Wild West Christmas. Lynna BanningЧитать онлайн книгу.
chin. “You could do a lot better than me.”
Back in the barn, he let Cody remove Dasher’s bridle and saddle blanket. Roberts smiled at the boys and then at Dillen.
“That was some fine, fancy riding,” said his foreman. Then to the boys he said, “Nice to have you two here. My boys are all raised up and off on their own.”
Dillen hadn’t realized Bill had children.
Both boys brushed as much of the horse as they could reach, and Dasher stood like a benign giant.
“He’s the smartest horse in the world!” said Colin.
“It’s training, isn’t it?” said Cody. “You use hand signals.”
Dillen nodded, pleased at Cody’s observations. “For some of it. Some parts he’s just got memorized. Good horse, Dasher.” Dillen patted his mount’s shoulder. It was full dark when the four of them headed to the house. He thought he heard Colin’s stomach growling.
Dillen hoped that Alice had entertained herself. They didn’t have books or a piano. She was likely bored already. He glanced at the chimney, relieved to see that she’d managed to keep the fire going.
When he opened the door he smelled food and his mouth started to water. His first thought was that she’d hired a cook, but surely he’d have seen the arrival of a wagon.
“Hello, the house,” called Bill. “Something sure smells good.”
Alice appeared from the dining room, her cheeks flushed. She wore a plain sage-green dress with no bustle or doodads. It was simpler even than the black skirts and bodice she wore when accompanying her father on house calls. Everything about her seemed more relaxed. Wisps of fine brown hair had escaped their moorings, cascading down the sides of her face, making her look young and healthy and so tempting. Dillen had to fix his feet to keep from dragging her up against him.
“Wash up, boys,” she said to Colin and Cody. “The sink is in the kitchen.”
“What smells so good?” asked Bill, limping by Alice on his way past the boys.
“Beef in a red wine sauce over egg noodles,” said Alice.
Dillen stared at her in fascination, as if seeing her for the very first time.
“Where’d you get supper?” he asked.
She laughed and stroked his cheek. The sparkle in her green eyes, the curling of her lips and the warmth of her fingers trailing over his cold skin worked like a magnet to metal shavings. He actually bucked forward, drawn in as she spoke.
“I made it, silly.” She turned and headed through the empty dining room toward the kitchen. “You smell like horse, Dillen. Soap is on the sink.”
He trailed after her exactly like Dasher had followed him around the ring, but unlike Dasher, Dillen was interested in much more than a pat on the chest and a bucket of grain. After supervising their washing up, Alice directed them to sit at the large kitchen table and served them the best meal Dillen had ever eaten. That included the one-dollar steak he’d had at that fancy hotel in Dodge City the fall he’d worked a cattle drive.
She’d even managed a bread pudding for dessert that was riddled with streaks of brown sugar and plump raisins.
“That sure was a fine meal, Miss Truett,” said Bill Roberts. “So happy you could come and stay awhile.”
“Thank you, Mr. Roberts. Would you care for more coffee?”
He lifted his cup and she poured. She seemed content and comfortable in this kitchen, thought Dillen, as if she belonged here. It was an adjustment for him, seeing her out of her glittery bangles. She reminded him of the woman he’d first met, the one that was a lie, or was it? She actually seemed more at ease now than in her fancy duds. Maybe the elegant, wealthy woman was the lie.
Ridiculous—wasn’t it? He knew she was kind, educated, refined. He knew from seeing her work as her father’s assistant that she was not squeamish and that they shared a love for animals, riding and music, and that she could sing like an angel. Still, she seemed suddenly a stranger and at the same time more approachable.
“Dillen, are you all right?”
He snapped out of his woolgathering. Alice Truett had a bright future and could likely do far better than his mangy hide. Why hadn’t she?
Stop it, he admonished. She was here to do a friend a favor because she was a fine Christian woman. Not because she wanted him. His mind flicked back to that kiss. Maybe she did want him. But that only showed one tiny blind spot in her good judgment. He’d be a scoundrel to take advantage of her.
“Dillen, is there anything else I can offer you?”
There sure the hell was, but he couldn’t say it out loud.
“Nothing. Thanks,” he managed. “Fine meal, that.”
She beamed. “Thank you.”
Gosh, she was a beauty, especially when she smiled.
Roberts rose. “Let’s go tuck in by that hearth. Dillen, go get your fiddle.”
“Oh, no. Alice doesn’t want to hear my fiddling.”
She pressed her hands together. “Yes, I do. Bring it, please.”
He left her to go get his father’s fiddle, and when he returned, Roberts was smoking by the fire, telling the boys about an Indian attack that had happened years ago, though whether in Bill’s memory or his imagination was unclear. Alice was nowhere to be seen.
“Alice?” he asked, laying his fiddle on the mantel.
Bill thumbed toward the back of the house. “Chased us out of her kitchen.”
Dillen headed through the dining room and found Alice drying the last of the dishes.
“Need a hand?” he asked.
She startled and then smiled, returning the plates to the cupboards. “All finished.”
He approached, seeming unable to keep his distance from this woman. “I didn’t know you could cook.”
“I’d imagine there are many things you don’t know about me.” She reached behind her back and untied her apron, ducking out of the collar and setting it aside before brushing off her skirts.
“I’ve never seen you in a dress like that before,” he said.
“It’s new.”
He frowned. Of course it was. Likely she bought it, perhaps an entire wardrobe for her little rustic adventure.
Alice’s brow knit as if she recognized the misstep. “Do you like it?” She lifted the skirts and turned this way and that. Here was the Alice he recalled. Charming, bubbly and full of unreasonable optimism where he was concerned. She’d overestimated everything about him, especially his prospects.
“Yes,” he said truthfully, stepping in, looping an arm behind her back even as he told himself to leave her be.
She rested her hands on his chest and smiled up at him. For just a moment he pretended that she was his, that those boys were their children and she was a mother instead of a lady of means.
“Thank you for taking such good care of them,” he whispered.
“You’re welcome.” Her hand lifted and stroked the rough stubble at his jaw. She cast him a winning smile. “I saw your performance. You are a trick rider!”
He stiffened. “How?”
She motioned toward the window above the sink. The world beyond was now dark, but he realized she would have a fine view of the riding ring from here. The fact that she’d seen his shenanigans did not please him.
He did not share her delight. Rather he felt a wash of shame. A man might have to dig ditches for