The Christmas Brides (14 page)

Truly, as the bard had so famously said, there
were
more things in heaven and earth than this world dreams of.

A light knock at her door brought Lizzie out of her musings, and she went to open it, found Morgan standing on the small porch facing the side yard. His hands stuffed into the pockets of his worn coat, he favored her with a shy smile.

“I know it isn't proper, but—”

“Come in,” Lizzie said, catching him by the sleeve and literally pulling him over the threshold.

Inside, Morgan made such a comical effort not to notice the bed, which dominated the tiny room, that Lizzie laughed.

“I can't stay,” Morgan said, making no move to leave.

“People will talk,” Lizzie agreed, still amused.

His gaze strayed past her, to the music box. “This was quite a Christmas, wasn't it?” he asked.

“Quite a Christmas indeed,” Lizzie said, watching as he approached the table, sorted through the stack of little brass disks containing various tunes, and slid one into the side of the music box. He wound the key, and the strains of a waltz tinkled in the air, delicate as tiny icicles dropping from the eaves of a house.

Morgan turned to Lizzie, holding out his arms, and she moved into his embrace, and they danced.

They danced until the music stopped, and then they went on dancing, in the tremulous silence that followed, around the table, past the rocking chair and the bed. Around and around and around they went, the doctor and the schoolmarm, waltzing to the beat of each other's hearts.

December 20, 1897

“M
ISS
M
C
K
ETTRICK
?”
lisped a small voice.

Lizzie looked up from the papers she'd been grading at her desk and smiled to see Tad Brennan standing there. Barely five, he was still too young to attend school, but he often showed up when classes were over for the day, to show Lizzie his “homework.”

“Tad,” she greeted him, cheered by his exuberant desire to learn. In the year Lizzie had been teaching, he'd mastered his alphabet and elementary arithmetic, with a lot of help from his father. By the time he officially enrolled in the fall, he'd probably be ready to skip the first grade.

“Mama says you're getting married to Dr. Shane soon,” Tad said miserably.

“Well, yes,” Lizzie said, resisting an urge to ruffle his hair. She knew her little brothers hated that gesture. “Dr. Shane and I
are
getting married, the day before Christmas. You're invited to the ceremony, and so are your parents and grandparents.”

Tad's eyes were suddenly brilliant with tears. “That means we'll have a new teacher,” he said. “And I wanted
you.
”

Lizzie pushed her chair back from her desk and held out her arms to Tad. Reluctantly he allowed her to take him onto her lap. Like her brothers, he regarded himself as a big boy now, and lap sitting was suspect. “I'll be your teacher, Tad,” she said gently. “The only difference will be, you'll call me Mrs. Shane instead of Miss McKettrick.”

The child looked at her with mingled confusion and hope. “But aren't you going to have babies?”

Lizzie felt her cheeks warm a little. She and Morgan had done their best to wait, but one balmy night last June, the waiting had proved to be too much for both of them. They'd made love, in the deep grass of a pasture on the Triple M, and since then, they'd been together every chance they got.

“I'm sure I'll have babies,” she said. “Eventually.”

“Mama says women with babies have to stay home and take care of them,” Tad told her solemnly.

“Does she?” Lizzie asked gently.

Tad nodded.

“Tell you what,” Lizzie said, after giving him a little hug. “I promise, baby or no baby, to be here when you start first grade. Fair enough?”

Tad beamed. Nodded. Scrambled down off Lizzie's lap just as the door of the schoolhouse sprang open.

The scent of fresh evergreen filled the small room, and then Morgan was there, in the chasm, lugging a tree so large that Lizzie could only see his boots. The school's Christmas party was scheduled for the next afternoon; Lizzie and her students, fourteen children of widely varying ages, would spend the morning decorating with paper chains and bits of shiny paper garnered for the purpose.

“Miss McKettrick promised to be my teacher in first grade,” Tad told Morgan seriously, “
even
if she's got a baby.”

Morgan's dark eyes glinted with humor and no little passion. Late the night before, he'd knocked on Lizzie's door, and she'd let him in. He'd stayed until just before dawn, leaving Lizzie melting in the schoolteacher's bed.

“I just saw your pa,” he told the child, letting the baby remark pass. “He's wanting you to help him carry in wood.”

Tad said a hasty goodbye to Lizzie and hurried out. John Brennan had come a long way in the year since they'd all been stranded together in a train on the mountainside, but his health was still somewhat fragile and he counted on his son to assist him with the chores.

“Did you really meet up with John?” Lizzie asked, suspicious.

Morgan grinned, leaned the tree against the far wall and crossed the room to bend over her chair and kiss her soundly. Electricity raced along her veins and danced in her nerve endings. “I could have,” he said. “Walked right past the mercantile on my way here.”

Lizzie laughed, though the kiss had set her afire, as Morgan Shane's kisses always did. “You're a shameless scoundrel,” she said, giving his chest a little push with both palms precisely because she wanted to pull him close instead.

“We're invited to supper at the Thaddingses',” Morgan replied, still grinning. He could turn her from a schoolmarm to a hussy within five minutes if he wanted to, and he was making sure she understood that. “They have news.”

Lizzie stood up, once Morgan gave her room to do so, and began neatening the things on her desk. “News? What kind of news?”

Morgan stood behind her, pulled her back against him. She felt his desire and wondered if he'd step inside with her, after walking her back from supper at the Thaddingses', and seduce her in the little room in back. “I don't know,” he murmured, his breath warm against her temple. “I guess that's why it will come as—well—
news.
”

His hands cupped her breasts, warm and strong and infinitely gentle.

“Dr. Morgan Shane,” Lizzie sputtered, “this is a
schoolroom.
”

He chuckled. “So it is. I'd take you to bed and have you thoroughly, Miss McKettrick, but I saw your father and one of your uncles coming out of the Cattleman's Bank a little while ago, and my guess is, they're on their way here right now.”

With a little cry, Lizzie jumped away from Morgan. Smoothed her hair and her skirts.

Sure enough, a wagon rolled clamorously up outside in the very next moment. She heard her father call out a greeting to someone passing by.

Lizzie put her hands to her cheeks, hoping to cool them. One look at her, in her present state of arousal, and her father would know what she'd been up to with Morgan. If he hadn't guessed already.

Morgan perched on the edge of her desk, folded his arms and grinned at her discomfort. “Damn,” he said, “you're almost as beautiful when you want to make love as just afterward, when you make those little sighing sounds.”

“Morgan!”

He laughed.

The schoolhouse door opened, and Holt McKettrick came in, dressed for winter in woolen trousers, a heavy shirt and a long coat lined in sheep's wool. His gaze moving from Morgan to Lizzie, he grinned a little.

“Lorelei sent some things in for the new house,” he said. “Rafe and I will unload them over there, unless you'd rather keep them here until after the wedding.”

“There would be better,” Lizzie said.

Over Morgan's protests, when their engagement had become official on Lizzie's twentieth birthday in early August, her grandfather had purchased a little plot of land at the edge of town, and now a small white cottage with green-shuttered windows awaited their occupancy. Angus, Holt, the uncles and Morgan had built the place with their own hands and, little by little, it had been furnished, with one notable exception: a bed.

When Lizzie had commented on the oversight the week before, while they sat in the ranch house kitchen sewing dolls to be given away at church on Christmas Eve, her stepmother had smiled and said only, “I was your age once.”

Morgan, whistling merrily under his breath, gave the evergreen a little shake, causing its scent to perfume the schoolhouse, and nodded a greeting to Holt.

“We'll be going, then,” Holt said, with a note of bemused humor in his voice. His McKettrick-blue eyes twinkled. “Lorelei and the other womenfolk are wanting to fuss with your wedding dress a little more, so you'd best pay a visit to the ranch in the next day or two.”

Lizzie nodded. “I'll be there,” she promised.

Her papa kissed her cheek, glanced Morgan's way again and left.

As soon as Holt had gone, Morgan kissed Lizzie, too, though in an entirely different way, asked her to meet him at Clarinda Adams's place at six, and took his leave as well.

 

“C
OMPANY
!” Woodrow squawked, from inside the once-notorious Clarinda Adams house. “Company!”

Morgan smiled down at Lizzie, who stood with her cloak pulled close around her, shivering a little. The ground was blanketed with pristine white snow, and it glittered in the glow from the gas-powered streetlight on the corner. Curlicues of frost adorned the front windows. “That bird takes himself pretty seriously,” Morgan observed.

“Hurry up!” Woodrow crowed. “Hurry up! No time like the present! Hurry up!”

Lizzie chuckled. The Thaddingses had become dear friends to her and to Morgan—and so had Woodrow. Once, Mr. Thaddings had even brought the bird to the schoolhouse, and the children had been fascinated by his ability to repeat everything they said to him.

The door opened, and Zebulon stood on the threshold. He wore a red silk smoking jacket, probably left behind by one of Clarinda's clients, and held a pipe in one hand. “Come in,” he said. “Come in.”

“Come in!” Woodrow echoed.

Gratefully, Lizzie preceded Morgan into the warm house. Once, according to local legend, there had been paintings of naked people on the walls, but they were long gone.

Woodrow hopped on his perch. “Lizzie's here!” he cried jubilantly. “Lizzie's here!”

She laughed and, as Morgan closed the front door behind them, Woodrow flew across the entry way to land on Lizzie's shoulder.

“Lizzie's pretty,” the bird went on. “Lizzie's pretty!”

“Smart bird,” Morgan said, amused.

Woodrow tugged at one of the tiny combs holding Lizzie's abundance of hair in a schoolmarmish do.

“Flatterer,” Zebulon scolded Woodrow affectionately. Then, to Lizzie and Morgan, he confided, “He's been after that comb all along.”

Lizzie laughed again. Stroked Woodrow's top feathers with a light finger. “When are you coming back to school?” she asked him.

“Woodrow to school!” he crowed. “See the pretty birdie!”

“He'll keep this up for hours if we let him,” Zebulon said, turning to lead the way into the main parlor.

Just as they reached that resplendent room, Mrs. Thaddings—Marietta, to Lizzie—entered from the dining room, carrying a tray in both hands. She was gray and frail, but Lizzie had long since stopped thinking of Marietta Thaddings as elderly. She was an active member of Indian Rock society, such as it was, hosting card clubs and giving recitations from her vast store of memorized poetry. She was the soul of kindness, and Lizzie loved her like a grandmother.

“Come, sit down by the fire,” Marietta said. “I've brewed a nice pot of tea, and supper is almost ready.” Lizzie sat.

Morgan took the tray from Marietta's hands and
placed it on the low table between the settee and several chairs drawn up close to the fire. Although Morgan was always polite, his solicitude worried Lizzie a little. He was, after all, Marietta's doctor as well as her friend. Was her health failing?

Marietta's eager smile belied the idea. She sat, and Woodrow flew to perch in the back of her chair.

“We've heard from Clarinda,” she announced.

Lizzie braced herself. Was the legendary Miss Adams about to return to Indian Rock, and upset the proverbial apple cart? During her absence, the Thaddingses had served as caretakers of sorts. If Clarinda returned, she would almost certainly reestablish her business.

Morgan's hand landed lightly on Lizzie's shoulder, steadying her. There was so little she could hide from him; he sensed every change of mood.

“Lizzie's been a little nervous lately,” he said. “What with the wedding coming up in a few days and all.”

Zebulon and Marietta beamed. “So it is,” Zebulon said. “Christmas Eve, after the church service the two of you will be married.”

“It's so romantic,” Marietta sighed sweetly.

“Let's tell them our news,” Zebulon said, after giving his wife a long, adoring look.

“Clarinda has decided not to come back to Indian Rock,” Marietta told them. “She hired us as permanent caretakers, and we can do what we want with the place. Turn it into a hospital or a boarding house.” She paused, and she and Zebulon exchanged a glance. “Or a sort of school.”

Lizzie's eyes stung with happy tears.

“We'll need to do something,” Zebulon hurried to contribute. “To make ends meet, I mean, and the
Territory is willing to pay us a stipend if we'll take in Indian children. The ones with no place else to go.”

“You wouldn't feel we were—infringing or anything, would you, Lizzie?” Marietta asked, gently anxious.

“Infringing?” Lizzie repeated, confused. “I think it's wonderful.”

Both Zebulon and Marietta sighed with relief.

“Are you up to it?” Morgan asked them, ever the practical one. “Kids are a lot of work.”

Zebulon's eyes shone. “We never had children of our own, as you know, and we love them so. We'll be fine.” He turned to Lizzie, looking worried again. “It will mean more pupils for you,” he said. “The schoolhouse will probably have to be expanded. Usually, these little ones have been shuffled from place to place, and they're the ones without a family to take them in. They might get up to some mischief.”

“After the wedding,” Morgan said diplomatically, “Lizzie won't need the teacher's quarters anymore. If the town council agrees, it would be easy enough to knock out a wall and add a few desks.”

Both Zebulon and Marietta looked relieved.

When it came time to serve supper, Lizzie followed Marietta back to the kitchen to help in whatever way she could.

“What's it like to live here?” she asked, because curiosity was her besetting sin and she hadn't stopped herself in time.

Marietta looked gently scandalized. “Early on, several confused gentlemen came to the door,” she admitted, cheeks pink. “For a while, there, we got at least one caller every time the train stopped at the depot.”

“I shouldn't have asked,” Lizzie said.

“It's natural to wonder,” Marietta assured her. “And Lord knows, I've done
my
share of wondering. Clarinda and I were raised in a decent, God-fearing home. My sister was always spirited, that's true, but I certainly never
dreamed
she'd grow up to run a…a
brothel.
”