Jillian Hart (9 page)

"Did you get more jam?"

"In the pantry."

Riding her stick horse, Mary clattered across the kitchen. "Pa? Did you tell her we really liked her?"

"I tried to." He grabbed a thick cloth and lifted the kettle from the hot stove. "She may wind up leaving on the train anyway."

He hated the flash of disappointment on Mary's face. "I don't want her to go, Pa."

"Neither do I." Gabe set the steaming bowls on the table and leaned toward the window to get a good look at the sky.

"It looks pretty cloudy, Pa."

"That it does." Gabe grabbed the coffeepot and poured a cup, considering. Even if the train did come, he had the morning. It could be enough time, if not to convince Sara Mercer to stay, then at least he could try to win another smile from her and hope she would want to see him and Mary again. Missoula wasn't so far by train.

And besides, it did look cloudy outside. Maybe even cloudy enough for another blizzard.

Sara knew she could not delay any longer. Connie had called her, and she didn't want to keep them waiting. But she wasn't certain if she felt ready to say good-bye. There had been no more snow during the night, so surely the train was coming.

"There you are." It was Jim who spoke first, a kindly man, tall and lean, his spectacles glinting in the lamplight. He held up the china teapot. "Would you like some tea?"

"Please." Sara headed to the stove, where Connie was dishing out the food. "I'm sorry I'm late."

"You're not a bit late." Connie gestured with her chin. "Do me a favor and hold that platter for me."

"Sure." Sara lifted the delicate porcelain platter rimmed with cabbage roses and held it while Connie dished up the butter-fried potatoes.

"Here we are, the day before Christmas Eve, and I'm not nearly prepared." Connie scraped the last of the potatoes from the fry pan. "Would you like to come with me this morning? I have a few more gifts I need to get."

"It sounds fun, but it's possible the train might be coming in. Isn't that right?" Sara set the platter on the cloth-covered table.

"That's right." Jim gave his glasses a push with his forefinger, sliding them back up his nose. "The crew worked late into the evening last night, once the snow let up. There's a very good chance you could be with your aunt for Christmas."

"That would be wonderful." Sara held a second platter for the sausage and ham slices as Connie forked them out of another pan. "I haven' seen my aunt since I was young."

"Goodness, you can't spend a Christmas with a stranger, even if she is your aunt." Connie set down the fry pan with a clunk of iron upon metal. True concern gleamed in eyes as dark as Gabe's. "Would it truly hurt your chances for this job if you just stayed a few more days with us?"

"What?"
Sara's fingers slipped. The platter hit the edge of the stove. Shaken, she caught it in midair, saving all but one sausage, which rolled to a stop somewhere beneath the table.

"Good catch." Jim rose to grab a towel. "I'd hate to lose those sausages."

"Goodness, are you all right, Sara?" Connie dropped the pan on a trivet "Are you burned?"

"No." Heat stained her face and she set the platter on the table. "I didn't mean to be so clumsy. Oh, Jim, I could have gotten that."

"That's my job, picking up after everything Connie misses." A good-natured grin accompanied his kind words, and he tossed the fallen sausage into the garbage pail.

"That's right. Men have their uses." Connie's glimmer of humor faded when she caught Sara's hand. "Are you sure you're all right? I hope my suggestion didn't startle you."

"No, I just—" Words failed her. "I truly can't jeopardize this job, no matter how much I appreciate your invitation."

"Couldn't we send a telegram to your aunt and ask her to hold the job for you?" Jim scooted his chair forward to reach for a platter of fried eggs. "I would be happy to send one for you this morning."

"Oh, I couldn't." She could feel the heat on her face, hotter than before. Besides, she couldn't afford the luxury of a telegram. They were expensive, and she fully intended to pay Connie and Jim for her stay. That left precious little in her reticule to see her through.

And besides, it wouldn't be right. Not to stay here intentionally, with these feelings so strong and bright in her heart, with her love growing stronger for Mary and for Gabe, love she had no right to. She was not Mary's mother, not in truth. Ann had been, the woman who had rocked Mary through endless nights and comforted her and cared for her. Who had taught Mary her first word and how to walk, then run, how to sing, and how to make a snowman.

"Surely your aunt doesn't need you until after Christmas." Connie reached for the salt and pepper, her gaze intent on Sara's face and eyes.

"She wanted me there a few days before to help with the rush sewing for the holiday." She needed that job. Her planned stay in Moose Creek had only been for a few hours, not days. It was hard thinking of leaving, but the truth was, she had to go. If she reached Missoula and her angered aunt decided not to give her the job—well, she would be in a real fix.

"For your sake, I hope the train is running this morning, but for mine—" Connie's gaze sharpened, and Sara bowed her head, certain the woman was studying her eyes. "Why, I have to admit I'm selfish and hope you stay."

Sara opened her mouth, not sure what to say, but a knock on the door spared her. The back door swung open and Mary breezed inside, bringing in with her a piece of sunshine. A man hesitated in the threshold, tall and iron strong, his blue gaze riveting Sara's the instant he stepped into the room.

"Gabe." The spoon clattered from her fingers, nearly landing in the sugar bowl.

"Didn't mean to interrupt your meal, but I want a private word with Sara." His gaze intensified, as if he could see clear through to her secrets, to the deepest part of her heart.

It was a place she didn't want him looking.

"You're free to use the parlor," Connie spoke up, reaching for the platter of sausages.

Jim and Mary looked at her expectantly and Sara didn't see how she could refuse. She stood, heart pounding. Had he guessed the truth?

Chapter Seven

Gabe held the swinging door open for Sara. She brushed past him, her chin bowed, her hands locked together. She wore a soft yellow dress, buttery and inviting, a color that made her black hair gleam and brought out the blue in her eyes.

She was still in mourning, even if she'd long ago given up wearing black. He had to remember that. He knew how hard this was, reaching out to another person, hoping to find love again.

"I'm sorry I scared you off last night." He wanted that out right away. He wanted her to know he wasn't about to push her if she wasn't ready. He was a patient man and more than willing to buy a few tickets to Missoula to visit her. "I didn't mean to be so direct. I thought you felt the same things I did."

"Gabe, I—"

"I know you need time." He could see it in her eyes, the want so large not even her denial could hide it. "I'm willing to give you all the time you need."

"You have it all wrong." She wrung her hands, small and pretty hands slightly reddened from harsh lye soap, from a life of hard work. "I just want to leave."

His heart squeezed. "The train could be coming today, as long as the storm holds off. Once it clears the pass, there should be no more trouble the rest of the way to Missoula."

"That's what I want." She held his gaze steady, her eyes gleaming with a regret so big he could feel it in his own heart. "That's what's best. I hope you understand."

"I do." She wasn't ready. Or she didn't think she was. He knew about that too. "Mary and I enjoyed your company last night, Sara. Mary thinks Santa sent you here to be her mother."

"I know." She dipped her chin, and dark curls tumbled across her face, hiding the emotions that pinched her mouth. "I don't want to disappoint Mary, but I'm certain you two will find the right woman. I'm just not—" She hesitated, rubbing the curls from her eyes as dark as winter.

"You want too much, Gabe. More than it is right for me to give." She touched his sleeve, a brief but sustaining touch, and in that moment of contact he felt a sorrow so great it stunned him, left him reeling. Sara headed toward the kitchen, where Mary, a child who believed in Santa's magic, waited.

"I'm gonna sit by you, Sara." Mary scooted over a chair that belonged next to Jim.

"What? I've got boy germs or something?" Fond amusement sparkled in Jim's kind eyes.

"Well, you are a boy," Mary said as if that were a bad thing she forgave him for. "I can sit with you at dinnertime."

"Thank you." Jim poked his fork into a bit of egg, hiding his smile.

"Sara, you're not going to leave when the train comes, right?" Mary looked up at her expectantly.

Sara let the door shut behind her. The fire in the stove crackled, and the teakettle bubbled on the stove, getting ready to whistle. The cozy room ought to make her feel wanted, as it had yesterday, but today she wanted only to escape.
Please let the train come this morning.

"Your breakfast is getting cold," Connie reminded her gently. "We want to hear more about last night. Mary told us she played Christmas songs for you."

"Yes, she did." Sara forced cheer into her voice. "She's a very talented little girl."

"Nah, I just practice a lot," Mary denied, but pride beamed along her soft face, pink with pleasure. "Pa said my ma played the piano and she was real good."

Sara sunk down into her chair, her heart sinking like lead. "Is that why you wanted to learn?"

"Yep. Pa said my ma learned in New York with an important teacher."

"I never knew your mother, but I saw her a few times." Sara forced the words past the pain in her throat. "She was a nice lady and very pretty. I'm sure she was talented at everything she did."

"You know what my ma looked like?"

"Sara grew up in the same town as your pa and I did," Connie told Mary. "But I'm very glad she came our way."

Sara felt the tenderness of those words and saw the compassion etched on Connie's face. Her heart rocked to a stop as realization struck.
She knew.
Connie knew the truth and didn't blame, didn't suspect.

Overcome, Sara grabbed her teacup and found it cooled, but drank anyway, one sip after another, willing the grateful tears away.

"I can still hop over to the telegraph office," Jim volunteered, relentless in his kindness.

Sara suspected he did not know her secret. "I wish I could ask you to, but I can't."

"Well, we hate to see you go." Connie reached for the teapot and filled Sara's cup. "But Missoula isn't so far away and we could write each other. Would you like that?"

"Very much."

"After all, it's fun to keep in touch. I could let you know how Jim and I are getting along. And tell you all that Mary is up to."

Sara set down the cup with a rattle, speechless at what Connie offered.

"Yeah, I'm up to a whole lot of things." Mary grabbed the jar of huckleberry jam and dipped her spoon in it. "I get a pony as soon as I'm five."

"A pony?" The words caught in Sara's throat.

"Yep. And I'm gonna learn to ride. And I want to learn to sew like you. And next year I getta start school."

"I know you are going to be my best student," Jim offered, scraping the fork against his plate.

"Pa says I'm smart like my ma."

"And as pretty, too," Connie added, her gaze landing on Sara.

Her chest hurt, her heart felt ready to shatter. How she wanted to belong here.

But Sara knew she didn't. She had to leave now while she still could find the strength to walk out that door.

Sara Mercer was all Gabe could think about that morning when he showed up at the office, where Clancy had the stove roaring and the coffee boiling. Still waiting on word from the railroad crew, his deputy explained, but it looked as if the tracks were clear. A crew of men, hired just to shovel snow, had returned to town about an hour ago.

Looked as if the train was going to beat the storm. Gabe glanced up from his desk, considering the northern horizon rimmed with gunmetal gray clouds. Maybe Sara was going to be able to leave, just as she wanted.

The front door swung open, bringing with it the crisp rush of a northern wind. "Sheriff. Got news on the train."

"Jesse Garrett. Come in and warm yourself. Feels like the temperature's dropping."

"It is. And I've come a long ways, galloped my mare all the way from the pass." The young man, his face pale from the cold, took the wooden chair Gabe offered and gratefully collapsed into it in front of the stove.

"Should I spread word the train is coming?"

"Not yet it ain't." Jesse tugged off his wool cap. "The engine's broke. Got a part being rushed out of Billings. Will take all day to repair."

"You don't say."

Gabe considered this new piece of information. Sara might not think she was right for him and Mary, but he could not deny the situation. The forces that be wanted to keep Sara in Moose Creek, in Connie's home, near him and Mary.

And who was he to argue with Santa Claus or even greater powers?

"Thanks for letting us know. Clancy and I will find out if we need to send more men to help. And judging by the storm gathering along the horizon, it will be a close call which will be here first: a blizzard or the train."

"Ain't that the truth." Jesse thanked Clancy for the steaming cup of coffee.

Gabe grabbed his coat from the peg, considering the possibilities. Sara Mercer would be stuck here for days. He'd seen the fear in her eyes. She was just afraid to care again, to hand over her heart. Well, chances were he might have the time he needed to gently convince her otherwise.

"Sara, look at the cat." Mary gestured toward the gray-and-black tabby in the milliner's front window. "It's Mrs. Barry's kitty. Every morning she takes Winston to work with her. Can we go in and pet him?"

"I need to stop here anyway." Connie's smile was indulgent. "Careful not to run and scare Winston—"

Mary was already dashing through the doors and the striped cat, drowsing in the soft velvet background of the shop's display, hopped up, its tail stiff and back hair bristling. Then, recognizing the girl, he stepped forward ready for some chin scratches.