Western Christmas Proposals. Carla Kelly
page she was reading and at the same time the aromatic roast in the kitchen made itself known. She stood up and put the book in the chair.
“Thank you for letting me read to you,” she told the quiet man, who lay on his back now, deeply veined hands clasped together. “You know, Mr. Avery, if you have trouble understanding my accent, I can read slower.”
“I understand you,” he growled. “Silly of you to think I wouldn’t.”
“I have to prepare supper.” She was tying on her apron when the brothers came indoors, bringing with them October and geese calling to each other, and a rush of sage before the door closed.
“One more day will finish up the near fences,” Ned told her.
“Pete’s more agreeable?” she asked.
Ned shrugged. “Well enough. I promised him I would think of something else for him to do.” He started toward the back of the house, but stopped. “You think, too,” he said and gave her a little salute with his finger to his forehead.
Kate couldn’t help feeling pleased to be included in likely what was a hopeless task. She sliced potatoes for frying on the stovetop, and found enough good apples in the nearly empty barrel to make applesauce. She looked into the window and gave her reflection a little salute, too.
She already knew the evening routine. Ned kept a pile of old newspapers by the stove. Once his father was taken care of, he retreated to his room with a newspaper and read the articles, no matter how old they were.
Pete sometimes stayed in the kitchen with a bucket of blocks. He created towering buildings carefully, losing himself in the simple task. After a few days of wondering what to do, Kate took an old newspaper, too, and read it in her room. Sometimes Ned took a deck of cards to the kitchen and played solitaire.
And then in the morning another day began and became much like the one before, a day of riding fence for the Avery brothers, and her reading to Mr. Avery, who at least didn’t pretend to sleep anymore, even if he never spoke.
Ned surprised her two days later by inviting her to come to town with him. “Didn’t I hear you say something about material for kitchen curtains? I’ll leave Pete here with Dad. We won’t be gone much more than half a day.”
She had her doubts, but agreed. While he hitched the horse to the wagon, Katie peered into Ned’s shaving mirror. There wasn’t much she could do for her straight hair, but she was pleased to see that the bloom wasn’t entirely gone from her reflection.
“May I get you anything in town?” she asked Mr. Avery, who lay on his bed, turned to the side facing the wall. He ignored her and her heart dropped, wondering if he was back to his silent hostility.
“I’ll read twice as long tomorrow to make up,” she cajoled. Nothing. It was as if she had never read to him, as if they had never started even the simplest of conversations.
“You are a stubborn man,” she said finally, when she heard Ned calling her name from the kitchen.
“I want to go, too,” he said, softly.
Katie heard his disappointment. “I wish you could. I truly do.”
Silence. Ned called for her again, but she moved closer to his father instead. She sat on his bed. “Is there something else I can do for you, besides what you really want?”
She looked over her shoulder to see Ned approaching. She put her finger to her lips and he said nothing.
“I want a window,” Mr. Avery told her finally. “If I have to lie here, may I look out at...at...something?” He opened his eyes, and Kate saw all the torment. “Can you do that? Can you?”
Kate glanced back at Ned and saw a serious face with no anger in it. He nodded. His look changed to a thoughtful one, as though he was already planning how he would do it. He turned quietly and went back through the house.
“I believe we can,” she told Mr. Avery.
She heard his enormous sigh. “Make it a big window and make it low enough for me to see out of, just as I am now.”
“Done,” Kate said as she stood up. “Call Pete if you need anything.”
“I can’t imagine he wants to stay here,” Mr. Avery said, a touch of humor in his voice.
“No,” Kate said, “but it’s my turn to go to town.”
She hurried toward the kitchen. Ned stood there, something in his hand. He held it out to her. “I found this in the box of oddments you wanted me to go through. Mama used to stick it in her hair. You take it.”
“I shouldn’t,” she said, coming closer to look at the tortoiseshell comb.
“I think you should. Mama was never one to waste things. Here. I’ll do it.”
He stepped into her private space, and she felt no automatic need to step back. “Where should I put it?” he asked.
She touched the side of her head where strays seemed to come from. “Right here.”
With no hesitation, he slid the comb right above her ear, slanting it up a little and then more, until he was satisfied. She held her breath at his nearness, thinking of times when her stepfather had yanked her around, or even when Saul Coffin leaned in for a kiss. She felt no urge to step back or dodge Ned Avery.
I trust you, she thought, and the feeling was warmer than late autumn.
“That’ll do, Katie,” he said, nodding his approval. “I didn’t know you had freckles on your nose.”
“And I didn’t know you did, too,” she told him.
“I’m not exactly full of surprises,” he said as he opened the door.
I’m surprising myself, Katie thought, pleased in a way she had never been pleased before.
Both of them were silent on the ride to Medicine Bow, but it was a comforting silence to Katie, the kind of quiet when you share space with a friend, or so she thought.
Ned stopped the wagon in front of Bradley’s Mercantile and helped her out onto the board sidewalk. “Go inside and look around,” he said. “They may or may not have anything resembling what you think we might need, but that’s Medicine Bow.” He straightened his Stetson. “I’m going to the Watering Hole for a drink.”
“Don’t you get likkered,” she teased.
“My mother used to say that,” he replied, and she saw good humor in his eyes. “Haven’t heard it in years.” He tipped his hat to her. “Thanks for the reminder.”
She nodded and went into the mercantile. The odor of dried fish, leather and coffee, with a hint of molasses drifting in from some dark corner made her wrinkle her nose.
“Can I help you, miss?” the man behind the counter said.
“Ayuh,” she said, which made him smile. “I mean, yes.” She handed him the list Ned had given her.
He scanned it. “Hmm. More sugar. Cinnamon, cloves and nutmeg? Ned’s never given me a list like this.”
“Christmas is coming,” she reminded him. “I intend to do something about it.”
That announcement brought another smile, accompanied by more thorough appraisal. “Tell me now—did Ned Avery find himself a wife?”
Katie felt her face heat up. “He needs a chore girl to help with his father,” she explained, lowering her voice. “I fell on hard times, and he ended up hiring me.”
“I did hear he had a mission to accomplish in Cheyenne,” the man—probably Mr. Bradley—told her. “How is Daniel?”
“Bored,