The Christmas Bargain Page 21

  “That is enough for now, puppy. You’ll make yourself sick eating too much and I’ll not have a greedy hound.” Patting his head with her free hand, he flopped down on the floor and enjoyed the attention. Quickly going to sleep, Filly put him back in his box and rinsed off her hand.

  Returning to the front room, a glance at the clock reminded Filly she needed to get home and see to their dinner.

  Handing the sleeping baby back to Abby, Filly announced it was time to head home. She carried the tea tray back to the kitchen, then helped Dora on with her coat. She slipped on her own outerwear while Dora pinned her hat in place.

  “That is quite the hat, Mrs. Granger,” Abby said, trying not to laugh at the milliner’s nightmare perched on Dora’s head.

  “It is, isn’t it? When I saw it in the window, I told Mr. Granger I had to have it. Absolutely had to have it,” Dora said, adjusting the tilt of the brim before slipping on her gloves. “I can see you have excellent taste, Abby. We’ll get along famously. And I think you should call me Dora.”

  “Thank you, Dora,” Abby said, watching her guests leave. “Have a wonderful evening.”

  Filly looked back over her shoulder and rolled her eyes at Abby, causing her to fight the urge to giggle as she shut the door.

  It wasn’t lost on Filly that Dora gave Abby permission to call her by her first name when she insisted Filly call her Mother Granger. Irritated, Filly walked back to the house in silence, listening to Dora go on about how dreadful the town had been when she lived there and all the reasons she had to move back to civilization.

  “I never could understand why Luke refused to leave. He could have done so much better somewhere else. Somewhere civilized,” Dora said, removing her coat and hat in the entry, hanging them on the hall tree.

  “I suppose he refused to leave because he likes it here,” Filly said, absently. She felt a headache starting to pound behind her left eye and the more Dora spoke, the harder it pounded. Hoping the woman would decide to take another rest, Filly was quite disappointed when she followed her into the kitchen.

  “Oh, I forgot you have to make dinner. I should very much like to witness the proceedings,” Dora said, pulling up a chair at the table and turning watchful eyes to Filly. “I am intrigued by all your domesticity.”

  “Very well, then,” Filly said, washing up at the sink, as the headache went from a dull pounding to a full roar.

  Filly was counting the minutes until Luke and his dad came home. Her ears hurt from listening to Dora talk about her cook, her friends and their household staff, who she liked and didn’t like and why, how Filly really needed to hire some help, and how Luke needed to move to New York.

  “Although, dear, I just don’t see how you would possibly fit in,” Dora said, looking at Filly like she wasn’t fit to be seen in proper society. “Especially since you are so tall and gangly.”

  Ignoring the comment, Filly began mashing the potatoes with much more force than necessary.

  When the back door opened and the men came in, laughing and joking, she shot Luke a look that quickly quelled his laughter. Hanging up his coat and hat, he gave his mother’s upturned cheek a kiss then walked to the stove where Filly gave a pan of gravy a vicious stir.

  Never witnessing his wife riled up before, Luke could judge by the high color in her cheeks and the sparks shooting from her eyes that his mother had stepped over the line, probably more than once since he’d seen her at lunch.

  “Ready to throw her out yet?” Luke asked quietly as he put his arms around her waist and gave her a gentle squeeze.

  “If I agree, can I watch you toss her out? Would you make sure she lands head-first on that ridiculous hat?” Filly whispered hotly, too angry to form tears or be concerned what she was saying about her husband’s mother.

  Luke threw back his head and laughed, causing his parents to look his direction. His father grinned while his mother stared.

  “Luke, such outbursts are just not civilized. See what living out here at the end of nowhere has done to undermine all that I taught you,” Dora said, in a no-nonsense tone.

  “Aw, Dora, give it a rest,” Greg said, sitting down beside her and slapping her leg. “Leave the boy alone. He’s done very well for himself, both with his business and his choice of a bride. If she makes him laugh, then I say more power to them both.”

  “Well, I never,” Dora said, crossing her arms across her chest and giving her husband a stern look.

  “Maybe you should have,” Greg said, winking at Luke. “Now, I say let’s eat dinner in here tonight and skip all that formality. That dining room isn’t any fun unless the whole table is bustling with happy chatter. It’s much friendlier in here.”

  “I agree, Dad,” Luke said, grabbing a stack of plates and setting them on the table.

  As his father set glasses at each place setting, he nudged his wife with his elbow. “Come on, Dora, get in the spirit of things. You can set down the cutlery.”

  Although she gave him a seething glare, Dora set a fork, knife and spoon at each place setting along with a napkin.

  Much later, once Dora and Greg had retired for the night and Filly once again had a clean kitchen, she wearily climbed the stairs to the master bedroom. Luke was out tending to the livestock, since he didn’t do it when he first came home.

  While he was out, she brushed her teeth, combed her hair and braided it, then changed into her nightgown. Sliding into her side of the big bed she was pulling the covers up to her chin when Luke came in the door.

  Seeing she wasn’t asleep, Luke sat down on the bed beside her. Her stomach felt tied in knots and despite Luke’s warnings, some of the things his mother said had wounded her.

  Brushing wayward curls from her forehead with a cool hand, Luke cupped her chin with such tenderness, tears she was determined to keep in check rolled down her cheek.

  Ignoring her half-hearted protest, Luke pushed aside the covers, scooped Filly up and settled her on his lap. Rocking back and forth, his chin rested on the top of her head.

  “What did she say to hurt your feelings, darlin’?” Luke asked, knowing his mother was the cause of Filly’s tears.

  “It’s nothing, Luke. I’ll be fine,” she whispered quietly. Soaking up Luke’s warmth and concern, Filly felt better than she had all day. Her head finally quit pounding and the knots in her stomach loosened. Quickly growing accustomed to the happy, cheerful home she shared with Luke, Filly realized his gentle kindness and acceptance of her made her feel protected and safe. Cherished.

  Dora’s negativity cut away at her security and her feelings of self-worth. In some way, it made her feel like she was back at the farm, dealing with her father again.

  “I know you’ll be fine, but I want to know what she said,” Luke pressed, trying to imagine what thoughtless thing his mother said to upset his wife. Knowing Dora as he did, it could be any number of things.

  “To start with, she asked Abby to call her Dora, but she insists I call her Mother Granger. I hate saying it. It sounds like some evil warden at a workhouse for homeless children,” Filly said, her voice gaining strength as she spoke. Luke fought the urge to laugh at the image created by her description.

  Clearing his throat, he continued to hold her. “Go on.”

  “She is quite insistent you need to move to New York but then said she didn’t think I would fit in because I’m tall and gangly. She mentioned more times than I can count how you could have done better and I can only assume she means in choosing a wife. She made indirect comments about everything from the way I dress and talk to how she finds my ‘domesticity’ intriguing, whatever that means. Luke, I am trying very hard to be a person your mother would like, but I’m not entirely sure that is possible.”

  “You’re right,” Luke said, leaning back to look in Filly’s face. “She has already made up her mind not to like you because that’s just the way she is. I think she secretly admires you and thinks you’re beautiful, but she won’t come out and say it. I know she
can be difficult, but please just ignore what she says.”

  “I’ll try,” Filly said, wiping at her tears with the palms of her hands. “Thank you, Luke.”

  “For what, darlin’?” Luke asked, rubbing a hand on Filly’s arm soothingly. He wondered if their close proximity addled her thoughts as it did his.

  “For being so good and kind and wonderful,” Filly said, raising her gaze and smiling at her husband. When he smiled back, she tipped her head and gave him an impish grin. “Your mother did say we would make beautiful babies. I nearly spewed my tea across Abby’s parlor when she said that.”

  Luke chuckled, then tightened his arms around Filly. Holding her felt so good, so right. Especially when he realized all that stood between him and his wife was the fine cotton of her nightdress. Leaning close so his nose touched Filly’s he whispered, “She’s right. We would make beautiful babies. Anytime you want to get started proving the theory correct, I’m ready.”

  Filly ducked her head, cheeks flaming. Luke took pity on her and tucked her back in bed, kissing her cheek. Turning up the lamp next to the bed, he opened the nightstand and removed a book, handing it to her.

  “Why don’t you relax and read while I get ready for bed?” Luke said, as he walked into the bathroom and closed the door.

  Filly looked at the book, surprised to see it was her dog-eared copy of A Christmas Carol. Reading about Mr. Scrooge seemed inordinately appropriate with the female version of Ebenezer snoring away downstairs.

  Opening the book, Filly tried to get lost in the words, but fought a losing battle to keep her eyes open. When Luke came back he found her asleep, the book still held in her hand. Removing it carefully, he set it on the nightstand, turned out the lights and climbed into bed with a sigh. Hopefully soon he could prove to Filly how much he loved her, how much he wanted her to be his true wife.

  Otherwise, sleeping in the same bed with her would drive him completely daft.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “That was another fine meal, Filly,” Greg said, leaning back in his chair and patting his stomach. “I don’t know when we’ve had so much good food to eat. How do you keep from putting on weight with all your wife’s good cooking, son?”

  Smiling at Filly, Luke shot her a wink, “Filly keeps me hopping, so I work it all off.”

  His father laughed and Filly grinned while his mother sat looking like she had swallowed something bitter.

  Stifling his sigh, Luke thought it was going to be a long three weeks, since that was how long his father planned to stay. He sincerely hoped his mother’s boredom with the small town would drive them home sooner. He wouldn’t mind his dad staying indefinitely, but his mother - she was a whole different story.

  “What is on our agenda for today?” Greg asked, anticipating whatever Luke and Filly had planned. He hadn’t enjoyed himself this much in a very long time. He knew Dora hated to be away from the city and her snobby friends, but he loved being in Hardman.

  “I thought this morning we could go cut down our Christmas tree. This afternoon, we can visit friends and then I promised to help Chauncy get the church ready for this evening’s service.”

  “Splendid,” Greg said, getting up from the table. “There won’t be any mice in the program, will there, son?”

  Luke laughed, recalling the havoc that disrupted the service when he and Chauncy added mice to the nativity at church one year. “If there are, I didn’t provide them.”

  “What time would you like to leave to fetch the tree?” Greg asked, tugging on the hem of his vest.

  “Let’s leave in an hour,” Luke said, turning to Filly. “Will that give you plenty of time to get ready, Filly?”

  Surprised, Filly looked up at him in confusion. She assumed she would be stuck at home with his mother once again, spending Christmas Eve listening to Dora’s complaints and gossip. Dread quickly gave way to excitement when she realized Luke expected her to go along. “I’ll be ready and waiting.

  Turning to Dora, Luke gave her a charming grin. “Coming along, mother?”

  Dora let out a sound that was less than ladylike. “Certainly not. Out there in the cold with wild animals and all that dreadful snow? Why would you even ask?”

  “Just wanted to make sure your standard answer hadn’t changed,” Luke said with a grin Filly’s direction. She hid her smile by turning her attention to the dishes in the sink. “Chauncy is going along, so you could wait at the parsonage with Abby if you like.”

  “I would like that very much. Baby Erin is quite a sweet little thing,” Dora said, toying with her napkin. “I wouldn’t mind spending more time holding her.”

  “I’m sure Abby would welcome your visit,” Luke said, wondering how he would make it up to Abby later. Maybe he could talk his mother into a shopping spree at Abby’s store. According to Filly, her stock was nearly depleted with the holidays, but perhaps there would be a few things he could talk his mother into buying.

  Luke and his father, dressed in warm flannel shirts and jeans, bundled up to feed the livestock while Filly washed the dishes. Dora did step in and help dry, although she refused to get her hands in the dishwater because it “makes your hands look rough and common.” Filly ignored the comment and scrubbed a skillet with vigorous strokes.

  Excusing herself, she raced upstairs and changed into her riding outfit. Pulling the pins from her hair, she quickly braided it and put on a pair of Luke’s woolen socks before tugging on her riding boots.

  Racing down the back stairs to the kitchen, she halved a couple of apples and stuffed them in her coat pockets. She took one of Luke’s old felt hats from beside the door and slapped it on her head, wound her scarf around her neck and slipped on her coat. From the voices coming down the hall, Luke was helping his mother on with her coat and that dreadful hat.

  Hurrying to the front door, she ignored Dora’s stare at her attire, took Greg’s arm and walked out the door to where the horses were tied. Untying the reins, she led Sheeba and Drake while Greg led his mount and Chauncy’s. Luke kept his mother’s hand firmly tucked in the crook of his arm and nodded his head appropriately to her comments as she strolled along to the parsonage.

  Arriving at the door, Luke gave a loud rap and was soon greeted by Chauncy.

  He attempted to engulf Dora in a hug, knocking her hat askew.

  “My gracious, Chauncy, I see you haven’t gotten over the clumsy tendencies you had as a boy,” Dora chided as she unpinned her hat. “I have decided to keep Abby and baby Erin company while the four of you are off in the wilds finding Christmas trees.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Chauncy said, grinning at Luke around Dora’s hat. Pulling on his coat, he hurried toward the kitchen. “I’ll just let Abby know you’re here.”

  “More like give her fair warning,” Luke whispered for Filly alone to hear. She looked back over her shoulder at him, trying not to laugh.

  “Stop that whispering,” Dora commanded, glaring at Luke. “It’s positively rude, you know.”

  “Yes, Mother.” Luke tried to look properly scolded, but failed quite miserably.

  Chauncy came back, followed by a smiling Abby. “I hear I’m going to have your wonderful company this morning, Dora. I’m busy in the kitchen getting some things ready for dinner this evening. Won’t you come chat with me while I work?”

  “Certainly,” Dora said, marching off with Abby, commenting on her lovely gown and stylish apron.

  “Let’s go,” Chauncy said, closing the door behind them.

  They rode out of town to the tree line and dismounted. Stomping through the snow, they looked at a variety of trees, but none that met with Filly’s strict requirements. Luke was about ready to chop down the next one they came to when they happened upon a little grove full of perfect-sized trees. Chauncy quickly cut one down while Luke and Greg worked on the one Filly selected. Trying ropes to the trunks, they drug them back to the horses and headed toward town.

  Luke and Filly took their tree home while Greg went with Chauncy
to the parsonage to collect Dora. He hoped to convince her to climb on behind him and go for a ride, but the raised eyebrows and cool glare she offered at his suggestion made him walk sedately beside her with the horse plodding along behind.

  No wonder Luke was in love with his bride. She seemed to blossom outdoors, just like Luke always had. From what Greg witnessed, Filly was as good with horses as she was at cooking. He didn’t know how Luke had been so fortunate to find himself married to Filly, but he was convinced his son had received the best end of that bargain. He couldn’t think of anyone more suited to his headstrong, fun-loving son than the beautiful, green-eyed girl.

  “I’m quite proud of our boy,” Greg mused to Dora as they walked toward Granger House.

  “What makes you say that?” Dora asked, enjoying the sunshine sparkling on the snow, despite her many protests about it.

  “He’s doing extremely well with the bank, he has a barn full of strong, solid horses and a pasture full of fat cattle. He is well respected in the community, is involved with the church, and made an excellent choice for a bride.”

  “Well, I’m glad to hear people like him, and he is successful, but let’s not get carried away about his choice of bride,” Dora said, waving her fur muff his direction. “I had plans for him to marry Hortense Atwillinger. Now, she would have made an excellent bride. She has bloodlines and money and her father is a personal friend of…”

  “Atwillinger? That horse-faced, cotton-headed shrew?” Greg said. Much to Dora’s surprise, he took her arm and stopped her right in the middle of the street. “I’ve put up with a lot of your nonsense, Dora, more than any man should, but I’ll not have you speak ill of Filly. She’s a wonderful girl and it’s clear as the sky above that she loves Luke as much as he loves her. I would ask nothing more for my children than to love their mates. Her beauty, intelligence and talents are just the icing on a most delectable cake.”

  Dora didn’t know what to say, she opened her mouth to speak, but no words came forth, so she snapped it closed again. Greg was rarely cross with her and she didn’t like it when he was. Not at all. Jerking her arm from his hand, she hurried her steps toward the house.