Quick note of apology: For those who follow me as an author, it seems some may have received numerous notifications of changes to my profile within the span of a day-ish, which I imagine was quite tiresome. I know what caused it; won't happen again.
This chapter was a BEAR to write and took FOREVER; hope it still came out enjoyably! :) We pick up from the end of Ch. 1, with Nathan arriving home from his Christmas Eve mountain rescue, entering the house in a flurry of snow and wind.
— Chapter 2 —
Joy Breaks the Night
ADRIFT IN A DREAMY HAZE OF WARMTH, Elizabeth began to stir. Her front door opening and a clatter of howling wind roused her; a sense of arrival on the air.
Leaden, her eyelids struggled as she fought to extricate herself from the fuzzy cobwebs of dreamworld, unweaving the gossamer strands one by one.
"N-Nathan?" Eyes blurred with drowsiness, she could just make him out, coming in the house in a swirl of blowing snow, shrugging out of his battle-scarred coat of earthy suede.
Weathered Stetson tilted on his head, gunbelt riding low across his hips in a slash of aged leather, rugged boots braced as he quietly shut the door, and legs sheathed in dark dungarees; he looked every inch the sheriff. Tall. Imposing. A brawny ranginess to him.
"You're home!" Joy kissed her heart, breaking over her in equal parts relief and contentment. She wanted to launch herself into the security of his wide frame, feel his warm arms close about her with the surety of safe they always engendered in her. Her bulk weighed her down, hampering her wifely impulse. The cause was a prison of joy she wouldn't trade for all the gold in the world, but in this moment she simply wished to run to her husband, safely returned after hours in the altitude of a stormy mountain.
Nathan shrugged roughly out of his vest and unclipped the star of his office, its bronze gleaming dully as he laid it on the entry table. Divested of the camouflaging vest, his cambric shirt pulled wide across his shoulders, hinting at the power beneath.
Looking to her with an eager little light in his eyes, he toed off his snowy boots with barely concealed impatience and before they'd even hit the ground was coming across the floor to her, fast.
He knelt slowly before her. "Hey, sweetheart, I'm back," he whispered. "I'm sorry I woke you. Are you well?" His hand rested on the mound that concealed their child. "And our little miracle?"
Her pupils widened at the stir within her. Oh. Her eyes began to glow. "We're better now that you're back."
And directing him to evidential proof, she moved his hand front and center on her belly, where Nathan's baby had begun to dance in her womb at the sound of its father's voice.
"Feel that?" she asked breathlessly. "A certain someone is delighted you're home. This little peanut—quiet as a mouse for hours, but the instant your voice is heard, this starts up."
Something unraveled in Nathan's eyes.
He splayed palms and fingers wide over the waltz of their unborn baby, his hands resembling angel wings spread across the swell of her Henley-covered abdomen. Leaning low, he rested his head against her. "Daddy's home, baby. I missed you." His hands held a caress. "I'm sorry if I worried you, but you never left my mind while I was gone."
He pressed the gentlest of kisses between his spread hands and eased back only when the dance under his hands quieted, as if his child subsided with a curl of contentment at his words.
Elizabeth loved these moments, loved the warm, supportive strength of his hands on the heavy roundness of her pregnancy. Loved even more the way he lavished the purest, most unadulterated love on their unborn child. Never before had she watched a man fall in love, sight unseen. But watching Nathan fall ever deeper was one of her life's greatest delights.
"You think you love him now," Rosemary had told her the day she'd found out she was expecting, a knowing light in her eyes. "Just wait till you watch him as a father."
Rosemary had been right.
Elizabeth ran her hands down his arms, checking him. "You're unhurt?" she sought reassurance her eyes were not deceived, wrapping her hands around his wrists.
He gave it. "I'm unhurt. Just cold. Nothing a fire and some supper won't cure."
She stirred.
He pushed her back with gentle hands. "Ah, ah—no, you don't, madam. I'm a grown man, perfectly capable of getting my own food. Not to mention, in your condition"—he kissed her "condition" again and Elizabeth thought rather swoonily she could die a happy woman in that moment—"you're supposed to take it easy as much as possible."
"Getting your supper wouldn't exactly be strenuous," she called as he moved toward the kitchen, cat-like in his stocking feet.
"You can fix my supper if you let me carry you into the kitchen and fix it from my arms," he retorted, tossing conditions back over his shoulder.
"Nathan!" she protested, but she was laughing. She knew when she was defeated.
"I win." He was serenely, tauntingly calm.
She stuck her tongue out at his back.
"Saw that," he murmured without turning around.
"Mmm, and what are you going to do about it, sheriff?" she sassed.
A slow tease of a smile came back at her, his eyes gleaming. "I'll pillow fight you later."
She burst out laughing. "You won't let me get you a dinner plate because of my condition, but you'll engage in a pillow fight?"
"I'll pull out the feathers and toss them at you one by one. It'll be our pregnancy version of a pillow fight."
Defenseless, she groaned and covered her face with her hands. "I see sassy Nathan came back from the mountain tonight."
"Would you prefer a different Nathan?"
"If I could get tender, romantic Nathan back. . . ?" she hinted.
His footsteps sounded. "Oh, romantic Nathan is coming."
Startled, she peeked through her fingers. Too late. He was already before her somehow—drat those cat feet of his!—and pulling her hands from her face. Simmering blue eyes greeted her.
"Loveliest wife," he began, "wouldst thou condescend to join me, thy worshipful husband, in humble repast as we sit before a warm fire on this chilly midwinter's eve?"
"Nathan, are you asking me if I want a bite to eat?"
"I am, but in the most romantic way possible, as instructed."
"You should probably have a rose to proffer then. All the great romantic heroes do."
His eyes darkened. "For you, I would find a winter rose."
Her heart floundered helplessly.
This man would kill her with his sweet intensity one of these days.
On either side of her, his arms trapped her as he leaned down on the arms on the chair, playfulness vanishing. "Snow or briar would not stop me, dearest. . . loveliest. . . Elizabeth."
Dearest, loveliest Elizabeth. Her husband in romance mode was a mortal danger to the proper functioning of her literature-loving heart. Heaven help her if he quoted any more of Mr. Darcy's lines from Pride and Prejudice. She decided a kiss was romantic Nathan's best reward, something he seemed firmly in agreement with as she pressed a fingertip kiss to his jaw.
"Now go, romantic Nathan," she pushed at his shoulders ineffectually. "I hear hungry Nathan calling from the kitchen."
He didn't budge. "Nice distraction, Mrs. Grant, but not so fast. Hungry Nathan wants to know if he's dealing with a hungry Elizabeth." He searched her eyes. "Shall I bring you a little something?"
She laughed. "I'll have to clean my teeth again!" She didn't know what she was protesting against, as the truth was, she was rather peckish. "A little snack sounds lovely, Nathan, thank you."
He touched her cheek. "Give me five minutes."
Five minutes turned into ten, but the result was worth every minute. A tray of hot buttered toast, delicate French cheeses, and chilled dill-and-lemon seared and smoked salmon was brought out to cover the surface of the elegant coffee table. Their Advent wreath was transported from its place on the kitchen table to join the tray—and a fresh pot of tea Nathan had brewed.
She could smell it—the warm, bright scent, wafting about her in swirls. She dragged in a lungful. It was homey, intoxicating. "Mmm," she groaned. "Oh, Nathan."
Slices of dried apples and oranges, a drop of honey for sweetening, cinnamon for a warming spice; the tea was her most recent, and frequent, craving during the wintry month of December. The secret ingredient was dried apricot slices, mellowing and rounding out the flavor profiles.
Still brewing, a wavering trail of steam puffed from the teapot's daintily curved spout. A softly romantic teacup in shades of lavender floral sat alongside. Butted against her teacup nestled Nathan's rugged mug.
Elizabeth looked over at him with soft eyes.
Dr. Faith Cantrell had recommended she avoid caffeine during her expectancy, and Nathan had decided if she couldn't have it, neither would he—a sacrifice she knew he made only for her as coffee was his favorite beverage, and tea. . . was not. But after nine months of her homemade tea concoctions, he'd admitted with faux begrudgement that her teas weren't so bad.
Folding their hands, they quietly prayed over their late-night repast. "Bless us, O Lord, and these Thy gifts, which we are about to receive, from Thy bounty, through Christ Our Lord, Amen."
Nathan struck a match and leaned forward. One by one, he lit four of the candles set around the ring of the Advent wreath—three purple, one rose—until four steady flames flickered atop tapered beeswax. The Christmas candle—white, to be lit on Christmas day—remained in the center, solitary and unlit, awaiting its time.
Softly, they sang the words of the ancient Advent hymn, their voices rising in harmonious blend as they sent heavenward the slow, poignant lyrics of longing for the Redeemer.
"O come, O come, Emmanuel,
And ransom captive Israel;
That mourns in lonely exile here,
Until the Son of God appear.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel."
On they sang, the first four verses rising and falling in achingly sweet melody, piercing the quiet night with prayerful poignancy. The fifth and final verse, much like the unlit wick of the fifth candle, awaited the morrow, when one would be sung and one would flicker into flame for the celebration of Christmas day.
Nathan ate quickly while she nibbled, then set his plate aside to draw her into his arms atop the spindle-legged settee where she'd moved to join him. He leaned back in recline against the cushions to rest her across his chest. Elizabeth let her head relax into his shoulder with an unconscious sigh, satisfied with her snack of toast and cheese. Her hands curled around a wispily steaming teacup.
Softly, Nathan undid her night braid with experienced hands and sifted her hair through his fingers, watching its rich fall highlight amber in the firelight. It was a favorite nightly pastime of theirs and one she never tired indulging.
Deep inside the most secret chamber of her womanly heart, she thrilled to the sight of his endless fascination with her hair, watching him at it when she thought he was unaware, her eyes the sweetest caress.
"So," he murmured, "tell me about your day, sweetheart. How did the children like The Tailor of Gloucester?"
She lit up. "Oh, Nathan, they loved it. You should have seen their faces as they listened. I was so happy they seemed to take worthwhile lessons from it. Sweet little Opal got rather upset at the nature of mice and cats, but Anna is just so good with her."
"Her Whiskers never was a mouser, so I imagine the Simpkin's plotting to catch the tailor's mouse family was distressing to her."
She nodded, the movement brushing her forehead against his chin, just starting to roughen with the day's stubble. "That's right, I should have thought of that before reading it to her. But Nathan, I do think Anna could be either a diplomat, if women could, or a teacher. She's so skilled at handling crises."
He chuckled. "I think she's got a few years left to decide. Let's see what God can do. Did Timmy like the story?"
"He did, and you know how thoughtful and mannerly he is. He thanked me for the book in such an adult manner it took me aback. He's been coming to the library since he was knee-high to a grasshopper, and sometimes. . ." Her voice drifted. "Well, sometimes it catches me off guard how much they've all grown."
"They say it happens too fast. Blink, and they're nursing their first broken heart, asking to open a bank account. . ."
"Uff." She turned her face in his shirt briefly, hiding from the possibility. "I don't want to think about that."
"So we shan't." He buried his nose in her hair. "We'll take it as it comes. Our little one isn't even out of the womb yet. We won't rush it. We've time."
He gathered her minutely closer, cradling hands lost in the hair at the back of her head. They stayed locked thus until she curled her fingers into his shirtfront, secure and serene with him. He eased back, just enough to see her features. His hands moved to her face, scantily drifting thumbs over her cheeks.
"Happy Anniversary, true love of mine." Husky, whispered, the sound the sole tonality breaking the fire-crackled quiet.
"Happy Anniversary, Nathan." She leaned her cheek into the cup of his palm. "These past five years have been the happiest and most blessed of my life."
He bowed his forehead to hers and waggled his head. "Maybe also sometimes the five most frustrating?"
"Only sometimes," she assured him with puckish solemnity.
His lazy-lidded eyes lifted, unmasking eyes glinting with silent mirth. "Then I'll have to see what I can do about making the next five regularly frustrating."
Her head nudged him playfully. "Just you try."
"Ever your obedient servant, ma'am," he obliged blandly.
"Oh, you." Feigning force, she thumped his chest with her hand. It didn't budge, but he pretended to cringe with hurt nonetheless. She stifled a chortle and settled down against his shoulder again as his hands returned to the long strands of hair he'd freed.
Several long moments of pure contentment passed till she stirred in his arms. "Nathan," she murmured as he idly stroked her hair, "tell me what happened up there in the mountain tonight."
He shook his head. "The weather in the pass was brutal," he said quietly. "Bill and I were on our way back from Pine Gap when the squall hit. We were seeking shelter when we spotted an overturned stagecoach, run off the path in the storm."
Elizabeth craned her head back to see him. After five years of living with him, she recognized that tone of voice. He was holding something back. She knew that spot of mountain pass; she had a good idea what it was. "The driver?" she asked quietly.
He shook his head wordlessly.
She stroked his cheek. "I'm sorry, sweetheart." She replaced her fingers with her lips and lingered against the hard plane of his cheek—soundless, achingly compassionate; a stilled kiss of heartfelt consolation.
She knew how much losing anyone bothered Nathan, even when the loss of life was that of a stranger. This wasn't his first loss, it wouldn't be his last. His empathy was one of the reasons she'd fallen for him all those years ago.
There was a beat of silence as he leaned into her kiss, eyes shut as he accepted the consolation her touch offered. Finally, he continued. "Bill and I found a married couple inside. The wife looked due any day and the trauma of the crash had sent her into early labor."
She gasped, eyes widening. "Oh, no! Is she—are they—?!"
"They're well," he reassured her. "I got everyone to the boarding house and left her in the capable care of both Dr. Carson and Dr. Faith." His eyes grew unfocused, remembering. "It would have been a much different case if it hadn't been for another traveling couple who came along with a flatbed wagon we could transport the wife down in."
"What were their names?" she asked, eyes half-closed at the languorous feeling his finger-combing her hair induced.
"Well," he rested his cheek atop the crown of her head, "the first couple we found were a Fiona and Lucas Bouchard, and the couple with the miracle wagon were Lillian and Sam Tremblay."
"I'd like to meet them, and Mrs. Bouchard's baby when she's up to it."
"They'd like that. I strongly suspect it'll be babies soon, though." His fingers continued their lulling ministration in her hair, against her scalp. "Mrs. Tremblay was also heavily expectant, and if I'm not mistaken, looked about as due as you are."
She smiled, no more than a long, drowsy upturn of her lips. "Hope Valley may have a veritable population boom between the three of us."
"'Population boom,'" he laughed lowly into her hair.
Her smile lengthened in response. "What were they like, these two new couples?"
His chest shook under her with his chuckle. "Miss nosy," he teased.
"Tell me," she insisted, setting her teacup aside on its saucer and giving her eyelashes a long flutter at him for good measure.
"You're not fighting fair." But he didn't seem the least bit upset at her unfair tactic. "Alright, my beguiling wife, I will tell you. Mrs. Bouchard struck me as plucky and focused, and her husband tender and concerned over her. Mr. Tremblay is observant and proactive, and very protective for his wife whom he clearly adores. She's brave and graceful and sweetly intelligent. You'd like them."
She hummed in wordless agreement. "Did you invite them to the town Christmas dinner tomorrow night?"
He nodded. "And to church in the morning, but with all these babies due, who knows who will make it to what. Speaking of morning, perhaps we—"
"Nooo," she cut him off sweetly. "I'm not ready for bed, Nathan." She twisted to look into his eyes. "I want to see Christmas in. With you."
He gave her a searching look, then gave in with a smile. "Then I guess I'd better get this fire built up to last us through midnight." He dropped a third kiss of the night on her belly, then, lingering, on her forehead. "I can't have the two people dearest to me in the world catching a chill."
She waited till he'd lit the dozen plus short white candles on the tree and added three more split logs to the fire, then opened her arms to him. "I can think of a better way I'd like to stay warm," she said simply.
He settled down beside her and eased her arms over his shoulders in one seamless move before making a cradle of his arms and bodily lifting her onto his lap. She cuddled in deeper, snuggling her head into her favorite spot under his chin.
His lips pressed against her temple. "Like this?" he murmured.
"Like this," she sighed in perfect contentment.
He chuckled softly. Stretching an arm behind her, he snagged a blanket from the back of the settee and wrapped it over them, making sure they were both covered under its spacious expanse.
Elizabeth shifted to accommodate the fullness of their babe, then tucked her sock clad feet up into the warm enclosure. She had vaguely suspected many things about Nathan's arms, but prior to marrying him she'd never known the safety and home his arms would instill in her, would be for her.
"You're wearing my old Henley." Idly, he fingered the frayed neckline. She glanced up. There were blue lights darkening the recesses of his eyes. She loved the relaxed timbre in his quiet voice. "You only wear this when you're anxious."
Her eyes were guileless and more enchanting than she knew as she softly admitted, "It feels like a hug from you. I wear it when I need to feel your presence near me. When I'm worried, it comforts me; when you're away, it makes me feel you're close."
His gaze seemed to stagger a bit at her admission, but he merely snugged an unhurried kiss into her palm without speaking.
Words were immaterial.
The fire licked at the logs, ebbing and flowing in flickers and shadows across the room.
The hours waned as they alternated singing carols, whispering softly, and simply sitting together in silence, enjoying the warm, comfortable ambiance of the firelight and tree, glowing with lit candles like so many golden stars in the night sky. Outside, snow fell in lacy sparseness and sudden gusts of wind barreled down from the mountains to rattle the windowpanes and make them glad to be snug indoors with each other.
Elizabeth roused herself to glance at the mantel clock above the fireplace, shrouded in balsam and dainty silver bells. "It's almost midnight, sweetheart," she whispered. "Shall we?"
Nathan stirred, carefully easing out from under her. "One minute."
His long legs made short work of the distance to the graceful half-moon table on the wall left of the fireplace which hosted their Nativity display. Quietly sliding the center drawer open, he pulled out a small bundle in a gold silk bag, loosened the matching drawstring, and under her smiling eyes, with quiet reverence, placed the Baby Jesus in the crèche as the clock tolled twelve times.
"Happy Birthday, Baby Jesus," Elizabeth whispered, trailing after him to lean low and kiss the feet of the Divine Infant, bare and peeping out from His swaddling. "Thank you for the gift of Your Birth."
"And in honor of that Birth and our anniversary. . ." Nathan sounded so much closer than she remembered him being.
Lips parting in a questioning smile of surprise, she turned to see what had caused him to move so near. Her hand flew to her throat. "Oh!"
He was at her side, so close he could wrap an arm about her waist, and in the narrow space between them, he was holding up a square little black velvet box.
~.~
A/N: Hope you enjoyed this little domestic chapter. It was a different vibe from the first chapter's snow rescue, but I wanted some time to just sink cozily into N&E's home life. The rest of the gang will return in Ch. 4. ;) I hope this representation of their home life felt true to them, and satisfying. Your comments are what make it all worthwhile; so thank you ahead of time for your warm past or future feedback. Hugs!
(Due to length/time constraints, I broke the planned contents of this chapter in half. The rest/Ch. 3 will be up within the week and we'll pick up where this left off, so you'll see what that anniversary gift was. I wouldn't leave you without an answer to that. ;)