Montana Sky Christmas: A Sweetwater Springs Short Story Collection Read Online Free PDF Page A

has since my ma. Sounds real good when you say it.”
    Louisa reached up and smoothed a lock of hair from his forehead. “Then what happened?”
      “Found a good job on a ranch. Learned how to be a cowboy. Became friends with two of the other hands, and we scrounged up enough to buy a few head of cattle. The boss let us run them with his. We saved enough between the three of us to buy a small ranch. And I’ve worn red stockings ever since.” He gave her a mock frown. “Then the last pair wore out. Mrs. Dean’s too old to darn them, so I rode into town. No red stockings at the mercantile. When I saw your flyer, I thought I’d pay you to make me a pair or two.”
    Louisa laughed through her tears. “So, you didn’t come for lessons.” She made it a statement rather than a question.
    “No. Was horrified when you thought so. Then I realized that lessons would give me a chance to spend time with my pretty teacher.” He shrugged, his eyes dancing. “You know the rest.”
    Louisa curled her hand around the scrap of stocking, before handing it back to him. “Your mother brought us together,” she said softly.
    He tucked the scrap into his pocket. “That she did. Guess I won’t need those red stockings anymore.” He drew her to him and kissed her forehead. “I have a feeling that having you by my side will be all the luck I need.”
    Louisa rested her head against his shoulder. She inhaled a happy breath and allowed herself to relax and let the connection between them seep into her body. In a minute, she’d rush to her room, change into her best dress, and pack up her things. In an hour she’d be a married woman. But for now she wanted to savor the strength of Rossiter’s arms around her and feel the freedom from the worry that had plagued her every waking minute since her brother left and her mother died.
    Her gaze drifted to the basket of yarn on the table. In the flurry of preparations, she’d have to remember to sneak a few balls of red yarn into her satchel. For soon, she’d have a husband who needed red stockings for Christmas.

 
    GHOST OF CHRISTMAS PAST
     
    Abe McGuire stomped up the steps to the side door of the fancy Victorian house that lorded over Sweetwater Springs. His son-in-law owned the place, a roomy gray-and-white clapboard, although it wasn’t anywhere near as imposing as Banker Livingston’s mansion or the Queen Anne that had seemed to sprout overnight on the Sanders Ranch. Still the house was far grander than the simple square-timbered home where Abe had spent his married life. Even though he’d lived with his daughter’s family for almost six months, he wondered if he’d ever quite feel comfortable here—like he was home.
    Abe hoped today would be the day his daughter, Barbara, would finally ask him where he’d been. If she did, he’d tell her about his visit to the small family cemetery where he’d spent some time at her mother’s grave.
    He kicked his feet against the doorframe to rid his boots of clinging snow—no sense earning a scolding for tracking in puddles—opened the door, and stepped into the big kitchen. The warmth from the stove hit him, along with the fragrance of chicken and dumplings and soapy laundry. He gave his boots a further wipe on the rag rug inside the door.
    Barbara finished adding wood to a mammoth cast-iron stove and sent him a welcoming smile that lit up her plump, pretty face. “It’s cold outside, Papa. Come in and warm up.”
    Lou-Lou, the baby, crawled toward Abe. His six-year-old granddaughter, Emmy, sat at the long oval table, drawing on her slate. She held it up and cried, “Grandpa, come see my picture.”  
    From the other room, he could hear the sounds of the two older boys engaged in one of their perpetual squabbles. Ah, life as usual . My new life , Abe amended. He basked in the feeling of being with his family. Every day, Abe gave thanks for the passel of grandchildren Barbara had given him.
    Abe liked to ponder the way bits and