Читать книгу Wild West Christmas: A Family for the Rancher / Dance with a Cowboy / Christmas in Smoke River - Kathryn Albright, Jenna Kernan - Страница 16

Chapter Eight

Alice rose from her chair and eyed the boys, who correctly judged her intent and groaned in unison.

“Bedtime,” she said. The house had running water in the kitchen, but the privy was out back and she saw no chamber pots under the beds. “Privy first,” she said, gathering the boys’ coats.

“I want Uncle Dillen to take us,” said Cody.

He absorbed this news with a tiny snort. Then he laid aside his fiddle and drew on his coat. He headed out the door with a lantern, Cody over one shoulder and Colin over the other. Both boys were shrieking as they vanished into the curtain of snow.

Alice drew her shawl about her and realized the snow was coming down hard now. Dillen had to plow his way across the yard. When they reappeared, she took her turn and when she reached the relative warmth of the kitchen she shook the snow from her skirts.

Hands and faces were washed in the large sink using the hot water from the reserve on the stove. Dillen banked the coals and Alice filled the water tank so there would be hot water in the morning.

Once back in the living room, Alice spoke to the boys.

“Say good-night to Mr. Roberts and thank him for his stories.”

They did, in chorus.

“Can I help you tuck them in?” asked Dillen.

She could not keep from smiling as she nodded her consent. Her throat chose that moment to constrict with emotion as she realized that he was beginning to act like a father.

They headed up the main stairs together. Bill sat closest to the fire, packing tobacco into his pipe.

“You mind?” he asked, lifting the pipe.

Alice shook her head. It wasn’t her house after all, but she appreciated the request.

Dillen gave the boys a piggyback up the stairs, and as a result they were too excited to lie down. They bounced on the beds before she finally got them settled.

At last, she had them kneeling beside their beds to say their prayers. Tonight they both asked God to bless not only their parents, Alice and Uncle Dillen, but also Mr. Roberts and Dasher. Alice saw Dillen drop his chin to his chest. She also heard him repeat amen along with the boys. They lifted their heads and looked to Dillen. He stood in silence for a moment and then gave a curt nod of approval. Alice released a breath.

“Colin, Cody, you settle down, ’cause I’m going to tell you how I met Alice.”

The promise worked like magic. Both boys nestled back into the feather pillows at the promise of a story and drew the covers up to their chins.

He told how their mother used to be a companion for an old woman who was ill and so she called the doctor a lot. She had met Alice, the doctor’s assistant. He related how they became friends. He explained the way Alice used to come to the house. She had cared for their grandmother when she’d gotten sick.

“We thought Alice was a nurse. We didn’t know she was a princess in disguise and that her grandfather was a king who owned half the railroad that carried them out there.”

Colin loved trains and removed his thumb from his mouth to sigh. “Gosh.”

“When your mother got married to your father, Alice was her maid of honor. I was the best man, so we danced at the wedding.” He glanced to Alice. “Remember?”

As if she could ever forget. It was the first time he’d ever held her in his arms. There had been many a night when she’d thought of that dance and the start of their relationship when the world was nothing but possibilities. Her mother had married a professional man, so Alice saw no obstacles between Dillen and her. After all, Dillen was the son of a banker with an acceptance to attend a university. She smiled at the memory. “You looked very dashing.”

“And Alice was as pretty as a rose,” he said to the boys. “Later, when you were born, Cody, Alice held you at the baptism. She and I are your godparents.”

“What about me?” asked Colin.

“Well, that was two years later.”

Two years, and everything had changed for Dillen and Sylvie. Their father had abandoned them under the cloud of scandal.

Dillen went on. “But yes, we stood up in that church for you, too.”

“And promised,” said Alice, “to see you both raised properly.”

Dillen gave her a long look and then nodded. “Yep. We sure did.”

“And that is what we shall do,” she whispered, stroking a hand over Colin’s feathery hair. His eyelids drooped now, but Cody struggled against sleep.

Dillen looked troubled again. Was he wondering where he and the boys would live? She wondered, too. She could offer help, but knew from her last attempts that Dillen was too proud to take her money. Would he take it for the boys’ sakes?

“Are we going to live here now?” he asked.

“For a while.”

“I like it here,” said Cody.

“Why’s that?” asked his uncle.

“’Cause it’s got chimneys. Lots of them.”

Dillen’s brow wrinkled and he cocked his head at the odd answer.

“Uncle Dillen, if we don’t have any chimneys, how will Santa find us?”

Dillen’s mouth went grim at this question.

Cody didn’t notice past the yawn. They had been through a full day, riding out here, spending much of the afternoon outside in the barn and then enjoying their musical evening. She looked to Colin, who was already puffing out steady breaths, his thick eyelashes brushing his cheeks. Alice felt the tightness in her chest every time she saw them sleeping. Was it longing or love? She didn’t know.

Alice just tucked Cody in tight and kissed his forehead. “He’ll find you here, lambkin.”

Cody sighed and closed his eyes.

Dillen stood, hands in the back pockets of his dungarees. Alice turned down the wick on the lantern but left the lamp on the table beside the bed.

Dillen followed her out into the hallway.

“Why did you tell them that?” he asked, his voice strained but still a whisper.

“What?”

“That Santa would come here. Alice, I don’t have money to buy them toys.”

“Then make them some.”

He thought about that for a moment. “I’ve never made a toy before.”

“But I know you can work wood. I saw the cradle you made for Cody. It was beautiful.”

Dillen rubbed his neck.

“Well, don’t fret. I bought them a few little toys and candies for their stockings. We’ll manage.”

His expression turned sad again. “Alice, you can’t keep buying them things. When you’re gone, it will be even harder on them.”

He said it as a fait accompli. She was going. But if he would only ask her, she’d stay forever.

“They are just a few little items.” She dropped her chin and stared at her hands, realizing they were scratched and nicked from all her work in the house.

“And new black suits and shoes and hats and coats. I know Sylvie and Ben never bought those things,” said Dillen.

“I just...” She lifted her chin. “Who else am I going to spend it on?”

That took him back. He cocked his head. “I don’t know.”

“You won’t let me help you. You made that very clear when I tried. But at least let me help the boys.”

“You are helping. You cleaned this house up and saw us all fed. Best meal I ever had. I’m just saying there’s other ways to help.” He rested a hand on her shoulder, his fingers caressing her neck.

It was so hard not to draw her in and kiss her. She’d let him. He saw it in her eyes.

“I know that. I just... I’m trying not to make mistakes. To do my best for them, and I don’t really know what I’m doing half the time.” She felt defeated and let her shoulders sag, a momentary lapse in her generally perfect posture.

His hand left her, and she almost whimpered at her grief at the loss of his touch. But then he used his knuckles to lift her chin, bringing her gaze up to meet his.

“You’ll never convince me of that.” He grinned. “You look like you know exactly.”

“I don’t,” she admitted, feeling the sudden need to get this off her chest. She motioned him down the hall, farther from the open door of the boys’ room, and lifted a finger to halt him before retreating a few steps into her own room. She returned with Mrs. Beeton’s Book of Household Management, offering it in two hands. “I’ve been using this.”

He accepted the well-worn volume and thumbed through the dog-eared pages.

“Didn’t figure you’d know your way around a kitchen. You learned all you been doing from this?” He held up the heavy book.

“Some. But not the food preparation or mothering. I’ve been cooking for years, and mothering is akin to nursing, I think.”

He extended the book and she returned the volume to the table just inside her room.

“Your mom wasn’t much of a—what’d that book call it—a household manager?”

“No. As you correctly surmised, she directs, plans menus and goes over the accounts with the housekeeper.”

“What about mothering? She do any of that?”

She couldn’t hold his searching gaze and for a moment considered changing the topic or outright lying. But she knew what her lie of omission had cost her before. So she buckled down and prepared to answer him. She hoped he wouldn’t show her any pity. It was too ridiculous. She’d had every advantage that money could buy and yet, she felt so uncertain.