Authors: Leah Atwood
She sank down on a nearby bench and buried her head in her hands. “Please Lord, keep him safe and bring him home.”
He wasn’t going to die, not if he had any say in the matter. Patrick pushed forward, haunted by Leroy’s words. Wisdom dictated he should have stayed in Pine Prairie, but it was a virtue that often eluded him.
Sally Sue, his faithful mare, faltered.
Patrick rubbed her neck. “I’m sorry, girl.”
Snow blanketed the entire landscape. The closer he got to Weatherton, the deeper it became. The wind blew the flakes into drifts, and some of the ones he’d encountered were already two feet high. In the dark, there was little he could do to avoid them except pray for Sally Sue to navigate around them.
Before he left Pine Prairie, he’d covered up as much as he could in preparation for the trip home. The wool shirt he wore under his duster scratched his skin, but he barely gave it a second thought. A red bandana barely protected his nose, mouth, and ears from the elements, and too often the whipping gusts penetrated the thin material.
Everything on him was cold. He’d long since passed the tingling stage and moved straight to burning nerve-endings. Immediate fear for his safety propelled him forward.
He nudged Sally Sue’s flank. “Show me what you’ve got. Find the way home.”
The truth was, he didn’t know where he was. The dark, the snow, the cold—it all obscured his sense of direction. It was affecting his brain and his concentration, but he hid it because horses could smell fear, and he was relying on Sally Sue to get them home.
Back to Candace.
In the first ten minutes after leaving Pine Prairie, he’d made his decision regarding her. Ma probably wouldn’t be happy with it, but would probably accept it once he explained. He prayed Candace would understand.
It was for the best and he was at peace with what he’d determined as a solution. If only he could make it back to Weatherton.
So cold. He couldn’t feel anything now. The sound of Sally Sue’s hooves clopping through the freshly fallen snow was the only sound he heard between the howling winds.
“Please, God, see me through this storm. Let me make it back.”
His eyes began to flutter. Tired. Maybe he would just close his eyes for a minute, keep the frigidness out for a bit. He blinked. No.
Must keep them open
. His head nodded and his chin drifted. He jerked it back up.
Gripping the reins tighter, he pleaded with Sally Sue through chattering teeth. “Not much longer. You can do it.”
He should have stayed in Pine Prairie. There was no reason to risk his life.
“Keep. Your. Eyes. Open,” he shouted to himself, the words lost in the blizzard. “Stay. Awake.”
Death was a certain outcome, he could feel it in his bones, right below the layer of numbness. No, he wasn’t giving in. He would make it to Candace tonight.
She needed him. He needed her.
His body slumped. He envisioned Candace waiting for him and forced himself upright.
Sally Sue’s pace quickened. A new energy emanated from her and seeped into Patrick’s weakened body. Minutes later the faint outline of a building came into view, then a second one, and another. It was Weatherton. Thanks to Sally Sue, he’d made it.
Thank goodness the layout of the town was imprinted on his memory. He could find his way to the Simpson’s house without any problem, even with the lack of visibility. Would anyone be awake? By his estimate, midnight was well behind him.
He gave Sally Sue a pat. “Thank you, girl. I knew you could do it.”
When they came to the Simpson’s place, he jumped off Sally Sue, stumbling in his haste. Looking through a window, he saw the faint glow of firelight through the closed drapes. He knocked on the door. No one answered, so he knocked again, louder and with more force to be heard above the wind. While he waited, he pulled the collar of his duster around his neck.
Did he hear footsteps? He knocked a third time, then blew into his hands for warmth. The thuds came closer.
“Who’s there at this hour?” The voice was croaky as if the person it belonged to had been asleep. Patrick recognized it as Glen Simpson.
“Patrick Holden, Sir.”
The door flew open, assisted by the wind. “Come in.”
“Thank you.” He dusted the snow from him the best he could before stepping through the door.
“What are you doing?” Glen asked. “We thought you’d have the good sense to stay in Pine Prairie until tomorrow.”
“You know me.” Rubbing his hands, he wondered if he’d ever be warm again. “Is Candace here?”
“Yes, the lot of your family’s inside but asleep. Shall I wake them?”
“No, let them sleep.” He removed his hat and ran a hand through his hair. “Do you have somewhere I can put Sally Sue for the night?”
“There’s a lean-to out back. She’ll be protected from the wind there.”
“I’ll take care of her and be right back.” He didn’t move, his gaze drawn to the inviting warmth of the fire.
“It’s been a while since I’ve made some, but I’ll put some coffee going. You must be freezing.” Glen glanced behind him for a second. “Come back in through the rear kitchen door. It will save you a trip around the house.”
“Much obliged.”
An hour later, he was burrowed in a makeshift bed on the floor near the fire. His bones still ached from his stint in the blizzard, and he thanked the Lord he’d made it safely and without frostbite. He couldn’t sleep, even knowing the house would come alive with activity in a few short hours. Thoughts of the future circulated his mind until doubt ridiculed him.
The room was still dark, the sun not yet risen when the first footstep sounded. Patrick lay still, not sure if he should announce his presence yet. A slim outline walked to the window and pushed aside the curtains.
His breathing hitched when he realized the figure was Candace.
She peered outside into the darkness, a hand pressed against the glass. “Where are you, Patrick? Are you safe or lost somewhere in the blizzard?”
His heart constricted. The way she spoke, it didn’t sound like she begrudged him. Quite the opposite. It almost sounded like a deep affection. He sat up and pulled his shirt over his head.
“Candace.”
The simple utterance made her jump. She turned around, seeking out the voice in the blackness. “Patrick?”
He pushed aside the blankets and stood. “It’s me. Over by the fire.”
She walked toward him. He met her in the middle.
“I was so worried.” Her hands flew around his neck. “You said you’d be back for Thanksgiving, and I just knew you’d try to brave the storm to keep your word.”
All remaining traces of cold immediately evaporated. She trusted him, however, ill-placed it seemed. The realization stunned him.
“I’m here.” Soft illuminations from the fire flickered behind them. Brushing the mussed hair out of her face, he was struck anew by her beauty.
Her lips parted as she stared at him. The moment took him away, and he threaded his fingers through her hair, down to her nape. His hand rested on the rear of her neck, gently pressing her head forward. Angling his head, he met her lips, claiming her in a kiss he’d wanted for months but hadn’t believed he deserved.
He deepened the kiss, understanding what he hadn’t before—he loved her. It was a love bred from respect, admiration, humility.
Respect. The word echoed in his mind and he broke away. They weren’t married—he had no call to kiss her that passionately without the benefit of marriage.
Candace looked away but not before he saw the hurt in her eyes. He gently took her arm and brought her to him.
She shrugged away. “It’s okay. I know you were only caught up in the moment.”
A curse almost slipped from his tongue, but he bit it back in time. “It’s not okay, and if that’s what you think, then you don’t know anything.”
Hugging herself, she blinked several times. “Enlighten me.”
“I stopped kissing you because I respect you.” He raked a hand through his hair. “We’re not married—a kiss like that should be saved for matrimony.”
“Oh.” Surprise flickered across her face. She moved to a settee and sat down.
“I’m sorry, Candace.” He strode to her and sat down beside her, leaving a space between them. “The man who married us, he was a gambler your father met somehow.”
“I guess I already knew that answer.” She swallowed. “Thank you for making the trip to confirm it.”
“There’s something else you need to know.” Reaching over, he took her hand. There wasn’t any love lost between him and Burl, but he was Candace’s Pa, albeit a poor excuse for one. “Your Pa died Monday evening.”
She stared at him with a blank expression, impassive to say the least. Then the news must have struck her because her shoulders began to shake, then her chest, down to the hand he held. He repositioned himself so that he could put an arm around her, offer the comfort that she needed.
“How?” she whispered after a minute.
“In his sleep. They found him in his hotel room.”
“I shouldn’t care. He was horrible to me.” She sniffled. “Yet he was all the family that I had left.”
Patrick stroked her shoulder. “You have us now, Candace. My family is your family.”
“Not really. You say that, and the others also do, but for how long? Eventually, I’ll have to move on.” The way she spoke, so matter-of-factly, like it was a certainty, tore him to pieces.
But he couldn’t blame her. He’d purposely not led her on by telling her they would get married because, for once, he wanted to make a decision after weighing all the consequences. He hadn’t wanted to promise marriage in haste. Not until he was sure it was in
her
best interest.
“Don’t move on. Stay here.”
“It would be too difficult.” She looked away.
“Why?” He let go of her.
“Because of my arm. Most times, you can’t bear to look at me, and I’m positive you wouldn’t want to marry someone you can’t stand to look at. I won’t wed out of your pity.”
He bit down on his bottom lip before answering. “Do you really think that?”
She nodded. “It’s obvious.”
Shaking his head, he silently called himself every sort of name. “That’s not it at all. I couldn’t bear to look at you because of my own guilt and shame. I’ve brought you nothing but pain, but Heaven help me, I want to marry you, Candace. Maybe it’s selfish, but I can’t bear the thought of losing you.”
“You want to marry me?” Her eyes were widened, filled with disbelief.
“We had something good going prior to the fire, didn’t we?”
Still appearing surprised, she nodded weakly. “Yes.”
Moving to the floor, he knelt in front of her. “Tell me we can find our way back there, and then move forward to a brighter, happier path. I’m sorry for all the pain and trouble that I’ve caused you in the past, and I can’t promise the future will be easy, but I won’t leave your side. I’ll love you and protect you for all of our lives.”
The sun had begun to rise, sending small streams of light into the room—enough that he could watch the tear trickle on Candace’s face and land on his hand that now covered hers.
“I need to know something first.”
“What?” He squeezed her hand, praying it was an answer he could provide.
“Tell me the truth. Does the sight of my arm repulse you?” She didn’t look at him as she asked.
Not for the first time that day, he wished he’d done things differently, talked to her before they had gotten to this point. “You are beautiful, every part of you, inside and out. I am sorry if I ever made you think otherwise.”
Her eyes met his. “I need to hear you say it.”
“No, Candace, seeing your scarred arm doesn’t bother me, nor does it change my feelings for you. What kind of man would I be if it did?” He pushed up the sleeve of her pink flannel nightgown—the satin trim was smooth against the tips of his fingers—and stopped at her elbow. Half of her scars were visible. With a single finger, he traced the worst one. He finished by placing a soft kiss on it to eliminate any lingering doubts she still maintained. “If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have those scars.”
“It’s not your fault. I don’t blame you for what happened.” She leaned over, placed one palm against his cheek and sighed. “We’ve been so silly, making our lives more difficult than they needed to be.”
“Then will you marry me, Candace? A real marriage this time, based on love.”
“Yes.” She smiled at him, the wondrous smile he’d thought he’d never again receive. “We’ll do it the right way this time, the way it was meant to be.”
He moved from the floor back to the settee. Staring at her, gratefulness overcame him, a proper sentiment for the day. “I’m glad you agree because I had an idea of how we should do this.”
Only several hours into Thanksgiving and Candace already had more to be thankful for than she ever could have dreamed. Even more so than yesterday when she’d focused on having a spirit of gratitude.
She had to pinch herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. Patrick loved her and wanted to marry her. After his sweet, chivalrous gesture of kissing her scars, she would never think again that they revolted him. They’d been so wrong in their assumptions of the other’s thoughts.
Noises from upstairs gradually increased. Realizing she was still in her nightgown, she jumped up. When she had come downstairs an hour ago, she hadn’t expected to see anyone and had planned to return to her room after getting a drink of water. She never did get her drink and didn’t have time now.
“I need to go.” The words spilled out in a rush.
“Did I say something wrong?” The stricken look on Patrick’s face was sweet in a way that showed he cared about her feelings.
“No, but I’m still wearing this.” She pinched a sleeve of her nightgown. “It wouldn’t look right to be with you alone downstairs in the dark, especially dressed in this.”
Understanding lit his eyes and he winked. “You’re right. I wouldn’t want my future wife’s reputation ruined.”
Giggling, she savored the light moment. “I’ll be back shortly.”
A slow smile stretched across his mouth. “I’ll be waiting.”
She ran up the steps, her own grin lifting her cheeks with its breadth. Turning right at the top of the stairs, she walked down the hallway, then entered the room she shared with Liza.
“Well, well.” Liza sat on her bed, fully dressed and a teasing smirk on her face.
“What?” She scurried to the wardrobe and withdrew a dress, the cornflower blue one with tiny white flowers designed on the fabric.
Patrick bought her the dress the day they left Pine Prairie, thinking they were married. When he realized she only had the dress she wore, he took her shopping and purchased two new dresses for her, along with the nightgown and other necessities. She’d known then he was a good man even if it didn’t always seem like it. Of course, once they got to Weatherton, and she realized how little money the Holdens had, she felt the expenditure too extravagant, but Patrick insisted she not worry about it.
“It’s there again. That blush and smile from yesterday.” Liza stood from the bed. “I don’t suppose my brother downstairs has something to do with that.”
Candace’s fingers stilled on the button she fastened. “How do you know he’s downstairs?”
Liza laughed. “We all know, dear. Maeve started downstairs when she heard your voices.”
“Oh.” She covered her mouth, discomfited.
“Don’t be embarrassed,” Liza’s smirk turned to a gentle smile. “We all want a happy ending to your and Patrick’s story.”
“Did Maeve hear any of the conversation?” Candace asked cautiously as she secured the last button on her dress.
“If she did, she didn’t say, but knowing Maeve, she walked away as soon as she realized the conversation was between you and my brother.” Walking to the vanity, Liza unplaited the braid she’d slept in.
“I didn’t mean to imply she would eavesdrop.” Knowing everyone was privy to the fact she’d been downstairs talking to Patrick flustered her. Nothing they did was wrong, but it was an uncomfortable situation, nonetheless. She should have realized under normal circumstances, everyone would have been up and about before sunrise.
“Don’t be so hard on yourself.” Liza sat in front of the mirror and ran a brush through her hair. “I’ll miss this vanity to sit at every morning, but I can’t wait to have a home again.”
“Patrick said it should be completed by next week.” Composure regained—Liza had a way of making people feel at ease—Candace and tamed her curls into a neat knot.
“I can’t wait. The Simpsons have been wonderful, but I miss the ranch.” Finished with her hair, Liza set down the brush. “Will you and Patrick join us in the new house?”
Candace laughed at Liza’s unsubtle attempt to glean information. “We’ll make an announcement later after breakfast.”
Crinkling her eyebrows and pursing her lips, Liza pretended to pout. “I can’t believe you’re going to make me wait.” She gave up her ruse and smiled. “But I suppose it must be good news with the smile on your face.”
“It is. Mostly.” News of her father’s death had been eclipsed by Patrick’s love. That should make her feel bad, but it didn’t. She was sad for the life Pa had chosen, wished their relationship could have been different, but she’d shed her tears and couldn’t focus on it any longer.
Love trumped anger. Joy overruled bitterness.
Liza stood, resting a hand on Candace’s arm. “Patrick’s always been a bit unruly, but it really turned for the worst when Pa died. Since you came into his life, he’s changed. I don’t know how you did it, but thank you for bringing him back to us.”
She didn’t think it was anything she had done, so she only nodded to acknowledge Liza’s words. “We should get downstairs. Breakfast won’t cook itself.”
“I’ll meet you there in a minute.” Liza sat back down at the vanity, peering into the mirror and pinching her cheeks.
Candace left the bedroom and went downstairs. The parlor was empty, but she heard multiple voices coming from the kitchen. She followed the sounds until she saw Ma Holden sitting at the table next to Patrick. Maeve stood at the stove, Jeanette by her side. Glen and Rosie were nowhere to be seen, neither were the two youngest Holden brothers or Sam.
“Good morning.” Ma Holden gave her a grin as she stood from the table. “Did you see who made it home?”
Heat rushed to her cheeks at Ma Holden’s farce, but she smiled sweetly. “Yes. We had the chance to speak this morning.”
Ma Holden laughed and moved to the stove. “Sam, Lucas, and Benjamin are shoveling the steps and pathway to the mercantile. Looks like a good two feet of snow out there.”
“More than that, I’d wager.” Patrick, no longer sitting at the table, moved to her side.
“You’ll wager nothing, Son.” Ma Holden waved a spoon at him. “You’re not too old I can’t swat you with this still.”
“She would, too,” Patrick whispered in her ear.
Candace laughed. “I don’t doubt it.”
His head remained close to her, and when he spoke his breath tickled her ear. “I didn’t tell her yet about us, sticking to our plan of making the announcement to everyone at once.” He took a deep breath. “When she asked about your pa, I did tell her about his fate.”
Her heart skipped a beat—not in a good way—at the mention of Pa. “Thank you. I’d rather not have to talk about him anymore.”
“You’re welcome.” Patrick looked at her with a narrowed gaze. “Are you okay?”
“Today’s a day to give thanks, not wallow.” Avoiding his inquisitive raised eyebrows, she took a step to the counters. She turned back to give him a brief smile. “And I’m thankful for you.”
“Thank you.” The softly spoken words washed the worry away from his countenance. When he returned her smile, the indents in his chiseled cheeks appeared. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. I should help the others with the snow.”
She was still watching him walk away when Liza and Mrs. Simpson appeared. Mrs. Simpson nudged Liza and whispered something unintelligible to Candace, but sounded suspiciously similar to “lovebirds”.
Maeve set a plate bowls of fluffy biscuits on the table. “Don’t worry, the teasing will fade soon. We’re all just happy to see you and Patrick really in love.”
She didn’t deny the truth anymore. An affection for him had existed for some time, but when she thought he could have been lost in the storm, she knew for certain that she loved him. This morning had only cemented that love, even before they’d talked. The second he’d announced his presence, and she knew he was safe, relief as she’d never known had swathed her. Her heart would have broken if he’d perished in the storm, more than if he’d returned with a different outcome than their conversation this morning.
Fortunately, she didn’t have to worry about that. For once in her life, security and love were hers.
A half hour later, the entire family, plus the Simpsons, sat around the rectangular table. Mr. Simpson sat at the head, Mrs. Simpson catty-corner to him. Ma Holden sat across from Mrs. Simpson. Jeanette, who insisted on sitting beside her eldest brother, was sandwiched between her mother and Patrick. Candace sat beside Patrick, almost at the end of the table where Liza was crammed. Sam, Maeve, Lucas and Benjamin lined the other side where Mrs. Simpson sat.
Platters of fried ham and eggs were on either side of the bowl of biscuits. A platter of flapjacks was at each end of the table. They’d prepared a large breakfast because there would be no midday meal due to the Thanksgiving supper later in the day.
Assuming the role of the group’s leader, Mr. Simpson held out his hand. “Shall we join hands and pray?”
“May I say the blessing?”
Everyone stared at Patrick with wide-eyed surprise, even Candace. She squeezed his hand, specks of pride sifting through her.
Mr. Simpson nodded. “Go ahead.”
Everyone followed Patrick and bowing their heads. The next thing Candace knew, Patrick ended the prayer with an
Amen
and everyone was releasing hands. She’d missed the entire thing, too distracted. She couldn’t stop marveling at the changes in him and her, plus his very near presence was addling. Still, she should have focused on the prayer. She recited her own silent blessing over the good and reached for the plate of bacon in front of her.
Her hand stilled before lifting it. No one else ate or made any attempts to fix a plate. They all looked back and forth between her and Patrick, expectancy and impatience imprinted on their features. It would have been comical if not a tad overwhelming. Their scrutiny left her uncomfortable—her transformation from timid to confident was slow, a work in progress.
“Son, I think we’d all like to know what news you discovered in Pine Prairie that you risked your life last night to come share with us.” Ma Holden’s tone put him at task for the danger he’d put himself in during the storm.
Patrick wove his fingers, resting them on the table. “My discoveries weren’t encouraging.” He glanced at her as though seeking permission to share about Burl. She inhaled and gave a short nod, wishing the subject of Pa’s death would go away, but it only seemed fair that the others should know. “I’m afraid we may never know what brought Burl to the ranch Monday because he passed way sometime after returning to Pine Prairie that evening.”
Liza’s arm immediately went around her shoulder, offering sympathy. Words of condolence were directed her way from around the table. It only last a minute, two at the most, but it seemed to drag on for an hour.
Ma Holden, in her infinite intuitiveness, refocused the conversation. “And what of your marriage?”
“There is no marriage, to the most of my knowledge.” Patrick coughed. “Who we thought was Judge Thomas is actually Roscoe Dalkin, an old drifter, and gambler.”
“In that case, I’m glad I made the trip to the parsonage yesterday morning.” Ma Holden beamed. “Pastor Gibbons is willing to perform a wedding tomorrow to make your marriage official.”
Patrick gave Candace a quick wink before addressing his mother’s comment. “That won’t be necessary.”
“What do you mean?” Ma Holden’s face scrunched and looked downright mean. “I know you’re not telling me you don’t plan on marrying her. I raised you better than that Patrick James Holden.”
“It means that there won’t be a wedding tomorrow.” He stood and drew Candace up with him. His arm went around her waist, and they faced Ma Holden as a couple. “We’ve talked, and we want to do this the proper way this time. I want to court Candace, let her plan the wedding she wants. With your permission, we’d like her to continue living with you for the time being.”
Ma Holden didn’t say anything. Candace couldn’t tell if she approved of the delayed wedding or not.
Continuing, Patrick pleaded his case. “Ma, I love Candace but have done a poor job of showing that. I know you’d like this settled now, but Candace deserves a real wedding this time, not something rushed because of circumstances.”
Candace’s eyes misted over. She darted a glance around the table. Maeve wiped at her eyes as did Liza. Patrick had said as much this morning, but hearing him announce it in front of his entire family was another thing altogether. The announcement made it more real, tangible.
She stole another glance at Ma Holden. The family matriarch still remained silent, but Candace was certain there was a sheen of moisture in her eyes.
Finally, she stood. “If the Simpson’s don’t mind, I don’t mind either. When we move into the new house next week, Candace is welcome to stay there, but not as a guest.” She walked behind Jeanette’s chair, past Patrick, and stopped in front of Candace. “You will stay as a family member. I’m delighted my son has come to his senses.”
“Me too,” Candace whispered.