Maybe This Christmas: A Sweet Historical Western Holiday Romance Novella (Holidays in Mountain Home Book 2) (9 page)

Gus flexed, pulling hard, but Luke held steady. Muscles bulged beneath shirtsleeves. Strain showed on both faces.

Gus gained several inches, forcing Luke’s backward. Their arms shook with strain.

She groaned in frustration, refusing to watch this ridiculous show. She hung up her cloak. “Where did you scare Noelle off to this time?”

They ignored her. Her temper spiked.

One man—perhaps both—grunted.

She couldn’t help but notice Luke had regained the upper hand. He had Gus on the defense now. Perspiration beaded on his forehead and dampened his hair.

Let them battle this out, but if they thought she’d cooperate as the prize, they’d find themselves sorely disappointed.

She yawned, dramatically, making plenty of noise and patting her open mouth with exaggerated motions.

Neither so much as glanced her way as they remained locked in their contest.

The door opened. Of course it did, middle of the day like this. She’d hoped to find Noelle returning, but her luck wasn’t that good. She decided to meet her patrons in the entryway. “Mrs. Cheney, Mrs. Talmadge, good afternoon to you both.”

The matrons split down the middle and leaned around Effie for a better view.

“Are they…arm wrestling?” Doc Cheney’s wife seemed captivated by the vision of Luke’s strong back. Sweat had dampened his shirt and made the fabric cling to his skin.

“Whatever for?” Mrs. Talmadge, never one to wait idly by, strode directly for the counter to better see the main attraction.

“They’re trying to prove a point.” So far, all they’d proved was their adolescent need to best one another—and the striking similarity in their strength. Their arms shook with fatigue and effort, yet neither had come close to winning.

Mrs. Cheney clapped her hands. “I do love a good contest.”

“I do believe, Mrs. O’Leary,” Mrs. Talmadge stated loudly enough for all to hear, “they’re dueling over you.”

“I’m not a prize to be won.” Despite her flaring impatience with the suitors, she couldn’t help but feel a bit flattered.

“Yes, you are.” Luke’s voice sounded tight, strained.

Her heart thrilled…even if was debasing and embarrassing to watch these two fight over her.

“Finlay.” Gus grunted. “She’s mine.”

“I am my own woman,” she reminded them. “Out. Go.
Now
.”

Neither paid her a moment’s notice.

“Out!” She pointed at the door.

Mrs. Talmadge and Mrs. Cheney swung their faces toward her, scandalized.

Despite it all, Effie meant it—she wanted Gus and Luke gone from her shop. These two made a spectacle of themselves, embarrassed her in front of her customers, and blocked her sales counter. She couldn’t even get to her ledger.

“Effie,” Gus puffed, breathing hard, “I’ve nearly,” another puff, “won.”

“Take it outside.” She meant it.

But the two showed no hesitation. If anything, they fought harder. Gus threw his body weight behind his arm and Luke’s stance widened.

The muscle definition in Luke’s back sharpened, outlined by clinging cotton.

“My money’s on the marshal.” Mrs. Cheney said to no one in particular.

“Me, too. Sorry, Luke.” Mrs. Talmadge almost sounded contrite.

The ladies’ voiced doubt in Luke’s ability must have spurred him on, because he quickly gained ground. Luke forced Gus back, their locked arms hovering at a forty five-degree angle.

Gus grunted and fought back. Effie noted the cold determination in his eyes.

Luke leaned harder, his forward foot coming off the floor.

Effie’s heart quickened as Luke tapped Gus’s knuckles onto the counter.

Mrs. Talmadge hooted with delight. “I don’t believe it—
Luke
won.”

Gus swept his shirtsleeve over his soaked brow, muffling curses.

She might’ve called him on his language, but Luke snared her attention. In two long strides he’d reached her, grasped her shoulders, and kissed her soundly. He’d claimed his prize.

Chapter Seven

Over the next three days, the friendly competition deteriorated into warfare.

Luke found it amusing…and a challenge to best Gus at every turn.

Luke may have won the arm wrestle—by a hair’s breadth, but Gus whopped his butt in a race to clear Effie’s boardwalk of the twelve inches of snow that fell overnight.

Gus had relished the chance to get even.

Effie figuratively washed her hands of them, ignored the whole goings on. So she hadn’t actually witnessed Luke’s humiliation, which suited him fine.

Luke showed up first thing on Friday with a basket loaded with home-cooked delectable goodies for Effie’s enjoyment; Gus took note and hightailed it to the bakery and the hotel restaurant, returning with more food than she could consume in the next two days.

Gus rounded up three talented seamstresses—why hadn’t Luke thought of that?—and paid them to work the afternoon with Effie so she might catch up on her backlog. All Luke could do was volunteer to make deliveries, in town and to outlying ranches, though it took him away from Effie. It seemed they were back where they’d started—Gus in the shop with Effie and Luke on the road.

Luke heard a shipment was expected on the afternoon train, and rushed to the station to collect it before Gus could.

Luke delivered dirty laundry and collected Effie’s fresh bundle from the widow she paid to do the weekly job. Meanwhile, Gus displayed his unnatural prowess in the tailor shop. That was something he couldn’t compete with.

But on Saturday morning, Miranda went into labor…providing Luke with the perfect excuse to whisk Effie away from town on Sunday afternoon. She’d no doubt want to visit her friend and hold the new baby. Timing couldn’t have been more perfect.

“He’s beautiful.” Effie smoothed a fingertip over the baby’s satiny cheek as his eyes drifted shut. He lay snuggled in Effie’s arms, bundled in layers of receiving blankets and a newly stitched quilt.

Late afternoon sunlight streamed through spotless windowpanes, casting the room in burnished gold. The bedroom hearth blazed, keeping the chill away. Outside, wind howled past, but could not invade the warmth and safety and love in this bedroom.

“Thank you.” Miranda admired the gift she’d just opened—a dozen flannel diapers and several receiving blankets. “You’ve been so generous with us.”

“You’re my dearest friend. I’m told you can never have too many diapers or blankets.”

Gratitude for the simple pleasure of holding this newborn babe swelled. It seemed to both fill an aching void within her and yet make that ache so much worse. A little button nose. A tiny mouth, slack in sleep. Hard to say who the babe looked like, yet, but Effie imagined she saw quite a bit of both Miranda and Hunter in their firstborn.

Effie pushed the rocking chair into gentle motion and turned her attention to Miranda. “How are
you
feeling?”

“Well enough.” A quick smile lit her friend’s face. She shifted in bed, propped up on what seemed to be a dozen pillows. “Tired, but well.”

Effie shared a smile with her friend, one that resonated with happiness. “Have you decided on a name?”

“You’d think we played tug-o’-war, trying to name this child. I want Phillip after Dad, and Hunter’s determined he have his own name. No grandfather’s names and no Hunter, Jr.”

“Any ideas?”

“Not yet.”

Though ensconced in an upstairs bedroom, away from the high-traffic kitchen, noises of a full household filtered through the sturdy ranch house. Clatter of pans mingled with children’s laughter. Heavy footfalls pounded up the stairs, apparently taking them two at a time.

Happy sounds. Family sounds. Though Effie enjoyed living in town where she was constantly surrounded by people, she found the commotion in this household to be so ever much better.

She wasn’t so alone when the Finlays opened their doors and their home to her. She almost felt like one of them. They’d made her welcome on numerous occasions when the family gathered for holidays, Sunday dinners, and simply for the pleasure of good company.

No wonder Miranda had spent the last month of her confinement in her parents’ home where she’d have the security of delivering with help of her mother and plenty of brothers to ride for the doctor when the time came. Now that she remained abed and healing from childbirth, she’d benefit from her mother’s care.

“So.” Miranda’s expression carried a hint of mischief Effie knew so well. “Tell me all about the handsome U.S. Marshal who stepped off the train and kissed you senseless.”

“How did you hear?” The answer was obvious—everyone in town already knew. “Never mind—of course you’ve heard. His name is Gus…and we were…friends…a long time ago.”

“I hear his kiss in greeting went way beyond friendship.” Her features lost their bright teasing. “Hunter told me you how frightened you were of this man. He said he—Gus?—had you backed against the wall.”

How much could she possibly disclose? How much had Luke told his family? She wanted to believe he’d keep her shameful secrets to himself, but couldn’t be sure.

“He caught me by surprise.”

“Tell me everything.”

This was her friend—a dear woman whose own romance, just a year ago, had cemented their friendship. If anyone would understand her reticence to accept a suit from either Gus or Luke, it would be Miranda…even if Luke happened to be her elder brother.

In truth, Miranda was in a unique position to help Effie shuffle through the conflicting emotions attached to both men. She trusted Miranda implicitly.

“Gus and I had a youthful romance, hidden and secretive.” As she shared the highlights with Miranda, it became even more clear that the feelings associated with Gus were in the past. “Now, I’ve come to the frightening realization that there’s no comparison between Gus and Luke. None at all.”

Miranda’s features softened with understanding. She reclined on the pillows. “The word about town is Gus has loved you since he was fifteen years old.”

“So he says.”

“I think it’s romantic.”

Effie chuckled, sharing a wicked smile with this dearest friend. “Until he showed up, unannounced, and with a predatory gleam in his storm-gray eyes, I’d not seen him in five years.”

“Predatory gleam? I see why Hunter mistook your shock for fear.”

“I
was
afraid.” It was suddenly difficult to meet her friend’s gaze. She’d surely give away too much. But she needed to talk and sort through the jumble of emotions, so in a low voice as to not be overheard, shared the dismal secret of her disastrous marriage, the fateful night in which she’d believed herself capable of murdering her husband, and flight from Hartford.

“How,” Miranda asked, her expression filled with more surprise than disappointment, “did you manage to get away? It takes money, resources, time—”

“I saved every penny I could scrape together from the household accounts. Reuben couldn’t be bothered with women’s work, so he didn’t notice a nickel here and three cents there. I also had a savings account I brought with me to the marriage, money I’d been given by my grandfathers. While it technically belonged to Reuben upon our marriage, he hadn’t touched it—yet—and as the marriage deteriorated, I withdrew the funds and kept them secreted in a compartment in my writing desk.”

“Oh, Effie.” Miranda reached for her in a show of compassion.

Tears burned Effie’s eyes as she grasped Miranda’s hand. “It’s over. It’s been over a long while. You know the rest. I ran, far and distant, took a false surname and bought Pettingill’s with my savings.” She sighed, releasing Miranda. “Other than that, I vow everything I’ve told you is the truth.”

She couldn’t keep her attention on Miranda’s face, not with tears filling her eyes, so she focused on the sleeping baby. “I told you my only salable skill was sewing, which was true. I didn’t want to lie to you.”

They fell silent, and Effie drew long, deep breaths, trying to settle the trembling in her body. Why was it so difficult to confess?

“And then Gus came for you.” A bright smile had replaced Miranda’s frown. “And kissed you senseless…and my brother found out and
he
had to make his intentions known.”

Startled, Effie blurted, “You know? Did Noelle tell you?”

Miranda laughed. “In this household, no one has much privacy. Luke is as obvious as can be. He’s been mooning over you for as long as anyone can remember, so no, Noelle didn’t need to say a word. I do believe he took notice of you the moment you arrived in Mountain Home. Is it fun to have two handsome gentlemen vying for your attentions?”

“No. It’s actually a good deal of trouble.”

“I can imagine. I know my brother so well.”

“The two men are locked in an ongoing competition, battling one another for me, as if I have no say in the matter.”

“Luke is an exceptional man. Anyone would have a hard time measuring up to him.”

“I’m realizing this.”

Luke was a fine man and would make someone an exceptional husband—but that someone shouldn’t be her. She wasn’t so sure she’d make anyone a passable wife. She was more a divorcee, in the spirit of the law, than a widow. Everyone knew women who failed at marriage shouldn’t be trusted a second time. Some moments, such as this, she found it inconceivable that one man—much less two—courted her with the intent of marriage.

“You’re very deep in thought.” Miranda hid a yawn behind her hand.

“I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

“Oh, no you haven’t. Who’s the better candidate?”

“For marriage?”

“Yes. You might string the pair of them along for a long while, but eventually one of them will persuade you to see things his way. You’ll have to choose.”

And that was the heart of the matter, wasn’t it? “I’m not stringing them along.”

Miranda smiled with understanding. “If you don’t mind my asking, which one do you want?”

“I don’t know.”

Miranda leaned forward, pressed a gentle, warm hand to Effie’s knee in the manner of very close girlfriends. “You, my dear friend, are a horrible liar.”