A Lawman's Christmas_ A McKettricks of Texas Novel - Linda Lael Miller [53]
She seemed to realize then that he was still holding her, and she stepped back suddenly, as though startled. “About Christmas,” she began.
“What about Christmas?”
“I’d really rather you didn’t encourage Edrina and Harriet to entertain fanciful notions.”
“Such as?” Clay asked, feigning innocence.
Dara Rose bristled up again.
He loved it when she did that.
“Well,” she huffed, “there was that tall tale about seeing St. Nicholas flying past your grandfather’s barn roof in a sleigh drawn by reindeer—”
He smiled. “Why, Mrs. McKettrick—are you calling me a liar?”
“You and your cousin must have been inebriated.”
“We were eight,” Clay said.
“Then you were dreaming.”
“The same dream, at the same time? Sawyer and I are blood kin, but we don’t share a brain.”
Dara Rose sighed again. It was plain that she didn’t know what to say next, or what to do, either.
Both were encouraging signs, Clay figured.
“Get some sleep,” he told her. “You’ve had a long day.”
She glanced at the settee, then took his measure with her eyes. Drew the obvious conclusion. “You are in for an uncomfortable night,” she said, without any discernible concern.
For more reasons than one, Clay thought. But what he said was, “I’ll be just fine. See you in the morning.”
Dara Rose nodded, turned around and went back into the bedroom.
Clay watched her go, rubbing his chin with one hand, calculating the number of settee nights he’d have to put in between now and spring, when the house would be ready.
In the end, he slept on the floor, next to Chester.
At least that way, he could stretch out.
WHEN HE OPENED HIS EYES again, it was morning, and Edrina and Harriet were standing over him, looking worried.
“We thought you might be dead,” Edrina said, with a relieved and somewhat wobbly smile.
“But you’re not,” Harriet added emphatically.
“No,” Clay said, with a laugh, as he sat up. “I do believe I’m still among the living.”
Both children were dressed for daytime, with their curly hair brushed and held back at the sides of their heads by small combs. Their faces were rosy from a recent scrubbing and their eyes shone.
“Mama is taking us over to the O’Reillys’ place to visit Addie,” Edrina said, “as soon as she’s finished feeding the chickens and gathering the eggs and making breakfast.”
Clay yawned expansively and got to his feet. “Where’s Chester?”
“He’s outside with Mama,” Harriet replied. “She said he needed to do his business.”
“What time is it?” Clay wondered aloud. He owned a pocket watch but seldom carried it; there had been no real need for that, back on the Triple M. There, where there was always a full day’s work to do, you started at sunrise and finished when you finished, whatever time it was.
Before either child replied, he caught sight of the time-piece hanging prominently on the wall. Eight o’clock.
“When we get back from the O’Reillys’,” Harriet piped up, “can we decorate the Christmas tree?”
Clay hesitated to answer, realizing that he didn’t even know if Dara Rose owned any decorations, or whether she’d take kindly to his buying some for her, over at the mercantile.
Reckon you should have thought about that before you cut down that sorry sprig of sagebrush you’re calling a Christmas tree, he told himself silently.
“That’s up to your mama,” he finally said.
Both children looked deflated.
“She’ll just say it’s a whole week ’til Christmas and St. Nicholas isn’t coming, anyhow, so what do we need with a silly tree,” Edrina said, in a rush of words.
Inwardly, Clay sighed. These were Dara Rose’s children, and she had a perfect right to raise them as she saw fit, but he hoped she’d ease up on that rigid personal code of hers a little, and let them be kids while they could.
In the near distance, the back door opened, and Clay felt the rush of cool air where he stood. Dara Rose called out, “Girls? You’re not bothering Mr. McKettrick, are you?”
Chester trotted through the inside doorway, came over to greet him.
Clay smiled and ruffled the dog’s ears.
“We don’t