скачать книгу бесплатно
“Will this do?” Missy asked.
Annie and Joey nodded in unison.
She spread the paper on the table. “How big?”
“Big,” Annie said. “Real big so the wise men can see it.”
Missy sketched a five-pointed star on the one-foot-square piece of paper. “Is this good?”
The children nodded, their gazes riveted to the sheet.
She cut the star out.
“I’ll carry it,” Joey said, and Annie didn’t argue.
Joey returned to the window. “Uncle Wade won’t forget, will he?” Worry darkened his voice.
Missy glanced past him. “Look. He’s just leaving the barn.”
The children rushed for their coats, except for Grady, who held back. “Mama, they said I could go, too.”
Linette glanced at Missy, who nodded. “Wade said it was okay.”
“Very well, you may join them.”
There ensued a flurry of activity—struggling into coats and hurrying to do up the buttons, finding hats and scarves and boots. By the time Wade stepped inside, three children bundled up for winter waited at the door.
He gazed at the children, a puzzled expression on his face. “Looks like you’re going out.”
Three heads nodded.
“Got something planned, do you?” He kept his voice quizzical, but Missy saw the flash of teasing in his eyes and leaned back to watch how it would play out.
Annie nodded decisively, but the two boys looked at each other as if to check if they had misunderstood the plans.
“Anything I should know about?” Wade asked.
“Uncle Wade.” Annie’s voice dripped with impatience. “You know we’re going to the barn for Boxing Day.”
“Oh, that. I thought we had all day to do it. I didn’t know you were so eager.”
“We’re ready now.” Annie emphasized the last word.
Joey watched.
Missy sensed his uncertainty. The child half expected to be disappointed. She wanted to warn Wade not to tease too long, but before she could speak, Wade tugged his nephew’s hat. “You ready, too?”
Joey nodded, his eyes filling with eagerness.
“How about you?” Wade tugged Grady’s hat next.
“I’m ready.”
“Then let’s go.” He reached for Annie’s hand.
Missy hadn’t been included. She hoped her smile looked sincere, when inside she fought disappointment. Somehow she’d seen herself as part of this mysterious celebration.
Wade waited at the door. “Hurry and get your coat,” he said to her.
Missy hurried.
Joey reached for her hand at the door and she offered her other one to Grady.
They trooped down the snow-crusted hill to the barn and stepped into the dim interior. The smells of horses and hay filled the air. Dust motes drifted past the squares of light from the row of windows. The nearest horse turned and whinnied a greeting.
Eddie stood to one side, watching without intruding.
Wade led them toward an empty stall. “Here we are. A manger for us to prepare. Who wants to put in fresh hay?”
“That’s my job.” Joey handed the paper star to his sister and took the pitchfork that had been placed nearby. He lifted fresh hay from a little pile and spread it as carefully as a hand-knit blanket.
The door swung open and Daisy and her sister and brothers slipped in. They approached the group, each clutching something in their hands.
Again the door opened and closed as three cowboys stepped inside and came to stand by Eddie.
Wade grinned. “Seems word got around about the Boxing Day event.”
“You don’t mind?” Missy wasn’t sure if this was a private family occasion.
“Everyone is welcome, right, kids?”
Annie and Joey murmured agreement, but their attention remained on smoothing the hay in the manger. Finally satisfied, they stepped back. “The manager is ready just like it would have been for baby Jesus.”
“I have the star.” Annie handed it to Wade. “Can you please hang it for me?”
Wade must have known about the star. Of course he would. This was a family tradition. He stuck it on a nail above the manger.
The children stepped back, forcing Wade to crowd to Missy’s side. She thought of moving, but there was nowhere to go, so she stayed where she was, Wade’s arm brushing hers. She felt him in every pore, the scent of him, fresh hay and old leather, the size and strength and determination of him. And something more. Something that transcended the five senses. She didn’t know what it was, but knew she wasn’t mistaken in thinking there was more to him than what a person saw on the surface.
Her nerves twitched. Her cheeks burned. Why was she assuming to know his feelings? She knew practically nothing about the man, and what she did know she wanted to change. Her desire was to see the children stay with him, not go to strangers, despite his reasons for feeling he had to make this decision.
She stiffened, trying to pretend she was unaware that their arms touched. She was here only to encourage and support the children and to help take care of them. But she fully intended to use what little time she had to convince him not to send away two little ones who adored him.
Joey signaled to the waiting children and Daisy led them forward.
“I brought a blanket,” she said, and spread a worn cloth over the hay.
Daisy lifted her youngest sibling, little Pansy, who dropped a bright button to the blanket. “I bring shiny.”
Their brothers, Neil and Billy, stepped forward. Little Billy left a cookie, Neil a red feather.
Grady had disappeared into the tack room and emerged with a leather strap. “He’ll need this to fix things.”
The children crowded around the manger and the cowboys moved closer.
Missy turned to smile at Wade. “The first Christmas Day must have been like this.”
He nodded, his eyes full of dark mystery as if he was caught somewhere between the past and the present, perhaps remembering other occasions when he’d taken part in this ceremony.
Joey caught Wade’s hand, drawing his attention away from Missy.
“Mama taught Annie a song to sing when we did this.”
“She did?” Wade squatted to face the children.
Missy watched emotions journey across his face. First surprise, then sadness and then love for the two children clutching his hands.
She didn’t know what prompted her action, but she rested her hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. All she wanted was to let him know she sympathized with the tangle of emotions he must be feeling—sorrow at the loss of his sister and brother-in-law, and sadness at facing the further loss of these children.
But something else happened when her palm touched him. She felt a yearning, as strong and undeniable as his muscles under her hand.
She jerked back. What was she thinking? Wade did not offer what she wanted and needed. He was a wandering cowboy who considered those he loved to be inconvenient to his way of life. Her mind said her judgment might be a little harsh but her heart felt the familiar pain of being a burden to someone.
The children should not feel that way.
And yet didn’t they deserve to be with an uncle who loved them?
How could he love them and plan to give them away?
It was a question she meant to put to him. There had to be a way for him to keep the children, and she’d help him find it.
Chapter Three (#ulink_7c4c1ed5-286a-5500-9d31-bf1452bea7aa)
Wade’s heart had momentarily stalled when Missy’s hand pressed his shoulder. Perhaps she had come to understand the wisdom of his decision regarding the children and, seeing how difficult it was to think of saying perhaps a final goodbye to them, offered her sympathy. It would be nice to have someone stand by him through a wrenching farewell.
Then she’d removed her hand, leaving a cold spot on his shoulder and an empty hole in his heart as reason returned. No sense hoping she would change her opinion of him.
He brought his thoughts back to the here and now. “Annie, I’d love to hear your song.”
The child stood before the manger, her hands folded at her waist, and faced those gathered before her. She smiled widely, her eyes shone and she looked beyond them as if seeing something the rest couldn’t.
Wade guessed she was seeing her mama, perhaps thinking of the times they’d spent learning this song and so much more. Susan had always been a good teacher even when they were children together. His throat tightened with sweet memories.
Then Annie began to sing, her clear, sweet voice reaching to the rafters.
“O come, little children, come one and come all,
O come to the manger in Bethlehem’s stall,
And see what our Father in heaven above,
Has sent to us all on this earth with his love.”
Wade couldn’t stop the tears that stung his eyes nor the lump that swelled in his throat. He would not weep. Not in front of all these people. Joey grabbed his hand and squeezed hard. He dared not look at the boy, who was likely assaulted by memories every bit as much as Wade himself.
On his other side, he reached for Missy’s hand, not allowing himself time to consider his actions or forecast what her reaction would be. He only knew he needed to hang on to something—someone who wouldn’t let him go. When she gripped his hand and rubbed his arm, he drank in her comfort. There’d be time enough later to tell himself she could save her sympathy for the children.
He didn’t dare look at the other cowboys in the barn, but a muffled cough or two informed him there might be others struggling with sad memories and overwhelming emotions.
Annie finished and her audience clapped loudly. She curtsied, then hurried to Wade and pressed against his legs. He lifted her in his arms. She buried her face against his neck and he held on tight. He never wanted to let her or Joey go. But he’d promised to see they got a good home and he meant to keep his promise. He had nothing to offer them. Even if he did, they deserved far better.
One by one the men left. Daisy led her brothers and sister away. Grady had gone with Eddie. Only Wade, Missy and the children remained.
“I’ll leave you with the children,” she murmured, and slipped away from his side.
For some strange, inexplicable reason he wanted to call her back, but he had no cause. Yes, she’d agreed to help with the children, but how much help did he need to stand with them in a barn stall? So he shrugged and said nothing.
“Where you going?” Annie’s voice rose to a squeak.
Missy stopped and smiled at the child. “I think you and Joey need to be alone with your uncle.”
Annie’s bottom lip quivered and Joey, trying his best to be strong, squeezed Wade’s hand hard enough to send a thread of admiration through his unsettled thoughts. The boy had a good grip for one so young.
“Please don’t go,” Annie begged, and reached out for Missy’s hand.
She looked at Wade, seeking his decision. “No reason you have to run off,” he said, not realizing how unwelcoming his words sounded until they were uttered. “We aren’t staying much longer, anyway.” That didn’t sound much better. Best he just shut his mouth before he made things worse.
“Very well.” Missy straightened and faced him squarely. The flash in her blue-green eyes made him blink. Was she silently trying to tell him something? What? He searched through his scrambled thoughts but could find no clue.
“Is that the end of the Boxing Day event?” Annie asked, about the time the silence between them grew heavy.
He jerked his attention back to the scene before him. The manager lay as if prepared for the baby Jesus. The children watched him, waiting for him to answer, perhaps even to suggest how the day was to proceed. The light from the barn windows formed a glow about Missy’s head. Feathers of her blond hair captured the pale yellow light. Her bright eyes were like beacons in the sky.
“Uncle Wade?” Joey jerked on his arm. “Is that all there is?”
Faint expectation colored the boy’s words. Joey, he’d come to realize, did not allow himself to hope for things, fearing disappointment, or worse, pain, sorrow, loss. How well Wade understood the boy’s caution, but Joey was too young to let life’s uncertainties keep him from enjoying life’s joys.
“I’m sure there’s lots of good things ahead. Let’s go back to the house and see what’s next.” He led them down the alley and held the barn door for them to step out.
Annie grabbed Joey’s hand. “Let’s run.”
Wade followed Missy from the barn. “Wanna run?”
She laughed—a sweet pure sound like a morning bird. “Not today, thanks.”
They fell in step side by side. He matched his stride to hers, content to take his time reaching the house. The children ran and skipped and played tag with each other.
“It’s good to see them enjoying the day,” he offered, hoping she would see he gave them enough to make them happy for the present. If only he could offer them the future. He slammed a door on such thoughts. A man must do what was right. Not necessarily what suited him.
