A Grand Teton Sleigh Ride: Four Generations of Wyoming Ranchers Celebrate Love at Christmas (6 page)

“I … I’m not quite sure. I thought of making a clootie dumpling. I haven’t had one in ages. My … our mother used to make it for us when we were children, every Christmas.” She pulled out some mugs. There were four, one of which had a missing handle and chipped rim.

“I’ll skip coffee,” Zebulon said.

“Nonsense.” Belle shook her head. “You’ll have coffee.”

“So, what is this clootie dumpling?” Ivana asked. “Is it sweet?”

“A bit. It’s like a fruit pudding. But I’m not sure if I’ll have the ingredients.” Belle poured coffee into the three mugs. “If not, I’m sure I’ll figure something else out.”

“Whatever it is, I know it will be good.” Zebulon did his best to encourage her. He knew she probably didn’t feel like celebrating this Christmas.

“Thank you, Zebulon.” She handed him a steaming cup then gave cups to the others. She sat down in the chair beside him. “I’m really not much of a cook, so I can’t guarantee you how good it will taste.”

“Ah, but I know you’ll do your best,” Ivana said. “I know Sven had to put up with a lot of my burned meals before I learned to cook better.”

“I lost ten pounds during our first year after the wedding.” Sven gave his wife a warm look. “But now, I must watch I do not overstuff myself with her cooking.”

Zebulon found himself envying their interaction. Belle sat beside him, and he wanted to know if she’d felt what he’d been feeling these past days and weeks. Ever since the meal at the Smythes, something had happened.

No, really, it was since losing Hamilton and Melanie. Not as though he’d never lost anyone unexpectedly to an early death before. But maybe it was the promise he’d made to Ham not long after Belle moved to be with her sister and brother-in-law. If anything happened to him, Zeb would be there for Melanie and Belle.

Despite her bravery and determination, he still saw her vulnerability. He admired her persistence and unflinching resolve to stay here. Being in this part of the country, especially at this time of year, demanded it.

To lose the determination and resolve could mean death.

“You’ve fallen silent, Zebulon.”

He snapped out of his reverie to see the three of them looking his way. Little Tilde had fallen asleep in her mother’s arms.

“I’m thinking is all.”

“Well, be happy, man,” Sven said. “Tell me, how much more to finish your sleigh?”

“It’s the runners. I need to make sure I have the supplies to attach them.”

“If you need some help, I can give you a hand.”

“I appreciate that.” He shrugged. “I thought I’d have this done sooner, but no. There’s been a lot to do on the claim. Or, I should say, the Covington Ranch.”

“So, when do you think you’re going to settle down?” Ivana asked.

“I think I’m pretty settled right now.”

“I mean, take a wife. You need a partner, someone to run the ranch beside you.” She flicked a glance at Belle, who suddenly bolted to her feet and went for the jar of cookies. Good. He liked the cookies, shortbread, very much and could probably polish off the entire jar himself.

Belle set the jar on the table. “Here. Help yourselves to more.” She lifted the lid.

Of course, a man had to obey. Zebulon picked up another cookie to give himself time to form a response to Ivana’s suggestion.

“Well?” she asked, blinking at him.

“Ivana …” Sven’s tone was low, gently chiding. “When a man’s ready, he’s ready.”

He chewed as they both eyeballed him, and Belle kept herself busy with loading cookies on a plate. She didn’t direct her focus in his direction but picked up the cookie jar and put it on the makeshift table by the window.

“Ah, I suppose you’re right, Sven.”

The couple exchanged glances as Tilde commenced to wail.

“Here.” Ivana reached for a cookie. “We should go now, the little one fusses.”

“Thank you for coming. I enjoyed your company very much.” Belle smiled at Ivana. They were likely not so far apart in age. Zeb didn’t miss the wistful look that crept into Belle’s eyes when studying little Tilde.

Marriage might mean companionship, but marriage also led to babies. Zeb swallowed hard.

The land was hard enough to work, without supporting a wife, and children. The right woman, however, would be up to the task.

The four of them said good-byes after Belle followed them outside to their respective means of travel. Zebulon let himself linger while Ivana and Belle embraced and the young family headed off toward their claim, with promises to see each other next time the church meeting assembled.

Suddenly, his tongue seemed to have swollen to twice its size, his brain grinding to a halt. He stood by his mount’s head and held the bridle.

“Well, thank you for the lesson. I enjoyed it, very much. Except for the falling parts.” She laughed at herself, and he also laughed at the memory of seeing her sliding and falling into the snow. She’d picked up the skill by the end of the hour, not expert by any means but enough to start.

“You’re very welcome. I enjoyed watching you learn.” He let himself take her by the hand. She didn’t pull away but looked up at him with her blue eyes bright in her face.

Then he surprised himself by tugging her closer and planting a kiss on her lips. She stepped closer still, and he put his free arm around her.

He caressed her cheek then jumped on his horse and rode away before he said anything foolish.

Belle sat humming to herself as she worked at knitting a muffler from leftover yarn. The finished project would be warm and multicolored, and also serve as a Christmas gift for Zebulon.

She hoped she wasn’t being too presumptuous. Although his quick kiss good-bye surprised her the other day, it also pleased her. He’d skittered away like a spooked horse at his own action. She’d stood there, her lips burning, not sure of what to do.

A kiss. It hadn’t bothered her, only that she’d had a fitful night’s sleep that same evening.

Zebulon was sweet, and his kiss had been sweet, chaste, showing him to be so unlike her beau back East. Their relationship had been disastrous. The man, more a beast than a man, believed women were objects, no matter what their station.

Times like this, she missed her sister desperately, having someone to talk to. Rosemary was a kind enough young woman, but she was naive, and so far the only tragedy in her life had involved leaving her life back East. Not that she minded Rosemary as a friend; truthfully, Belle thanked God every day for the people she called friends now.

But the empty chairs at the table each morning and evening reminded her of her aloneness. The only times she’d allowed herself the luxury of grief was in the moments right before bed, but she was usually so tired after chores and such that sleep came swiftly. Or immediately upon waking in the morning, she’d miss hearing the sounds of someone else in the household.

She still didn’t understand losing Melanie and Ham. But then everyone knew the risks of living in the still-untamed territory of Wyoming. Not only that, the accident could have happened somewhere else, even in the city.

Times like this she wanted to tell Melanie about Zebulon. Of course, her sister knew the man better than she, had known him longer. He was Ham’s friend, and Ham had a good reputation. Because of Ham, Zebulon had agreed to keep an eye on Belle.

She disliked the idea of anyone “keeping an eye” on her, one of the reasons she persisted in hiring Mr. Tolliver to help with the animals three times a week. She couldn’t afford a full-time hand. And she wasn’t about to have Zebulon here every couple of days, not when he had his own spread to care for.

She kept knitting the muffler, its length falling past her knees, as she sat by the window.

Maybe giving him the gift of a muffler
was
presumptuous. After all—she wasn’t giving gifts to anyone else. But then she could always sneak it to the Christmas Eve meeting and get Ivana to help her deliver the present anonymously. Zebulon had been a good help to her, and for that she was thankful, especially when he would accept no payment.

The sunny afternoon gave the solitary window a soft glow. The days had grown shorter, the closer Christmas came. She ought to haul more wood to the pile to ensure she had enough close on hand before another storm rolled through. Thankfully, Zebulon had chopped a good deal of wood the last time he’d stopped by.

As her hands worked the knitting needles, she looked at her fingertips. The roughened areas had increased. Back East, she’d put lotion on her hands every evening. Ladies took care of their hands.

But her lotion here had dwindled, and she didn’t know when she’d be able to purchase more. The local store only carried necessities, and luxuries like lotion had been low on her shopping list. She’d have to special order the product and have it taken over the pass. The cost would be double that back East.

Perhaps next time in town, she’d order a container of lotion to reward herself for making it through her first winter in Wyoming.

Someone approached the house, and she squinted to see the figure, astride a mule. Zebulon. Whatever did he want?

She stood then stashed the muffler on the seat. Whatever he wanted, she wasn’t going to risk the hint of impropriety by inviting him into her home, alone, for any period of time. Also, in such an enclosed place, he’d likely hear the thrumming of her heart.

Belle pulled her shawl around her shoulders and opened the front door.

“Mr. Covington,” she called out.

He slid off the mule’s bare back and tied the reins to the nearest post. “Miss Murray.”

He covered the distance to the front door in but a few steps. “I apologize for the late hour of coming by. I know it’s going to be dark soon, but I couldn’t let this go another day.”

“Let what go another day?” She looked up at him, his figure filling the space of her vision. Much too close for her liking at the moment, and she recollected his nearness in a similar stance and the kiss that followed.

“I must give you my apologies for my actions when … when I taught you how to ski.”

She clasped her hands in front of her. “Why should you apologize? It was unexpected but not unwelcome.” Oh, but she was being bold. She’d never spoken such improper words as this, like a flirtatious young woman.

“Perhaps not, but I should have asked permission. I should have—”

Belle stepped forward, stood on her tiptoes, and gave him a peck on the lips. She’d gone beyond presumption and hurtled headlong into sauciness.

“There.” She stood there and smiled at him.

Zebulon shook his head. “Miss Murray. I’m … I’m not in need of a wife. I don’t simply hand out kisses. I’m not sure why I did.”

“All right, then.” Belle nodded. “Fair enough. Apology accepted. Good day, Mr. Covington.”

She stepped backward, nearly tripping as she crossed into the warm, snug home, and closed the door firmly.

Now she knew. If he didn’t need a wife, or romantic entanglement, she’d stay away from him but good. And how humiliating, her leaping at him with a kiss. What he must think of her now. Or not. Especially since he didn’t need a wife anyway, or so he said.

Belle glared at the jumble of knitted yarn on the chair. She’d give the muffler to Mr. Tolliver. He’d been helpful, reliable, no matter the pittance she could afford to pay him to help.

Z
eb stood staring at the door Belle had just firmly shut. Or slammed, rather. He deserved it.

But it was better this way. He’d avoided much complication, and his head was now clear after being honest with Belle. Despite the fact he’d seen how the Smythes interacted together, as well as the Olsens, he’d been on his own for too long.

Jackson’s Hole was developing year after year, and in time to come, the place would be less harsh to outsiders. Maybe then, when it was easier, he’d entertain the idea of settling down.

He strode back to James the mule, and hopped back on. But he didn’t want to head back to the ranch just yet. A quick ride into town would do, as quick as he could go on a mule anyway. Unless James had ideas of his own. He would check the post to see if anything had arrived for him. He didn’t often receive mail but thought it would be worth a try.

He’d been a cad, pushing her away in no uncertain terms after the kiss. But he was being honest. He shook his head and urged the mule along.

He didn’t need anyone.

But what had scared him so badly about a brunette blue-eyed beauty who jumped in headlong into western life?

He didn’t know. He’d sooner face a night in the wild, alone, than confront his reaction to her. It wasn’t fair to subject her to his uncertainty on how he felt. One moment he wanted her gone. Another moment he wanted to help shelter and protect her.

Despite Belle’s getting stuck in the mud and whatnot, she didn’t need rescuing. However, that could change. The worst part of the winter wasn’t yet upon them. He knew it, but he didn’t think Belle understood what could lie ahead.

Half of him wanted to tote her and her belongings over the pass, the other wanted to beg her to stay.

Yet he’d just told her he didn’t need a wife, straight out, to her face.

What was wrong with him?