His Frontier Christmas Family. Regina Scott

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СКАЧАТЬ target="_blank" rel="nofollow" href="#u52076679-b701-5138-ae23-b95a263f4e2e">Chapter Six

      Levi Wallin had filed a claim he couldn’t pan.

      That’s all Callie could think as she lifted her mother’s skirts and climbed the stairs to the loft. He wasn’t sure how to deal with a baby, couldn’t keep his family from overrunning his house.

      And he had no idea how to handle her brothers.

      Callie shook her head at the sight that met her at the top of the stairs. The loft was one long room, peeled logs bracing a roof that no doubt kept out the rain, with a stone hearth at one end and a window with a shutter at the other. Three pallets and two trunks lay waiting. Perhaps it was the dim light that had inspired her brothers to try to start a fire in the grate.

      With what looked like one of Levi’s shirts as tinder.

      “Here,” Callie barked. “Now.”

      She must have sounded sufficiently commanding, for both her brothers obeyed.

      “What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded, hands on her hips.

      Frisco raised his chin. “Setting up the room, like you asked.”

      “It’s kind of cold up here,” Sutter agreed.

      It was warmer than the house they’d left. “Where’d you get that shirt?”

      Sutter nodded to one of the trunks. “In there.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “He has near a dozen!”

      Another mark of a preacher, not that she’d mention it. “And what did you do with your clothes?”

      Sutter cast a quick glance at the pack, which they’d left along one wall, the quilts piled up around it.

      “They’re fine where they are,” Frisco blustered. “We ain’t staying long.”

      Sutter nodded. “We was figuring to head north as soon as the thaw sets in.”

      Callie bent to put her face on a level with theirs. “You are not heading north. This is our home now. You want to live out of a pack? Fine. But you take Ma’s quilts, and you lay them on the beds. She didn’t work that hard to have them dumped on the floor.”

      He and Sutter both looked to the pallets along the far wall as if noticing them for the first time.

      Sutter glanced back at her. “We get our own beds?”

      “Looks that way,” Callie said, straightening.

      “I get the quilt with the velvet patch,” Sutter yelled, diving for the pile.

      Frisco wrinkled his nose. “You can have it. Someone spilled tea on it.”

      Callie felt a pang of guilt. They had so few things left from her mother—the dress Callie was wearing, the quilts pieced together from cast-off clothing, the gold ring Pa had given Ma—in promise, he’d said, not only for the many years they’d spend together but the gold he would heap at her feet. Adam had given the ring to Anna, and now Callie kept it for Mica. After all, Callie wasn’t planning to marry.

      “I’ll wash it when I can,” Callie said, moving forward to take the quilt from Sutter. “Use another one for now.”

      While her brothers prepared their beds, Callie retrieved Levi’s shirt. Fine material, soft under her hands. Did it feel good against those broad shoulders?

      What was she thinking?

      She wadded it up with the quilt for washing, then escorted her brothers downstairs for supper. The preacher had said he was well stocked for food, though she hadn’t noticed any, come to think of it. She blew out a breath. Another area where he was lacking. Maybe she should go hunting.

      She had barely reached the ground floor when the scents assailed her—warm bread and the tang of onion.

      “What are you cooking, preacher?” Frisco called, hurrying closer to where Levi stood by the stove, Sutter right behind.

      Callie deposited the quilt and shirt in the bedroom before going to the table. Mica had been pushed up to the edge of it in the funny little chair and was waving around a wooden spoon. Every few swipes she brought it to her mouth to gnaw on. Time to feed that baby. But with what? If Levi didn’t know how to hold her, he likely didn’t know what kind of food she needed, either.

      “My mother called it rag-oo,” he was telling her brothers now, lifting the lid on a copper pan to give whatever was inside a stir. Callie’s mouth started watering.

      She made herself slide in next to Levi instead. He’d wrapped a cloth around his waist; already it was splattered with red and brown dots. She wasn’t sure why seeing him mussed pleased her. “I need to feed Mica,” she explained. “You got anything I can mash?”

      “There’s a cupboard built into that wall,” he answered, pulling back the metal spoon. “Help yourself.”

      She went to check. Sure enough, two little handles opened to a cupboard so stocked, Callie could only stare. Jar upon jar crammed on the shelves—red tomatoes, purple plums, golden applesauce, blackberry preserves, pearly onions swimming around blood-red beets, dusky green asparagus and brighter green beans. Oh, what she could do with all this!

      She grabbed a jar of applesauce and carried it back to the table.

      Frisco was already sitting on the bench. “When do we eat?” he asked Levi.

      Levi covered his hand with a corner of the cloth at his waist and eased open the oven. “I’d say a quarter hour, by the look of the biscuits.”

      “Biscuits?” Sutter hurried to the table and slid in beside Frisco. Mica called her welcome to them both.

      Callie’s feet carried her to Levi’s side, her gaze latched on the browning morsels in the oven. “You know how to bake biscuits?”

      He nodded, and she almost cried out in loss as he closed the oven door and shut out the sight of the food she hadn’t eaten since Anna had died. “Ma insisted we all learn to fend for ourselves,” he explained. “Cooking, cleaning, sewing.”

      “See there, Callie?” Frisco called. “You won’t have to do anything anymore. The preacher’s gonna take care of us all.”

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