that took him there, but why did he act as if staying would be an ordeal?
Well, she’d prove to him it wasn’t. She’d make this the best Christmas ever for him, too.
She waited until the children curled up on their mats and fell asleep to signal Pa and Colt to the table. “Let’s make plans.”
Colt leaned back as if he wanted no part of this. “I wouldn’t know what to do.”
“What would you normally do?” She hoped he’d share a special memory.
He blinked hard then grinned. “Normally I would ride out to the prettiest place I could find and enjoy nature.”
“Alone?” She sounded as shocked as she felt.
“Nature is the best company I know of.”
She tilted her chin upward. “I intend to prove you wrong. We’re pretty fine company, aren’t we, Pa?”
“Your ma seemed to think so.”
Becca’s smile slipped at the mention of her mother, then she dismissed any sadness and regret. She’d been offered a reprieve. Even if it was only temporary, she intended to make the most of it.
“You must have done something fun and special during Christmas. After all, you’re—how old are you?”
“Near as I can figure, I’m about twenty-one.”
Near as he could figure? Didn’t he know anything for certain about his past? “There you go. In twenty-one years you must recall something special.”
His jaw tightened and he looked stubborn. She wondered if he meant to deny any such knowledge, then he gave a little chuckle.
“I was once given a wild, rank horse. I expect it was more of a joke than any kindness, but by spring I had a mount that many a man envied.”
She sighed in a way meant to be long-suffering. “Not exactly the kind of thing I think would be useful in planning Christmas for the children. I have a few ideas, though.”
She turned to Pa. “With your permission—”
“Child, do whatever you’d like. I’m sure we’ll all be pleased.”
She nodded. “I do believe you will.” Her head buzzed with ideas.
Pa yawned. “Time for bed.”
Becca sprang to her feet. “Good night to you both.” She paused at her room. “I can hardly wait until morning to put my ideas into effect.”
* * *
The next morning, Becca hurried from bed, her head full of plans. Colt had not looked nearly as enthusiastic as she would wish, but she’d soon change that.
As soon as breakfast was over, she asked the others, “Have any of you made taffy?”
The children shook their heads, and when she shifted her gaze to Colt he blinked.
“Me?”
“Have you?”
“No.” He sounded far more cautious than curious, which made her even more determined to make this the most fun he’d ever had.
“My ma taught me how to make pulled taffy. She made it every year for Christmas. I didn’t realize how good she was at it until we went to Toronto and her family begged her for a taffy pull.” She spoke to Pa as he headed for the store and the hope of customers. “Did you know she was the best candy maker?”
“It’s why I married her. Didn’t you know?” His eyes twinkled and she laughed.
“But didn’t you say it was because she made the best rice pudding? Oh, wait, wasn’t it because she baked the best biscuits, or was it because she had such a nice reading voice?”
“Yup. And lots more.”
Becca held his gaze a moment as they both silently acknowledged how much they missed her. Then Pa stepped into the store.
“Pa, don’t you want to take part in the candy making?”
He paused and sucked in air. No doubt the activity carried bittersweet memories for him. But Becca wanted so much for him to remember the good times they’d had and cherish them. A wish she had for everyone in the room.
“Call me when it’s time to pull it, and I’ll come back if I’m not busy with customers.” He turned to smile at Becca. “It will remind me of all the times I helped your mother.”
“She’d want to know you remembered all she taught you.”
She and Pa smiled shared love of her mother, then he closed the door behind him.
Becca glanced at Colt. He jerked his attention to a spot behind her, but not before she caught a glimpse of hunger, as if he liked hearing her talk about her mother...maybe he enjoyed hearing about a regular family. She made herself another promise—she’d show Colt what it was like to be in a family.
She pulled out the kettle Ma had always used. “The first time I remember Ma making taffy, I was about Marie’s age. We had just moved west. Ma had a job as a teacher in Fort Benton. She made taffy for the children on the last day of school before Christmas. I remember feeling so proud because all the children seemed to think she’d done something special.” She poured the sugar, water and vinegar into the kettle as Marie watched her every move. Colt stood back, Little Joe in his arms.
“Bring him closer so he can watch.” She saw eagerness in both expressions but Colt did not move, even though Little Joe wriggled, trying to force him to do so. She held Colt’s gaze, feeling his caution and reluctance. Her determination to give him good memories intensified. “Better pay attention in case you ever want to make this.”
At that he relaxed and chuckled. “Horses seem to think carrots are candy.” But he sidled closer to observe the ingredients in the kettle, close enough that she could feel him alongside her, even though they didn’t touch.
“It’s beginning to boil. Now we don’t stir it or jar it until it’s reached hard-ball stage. In the meantime, we get ready.” She pulled out the large pan her mother had always used. “It needs to be buttered. Marie, why don’t you and Little Joe do that?”
Colt put Little Joe at the table beside his sister, and Becca showed them how to dip their fingers in the butter and spread it on the pan.
“Can’y ready?” Little Joe asked.
“No, now we wait.”
When the boy moved toward the stove, Colt lifted him into his arms and held him where he could see but not grab the kettle.
“It takes time to cook,” Becca warned the anxious trio. She dropped a bit of the candy mixture into a cup of cold water. It dissolved as she pressed it with the spoon. “Not ready yet.”
“Why do you do that?” Colt asked.
She explained that it indicated how hot the syrup was. “When it stays in a little ball, then it’s ready to take off the stove.” She noticed with warmth that he forgot to be reserved with her. “It takes a bit of practice to recognize the right degree, but Ma taught me well. I’ll try and do the same for you just in case you decide to treat the horses.” Or maybe decide to get some people friends. But she kept that thought to herself rather than drive him back into his shell.
She’d gladly—willingly—be his friend. But she couldn’t even offer that. She’d made a promise to her mother and was obligated to keep it. She checked the syrup again. “See how the little ball stays in shape?” She tipped the cup of water toward Colt for him to study. “When I take it out and press it, it holds its shape.” She held out her hand. “See for yourself.”
Colt extended a finger, and she slipped the candy onto it.
Flesh on flesh sent a jolt through her. She wanted to prolong the touch, examine her reaction, analyze