第 25 页

A fresh batch of nerves attacked her. She pressed a trembling hand to her midriff, hoping pressure would calm the roiling in her insides. She wanted tonight to be perfect. For Bear.

She surveyed her handiwork with a keen, critical eye, and a warm sense of accomplishment chased away her anxiety. She'd transformed Joe Ladue's sawmill into a cozy home away from home.

In the far left corner stood a huge fir tree, gaily clad in loops of popped corn and strands of frozen cranberries. Moose-tallow candles winked from the limbs, casting a light, golden glow almost to the center of the room. Scattered beneath the tree were dozens of boxes wrapped in white mosquito netting. Each box held a child's toy; a wooden animal carved by Father Michaels or a doll made by Devon out of her summer petticoats and stuffed with more netting.

In the back right corner was Joe's potbellied stove-the first in Dawson City. On its surface pots of cinnamon-spiced apple cider simmered alongside a large pan of fragrant bear gravy.

Devon closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, savoring the welcome smells of Christmas: cinnamon, apples, evergreen, and candles. She thought about her sister, Colleen, and felt a sharp pang of homesickness.

A sudden, aching loneliness consumed her. Bear was gone; Stone Man hated her. She was so alone in this hard land. Oh, God...

Don't think about it. If you do, you'll dissolve into a puddle of mush.

She jerked her quivering chin upright. Swiping the mist from her eyes, she glanced at the window. A small cutout in the log cabin's west wall, the window was made up of empty lightning jars jammed together and chinked with gobs of moss and mud. Boughs of aromatic spruce and fir hung regally across the window top and down its sides. In the corners, holding the evergreens together, were two big white linen bows.

In the center of it all was the table. Or rather, the tables. Sixteen of them, appropriated from every tent in the valley and pushed together to form one long banquet board. Four red wool blankets made up the tablecloth.

Dozens of platters of food ran down the table's center. There were two huge haunches of bear meat roasted to perfection; six bowls of previously frozen whitefish swimming in spiced moose tallow; dozens of squirrel pies; bowl after bowl of canned potatoes, turnips, and carrots; a huge pan of fresh biscuits flanked by rows of blueberry preserves; canned-peach cobblers; and pumpkin pies. The only thing missing were the plates.

A knock at the door shattered Devon's concentration. Oh my God. Stiffening, she wiped the emotion from her face and smoothed the invisible wrinkles from her snow-white shirtwaist. Her hands ran a quick check of the Roman knot curled at the nape of her neck. Satisfied that she looked passable, she walked briskly to the door and opened it.

Two dozen miners and several Indian families huddled outside the door. All she could see were hoods and grins.

Cornstalk surged through the crowd. "Evening, Miss Devon," he said through chattering teeth."I brung my plate and fork, just like you asked."

"Me, too," Digger chimed in.

"Me, too," came the chorus of a dozen voices.

Devon relaxed. She had nothing to worry about. Not really. Tonight would be a rousing success.

She could feel it.

"Come in," she said, stepping aside.

Cornstalk bounded through the doorway and stopped dead. "Holy cow!"

Digger rammed into Cornstalk and bounced backward, tumbling into the people behind him. The crowd collapsed like bowling pins.

"Get moving, you goddamn gnat!" boomed Midas's voice from the rear of the pile."It's colder'n a witch's tit out here."

Cornstalk plodded forward, his round-eyed gaze fastened on the Christmas tree.

"Oh my God..." Digger breathed as he, too, stepped into the circle of holiday light.

Midas elbowed his way through the crowd. "What in the hell is all the..." He hurtled to the forefront and came to a crashing halt. His narrowed, angry eyes bugged to the size of platters as he scanned the room. Light radiated from the Christmas tree, dancing atop the foodstuffs and cavorting gaily along the sawdust-covered floor. "Holy shee-it."

He looked up at Devon, and their eyes locked. She saw a softening in his gaze. Before either could speak, the crowd lurched forward, sweeping the old miner toward the table.

One by one Devon took the men's plates, carefully placing them on her red-draped holiday table.

She put the children closest to the tree and the miners closest to the barrel of hootch she'd made.

She shuddered at the thought of actually drinking that stuff. It had been fermenting less than a month and consisted of water, molasses, a few dried blueberries, and a plop of sourdough.

She wrenched her thoughts back to Stone Man. She couldn't help waiting for his entrance. Time and again her anxious gaze turned toward the door, as if mere wanting could make the portal open. The door remained closed against the driving cold outside.

Around her the party was in full swing. At the tree a half-dozen Indian children were clustered together, pointing excitedly at the presents. Their high-pitched giggles spiked the smoke-filled air. Miners huddled around the hootch table, drinking greedily. The dull roar of their voices, punctuated by spitting, laughing, and the clank of tin hitting tin, filled the room.

Her party was a perfect success. Not a person here was unhappy or lonely or thinking of home.

She should have been thrilled. But she wasn't. She was miserable. Of all the people she'd invited, only one hadn't shown up.

She should have known.

A warm arm curled around her shoulders and squeezed. " 'Tis a grand party, lass. Just grand."

When Devon looked down, Father Michaels shot her a wink. "And 'tis the best hootch I've e'er tasted."

"Thanks, Father. I'm glad everyone's having such a good time."

The old man's eyes narrowed perceptively. "Ye don't sound happy."

Devon pushed a strand of flyaway hair out of her face. "I suppose I'm rather tired."

"I see," he answered in a tone that belied his words. Reaching behind Devon, he grabbed his parka from one of the hooks in the wall and shrugged into the knee-length garment. "Well, IVe got an errand to run; 'tis right back I'll be."

"Hurry back, Father," she said absentmindedly. "We're going to eat soon."

After the priest left she glanced around the room. Everyone seemed to be having a wonderful time.

Loneliness resurfaced, consuming her. God, she missed Bear so much. His death had left a hole in her heart.

J88 Oh, Stone Man, she thought, why didn't you come? I need you so desperately tonight...

"For goodness' sake," she muttered to herself. She was acting like an idiot. He wasn't here, and that was that. Her tears certainly wouldn't draw him.

Forcing her shoulders square, she maneuvered through the happy crowd toward Midas. She stopped beside the crusty old miner. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she tapped him on the shoulder.

"I'm talkin', can't you see?" he flung over his shoulder.

She tapped him again. "Midas?"

When he turned around Devon had to catch her breath. Why, it didn't even look like Midas. A bright, happy smile had transformed his face. When he looked up at Devon, amazingly, his smile didn't die.

"Yeah? Whaddya want?"

"Could I talk to you a moment... privately?"

"Sure," he said, following her to an uncrowded corner of the room. Alone, they faced each other hesitantly.

"Midas, I was wondering if you'd consent to play Santa Claus tonight. For the children."

Midas's rosy cheeks paled. It was a moment before he spoke, and when he did his gravelly voice was strained.

"You want me... me to play St. Nick?"

"If you would."

Warmth seeped into Devon's blood at the telltale moisture shining in the old man's bloodshot eyes. He cleared his throat. "Guess I'm about the only man here who prefers a frozen beard to an icy razor blade."

He didn't fool her this time. It was too late; she'd seen the emotion behind his angry facade. She smiled. A man who was touched by the prospect of helping children couldn't be all bad. No matter how hard he tried to be.

She laid her hand on his sleeve. "I didn't ask you because you have a beard. I asked you because... well, I thought there was a soft heart under all that grit and fuss, and I thought you might enjoy it."

"Ha!" He snorted derisively. "Don't go around sayin' such a thing, either."

Devon smiled. "I won't."

He shifted his weight and cleared his throat again. "Uh... thanks. I-I haven't played Santa since my boy was the size of a whiskey bottle."

"I didn't know-"

"You still don't."

She decided it was time to change the subject. "IVe got some flour to powder your beard and a pair of big red long Johns. Find me after dinner."

"Okay. Dev?"

"Yes?"

"You got another guest." He grinned then cocked his head toward the door. "Over there. Big man.

Sorta solitary."

Devon clasped her hands together to keep them from shaking. There was only one person who wasn't here. Tilting her chin to a proud angle, she turned around.

In the doorway, standing alongside Father Michaels, was Stone Man.

He did not look happy.

Chapter Seventeen

Stone Man nodded curtly in her direction then promptly turned his back on her.

Devon sighed. Another battle. And on this of all nights. Infusing steel into her spine, she walked briskly to the center of the room and clapped her hands, calling for attention. Almost immediately the revelers stopped what they were doing and turned to look at her.

"Let's eat, shall we?" she said.

A cheer erupted through the throng. They raced to the table, engaging in a quick game of musical chairs before taking their seats. Two chairs were left vacant: one at the head of the table and one at the foot.

Eyeing Devon warily, Stone Man seated himself at the head of the table. She swept past him and took her place at the other end. The red table yawned between them. It was a distance too far for Devon and not nearly far enough for Stone Man.

Father Michaels raised his bony hands for silence. The boisterous crowd quieted immediately.

"I'm thinkin' a prayer would sound good."

"That would be nice, Father," Devon said, bowing her head.

"Heavenly Father, we thank ye for this wondrous bounty ye've put on our tables this night.

We're-"

"Get on with it, Father!"

"Yeah, my food's coolin'."

Father gave a short sigh. It wasn't much of a flock he had.

Black sheep they were, nigh every one, and hungry grazers at that. "Thank ye, God." He shot Devon a quick wink. "Pass that squirrel pie, lassie."

Throughout the meal Devon was aware of Stone Man's eyes on her, but whenever she looked up he glanced away. His pointed rejection stabbed like a knife. God, she thought, we're so very far apart. How would she ever scale the thick, impenetrable wall he kept between them?

It would take a miracle to bring them together.

When the meal was finished-and it seemed to last forever-Devon rose swiftly and began organizing the leftovers into take-home portions for each guest.

Midas sidled up to her and tugged on her sleeve. "Is it time?"

She had to bite back a smile at his eagerness. "Yes. The costume is in Joe's cache outside. Here's the flour."

A few minutes later the cabin door swung open, smacking into the wooden wall with an earsplitting crack. Everyone stopped midsentence and turned. Snow swirled through the open door, dancing like a thousand specks of light above the sawdust floor. Outside the wind whistled and howled.

A potbellied, bowlegged Santa swaggered into the room, leaving a trail of flour in his wake. A gap-toothed grin stretched through the powdered beard and danced in his watery gray eyes.

For a moment Devon actually forgot it was Midas. He looked so different. So... happy.

She smiled. Tears formed in the corners of her eyes, and she wiped them away absentmindedly. I hope you're seeing this, Bear. Merry Christmas, friend.

The Indian children stood clustered together around the tree, holding hands and staring at Midas.

Their brown eyes were bright with wonder.

"Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas," Santa hollered.

A wild whispering erupted among the children. They pushed into a tight little circle, their small, black-haired heads bowed together. Talking furiously, they took turns pointing at the man in the red long Johns. Finally one of the younger children, a boy of about six, pushed forward. Wait, Johnsey-"

The little one ignored his friends' warnings. He marched right up to Midas. "Father Michaels tole us about St. Nick. Are you him?" he demanded.

Midas dropped down to one knee. "I sure am."

The minute the words were out of his mouth, Santa was swarmed. The children were all over him, giggling, teasing, testing his beard, poking his stomach.

"Whoa, kids, whoa," Santa said, laughing. "I got a job to do. I got some presents for you."

It was now or never. Devon glanced quickly around the room. Everyone was caught up in the excitement of Santa distributing gifts. Everyone, that was, except Stone Man. He was sitting by himself in the corner, eating the last piece of pumpkin pie.

She reached under the table beside her and grabbed the present she'd stowed there earlier in the day. Then, steeling her spine, she briskly crossed the room.

He heard the little click, click, click of her heels and knew he was in trouble. Burying his chin in the soft folds of his flannel shirt, he offered a quick-and hopeful-prayer that she'd walk on by.

She didn't, of course, and after a long silence he forced himself to look up.

She dropped to her knees in front of him. For the first time in days he found himself face to face with her, and the effect made it difficult to breathe. Her eyes were greener than he remembered, her skin paler. The soft, Christmasy scent of her filled his nostrils.

He quickly cleared his throat. "What do you want?"

Pain flitted across her face, and he felt like the idiot he was. Yet he couldn't trust himself to be nice to her.