The christmas brides col.., p.27
The Christmas Brides Collection, page 27
Alone in a strange house with strange men, she has reason to be nervous, he figured. Especially with a man who has forgotten just how sensitive a woman can be, Michael silently rebuked himself. Noah and Samuel scooped their beans and stared at their plates. He’d been too gruff. Why’d she have to be a woman, Lord? He could handle men. His knack for soft speech had died with Julie, and a beautiful blond with flawless skin wasn’t going to get him to open up that area again. She’d just have to accept his ways. After all, it was his house, and he was in charge.
Angela reappeared with the woolen socks on her feet. Her dress seemed tighter around the waist. She’d put the long underwear on as well. At least she listens. He scooped up more of his beans and took his eyes off the alluring creature. Even dressed like that, she appealed to his senses.
“After dinner you can go through my wife’s belongings. They’re in a chest in my room. Take what you need.” He didn’t need to be sweet, but he could be polite.
“Thank you.” She spread the linen napkin on her lap. “How long do you think this storm will last?”
“Hard to say.” Michael forked his dinner. Beans just about every night was getting old, extremely old. Perhaps he should consider hiring a woman to come in and cook and clean a couple of times a week. Noah and Sam would love it. So would his own gut.
Angela clasped her hands and bowed her head in prayer. Michael stopped chewing. Prayers before dinner were occasional at best, though he still did evening prayers with the boys before they went to bed.
“I apologize for being an imposition. I do thank you for rescuing me.” She picked up her fork and scooped up some beans. Her mouth stopped chewing instantly. Then, as if checking her responses, she swallowed the tasteless beans. Angela dabbed her mouth with the napkin and replaced it on her lap. “May I cook for you while I’m here?”
Michael bit his inner cheek to keep from grinning. He’d be a fool to turn down a woman’s cooking. Even the worst cook in the world would manage better than he. Hadn’t the boys complained enough in the past few days about their constant meal of ham and beans? “I won’t pass it up. As you can tell, I’m not much of a cook.”
She nodded, but refused to speak her thoughts. Angela Harris must have been raised by a refined woman, he mused. The town was bringing in new folks every day, but Michael had kept to himself. How long has she lived in the area? he wondered.
An awkward silence filled the room.
Noah reached over and touched Angela. “I can’t wait to eat your cooking.” His grin was infectious.
“The boys and I have been hard-pressed for a good meal for a long time.”
“I’d be happy to help. Do you have some molasses?” Angela put down her fork.
“Yeah, on that shelf over there.”
She scooped up the frying pan and returned the contents of her plate to the pan. The boys did the same.
“Do you mind?” she asked.
“Of course not.” What else could he say? Admittedly he wanted to return his plate to the frying pan as well. But he held back. He couldn’t appear too eager, could he?
Michael watched as she worked her magic with the beans. The fresh aroma that filled the room had his stomach gurgling. Maybe, just maybe, Angela was an angel from heaven sent to help his household. He’d been thinking about hiring someone. Perhaps she was up to the task. She couldn’t live too far away if she’d gotten twisted around in the woods.
“Where do you live?” Michael asked.
“In town. My dad owns the feed and grain store.”
Harris. Of course. He should have put the names together. Frank Harris was a fine man, an honest man. He’d never had any problems doing business with him. Which meant she’d been living in the area for years. Why hadn’t he seen her before? Where did she keep herself? Surely he would have noticed Angela before, wouldn’t he?
“I know your father.”
Angela turned and smiled. “He’s a good man.” She removed the hot pan from the woodstove and set it on the table. She served the boys, then herself. Her gaze caught his, silently asking if he would like some. He wanted to accept, no question, but there was more than enough on his plate to feed his belly. He blinked his negative response.
“Hmm, good.” Noah smacked his lips. “You gotta have some, Dad.”
“It’s wonderful,” Sam mumbled.
“Samuel, don’t speak with your mouth full. And, Noah, I’m sure it’s wonderful, but I have plenty on my plate.”
“It’s your stomach,” Noah quipped as he dove his fork in for another hearty scoop. “Thank you, Miss Harris. This is great.”
“Perhaps you can tell me what you added to the beans to make the change in them?” Michael asked.
“Just a little bit of molasses and a small spoonful of your brown sugar.”
Michael nodded. He could do that. Maybe he didn’t need to hire someone, just get someone to teach him how. No, he didn’t have time to learn how to cook, plus care for the land and livestock. He scooped another forkful, dreading the next bite. His appetite gone, he pushed himself from the table and went outside to bring in some extra wood for the night and first thing in the morning. The wind howled, driving the snow in swirls around him. The trees bent before the onslaught, groaning in protest. The storm was a bad one.
Angela didn’t know what to make of Michael Farley. He obviously wasn’t happy that she was there, but he was too decent a Christian to put her out into the storm. Her father must be worried sick with her being gone so long. Father, God, give Papa peace. Let him know I’m all right.
She made herself useful and started cleaning up the dishes. Unfortunately, as she began to clean, she couldn’t keep herself from also washing down several shelves. Dust and grime were piled thick upon them. How long ago did he lose his wife? she wondered.
A blast of cold air filled the room. Michael Farley stood with his arms full of wood. “Boys, get the door,” he hollered.
Angela resisted the urge to assist him. He seemed to be a gentle bear of a man who had a growl that could send folks running. Was it the anger over his loss? What did it matter? This is temporary until the storm lets up enough for me to go back home. Home. Her heart sank. She’d have to inform her father that she couldn’t marry Kevin Mason. He was too old, anyway. Her twenty-one to his thirty years worked for some, but … She shook the thought away.
He was a kind enough man, she supposed. But shouldn’t a woman have feelings for her husband? Some sort of attraction? She brought the images of Kevin back to her mind. Nothing … not one stir of emotion, good or bad, came from his image. And certainly not like the stir of her emotions over Michael Farley. She was drawn to him in an irrational manner. She should be frightened but instead felt secure in his home. She wanted to bury herself in his chest and feel the security of his embrace, as if she’d already experienced it. The image, sense, whatever, seemed so real, yet she’d never met the man before today. Angela worried her lower lip. This didn’t make sense. She’d known Kevin for years. Never, not even once, had she wanted to be in his embrace.
Samuel broke into her thoughts. “Miss Harris, do you wanna play?”
“What would you like to do?”
“Parcheesi. It’s a new game. Daddy bought it for us.” Samuel held the boxed game in his hand.
“I’d love to. I don’t know how to play it, so you’ll have to teach me.”
“It’s easy. I’ll teach you.” Sam’s chest swelled with pride. He was cute. He seemed to have his father’s eyes, but it was hard to tell under all those brown curls.
“Can I play?” Noah asked.
“Everybody can play,” Sam announced. “Dad, will you play, too? We can have four players.”
Michael dusted off his shirt and woolen pants, cracking the first smile she’d seen on his lips since she’d met him. “It’ll be a good way to spend the evening.”
Accenting his point, the wind howled and whistled through the cracks in the door and window casings. Angela rubbed her arms at the mere thought of the cold blasts of arctic air. She should have known by the absence of birds in the trees that a serious storm was coming. Thoughts of Kevin and a pending engagement had driven her deeper into the woods than she’d ever gone before. Getting turned around in an unfamiliar area wasn’t good. She knew better.
Angela sat down at the table where Samuel had placed the interesting board game.
“Ya need a five to get out of your spot.” Sam pointed to the area closest to Angela and handed her four red wooden pegs.
“You need to get all four pieces in here, but you have to go the long way around,” Noah added.
It seemed relatively simple. Angela relaxed and tossed the dice that had been handed to her. She had to stay put, no fives. Perhaps this game would take longer than she expected.
The game progressed until Michael landed on the space where her piece was and sent her back to her base. “Hey.”
He gave a disarming grin. “Sorry, those are the rules. If you land on a spot where someone else is, you send him back to the beginning. If he has two pieces on the same space, you’re blocked and can’t move forward.”
“No one told me that.” Angela looked over the board to see if she was in striking distance of anyone. This could be fun. Michael had a piece not too many spaces in front of hers. Angela blew on the dice and rolled again.
“Gotcha.” The room erupted in laughter.
Angela’s heart pounded seeing the love and compassion Michael had for his sons. The way he took time with them was a rare gift. She scanned his features. His coal-black hair seemed such a rich crown, with his dark eyebrows accenting blue-gray eyes that crinkled slightly at the edges when he smiled. His full beard required a good trim.
His gaze caught hers. Angela shivered. A glimpse of his soul seemed to appear in his eyes. She broke the connection and looked back down at the board game. Noah was leading with three pieces in home.
“I got you, Noah.” Sam smiled.
“I’ll still beat you,” Noah said proudly, but the disappointment of having to bring that one piece all the way around the board again showed in his face.
Angela peeked up at Michael again, his eyes hooded and guarded. Strangely, disappointment settled over her. What was compelling her to want to know this man? Why did she feel so close to him, even though they’d never met?
Sam passed her the dice. She shook and tossed them. A three and a four. She counted out the spaces forward and removed her hand.
“Why didn’t you knock Sam back to his base?” Noah demanded.
Angela scanned the board. “Oh dear, I missed that.”
“I don’t mind.” Sam gave her a big toothy grin.
“Now, Noah, it’s just a game, Son,” Michael admonished.
“I know.”
“And this is Miss Harris’s first time playing. She’s bound to miss a few things.”
Especially if my mind is on silly things. She’d never been one to swoon over a man. Even in school when the girls would giggle and wiggle because a boy walked by. It never bothered her. They were just boys, nothing special. Why was Michael Farley bringing up all these silly thoughts and feelings? He’d done nothing to show he was interested. You’d best get a handle on these emotions, or you’re in for a real heartache. Angela caught a glimpse of Michael’s wink. Heat rose in her cheeks.
Later that evening Michael found himself in his bedroom unable to rid his mind of Angela’s tempting image. It didn’t mean a thing. She was a stranger, a mere child. A grown child but way too young for him. Not that he was interested in pursuing a relationship. Julie, his true love, could never be replaced. But there was something about Angela’s mannerisms that drew his attention. The house lacked the womanly touch. The boys were totally enamored with her. Perhaps it was time to give serious consideration to hiring someone to come and clean his house and cook the meals. Michael rubbed his beard. It was thick, just the way he liked it for winter—giving him good protection from the cold. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. The ends of his beard were ragged. He needed a good trim to be more presentable.
Presentable—for whom? Angela’s golden hair, rich and full, again flooded his mind. The strands seemed to be spun with golden rays from the sun. Pure sunshine, and oh, how this house had lacked sunshine for so long. Michael’s heart ached. He turned toward his bed. Memories of Julie’s emaciated body lying there flooded him. He dropped to his knees. “Oh, God, why? Why did you have to take her? I know death was better than the life she lived that last year, but why illness, Lord? Why Julie? Lord, I’m trying to do right by the boys, but I can’t do it alone.”
A gentle knock on his door caused him to jump from his penitent posture. He walked over.
“Mr. Farley,” Angela whispered.
He cracked the door open a couple of inches.
“What is the matter?” he asked.
“I hate to ask, but I’m having trouble falling asleep in these … these … Well, you know. And I was wondering if maybe your wife had some flannel nightgowns.”
Julie’s things? No. On the other hand, he had given her permission to wear Julie’s dresses. Michael cleared his throat. “Yes, there are some in her trunk. Just a minute and I’ll get one.”
Why, oh why did he offer her Julie’s clothing? Because he knew she wouldn’t be comfortable in her own soiled dress. You were being practical, he reminded himself. Michael opened the chest and fought back the images of his wife wearing the various articles. Briskly, he ruffled through the clothing and pulled out two flannel nightgowns. With a couple quick steps, he stood by the door and thrust the gowns toward his unexpected houseguest.
“Thank you. I’m sorry to impose.”
“No imposition; you’re welcome.” He couldn’t close the door fast enough. Her soft blue eyes, the color of wild cornflowers, drew him. He wasn’t looking to replace Julie. Attraction was for younger men. He had enough to think about without fighting an attraction to Miss Harris. Yes, he’d have to remind himself to call her Miss Harris, to think of her as Miss Harris. That would help.
He hoped.
He flopped on the bed. An image of Julie lying beside him warmed him. Yes, Julie, his beloved, his friend. Michael closed his eyes and savored the moment. “I don’t want to be bitter, Lord. I do miss my wife.” He shifted the covers and found himself hugging Julie’s pillow. More evenings than not he found himself reaching out for it, for some form of comfort. When would he get over his loss?
He methodically counted down tomorrow’s chores. This storm would change some of his daily routines. He’d make oatmeal for breakfast. The boys weren’t all that partial to it, but it would warm their bellies and keep them full until lunch.
A flash of Angela working in the kitchen earlier that evening raked over his frayed nerves. The sweet aroma of the beans after she’d altered them … her angelic face….
Michael jumped from the bed and paced. How would he survive having such a tempest in his midst for another day?
Chapter 3
A cool draft licked at Angela’s nose. She scampered over to the woodstove. Wrapped in a woolen blanket, she tossed in some additional logs. Angela shivered and pulled the covers closer. Before the rest of the household woke, she dressed in her stiff, soiled clothes and the men’s undergarments. She had to admit they were warm. Last night, asking Michael Farley for a nightgown had been embarrassing but necessary. He couldn’t expect her to live and sleep in the same clothes for days.
She lit a lamp in the kitchen and gathered the necessary ingredients to make biscuits. Hopefully she’d have enough time in the kitchen before the others woke up. Angela eagerly went to work. Helping was the least she could do for saving her life and giving her warm shelter during the storm. She’d awakened a couple of times during the night when she’d heard the shutters rattling against the house.
She checked the bread oven attached to the side of the woodstove; its temperature was perfect. In a large frying pan, she fixed generous slabs of bacon. She placed the tray of biscuits in the bread oven and set the table. A small bowl of honey, a small mound of butter, and the table was ready. Hearing footfalls upstairs, she scrambled eggs in the frying pan and put it on the stove. The coffee’s rich aroma filled the room as the hot water seeped through the coffee grains.
“What smells so good?” Noah asked as he bounced down the stairs.
“Breakfast.”
“Smells great.” Samuel’s smile reached to the corners of his eyes.
Michael’s bedroom door creaked open. “You didn’t have to cook for us.”
“I wanted to. Come, sit down, and I’ll serve.” She knew she was being forward in the man’s house, but all night she couldn’t stop thinking about Michael.
The boys jumped into their seats. Michael stared over at them. “Boys, you’re forgetting your manners. Wash up.”
“Yes, Sir,” they said in unison.
“Thank you.” Michael’s gaze softened. A flutter worked its way down Angela’s spine, and she knew it had nothing to do with the cold. Why’d I put on that long underwear? Step outside for a minute; that will cool you down, she chastised herself.
Michael took two giant steps toward the door. “Feed the boys. I’ll eat when I finish in the barn.”
“But—” The door slammed shut. She wanted to protest his leaving without eating, but she also knew their exchange had been one of mutual attraction. He wasn’t ready. After all, he loved his wife. The best she could figure from what the boys had said and didn’t say, their mom had died a year ago and had been sick for a long time before she passed away.
“Homemade biscuits!” Samuel grinned.
“We haven’t had homemade biscuits in a long time.” Noah tucked his napkin under his chin.
“I hope you like them. They aren’t as light and fluffy as I like to make them, but there wasn’t a lot of time to sift the flour and allow them to rise.”
Noah reached across the table and took two biscuits. Good thing I made the whole batch, she mused.
“Dad must be real worried about the animals. Ain’t fit for someone to be out in that wind.” Noah chomped down on his biscuit as bits of crumbs fell from his full mouth.
