Jillian Hart (5 page)

"You look adorable." Connie dropped to her knees to retie the bow Sara ached to reach for.

Sara took a step back, remembering who she was. She was not Mary's mother, not the woman who cooked for her and watched over her by day, not the one who comforted her when nightmares interrupted her sleep.

"But this dress needs something. It's a little plain." Connie sounded puzzled. "What do you think, Sara?"

"It could maybe use more lace to offset the lace on the hem." Sara knelt beside Connie for a better view of the dress.

"I want a lace collar, like the one on that dress." Mary skipped to the rack and studied a deep blue sateen with cuffs and collar of cream lace.

"You know I can't sew a stitch." Connie inspected the delicate lace on the blue dress.

"I can." Sara's hand flew to her mouth. She had no right sewing for a child no longer hers, no right to steal such a pleasure.

"Oh, thank you!" Mary's arms wrapped around Sara's waist, all enthusiasm and joy.

"Sara, that's so nice of you. And you're a seamstress to boot!" Connie's smile told her gratefulness.

"I see you three are still standing." Gabe strolled down the aisle, his lanky gait unhurried. "Mary, you haven't given Connie an apoplexy yet, have you?"

"We haven't been shoppin' that long, Pa." She dashed into her father's strong arms. "I like this dress best."

"It sure looks pretty on you." Gabe brushed back tangled curls from his daughter's brow, a gentle gesture from so powerful a man. A father's love shone in his eyes, and Sara adored him all the more for it. Every time she saw the love he had for Mary, he became a bigger, better man in her eyes.

"And guess what? Sara's gonna put on a lace collar."

"She is?" Gabe's dark blue eyes flashed up to meet Sara's, full of humor too, and the joy of being with his daughter. "I hope Mary didn't railroad you into this?"

"I offered."

"So, she charmed you, did she?" A grin tugged at one side of his cheek, lopsided and charming.

"Just a little bit." My, but he was a handsome man, all dressed in black, from his hat to his wool jacket to his polished boots. "Any news on the train?"

"Still snowed in." Gabe swept off his hat. "The hotel's still full up. I wish I could offer better news."

Her heart hammered. How could she spend another night in Connie's home? "Maybe the boardinghouse...?"

"What? You don't like staying with me?" Connie crunched on the last of her peppermint stick. "Or was my cooking that bad?"

"No, it's just that I"—her gaze fell to Mary—"can't impose. Christmas is almost here, and your family—"

"Would be honored to have such a lovely guest." Gabe stepped into the light, and there was no mistaking his honesty.

"That's right," Connie agreed. "You could just pretend we're family for as long as it takes for that train to get here. We have yet to decorate the Christmas tree and finish our shopping and, oh, help with the Christmas boxes for the needy—"

"And don't forget the Christmas pageant," Mary spoke up as she twirled round and round, her full red skirt flaring. "I want Sara to see me sing."

"There's a thrill she won't want to miss." Gabe winked, and Sara felt the impact of his lopsided grin across the narrow aisle. "I'm going to leave you ladies to shop and check back with you later."

"He's good for hauling our packages home," Connie confided. "And for buying three lovely ladies dinner."

"I heard the hint." Good humored, Gabe offered Sara his hand, palm up.

She laid her smaller hand on his, felt the male-hot texture of his skin, rough and callused, but pleasant, saw deep in his eyes a longing she understood too well.

"If you truly want me to find other accommodations, I can." He said the words low so that Mary and Connie, their heads bent over the lace goods, couldn't hear. "We want you to stay right where you are. With our family."

Her heart turned over and plummeted all the way down to her toes. No man had ever looked at her this way; no man had ever made her ache quite the way Gabe did.

"I'll stay where I am." Emotion ached in her throat.

"If the weather holds, we'll see the train in the morning."

In the morning. Sara had never dreamed for so much, this time spent with her daughter. "That will give me plenty of time to sew on that collar."

"Just the collar, huh?" Gabe's eyes laughed, such a dazzling shade of blue. "You don't know Mary. There's a word you need to learn if you spend any time around her at all. And it's the word
no."

"I bet it's a word she doesn't hear often." Sara watched as Mary held a delicate collar up to the dress's neckline.

"Thank you, Sara." Gabe released her hand, stepping back, and the air suddenly felt colder.

"It's my pleasure."

He strode away, and she could not tear her gaze from the line of his rock-hewn shoulders, not until he disappeared from her sight. But the way he made her feel, warm and treasured, remained.

Chapter Four

It was the light in Sara's eyes that drew his gaze back every time he looked down at his plate to cut his steak or over at Mary while she spoke of their adventures in shopping. Back to the shimmer of Sara's blue eyes, like sunlight on water, and the way happiness seemed to fill her, changing her face from pretty to beautiful.

The tinkling din of happy voices in the diner, the beaming joy on his daughter's face, the street beyond the sparkling window with its white streets and colorful shops faded to silent gray when Sara leaned forward to answer Connie's question.

"No, my father thought wrapped gifts and decorated trees frivolous." She toyed with her fork, bowing her chin, and dark curls fell around her face. "When she was alive, my mother would hang stockings for us above the hearth for Santa to fill with candy and pennies."

"I don't remember my mother much." Mary rubbed dark curls out of her eyes. "Did Ma put up stockings, Pa?"

"She did." It hurt to remember, but in a good way. Those were happy times too, but so far away, impossible to touch. "And she decorated the tree every year and played the piano. She loved Christmas carols. There was always music and presents piled beneath the tree."

Mary lifted her gaze, resonant with longing. "That's why I asked Santa to bring me a mother. I don't need no presents."

"Not even a doll?" Connie asked.

When Sara's eyes brimmed, his chest tightened, kicking up a new sense of longing with every beat of his heart. Not for times past, but for those yet to come.

"Not even a doll." Mary's solemn tone seemed at odds with the merry laughter somewhere else in the diner, with the exciting anticipation lingering in the air like the scent of cookies and pine, for the holiday was only days away. "Pa and me are real lonely. Other girls have got mothers to sew their dresses and tuck them in at night."

"I tuck you in at night," Gabe protested, reaching for his glass of cider before the emotion tight in his chest sounded raw in his voice. "I'm a pretty darn good tucker-inner."

"Yeah, but, Pa, a ma would be good too." Mary's gaze flicked to Sara, stormy eyes luminous. "Did you ever get a new mother, Sara?"

"Never. I would have liked one." How wistful her voice.

Gabe considered the little girl she must have been, kept home from school to take over the bulk of her mother's work. Her father, a stern, unbending man who took no pleasure in life. "Surely you celebrated Christmas when you were married."

"No. We were wed in February and he fell off the barn roof late that summer. He died soon after." The grief had passed, but its shadow remained, keen and spellbinding. "We would have had a wonderful holiday if Andrew had lived. But some things are not to be, I guess."

"Is that when you moved back home to your father?" Connie asked.

Sara nodded. "And later, when I was on my own, I would decorate a small tree, but that was all."

"Then I'm glad you'll be with us, at least to share some of our fun." Connie's gaze warmed out of sympathy for the woman and her past.

"So am I." Sara kept her head bowed, maybe shy, maybe just uncomfortable that her feelings showed. "I will remember this time spent with you always."

Gabe could not stop looking at her, drawn by a beauty that grew with every moment. A gentle, radiant beauty, the kind that only came from within.

"It's starting to snow again." Mary spread her arms wide and spun in circles, the ends of her scarf and the hem of her blue dress twirling right along with her.

Entranced, Sara missed a step and nearly slid off the boardwalk.

"Careful." Gabe stepped down after her, his words rumbling with care.

She blushed, feeling foolish. Ice crackled beneath her shoes, where the day's brief sun had melted the snow, which had frozen again.

"Hey, Pa!" Mary skidded, almost falling the same way Sara had. "Oops."

"Yeah, oops. It's slick, angel." Gabe's gentle teasing could not hide his protective nature. He watched the traffic on the busy road, where horses and sleighs rushed by.

Sara blinked against the thick flakes batting her face as she turned at the intersection. Packages rattled as Gabe strode beside her, wide shoulders braced against the north wind.

"Mary, stop goofing around. You're going to end up on your fanny," Connie tsked. "Goodness, look at that sheen of ice. It's going to be a cold one tonight."

"Mary." Gabe's warning sent Sara turning.

"Oh, Pa. I don't fall. Much." Mary skipped up to take her hand. "Sara, do you like snowmen?"

"I haven't met one I haven't liked." How that button smile warmed the darkest places inside. Sara took a careful step, even as Mary, in her exuberance, pulled her along.

"Mary, you're going to wind up on the ground and take Sara with you." Gabe sounded breathless as he gazed over the top of the packages he carried.

His dark blue gaze sparkled, rare and easily, and she caught herself smiling back. "I'm likely to be the one falling and knocking Mary over."

The girl giggled, her face pink with delight.

"Goodness. Would you look at that?" Connie's airy wonder snared Sara's attention and she swung around.

She heard Gabe's "Whoa," the rustling of paper and packages, and the thud of something hitting the ground hard enough to rattle teeth. Then she saw the packages tumble into the snow.

"Gabe!" She rushed to his side, dropping to her knees. The ice was so hard, it would be no trick at all to break a bone. "Are you all right? Can you move your legs?"

"I'm fine, Sara. Just a little humiliated—that's all." He was a big man standing up, but spread out on the ground, his size and strength seemed more noticeable. Maybe it was because he was dressed in black, a stark contrast to the sugary-white snow. Or maybe it was because she saw the man he was, powerful and substantial, not just the father of her daughter.

"My pride's a bit bruised." He rubbed his elbow as he sat up.

"Here's your hat, Pa." Mary skipped close, offering the now battered Stetson. "It flew off your head when you hit."

"Thanks, smarty-pants." Shaking his head, scattering thick tantalizing dark locks over his brow, he tried to bend the hat's brim back into shape.

"You should have been watching where you were going, Pa," Mary reminded him with a giggle.

"Watch out, or I'm going to have a talk with Santa." With a rueful wink, he set the hat back on his head. Ice clung to him, along every inch that had contacted the ground.

"Pa, you look like a snowman from behind." Mary's helpful comments just didn't stop.

"That's it. You're getting only coal for Christmas." Tossing a sheepish grin Sara's way, he tried to brush off some of the more embarrassing snow chunks.

Sara felt the tickle deep in her chest and tried to stop it, but up it bubbled, growing stronger as it went. She erupted into giggles.

"A proper lady wouldn't find humor in a man's misfortune," Gabe reminded her, though he didn't scold, didn't find fault. No, his words came like a touch, tender and binding.

"You weren't misfortunate, Pa." Mary joined in retrieving the fallen packages. "You were walkin' too fast, and you didn't look where you were goin'. That's what you always tell me."

"Guilty as charged." Gabe did not see the need to mention he'd been watching Sara, noticing the swish of her dark skirts against her slim ankles, the fine set of her slender shoulders, the easy grace of her smile when she looked down at his daughter. Fine way to act now that he was in a pretty lady's company. "I'm gonna have to tell Santa all about this little incident here."

"More coal." Connie reached, but Sara grabbed the last package, straightening up carefully as her feet began to slip. "Gabe, would you mind telling me what in blazes all those men are doing standing around on my porch?"

"What men?" Over the stack of the packages, Sara stepped away from him, taking with her the scent of sweet apples and even sweeter woman.

"I should have guessed it." He took a step, readjusting his gun belt, which had twisted during the fall. "Looks like word has gotten out about Sara."

"What about me?" The rose-soft color pinkening her cheeks drained away.

"That you're stranded here." Gabe didn't mind stepping close to her to take the packages she carried. Her scent, innocent and enticing, tickled his nose, made his heart skip a beat. "Those vultures think one of them just might be lucky enough to take you out to supper."

"What?" She froze, stiff as an icicle. "Gabe, I don't think I could—" She paused, her gloved hand covering her mouth.

He could see the prospect of facing so many eager gentle-men, all sporting their Sunday best even in this frigid weather, daunted her. He liked that Sara Mercer was shy and unpretentious. "I'll handle it."

"Thank you." Her gratitude shone like sunlight through clouds, unveiled and genuine.

He tipped his hat to her, his chest tight, his blood thrumming through his veins.

"I should have suspected something like this could happen." Connie snuggled her hat over her ears and took a step, following her brother. "When I came to town to help out, when Ann was failing, I had six men bring me flowers before I'd walked from the train station to the house."