Jillian Hart (13 page)

She knelt to release the buckles. The traces came free and the gelding calmed. "That's a boy."

"Here, give me the reins and I'll tie him." Gabe's gloved hand reached out.

"I can handle this." She walked the gelding, stomping down the snow to make it more stable, then led him up the incline and back onto solid snow.

"He'll run off."

"He hasn't yet" Sara did not dare lift her gaze to Gabe and see his strength or remember the heat of his kisses. Keeping her heart cold, she climbed back down to the fallen sled and concentrated on her work. "Why did you come after me? You shouldn't have left Mary. You should have stayed home where it was warm. It's Christmas Eve."

"Why did you leave the gifts?"

 "You rode all this way to ask me that?" She curled her fingers around the sled's sideboard and yanked hard. The vehicle refused to budge, lying on its side, wedged nearly upside down.

"You didn't answer my question."

She squinted up at him through the thickly falling flakes, white flecks of cold that tumbled like rain to the ground. "It's Christmas. Giving gifts is customary."

"Not when you leave without a word and never expect to return." He strode down the incline, his brows furrowed, his jaw clamped tight.

She whipped back around and took hold of one sharp runner. "Get back on your horse, Gabe. My future isn't in Moose Creek."

"It's not in Missoula either." He nodded toward the horizon. "Another storm's blowing in. We've got to find shelter before it hits."

"Then you head back to town alone. I can take care of myself." Sara struggled to turn the sled, her muscles straining, tears building in her eyes. She would not accept his help, would not lean on him. Besides, she could never return to Moose Creek.

"Scoot over and let me get a good hold on that runner. It's wedged tight in the snow."

She moved over, but she didn't leave the job for him to do. He had to give her credit for her stubborn will. So independent she was, even resigned to needing his help. They counted to three and pulled together, the sled moaning and giving a bit.

"This isn't working." Sara swiped the snow gathering on her lashes with the back of one mittened hand. "Maybe you could push while I pulled."

He'd thought of that too, and circled around her, but she would not meet his gaze. Her back stiffened as his sleeve brushed hers. Stubborn and independent and strong. He liked that combination, especially in this woman who did not assume, who did not want much for herself.

She gripped the runner and baseboard of the sled hard. When he pushed, he could feel how strong she was. She had done hard work on the farm, he guessed. Working together, they finally were able to roll the sled over onto its runners.

"Thank you for your help." Already she was kneeling down, hitching up.

Gabe caught the leather straps on his side of the sleigh and quickly tugged and buckled. "You can't make it to Missoula before the storm."

"It's already storming." Fat chunks of snow drove on the wind.

"It'll only get worse. Come on. Let's go back."

"It's my decision to make, Gabe. Tell Mary"—her eyes clouded, so gray with bleak sorrow—"Merry Christmas."

She snapped the reins and the gelding grudgingly stepped forward. The sled eased up out of the broken snow and onto safer ground, runners squeaking on the shadowed ice. He watched her go, a stubborn woman determined to cling to her course, the only future she had.

He could understand that He knew all about pride and loss and being afraid.

The falling snow obscured the towering mountains, graceful foothills and the stands of timber as far as eye could see. The snow blanketed the land, a gray white shroud that cloaked Sara's retreating form so that she was only a splash of black and gray against the webby-blue shadows of dusk.

How she must have grieved, losing her new husband the way she had. And since she hadn't been able to keep her baby, it must have been damn hard to keep right on living, feeling with her heart, believing happiness could happen to her again.

He kicked his gelding into a brisk lope. "You aren't going to make it to Missoula—not like this."

Her chin shot up. She held herself so tight, not just from the frigid wind, but as if she were ready to break from the inside out, to fracture into a million pieces.

"I don't want you here. I didn't ask you to come after me." She tried to sound fierce, but her voice remained thin and wobbly, shaky with emotion. "I said good-bye. Why can't you leave it at that?"

"I just thought you'd like to know you're on the wrong road."

"Then it's my problem, Gabe, and I'll find my own way." She bowed her head, squeezing her eyes shut. A muscle jumped in her jaw. "It's Christmas Eve, so go home and spend it with your daughter."

"I'm not going home alone." Gabe caught hold of the rented gelding's bit and drew the animal to a stop. He circled his horse around to look at her, covered with snow, her face white from the cold. "I know, Sara."

"What?"

"I know you're Mary's real mother."

A terrible shaking sluiced through her, and Sara wrapped her arms around her stomach. Had Connie told him? No, she was the kind of woman who wouldn't betray a confidence, even an implied one.

He'd guessed on his own, because she stayed too long, indulged herself spending time with Mary, time she had no right to.

"I know I broke my agreement. I signed papers—it was legal. I said I would never try to contact Mary." What he must think of her. Sara's heart cracked, piece by piece until her entire chest filled with pain.

She could not look up and bear to see hatred mark Gabe's handsome face or sour his beautiful mouth. She did not want her memories tarnished with this horrible truth, this terrible thing she'd done.

"I never would have told her. I only meant to stay in Moose Creek a few hours."

"I know. I spoke with the clerk at the railroad station. He said you traded in your ticket to Missoula this morning. I asked to see it." He walked his horse closer until he towered over the small sled, tall and intimidating. His shadow, faint but unmistakable, fell over her. "You came to see her intentionally."

"That's all I wanted. Just to see her. Just to see the little girl my baby had become." How selfish it sounded now. How shamefully, horribly selfish. "I swear this to you, on my own mother's grave. I would never have let Mary know. I did not come to change her life."

Gabe said nothing for a long time. Snow tapped in the silence between them, a thousand constant whispers as perfect white flakes met frozen ground. The rented horse snorted, releasing his breath in one long whoosh, bored of standing still.

"It could start blizzarding anytime. You don't have a choice in this, Sara. There is no shelter ahead on this road. It leads across the pass north to the abandoned gold camps." Gabe swung his horse around. "We have to go back to Moose Creek."

She let him turn the rented horse around. Tears filled her eyes and froze on her lashes. The storm was worsening, and she had lost her way.

Chapter Ten

Moose Creek was dark and frozen when they arrived. Snow accumulated in thick white bands on porch rails and storefront awnings and the lengths of hitching posts. Unlit windows made the town look abandoned, maybe forgotten. A peaceful calm seemed to envelop this piece of the world; the silence was broken only by the hush of snowfall and low wind.

A glow sheened on the snow, drawing them farther down the street. The light grew, spreading a golden haze, shrouding the edge of the forest with a brightness, a sense of hope on this desolate night. Smoke puffed from the chimney, promising warmth to weary travelers. Gabe drew the horses to a halt at the line of hitching posts, just brushed by lamplight from the glittering windows. The faint sound of children's voices filled the air, merry with joy, lifting in song.

"I'll see to the horses. Go on ahead and get out of this cold." Gabe took the reins from her numb hands, not looking at her. Saying nothing more, just as he had during the grueling journey home.

Knowing she deserved his silence, she did as he asked. She did not belong at his side anyway, tending horses or anything else.

Alone once again, Sara bowed her head against the driving cold and hurried up the shoveled steps, following the sound of voices rejoicing this holy night.

She struggled with the doors against the wind, but when she stepped inside the vestibule and into the heated light of the church, she heard the solemn blend of melody and harmony, of soprano and alto, pure and sweet.

Her gaze riveted on a splash of red velvet. There was Mary, in the first row, her dress only a small part of her precious beauty. She held a candle in both hands, the gentle light brushing a golden glow across her pixie face. The choir around her quieted and she lifted her voice like an angel's, clear and bright as she sang, " 'Sleep in heavenly peace.' "

Tears wedged in Sara's throat, big grateful tears of pleasure and pride. That was her daughter, her baby girl. Another child's solo rang solemn and low, but Sara could not tear her gaze away from Mary or the white lace bow crowning her dark curls or the shine of the heart-shaped locket hanging around her neck, the locket Andrew had given Sara for her birthday, just before they married. Now it gleamed like a great treasure in the soft golden candlelight. Presents she had left for Mary beneath their Christmas tree.

A hand settled on her shoulder and she jumped. Gabe's voice, low and rich, caressed the back of her neck. "Mary wanted to open your gifts. She didn't understand why you'd left."

Words and feelings, meant to remain unspoken, swelled in her chest. How could she speak of her heart?

The last notes of the song faded, low and reverent. The children filed from the front of the church back into the pews. Mary rushed down the main aisle, braids and bright skirts flying and ran straight at Sara, arms outstretched, smile beaming.

"You came!" Mary wrapped her arms tight around Sara's waist, holding on hard, with a child's might. "Pa said he would bring you back to see me sing. Was I good?"

"Very good." Sara could not help wrapping her arms around the child, this precious child, holding her despite the unbearable pain in her heart. "You were the best singer."

"And the prettiest girl." Gabe knelt down to accept an ardent hug from his daughter.

"Aunt Connie and I worried all day." Mary stepped back, tilting her head to gaze up at them. The rustling sounds of the church surrounded them, the excitement of children getting stockings of candy at the big tree tucked in the corner. "It snowed real hard and we got scared the wind would turn into a blizzard. So Connie and me made gingerbread men, and after, when I was still scared, I wanted to wear your presents."

"The bow looks beautiful in your hair." Sara brushed her hand across Mary's brow, felt the silken texture of those wayward curls and the satin softness of a child's skin, both so dear. So very, very dear.

Mary's small fingers closed around the locket. "I like this best. I got a present for you. Pa helped me decide what to give you. You just gotta come open it. Please?"

Sara felt Gabe's gaze on her face, as unreadable as his silence. He had to be angry with her, had to think the worst of her reasons for being here. She couldn't blame him. He loved Mary. He did not want her hurt.

 "It's late, Mary. I don't want to disappoint you, but—"

"You gotta come." The girl tipped her face up, dark curls cascading everywhere, a look of sheer affection so bold on her face it brought tears to Sara's eyes. "You just gotta."

"Sara!" Connie's merry voice interrupted, arms wide to cradle her in a hug. "It's good to see you're safe and sound. I can't tell you how we worried."

"You shouldn't have, but it's nice to have someone to worry over me." She stepped away, regretting the distance she had to put between her and Connie.

"You'll still need a place to stay. Even though the blizzard we feared didn't hit, the engine wasn't fixed in time. The hotel and boardinghouse are still full." Connie fiddled with the strings on her reticule and then plunged her hand inside. "Here, take this. It's the front door key."

"I can't. I just can't impose on you anymore."

"Nonsense." Empathy lit Connie's eyes. "You need a place to stay, and you're always welcome in my home, Sara. Always. Don't you ever forget that."

She didn't understand how Connie could be so generous. It felt amazing and yet she was grateful for it too. So she accepted the key with a strangled thank you, not trusting her voice to say more.

"Now I'm off to Jim's mother's house for a midnight supper. It's tradition in his family, so I guess I'm off to feast on a roast ham." Connie pressed a kiss to Mary's brow. "Now mind your pa and keep out of the rest of those presents. I know you're dying to open them."

"I wanna see if I got the dolly Pa promised me."

"I don't remember any promise." Gabe's smile softened his handsome face but did not reach his eyes, eyes dark and inscrutable, as hard to read as midnight shadows. "Have a good time, Connie. I'll see Sara home."

"No, Gabe. I can take care of myself." She tried to keep her voice light, tried not to let the sorrow and shame in her heart show. "Tomorrow's Christmas. Mary needs to get to sleep so Santa Claus can come. I don't want him to miss her house because I kept her up too late."

"Santa isn't bringing me presents," Mary declared with a grand note of confidence. "He's bringing me a mother, just like I asked."

Mary's words haunted Sara's conscience all the way to Connie's house. Although it was late, sleep wasn't about to come anytime soon. So she fed the embers in the kitchen stove until they were flaming and crackling, driving the cold air from the cheerful room. She set water to boil, found cold sliced chicken in the pantry, then made a small sandwich.

The tea was ready by the time she was done eating. She cradled the cup, savoring the feel of the steam against her face, breathing in the fragrance of fresh honey and lemons and expensive tea. Such a luxury. Alone in the kitchen, she tried to think of what she had, of the good things in her life.