Western Christmas Brides. Carol Arens
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were actively looking for a wife. And his name wasn’t on it.
That should make him happy, yet his shoulders slumped as his gaze bounced between Brett’s house and the list a couple times.
“What are you studying so hard?”
Teddy spun around at the sound of Brett’s voice. Teddy had said he’d stop by on his way back and knew Brett would be watching for him. Stuffing the paper into his pocket, he replied, “Just a list.”
“Of Hannah’s drawings?”
He gestured to his arm load. “Got them all right here.”
“I was just walking over to check on you. You were there quite a while.”
“She offered me a cup of coffee and I accepted.”
With black hair and shoulders as broad as the back end of a horse, Brett towered over most men in town. His size didn’t intimidate Teddy, but he did respect Brett, and valued their friendship.
As Brett glanced toward his house again, Teddy said, “I’ve already spoken to Abigail. She won’t request so many etchings all at one time again. I hadn’t realized it was so many.”
“Make sure she doesn’t,” Brett said. “Hannah’s time is getting closer and she needs her rest.”
“When did you become a doctor?”
Brett grinned. “I’m not, but I should be with half the women in town asking about Hannah and giving me advice about what she needs to do, including my own wife.” Brett’s face turned serious. “Hannah’s become awfully quiet lately, like she was when she first arrived. I’m worried about her, Teddy. Real worried.”
His heart skipped a beat. “Do you think she’s ill?”
“Fiona says she’s not. But she’s back to barely eating enough to keep a bird alive.”
Recalling something Hannah had said, Teddy suggested, “Maybe she’s homesick. She mentioned thinking about the holidays back home.”
“That could be it,” Brett said, turning about.
Teddy fell into step beside his friend. Brett’s blacksmith shop as well as the feed store he owned was on the edge of town and only a short distance from his house.
Most of the blacksmithing took place in the lean-to, and as they skirted the far wall, Teddy let out a whistle. “That wind is brutal today.” Thankful to be out of the biting wind he moved closer to the blazing fire in the open forge in the center of the open area.
“Yeah, it is,” Brett replied. “Homesick, huh?”
Teddy nodded. “The first few holidays after our parents died were hard for me and Abigail.”
“That’s why Fiona suggested inviting you to Thanksgiving,” Brett said as he rubbed his chin. “She thought the company would do Hannah good. I’ll talk to her about inviting others.”
Teddy’s first instinct had been to say no when Brett had invited him to Thanksgiving, but out of respect, he’d said yes. Now his concern was for Hannah. “I don’t know about that,” he said. “Too many would just be more work for her and Fiona.”
“That’s true,” Brett said.
“And don’t forget the recital at the school that afternoon. There will be a lot of people there.”
“It would be impossible to forget about that,” Brett said, grinning. “Rhett and Wyatt have been practicing their lines so often I know Lincoln’s proclamation by heart.”
Teddy laughed. Brett had taken to Fiona’s two boys as soon as they’d hit town, and treated them as if they were his own. Teddy turned to stare into the flames of the fire. He’d been willing to do that once. Love a child that wasn’t his. It hadn’t come to be, though. A week before the wedding, the real father had shown up. He’d stepped back, told Becky he understood and buried the pain of rejection.
To others Becky may only have been a barmaid who’d gotten herself into the family way, but she’d been more than that to him. He’d fallen in love with her, and when she’d first said she was going to have a baby, he’d thought he was the father. She’d insisted he wasn’t. That it was a cowboy who had visited her regularly, but hadn’t come back since she told him about the baby. Without any contemplation, he’d told her not to worry, that he’d marry her and claim the baby as his own, and had set plans in place to do just that.
Shaking aside ghosts of the past, Teddy moved away from the forge. “I better get these over to the office,” he said.
“Thanks, Teddy,” Brett said. “You’ve been a good friend, and helped Hannah out by letting her make those etchings.”
“She’s very good at it,” he answered honestly.
Brett nodded. “She is, but...”
The hair on the back of his neck tingled. “But what?”
Brett seemed to shrink a bit as he shook his head slowly. “Hannah’s been through some rough times.”
“Well, she seems to have handled it well,” Teddy replied. “Maybe she’s stronger than she looks.”
Brett shook his head with more purpose this time. “You haven’t heard her crying herself to sleep at night.”
Teddy had no answer for that, and the paper in his pocket suddenly felt as hot as the flames of Brett’s forge.
With so much that needed to be done, Hannah was up early. Quietly, so not to wake Brett and Fiona, whose bedroom was off the kitchen, she stoked up the fire and then gathered a knife and bowl to start cleaning out the three pumpkins sitting on the counter.
She loved all the cooking that went into preparing Thanksgiving dinner. A wave of sadness that she wouldn’t be there to help Gram this year had her squeezing the knife a bit harder as she sliced the top off the first pumpkin. She missed Gram and it made her heart hurt to think of never seeing her and Pappy again. They were the only two people, besides Eric, who truly cared about her. But the warning from her father never to return to her family couldn’t be ignored.
A sound on the porch had her spinning about, and the knock that sounded a moment later had her glancing toward the closed bedroom door before she started across the room.
It was awfully early for company. The sun was just starting to rise. Cautiously, Hannah pulled open the door just wide enough to see who stood there. Her heart thudded at the sight of Teddy.
“T—Mr. White, what are you doing here so early?” she asked, taking a step back, away from the blast of cold air.
The bedroom door opened just then. “Come in, Teddy,” Brett said, poking only his head around the door. “I’ll be right out.”
Teddy stepped into the kitchen and closed the door. “Brett and I are going turkey hunting this morning.” His gaze dropped to her side, to her hand specifically. “Do you always answer the door with a butcher knife in hand?”
His question, or perhaps the twinkle in his eyes, allowed her to relax enough that the air she’d been holding whooshed out. “No, I was cleaning pumpkins,” she answered, using the knife to gesture to the counter.
“Oh, I see,” Teddy said.
She hadn’t made any coffee yet, so couldn’t offer him that, and was in the midst of wondering what to say next and how to maneuver around him when the bedroom door opened and Brett strolled out. She used that opportunity to scurry across the room, hoping the distance would calm her insides.
“Ready to shoot a bird?” Brett asked Teddy.
“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t,” Teddy replied.