A Hartmann Ranch Christmas Read online

  “That may be true, but Mr. Kincaid lacks the foundational character of a man I’d consider worthy of polishing.”

  Maddie struggled to keep both the twitch of her lip and her skeptical eyebrow in place. Methinks the lady doth protest too much.

  Chapter Two

  STILL DECEMBER 2, 1891

  Graham buttoned his jacket as a sudden chilling wind blew in from the north. Only a month down from the summer range high in the Sawtooths and he was counting the months before he’d be heading back. After weeks of quiet solitude, the constant chatter from the ranch hands and clamor of Ketchum’s city streets set his teeth on edge. Thinking back to his recent interchange with Miss Webster, he let out a loud puff of air. Neither the sheep nor his dog argued with him half so much.

  Graham could feel Evan’s eyes studying him before the rancher asked, “Something troubling you, Graham?”

  The shepherd weighed his answer, not sure where his employer stood on the subject of opinionated women. Finally, he said, “You’re a reasonable man.”

  Evan chuckled. “I like to think myself so. There’s a few who might differ with that opinion. There was a rancher just this week up from Hailey who thought my asking price for that bay yearling was clearly not reasonable. And he told me so in a most direct manner.”

  Graham chewed on his lower lip a while. “If you don’t mind my asking, why did you give up your independence for married life?”

  Evan made no attempt to temper his response and he laughed. “You make it sound like I gave up something of great value for a ball and chain.”

  “Seems to me that’s exactly what any man does when he willingly submits to marriage vows.”

  The rancher turned with an amused expression. “You’re serious?”

  Graham hitched a shoulder. “It’s my opinion.”

  “Well, I’ve one of a different sort. For me, it was giving up a lonely life in exchange for a lifelong companionship with a woman I’d give my life for. You know, Lena. How could marriage to a woman as kind and dear as she be equated to imprisonment?”

  “Didn’t mean offense. Mrs. Hartmann is all what you say and more.”

  Evan nodded. “Much more. You might be grateful your parents didn’t share your opinion or you might not be sitting there debating the merits of married life.”

  “You speak true.” Graham thought it best to drop the subject and turned his focus to the swift-flowing river, pondering the freedom it represented to a man like himself. He’d need to be careful about voicing his thoughts or he’d be pegged as a romantic, or worse, a poet. He’d known a few years of marriage. They hadn’t been pleasant, but at least they’d been brief. God rest her soul.

  They rode on in silence, the road leading north along the meandering Big Wood River. Another five or six months before he and Alec would drive the sheep north again. He wondered how he’d manage these months of confinement. Only up there did he find the freedom that had called him to America. He glanced back at the collie tucked into a tight ball of sleep on the wagon bed. They’d traveled across the stormy Atlantic, crossed half a continent, before pushing even farther into Idaho’s rugged central mountains. It’d all been to find a place doing what they both knew well, tending sheep.

  After a mile or more, Graham asked, “Do you think Miss Webster knows her dog is pregnant?”

  Evan turned to him. “She is?”

  “No doubt about it. You’d have noticed if you’d looked.”

  “Suppose so. I had my attention more focused on Miss Webster. What’d you do to rile her?”

  Graham crossed his arms across his chest. “Nothing.”

  “Never saw nothing affect someone like that,” Evan said drolly.

  “Dogs like that shouldn’t be kept as pets.”

  Evan turned a look of astonishment on him. “Is that what you told her?”

  “I’d bet my monthly wage on that dog being full-blooded border collie. A dog like that needs room to run. More than that, it needs a job to do.”

  “You said that to her?” Evan grinned when Graham nodded. He shook his head. “That might explain the hackles I see rising every time you two are anywhere close to each other.”

  Graham wouldn’t comment on that. True or not, her bad opinion of him might make her less favorable to any offer he might make to buy one of her dog’s pups. He chewed on that for a time before making a suggestion. “You could use another good herding dog if you plan to grow the herd next year.”

  “That’s what Bart and I discussed in the fall. We’ll still keep running cattle, but I’m liking the look of the future in wool and mutton. There’s some who may take issue with our decision, but we’ll still keep running cattle. If Bart can swing a deal for that piece of land due south along the Snake River, we’d have our winter home for those we don’t sell in fall.”

  This was the most Hartmann had said at one time concerning his plans for next year. And Graham liked the way the man was thinking. If he owned the ranch, it would be exactly what he’d do. Grow the herd. Buy the land while it was available. And there was so much land here. No land controlled by the rich gentry. A man like himself might have opportunity here to start small and with hard work become a man of means, a man respected. He was counting on it, and he was saving for it.

  Even if Hartmann didn’t buy one of her pups, he would. Another dog would help him next spring. And if the pups were, as he expected, Alec’s offspring, one would be a fine addition to his team. Maybe two. But Hartmann was right, Miss Webster was not favorable towards him or his dog. Once she found out about her own dog’s tryst with Alec, she might never forgive either of them.

  Clara sat beside Daisy, rubbing her fingers in the silky hair behind the dog’s ears. “Don’t you want some stew? Look at this beef.” She stopped herself, realizing she was talking to her dog like an indulgent mother. Actually, she sounded like her own mother. She made a face and set the bowl on the floor.

  The dog stretched her legs to her side, and closed her eyes, ignoring the dish inches from her nose.

  Releasing a heavy sigh, Clara tucked her legs beneath her skirts and said, “I’m sorry I yelled at you. It wasn’t really your fault.” Although she wouldn’t go so far as to agree with Mr. Kincaid that his dog was too irresistible, he’d certainly found a way to lure Daisy from the shop. Since the shepherd’s return in October, she’d known it to happen at least three times.

  Clara turned at the sound of footsteps approaching along the poetry aisle.

  Dr. David Reynolds rounded the corner. “Is this the patient?” He squatted next to Daisy’s bed. “Maddie said you were concerned that she might be ill. What makes you think so?” He ran his long fingers along her sides and crooned to the dog. “Good girl.”

  “She isn’t much interested in food recently. She’d rather nap than play, and she just seems disinterested in the things she used to love to do. I’m worried. She did catch a squirrel the other day and ate it before I could stop her. Do you think that made her sick?”

  “Hmm.” Dr. Reynolds pressed his stethoscope to her chest. “Her heart sounds strong. Her eyes are bright.” He continued his examination, gently probing her abdomen, lifting her eyelids.

  Maddie joined them, sitting on one of the children’s stools next to the shelf of nursery rhymes. “What’s your diagnosis, Dr. Reynolds?” She asked this in such a way as to sound somehow provocative.

  Something passed between the doctor and his wife. Clara dropped her eyes to her dog.

  “When did Mr. Kincaid return from the mountains this fall?” the doctor asked.

  Clara frowned. “I think it was in mid-October.” Actually, she knew the date, because she and Maddie had taken a drive that afternoon. They’d witnessed the band of sheep as they were being driven south through the cottonwoods. “Why is that important?”

  As the doctor ran his fingers along the dog’s stomach again, he pursed his lips. He glanced first at Mrs. Reynolds, giving her a tender smile before turning back to Clara. “Did you ever
ask for a puppy for Christmas, Miss Webster?”

  “Why, yes. But . . .” Awareness dawned by slow degrees, followed by a blinding flash of clarity. “No!”

  Dr. Reynolds took his wife’s hand. “Most assuredly, yes. I should think that by Christmas, Daisy will provide that gift, maybe two.”

  Maddie clapped her hands with delight. “Puppies! How positively wonderful!”

  Dr. Reynold’s eyebrow lifted and he grinned. “Or three.”

  Clara slumped back against the bookcase. “And that man’s wretched dog is to blame.”

  Chapter Three

  DECEMBER 3, 1891

  “It’s too quiet.” With renewed vigor, Jessie Long wielded her wooden spoon, endeavoring to whip the lumps of potatoes into culinary submission. “I know it’s only been two weeks since the Senator and Mrs. Cavendish left, but it’s like being in an empty church on Monday every day now.”

  Lena Hartman picked up another linen napkin from the laundry basket and shook it out. “I don’t think it’s that bad. We may not have any guests presently, but to say it’s quiet?”

  As though a cue had been given for their entrance, there came a clamor of small feet from the hallway. Squealing with all the volume their two-and-a-half-year-old lungs could produce, Tommy and his twin sister, Rowena, careened through the kitchen in close pursuit of what appeared to be Rowena’s nightgown dashing for the open back door. As the apparition streaked passed, the black face of the cat, Havoc, appeared from one sleeve. A skittering sound of claws suggested the cat was struggling for traction on the wood floor. The poor creature further impeded by the fabric continued to get her legs tangled in the nightgown, colliding with every chair and table leg blocking her path to the door.

  Jessie lifted her spoon, waving it at her son. It might have been a threatening gesture if not for the fact that a mound of lumpy potatoes was stuck to it. “Tommy! How many times have I told you not to torment the cat?”

  Lena made a grab for the terrified cat, but only managed to grab the nightgown. However, her efforts served the same purpose. Freed of the incumbrance, the cat leaped through the open door.

  Jessie intercepted her daughter, giving her a stern look. “Rowena, I’ve told you Havoc doesn’t want to wear your clothes.”

  “But kitty needs sleep,” Rowena murmured contritely.

  From the doorway, her brother grinned at his mother, wisely letting his sister handle their defense.

  As usual, Rowena, the budding attorney, managed to dissuade their mother from disciplining them. While this worked surprisingly well with Jessie, it rarely produced the same positive results in their father, Bart Long. It was at moments like these that Lena understood the need for a father in matters of applied discipline. He was less inclined to relent to Rowena’s appeals for leniency.

  Jessie’s flush of disapproval cooled rapidly. Gazing with maternal affection on her little girl, she said, “Come here, Rowena.”

  Rowena waddled up to her mother’s side and attached herself to Jessie’s apron. Tommy, however, started out the door, and Lena surmised his intent to renew the chase. She stepped between him and escape, her arms folded across her waist and one eyebrow arched. Tommy took one look and turned back.

  “Children, we need to be gentle with small creatures,” Jessie explained.

  “We love kitty,” Rowena said while looking up at her mother with those wide innocent eyes.

  Jessie squatted down and wrapped her arms around the little girl. “Kitties don’t like to wear dresses, Rowena.”

  With a sudden stab of painful memory, Lena saw the image return of the little girl she’d cared for as a governess years ago. Lena said the same thing to her. After she’d extracted that kitty from a knit shawl, she’d clean the child’s scratches and dried her tears, before rocking her to sleep.

  Lena stooped down and picked up Tommy, perching him on her hip. She whispered to the little red-head boy with mischief in his eyes, “No more dressing up the kitty.” Lena pressed a fingertip to the boy’s tummy. “That means you, too.”

  He giggled and placed his hands on either side of her face, looking serious as he said, “I love you.”

  Lena kissed his mop of red hair. “I love you, too.”

  Jessie gave each child a spoonful of potatoes and shooed them out the back door with their promises to be good to all the ranch animals. “Wonder how long that will last.”

  Lifting one skeptical eyebrow, Lena asked, “Too quiet?”

  “You know what I mean. I like having all the conversation and activity that comes with having people stay with us. And I never thought I’d hear myself say it, but I miss making four pies a day.”

  “And five pans of cinnamon rolls?” Lena asked dubiously.

  “Those were only on Wednesdays and Fridays.”

  Lena rested her elbows atop the stack of folded napkins, warmed by the memories of the past eighteen months. Since they’d opened the ranch to guests, they’d rarely had a week of time to themselves. It seemed there was a great number of people living in the East who were looking for a western experience.

  “It’s been wonderful, hasn’t it? I mean, I know we’ve had our ups and downs, months when we didn’t have the number of guests we’d counted on and fears about Ketchum’s future. But all-in-all, it’s been worth it. Even if we aren’t making a profit yet, we’re paying the bills.”

  “And the boys are able to increase the size of the cattle herd. I know Bart’s excited about the number of ewes we have for next season. Hedging our bets is the way he puts it. The cattle make us respectable, but the sheep turn a profit,” Jessie said.

  “Yes.” She laughed. “I believe I’ve heard Evan use that explanation with our guests quite a few times. He always seems disappointed when they don’t laugh. I don’t know why. Only a cattleman would understand.”

  “I know they aren’t the brightest critters God ever created, but I like the looks of the sheep when they’re grazing. Rowena said they look like clouds moving along the hillsides,” Jessie said. “Wasn’t that clever of her? Maybe she’ll be a writer like Maddie. Wouldn’t that be something?”

  “She’s a bright penny. But I’m still thinking she’s suited to law, probably a defense attorney.” Lena laughed, imagining the child wearing a wig in a British court of law.

  “Well, that may be, but just as long as it’s not her brother she has to defend.” Jessie shook her head. “I worry about that boy.”

  “Of course, you do. It’s the nature of a mother to worry about her son. But I would imagine that if you could speak with Bart’s mother, you might learn she had the same concerns about him.”

  Jessie gave a noncommittal grunt, as she turned slipping the roast into the oven.

  “But speaking of livestock.”

  Jessie through a glance over her shoulder. “Were we?”

  “Yes, we were.” Lena stacked the napkins in the sideboard drawer. “I think I’ll always be partial to cattle.” Thinking about the nature of their conversation, Lena smiled. “We’re sounding more like our men every day, aren’t we? Who’d have ever guessed I’d turn out to be a rancher’s wife, talking about livestock as easily as dinner menus?”

  “Just proves women can have diverse interests.” Jessie poured water into the kettle and set it to heating. “Remember how scared we were when we rode up that mountain trail through Galena and down into the Sawtooth Valley?” She turned with the dishtowel dangling in her hand, a look of incredulity on her freckled face. “Can it be five years?”

  While she didn’t put the thought to words, she knew from Jessie’s expression that her friend was remembering that frightful, first winter in Sawtooth City. It was a winter that had driven Jessie and her new husband, Bart, out of the high range to the lower elevations of Ketchum. Lena should have gone with them, but her pride and stubborn-headedness had kept her rooted in the dying, mining town. If Evan hadn’t returned, she often wondered if she’d have survived the storms of 1886.

  Lena realized her though
ts had drawn her into silence. She looked up to see Jessie watching her.

  Jessie said softly, “It’s been five pretty wonderful years. You and me are old married women now. You starting up a guest ranch, and me a mother of twins.” She turned back to the sink and started humming a tune they’d heard Ely play a few nights ago on his violin.

  Lena chastised herself every time she felt these pangs of jealousy. Yes, they were married women now, but it was Jessie who’d been blessed with children. Even though she loved Jessie’s twins as if they were her own, the reality often hit her like a blow to the stomach. They weren’t. She seemed forever destined to be the nanny to someone else’s children. In her less selfish moments, she counted the twins as blessings. They loved her and she them. She was with them every day, watching them grow, celebrating their achievements, birthdays, first teeth. What else did she need?

  Lena slapped the countertop. “I think we should have a Christmas party, a big, noisy, festive celebration!”

  Jessie turned with her eyes and mouth open wide, and Lena imagined wheels already turning inside her creative head. “Who will we invite?”

  “Everyone and anyone who will come.” The idea sprouted wings even as Lena spoke it into life. “We’ve got so much to celebrate, so much to be grateful for.”

  “Ely will play his violin. And you’ve been practicing Christmas carols on the piano since early November.” Jessie stated it as though she’d already convinced both Ely and Lena to agree.

  “And Evan will sing for us. We’ll all make him.” Lena’s heart beat a little faster as she imagined it. And unlike their first Christmas together, snowed in and hungry in that deserted mountain town, this would be an occasion of plenty, with more than enough to share with those she loved. With their help, the Hartmann Guest Ranch was a reality, a place where friends became family.