Free A Victorian Christmas by Catherine Palmer Page B

turned to him.
    “Your arm is better now,” she said.
    He nodded. Joining her, he sat in the chair near the stove. She led them in a brief prayer; then she stirred at her soup. “I reckon you’ll be wanting to head on out,” she said.
    His hand paused, spoon halfway to his mouth. “Out?”
    “Back to Phoenix . . . or wherever.”
    “Are you running me off?”
    She sipped at her soup. “I won’t be around to tend you after today,” she said. “I’m going to town. I have things to do.”
    “Things?”
    “Christmas things.”
    They ate in strained silence. Finally Hyatt cleared his throat. “I guess I always knew this time would come. I thank you for your care of me. I owe you my life.”
    “You don’t owe me a thing. I’ve done what any Christian woman should.”
    “My angel.”
    “Don’t call me that!” She blinked back the unexpected tears that stung her eyes. “I’ve failed—failed at what I thought I should do for you. I don’t have the strength of heart my father had. I’m weak. Willful.”
    “Human?” He reached toward her, but she drew back.
    She couldn’t stay with him. Not a moment longer. If she did, she would be the one confessing—blurting out how much joy he had brought, how deeply she had come to care for him, how empty her heart would feel when he went away. She pushed back from the table and stood.
    “I’m going now,” she said. “I won’t see you again.”
    “Wait—” He caught her hand. “Where are you going?”
    “To visit Papa’s grave for a few minutes. Then I’ll be leaving for town. Old Longbones is saddling my horse. He’s getting one ready for you, too. You’re welcome to take it—my gift.”
    “Filly—” He followed her to the door.
    “Please don’t.” She held out a hand, touching him lightly on the chest. “Give me this time alone.”
    Before he could restrain her, she hurried out of the cabin and flew down the steps toward the path that led to the lonely grave. Tears flowing now, she lifted her heavy skirts and ran until the chill air squeezed her breath, and her heart hammered in her chest. When the little granite stone came into view, she fell on her knees and buried her face in her hands.
    I love him, Lord. I love him! Make me strong enough to let him go.

    Hyatt strode down the muddy path, his conviction growing with every step. Filly was wrong! She had not failed her father’s memory. Strength and kindness lived in her heart. Her tender ministrations had taught Hyatt more than Filly would ever know. For the first time in his life, he understood what it meant to truly care about another human being—no matter her wealth, her education, her pedigree, or her circumstance.
    As he marched after her, he hardly noticed the bright blue sky or the green juniper and piñon branches that stretched toward it. He didn’t care that his boots were caked with mud and the sleeves of his borrowed shirt barely came to his wrists. He didn’t feel the chill wind, and he gave the ache in his injured arm no heed. Pride had held him in its bondage—pride that informed him he was too good for a prospector’s daughter. But now he knew he had important business. Business he should have taken care of before now.
    “Filly?” He spotted her crumpled on the ground by a smooth gray headstone. “I have to talk to you.”
    She swung around. “Hyatt.” Coming to her feet, she motioned him away. “Don’t come here. Please. Go back to the cabin. I can’t talk to you. Not anymore.”
    “Filly, wait.” He caught her arm as she brushed past him. “There’s something I must say to you.”
    “No, Hyatt. Old Longbones is waiting. I’m expected in town.”
    “Listen to me.” He gripped her arms and forced her to stop. Turning her toward him, he met her eyes. She had been crying— and he sensed that this time her tears had little to do with her father’s death. If he was right— Dear God, let me be right —she felt exactly as he did. If she accepted him, he