Chrissy's Wish Read online

  He'd been avoiding her eyes, partially because he knew his own confrontational attitude was showing on his face and partially because both sisters shared the same brilliant emerald depths, which could bring a man to his knees. But she cleared her throat, and he instinctively met her gaze.

  A hammer thudded into his stomach. Instead of the haughty sternness he expected, held-back tears sparkled a different type of brilliance from her eyes. Pain swam there, too, tinged with despair. Spontaneously, he reached out and cupped her upper arms with his hands.

  "What is it?" he asked in a softer voice. She shook her head mutely, and a stab of compassion tore through him. He had to make an effort — a huge effort — not to pull her into his arms and soothe away her misery. Only quickly reminding himself this was the wrong sister to welcome any sympathetic gesture on his part kept him from following through on his action.

  "Polly," he said. "What's happened? Where's Christine?"

  Polly gulped back a sob, then stepped away from him. Turning, she raised a hand and pointed to a small, fenced plot west of the cabin. Beneath a cottonwood tree growing on the bank of a creek were two wooden crosses, not one, as he had expected after learning about his brother's death.

  The hammer thudded again into his stomach, this time followed by a splintering in his heart. He bowed his head, striving fruitlessly to keep back his own tears. He thought he'd been ready for the sight of Ron's grave — he'd had two days to prepare for it. But the twin cross beside it had the effect of shattering his resolve, if in fact he would have been able to maintain it in the first place.

  He felt a faint brush on his sleeve and managed a water-logged glance at his arm, where Polly's hand rested. Without one thought of all the past dissention between him and Polly, he turned and swept her into his embrace. Burying his face on her neck, he choked on his grief, his shoulders heaving.

  Polly held Sam to her, as she held Chrissy whenever she suffered either a physical or imagined emotional hurt. He was way much more of an armful than Chrissy, though, this huge man she'd always thought of as much too unemotional and egotistical for her bubbly sister. Now, though, all she could think about regarding Sam Butler was how much she was feeling his hurt — as deep as her own had been when she held Christine in her arms and watched the life flow out of her — as deep as it had been when she helped Jose lower Christine's body into the grave.

  "Ah, God. Ron. Christine," Sam mumbled.

  She hugged him in return, then brushed her hand across the back of his ebony hair. Tears streaming from those eyes she knew to be a shade darker than Ron's brown ones soaked her neck and the shoulder of her dress. His iron-clad grip on her left her little room to breathe, but she couldn't bring herself to struggle against him.

  Something inside her broke and shattered in response to their shared grief. The ranch's hired hand, Jose, had grieved for Ron and Christine, but he hadn't loved them both as deeply as she and Sam had. And even after five years, she still missed her sister desperately.

  Overcoming her own misery, Polly stroked Sam's back comfortingly and whispered, "It's all right, Sam. Go ahead. You won't start healing until you let it all out. And even after that, it takes time."

  Sam shuddered deeply, then lifted his head and wiped at his eyes. "I'm sorry," he mumbled.

  Unthinkingly, Polly reached up and touched his face. "It's all right," she repeated. "Truly, it is."

  "Thanks," he said. He glanced again at the grave sites and took a step away. "I want to go over to the graves and have a minute to myself."

  "Go ahead. I...Sam, I just want to ask you something first. It'll only take a second."

  Sam nodded, and Polly continued, "You mentioned receiving a letter from Christine. Sam, she's been dead five years."

  "God," Sam groaned. "It — the letter laid somewhere in a mail pouch after a train wreck. I just got it."

  "Did...?" Polly hesitated a moment, then plunged onward. "Did Christine tell you she was with child?"

  Sam's gaze swung back to her, wonder on his face. "No," he almost breathed. "The child...?"

  "Her name's Chrissy," Polly responded with total love in her voice. "I named her after her mother."

  "Chrissy," Sam repeated. "Will you let me meet her?"

  "Of course," Polly told him with a smile. "After all, you're her uncle. If you'd like to stay for a while, I can move in with her for a day or two. There's a cot I can use."

  "Please. I'd appreciate that a lot." He nodded a leave-taking and turned to walk toward the tiny graveyard, shoulders bent and his hands thrust into his denim pockets.

  Polly watched him go with a surprising ache in her heart. Funny how she'd always disliked him. Still, she wasn't one to do a total about-face in her feelings regarding someone without a valid reason. Right now, she felt an empathy toward Sam because of their shared grief, yet too many times she'd listened to Christine berate Sam's high-handed, standoffish attitude. Only after Christine met Ron, Sam's more laid-back, openly-affectionate brother, had Polly seen true love blossom in her sister's eyes.

  Sam had a right to get to know his niece, but Polly would be darned if she didn't kick his butt right off the ranch if he so much as once gave Chrissy even one of those condescending looks Christine had so often had to tolerate.

  Chapter 2

  Footsteps clumped across the back porch as Polly moved the perking coffeepot to the side of the stove. Sam must have stabled his horse and decided to come in the rear of the cabin. He gave a short rap, then entered the kitchen and hung his hat on the rack beside the door.

  Shrugging out of his coat, he said, "'Preciate the invite to stay overnight. Barn's pretty snug, though, and I could pitch my bedroll out there if you'd rather."

  "That won't be necessary," Polly assured him. "I've already set up the cot in Chrissy's room."

  "Is she asleep this early?"

  "She's getting into her nightgown and will be out in a minute. She's excited about meeting you."

  Though she and Chrissy had already eaten, Polly assumed from the look of Sam's horse when he rode in that he hadn't stopped recently for a meal. She stirred the pot of stew re-warming over the fire, then reached for a loaf of bread to slice. After a moment, she realized she hadn't heard Sam cross to the table and turned to invite him to sit.

  "I'm not a rancher," Sam said without preamble before she could speak. He still stood by the rack, his coat in his hands and a forbidding look on his face. "Never had no desire to punch cows or clean horse dung off my boots."

  "Pardon me?" Polly asked, confused as to the meaning of his comments, which seemed totally unrelated to their discussion of Chrissy. But a sense of premonition prickled into a tightening band around her chest.

  "I don't plan on having to work up a sweat to make a living," Sam replied.

  Polly gritted her teeth and bristled. "No, you might end up with a callused finger, and not be able to deal the cards so easily when you gamble!"

  "The world needs businessmen, just as much as it needs beef to eat," Sam said with a shrug.

  "I'd hardly call a saloon a business," Polly fairly snarled. "At least, not a respectable one. But then, it fits in with your past lifestyle."

  "Just a damn minute...."

  "I'll thank you to remember that I have a small child in this house," Polly broke in. "You will watch your language while you're in my house."

  "Yours? My brother started this place."

  "And just who do you think's been keeping it going for the past five and a half years? Giving Chrissy a home? Feeding her? Caring for her. While you sat around a card table and let your body start running to fat."

  Polly bit back a satisfied grin when Sam sucked in his stomach. He hadn't really put on that much weight, and she fought a beginning flush when she remembered the reason she even knew he had gained a few pounds. She'd held him so close a while ago. Maybe she should try to hang onto the sympathy she'd felt for him then, instead of letting this discussion deteriorate so rapidly. A tiny warning bell rang again and
again in the back of her mind, though. She just couldn't figure out whether it had something to do with the meaning she sensed hidden behind Sam's evasive words about ranching or the tingling in her hands when she recalled the feel of his silky hair and bunched muscles.

  Chrissy barreled into the kitchen and slid to a stop. Craning her neck back until Polly felt sure the little girl would end up with a knotted muscle, she gazed up at Sam. Her golden hair spilled riotously down her back and her piquant face held a mixture of awe and something Polly couldn't determine. A slight wistfulness, perhaps?

  When she glanced at Sam, she saw his face mirroring Chrissy's. Definitely wistfulness, then uncertainty. Sam's fingers clenched on his coat before he glanced down as though surprised to see he held it. With none of the smooth grace Polly had noticed when he swung off his horse, he awkwardly turned to hang the coat on the rack. It missed the peg on his first attempt, and he grabbed it from the floor and jammed it beside his hat. Facing Chrissy again, he held out his hand as though getting ready to shake with another man. Immediately he must have realized how foolish that appeared in face of the tiny creature he wanted to greet.

  Dropping his hand, he wiped it against his denim-clad leg and tossed Polly a helpless look as he shrugged.

  Still peeved, Polly determined to hold her silence and let Sam muddle his own way through the start of his new relationship with his niece. However, from the first moment Chrissy learned that sounds made words, she had never been one to tolerate a lengthy silence.

  "Are you my Uncle Sam?" she asked. "I'm Chrissy. I was pretty sure someone would come, but I didn't know who."

  Polly frowned in confusion over Chrissy's statement, but quickly turned her attention back to Sam when he knelt to be more on a level with Chrissy.

  "Yeah, I'm Sam Butler," Sam agreed in a quiet, hesitant voice. "Your father was my brother, so I guess that does make me your Uncle Sam. I've never had a niece before, but I'm very glad to meet you, Chrissy."

  Chrissy tilted her head and laid a tiny finger beside her mouth for a moment. Evidently making up her mind, she nodded before she crossed the floor, hugged Sam's neck and then kissed his cheek. Sam's arms went around her and she remained within his grasp, though she stepped back far enough to study his face.

  "You look sort of like the picture Aunt Polly gave me of my papa," she said after a second. "He's in Heaven, you know. With my mama."

  "I know," Sam replied. "But I just found out a couple days ago."

  "I've always known," Chrissy said matter-of-factly. "Aunt Polly says it doesn't mean Mama and Papa didn't love me awfully much, just because they went on to Heaven without me. She says they're watching over me, even if I can't see them."

  "Uh...I'm sure that's right, sweetheart." Sam tossed Polly another helpless glance, but she turned to move the stew to the side of the stove.

  Let him bungle along on his own. One of the things Christine had found fault with Sam over was his attitude toward a family. He'd covered it up by telling Christine that he would rather pamper and coddle his wife for a few years before children intruded on their life, but Christine always had reservations about whether Sam ever meant to have children of his own.

  For her part, Christine had picked up one of Polly's dolls as soon as she could walk. She'd had an entire family of dolls by the time she was Chrissy's age and spent hours building fantasy lives for them. She had never once hesitated when asked what she wanted to be when she grew up.

  A mama. Christine's voice echoed in Polly's mind, and she smiled to herself. Glancing over at the clock, she reluctantly forced her thoughts back to her responsibilities.

  "Chrissy," she said as she picked up a bowl and ladled it full of stew. "It's really past your bedtime. Sam will be here in the morning, and you can talk to him some more then."

  She thought she heard Sam suppress a sigh of relief, but decided to give him the benefit of a doubt as she set the stew on the table and looked over at Chrissy.

  "All right, Auntie," Chrissy said obediently.

  Chrissy kissed Sam's cheek again and told him good night. Her ears might have wrongly interpreted Sam's emotions, but Polly had no problem this time. The look on Sam's face clearly showed reprieve as he stood and wiped his beaded brow.

  "I'll be in to hear your prayers and tuck you in, Chrissy," she said.

  "That's all right, Auntie. I'm big enough to do that all by myself now." Chrissy stopped in the doorway for a second and grinned at Polly. "'Sides, I kinda gotta say something all on my own this time in my prayers."

  She scampered on out of the room before Polly could question her. Deciding that Chrissy must have some secret Christmas wish to recite, Polly let her go. Despite her reluctance to stay in the kitchen alone with Sam, manners bade she at least get his meal on the table. Besides, she always tucked Chrissy in at least twice before she went into her own room, and tonight, since she'd be sleeping in Chrissy's room, she could check on her as much as she wanted.

  "Would you like some butter and jam with your bread?" she asked Sam.

  "I was hoping that was for me," Sam admitted as he came over to the table.

  "Well, of course it is," Polly said. "Chrissy and I ate over an hour ago. Oh, I'm sorry. I guess I didn't think to ask you if you were hungry. I just assumed you hadn't taken time to eat before you rode out here."

  "Thanks," he said as he sat down. "And yes, I would like butter and jam, if it's not too much trouble. Or...." He shot her a grumpy look that reminded her of Chrissy when it got a little past her nap time. "Unless you think it might be too fattening for me."

  Polly quickly caught her lower lip between her teeth to stifle her giggle and turned so he wouldn't see the merriment in her eyes. Giving herself a moment to control her mirth — though she didn't really know why she cared if he saw her laughing at him — she sliced off a couple more pieces of bread. Keeping her eyes downcast, she got everything else on the table, then poured him a cup of coffee and set it in front of him.

  "Do you need anything else?" she asked.

  "Yeah," he answered in a still rather petulant voice. "Some company. I hate to eat alone."

  Polly sighed and poured herself some coffee. Sitting down across the table from him, she clasped her hands around the cup.

  "Then we might as well continue our discussion while I sit here," she said. "And we'll start with you explaining your cockamamie comments about horse dung and sweat, although I'm pretty sure I've already figured out what you meant. If you've got any designs on making me sell this ranch, you better know right off that I'll fight you tooth and nail. This is Chrissy's heritage, and it was her father's dream, as well as my sister's. No one asked you to come here and get manure on your boots."

  Sam clanked his spoon into his stew bowl, then sat back in his chair. Face tight with anger, he glared at her, but Polly noticed he kept the piece of bread with butter and jam in his hand.

  "Ranching's no life for a woman and a child alone," he growled. "I looked this place over a little when I arrived. You've got three cracked windows in the cabin, the barn door's about to fall off, and there's hardly any hay put up for winter in the loft for your stock. Besides that, you haven't got enough wood stockpiled for even one blue norther. How the blazes do you think you're gonna manage all that on your own?"

  Before she could stop herself, Polly buried her face in her hands. He was only saying out loud everything she'd been thinking for the past two months, but he had no right to say it. No right at all! Where had he been while she struggled the last few years?

  Getting a grip on her emotions, she dropped her hands to see Sam shoving the entire piece of bread and jam into his mouth. He chewed angrily, but the comic sight had the opposite effect from humor on Polly.

  "We'll manage," she gritted. "Just as we have so far, without your help!"

  "I didn't even know you were having to manage," Sam spat back. "You can't sit in judgment of my actions, when I didn't even know Ron and Christine were dead!"

  "And if you had known?
" Polly demanded.

  That set him back — or rather, he leaned forward and picked up his spoon. He moved a piece of beef around, shoved his spoon under it, then tipped it back into the bowl. He glanced quickly at her, grabbed his coffee cup and took a swallow.

  Finally, he said, "I would've come to check on Christine. I wouldn't have left her out here on a godforsaken Texas ranch to starve."

  "Even if you'd known she was going to have your brother's baby?"

  "Of course," Sam replied after a brief hesitation. "Chrissy's my niece. She's family."

  "And what would you have offered to do for Christine?" Polly asked in a deceptively mild voice. "Give her a job in your saloon after she had her baby?"

  Sam shoved his chair back violently and stood, leaning toward her with palms on the table. He opened his mouth, then shut it abruptly, though the rage continued to sparkle in his brown eyes.

  "If my niece wasn't sleeping in the next room," he said in a quiet, anger-laced voice, "I'd give you the verbal thrashing you deserve for even suggesting I'd do something like that to Christine. For your damned information, my saloon's a gaming house. It's strictly a place for men to come gamble and drink."

  "Oh, it's a place for them to come and spend money on cards and whiskey, which should be spent on their families instead, huh?" Polly crossed her arms over her chest and glowered right back at him. "And you're cursing again."

  "Damn it, woman, you make a man curse! You've always treated me like I wasn't good enough to lick Christine's boots. I'll bet the happiest day of your life was when Christine gave me my walking papers and took up with Ron."

  "My sister made her decision totally on her own. I had nothing to do with it. And since you brought it up, yes, I did think Ron was better for her. He treated her like an equal, not like some little puppy on a leash he wanted to parade around and show off."