Maybe This Christmas: A Sweet Historical Western Holiday Romance Novella (Holidays in Mountain Home Book 2) (13 page)

“What else is there to understand?”

“Who gave this to you?”

“Mrs. Abbott.”

“Her?” Hunter snorted. “That woman’s a gossip. I figure Effie wanted to make this note sound like business, and she did a fine job of it. If Mrs. Abbott thought you were to stop by to collect an order, she wouldn’t be all curious and talking about you to anyone who’d listen.”

“Or maybe,” Luke said, swallowing in an attempt to ease the tightness in his throat, “Effie planned to tell me she’s accepted Gus’s proposal. Forgive me if I don’t have the strength to listen to that.”

Once the annual family portrait had been taken in Mother’s parlor, she bodily kicked Luke out of the house. “Go to her.
Go
. And don’t come back until you’ve solved this. I can’t abide your misery.”

And to think he’d believed himself successful in hiding his grief.

Just proved what his mother had always claimed—mommas have eyes in the backs of their heads. They know
everything
.

He’d go. Because mommas did know everything. And she was right.

He’d made himself miserable, and the only solution was to see Effie, even if it made things worse. At least then he’d know if his only option was to hire himself out. Somewhere. It didn’t really matter where. It couldn’t be here, not with Gus soon taking over as Sheriff and Effie, his wife, living in the mayor’s former residence. Everything in this town reminded him of her.

His brothers were old enough now to take over the ranch, to do the work their father could no longer manage. If his worst fears were realized and Effie was forever lost to him, he would not stay in the valley he’d called home every day of his life.

It had been five days, two hours, and thirty five minutes—an eternity—since he’d pressured her with an ultimatum. If only he’d held his tongue and exercised patience, if only he’d followed through on his promise to court her slowly, none of this would’ve happened. True, he’d still be competing with Gus for Effie’s affections…but he’d still have a chance.

Five solid days filled with regret, picturing her in the other man’s arms.

Five wretchedly long days calling himself every name in the book.

He saddled up and turned toward town. Domino nickered and broke into a canter.

He felt like berating the gelding for looking forward to this visit, but held his tongue. He’d done quite enough damage with words of late, and he intended to change that.

If Gus were less than a United States Marshal, town hero,
and
the community’s beloved new Deputy Sheriff, Luke might be able to talk some sense into Effie. How could he complain? The man’s worst offense was winning a lady’s heart.

If Luke were magnanimous—which he wasn’t—he’d admit Gus deserved Effie’s love and affection. It might be a very long time before he could fake that level of benevolence.

His heart thudded dully in his chest, numb from the thrashing he’d taken over the past many days.

He slowed Domino to a walk on the icy streets of Mountain Home. Snow had fallen steadily since late morning, and it looked bad, like the weather could take another turn for the worse. He’d stable Domino at the livery, in hopes Effie would see him.

As Pettingill’s came into view, the windows seemed dark. There was still enough light out she might not have lit a lamp.

Or perhaps she wasn’t there. If not, he knew where to find her…with Gus.

Cold clear through, Luke dismounted and found the livery snug and warm, but not a soul about. The horses nickered in welcome as he brought Domino in from the weather, rubbed him down good and well, and saw to his water and feed.

When he could delay no longer, he stepped into the wind and driving snow and peered across the street at Pettingill’s Taylor Shop…his heart pining for Effie.

One lamp was lit inside now. Good, she was home. He couldn’t even consider the probability that she wasn’t alone. If Gus was with her, Luke would say what he had to say, though Gus would hear every word. The man had a right to know Luke was desperately in love with his bride.

The shop’s door was locked. He pounded on it, waited. With the wind whipping past, he couldn’t hear movement inside. Had she left a lamp burning and gone out?

He knocked again.

Long moments slipped by and still nothing.

Despair, heavy and thick, suffocated him. He braced his forearm against the door frame and rested his forehead against it. His hat nudged loose, caught on the wind, and tumbled end over end, far beyond his reach.

Like Effie.

He couldn’t muster the energy to go after it. It was just a hat. Without Effie, what did the loss of his best hat matter?

She was probably at the boarding house, sitting before a flickering fire in Mrs. Ihnken’s parlor, sipping mulled wine or spiced chocolate and singing carols with Gus and many others. The thought of going to her there seemed to require energy he didn’t have, but he’d do it. He
had
to.

He’d pushed back, prepared to turn away when the door swung inward.
Effie
. In mourning black and a lamp held high.

He took in every curve and plane of her sweet face, the darkened hollows beneath her eyes. She wasn’t smiling. The spark of happiness was missing in her vacant eyes.

She’d been crying. He could see that now in the puffiness and red-rimmed tender flesh about her blue, blue eyes.

Her gaze seemed to drink him in, to take in every scrap of information his expression betrayed.

A slow, sweet smile deepened the dimples in her cheeks. She still looked so sad, so world-weary, so threadbare in spirit. No one should be this unhappy on Christmas.

Before he thought it through, he’d taken two brisk steps toward her—to do what, he didn’t know. But there he was, in her doorway, and all it would take was an arm’s reach and he could touch her.

Heaven help him, he had to touch her, to pull her into his arms, to hold her close, to claim her and put this awful disagreement behind them.

He couldn’t force his gaze away, couldn’t look beyond her to see if Gus lurked in the shadows, where Luke wanted to be more than anywhere in the world.

She stepped back, and in a wordless gesture, invited him inside.

Chapter Eleven

Hesitant, more unsure than he’d been in his life, Luke entered the shop and closed the door.

Surely, if she’d accepted Gus’s proposal, she shouldn’t be this despondent. Or alone.

But that was zero guarantee she’d consider Luke’s proposal, either.

He realized she clutched a worn envelope and sheet of stationery in her hand. “What’s this?” Stupid question, but he had to start somewhere, and jumping in with
I’m miserable without you
didn’t seem the place to begin.

She glanced at the letter. “It’s from my sister.”

The envelope looked like it’d been around the world and back. She must’ve received it some time ago.

“Gus brought it to me this morning. He didn’t stay long—” The tightness in her voice conveyed the pain and misery she tried to hide.

Ah—it made sense. “Your sister didn’t know where you were. No one did.”

She sighed. “Happy Christmas to me.”

“Is this why you’re upset? The letter?”

“What?” Her gaze was unfocused. “No.” She walked deeper into the shop and set the lamp on the counter.

A long moment stretched as he followed her every move, willing her to confide in him, willing her to want him in her life.

At last she spoke. “I’m shocked you’re here. I thought—”

“I couldn’t stay away.” Without meaning to, he approached. He swallowed, his gaze drinking her in. “God, how I’ve missed you.”

“I missed
you
.” The lamplight illuminated tears gathering in her luminous eyes.

He didn’t want to make her cry. But they couldn’t go on like this. He had to know the truth, had to hear it directly from her.

“Word is Gus proposed. Again.”

She shook her head, pressed her face into her hands. Her narrow shoulders shook with emotion that clawed at his shredded heart.

He wrapped his arms about her and pulled her in. There had been too much heartbreak. He could see how devastated she was, how torn, that her pain fairly ate her alive. He didn’t want this for her.

He wanted her to be happy, to regain that spark and fire that drove her, made her the successful businesswoman, an independent widow who knew exactly what she wanted and how to get it.

With her cuddled against his chest and her face pressed to the hollow of his throat, he could almost believe they had a chance.

She eased back, pulled a hankie from her sleeve and dried her face. “You’re cold. Come sit by the stove.”

She turned away, carried the chair that belonged at her sewing machine close to the heat. He hung up his coat and accepted the stool he’d spent so many hours upon, reading to her as she worked. Then, she’d enjoyed his company and wanted him near.

“How did we get here, Effie?”

Her smile brimmed with sadness and she twisted her handkerchief in her hands.

“Forgive me,” he murmured, “forgive me for doing exactly what I promised you I would not do. I pressed you for an answer, and that was wrong.”

His heart thundered in his ears. This was the crucial turning point.

“There’s nothing to forgive.” She searched his face…for what, he didn’t know. “You told me you would not share—that I had to choose. You told me you…love me.”

He did love her, more than life, but figured she didn’t want to hear it.

“I’ve never said those words to anyone. Not my parents, not my sister. Certainly never Carmichael. Not even Gus…before, when we were young.”

“Never?” He leaned nearer, surprised. Expressing love for family members, in word and deed, was as natural to the Finlays as breathing. He couldn’t remember a single day when he’d not heard family express a simple ‘I love you’ and known it to be true.

She shook her head.

He could imagine how difficult it would be for a person who’d never known how to express or show love to trust that words could communicate something so precious…or that they’d be received well.

He touched her jaw, invited her to turn to him. She did, finally, her blue eyes round and frightened, but hopeful, too. “I’m the one who must apologize. You gave me a beautiful gift—a promise of a home of my own, your love, a legitimate offer of marriage—I couldn’t force words that weren’t there…I could not lie, not to you.”

“It’s OK.” It killed him to admit it, but it didn’t matter that she couldn’t love him in return.

Grief yawned wider within him. The dull pain behind his breastbone burned hotter. He’d lost her, because he’d demanded she choose, though he might have lost her anyway. She hadn’t accepted Gus, either, but that was poor consolation.

He’d known from the beginning she liked her life the way it was, secure in its insularity. She did have three options, after all: with him, with Gus, or continue as she’d been.

“Don’t say it.” He swallowed against the dryness in his throat. “I already know.”

She blinked. Her lashes spiked with moisture. Her dimples deepened as she pursed her lips. Heaven help him, he’d miss her dimples. He’d miss her laughter and her smile. He’d miss
her
.

So he simply held her gaze, soaked in the image of her face, the color of her eyes so he could remember. Later and always.

This was why he had to leave the valley, go far enough away as to avoid hourly reminders of all he’d lost. No wonder Miranda had left home for so long after Warren broke her heart. He understood, completely.

Her delicate brows drew together in confusion. “I haven’t seen you in five days, couldn’t possibly have given anything away. How do you know? Who told you?”

“Your choice is evident, Effie. You’ve obviously refused Gus.” Pain seared through his heart, followed with a rush of grief so intense, he didn’t know if he’d survive it. “And you’ve refused me.”

“That’s what you think you know?” She shook her head with vehemence. “Must I spell this out?”

What was she saying? “I think you’d better.”

“
Yes,
I refused Gus, every single time he mentioned a future with me. He’s never been the man for me, and I’ve known that from the day of his arrival.”

Luke scrubbed a palm over his face. “Any reason why you didn’t just say so, weeks ago? It would’ve helped, immensely, had I known that.” He might have never issued the fatal ultimatum.

She shifted on her seat, turning to face him. “I knew, before you told me I must choose. My heart already had.”

His pulse roared in his ears, but he thought he’d heard her right. He wanted to jump in, to demand clarification, praying she’d decided to take a chance on him.

“Maybe—” She drew a deep breath, straightened her posture, and held his gaze for an electrifying moment. “Maybe it’s time.”

“What are you saying?” He wanted to pull her to him, kiss her until she confessed to loving him, too.

“Maybe this Christmas, it’s time to open my heart to possibilities.”

“Effie—” It came out as a growl, almost like a warning. He hadn’t meant it to.

“The possibilities,” she echoed. “The possibility that maybe it’ll be better, different, right. With you.”

He hardly gave her time to finish. He surged to his feet, caught her in his arms. She giggled with such pure joy as he swept her around and around, her boots leaving the floor in a swish of wool and flannel.

His laughter melded with hers. “I heard you right—you said
with
me?
”

She tightened her arms about his neck. “Yes.”

“I love you, Effie O’Lear—Scofield, whoever you are. I love
you
.”

He set her on her feet, grinning like a fool. Just having her back in his arms made
all
the difference.

“I love you, Luke Finlay. I love you.”

“You mean it? But earlier, you said you couldn’t lie—”

“Oh, yes. I mean it.” Her dimpled smile faded. “Forgive me, please? I didn’t know what love was. How could I? You’re the first, ever, to show me.”