Cowboy Creek Christmas. Cheryl St.John

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       Chapter Two

      The boy child’s shy expression was enchanting. He had shiny black hair and thick lashes like his father. Who was his mother? If things had gone differently, Sam’s son might have been her child. Nearly a decade had passed since she and Sam had been engaged. He had wanted a family. Of course he had married.

      What kind of woman had Sam chosen? Surely someone with all the admirable feminine qualities Marlys’s father wanted her to possess. Someone focused on a marriage and not schooling and a career.

      Marlys remembered meeting her father’s colleagues as a child, recalled her self-conscious feelings of inadequacy and the discomfort of being stared at. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, August. How old are you?”

      “Eight, ma’am.”

      “Do you enjoy school?”

      “Yes, very much. Miss Aldridge lets me bring home her very own books. I’m careful with them.”

      “I should like to meet Miss Aldridge.”

      “Do you have any boys or girls?”

      “No, I don’t. But if I did, I’d be proud if they were smart and liked to read, like you.”

      August tilted his head to glance up at his father.

      Sam clamped a hand on his shoulder and grinned. “Why don’t you hang your coat and go see if Israel needs a hand sorting the type.”

      “Yes, sir.” August dutifully hung his coat and headed toward the room in the rear with the open door.

      Marlys caught the wistful expression on Sam’s face. “He’s a bright boy,” she said.

      “Yes. He is.”s

      “Do you have other children?”

      “No. My wife died when August was born. My mother helped care for him. He stayed with her during the war, and she continued to look after him when I returned. Until just a few months ago actually.”

      There was a whole history of love and loss in those few words. “I’m sorry to hear about your wife.” She wrapped her scarf around her hair and buttoned her coat. “I will return tomorrow. I would like to pay for an advertisement.”

      “I’ll look forward to seeing you.”

      She lifted her gaze to his midnight blue eyes, puzzled. Fascinated in some unexplainable manner. “Your wife must have been...” She grasped for something comforting because it was expected. Yet she was always at a loss for words in these situations. “Just what you wanted in a life mate.”

      “She was a lovely young woman.”

      “Will you want to do another interview then?”

      “Yes, perhaps in another week or two. We’ll generate interest with this first article, and with your advertisement, and then follow up so people don’t forget.”

      “I read your book,” she said. She hadn’t been going to admit it, but there was no reason to withhold that bit of information. “It’s not my usual reading material, but it held my interest. You’re a very good writer.”

      “I don’t know whether or not that’s a compliment. Your usual reading material is medical journals and field experiments.”

      “I read history and—” She stopped abruptly. He was teasing her.

      He was smiling, the corners of his dark-lashed eyes crinkling. The resulting flutter of anticipation was one she’d only experienced when facing a particularly stimulating curative challenge. How strange. But maybe she was responding to the challenge of convincing him to write about her in a way that would help grow her practice? Sam was no inexperienced journalist looking to make a name for himself. He’d been a city editor in New York, and the book he’d written about his Army experiences had been highly successful. He was well-known and admired.

      “I’ll СКАЧАТЬ