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9781631054617HeLovesMeCole Page 15
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Knowing her father’s misgivings about Benjamin, she hesitated. Yet his question had stirred her emotions. Her father was a very wise man. Maybe she should speak openly with him and trust whatever advice he might offer.
“You know I care about Ben,” she began. “He says he cares about me, too, but I’m not so sure.” Bitter memories flooded her mind—her return to Sunset, Ben’s hateful words, his apparent interest in Della White, his awkward excuses. Ben might say he cared for her, yet actions always spoke louder than words. Not wanting her sour mood to affect Pa, she forced a cheerful smile. “I thought girls were the ones who were supposed to play hard to get. We’re supposed to keep the fellows guessing about our feelings, not the other way around.”
She expected at least a chuckle, but her father’s face remained emotionless. “Have you ever considered that maybe he’s not the one for you, honey?”
Her head jerked around. “Not the one? Of course he is. You know Ben and I have been sweet on each other for years, Pa.” He’d told her to speak her heart, and she did so now, allowing the words to pour out. “I don’t know what’s come over him, why he’s acting so peculiar lately, but I have to go on believing he cares about me.”
“Honey, you need to give some serious consideration to your future. I’m only asking that you think very carefully before you make a mistake you might later come to regret.”
She rose and backed away from the sofa. “Pa, don’t start this, please.” Her thoughts raced back to the past, to times when her father had gotten one idea or another into his head and, like a bulldog, had refused to let it go—ideas about how she or Kat should live their lives. He’d nearly destroyed her older sister with his attempts to wed her off to a man she detested. Was Pa now going to try foisting her off on a hand-picked suitor, as well? Good Lord, no! She wouldn’t allow it. She could easily guess what prospective beau he had in mind.
Willie Morse. That’s where he’s headed.
For a long time, her father said nothing more, yet all the while she could almost hear the wheels turning in his mind, driving his thoughts relentlessly forward. Knowing that any protest she made would be futile, she kept her silence.
Finally he cleared his throat and looked up. “I think you could do better, honey. That’s all I’m going to say.”
She eyed him with the skepticism his remarks deserved. “Really? You’re not going to tell me the rest of it?” This was not the first time they’d had this conversation. Emily knew more was coming. She held her breath, reciting the words along with him as he did, indeed, say them.
“Like father, like son, sweetheart. Please keep that in mind.”
His mouth clamped shut. He folded his arms across his chest.
“Ben is nothing like his father,” she said, fighting to keep the anger from her voice.
Dirk Phillips picked up the afghan and set it aside. He rose from the sofa. With slow but steady steps, he came to his daughter and took her hands in his. “It’s admirable that you defend him so swiftly. All the same, I think, in time, you’ll come to see that I’m right. A father’s influence upon a son is strong, Emily. Don’t ever doubt it.”
At once a flurry of thoughts swirled through her mind, old words and memories drifting and blowing like the heavy snow falling outside the windows. Indeed Benjamin’s father had influenced him—with undeserved beatings, harsh punishments for imagined misdeeds, and an endless stream of profanity and verbal abuse. Those things had taught Ben to live his life differently, had prompted him to become a better man, a man of kindness, goodness, and compassion. When they were still young children, Ben had shared the horrors with her, had trusted her with all his sorrows and secrets. He had confided his own anger and hatred to her. She had seen him rise above it all.
Her father should have seen it, too.
He squeezed her hands, drawing her from her troubled thoughts. “Life is lived by making choices, and you’re coming to an age where choosing wrongly can have ruinous consequences. You’re a clever girl. I know you can see clearly.” Leaning forward, he pressed a feeble kiss against her cheek.
She only wished her father’s vision in matters of the heart could be so clear as hers. She knew she could love no other man than Benjamin Brooks. If he would not have her, she would live her life alone.
The heavy bell hanging at the front entrance clanged, announcing the arrival of a holiday visitor.
“Are you expecting someone?” her father asked.
“No, I’m not. I can’t imagine anyone getting out on a night like this.” She stepped away from her father and cast a questioning look toward the doorway. “I’ll see who it is.”
Silently praying that it would not be Willie Morse—drunken, sober, apologetic, or his usual boastful self—she hurried to answer. As she neared the glass-paned entrance way and caught sight of the tall, lanky figure waiting on the stoop, her pulse quickened. With joy in her heart, she threw open the door and drew in a deep breath.
Ben stood there, hands behind his back, shuffling his feet awkwardly.
“Good evening, Em. Could I come in? I won’t stay long.”
In that moment, she pushed aside all her questions. She knew, of course, the questions would return. She’d have to deal with them yet. For now, all the mattered was that Benjamin had come calling. On a cold, snowy night, he’d ridden miles to come into town, and he’d done it for her.
She smiled at him. “Yes, of course, come in.” Excitement made her giddy, and in that moment, she felt like a child again. “You’re hiding something. What have you got?”
Ben stepped into the entry way. “It’s not much,” he said with a clumsy shrug, “but on what I earn, it was all I could afford.” He brought his hands around to the front, revealing a small package wrapped in butcher’s paper and tied with a lopsided bow of coarse jute twine.
To Emily’s eyes, no present had ever looked so fine.
He held it out to her.
“You didn’t have to get me anything. In fact, I don’t understand why you did.” She lowered her gaze. “I thought you hated me.”
“You know better than that.”
Emily wasn’t so sure. Like her heart, her emotions were racing out of control. “Let’s step into the parlor.” He followed as she led the way. “Look who’s here, Pa,” she said in a lilting voice, worried at how her father might react. “Ben’s come all this way to wish us a Merry Christmas.”
“Yes, sir. I hope you’re well, sir.” At once, Ben pulled off his hat. One hand clutched the fancy black Stetson, the other held the string-tied gift. “And best wishes to Mrs. Phillips, too,” he added.
Emily glanced toward her father, hoping he would not cause a fuss. He appeared slightly unsure and looked even more frail and fragile than before. “I’m too tired for entertaining,” he said, placing a hand on his daughter’s arm. “I need to rest.” He lifted his head, and his penetrating blue gaze bored into Benjamin. “I’m going to trust you, young man. Don’t make me regret this decision.”
Emily’s eyebrows arched. Was her father truly going to leave her and Benjamin alone?
“Do you want me to help you to your room?” she asked, hoping he didn’t reconsider.
“Stay where you are.” He bent forward and kissed her cheek. “Just behave as a young lady should.” Straightening as much as possible, he gave her a genuine smile. “Your mother and I have raised you well. I won’t always be around to stand guard over you. I have to learn to let go, to trust you and the decisions you’re making.”
Ben stepped forward. “I assure you, Mr. Phillips, I’ll give you no cause to regret this. You can place your trust in me.”
“Yes, thank you, Pa.” She reached for his hand and squeezed it. “I won’t disappoint you. You asked me earlier about being naughty or nice,” she reminded him. “I’ll be very nice.”
He ambled slowly toward his room, and once he’d slipped through the doorway, Ben bent close to Emily’s ear. “I’d prefer it if you were naughty,” he teased.
r /> But Emily was in no mood for his light-hearted banter. Her nerves were strung as tight as the strings of a fiddle. She wasn’t about to let Ben pluck them. She shook her head and moved away from him.
“No games. Why are you here? Why are you doing this?”
“It’s Christmas. I’m giving you a gift. That’s what Christmas is all about.”
“Not really, but I won’t quibble over theology. My point,” she said, her voice growing cooler with each word, “is that you’ve made it clear you don’t want anything to do with me. Of course, then, you do an about-face and tell me how much I mean to you, but in the next breath, you’re sending me away again. You’ve got me so confused, I don’t know what to think.”
“I’m sorry. I know I’ve put you through a lot over the last few weeks—”
“And this is supposed to make up for it?” She took the gift he held out. Its size and shape alone, plus its weight in her hand, clearly made known its contents. She turned toward the tall spruce with its glittering tapers and shimmering tinsel and slipped the crudely-wrapped present beneath the fragrant pine branches. Next to the other gifts, Ben’s contribution looked woefully out of place.
“You’re not going to open it?”
“I can’t. It’s not Christmas yet,” she explained. “My father won’t allow us to open even a single gift until Christmas morning.”
“Are you sure you can’t make an exception?”
“Sorry, Ben. No exceptions.”
A crestfallen expression showed on his face. “I hoped to be here when you opened it. I wanted to know if you liked it.”
“I’m sure I will,” she said in a quiet voice. She would cherish anything Ben gave her.
But her reply did not appease him. He huffed out a short breath. “How can you say that? You don’t even know what it is.”
Emily rolled her eyes. “It’s a book, Ben. It’s not like it’s any great mystery.” Lifting the present again, she hefted it up. “I appreciate it, all right?” For the life of her, she couldn’t understand why she was acting like such a spoiled brat. Too many emotions were vying for control.
“I swear, you’re impossible.” Ben nodded toward the tree as she placed the present beneath it once more. “Fine,” he said. “There’s your gift. Yes, it’s a book. A book of poetry, to be precise. It’s nothing terribly fancy. I got it from old Asa Taylor at the mercantile. I hope you enjoy it.” He turned and walked away. “Merry Christmas,” he added in a gruff voice.
Immediately she regretted her bad behavior.
“Wait! Come back. I’ll open it now.” Surely it wouldn’t hurt to break her father’s rules one time. Especially under the circumstances.
“Nope.” Ben shook his head. “I assured your father that I wouldn’t give him any cause to regret leaving you alone with me. Besides, it’s getting late. I need to get back. It’s a long ride, you know.”
Emily’s shoulders slumped. With her head down, she slunk across the room toward him. “I’m sorry. Really sorry. I don’t know why I’m acting so awful.” Not true. She knew exactly what lay behind her unpleasant behavior. She lifted her chin and faced him. “I feel awkward with you, Ben. Things aren’t like they used to be. I’m confused.” She glanced downward again. “Mostly I feel terrible to think that you spent your hard-earned money to buy a gift for me, and I haven’t got anything to give you in return.”
“It’s all right. I wasn’t expecting anything from you.”
She held up a hand and placed a finger to his lips. “Wait, be quiet, please.” She cocked her head, listening intently, but she heard nothing. “Not a creature is stirring, not even a mouse,” she recited the words from one of her favorite Christmas stories. Her mood brightening, she giggled. “You see, yes, I do know a bit of poetry.”
“Emily,” he started, but she shook her head.
“Shh. I do have a little something to give you.”
He opened his mouth again, apparently set to protest, but she silenced him with a tender kiss. Ben’s crazy, mixed-up actions had left her confused and unsure about the future, but being close to him still made her heart pound with excitement and her legs grow weak with wanting him.
Although she could not begin to guess what might happen between them, she knew they stood together at that moment. She savored the feel of his lips, the taste of his tongue, the warmth of his body as his arms closed around her.
“Merry Christmas,” she whispered when she finally drew away.
She thought she heard footsteps in the hall.
Ben must have heard them, too. “Merry Christmas,” he whispered, then he turned and hurried out into the night.
Emily stood at the open doorway, watching until he disappeared from view. The footsteps must have been her imagination. Her father remained in his room.
Regret settled over her for letting Benjamin leave so soon. She thought of all the things left unsaid between them. She’d not even told him about her new position caring for the Henderson girls.
Turn about is fair play.
Yet another of Hattie Mae’s adages popped into Emily’s head. Never mind the letter he’d written, Ben hadn’t bothered to tell her about his change of jobs when he’d left the J Bar K. He’d find out about her change of plans soon enough.
With a heavy sigh, Emily closed the door and returned to the parlor.
Tick, tock, tick, tock.
Snuggled beneath Mama’s afghan, she sat on the parlor sofa, listening to the steady sound of the mantel clock. At precise fifteen minute intervals, the chimes played. First, a quarter of the familiar song, next half, then, three quarters. Finally, on the hour, the full song chimed, followed by one stroke for each hour.
She sat. She waited. She listened.
An eternity seemed to pass before the clock struck twelve.
Midnight.
Christmas had come at last. Time to unwrap presents.
She held Ben’s gift on her lap. A book of poetry, he’d said. All he could afford. If she’d hoped for something more, she should have known better. It hurt to think how only a few months earlier, she’d daydreamed about coming home for the holidays, feeling Ben’s loving arms around her, and maybe having him propose. She’d dared to dream that they might be married by Christmas.
Reality was so much duller than dreams.
A book of poetry.
She tore off the wrapping. The Sonnets of William Shakespeare stared back at her from the worn cover of the book. For pity’s sake! It wasn’t even new. Yet Ben had bought it for her. A book of poems. A book of love poems. Isn’t that what the sonnets were all about?
She’d read a bit of Shakespeare at the Female Academy, but the sonnets were strictly forbidden. Too suggestive, Miss Brundage claimed. Too filled with blatant sexuality. Not appropriate reading for a proper young woman.
Curious, Emily opened the book. When she caught sight of the words scrawled on the title page, her heart thumped.
To the one I treasure. You hold the key to my heart.
Words of love, indeed. Words written not by a long-dead English playwright, but by a handsome cowboy whose actions left her utterly bewildered. Too weary to understand his motives, Emily clutched the book to her bosom and hurried upstairs to bed, reciting the familiar rhyme she’d known since childhood.
He loves me, he loves me not.
As she turned back the covers and slipped into bed, she contemplated the changes coming into her life. Tomorrow the family would visit with Kat and Joshua. She would remain behind at the J Bar K when her mother and father returned home. After a short visit with her sister’s family, on the following Sunday she would pack her belongings again to begin her new job.
To begin her new life.
* * * *
Her stay at the J Bar K passed by quickly. Emily enjoyed the opportunity to spend a little time with her niece and nephew, as well as a chance to share a bit of girl talk with her sister. Trust your heart. That was the advice Kat gave her. But could she truly put faith in her feelings
? Deep within her heart, she still believed Ben loved her, yet how could she be sure?
On Sunday morning, Emily packed her bags while Kat and her family attended church. She needed a little time alone, time to think about the changes that had come into her life, and time to contemplate the possibilities the future might hold—or the lack, thereof. As she stood at the window watching for the Barrons’ sleigh to return, she stared out at the snow-covered landscape. Morning sunlight glistened from the drifts like brilliant diamonds strewn across the ground by an unseen hand.
With the Christmas holidays now past, a peculiar sadness settled over Emily. The start of a new year should be a joyous occasion, but she wondered now if she would ever have cause to celebrate again. Ben’s inconsistent actions left her confused. At least now she would be nearby and would soon discern the truth for herself. Maybe then she’d finally be able to figure out exactly what was going on with Ben.
The thought shook her. How could she go on if her worst fears came to pass? What if she discovered that despite his protests, her suspicions about Ben and the beautiful, dark-haired Della were on the mark?
Her soul itself would turn as cold as the frozen ground, and while a few warm, spring days would melt the ice and snow and bring new life to the earth, nothing would ever thaw the hardness within her heart.
When she heard the happy jingle-jangle of the sleigh bells, she took a deep breath, shrugged into her heavy coat, and donned fur-lined gloves and a new fur cap—a gift from Kat. Emily picked up her valises and stepped out into the yard, smiling as the horse-drawn sleigh glided to the front of the house.
“I’m all ready to go,” she called. She handed the valises up to her brother-in-law while Kat shepherded her little ones down. With a quick peck to her sister’s cheek, Emily said good-bye. “I won’t be here to ring in the new year with you and your family, but I hope it’s a good one for you.” She lifted her hand to wave farewell.
Kat caught hold of it. “You’re talking as if we’ll never see each other again. Shake off those gloomy thoughts. Everything is going to be all right.”