Christmas Cowboy Kisses. Carol Arens
milk easily enough.”
Joseph turned in her grasp to look over his shoulder at his father and added his plea. “Why don’t you, Daddy. We never had this before, did we? I don’t remember it anyway.”
“No, I suspect we haven’t, son. I’ll be glad to share some with you if Joy doesn’t mind.”
She added the extra milk to the saucepan, along with another scoop of cocoa and some sugar. Joy lifted the saltshaker from the back of the stove and shook it over the pan, as her mother had taught her, the salt enhancing the flavor of the chocolate.
“Would you find some mugs in the dresser, Gideon? The door on the left.”
With a grunt of assent, her guest rose and brought back four thick china cups, which he placed on the table. “I assume you’ll both be joining us,” he said, taking his seat once more.
Grandpa got up from his chair and made his way to the kitchen door. “No, you young folks enjoy your treat while I find my whittling knife and a likely piece of wood to work on,” he said, then walked from the room with the aid of a cane he kept nearby at all times.
Joy lifted Joseph from his perch and set him away from the hot stove before she poured the mugs full, the milk foaming almost to overflowing as she drained the pan. “That ought to do it, gentlemen,” she said with laughter lacing her words. It seemed there was much to be thankful for this morning. Two guests to share the coming days until Christmas and the hope of having a tree this year after all.
“How about a piece of bread and butter to go with your cocoa? I can slice some right quick if you like.”
“Have you the heel handy?” Gideon asked. “Joseph likes the middle of the loaf, but I’ve always been partial to the first slice. My mother used to spread it with butter, right to the edges she always said.” He looked up at Joy with a smile that was strangely tender, as if his thoughts of home and hearth were warming him. “It’s odd how little things stick in your mind, isn’t it, ma’am? I can still see my mother at the stove, standing as you are right now, ready to serve her family.”
She felt the sting of tears as she turned away, her thoughts bittersweet as she recalled her own mother. “Memories are to be cherished, especially the ones that warm us from within,” she said quietly.
“I wish I had a mama to remember,” Joseph said, and Joy sat, reaching across the table to take up his small hand within her own.
“Perhaps one day your father will find a woman fit to be your mother, Joseph. We never know what life has in store for us, and surely a mother isn’t too much for a little boy to hope for.”
Gideon lifted his cup and sipped carefully. “I fear he’ll have to make do with one poor excuse of a father, ma’am,” he said. “I wouldn’t ask any woman to take me on, unless she was looking for a repair-and-restoration project.”
She smiled at him, almost chuckling at the woebegone expression on his face. “Do you think you are such a poor specimen as all that? I see you as a shining example of fatherhood, Gideon. Your son would not be as he is without your influence.”
“My daddy says I’m a good boy,” Joseph said with a speck of pride showing in his shining eyes.
“I’m sure you are. You certainly know how to behave well and that’s about all that can be expected of a child your age,” Joy told him, leaning close to speak to the lad as if he were an equal and would understand her words. She marveled at how she’d misjudged the small boy at first, thinking him to be three or four years old. Gideon had since told her that Joseph was small for his age; he was actually six. That explained his ability to communicate so well, Joy thought.
“Thank you, ma’am,” Joseph said politely, his wide grin showing his delight at her attention.
“Well, I’d better get busy and start something cooking for dinner. These dishes aren’t going to wash themselves and I have dish towels to wash and hang to dry,” Joy said, listing her agenda for the morning.
“I’m a pretty good hand at dishes,” Gideon said, offering his help.
“I’ll take you up on that.” Joy rose and took her cup to the sink, adding it to the pile already awaiting warm water in the dishpan.
As the two adults did the dishes, Joseph watched from his place at the table, not seeming surprised at the sight of his father with his hands in dishwater.
But he totally missed the warm look Gideon bestowed upon the woman who stood beside him, nor would he have understood the message his father sent silently with but a wink of his eye and a subtle twist of his mouth that signified his delight in her.
Chapter Three
The pantry shelves held a multitude of Mason jars, chicken filling some of them, beef and gravy in others, but nothing there seemed to appeal to Joy this morning. She thought of the ham hanging in the smokehouse, the venison hanging on the porch from the latest buck that had stood in her meadow and dared her to take aim in his direction. She’d performed the task ruefully, not looking forward to the chore of dressing out the animal and then dragging it to the yard to wash the meat at the horse trough.
The best part had been the fine hide she’d hung and cleaned, thinking of the slippers and, perhaps, a vest she might make from its soft leather. She’d cooked stew from a hindquarter, sliced slabs from the roasts and spread them out in a flat pan to freeze and even ground up scraps to make venison sausage they had for breakfast when the pork supply ran low. Perhaps a chunk of stew meat would be good for dinner. There were potatoes and carrots left in the cellar, along with several squashes and the pumpkin she planned to cut up and cook for pies for Christmas dinner.
And somehow the thought of Christmas held new visions of cheer as she contemplated cooking for more than just herself and Grandpa. There were several leftover bits of yarn in her knitting basket, surely enough to make a pair of mittens and a cap to match for Joseph. It would be a hodgepodge of colors, but she doubted the boy would mind, so long as the end results kept him warm.
“I think I’ll go out to the porch and cut off a piece of venison for stew,” she said, turning to watch as Gideon wiped the table clean.
“Can I do that for you? It’ll save you getting cold again, and if you’ll tell me how large a piece you need, I’m sure I can handle the job.” His words halted her as she reached for her coat and shawl and she turned to face him, a smile wreathing her face.
“I can see that you’ll come in right handy, sir. I need a piece about the size of that kettle there,” she told him, pointing at her medium saucepan.
“Sounds good to me,” Gideon answered, then reached for his coat and pulled on his hat. Joy found her large butcher knife and handed it to him, then watched as he went out to the porch. It was overcast, with snow still falling, but the light from the kitchen was sufficient to see from the window where he reached for the hanging venison and sliced deftly at it, cutting loose a large piece that would fit readily into her stew pot.
She went to the door to take the meat from him, then sent him back out to the cellar to fetch vegetables for tonight’s dinner. He turned away and held the porch post as he went down the steps and headed for the cellar door next to the porch, careful not to slip and fall on the snow that had already coated the slick wood.
In less than five minutes he reappeared, holding the kettle she’d given him to fill. It almost overflowed with the vegetables she’d asked for, and she opened the door to allow him entrance as he stomped his feet to leave the snow behind on the porch. Again he shook his coat outdoors before he hung it on the hook, and she decided he’d been trained well by some female.
“How far west did you plan to travel, Gideon?” she asked, wondering if his memories were happy ones or if he’d decided to start a new life with his son because of overwhelming sadness in his past. “I know the weather came on quicker than you’d thought it would, with an early winter setting in and putting a stop to your trek.”
“I’d