Читать книгу The Gift Of Family: Merry Christmas, Cowboy - Linda Ford, Karen Kirst - Страница 14

Chapter Five

Becca barely contained her desire to dance across the floor. Christmas at home with her pa, Colt and the children. If she never got another Christmas present in her life, she would die content with this one.

She couldn’t stop grinning as her mind twirled with plans. But her joy stuttered as she watched Colt retreat to the far corner and hunker down beside the kids. She guessed it wasn’t a desire to play with them that took him there, but why did he act as if staying would be an ordeal?

Well, she’d prove to him it wasn’t. She’d make this the best Christmas ever for him, too.

She waited until the children curled up on their mats and fell asleep to signal Pa and Colt to the table. “Let’s make plans.”

Colt leaned back as if he wanted no part of this. “I wouldn’t know what to do.”

“What would you normally do?” She hoped he’d share a special memory.

He blinked hard then grinned. “Normally I would ride out to the prettiest place I could find and enjoy nature.”

“Alone?” She sounded as shocked as she felt.

“Nature is the best company I know of.”

She tilted her chin upward. “I intend to prove you wrong. We’re pretty fine company, aren’t we, Pa?”

“Your ma seemed to think so.”

Becca’s smile slipped at the mention of her mother, then she dismissed any sadness and regret. She’d been offered a reprieve. Even if it was only temporary, she intended to make the most of it.

“You must have done something fun and special during Christmas. After all, you’re—how old are you?”

“Near as I can figure, I’m about twenty-one.”

Near as he could figure? Didn’t he know anything for certain about his past? “There you go. In twenty-one years you must recall something special.”

His jaw tightened and he looked stubborn. She wondered if he meant to deny any such knowledge, then he gave a little chuckle.

“I was once given a wild, rank horse. I expect it was more of a joke than any kindness, but by spring I had a mount that many a man envied.”

She sighed in a way meant to be long-suffering. “Not exactly the kind of thing I think would be useful in planning Christmas for the children. I have a few ideas, though.”

She turned to Pa. “With your permission—”

“Child, do whatever you’d like. I’m sure we’ll all be pleased.”

She nodded. “I do believe you will.” Her head buzzed with ideas.

Pa yawned. “Time for bed.”

Becca sprang to her feet. “Good night to you both.” She paused at her room. “I can hardly wait until morning to put my ideas into effect.”

* * *

The next morning, Becca hurried from bed, her head full of plans. Colt had not looked nearly as enthusiastic as she would wish, but she’d soon change that.

As soon as breakfast was over, she asked the others, “Have any of you made taffy?”

The children shook their heads, and when she shifted her gaze to Colt he blinked.

“Me?”

“Have you?”

“No.” He sounded far more cautious than curious, which made her even more determined to make this the most fun he’d ever had.

“My ma taught me how to make pulled taffy. She made it every year for Christmas. I didn’t realize how good she was at it until we went to Toronto and her family begged her for a taffy pull.” She spoke to Pa as he headed for the store and the hope of customers. “Did you know she was the best candy maker?”

“It’s why I married her. Didn’t you know?” His eyes twinkled and she laughed.

“But didn’t you say it was because she made the best rice pudding? Oh, wait, wasn’t it because she baked the best biscuits, or was it because she had such a nice reading voice?”

“Yup. And lots more.”

Becca held his gaze a moment as they both silently acknowledged how much they missed her. Then Pa stepped into the store.

“Pa, don’t you want to take part in the candy making?”

He paused and sucked in air. No doubt the activity carried bittersweet memories for him. But Becca wanted so much for him to remember the good times they’d had and cherish them. A wish she had for everyone in the room.

“Call me when it’s time to pull it, and I’ll come back if I’m not busy with customers.” He turned to smile at Becca. “It will remind me of all the times I helped your mother.”

“She’d want to know you remembered all she taught you.”

She and Pa smiled shared love of her mother, then he closed the door behind him.

Becca glanced at Colt. He jerked his attention to a spot behind her, but not before she caught a glimpse of hunger, as if he liked hearing her talk about her mother...maybe he enjoyed hearing about a regular family. She made herself another promise—she’d show Colt what it was like to be in a family.

She pulled out the kettle Ma had always used. “The first time I remember Ma making taffy, I was about Marie’s age. We had just moved west. Ma had a job as a teacher in Fort Benton. She made taffy for the children on the last day of school before Christmas. I remember feeling so proud because all the children seemed to think she’d done something special.” She poured the sugar, water and vinegar into the kettle as Marie watched her every move. Colt stood back, Little Joe in his arms.

“Bring him closer so he can watch.” She saw eagerness in both expressions but Colt did not move, even though Little Joe wriggled, trying to force him to do so. She held Colt’s gaze, feeling his caution and reluctance. Her determination to give him good memories intensified. “Better pay attention in case you ever want to make this.”

At that he relaxed and chuckled. “Horses seem to think carrots are candy.” But he sidled closer to observe the ingredients in the kettle, close enough that she could feel him alongside her, even though they didn’t touch.

“It’s beginning to boil. Now we don’t stir it or jar it until it’s reached hard-ball stage. In the meantime, we get ready.” She pulled out the large pan her mother had always used. “It needs to be buttered. Marie, why don’t you and Little Joe do that?”

Colt put Little Joe at the table beside his sister, and Becca showed them how to dip their fingers in the butter and spread it on the pan.

“Can’y ready?” Little Joe asked.

“No, now we wait.”

When the boy moved toward the stove, Colt lifted him into his arms and held him where he could see but not grab the kettle.

“It takes time to cook,” Becca warned the anxious trio. She dropped a bit of the candy mixture into a cup of cold water. It dissolved as she pressed it with the spoon. “Not ready yet.”

“Why do you do that?” Colt asked.

She explained that it indicated how hot the syrup was. “When it stays in a little ball, then it’s ready to take off the stove.” She noticed with warmth that he forgot to be reserved with her. “It takes a bit of practice to recognize the right degree, but Ma taught me well. I’ll try and do the same for you just in case you decide to treat the horses.” Or maybe decide to get some people friends. But she kept that thought to herself rather than drive him back into his shell.

She’d gladly—willingly—be his friend. But she couldn’t even offer that. She’d made a promise to her mother and was obligated to keep it. She checked the syrup again. “See how the little ball stays in shape?” She tipped the cup of water toward Colt for him to study. “When I take it out and press it, it holds its shape.” She held out her hand. “See for yourself.”

Colt extended a finger, and she slipped the candy onto it.

Flesh on flesh sent a jolt through her. She wanted to prolong the touch, examine her reaction, analyze the accompanying emotions—excitement, aliveness—but Colt, oblivious to her reaction, pulled away and felt the candy.

“That’s amazing.”

Yes, it was, though she understood he meant how the texture had changed. But what amazed and pleased her was the way he’d forgotten to be nervous and distant around her.

Little Joe leaned forward, his mouth open, his tongue out, begging to taste the sample.

“Can he eat it?” Colt asked.

“Certainly,” Becca answered.

Colt let the boy lick up the candy, and Little Joe smacked his lips. “Good.” He angled toward the kettle. “More.”

“It’s not ready yet. But it’s almost time for the fun part.” She poured the mixture into the prepared pan. “We all have to wash our hands while it cools.”

They washed and then waited, rather impatiently, for the candy to cool.

Pa came in and sat at the table, anticipating the time for pulling.

Becca turned the candy from the edges several times so it would cool equally. She tested it. How hot could the children handle? “It’s still a little warm. Pa, what do you think?”

“I’ll partner with Marie and show her what to do. You can show Colt and Little Joe how to pull it.”

That wasn’t exactly her question, but she readily agreed. Pa took half and showed Marie how to stretch and double it. Becca did the same with Colt as he held Little Joe in his lap. They held the candy mixture gingerly. She folded her end toward his, and their hands brushed. She was again so aware of him that her insides felt liquid. “We are working in air to make it light. Sometimes, if there’s any left overnight, it turns all creamy. Yum.” Think of candy. Think of how everyone will enjoy this. Think of anything but this silly reaction to a simple task.

Somehow she managed to explain every step until the candy was too stiff to work further, and they put it on the pan and cut it. “We could wait for it to cool and harden more. Or—” She let her voice trail off and laughed as three faces looked at her with wide-eyed begging. It felt so good to see all of them relaxed and enjoying themselves. Step one in making this the best Christmas ever for them.

“Or we could have some right now.” She grabbed the big knife and sliced off a piece. She handed a small piece to Little Joe. He plopped it into his mouth and his eyes grew big.

“Good.” Drool dribbled from his lips.

She grabbed a wet cloth and patted it away. “Anyone else want some?”

Marie nodded and received a piece.

“I do believe I’ll have some,” Pa said.

She cut a piece for him, then faced Colt. His eyes brimmed with eagerness, but his mouth remained flat. As clearly as if the words were written on his forehead, she understood he wanted to enjoy himself but feared to venture too close, perhaps cross a line that had always brought repercussions.

“It’s very tasty,” she teased, cutting off a piece and waving it before him.

“I wouldn’t know. Never had the stuff before, but I’m game to try it.” He’d asked for it without really asking.

Laughing, she let him take it from her fingers. She waited as he sucked the treat. Her heart felt light with success when his eyes widened with pleasure and he made appreciative noises.

They ate several more pieces until she suggested they should save some for the next day. “Wouldn’t want anyone to get a tummy ache.” She washed the children’s hands and faces.

“Pa, didn’t you put a box of my old trinkets in the back closet? Maybe Marie and Little Joe would like to play with the things we saved.”

“I suspect they would. I’ll fetch it.” He went to the closet past the two bedrooms and returned with an old satchel. He brought it to the table, where he opened it and began to pull out items.

Becca grabbed a little rag doll. “Ma made me this for Christmas one year. It was the first year we were in Fort Benton.” Her heart full of sweet memories, she smiled at Pa. “Just before she met you. Before you married her and became my new Pa.” She handed the doll to Marie. “Would you like to play with it?”

Marie took it gently. “I’ll be very careful.”

Becca let her gaze find Colt. But instead of the pleasure she expected, she saw a harsh expression.

“What’s wrong?”

“What if she damages it?”

“I don’t expect she will, but if she does it’s only a toy.”

“A special toy,” Pa said.

Becca shot him a questioning look.

“I think Colt is asking, will the child be punished if something happens?”

Becca’s insides twisted. “Do you think I would be angry with her?”

Colt’s eyes narrowed, and she sensed a heap of pain.

Her annoyance died as quickly as it came. “It’s what you’ve experienced, isn’t it?”

“Anger can make people very cruel.”

He didn’t need to explain further. She didn’t want him to. Her imagination filled in the details and they weren’t pleasant, but she knew Colt had experienced the cruelty of anger. Knowing the forms that could take brought the sting of tears to her eyes. She blinked them away, but not before Colt noticed.

The hardness in his face fled. “A person learns to be tough.”

“Sometimes a person can learn to be too tough.”

Pa paid them scant attention as he explored the contents of the bag and pulled out a wooden horse with moveable legs. “Do you remember this?”

“Uncle Martin sent it to me from Toronto one Christmas. I played with it for hours at a time. Look, Little Joe.” She showed him how she could make the horse walk across the table, then handed him the toy.

He scrambled from Colt’s lap, and the two children sat on the floor nearby playing.

Pa took the satchel back to the bedroom and set it on his bed. He stayed there, his back to them as he looked through the contents.

The bedrooms opened off the kitchen so Becca was able to watch him. She wondered why he chose to look at her toys in his room. Then she saw his shoulders rise and fall in a huge sigh, and a tiny suspicion grew in her thoughts. She knew he missed Ma. But perhaps he was also remembering the first time he saw her. Recalling all the fun they’d had together. Maybe even regretting their promise for her to leave. She didn’t want him to be sad when she left, though they’d both find the separation difficult.

If only they hadn’t promised Ma. If only Becca hadn’t insisted they return home.

Was she in any way responsible for Ma’s death because she’d begged to come back? She’d never asked, never considered it a possibility. And now it was too late. Responsible or not, she had given a promise and she meant to keep it.

But glancing at Colt, she wished she could stay. Yes, Colt made it very plain he meant to move on, but surely he’d come back. For supplies, if nothing else.

Perhaps if she stayed, another reason for him to return might develop.

If ifs and ands were pots and pans, there’d be no work for tinkers’ hands.

Ma had said it often when Becca got caught up in wishing for things to be different. It was a good reminder for her again now. There were things she could not change.

She could not change her promise nor, likely, Colt’s desire to be alone.

But she could make this a Christmas they’d never forget.