Amelia
To her immense relief, the drama of Brent's first week home all but died after the fight. He didn't come back out to the house, and he made no further attempts to get her alone on Sundays. Her husband fell quickly back into his usual steady good humor, albeit more pensive than usual. She caught him multiple times, paused in the middle of some chore, staring into the distance and so deep in thought he startled when she said his name. Nonetheless, he never mentioned her leaving again.
Amelia knew from Melissa that Brent hadn't lied about his fortune. Men had begun breaking ground on the 'palace' as Josh called it, and three of Brent's business associates had come to call at the ranch. Melissa said her father had turned into a different man, foregoing his morning drink and dressing in his finest suit to greet the newcomers. Melissa herself was unimpressed with the "oily" easterners, but she said their meeting with Brent and Mr. Tucker had lasted nearly three hours, followed by an hour-long tour of the ranch complex.
The whole affair made Amelia nervous. She was glad, in a distant sort of way, for Brent's success and she respected that he'd sought to bring the fruits of his good fortune back to his family. She cared for Melissa and Josh, and she had come to love the ranch. Of course she wanted it to grow. But when she asked Josh about the meeting, he only shook his head. "Wasn't invited," he said succinctly, and she let the conversation whither because she could see in his eyes that it bothered him.
It bothered her too, though, and not only because it hurt him. Josh knew the ranch. He knew the horses, the men, and the cattle. He knew the books and he knew the markets. Locals, who were familiar with the Tucker family, came calling at Amelia's little house more often than they visited Mr. Tucker's place. If there were decisions to be made about the Tuckers' ranch, Josh needed to make them. Not Owen Tucker and certainly not Brent.
A few days later, after stewing in nerves and indignation, she had brought it up once more and that conversation had been equally short-- "I tried, Ames."
Aside from her vague anxiety about the ranch, those weeks were pleasant. Fall had passed by in a blink and plunged them into the flurries and frosts of early winter. Christmas was approaching, and it was likely the first of its kind that Rebecca would remember so Amelia wanted it to be special. The first Thursday of December, she wheedle Josh into hitching up the sled and riding into the woods to find a tree. It took them ten minutes to ride out and two hours to select a tree. Amelia wanted one that was short enough to fit inside the house but wide and full and sturdy for decorations. Josh wanted one that was tall and narrow so it wouldn't take up so much room. Rebecca fell immediately and madly in love with squattest, scraggliest tree she saw.
"Don't know why I bothered to hook up the sled," Josh grumbled on the way back, glancing over his shoulder at the pitiful little tree in the back. "I could have just carried it."
Amelia laughed, keeping a hand on Rebecca who was standing backwards on the bench, gazing in adoration at her selection. "I think Reb could have carried it," she laughed.
Back at the house, Amelia peeled her daughter out of her snow-crusted clothes while Josh brought the tree in and set it up in the corner of the sitting room. When she joined him, she found him standing back, staring at his handiwork with his head cocked to the side and his hands on his hips. He glanced at her and shook his head, lips pressed together in a frown. "I've turned it all the way around twice," he said despairingly. "It doesn't have a good side. It's bad all the way around."
"Hmm. Well you're a man. You just don't have a knack for this kind of thing. Let me try."
Several times, she darted forward, turning the tree this way and that in its stand and fluffing the branches before hurrying back to observe her efforts at Josh's side. Each attempt somehow made it worse, and by the time she gave up they had both descended into hysterics. Josh was bent double, hands on his knees, gasping for breath as he heckled her.
"Oh sure, sweetheart. Moving it two inches to the left will do it."
"The lighting is different here, ass," she shot back, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes.
"The problem isn't the lighting, you daft woman."
"No, the problem is you're too damned soft to tell your daughter no."
"Well, I didn't see you piping up! She was crying, Ames!"
"Well, she's not the only one crying. Anyone who sees this thing is bound to break down in tears of pity."
Hurrying back to his side, she choked on another round of hysterical laughter, hanging onto his arm to keep herself upright. Their Christmas tree stood in the corner by the bookshelf, pine needles littering the floor from all the times they'd moved it. It was barely as tall as Amelia, its branches sparse and nearly bare of needles. Even the top was slightly crooked, and the Christmas quilt Amelia had wrapped artfully around the stand looked bulky and absurd beside the spindly base.
"Oh!" said a small voice, jolting them from their fits of laughter. They turned as one to see Rebecca in the doorway, a rag doll in one hand and her face awash with delight. Lips stretching into a wide grin, she stepped forward and brushed a reverent hand over one of the lower branches, turning back to look at her parents over her shoulder.
"It's so pretty!" she exclaimed.
"It is, isn't it?" Josh agreed, his voice thick with suppressed laughter. "You chose a good one, honey."
"You did," Amelia agreed. "You're going to have to help us decorate it, though. Your papa and I aren't very good at that."
Rebecca didn't bother to disagree, and only nodded with sage acceptance, turning back to her tree.
They spend the rest of the day crafting decorations. Josh popped popcorn and threaded it onto a string. Amelia baked cookies, carving them into Christmas shapes. When she took them out of the oven the entirely family laughed at her expense.
"What is that supposed to be, Ames?"
"A star!"
"A star? It only has three points."
"Oh, come off it."
"What's it, mama?"
"That's a-- stop laughing, Joshua. It's a donkey, sweetie." She smacked his arm with the spoon. "Stop laughing, I said," but he only slumped over the table, pressing his head to his crooked arm, shoulders shaking, and she resolved to make him carve the damned cookies if he was going to be a snob about them.
The sun had long since fallen by the time the cookies were all finished, with little holes drilled into them and string threaded through the holes. They decorated the tree by lamplight, and she and Josh hummed Christmas songs until Rebecca told them, frankly and succinctly, that they didn't sound good and should stop. After that they sang out loud.
They'd made too many decorations, and the poor little tree sagged with the weight by the time they were finished. Rebecca refused to leave the room, curling up on the couch and dozing off with a serene smile on her face. Josh carried her to bed while Amelia tidied up, and then they climbed beneath the covers and made love-- slowly, quietly, sweetly.
When they finished, Josh fell quickly into sleep, but Amelia lay awake for a long while, staring up at the slatted wood of the ceiling. Warmth suffused her all the way to her bones but she felt ill at ease. Jittery like she'd had too much coffee. As gently as possible, she unwound Josh's arm from her waist and slid out of bed, wrapping a blanket around her shoulders and walking on tip-toes to the mudroom. She slipped her bare feet into her boots and pulled the door open, wincing when it creaked on its hinges.
A soft snow had fallen while they'd decorate the tree, blanketing the hills in a pristine layer of white. The air was cold but lacked that terrible frigid bite that made her lungs hurt and froze her nostrils together later in the season. Shivering only slightly, she tugged the blanket tighter around her shoulders and went to stand on the edge of the porch.
Something about the blissful solitude of the fresh snow gave her the freedom to be truthful with herself. If she thought back and thought honestly, she'd remember her reluctance to settle here. Even before Brent had left, she had been wary. Her whole life she'd been alone and it was difficult, sure, but it was also her way. She made her own money and found her own roof and her own food. And when she no longer wanted to live somewhere she simply left. Brent had met her in St. Louis, but she hadn't always lived there. She'd been north as far as Davenport and south as far as Memphis. She liked traveling on the riverboats. Her friends came and went, always leaving with giddy news of an engagement. She had never been jealous of them. She didn't need a man or a permanent home because she had herself and her freedom.
Then Brent had come and changed everything. He hadn't talked to her like any of the other men before him, hadn't squeezed her ass or waxed poetic about caring for her. He had sat across the table and talked to her. Not at her. Not down to her. He share with her his dreams. He wanted to become a titan of industry. He wanted to see strange, distant lands. And when she'd spoken her own dreams, he hadn't laughed. He hadn't told her a woman shouldn't want to own a business, or that it wasn't safe for someone like her to travel. He'd merely taken her hand and proposed that they travel together.
She understood why Brent had left. She despised him for it, but she understood, for it was the same impulse that kept her awake on nights like tonight. His restlessness was the reason she'd fallen for him in the first place, because it answered her own urge to just... move. Sinking onto the top stair of the porch, she pulled her knees close and hugged her body to ward off the chill, thinking back on that fated trip out west. She and Brent had both been unhappy. She'd buried her own despair beneath a veneer of love and joy over their "marriage" but she had been just as distressed as he. Her life-- the life she had known-- was over. If she was honest-- brutally, cruelly honest-- she'd admit that the only difference between her and Brent was that she loved Rebecca earlier. If their positions had been reversed and she hadn't felt the child growing inside her, hadn't been imbued by that fierce maternal love, she'd have turned tail and run as well.
So no, she hadn't expected to be happy here. She hadn't come to the ranch for contentment or pleasure. She'd come for Rebecca. She hadn't married Josh because she wanted a husband. She'd married him because she wanted her daughter to have a father. It was all so selfish, and she had trouble believing that this happiness she'd found was in any way her due.
Behind her, the door creaked open and she didn't bother to turn around. She'd heard his footsteps in the house and wasn't startled when he joined her on the porch. He sank down next to her, folding his arms over his raised knees.
"You okay?"
"I'm okay," she said, leaning into his warmth. He'd pulled on boots and a flannel shirt, but that was all. He wasn't even shivering, damn him.
"Did you want to be alone?" he asked, and she knew an affirmative answer wouldn't wound him. They were similar in that way-- sometimes they needed comfort and sometimes they needed quiet. When she had left the bed, she had needed quiet. Solitude. That had passed.
"No," she said honestly. "I'm okay, now."
"What were you thinking about?"
"I was thinking about how much I love it here," she said without hesitation. "How I didn't expect to love the ranch, or you," she added, resting her head on his shoulder to lessen the blow even though it was no secret. "But now I'm so happy. I love you, I love Rebecca. I love living here."
"You aren't bored?" he asked, and she loved him all the more for how well he knew her.
"Sometimes," she said truthfully. "My world is... small, you know? But I'm never bored on Thursdays. And I think when Rebecca gets older it will get even better."
"Would it..." he trailed off, and she tipped her head back to see his profile. He stared out at the moonlight, reflecting off the snow.
"Would what?" she asked, nudging his ribs with her elbow, and he grimaced.
"It's stupid."
"I doubt that."
Turning his head, he pressed a kiss to her forehead and rested his head briefly against hers. "I was just going to ask if maybe you would like to come... come work with me, sometime?"
"Work with you?" She couldn't keep the incredulity out of her voice, but she gentled her tone when he stiffened. "What do you mean? Work with you on the ranch?"
She could see the heat rising in his face, even in the silvery moonlight. "Well, yeah," lowering his gaze and speaking to the stairs. "You're getting pretty good in the saddle. I was thinking maybe Melissa could come out here once a week or so. Look after Reb and the house. And you could come ride with me. Not that what I do is so exciting, and the ranch isn't exactly its own territory, but it's bigger than the yard here and you had mentioned wanting to know more about the ranch and--"
"Yes!" she exclaimed, dislodging her blanket in order to throw her arms around his neck, planting a smattering of kisses on his heated cheek. "Yes that would be fabulous! Yes, yes, yes!"
He huffed out a breath of relief, a grin splitting his face. "Well, good," he said wryly, tucking the blanket back around her shoulders and tugging her into his side. "Truth is, all my Christmas presents sorta hinged on you wanting it. If you hadn't you'd have gotten whatever I could scrounge up at the last minute. New socks, maybe."
Excitement bubbled inside her, her restless jitters nudged out by the thrill of expectation. "What did you get me?"
"They're presents, sweetheart. It's supposed to be a surprise."
"I hate surprises."
"You love surprises."
"Fine," she pouted, leaning harder into him. She was beginning to shiver in earnest, and he rose without comment, tugging her to her feet at his side.
"Come on, then," he said, nudging her toward the door. "You'll do me no good as a ranch hand if you lose your toes to frostbite."
***So I'm starting to think about the rest of the books in this series. There's gonna be three more. Something Blue, Something New, and Something Old. GET IT?!?!? (It's subtle, I know, so PM me if you want me to explain it). Aaaaanyway, Gabe and Katherine's book is next obviously, and then Melissa gets hers with some mysterious outsider whose background is slowly coming together in my noggin. But the last book is an utter mystery. All I know about it is that it has to exist. Any ideas? What do you want to read about?***