A Lawman's Christmas_ A McKettricks of Texas Novel - Linda Lael Miller [64]
“I didn’t tell Alvira about Luke, or even how it really was between Parnell and me,” Dara Rose confided. “But I did say that you and I had had a disagreement and I couldn’t stop thinking about where you might be or what you might be doing.”
Even in the near darkness, Clay saw her blush. It had cost her, pride-wise, to make that admission, even to a good friend, and it was costing her still.
“I see,” he said.
They’d rounded the corner now, and Dara Rose’s house was just ahead, so she hastened to finish. “Alvira said I’d better come and find you, then, to settle my mind, while she looked after Edrina and Harriet.”
“Is it?” Clay asked.
“Is what?” Dara Rose retorted, sounding a mite testy.
“Is your mind settled, where I’m concerned?”
They stood in front of her gate by then, light spilling out of the windows into the darkened yard. The apple tree was a spare shadow, etched into the night.
“Where you are concerned, Mr. McKettrick,” Dara Rose finally replied, “nothing is settled. I don’t know what to think, what to believe—”
He kissed her then, deeply, the way he would have done if they’d had the whole world to themselves. Adam and Eve, in Texas instead of the Garden.
“Believe that,” he said, when he’d caught his breath. “And the rest will take care of itself.”
Dara Rose just stood there, looking dazed. Even in the poor light, he could see that her lips were swollen, still moist from his kiss.
Calmly, Clay opened the gate, held it for her and shut it after they’d gone through, Dara Rose and Chester and, finally, himself.
At the base of the porch steps, Dara Rose stopped and sort of bristled, about to make some delayed response to being kissed, Clay supposed, but she didn’t get the chance, because the front door sprang open and Edrina and Harriet burst out, barely able to contain their glee.
“Now can we decorate the Christmas tree?” Harriet demanded.
Miss Krenshaw stood, smiling, on the threshold behind them, already buttoning her practical woolen coat, ready to leave.
“Yes,” Dara Rose confirmed, fondly weary in her tone. “We can decorate the Christmas tree.” Her gaze shifted to Miss Krenshaw. “You’re not leaving, are you?”
“I have a few letters to write, back at the teacherage,” Miss Krenshaw replied, sparing a polite nod of greeting for Clay. And with that, she was past them, down the steps, striding along the walk toward the gate. There, she turned back. “Don’t forget about the party at the schoolhouse,” she called, most likely addressing Dara Rose.
“WHAT PARTY AT THE schoolhouse?” Clay asked, as Edrina and Harriet beset him with hugs, in their joy at his return. Without missing a beat, he scooped them up, one in each arm, and the sight struck a deep and resonant chord inside Dara Rose.
She led the way into the kitchen, where she’d stowed a plate of supper in the warming oven, in hopes that Clay would be around to eat it.
“After the blizzard,” Dara Rose explained, wadding up a dish towel to use as a pot holder and taking Clay’s meal from the heat, “Miss Krenshaw decided to call off the Christmas program at school. Now, with all this spring-like weather and Pastor Jacobs called away because of an illness in his family, so there won’t be a church service, she’s had second thoughts. There’s no time for the children to memorize recitations and the like, but we can still have some sort of informal gathering on Christmas Day, for the community—sing a few hymns and carols….”
She paused, glanced back at him, felt a thrill as he set the girls down, then removed and hung up his hat and coat. His movements were easy and deliberate, and he looked from her face to the plate in her hands and back again.
“You must be hungry, after a hard day’s work at the ranch,” she said, suddenly and desperately shy.
“I am indeed hungry, Mrs. McKettrick,” he said, in a throaty voice, letting his eyes move over her once before heading