Maybe This Christmas: A Sweet Historical Western Holiday Romance Novella (Holidays in Mountain Home Book 2) (12 page)

Agonizing seconds crept past.

At last, he answered. “Yes.”

“Can you let me go now? Will you respect my choice?”

He tucked the fist containing his ring back into his pocket. “On one condition. Does he love you the way you deserve to be loved? Does he love you as much as I do?”

She considered the question, weighed it in her heart. She’d come to understand, sometime in these past four days without Luke, what setting a deadline had cost him. He’d known he might lose her—he’d said so himself. But he’d loved so much he’d been unable to share, unable to live another week without securing her promise and a brighter future. “He does.”

“Forgive me,” he said, “if I must assess that for myself.”

Anticipation tingled through Luke as he made his way into the church for the Christmas Eve service. Yes, technically, he’d given Effie through tomorrow, but he couldn’t help hoping she might come through the church’s doors, search the crowd for his face, and join his extended family on their standard three pews.

He missed her with a bone-deep ache he couldn’t shake.

Mrs. Gilbert, the reverend’s wife, played
Silent Night
on the old organ. Heady scents of cinnamon and bees’ wax candles brought to mind every Christmas of his past. Happy, joyful memories, centered around family and peace. Pine boughs decorated the caps of every pew, embellished with velvet ribbons and silver bells.

“Good to see you, neighbor.” Hunter’s father offered a handshake and warm smile.

“Merry Christmas, sir, ma’am.” He nodded to Mrs. Kendall.

Right behind them came Hunter’s older brother, Warren, with his wife and children. The church filled up as more and more folk left their rigs in the snowy yard and hurried inside.

Luke kept his attention on the door.

One of the little kids tugged on his sleeve. He glanced down to find his niece, Jessie. “Is Miss Effie coming?”

“I hope so.”

His older brother, Del, heard what the little one said and glanced at Dallas. These two brothers evidently knew something he did not.

“What?” Their expressions told him he wouldn’t like it.

“Nothin’.” Del busied himself helping his little ones off with their coats and seeing them seated.

Mrs. Gilbert segued into
With Wondering Awe
and Luke’s stomach dropped to the vicinity of his boots. “You know I’m waiting on Effie. If you know something I don’t, now’s the time to tell me.”

Jessie squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry, Uncle Luke.”

Mindful of her fancy curls, he resisted rubbing the crown of her head. Instead, he squeezed her hand. “It’s OK, Jess.”

Del seemed to debate the wisdom of sharing whatever was on his mind, but Dallas, far younger and apparently less concerned, met Luke’s gaze. “We came into town early, right?”

Luke nodded—one sleigh left nearly an hour ago, as they’d agreed to drop off Christmas surprises for Hunter, who’d stayed home with Miranda and the baby.

“I don’t think Effie’s comin’ tonight.”

Luke’s chest squeezed and he found himself clenching his jaw. He rubbed at the aching teeth with thumb and forefingers. He fought to keep his tone neutral. “Oh? Why not?”

Dallas split a glance between Luke and Del. “As we drove on past the mayor’s place, we saw Gus down on his knees in plain sight, proposing marriage to Mrs. O’Leary.”

Luke choked. His throat slammed shut and his heart seized in mid-rhythm.

Del clamped a hand on Dallas’s shoulder. “Now we don’t know that’s what we saw.”

The image burned on the inside of Luke’s eyelids, and he hadn’t been there.

“Don’t know what else he would’ve been doin,’ Del. He had both of her hands in his, kissed one and then the other.”

“Thanks, Dallas.” Del cut the boy off. “You’ve helped quite enough.”

Chapter Ten

Effie came awake to a soft knock on her shop’s front door.

She blinked against the sunlight streaming through her bedroom window’s curtains. Fog muddied her thoughts and left her sluggish.

Christmas morning.

Quite possibly the lowest point in all her twenty-three years.

Luke’s rejection still stung and tears threatened.

She’d gone in to the Abbotts’ party only long enough to ask her hostess for paper and pencil, and the favor of delivering her note to Luke at church.

Please stop by—I’ve made the deadline.

She’d been intentionally vague, given Mrs. Abbott’s penchant for gossip and the certainty she’d read it. She’d wanted the other woman to believe she’d completed an order to be picked up. But she’d fully believed Luke would understand and be eager to see her.

So
why
hadn’t he come? It was the same question she’d debated much of the night, and it nagged her still.

In retrospect, she desperately wished she’d gone to Luke herself. She’d suffered an intense headache after the emotional exchange with Gus and wanted nothing more than to climb into bed and close her eyes. The thought of staying at the party and feigning joyfulness while Gus suffered was simply too much.

It had been a wretchedly long night and sleep had eluded her until mere hours ago.

She’d never felt so alone in her life. Not even when married to Reuben and isolated from her emotionally distant family.

The knock came again, more insistent this time.

She rolled over, snuggled deep beneath the warmth of the covers upon her bed. She rubbed her eyes and felt the grit of dried tears.

There wasn’t a soul in Mountain Home she wanted to see. Not until she’d washed her face, put up her hair, and dressed properly.

Maybe she still wouldn’t want to see anyone, even then.

She reached for the pocket watch she’d left on her bedside table. Ten-o’clock.

She sighed, yawned, and nestled in deeper. Perhaps she’d stay in bed all day. No one expected her. After Luke ignored her invitation last night, she could not imagine he would call on her to spend the holiday with his family. Why would he?

She had no delusions Gus might want to see her, either.

She’d gotten exactly what she’d originally wanted. She was perfectly alone in the world.

She’d just tried on that wretched realization for size, looked at it from all angles in her mind’s eye and berated herself soundly for thinking this would make her happy, when another knock sounded at her back door. Whoever had come calling at her shop’s front door hadn’t given up after all.

She decided to lay perfectly still and let whomever was there believe she’d gone out.

A minute passed, perhaps two.

The knock came again.

Maybe
it was Luke. Her pulse leapt at the thought.

Of all her friends and acquaintances in Mountain Home, Luke was the most likely to seek her out today, Christmas day.
Maybe
he’d reconsidered.

No better day, ever, to seek forgiveness. Perhaps his heart would be softened because of the day’s holiness.

Knowing she must look a fright, she slipped out of bed into the stark chill of her room, pushed her toes into waiting slippers, and donned her wrapper. She ran fingers through her snarled hair, gave up on trying to improve her appearance, and drew a breath for courage. “Yes?”

She’d raised her voice enough to be heard through the door—but whoever it was wasn’t eager to respond.

“Who’s there?”

Another gentle knock.

If this were Hartford, she’d think twice about opening the door. But this was Mountain Home and it was Christmas. She opened the door to a bright splash of morning sunlight and a rush of frigid air.

Her heart jumped at first glimpse of her visitor—Luke!—but no. A man, bundled up in a greatcoat—
Gus
.

His haggard appearance told her he’d passed as wretched a night as she. His usually jovial face had lost every trace of happiness, as if he’d aged ten years overnight. His luxurious curls were uncombed, tangled beneath his hat and his shoulders slumped with defeat.

She
had done this to him.

Unfortunately, he seemed to see the worst in her, too. He tried to smile. “You look like death warmed over.”

“I’d say the same about you, I’m afraid.” She stepped back, opened the door wider. “Come inside before you catch your death.”

He remained on the snow-packed path. She waited—maybe he would come in.

He watched her expression with such intensity it became more than uncomfortable.

“Why are you here?” she asked, just to break the silence.

He lifted a hand, offered a battered envelope. She’d not seen the once-white stationery clutched in his fist until he presented it. No street, no house number, no city. Just a name—her name—in her sister’s painfully familiar hand.

“Merry Christmas, Effie.” He gestured with the envelope once more, as if begging her to take it.

She reached for it, this letter from Tori. The younger sister she’d been as close to as Scofields knew how to be. They’d been estranged from the day of her marriage to Carmichael. When she’d fled Connecticut, she’d not dared notify her sister.

“How long have you carried this letter?”

“Since Reuben’s death.” He sounded exhausted, as if the flame had gone out in his soul. “I promised Tori I’d find you. I promised I’d give you her letter. Now I have.”

He turned to go, his hands thrust into coat pockets.

“Why didn’t you give this to me weeks ago?” Why
now?
Why give it to her at all, after their reunion turned sour?

He paused with his back to her. It seemed impossible he could wilt further, but he did. Several long seconds passed.

Effie shivered in the bitter cold. She folded her arms about her middle and rubbed her legs together beneath her too-thin nightgown and wrapper. She grew impatient waiting for Gus to answer.

“I didn’t forget.” He turned back. “Once I found you, I always intended to make Tori’s letter a Christmas present from home. Unless we’d made it back to Hartford by now, that is. I’d have given it to you on the train.”

She nodded.

“I want you to be happy.” Gus met her gaze and she knew he spoke the truth. “That’s all I want—for you to be happy. If that’s without me—” emotion choked his voice, “then I’ll learn to be OK.”

“I’m sorry.” She’d never been sorrier about anything in her life. If she could’ve loved him, could have been what he’d needed her to be, she would have. But love didn’t work that way. Far too late, she thought she understood how love did work, what it felt like, and how badly love could hurt.

He shrugged.

She owed him a great deal more than an apology. She owed him gratitude and friendship—and those emotions rang true and sincere. “Thank you for your hard work to find me, to set me free. You were my only and my best friend while in my father’s house. Until Mountain Home, you were my only friend.”

“Yeah. Friends.”

She hated herself for hurting him, for loving someone else.

Without another word, without a goodbye, he trudged away, heading aimlessly in the direction of the empty lot that now belonged to Luke Finlay.

Effie hadn’t realized she could feel worse, more barren, more alone. But with Gus walking away, his head bent low against the wind and darkening skies, the flurries of snowflakes tumbling from the clouds like flour through a great sifter, Effie’s breath snagged on a sob.

“Wait.”

He paused but did not turn.

“Thank you.” She fought to stabilize her emotion. “Thank you, Gus. Happy Christmas.”

From the beginning, Luke had known either he or Gus would lose Effie. Simple mathematics. One woman, two men. They couldn’t both win her.

He’d deluded himself into believing Gus would be the one to leave town, alone.

Until the past few wretched days, he’d not considered he might be the one on the outside while the pair happily celebrated their newfound, renewed love.

Christmas Day had never felt so bleak, hopeless, or lonely. This wasn’t Christmas—not without Effie and not without the buoyant spirit of hope and gladness inherent to the season.

Surrounded by family and laughter, Luke’s heart pined for Effie.

What on earth was I thinking, to give her an ultimatum?

Hunter noticed.

After the ordeal of the holiday breakfast, Hunter pulled Luke aside in the only quiet place they could find in the crowded house—the barn.

Hunter got right to business. “Swallow your pride and go to her.”

“Didn’t you hear?” Luke shoved aside the mental image of Gus on both knees, proposing marriage. “August Rose proposed marriage to Effie last night in the mayor’s gardens—make that
his
gardens…the house he bought for her.”

“They’re not married yet.”

Luke shrugged. Effie had made her choice. Who was he to beg her to reconsider?

He fingered the tattered note she’d written him last night, beckoning him near so she might tell him, in person, of her engagement to August Rose.

He might be man enough to accept her decision, but he wasn’t strong enough to look her in the eye and hear her apologize for choosing Gus.

“Have you seen her?” Hunter demanded. “No. You’ve heard the hearsay, that’s it. For all you know, she refused him, and she misses you as desperately as you’re pining for her.”

Luke shook his head. “I heard he presented a diamond ring.” Tears stung his eyes. He’d heard the happy chatter about the blessed event from too many who’d attended the mayor’s party before church.

Luke figured Effie and Gus had spent a quiet Christmas Eve at the boardinghouse, sipping hot chocolate and planning their future.

“Do you
know
she accepted him?”

“I do.” Luke withdrew Effie’s final note and handed it over. “You’re kicking a dead horse.”

Hunter opened the folded paper and read its single line. Twice.

Luke shuffled the straw beneath his boots. “Nothing’s going to change the facts. Gus won.”

“That’s what you got out of this message?”