A Fortune's Children's Christmas by Barbara Boswell, Lisa Jackson, Linda Turner Read Free Book Online

spread its branches near the dormer window.
    His sister Delia’s room had been converted into a nursery, complete with crib and changing table. In the third bedroom, which had once been occupied by his parents, was a queen-size bed, antique dresser with an oval mirror and tiny bassinet.
    He hurried back downstairs. Memory after painful memory flashed, like short movie clips, through his brain: his mother hanging laundry in the hot Montana sun; his father promising to make good, that he didn’t need the Fortune family to bail him out; his brother waving wildly, acting like a clown as the tractor chugged up a deceptive hill. Don’t think about it, he reminded himself as he strode through the living room and saw a gouge in the windowsill that he’d made with the heel of a boot when his argument with his twin brother had erupted into a wrestling match.
    Damn it, Chet, why did you have to die?
    One fist closed in frustration. It had been so long ago, and yet it seemed like yesterday. Since then so many more had left him.
    “Get a grip,” he told himself. He wasn’t going to let old memories drag him back to times best left forgotten. He made his way to the pantry and a closet that hid a panel of circuit breakers, making sure they were all working, then relit the pilot light in the furnace.
    Within seconds the unit was stoking up, sending heat through the ducts, and Chase locked up then followed a trail he’d made in previous days to the barnwhere her horses were stabled. Each day he’d tried to take them outside for a short period, allowing them to work off some energy by trudging or galloping through the snow-covered paddock, and today he did the same, watching as the round-bellied broodmares snorted and tossed their heads, blinking in the sunlight that sparkled against the ice and snow. They snorted loudly, the warm breath from their lungs visible in the crisp air.
    How many winters had Chase trekked through the ice and snow to help his father feed the stock? How many times had he taken a hammer to the ice that had formed over the water troughs, or sawed through heavy twine with his dull jackknife after kicking heavy bales from the hay loft?
    Scowling at his nostalgic thoughts, he let the horses exercise for a while, then penned them up in the barn again. One look at the sky convinced him that they were in for more snow. “God help us,” he muttered, and decided that if another storm dumped even a few more inches onto the already-overburdened land, Lesley and that kid of hers would have to stay put.
    He thought about telling her that he’d once lived here, that her husband had bought out his father, but decided to hold his tongue. He was a firm believer in letting sleeping dogs lie.
     
    “But I told you I was leaving.” Lesley couldn’t believe her ears that evening. “We had a deal.” She sat at the table, candles burning brightly as Angela slept in the next room. She and Chase were eatingleftovers in the form of chicken tetrazzini which she’d altered a bit because of his sparse stock of spices and cheese.
    “I intend to honor it.”
    “When you decide to.”
    “When it’s safe.”
    “For the love of Mike!”
    He glared at her as if she were a silly two-year-old. “No one’s holding you prisoner, Lesley. But you’ve got to think of Angela.” He sat across from her, his plate nearly clean, his face all angles and planes in the flickering light from the fire and candles.
    “I do. All the time!” Who was he to boss her around? “She needs to be home, and so do I. It’s just time, Chase. I can’t impose on you any longer.”
    “What you can’t do is anything so foolish.” As if hearing his sharp tone, he added, “Just be patient. As soon as the weather changes I’ll take you home.”
    “You can’t keep me here against my will!” She was on her feet in a minute, and her bad ankle seared with pain. She felt her face drain of color and she bit her tongue from crying out, but it didn’t matter.