A Grand Teton Sleigh Ride: Four Generations of Wyoming Ranchers Celebrate Love at Christmas (10 page)

The finishing school, once her mother’s dream, had dwindled to a mere trio of young women who visited the ranch two Saturdays each month, where Mother schooled them in diction, manners, and how a respectable young lady ought to carry herself in society, at dinner parties, and other occasions.

Oh yes, Emily knew exactly what to do if she found herself at a formal social event. However, she didn’t see the need to fuss quite so much in everyday life.

She couldn’t picture herself being able to mush the dogs tonight if she had skirts and such to get in the way.

Niki, finished with her meal, ambled across the sheltered end of the barn and flopped beside Emily on the straw. Her tongue hanging out, her eyes brightened as if she smiled at Emily. Sam liked to tease her, saying dogs couldn’t smile.

“But you do smile, don’t you, girl?” Emily rubbed her dog’s head, and Specks, a black, gray, and white female mutt, moved closer for a few pets as well. “Here’s a pet, Specks. You were all very, very
good
dogs tonight.”

The animals amazed her, how they worked together and followed directions. Always happy, always ready to go. And for the next months, they’d be her primary way to get into the backcountry. They could take her places a horse and sleigh couldn’t go.

Which was why her presence tonight had likely saved Will’s life. If she and the dogs hadn’t slid into his feeble attempt at a shelter—

She refused to think about it.

Did he remember the man someone had found, frozen in the foothills, when they were but children?

Tonight, rescuing Will had brought the memory back to her. Having the dogs, she’d hoped to save someone. She never imagined it would be Will Adams.

The remaining few dogs, Felix, Branch, and Maggie, finished the last of the food and set to lapping from a pail of melted snow. Emily licked her lips, realizing she, too, thirsted. She glanced at the pail. Not for her. She could melt her own snow, but why pretend she was taking shelter at a remote cabin with her dogs? The main house lay not fifty yards away, with its warmth, Mother’s homemade stew and soft pretzels, and possibly even a slice of pie, made from berry preserves they’d canned at the end of the summer season.

Emily’s stomach growled again. “All right, I’m going inside.” She rolled to her knees then stood, brushing straw from her coat and trousers. She might as well get a move on and stop avoiding the inevitable. However, she could plead fatigue, gobble a quick bowl of stew in the kitchen, then scurry away to her room and avoid Will completely.

She gave the dogs one last longing look, almost wishing for a blanket to bed down on the straw. But a lady didn’t sleep in a corner of the barn with the sled dogs, and especially not during a snowstorm when a perfectly adequate home and a soft bed waited for her.

The cold bit into her once more as she closed the barn door and made for the house, aiming for the rectangles of light glimmering through the falling snow. Emily pulled her coat tightly around her, climbed the porch steps, and entered the house.

Warmth, along with the aroma of Mother’s cooking, embraced her as soon as she entered. She headed straight for the bootjack and tugged against it until she removed the boots—another castoff from Sam, another bit of attire Mother tolerated.

“It’s me. I was taking care of the dogs,” she called out.

“Supper’s on the stove. There’s plenty,” Mother replied from the parlor. “Mr. Adams is at the table, having supper as well.”

Ah, so he was. She shouldn’t let her nerves get the better of her, nor her own embarrassment of how she’d treated him earlier. Regardless of how he’d treated her.

“Thank you, Mother.” She paused in the entryway to the front parlor. She sniffed. In addition to the hearty aroma of stew, another aroma hung in the air.

She sniffed again and lowered her nose to her sleeve. Sure enough, the aroma was coming from her. Emily shrugged out of her coat and kept on the castoff flannel shirt, this one formerly Pa’s. She wore it over her shirtwaist. Perhaps Mother couldn’t tell the additional smell came from Emily.

“You may wish to bathe this evening, my dear.” Mother gazed over the top of her reading glasses at Emily.

“Yes, ma’am. But after supper, though. I’m very hungry after all those hours outdoors.”

“There should be coffee on the stove, too.”

“Thank you, Mother.” Emily nodded at Mother and walked on socked feet to the kitchen. Will Adams sat at the table, taking his time on a bowl of stew.

He glanced up at her when she entered, rising slightly as she did so. “Miss Covington.”

She inclined her head toward him slightly. “Mr. Adams.”

He took his seat again. “Your mother makes the best stew I’ve ever eaten. Either that, or exposure to the elements heightened my taste buds.”

“It’s probably both,” she said, stepping toward the shelf and taking down a bowl. Her hunger won out over her wounded pride, and she put a generous dollop of beef stew in the bowl and took the last soft pretzel from the plate.

The remember-whens began halfway through Will’s second bowl of beef stew. He’d embarrassed himself by wolfing down the first bowl. He had manners, but after being lost for hours in the driving snow in the hills, his body’s need to survive ignored things like chewing slowly and taking time between bites.

Emily sat across from him, her blue eyes sparkling as he finished telling an old story of the time he dared her to sit on the family’s unbroken colt and ended up sailing into a patch of manure in the corner of the ranch yard.

“I think the worst thing I hurt that day was my dignity.” She wiped her mouth with her napkin, folded it, and set it on the table beside her spoon. “Oh Will, we did used to have some good times as children.”

“We did. Those times were the best things I remember about living here.” The memory of leaving Jackson, heading over the pass with what seemed like crates of belongings, still stood out in detail in his mind. He’d cried because he didn’t get to say good-bye to Emily, or any of his other friends. Mother was in a hurry, raw with grief and wanting to leave.

“You’re a big boy. Big boys don’t cry.”

“So, what do you think of the changes since you left?” She stood, picking up her cup. “More coffee?”

“Yes, please.” He raised his cup for her to take, and ignored the sensation of her fingers brushing his. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Emily stepped over to the stove.

“Some things seem smaller, but there’s definitely more houses closer to town now. Your family’s home is larger.”

“Yes,” Emily said, returning to her chair. “Pa built onto the house not long after Sam was born. Then John got married, and he has his own place now but still works the ranch. Pa keeps talking about there not being much elbow room around here, and he’s bound and determined to keep the Covington Ranch a working ranch.”

He knew about the downturn in cattle ranching, but he also knew the Covingtons had plenty of pluck and determination to keep their legacy alive.

“That’s admirable.” He took a sip of the strong brew. Finally, a thaw had settled into his bones and he no longer had to fight the urge to keep from shivering.

“And there’s the Elk Refuge. That’s something new since you’ve been gone.”

Another memory came to him of an especially harsh winter. “I remember that one winter; we’d go out and help feed the elk. So many of them starved.”

Emily nodded. “And the one time we found a young calf, tried to talk our parents into letting us bring it back and take care of it.”

“We had some good times.” And then his mother yanked him away from everything he’d ever known to live in St. Louis. But it had never felt like home, as Jackson had.

They both fell silent, then Emily went to the pie safe and pulled out a pie. “Berry pie?”

“I can’t say no. Did you make it?”

“Oh, horrors no. Mother did. She’s far more skilled at making piecrust than I. The last time I made piecrust, it had the consistency of mush even after it was baked.”

“Not too domesticated, are you?” This didn’t surprise him.

“Not as far as cooking goes. Tonight’s supper is entirely Mother’s doing.”

“I think she could do better, if she practiced a little more,” Mrs. Covington said as she entered the kitchen. “A man appreciates a woman who can make a good piecrust, doesn’t he, Mr. Adams?”

“Ah well, yes, I do appreciate good piecrust.” He cleared his throat as Emily darted a glance at her mother. “But there are other attributes that come in handy, such as intelligence, a quick wit, and being able to operate a clothes wringer.”

“Ha.” Emily snorted.

Mrs. Covington picked up a clean mug and poured coffee. “Bringing coffee to your father. He and John are back from bringing hay to the closest part of the herd.” She left the room, and Emily’s features relaxed dramatically.

She turned her focus on him. “So, I’m surprised you didn’t take up something, ah, more physical, with you coming back here to Jackson. I never would’ve pegged you for a lawyer. I bet you own half a dozen suits.”

At that, he chuckled. “I’m only just starting out. For your information, I only have two suits. My everyday, and my Sunday and meeting suit.”

“Good. So you’re not completely fancy-fied then.” Her eyes took on a familiar gleam, and a dimple in her cheek winked at him.

“Not completely.” He wanted to bring up the subject of the spring election, and now was as good a time as any. “So, I understand you’re thinking about running for Jackson City Council in the spring.”

“Yes. My pa talked me into it.” At her words, footsteps echoed in the hallway.

“Talked you into what, Em?” Mr. Covington stood in the doorway. He held a cup of steaming coffee.

“Running for Jackson City Council.”

“Why didn’t you run, sir?” Will asked.

“I’m all for making changes in our community, but I think a younger generation will best help do that. And my daughter is one of the best in the younger generation.” He nodded at Emily, who beamed. Clearly, as the only daughter in a trio of Covington children, Emily had been the one doted upon.

“I’m sure she is. The reason I mentioned it is I’ve thought about putting my hat into the ring as well. I know I haven’t been here as long as some of you, but I believe I can bring another perspective, no offense intended.” And it helped that the name of William Adams, Senior was still held in high regard by the good people of Jackson.

“You’re running, too?” Emily shook her head. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I decided after church service on Sunday. Haven’t told anyone else besides Dr. Turner. He said there’s going to be a public meeting at the schoolhouse next week to hear the candidates speak.”

“Yes, I know. I’m going to be there, along with the other ladies contemplating running for office.”

“Well, it should be a most interesting public meeting.”

T
he Jackson schoolhouse ran out of seating before the town meeting began. The good weather held out, so the powers that be decided to go forward with the evening’s program—namely, a discussion of the issues facing the town.

Emily’s pulse pounded in her throat, and the pressure fought against the collar of her dress. She kept her feet together beneath her skirt and willed her hands to stop shaking in her lap.

If the other ladies had any nerves about standing before the assembled crowd along with their opponents, which would be announced tonight, none of them showed it.

Somehow, Emily just
knew
she’d be pitted against Will. They were both about the same age, and although she had the advantage of having grown up in the Jackson area, Will’s automatic status as a lawyer and his education might make him seem more appealing—particularly to the men.

“Ain’t no woman goin’ to tell me how to run the city,” someone murmured behind Emily. She wanted to turn and see who the speaker was and where he sat, but maybe she didn’t really want to know.

Women had the right to vote in Wyoming, and the women in other states of America didn’t. Now, with the election coming up, perhaps history would be made if all the women running were elected in the spring.

Tonight’s gathering would allow interested individuals in the community three minutes to speak. Community members could voice their concerns to the current council about what they believed needed fixing in Jackson. And who knew what might happen in the spring? Others might decide to run as well.

Pa ought to be the one sitting here, or John. But John had refused, saying he’d rather keep to the business of herding cattle and running the ranch. Pa, too. No matter how much she’d tried to convince them.

But the more she’d thought about things in the community that needed changing, the more she realized she wanted to be one of the people making those changes. She clutched the short speech she’d prepared, written and rewritten several times.

She glanced across the room to where Will sat with a few of the other men. He met her gaze and smiled. She returned the smile then let it fade. No, she wasn’t about to be mean in this contest. But it was an election, and she wanted to beat him but good, him smugly grinning at her as if he knew he already had the election in the bag.