Western Christmas Proposals. Carla Kelly

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      “We’ll have steak and potatoes in a few minutes,” she told them. “Ned, help your father to the kitchen.”

      “I don’t think...”

      “Mr. Avery, would you like to eat with us?” she asked, ignoring Ned.

      “More’n anything.”

      “Give yourself plenty of time,” she admonished, but kindly. He knew she was right. An old rancher with a new window and a view of the valley ought to have some say in where he ate supper.

      It took Pa three pauses to get to the kitchen. To Ned, his look of triumph when he finally sat in the kitchen was close kin to his expression when he won a cow penning at the local rodeo a few years back. Maybe it was more than a few years. Time had crept up on them all. Ned couldn’t remember the last time Pa had sat at the table with him, and he wondered why it had taken the gentle insistence of a chore girl to give him enough courage to let Pa do what he wanted.

      “Pa, I’ve been treating you like a China doll,” he said finally, pushing away his plate. He nodded to Katie, who took the plates to the sink. “I owe you a debt, Miss Peck,” he said.

      She sat down again. The way Pa looked at her suggested that they had planned it this way. He knew better than to question whatever it was that had turned them into confederates. What is it about you, Katie Peck, Ned wanted to ask.

      After the dishes, Katie told Pa to settle in. “Ned, we’re going to waltz,” she told him. “One two three, one two three. It’s simple.”

      She came close and put her hand on his shoulder with no hesitation. “Put that hand on my waist, and I’ll take the other one,” she directed. “I’ll lead, until you figure it out. Mr. Avery, you may do the one two three.”

      Pa did, waving his hand, as Katie Peck directed Ned around the kitchen. She told him not to look at his feet and he tried to do as she said. Her waist was small. His hands were large, and he felt like he was encroaching a bit on the pleasant swell that began her bosom. She made no objection, which relieved him, because she felt so good.

      They banged knees a couple of times, and he stepped on her feet, but at least he had taken off his boots and wore only his stockings.

      When Katie said, “You’re supposed to carry on pleasant conversation,” he stopped dancing.

      “Like what?” he asked.

      “The weather, the price of two-year heifers,” Pa teased.

      Katie sighed, but there was no overlooking the fun in her eyes, and the soft way she looked at Dan Avery. “Mr. Avery! Instead of that, Ned, ask your partner what book she’s read lately, or maybe inquire about her family.”

      “I’m supposed to do that and dance at the same time?” Ned protested.

      She nodded, and put her hand on his shoulder again. “That’s why we’re going to practice the waltz every day until the dance. When is it, by the way?” she asked, standing there poised and ready to push off.

      “A week from Friday.” He whispered in her ear. “Pa’s getting tired.”

      “I know,” she whispered back. “Mr. Avery, Ned’s going to lead now. He can think one two three.”

      He towed her around the floor to his silent one two three. They narrowly avoided the cooking range, but he kept one hand firmly on her waist, and the other clasped in hers. Around again, without stepping on her, and once more.

      “I’m ending this dance,” he said. “How do I stop?”

      “When the music stops, you give a little bow, and thank her,” Katie said. She turned to his father. “What do you think, Mr. Avery?”

      “I think he might find a wife yet,” Pa said. “Do the two-step now.”

      “It had better be simpler,” Ned told her.

      “It is. And it’s fast. Hand on my waist again—oh, you never took it off—and take my hand again. It’s just one and two and.”

      Off they went. It was simpler, Katie nimble and smiling the whole time. Third time around the room, he picked her up and she laughed.

      “I hope...you’re not...expecting...conversation,” he managed to gasp.

      “Only...if the building...catches on fire,” she said, which made him give a shout of laughter and grab her up.

      He held her that way, so they were on equal eye level, breathing hard. She put both hands on his shoulders, not to ward him off, but to remind him. He let her down, and she stepped away, her face red from exertion, but her eyes bright.

      They both looked at Pa, who nodded. “That’ll for sure find him a wife, unless he’s dancing with another man’s missus.” He laughed. “Then we’ll have a shoot-out and a hanging!”

      “We’ll practice every night,” Katie assured Ned. She started sticking hairpins back in place, but gave it up for a bad business and shook the rest of her hair down.

      Ned hadn’t realized how long it was, almost to her waist, and the prettiest shade of just ordinary brown, with little bits of red glimmering in the light of the lamp.

      He looked at Pa, whose eyes were closing. “No objections from you, Pa,” he said, as he carried his father back to his room. Katie trailed along behind, watchful, and Ned began to realize the strength of her attachment to his father.

      “I’ll help him from here,” he told her. She went into her room and closed the door. He listened for her to lock it, then realized with a start that she had never locked her door, not even the first night when he handed her the key.

      We’re doing something right, he thought.

Chapter Thirteen

      They danced every night, and soon Katie had no fears for her toes. Ned’s conversation still suffered, but she knew him as a reticent man. A dancing partner would have to appreciate taciturnity, Katie decided. She knew she didn’t mind his silences. He had a lot on his mind.

      “Did you mill girls have dances?” he asked one night.

      “Ned, you’re wonderful!” she exclaimed. “You asked me that and didn’t look down at your feet.”

      “Did Saul Coffin dance with you?”

      “Now and then, but he was mostly all business around the looms.”

      “Maybe I shouldn’t bring him up,” he said after another turn.

      “Doesn’t matter,” she replied. “We may never know what happened.”

      She didn’t mind the silence that followed, because she had a moment to reflect on how seldom she thought about Saul Coffin, the man who had partly paid her way to Wyoming Territory. She knew the truth, though: hard life had taught her not СКАЧАТЬ