A Rancher’s Christmas to Remember (Preview)

Chapter One

East Boylston, Colorado

What a beautiful winter morning, Mary Lou Matthews thought as she pulled back the curtains in the bedroom. Though the sun hung low in the sky, only just managing to raise itself above the pine trees, its warmth filled the room. She stretched her arms out as though embracing the bright rays that lit up the dark green branches of the wood. She loved days like this. It promised to be cold and crisp with a breeze that nipped the end of your nose, turning it red. What she really adored most of all was that Christmas was only a few weeks away: her favorite time of year. 

She turned to look at her sleeping sister.

Lily always looked so neat and precise in everything that she did – even sleeping. They shared the same light, fine hair, pale skin, and large blue eyes. They even had the same slim frame, but Lily always looked – composed. That was the word. Mary Lou, on the other hand, was always a little rumpled, and she could turn a room into a mess in seconds, not knowing how it happened.

Mary Lou glanced at her own bunk below Lily’s. It resembled a bargain box of second-hand clothes at a flea market. She’d tossed and turned so much in her sleep that her sheet was now on top of the blanket. Her pillow had fallen down the side of the wooden framework, and one of her bed socks hung on the edge of the mattress. She looked down at her feet. The other one was still where it should be. That was something.   

Joe’s head appeared around the corner of the bedroom door. Mary Lou put her finger on her lips, warning her brother not to wake their sisters. She tiptoed out of the room onto the landing. 

Her brother’s brown eyes shone out from his weather-beaten face. 

“I’m just on my way to the ranch now,” Joe whispered as Mary Lou gently closed the bedroom door behind her. At twenty-three, her brother was three years older than her, and she idolized him. 

“I’ve made porridge for the little ones; it’s keeping warm on the stove,” Joe said as he led Mary Lou down the rickety staircase. 

The banister rail swayed as she placed her hand on it. She’d promised her ma that she would fix it a week or so ago now, but she always seemed to run out of time. Woodworking was her favorite hobby, and, unusually, she was good at it, wielding the tools with precision. Her pa insisted that she could make or mend anything made of wood.

“Where’s Ma and Pa?” Mary Lou said as they reached the empty small kitchen. 

“Ma’s gone to the Whittakers to pick up their weekly wash, and Pa left for the mill early. He said the boss was offering some workers extra shifts, so he thought he would make sure he was one of ’em.”

Joe picked up the little package of bread and meat that Mary Lou had wrapped in a linen cloth the night before, then slung his work bag over his shoulder. He leaned forward and pecked her on the cheek as he headed for the door. 

Mary Lou called out after him. “Oh, Joe, I’ve just remembered what you told me yesterday about the old cook at the ranch. You said she’d told your boss that she wanted to spend Christmas with her family.”     

Joe turned around, putting his bag and the package on the kitchen counter. “That’s right. Old Mrs. Nightingale has been at the ranch for years. Mr. Hayward inherited her when he bought it a few months ago. Seems she thinks it’s time to pack it all in. Mr. Hayward’s not happy about it; said it’s dropping him right in it. He’s never in the best of moods anyway. I dread to think what he’ll be like today knowing he’s losing his home help. He’s the grumpiest man I’ve ever met.”

Mary Lou stepped a little nearer to her brother. “Joe, could you put a word in for me? You know, tell your boss that you know someone who could fill in for the cook until he finds someone better. It might be a feather in your cap.”

“I’m not sure if you’d enjoy workin’ for old crabby,” Joe replied, “I’ve not seen him smile once since I’ve been workin’ at the ranch, and that’s two months.”

“I don’t mind that,” Mary Lou said, clutching her brother’s arm. “I can make anyone smile. You know that.”

Joe grinned. “That’s true, sis, but he’s mighty difficult. Finds it hard just to say good mornin’.”

Mary Lou put her hands together as though she was praying. “Could you just mention it to him? Please, I might be just what he’s looking for.”

Joe laughed. “You! With your arms and legs that can’t control themselves near anything breakable. I might get turfed out along with you when he finds out we’re related.”

Joe dodged Mary Lou’s hand as she tried to hit his arm playfully. 

“Alright, alright!” he said, backing out of the door and hooking his bag over his arm. “I’ll speak to him.”

“Thank you!” Mary Lou called as she heard the front door bang behind her brother.

She filled the coffee pot, put it on the stove to keep warm, and then opened the back door. The winter morning mist was still hanging over the trees like a ghostly blanket. Mary Lou breathed in the cold air, filling her lungs, then letting out a large sigh as she stared at the landscape. 

The yard of the small house looked out onto the range of hills behind. The tops of the rocks stood proud against the bright blue sky, glistening with light snow in the new day sunlight. She looked up at the clear expanse above her. There were no clouds, but it felt cold enough to snow. She rubbed her hands together, giving a little skip as she turned back into the kitchen.

“Brr! Close that door, Mary Lou. It’s enough to freeze your soul.”     

Lily was standing in the doorway, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, her long, fair hair cascading over it like a golden mane.

Mary Lou pushed the door, then rushed over to her sister and hugged her. 

“I think it could snow today. Wouldn’t that be wonderful? We might have a white Christmas,” she said excitedly.

“It would be good to see,” her sister said, adding, “through a closed window.”

Mary Lou giggled. Lily was such a home-fire gal. She loved to sit as close to the crackling wood in the hearth as she could until her face was rosy-red from its heat.  

“Oh, Lily,” Mary Lou exclaimed, rubbing her hands. “I love winter. Everything is so fresh and clean. The white snow just makes it all seem perfect.”

Lily pulled a face at her sister. “You must be the only one in this town that looks forward to the snow. You don’t even wear a hat or gloves most of the time.”

“But, Lil, there’s nothin’ nicer than wanderin’ through the woods pickin’ up pinecones for Christmas decorations. I’ve already seen a lovely fern that I can use to make the wreath for the door.” Mary Lou knew better than her younger sister that this year, she would need to find everything they wanted from nature, with money being so tight. 

Mary Lou dished up four bowls of the thick porridge that Joe had made earlier, pouring a sparing amount of fresh milk on each one. Lily sat down, shrouded in the blanket, gingerly taking a spoonful of the hot mixture. 

Katie and Rosalie burst into the room a few seconds later. 

“We could smell breakfast!” Rosalie yelled, plonking herself down onto a chair next to Lily and grabbing a bowl and spoon. She ate greedily, licking the bowl when she had finished. Katie sat on the other side of her younger sister, warming her hands on the cereal bowl before dipping her spoon into the dish.

“You eat like a wild cat that never knows whether he’ll get another meal,” Lily said to Rosalie as she daintily put her spoon back into the thick porridge.

Mary Lou smiled at her two youngest sisters. Rosalie, at six years of age, followed the nine-year-old Katie like her shadow. They both shared the same coloring as their pa, dark hair and eyes, while she and Lily had the look of their ma, pale skin, fair hair, and deep blue eyes.

Mary Lou sat next to Katie, eating quickly. The porridge was good. Joe always put a little salt in it, which made it tingle on her tongue. They had all become used to the rather simple food that regularly appeared on the table. With her pa’s low wage and her ma’s unpredictable income from the laundry that she collected from the locals, they just about made ends meet. Most weeks. 

She was old enough to remember a time when things were different, when her parents first decided to move west and buy a ranch. Then, at least for a while, they ate well, and there was money to spare. After the first winter storm that wiped out their crops and saw many of their cattle lost, it became harder to make a good living. The final straw for her parents was the raid by the outlaws, who took everything they had of value, including her ma’s wedding ring.

Her pa tried to put things right by borrowing money from the bank at first. When they foreclosed on their loan, he went to their neighbors, calling in favors. Although they were kindly and wanted to help, they were struggling, too. Her pa decided to cut and run. They sold up, taking the pittance that the bank offered them for the ranch and      bought the little house on the outskirts of East Boylston. It wasn’t much, but as the family grew, her ma and pa were determined to be happy, teaching their children that working together and caring for each other would always carry them through.

Mary Lou heard the front door open and close. She rushed into the hallway. Her ma was struggling with a large bundle of laundry tied with string.

“Let me help you, Ma,” she said, grabbing hold of the top of the bundle. It burst open, spreading bed linen and towels across the floor.

“Oh, Lou, Lou!” Her ma exclaimed, using the nickname that the family used for the eldest daughter.

“Don’t worry,” Mary Lou said, quickly gathering up the items and putting them back inside the large sheet. “Nothing harmed. I’ll take it into the kitchen for you.”

“No, it’s alright, I can manage,” her ma replied.

“It’s fine, Ma, I’ve got them now,” Mary Lou said, making her way into the next room. Her ma followed, picking up the pieces of washing that her daughter dropped on the way to the wash tub.

“Four hands are better than two,” Mary Lou said over her shoulder. “That’s what Pa always says.”

Her mother smiled. “You’re right, he does,” she replied, “and it’s usually true,” she added, taking the last of the washing from Mary Lou’s arms.

The younger girls looked up from their breakfast, both speaking at once. “Mornin’ Ma!”

Their mother patted their heads in turn. “Eat up, you’ll be late for school, and I need to get back to do this washing as soon as I can,” she said. 

“It’s alright, Ma, me and Betsy are gonna take ’em. She’s gotta take her brothers today ’cause her ma’s not so well, so we’ll all go together.”

Mrs. Matthews frowned. “What’s wrong with Betsy’s mother? Can we help? She’s got those four children to look after.”

There was a loud knock on the front door.

“That’ll be Betsy,” Mary Lou replied to her mother over her shoulder as she raced to the door. “She said last night that her ma thinks it’s only a head cold, but her ma needs to rest. I can help you with the laundry when I come back,” Mary Lou shouted as she opened the front door.

Betsy was wearing her favorite red dress under her overcoat. Mary Lou could see the collar partially hidden by her woolen scarf. Red was such a good color for Betsy; it looked so dramatic against her jet-black hair. 

Her friend smiled at Mary Lou, her deep brown eyes glinting in the sunlight. “You ready to go? Don’t wanna be late. Old Ma Henderson will chase us up the road if we are.”

Mary Lou laughed. If there was anyone that could make her happy, it was Betsy. They’d become firm friends over the years that the Matthews had lived in East Boylston. 

Her mother’s face appeared around the kitchen door. “Lou, Lou, wait. It looks like Joe has forgotten his brown bag. He’ll go hungry this mornin’.” Her mother held up the package that Mary Lou had made for him.

“Oh, Ma, he must have put it down when I stopped him leavin’.” Mary Lou was cross with herself. If she hadn’t asked Joe a question as he was goin’ out the door, he wouldn’t have forgotten his pack. “I can drop it over to the ranch after Betsy and I have been to the school,” she said, rushing forward to take the bag from her mother’s hand.

“That’s kind, Mary Lou, but be quick. Don’t want that boss of his to get mad at one of his new ranch hands. We can’t afford to lose Joe’s wage.”

“Don’t worry, Ma, I’ll be like a ghost. He won’t even see me.” She heard her ma chuckling as she closed the front door.

She and Betsy walked the short distance to the school with Lily, Katie, and Rosalie playing tag with her friend’s three brothers along the way. Mary Lou chattered excitedly. 

“You know it’s only thirty-three days until Christmas. The weather’s goin’ in just the right direction. A little bit colder every day, with bright skies. There’s snow a-comin’; it’s already on the mountain tops.”

“I know. It would be so wonderful if we had a white Christmas. It just feels right, don’t it?” Betsy held on to Mary Lou’s arm as they walked. 

They looked so different, with Betsy’s dark, thick, curly black hair swirling around her head and Mary Lou’s long, thin, blonde hair trailing down her back neatly tied in a ribbon. She’d always lost it by the end of the day, but it looked good for the few hours it stayed there.

“It does. That’s what I keep sayin’ to Ma,” Mary Lou replied. “Mind you, we don’t really have the stocks of wood we need if there is a hard winter.”

“Well, I can help you collect some if you wanna go stick huntin’ after we’ve dropped this gaggle of geese in the schoolyard,” Betsy said.

Mary Lou had to laugh at her friend’s description of their brothers and sisters.  

“That’s mighty kind, Betsy, but I told Ma I’d go right back to help with laundry. There’s a great bundle of it to do before the sun sets.” She looked down at the package in her hand. “I’ve gotta drop this off to Joe at the ranch, too, so I’ll have to be quick.”

“I’ll come with you. I can help with the laundry after,” Betsy replied, dancing around her friend as they approached the school gate, “I’m kinda good at pegging out.”

Ma Henderson was waiting at the gate as the two groups of brothers and sisters raced through it. She gave Mary Lou and Betsy a hard stare, then turned back toward the schoolhouse. 

Betsy made a face at the old teacher’s receding back.

“Hey, that’s not very nice,” Mary Lou said, “she’s just doin’ her job.”

“I know,” Betsy replied, “but she’s so grumpy sometimes, I wonder if she’s ever smiled.”

“Joe told me that his boss, Mr. Hayward, is the grumpiest man he’s ever met. Seems like he carries the weight of the whole world on his shoulders,” Mary confided in her friend.

“I heard that from my pa, too. He said that the new rancher could sour milk if he looked at it.”

Mary Lou howled with laughter, taking hold of her friend’s hand as they took a left turn on the way back to town that led to the Hayward ranch. 

Joe was the first person that she saw as they walked into the yard. He looked at the ranch house door furtively. 

“Lou Lou, what are doin’ here? Old Hayward doesn’t like unannounced visitors,”

Joe said quietly as he rushed to her side.

Mary Lou held up the brown bag. “Scatterbrain!”

Joe smiled, quickly snatching the bag from her hand. 

“Now git! If the boss sees you …” Joe stopped as he heard the crunching of footsteps behind him. He glanced around to see Clint Hayward heading toward them. He didn’t look happy.

Mary Lou was mesmerized by the man who strode briskly across the yard. She had seen him come out of the barn just as Joe had snatched the bag from her hand. She should’ve warned her brother, but the sight of the tall, muscular man had her transfixed. He was nothing like she had imagined. She’d thought of him as a crotchety old man with a screwed-up, wrinkled face. 

This man was handsome.

Joe turned, holding up the pack. “Sorry, boss, my sister brought me my snack. She’s just goin’.”

Clint stopped a few feet away from the two young women. He dug his hands deep into his pockets, staring from one to the other. Mary Lou shifted uncomfortably.  She could see his glinting green eyes beneath the rim of his hat, which he wore low down on his head. They looked like fireflies – with a life of their own. She felt unnerved that the man hadn’t spoken. 

She stepped forward, and Joe immediately grabbed her arm. She shook herself free, holding out her hand toward the ranch owner. “Mornin’, sir. Sorry to be a bother, but my forgetful brother here would have gone hungry if I hadn’t brought his pack. My ma asked …”

Clint ignored her outstretched palm and held up his own hand like a sheriff wanting to stop an outlaw. His voice was deep, the words spoken more in his throat than in his mouth. “Have you done what you came for?”

Mary Lou shivered as she heard his voice. He had a different accent from the people who lived in Boylston. There wasn’t the drawl in his words, and he spoke softly in a respectful but sharp manner. She nodded at his question.

Clint took his hands out of his pockets, putting on a pair of leather gloves. 

“Then I’ll say so long.” He dipped his head slightly at both women before turning toward the house.

Joe grasped Mary Lou’s hand, dragging her out of the yard. Betsy ran behind them.

“Thank you for my pack; now go home!”

Mary Lou sneaked a quick peck on her brother’s cheek, then ran, holding hands with Betsy. They stopped when they were breathless, both laughing and holding their sides.

“Do you think Joe will get into trouble? His boss didn’t seem too pleased to see us,” Betsy gasped.

Mary Lou pictured Clint Hayward’s gleaming eyes, then said, “He’s alright. Those weren’t angry eyes I saw, more interested.”

Betsy pulled her arm playfully. “Sounds like you’re interested. Noticed his eyes, did you?”

Mary Lou’s cheeks flushed as she pushed her friend gently. “Don’t be silly, he’s Joe’s boss.”

“Well, he seemed to get a good look at you, couldn’t take his eyes off you.”     

Mary Lou smiled, thinking that the one year between Betsy and her seemed like a long one sometimes. She frowned, remembering the man’s unwavering gaze. She’d had the impression that he was judging her.

“Come on,” she said, suddenly remembering her ma had told her to be quick. “We need to get back.”

They walked in silence the short distance to Mary Lou’s house; then, just before they reached the gate, she grabbed Betsy’s arm and drew her close, whispering, “I wanna tell you a secret, but you mustn’t mention it to Ma. She won’t agree, and I don’t want her to stop me.”

Betsy drew the sign of the cross on the front of her coat with her finger. 

“Cross my heart and hope to die!” she said dramatically.

“I might be goin’ to work with that Mr. Hayward. Joe’s setting me up today for the cook’s job. What do you think about that?” Mary Lou replied proudly.

Betsy’s dark eyes grew round, and she opened her mouth wide. 

“I think he’d better hide all his best crockery if you’re goin’ into his kitchen,” Betsy said, laughing. 

Mary Lou scowled, then laughed too, saying, “You’re probably right.” 

 

Chapter Two

Clint Hayward looked up at the bright blue sky and white topped hills, his green eyes squinting into the sun. He scowled, wrinkling his sun-browned face. It was gonna be another cold day. He hadn’t realized when he decided to move so far west that the weather would be like this. Chicago had hard winters, but the city seemed to keep it warm even when the snow was lying six inches deep. Here, the wind whistled across the prairie, and fair knocked your socks off when it caught you. 

It had just turned autumn when he first arrived a few months earlier. The season had changed so quickly. His heart sunk every morning at the thought that December was looming ahead. That meant that Christmas was a-comin’ too. He grimaced at the thought.

     Clint raised his hat, pushing his thick brown hair from his forehead. He watched as the ranch hands greeted each other on the other side of the yard as they took their break. They all seemed so relaxed, shaking hands, and makin’ small talk. It wasn’t something that he found easy. He always felt awkward in company. Like he didn’t belong. Never knowin’ what to say. He envied the freedom that these men had to make friends. He’d found it difficult even with his own family, with one exception. 

Thoughts of his little sister crept into his mind again. Alison had been his best friend. Although she was five years younger, she understood him and his need to be alone. When she was small, she would sometimes curl up beside him when he was reading and silently run her finger over the words on the page. When she learned to read, she would do the same but bring her own book, often falling asleep mid-page. He could still feel her warm shoulder against him. He still missed her so much. It had been the hardest part of moving away from his hometown, knowing he was leaving her behind. 

“Mornin’ boss.” 

Clint focussed on the man that stood in front of him. He’d been lost in his thoughts completely. He nodded at the blond-haired young man that he’d taken on a couple of months earlier. Joe Matthews. He worked hard, was always on time, and often left after all the other men had finished. He had been surprised that morning to see him with the two young women.

“Mornin’,” Clint mumbled as he turned to walk away from the ranchers. They knew what needed to be done; he didn’t have to talk to them.

     “I wanted to say sorry about my sister comin’ to the ranch this mornin’, it won’t happen again.” Joe Matthews walked in step beside Clint as he headed for the house.

“No harm done,” his boss replied, not slowing down.

“Also,” Joe said a little louder, “I want to ask you somethin’, boss, if you’ve got the time?”

“Not today, Joe, things to do. You and the men know the ropes.”     

Clint watched as the man turned on his heels and walked back to the group of ranchers. He wasn’t in the mood for chit-chat.  

In his experience, if someone said they wanted to ask somethin’, it usually meant they wanted somethin’. He hadn’t thought Joe was like that, but then he hadn’t thought the young man would be filling his yard with his family either. 

Although his first impression of his ranch hand’s sister was favorable. She certainly knew how to be courteous, putting out her hand in that bold way. He strolled toward the house. 

Sometimes, he wasn’t good at judging character. He’d been fooled by people before that seemed to be one thing and then turned out to be somethin’ completely different. Robina was a good example. How he ever thought that he could trust her, he didn’t know. 

Clint shook his head as he opened the front door. He didn’t want to remember her either, especially at this time of year.

The cook looked up as Clint came into the kitchen. Her disheveled, straggling grey hair had escaped from the old-fashioned linen cap that she insisted on wearing. Her apron was covered in flour, and there was a large mark on her cheek, evidence that she had brushed her face with her messy hand. 

She placed a plate noisily on the table and spooned a couple of pancakes onto it. 

“Grits are in the dish, syrup is in the bowl, and coffee’s on the hob,” she said, glaring at him, then turning back toward the stove.

Clint sat down heavily, pulling the plate toward him. He stared at the apron ties of the generously proportioned woman. When he’d bought the ranch, the previous owner was proud of the fact that Gladys had been his cook for over thirty years. Clint didn’t care who looked after the house and cooked for him so long as he didn’t have to do it for himself. He was happy with her work, and she was a good cook. As he took a bite of the soft pancake, he frowned at the memory of their conversation the previous week.

“I gotta be with my family this Christmas, Mr. Hayward. I’ve done the last thirty Christmases here, and it’s about time I spent that special time with my folks. I’m not gettin’ any younger.” Gladys’s lined, pasty face and small, deep, inset eyes had stared back up at him. 

When he didn’t reply, she’d sighed. “I’m givin’ you a couple of months’ notice so you can find yourself someone else. I’m sure there’s plenty around these parts that would bite your hand off for my job.”

Clint had grunted, then turned away, leaving the cook gazing at his long, lean figure. He didn’t want to look for another cook. It would mean he’d have to speak to people in the town. It wasn’t something that he could do easily. There was only Sam Trent that he’d really gotten to know since he moved to Boylston. The sheriff had made it his job to wander out to the ranch and make his acquaintance with the new owner; otherwise, their friendship might never have started.

“Just want you to know that I’m always in the office if you need anything. I like to look after our ranchers, and I know you’re new, so anything I can do to help, you let me know. We haven’t had much rustlin’ this year, but you never know when the varmints take it into their heads to chance their arm. You just let me know if you see any unsavory lookin’ types, and I’ll come whistlin’,” he’d said from the saddle of his chestnut mare. 

His bright blue eyes had glinted in the autumn sunlight, and he’d raised his hat, revealing a shock of black hair. Clint had nodded as Sam waved his hand before putting his light-colored smokey bear back on his head. 

“Be seein’ yer in town sometime? The saloon does a good beer. Anytime you’re free.” Sam’s words had floated on the breeze that he made as he turned the horse and headed back to town. 

Clint had never met a sheriff like Sam. The ones in Chicago were gun-totin.’ There was no idle passing the time of day with them. Sam was different. He didn’t seem to mind Clint’s lack of conversation or gruff manner. The sheriff did most of the talking on the odd occasion when Clint found himself in the saloon. Sam also took to dropping into the ranch once or twice a week, sitting in the kitchen warming his hands on a mug of coffee until Gladys bustled around him mumbling.

It was one of those occasions when Sam stood up to leave, clapping Clint on the back, saying, “My ma was askin’ if you want to join us for Sunday lunch/dinner. She makes a fair plate of food, and there’s always plenty.”

Clint had had no intention of going to the Trents’ house the following Sunday, but somehow, he’d found himself saddling up his horse at noon and heading in that direction. 

Mrs. Trent and the rest of the family had welcomed him without any fuss. Pulling out a chair at the table as though it had always been there for him. He’d felt at home more than he did in his own kitchen at the ranch or even in his parents’ house. Before long, it was an established habit: Clint went for Sunday dinner at the Trent house.

    “You thought any more about me goin’ in a few weeks’ time, Mr. Hayward?”     

Gladys was standing with her hands on her hips, frowning at Clint. She reached forward, taking his empty plate.

    “You don’t wanna leave it too late afore you take someone on. I could show ’em how this old stove works and how you like your shirts ironed. You’re a bit particular. It might not come natural to some women.”

Clint bristled at the thought that he would potentially have two women in the kitchen. He liked his solitude. Gladys had learned from his frosty moods to leave him to himself as soon as he picked up a book. He’d gotten used to the silence. He liked it. He was happy with his own company. The thought of two women chattering around him was too much to consider. 

Gladys banged the empty plate into the sink. “I don’t know if you’re tryin’ to make me feel bad about me leavin’, especially with Christmas a-comin’, but I’ve given you fair warning …” 

The scrapping of Clint’s chair on the hard floor made her turn around. His green eyes had narrowed like a lizard focussing on a fly as he stared down at her.

“You can go anytime you want, woman. I don’t rely upon anyone … no matter what the time of year. It means nothin’ to me.”

Gladys drew in a sharp breath, blowing out her cheeks, which had reddened with indignation. “I’ll stick to my word if that’s alright with you, Mr. Hayward. I said two months’ notice, and that’s what I’ll do. That takes me up to the Friday before Christmas Day. If there’s anything special you want me to prepare …”

“There isn’t!” Clint said the words sharply, turning around and marching out of the door. He’d heard enough of the word Christmas for one day. He needed to clear his head. 

The freezing wind that blew into his face as he stepped outside into the yard made him look up at the sky. The early morning sun was now hidden by gathering clouds. Immediately above him, they were white, but as he looked further toward the hills, they darkened. He pulled his scarf around his neck, tucking it into the collar of his jacket. December was definitely upon them, and snow was already threatening. 

He dug his hands into his pockets, walking briskly out to the fence on the far side of the ranch. He needed to check on the progress of the five men that he had taken on over the past couple of months. The success of the ranch was everything to him. He needed to prove to himself that he could do something well. It was his responsibility alone. He was in control.

Clint tried to focus on the activities of the ranchers on the other side of the fence as they prepared the cattle for branding, but his mind was elsewhere. He knew he’d been rude to Gladys, and she didn’t deserve it. She was just trying to be helpful, but the mention of Christmas sent his mind reeling, recalling memories that he wished he could forget. 

It’d been Christmas Eve when Alison had taken to her bed. The bright pink spots on her cheek were a sure sign she had a cold, so his ma had said. “She just needs to rest. Plenty of liquids and a cool flannel. That’s what the doctor ordered.”

Clint remembered sitting by his sister’s bed, holding the cold cloth on her forehead and watching her struggle to breathe. The red spots on her cheeks spread across her face and down toward her neck. By the time the doctor called a few hours later to check on Alison, she was in a deep sleep. 

He’d sent the nineteen-year-old Clint out of the room, telling his ma to prepare herself. Clint hadn’t known what that meant, but when he heard sobbing through the closed door, he’d rushed back inside. His ma had stood up, wiping her eyes, clutching her son to her. “The fever’s taken her,” she’d whispered into his neck.

From that moment on, nothing was the same. His ma and pa were lost in their grief for Alison, taking comfort in each other. Desperately needing to understand the loss of his sister and how deeply it had affected him, he craved his parents’ attention.   Their reaction unsettled him. They were remote, more so than they had been before, excluding him or turning away when he struggled to tell them how he was feeling. 

     That’s when he’d turned to Robina, the woman he thought might well become his wife.

She was the daughter of one of his parents’ close friends. They were wealthy, like his family, and they socialized together often. When he’d first met her, he’d not felt any attraction. She was tall and willowy, with long dark hair that she plaited and wound around her head like a snail’s shell. It made her seem like a headmistress to Clint, aloof and unapproachable. 

     It was her kindness and the attention that she gave him, especially after his sister passed, that drew Clint to her. Over the coming months, he came to rely upon      Robina’s soothing ways. She listened to him. Taking his hand and telling him everything would be alright. 

“We’re the same, you and me,” she’d said one evening as they walked through the busy streets of the city, the shop windows alight with Christmas cheer. “When our parents pass, and their properties and businesses become ours, we’ll both be set for life.  

“We’ve both grown up with a comfortable life. Our parents have seen to that. You’re like me now. I am an only child and since Alison has gone, so are you.  

He hadn’t liked to hear the words she spoke. He prayed his parents would live for many years. What Robina had said had sounded callous, but he knew she was right. It      made it easier for them to become close, knowing that they had the same background and the same security from wealthy parents. Robina seemed to cocoon him from the isolation that his parents had imposed on him. 

He’d felt wanted. He’d felt safe. How wrong he’d been.