Home for Christmas (4 page)

It would be better to face her feelings, work through them, let them go.

When Warren had first called off their wedding, she’d felt wronged, cast aside, unwanted. The emotions had faded somewhat, but they’d been with her ever since.

As she watched Hunter drive his one-horse open sleigh into the clearing surrounding her house, bearing a strong resemblance to his older brother, she realized with surprise that she truly didn’t feel an ounce of jealousy or betrayal. How or when the destructive emotions had burned themselves out, she didn’t know.

Somehow, it no longer mattered.

Perhaps it was a private Christmas miracle. Perhaps it wasn’t hers to understand or question. It simply was. Gratitude warmed her through from the inside.

Hunter pulled the sleigh close to the house and raised a hand to wave. Miranda waved back, honestly glad to see him. It amazed her, how differently she saw him, now that she’d examined her feelings about Warren up close, and found they weren’t nearly as terrible as she’d remembered.

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“Are you sure they’re not home?” Miranda felt like a thief, sneaking around in the middle of the day. She glanced over her shoulder, expecting to find someone watching them from the woods.

Hunter’s smile sent a wash of tingles through her middle. “Positive.”

He lifted a crate, bulging with clothing, onto his shoulder and made his way toward the door. He waved an arm, beckoning her to follow.

Miranda carried a sack of potatoes, following in Hunter’s tracks. They stacked the supplies into the growing pile on the front porch.

“Where have they gone?” She glanced over her shoulder, peering into the windows, half expecting to find the Nances watching her.

Hunter set the crate on top of another. “He told me he was taking the family to meet the train. Celia’s sister’s coming in to spend the holidays with them. They’ll be staying indefinitely.”

He made his way past her, his smile gone. “Celia’s brother-in-law died last month and the widow can’t live alone with three children under three years of age. I don’t know how George is going to feed four more mouths.”

Miranda followed him back to the sleigh. She hadn’t known he was the kind to do more than sympathize with other folks’ troubles. It seemed there was much about him she didn’t know. “What went wrong? Years ago, the Nances were doing fine financially.”

“A lightning strike burned George’s crops two seasons ago, and it’s been an uphill battle ever since. Celia’s struggled to get her health back since the last baby, and hasn’t been able to do much work.”

He trudged through the snowdrifts to the sleigh, picked up the apple tarts his mother had made and passed them to Miranda. “Set these on top.”

“How did you know they needed help now? My parents haven’t mentioned a word of it.”

He shrugged. “A word here, a hint there. It’s nothing.”

“I wouldn’t call this gift nothing.”

“I have plenty to spare.”

Miranda watched the comfortable ease with which Hunter gave so generously. Without a thought of himself, without a need for recognition, without expecting repayment. The more she saw of him, the less she truly knew him.

For starters, he didn’t seem much at all like his brother.

She doubted Warren would’ve noticed the Nances needed help, much less have given this generously. It simply wasn’t in him to look past his own work and immediate circle of family and friends.

Hunter gave her a hand up to the sleigh seat. He’d just rounded the corner when the cabin door creaked open on rusted hinges. Celia Nance peeked out.

Miranda blanched. She turned to Hunter, feeling like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

“Good morning, Mrs. Nance.” Hunter rounded the sleigh. “I knocked, but I suppose you didn’t hear me. I hope we didn’t wake you.”

Miranda wanted to giggle. They’d been caught! He behaved as though it was a common occurrence.

Perhaps it was.

The older woman’s mussed hair and rumpled clothing indicated she’d been sleeping. She’d aged, a dozen years or more, since Miranda had last seen her. Three years ago, she’d been plump, rosy-cheeked, and happy.

“I didn’t hear a knock. I heard a bit of noise and thought my husband was back.” Tiredness colored her words, as if she’d not slept well in a long time. Miranda wondered if the baby kept her from sleeping enough, or if something more serious was afoot.

She gestured Miranda closer. “I heard you were back. That’s good. Very good.” She hugged Miranda tightly. “I’ve wondered what had become of you.”

“I’m well, thank you. It’s good to be home. How are you, Mrs. Nance?”

“Well enough.” She pulled away. “Did you come to see George?”

Miranda didn’t miss the hope in her voice. Were they so bad off? For as long as she remembered, George had raised geese and turkeys for other folks’ dinner tables.

“Yes, yes we did.”

Mrs. Nance opened the door wider. “Come inside where it’s warm. He ought to be back soon.”

The moment she noticed the crates and sacks bearing food and clothing, she gasped. “Did you . . . . what’s all this?”

Celia hurried outside, and Miranda noticed the woman wore no shoes, her stockings more holes than patches. Compassion mingled with embarrassment. She looked away, meeting Hunter’s gaze.

Hunter flashed a happy smile at Miranda. “I figured George hadn’t finished taking his purchases into the house.”

Celia turned to him, her eyes moist. “You thought no such thing, Hunter Kendall. You brought these things here.”

“I wish I had, ma’am.”

Celia took several minutes to look over the gifts, wiped her eyes with a tattered hankie, and gathered Hunter into a hug. “It seems we’ve been visited by a Christmas angel.”

“I’m innocent, ma’am, I swear it.”

“You’re a poor liar, Mr. Kendall. A very poor liar.” She pulled back, opened the door, and invited them both inside. “Come in and wait where it’s warm.”

As much as she would’ve liked to spend awhile with Mrs. Nance, Miranda had so few days until her return to Denver. At this very moment, her family gathered together to celebrate Christmas Eve. Her mother, sisters and sisters-in-law would be putting the final touches on supper. She wanted to help with the holiday meal and wanted to spend this precious, fleeting day with them.

Hunter glanced at her, seemed to read her emotion in a mere second, then dug deep into his trouser pocket. “Here’s payment for the goose. I know we’re asking a special favor of George to dress the goose in time for tomorrow’s meal, so I’ve paid extra. I was kind of hoping you’d have it ready this afternoon.”

Celia Nance hesitated to take his money. “You didn’t come for a goose.”

“Yes, we did. Mother sent me directly to place our order before you were clean out.”

Celia laughed, the sound warm and full of incongruous cheer. “You’re generous to a fault. You’d do well to stick to the truth.” She winked and accepted his money. “I’ll see to it George brings you our fattest goose, in addition to the one your mother already ordered for Christmas dinner.”

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Hunter steered the horse-drawn sleigh through evergreen trees. Boughs drooped under the weight of the recent snowfall. Sunlight glittered brightly on the blinding snow. The air had turned so cold, taking a deep breath burned his lungs hurt.

But he felt warm, clear through. Part of the contentment came from Mrs. Nance’s touching gratitude. But he knew this kind of contentment didn’t come entirely from the joy on Celia Nance’s face.

Hunter recognized the sense of rightness, the thrill he felt only in Miranda’s presence. Most of the warmth, he knew, came from merely having her beside him.

He found it difficult to pull his gaze away from her. Several russet curls, turned auburn by the play of sunlight, escaped her hat.

She looked him in the eye for a long moment. Her eyes shone so very green. “You did an honorable thing today, helping the Nances like that. You’re a good man, Mr. Kendall.”

“And here I thought we were friends comfortable with given-names.” He wrapped the reins around his gloved hands and allowed his shoulder to graze hers.

Miranda laughed, the musical notes tugging magically at this heart. “You’re a good man,
Hunter
.”

She called him by his Christian name often enough…but this time, a rush of heat shimmered in his belly, making him lightheaded. The way she looked at him made him feel ten feet tall.

He wanted to take her along on his afternoon delivery to the Johnsons, and it had nothing to do with impressing her. Christmas would lose most of its appeal without her. “This isn’t so unusual. We all look out for each other.”

“What other surprise gifts do you have in the works?”

“I told you. Secrets great and secrets small--”

“At the time of Christmas. Yes, I know. Tell me what else you have planned.”

“Mrs. O’Leary is finishing my order for three coats. I’m going to stop by this afternoon and see if they’re ready to go.”

“None of them are for you, I suppose.”

He shrugged, indicating his thick coat. “Don’t need another one.”

“You’re a good man, Hunter.” She touched his arm in a show of appreciation that made him ache to take her hand in his. “Are you going to let me deliver the coats with you?”

“Of course. I’ll need a cover in case we get caught again.” He gave in to the urge, cupping his gloved hand over her mitten on his arm. This felt so very right.

“So I’m just your alibi.”

She’d said it in a teasing manner, but the words snagged across his heart. “You’re more than an alibi, Miranda. You’re much more than that.”

She fell silent for a moment, her gaze on the passing snow-covered trees. She eased her hand away. “Back to your excuse about how everyone looks out for everyone else, I don’t think that’s all of it. I saw the delight on your face, seeing Mrs. Nance welcome your gifts. I think you do it for the thrill.”

“Thrill? Nah.” Uncomfortable with her insistence, he turned his attention to guiding the horse through a stand of trees. A brisk wind blew shards of stinging ice crystals into his face.

How could he explain his love for his neighbors? Sometimes a man didn’t need a reason to do the right thing. If he recognized a hardship, he ought to be able to act upon it without having to justify himself.

But when it came to Miranda, he wanted to bare his soul. He wanted to help her see the whole of him; the man he’d become in her absence. Not as Warren’s little brother, not as the neighbor, and heaven forbid--not as a mere friend.

“I was born here, I want to live out my life making those around me glad they know me, and I want to die here, where I made my place in this world. I’m continually amazed at the beauty. Clean. Unspoiled.”

He pointed toward the mountain peaks visible above the trees. “This place is magical, unlike any other on earth. I can’t imagine ever leaving. It’s in my blood, entrenched in my soul.”

“Spoken like a native.”

He heard the smile hidden behind her scarf and inched closer to her on the narrow bench. “Of course Mountain Home captivates me. I’ve got a good life here, rich with things a man can’t buy with any amount of money.”

“It’s easy to see you love the people of Mountain Home. I admire you for it.”

He thought of her choices, her move to the city, and wondered why she’d allowed Warren to chase her away. She had all the same things he did; extended family, a home. A place she belonged. But she’d left. He didn’t understand why. He’d been into Denver on business a handful of times, but had no desire to stay longer than necessary to conclude business and to see her, of course.

“What’s it like in Denver?” he asked.

She seemed to think for a moment. “Different. Busy. I doubt most people look further than their own gardens, their own families, their own needs. Mrs. Vanderfeldt knew few of her neighbors and moved in small social circles.”

He nodded. It sounded like she wasn’t enamored with Denver. “Why’d you go?”

Several moments passed before she answered. She seemed to be gathering her thoughts, so he waited.

“I couldn’t live here, not with that shadow hanging over me every day. I had to support myself.”

Interesting. He understood the history part, but financial support was all taken care of here, with her family surrounding her. She was far from alone. “Were you happy there?”

Another pause. “Yes. I’m happy.” She didn’t sound convinced. “I found contentment in my work. I’m needed there. I’m well suited to companionship.”

He wanted to ask personal, difficult questions. He wanted to know if she still felt contented after holding her sisters’ babies. He needed to know if she still loved Warren.

In the end, he settled on a simple question, because it sure sounded like she talked of Denver like it was her future. He asked softly, “Are you home to stay?”

“I’ve accepted a position with another elderly widow, Mrs. Jamison. I begin before New Year’s.”

An odd sense of disappointment stole over Hunter. He’d wanted her to stay, had hoped she felt the same connection to this place, to the land, to the people. He wanted her to feel the same desire to live here. Most of all, he wanted her to let go of her feelings for Warren.

He swallowed hard, groping for words that would sound kind, accepting. “Denver must suit you.”

“A position as a companion is respectable work. I’m happy to have found a place again after Mrs. Vanderfeldt’s death. It’s the right thing for me.”

The bells on the harness jingled softly, mocking the sadness swelling in Hunter’s chest.

She patted his arm, the touch anything but soothing. “It’s the best life I can hope for.”

That’s where you’re wrong,
he thought, wanting to give voice to his objection. Once, she’d looked forward to married life, planned her future eagerly, and expected to find happiness as a wife and mother.

One way or the other, he’d convince her to expect better for herself. He’d convince her to expect more of him, more of her future, more of happiness and miracles.