A Grand Teton Sleigh Ride: Four Generations of Wyoming Ranchers Celebrate Love at Christmas by Elizabeth Goddard and Lynette Sowell Page B
Authors: Elizabeth Goddard and Lynette Sowell
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her. “Mr. Tolliver is taking my bags to the inn, but I thought I would stop here first.”
Emily’s gaze bored into him. “William?”
“Ah, Emily Covington, this is Amelia Clark.”
“Good afternoon.” Amelia’s gaze traveled from Emily’s braid, her hat askew, until it settled on the hem of her trousers and her boots’ toes. “How do you do?”
“Very well, thank you.” Emily inclined her head briefly.
“I’m William’s fiancée.”
“I see. I wasn’t aware William had a fiancée.” Emily’s voice held the slightest edge. Her eyes held a hint of white-blue lightning that only Will could recognize. She nodded at him. “Mr. Adams, we’ll see you next Friday at the ranch, if not at church service on Sunday.”
She left, allowing a fresh blast of cold air into the office.
Emily knew she shouldn’t be angry. Yet she feared the piles of snow might melt as she passed them on the way to the hitching rail. Cinnamon tugged on the lead.
“Hang on, Cinnamon. We’ll be out of here, lickety-split.” She slung the lead over the saddle horn before gathering the reins and sticking her foot in the stirrup then swinging up onto Cinnamon’s back. She ought to have done the errands first, and she’d be on her way back home. But no, she had to ride to the general store yet and get the shopping done.
Fiancée. He’d never mentioned a fiancée to her, not during the months he’d been in Jackson. If he was engaged, surely he’d have mentioned it to someone in Jackson?
She allowed her anger to burn out as she exhaled. Thankfully, Cinnamon’s moments of friskiness were over, for now anyway. She nodded to the Olsens, passing by on their sleigh, the one with the cushioned seats. The couple had been her parents’ friends since before she was born, yet they still exchanged glances as if they’d been courting for mere weeks.
She hadn’t seen glances like that between Will and Amelia, but if he’d found his match, she would wish him well. No matter that since the night of his rescue in the hills, she’d scarcely been able to keep him out of her mind. Well, she’d let the thoughts go.
All this time, all these years, she’d spurned the attentions of eligible men in Jackson. There went one now, tipping his hat to her as he rode by. A woman had to have standards, something her mother always told her. Pa didn’t say much about her lack of finding a husband, but as the years ticked along, she imagined Pa had to be a bit concerned. Twenty-eight on her next birthday, and she was a bit “long in the tooth,” as the whisper had come from the next aisle in the store one day.
They plodded through the mixture of slush and mud, all the way to the livery, where Emily would keep Cinnamon while she shopped in the store. Mother needed a few things and the weather was good, so Emily could cover the miles back and forth from town without a problem. Today, she’d take the dogs out for a run before supper.
She made quick work at getting Cinnamon settled in a stall then headed for the store. Some salt, other spices, and a sack of flour. Mother intended to begin baking soon, for Thanksgiving next week then Christmas after that.
Emily entered the general store, welcomed by a blast of warmth from the cast-iron stove.
“Howdy.” Tom, the shopkeeper, looked up from his place at the counter. “See you made it in on this fine day.”
“Yes, sir. Mother needs a few things, so I offered to come to town.” She wandered over toward the bolts of cloth and touched a deep burgundy muslin. It would make a lovely skirt to go along with her favorite shirtwaist for Sunday mornings. She could always make something out of denim, a split skirt, which would be ladylike and yet more practical than the pretty muslin in front of her.
“The cloth’s new, came on one of the most recent shipments. How much do you want?”
“None today, but thank you. I’d best get my list taken care of, Tom.”
“You just say the word, and I’ll get
Emily’s gaze bored into him. “William?”
“Ah, Emily Covington, this is Amelia Clark.”
“Good afternoon.” Amelia’s gaze traveled from Emily’s braid, her hat askew, until it settled on the hem of her trousers and her boots’ toes. “How do you do?”
“Very well, thank you.” Emily inclined her head briefly.
“I’m William’s fiancée.”
“I see. I wasn’t aware William had a fiancée.” Emily’s voice held the slightest edge. Her eyes held a hint of white-blue lightning that only Will could recognize. She nodded at him. “Mr. Adams, we’ll see you next Friday at the ranch, if not at church service on Sunday.”
She left, allowing a fresh blast of cold air into the office.
Emily knew she shouldn’t be angry. Yet she feared the piles of snow might melt as she passed them on the way to the hitching rail. Cinnamon tugged on the lead.
“Hang on, Cinnamon. We’ll be out of here, lickety-split.” She slung the lead over the saddle horn before gathering the reins and sticking her foot in the stirrup then swinging up onto Cinnamon’s back. She ought to have done the errands first, and she’d be on her way back home. But no, she had to ride to the general store yet and get the shopping done.
Fiancée. He’d never mentioned a fiancée to her, not during the months he’d been in Jackson. If he was engaged, surely he’d have mentioned it to someone in Jackson?
She allowed her anger to burn out as she exhaled. Thankfully, Cinnamon’s moments of friskiness were over, for now anyway. She nodded to the Olsens, passing by on their sleigh, the one with the cushioned seats. The couple had been her parents’ friends since before she was born, yet they still exchanged glances as if they’d been courting for mere weeks.
She hadn’t seen glances like that between Will and Amelia, but if he’d found his match, she would wish him well. No matter that since the night of his rescue in the hills, she’d scarcely been able to keep him out of her mind. Well, she’d let the thoughts go.
All this time, all these years, she’d spurned the attentions of eligible men in Jackson. There went one now, tipping his hat to her as he rode by. A woman had to have standards, something her mother always told her. Pa didn’t say much about her lack of finding a husband, but as the years ticked along, she imagined Pa had to be a bit concerned. Twenty-eight on her next birthday, and she was a bit “long in the tooth,” as the whisper had come from the next aisle in the store one day.
They plodded through the mixture of slush and mud, all the way to the livery, where Emily would keep Cinnamon while she shopped in the store. Mother needed a few things and the weather was good, so Emily could cover the miles back and forth from town without a problem. Today, she’d take the dogs out for a run before supper.
She made quick work at getting Cinnamon settled in a stall then headed for the store. Some salt, other spices, and a sack of flour. Mother intended to begin baking soon, for Thanksgiving next week then Christmas after that.
Emily entered the general store, welcomed by a blast of warmth from the cast-iron stove.
“Howdy.” Tom, the shopkeeper, looked up from his place at the counter. “See you made it in on this fine day.”
“Yes, sir. Mother needs a few things, so I offered to come to town.” She wandered over toward the bolts of cloth and touched a deep burgundy muslin. It would make a lovely skirt to go along with her favorite shirtwaist for Sunday mornings. She could always make something out of denim, a split skirt, which would be ladylike and yet more practical than the pretty muslin in front of her.
“The cloth’s new, came on one of the most recent shipments. How much do you want?”
“None today, but thank you. I’d best get my list taken care of, Tom.”
“You just say the word, and I’ll get
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