head at the dog. “Tea would be nice, if you’re comfortable with your offer.”

“Not completely,” she said, “but I’ll manage if you promise to behave yourself”

“I’ll be a prince,” Boyd promised with a smile.

To his surprise she smiled back. The flash of her white teeth and blue eyes made his hands itch to capture the image on canvas. But his talent wasn’t painting. He had no talent anymore.

“Do you take sugar in your tea?” she asked, moving to the stove to retrieve the tea kettle.

“Only if you think I need sweetening.”

Her lips tilted as she filled two cups. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “Have you considered signing our pledge by any chance?”

To realize she was offering him tea so that she could bend his ear about her temperance pledge was the most deflating setback he’d ever experienced with a woman.

But damn, if he didn’t like her persistence.

He’d had enough easy conquests to know they were generally unfulfilling. This woman offered a challenge. A real challenge. She wasn’t playing coy with him. Her agenda was to get him to sign their pledge and close his saloon.

Nothing more.

Well, he had an agenda, too, and it had nothing to do with making pledges. Feeling a tad mischievous, he accepted his tea with a nod of thanks. “You know, Claire, your home could earn you considerably more money as a saloon.”

Her eyes widened and she gaped at him. He laughed and nearly spilled his tea.

She pursed her lips. “You promised to act like a prince and not a toad.”

“I was merely drawing a comparison, to show you how ridiculous your question was.”

“I suppose it was a ridiculous question.” She sighed as if she’d expected his answer. “I was hoping you would understand what the saloon is costing the rest of us.”

“I don’t want my business to hinder yours, Claire. I’ll do my best to control the noise.”

“Thank you,” she said, but he sensed her disappointment in him. And it bothered him.

Wednesday morning brought Christmas Eve, the second most depressing day of the year for Claire. Christmas Day would be the worst.

She buttered a piece of bread for breakfast and took it to the parlor where she kept her grandmother’s diary. Reading was the only way she could escape the emptiness of her house.

An impatient yelping sounded outside on her front porch.

She smiled and set aside her plate. Her visitor wasn’t a paying boarder, but he was the next best thing. Sailor.

When she opened the door, Sailor stood on her porch wearing a huge red ribbon around his neck and a wide canine grin.

“What’s this?”

Sailor bounded into the foyer, wheezing and tracking a circle of wet paw prints on her parquet floor as he stared up at her.

She laughed and knelt to hug the silly dog. “You don’t have to beg for my affection.”

The dog let out a growly moan and pushed against her side, nearly knocking her over.

“Who put this bow around your neck?” she asked, holding him away from her to look at the red ribbon. A rolled up piece of paper was attached.

Her heart convulsed.

Oh, no. No. She rose to her feet. Not another warning. Not today.

Boyd wouldn’t threaten her. He wouldn’t. So who would have sent this note?

Any of Boyd’s patrons on familiar terms with Sailor.

The dog tilted his head and stared at her as if trying to understand the sudden shift in her demeanor. Her fingers fumbled as she untied the ribbon from around the note and unrolled the parchment.

Merry Christmas, Claire.

Sailor and I would like to take you for a sleigh ride to celebrate the season. Say yes and I’ll close my saloon for the night.

Boyd.

Her breath rushed out, and she sagged against the desk.

It wasn’t a warning. It was an invitation. From Boyd.

She was nothing but a frightened goose!

Sailor nudged her knees with his nose, as if saying he needed an answer for his master.

She swallowed and tried to calm her erratic heartbeat, her palm against her chest. It wasn’t a threat, she reassured herself.

Sailor barked twice, his front paws lifting off the floor.

“A gentleman doesn’t rush a lady,” she said, but she reached for a pen from her desk. She flattened the note on the desktop, prepared to write a short regret, but the last sentence caught her eye. “Say yes and I’ll close my saloon for the night.”

She grinned. He’d finally seduced her into saying yes to one of his proposals. His offer was too tempting to pass up.

What a blessing it would be to have no noise for one entire evening. Two, if she could finagle it. A smile bloomed on her face as she wrote her reply.

Dear Mr. Grayson, Close your saloon Christmas Eve and Christmas night, and I will be ready in an hour.

She rolled the note, tied it to the ribbon then kissed Sailor’s spotted head before sending him outside. He ran across the street and bounded up the saloon steps where Boyd was waiting.

She waved to her handsome neighbor, assuring herself she was only going with him to help the temperance cause. Getting out of her lonely house for a while would be an added benefit.

But an hour later, when Boyd pulled up in front of the house, her heart somersaulted. The white sleigh was decked with red ribbons and silver bells. Two handsome bay Morgans stood in full harness. Sailor—the silly darling—was perched on the floor in front of the seat, still wearing the huge red bow around his neck.

Boyd wore a heavy gray ulster, a Windsor-style plush cap, and a white smile that melted the last of her resistance. He hopped down from the sleigh, swept his cap off his head, and executed a ridiculous bow that made her laugh.

“The Pemberton Inn is officially closed for two evenings,” he said, “which leaves me at your service for forty-eight hours.”

She warned herself not to be drawn in by his flirting and his charm. Charm had nearly been the death of her before. She knew men like Boyd didn’t change their bad habits. And women like her couldn’t live with them.

He swept his gloved hand toward the sleigh, a Portland cutter with hickory knees, nickel-plated arm rails, and a springback seat with a green, broadcloth-upholstered spring cushion. “Your coach awaits, fair lady.”

She laughed and trudged through the snow. “Where did you get this sleigh?”

“My brother Radford and his wife Evelyn own a livery. Evelyn and my niece Rebecca decorated the sleigh for us.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“I’ll give your compliments to Evelyn and Rebecca.” He lifted her into the sleigh, climbed aboard and sat beside her.

Sailor stuck his nose between their knees, wheezing and panting and begging for attention. Boyd wrapped his gloved fingers around Sailor’s jaw and stared the dog in the eyes. “Other side, pal.”

Claire opened her arms to the dog. “Don’t let him bother you, Sailor. Come here and keep me warm. “

The mutt barreled onto the seat but lost his balance, his wet paws scratching at the cushion as he scrambled to stay in the sleigh. His clumsy, comical actions made her laugh.

“You are precious,” she said, brushing his nose with her wool mitten. Sailor settled beside her and gazed up with his canine grin and adoring eyes.

Boyd laughed and nudged Sailor’s jaw. “Where’s your pride?”

The dog ignored him, his attention riveted on Claire. She laughed again and put her arm around the dog, pulling him close to her side. “There’s nothing wrong with showing your emotions.”

“To a point.” Boyd opened a heavy lap robe and laid it over their legs. “But groveling is shameful.”

“For the groveler perhaps—but it’s flattering to the one on the receiving end.” She lifted the robe and tucked it around Sailor. “You’re just being honest in your affection, aren’t you?”

Boyd shook his head. “He’s making a fool of himself.”

Claire kept her arm around the dog, loving his warmth and the feel of his heart beating against her side—and her success at putting Boyd off balance. “Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise.” Boyd winked and lifted the reins. “We’ll stay in town.”

“Thank you.”

His gaze lingered, his smile fading. “You’re so beautiful,” he said, his voice so intimate it sent a tickle swirling through her stomach. “I can’t seem to keep my mind on anything but you.”

Her face heated, but she refused to look away, to let him know how much his flirting affected her. She hadn’t felt this wicked thrill zinging through her since she’d fallen head over heels for Jack. That “thrill” had led her straight into a cage.

But Boyd was only flirting with her. There was no need for nerves. Still, she couldn’t shake the need for caution. “I only agreed to a sleigh ride.”

“I understand. I guess open adoration only works for dogs.”

“I guess so.” She smiled.

He smiled back.

If he were a gentle shopkeeper, or a pastor, or a man without vice, she would welcome his flirtation as harmless, flattering, sincere. She would never marry, of course, not even one of those men, but she would enjoy their companionship.

“Are you warm enough?” he asked.

She nodded then looked away. Companionship wasn’t in her future either. If a man wanted companionship, he took a wife. She would never be a wife. She would spend the rest of her days sharing her house with strangers, decent strangers—travelers, amiable people who left for other climes, troubled people for whom she could be a wayside, young lovers on a honeymoon starting out their married lives. All of them going somewhere. All of them but her. She bit her lip to stop the tumble of her thoughts.

Sailor yawned and flopped across her lap. She stroked his neck, wishing the clumsy mixed-breed mutt belonged to her.

“How long have you had Sailor?” she asked.

Boyd started the horses moving and pulled the sleigh onto the snow-packed street. “A year or so. Found him on my porch, drunk as a sailor, lapping up ale that was draining from a cracked barrel.”

“How shameful.”

“I thought so. He was only a puppy.”

Claire rolled her eyes. “I meant it was shameful for you to leave alcohol lying about where an animal could drink it.”

He chuckled. “It brought us together, gave Sailor a name and a home. What’s so terrible about that?”

She couldn’t argue his point so she scowled at him. “Your mother must have had her hands full with you.”

“My mother adores me.”

“Undoubtedly. But does she adore your choice of profession?”

He winced. “She would rather I work the sawmill.”

“Why don’t you? If I understand correctly, it belongs to you and your three brothers?”

Boyd slowed the sleigh and turned left onto Day Street near the center of town. “I’ve worked the sawmill since I was a boy,” he said, steering the team around a small carriage parked on the side of the street. “I wanted a change.”

“Do you ever think of going back?” she asked, sending up a prayer that he would announce his intentions to close his saloon and return to his family business.

“I’m happy working a few hours a week there. That’s enough.”

“Is it?”

He glanced at her, his expression quizzical. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Because your brothers are there?”

“Kyle is the only one who works the mill full time. Duke and Radford and I work when we can.”

He made a right turn at the intersection of Day and Lambert Streets where Claire had recently marched with her temperance friends. As Lambert Street angled hard left, Boyd veered right and entered Forest Hill Cemetery.

“Is there a reason you’re taking me to a cemetery?” she asked, wondering what on earth he could be planning.

“Yes.” He winked at her, but didn’t say another word.

Huge, snow-covered maple trees and towering pines cast shadows across the narrow lanes that wound through the cemetery. Everything was buried in several inches of snow, but he seemed to know where he was going. The horses’ shod feet kicked up a dusting of snow with each step, the bells on their harness tinkling with each shift of their majestic bodies, creating a light, rhythmic music that captivated Claire.

Boyd guided the sleigh on a winding path through the towering trees and leafless, snow-covered bushes, past squat, somber tombstones and tall monuments. Suddenly he brought the sleigh to a stop, his expression serene and oddly respectful. “I thought you might like to visit your grandparents today.” He nodded toward two matching headstones on Claire’s side of the sleigh.

Stunned, she glanced to her left and saw two gray stones side-by-side with her grandparents’ names engraved on them. She’d never been here, but Boyd obviously had. He must have come earlier to clear the snow off the stones.

In the few weeks she’d been in Fredonia, she’d been so preoccupied with opening and managing her boardinghouse and the temperance marches that she hadn’t yet visited her grandparents’ graves. Her grandmother hadn’t liked coming to the cemetery, and had never brought Claire here to visit her grandfather’s grave. She’d wanted to remember her husband as a living man, not as a cold stone in a cemetery.

Claire had felt the same. Still, she should have visited the cemetery out of respect for her grandparents. Despite the demands of her new responsibilities, she knew she could have squeezed in a visit. Truth was, she hadn’t been able to face the loss of her grandmother, or the reminder of burying Jack.

“I thought we could hang these on their stones,” Boyd said. He lifted two fir wreathes out of a satchel at his feet and handed them to her. Tiny pinecones and elaborate gold bows decorated each wreath.

His thoughtfulness and generosity touched her.

“How did you know they were here?” she asked, keeping her eyes downcast so he couldn’t see the moisture that was blurring her vision.

“I was a pallbearer for Marie.”

She glanced up, surprised by his confession.

“Marie had lots of friends, you know.”

She knew. The summer she’d spent with her grandmother had been filled with daily visitors. Still, it surprised her that her grandmother would have consorted with a saloon owner.

“I know what you’re thinking.” He smiled, and she felt a guilty flush burn her face. “We were good friends. I cared about your grandmother.”

“Do you have any idea what happened... how she died?” The letter from her grandmother’s lawyer hadn’t explained the circumstances. He had just sent the deed with a note saying Claire now owned the house.

“She was beating me soundly in a game of poker when she slumped over the table.”

“You were with her?”

“Yes.” He caught Claire’s hand and stopped her nervous fumbling with the wreath. “She didn’t suffer. Whatever took her was fast and merciful.”

“I didn’t know she played poker.” The instant the words left Claire’s mouth she cringed. What a stupid thing to say. She could have expressed her heartbreak over her grandmother’s death, or thanked Boyd for bringing her here, or... or any number of thoughts circling her mind, but no, she’d blurted out the most mundane and inappropriate comment of all.

“Marie loved playing cards. She was an ace player.”

So was Claire, but she would never reveal the dirty little secret that had enabled her and Jack to eat.

“Pat and I played cards with your grandmother a couple evenings a week. We kept her wood bins stocked and she kept us fed.” He released Claire’s hand and braced a forearm over his knee. “I miss her. She treated me like her own son.”

So that’s why her grandmother had consorted with a saloon owner. She had missed her son. Boyd had filled that void in her life.

A void Claire had created by eloping with Jack while staying with her grandmother. Her father hadn’t spoken to his mother since that day.

Her grandmother couldn’t have known that Jack had a dark side. She would have only heard Claire’s declaration of being in love with Jack Ashier.

Thank goodness she wasn’t here to learn the truth. Jack had been a deeply conflicted and angry man. While living with him, Claire had been just as conflicted.

“Would you like to hang the wreaths now?” Boyd asked.

She nodded, glad to turn away from her thoughts.

Sailor sniffed the wreath and sneezed. She smiled and hugged the dog, knowing she needed him more than he would ever need her.