Chrissy's Wish Read online

  "Please, darling?" Sam whispered.

  Her shoulders slumped and she blew out an exasperated breath. Shaking her head in frustration, she turned and took Chrissy's hand to lead her back to the tree. They grabbed the trunk and dragged it to the wagon. Her anxiety warred with vexation over Sam's stubbornness, lending her strength to almost fling the darn thing into the wagon bed.

  "There," she said, dusting her hands together to dislodge the clinging pine needles as she tossed Sam a severe frown. "Now, we're going home!"

  Chrissy picked up Nicker's reins and Polly lifted her onto the pony's back. When Chrissy glanced at her with a tear-streaked face, she took an extra second to kiss her cheek and pat her comfortingly on the back.

  "Papa will be fine, sweetheart," she said. "Think you could ride ahead and have Jose get the medical kit ready? We'll be right behind you."

  Chrissy nodded and nudged Nicker in the sides, galloping away as Polly ran around the wagon and clambered into the seat. Grabbing the reins and releasing the wagon brake, she flicked the straps over the horse's back and sent it surging after the pony. Sam muffled a groan when the wagon wheel lurched in a hole, and she forced herself to pull the horse down to a trot. They were close to the ranch, and the wagon entered the yard only a moment or so after Chrissy.

  Chapter 10

  "You must do it, Señora," Jose murmured. "My hands are too swollen today."

  Polly clenched her fists and stared down at the wound on the calf of Sam's leg. They'd helped him into the house to his bed, and his denims lay in a blood-soaked heap in a corner. The sheet covered everything except the brawny leg, with towels beneath the wound to catch the blood again seeping out. It would take several stitches to close the gap — stitches she must somehow force herself to make. She had learned at church the only doctor in town was attending the birthing of the Pyle's baby, and they lived on the other end of the county.

  "Chrissy, you better leave now," Polly said.

  Instead, Chrissy crawled onto the bed beside Sam's head and took his hand. "I want to stay, Mama. Please. It's gonna hurt, and I can hold Papa's hand and make it feel better. Like you do when I skin my knee."

  Polly reluctantly nodded. It would probably be worse on Chrissy if she were delegated to listening outside the door, with no one to comfort her. She scanned Sam's face, and he gave her a brief nod of agreement.

  "There's a bottle of brandy in the parlor," Polly said to Jose. "Would you fetch it?"

  "Si, Señora."

  While Jose was gone, Polly threaded the needle and steeled herself for the ordeal. Her hands trembled so badly, she missed the needle eye three times. After she finally managed the task, she anxiously glanced at Sam, gnawing on her bottom lip.

  Chrissy was curled up in Sam's arm, and he cupped her small chin, keeping her attention on his face. He caught Polly's gaze long enough to give her a reassuring look, which didn't even quell the storm in her belly a tiny bit. But Jose came back in and handed the brandy bottle to Sam, and he swallowed a fairly large amount before he held the bottle out to her.

  "I...don't want any," Polly said.

  "It's for the leg," Sam said with a grin. "Although maybe you should take at least a sip. Wobbly stitches don't seem your style, but after all, it's my leg."

  She choked out a sound half laugh at his humorous attempt to relieve her anxiety and half misery over it being Sam's leg she had to sew up. With a hesitant nod, she accepted the brandy and took a delicate sip. Her eyes widened and teared, although a second later her hands did feel more steady. Tipping the bottle once again, she poured a measure over the wound. Sam's indrawn hiss of breath had her glancing at his face. His jaws clenched, his lips a thin, white line.

  Her hands started shaking again, but she controlled them and poured a drop of brandy on the needle and thread, then handed the bottle to Jose and bent over the wound.

  ~~~

  Polly clattered the pan onto the stove and poured some milk from a pitcher into it. Darn that man! He knew he should stay in bed, but he totally ignored her admonitions and limped around on that crutch Jose had dug up somewhere — probably from the time one of their hands had broken his leg when a still half-wild horse threw him. He hadn't even stayed in bed a full day. This morning he'd insisted on being at the table for breakfast and lunch, then gone out onto the back porch and fashioned a stand for the tree — talked her and Chrissy into helping him get it into the parlor. Now she could smell popcorn.

  Well, they did need to get the tree decorated, since the next day was Christmas Eve. But they would just have to miss the afternoon service at church tomorrow, since she'd be darned if she let Sam take a chance on reopening that wound by exerting himself to make that long drive. Her stomach vaulted a half-circle as she recalled again the twelve stitches it had taken to close the awful gap on his leg. She'd counted every dadblasted one of them — one for each day of Christmas, she realized for some inane reason.

  The milk steamed and she picked up a potholder, grasped the pan and carried it over to the sink. While she shaved off some of the bar of chocolate Sam had brought in with one load of supplies, she glanced out the window.

  Snow! It fell in soft, delicate flakes, wafting hither and yon on the barely perceptible breeze before settling on the ground, which already had a coat of whiteness covering it. Only once since Chrissy was born had they had a white Christmas, and she'd been too young to remember.

  "Chrissy!" Polly called in an excited voice. "Come see. Hurry."

  Chrissy scrambled into the kitchen. Sam followed right behind, his crutch thumping on the floor, an alarmed look on his face.

  "What's wrong?" Sam demanded.

  "Nothing's wrong," Polly hastily assured him, hurrying over to place a steadying hand on his arms when his crutch threatened to slip on her newly-shined floor. "Oh, do be careful. It's snowing outside. I wanted Chrissy to see it, since she's never seen snow before."

  "Snow?" Chrissy said, her eyes wide in wonder. "Like in the pictures in our Christmas books, Mama? Can I play in it?"

  "Yes, darling," Polly replied. "But we need to get our wraps on before we go out."

  "Can I play in it too, darling?" Sam whispered.

  Polly stared pointedly at his crutch, her stomach fluttering at his endearment. How easily he could unnerve her with just one word.

  "You can sit on the back porch in a chair," she said, attempting chastisement in her voice, which came out breathless instead. "I was making hot chocolate, but I'll put it on the side of the stove to stay warm, and we can have it when we come back in. Be sure you both bundle up well."

  Chrissy whooped and ran to where their wraps hung on the pegs by the door, but when Polly started to move away from Sam, he wrapped his free arm around her waist. She tugged against him, but he bent his head and nuzzled her nose.

  "If I get cold," he murmured, "will you warm me back up?"

  "T-there's a fire in the parlor," Polly insisted, trying to still her trembling legs and maintain control over her arms. They seemed to have a mind of their own, creeping up his chest, her fingers playing briefly on his shoulders and then tangling in his hair.

  "You're a better fire than that," Sam whispered. "You make me hot a lot faster. Have I told you what I want for Christmas yet?"

  "N-no," Polly stuttered.

  "You, darling," Sam growled in a low undertone. "You, my wife, only you."

  "All right," Polly said before she even realized she had formed the words. She gasped and wrenched free, backing away until her rear hit the sink and staring into Sam's gleaming eyes. "I...."

  "It's Christmas," Sam cautioned, wagging a finger at her. "Little girls who tell lies get only coal in their stockings. We can't have that now, can we?"

  "Aren't we going out to play in the snow?" Chrissy said in a persistent voice. "I'm all ready."

  Sam chortled gleefully and held Polly's gaze for another long second before he limped over to the door.

  Polly whirled, grabbed the hot chocolate pan and carried it to
the stove. After shoving it back into a corner, she found herself looking down into the pan, comparing the lighter brownish shade to the deeper depths of Sam's eyes a moment ago. She lifted a hand and touched her nose, her breath catching in her throat as she recalled the feel of Sam's caressing nuzzle, the tempting nearness of his lips as he moved his head back and forth.

  The door opened and closed, allowing a draft of cold air into the kitchen. She turned to see Chrissy and Sam gone, but the chill on her back brought to mind Sam's words about her being able to warm him.

  Oh, dear. How could she have said she would give herself to him for Christmas? Aloud. More and more frequently lately she had caught herself wondering what it would be like to become Sam's full wife — reach complete womanhood in his arms.

  But...besides her longing for the physical fulfillment her body had been recently demanding, she wanted something much more than that. She wanted the type of love she had seen between Christine and Ron — the love her baby sister had been mature enough to recognize. She wanted the tender touches, and someone to meet her eyes across a room and tell her with a smile that he shared her thoughts without a word being spoken. And she wanted the man sharing that love with her to be Sam.

  She ached to be able to tell Sam how distressed she had been when she saw him lying behind the pine tree with blood flowing from his wound. And the truth of her feelings toward him had been clamoring in her mind ever since, with her acknowledgement of what an inexorable part of her life Sam had become.

  He was different now — or maybe she was seeing him through altered eyes, which weren't comparing him to the proper mate for her younger sister. He was pushy still and very much a man who took sure charge, but his leanings were concentrated on Chrissy and her. His very presence eased each day along to a satisfying conclusion, with her pleasure in the day's accomplishments due in part to how she could reciprocate for him.

  If the wound had been worse, if the axe blade had cut an artery and she hadn't been able to staunch the flow of blood, he could very easily have bled to death. Been gone forever from her life. His grave would have joined the other two beneath the cottonwood tree, and she knew in her heart she could never have stayed on the ranch then. She could never face that third cross every day.

  Giggling wildly, Chrissy threw herself backwards in the snow and waved her arms up and down.

  "Wider," Sam called in encouragement from the porch. "Angels have huge wings."

  "Make one with me, Mama," Chrissy called up to Polly, who stood over her with a tolerant smile on her face. "You're bigger. You can make an angel with great big wings."

  Agreeably, Polly collapsed backward beside Chrissy and worked her arms up and down, her legs out to the side and back. Then, carefully she stood and stepped over to Chrissy, helping her to her feet without blurring the outline she had made in the snow. Two snow angels were imprinted in the soft whiteness, one large and one tiny.

  "Oh," Chrissy breathed in awe. "They do look like angels, don't they, Mama. Can we make some more?"

  They made four more sets of angels, in a wide, curving swathe. It took them a while longer to roll the easily adhering snow into three varied-size balls, like in one of the picture books, and plant the snowman within the arc. While they worked, Sam hobbled back into the cabin and reemerged with Polly's old, red shawl, a carrot and a small, burlap bag of dried prunes.

  When Chrissy ran over to take the snowman decorations from Sam, he called to Polly, "We don't seem to have any coal. You'll have to use prunes for the buttons and face."

  She turned her attention to helping Chrissy decorate their snowman. As they stood back to admire their handiwork, she noticed Chrissy shivering and took her hand.

  "We better go back in and get warm, honey."

  "Our snowman won't melt while we do that, will he, Mama?"

  "No," Polly assured her. "He'll be fine, as long as we have cold weather."

  Once on the porch, Sam made them turn around and around while he whisked snow off Polly's cloak and Chrissy's coat with the broom. He teasingly wiggled the bristles against their ribs when they lifted their arms, and their chuckles and giggles filled the area beneath the overhang. They really shouldn't have been able to feel the bristles through their thick wraps, but Sam's grinning face and wicked "got 'chas" fired their delight. Chrissy wrapped her arms tightly across herself and laughed so hard she could barely stand.

  After removing their wraps in the warm kitchen, Polly shooed Chrissy and Sam into the parlor, following a moment later with a tray of hot chocolate and cups. Now seemed as good a time as any to decorate the tree. They went to work amid shared laughter and sang every Christmas carol they could remember. Once Sam's deep baritone blended with Chrissy's sweet young voice, and Polly stepped back to listen, brushing away a sentimental tear that leaked down her cheek.

  She ended up making two more pots of hot chocolate before they were finally ready to place the small angel on the very top branch. Polly carefully unwrapped it and brushed out the white robe she had tatted for the angel that first Christmas on the ranch. She handed it to Chrissy, and Sam lifted her to his shoulders. Chrissy carefully secured the angel, then placed her palms on Sam's head and studied the result, her small lips tilting up in satisfaction.

  Sam lifted Chrissy down, and she plopped on her stomach, propping her chin in her hands. "It's beautiful, isn't it, Mama? It's the most beautiful tree we've ever had. I can't wait to open our presents tomorrow night."

  Polly felt Sam grasp her hand and pull her down beside him on the settee. "Uh ... yes, it's very beautiful, Chrissy," she said, trying to keep her mind on the tree rather than the caressing hand on her shoulder.

  "Beautiful," Sam agreed, but when she glanced at him, he was looking at her instead of the tree. "And you open your presents on Christmas Eve, not Christmas Day?" he asked with raised brows.

  "Uh...well, yes," Polly admitted. Goosebumps tingled down her neck and across her breasts, and her eyes started drifting closed. She snapped them open. "I mean, no. Not really. Chrissy always seems to wake up just after St. Nick leaves, usually around midnight. It's become our tradition to open our presents then. It's really Christmas Day, since we wait until after the clock strikes twelve. Last year we even stayed up until dawn to watch the sun come up."

  "Hummmm," Sam mused in a voice too low to reach Chrissy's ears. "If we stay up all night, when will I get my present?"

  Polly lost herself in his deep brown eyes, and ran her tongue around her lips. Sam ever so slowly bent his head, and imitated her motions by running the tip of his own tongue across the path hers had taken. He sipped a kiss, then kissed her more deeply, his mouth tasting of chocolate and sugar cookies.

  "I had Jose take that damned cot out to the barn when you weren't looking today," he said when he released her mouth. "I won't demand my present early, but I want you in my bed tonight."

  Her cheeks flushed and Polly dropped her eyes. "Chrissy will wonder...."

  "Chrissy talked to one of her friends after church Sunday," Sam interrupted. "Then she asked me why you and I didn't sleep in the same bed, like her friend said her mama and papa did."

  "What did you tell her?"

  "Luckily, a little boy ran up and tagged her it, so she took off. But I had a lot of time to think yesterday, when you kept me locked up in that bedroom. We've got years and years ahead of us, Polly, sweetheart, and I'll be honest with you. I never knew how wonderful it would be to have a family of my own until the last couple weeks. I want us to be a complete family — with you and me being a real husband and wife."

  "Real husbands and wives discuss things and make their decisions together," Polly said grumpily. "You...."

  "Mama?" Chrissy said, rolling onto her back. "How long does it take a baby to be born?"

  Polly stifled her startlement, and shot Sam a warning look when he chuckled beside her. "I guess you heard at church that the doctor was with Mrs. Pyle, huh, Chrissy? Helping her baby be born. Is that it?"

  "I heard tha
t, Mama, but that's not what I mean." She scrunched up her face. "You see, it seems like Mrs. Pyle has had her baby in her tummy — like you told me when I asked why she was getting so fat — for a long time. Now, I guess she'll have the baby for Christmas. I just wondered if we'll have enough time before next Christmas to have our own baby."

  Polly's mouth fell open, but she closed it with a snap, struggling desperately to maintain her composure in the face of Chrissy's earnest gaze. She couldn't seem to stop herself from giving Sam a beseeching glance. Instead of the amusement she thought she would find on his face, she saw a soft wonder in his brown eyes. And he answered Chrissy for her.

  "Babies are a gift," he said, holding out a hand to Chrissy, who scrambled up and onto his lap. "We'll just have to ask for that next year and see how important our request is."

  "Yeah," Chrissy agreed, laying her head on Sam's shoulder and seeming satisfied with his vague answer. "We gotta be careful what we wish for. Wishes should only be for the real important things. I think babies are real important, though."

  Sam pulled Polly closer and a peaceful sensation replaced the confusion in her mind for a moment as the three of them gazed at the tree, outlined by the fading light beyond the window. She could almost see a tiny baby lying in Chrissy's old crib, set beneath the tree. But immediately she realized she had no idea where they would set up their tree next year, and she swallowed a stab of already-increasing homesickness for the small ranch and tiny cabin.

  Chapter 11

  Polly crept into her bedroom that night with trepidation so strong she could barely force herself to walk. Sam lay on his back and a soft snore issued from his throat. Relief filled her. He had suppressed yawns all through supper, and she realized he still had a ways to go to recover from his loss of blood. A tiny bit of pique, however, crept into a corner of her mind, which she immediately swept way. Why, she was actually resenting Sam's falling asleep, after he had so pointedly ordered her into his bed.