Tracie Peterson (13 page)

Chapter 20

C
hristmas Eve at Piñon Canyon had been a night of precious celebration as far back as Daughtry Lucas Dawson could remember. The house was decorated festively in pine boughs, red ribbons, wreaths shimmering with gold braided ribbons, and a tree that commanded the center of attention in the living room.

Daughtry lovingly touched the ornaments that hung on the tree. Delicate glass spheres, decorated with miniature paintings of the first Christmas, were among her favorites. They were nearly as old as she, and Daughtry remembered fondly, they were a gift from her father to her mother.

Laughter rang out in the dining room, where most of Bandelero, or so it seemed, had gathered to share in the festivities. When Daughtry’s mother had come to New Mexico, soon to be wed to Garrett Lucas, she’d left behind her dear friend Lillie in Topeka, Kansas. But Lillie had soon followed and married Dr. Daniel Monroe, brother to the young pastor, David, who had an even younger wife, Jenny. They were more like a family of closely knit brothers and sisters, and their offspring had grown up in a togetherness that seemed natural and secure.

Daughtry had never known a Christmas Eve when they’d not all joined together to celebrate the birth of their Savior. She could still hear the years of gaiety ringing through her memories. She could still feel the warmth that wrapped around her tightly and made her feel that despite what else might happen, in this home, by these people, she was loved.

This year was even more special, Daughtry thought. Nicholas’s family was with them. Added to this was the wondrous blessing that Daughtry was carrying her first child. She thought of Mary and how she must have felt as the birth of the Savior to the world approached. What an incredible feeling to know that she carried a life within her body. How much more must it have been for Mary, who carried the world’s King.

The boys, now men really, talked boisterously from the dining room, breaking Daughtry’s concentration. Anna Maria and Pepita had worked alongside Maggie and Daughtry to bake hundreds of tiny pastries and cookies for the party. Daughtry couldn’t help but smile at the thought of her five brothers, not to mention Dr. Dan and Lillie’s sons and Pastor David and Jenny’s son, Samuel, digging into the intricately woven display of confectionery delights. No doubt they’d give little thought to the arrangement, but Daughtry knew there would be hours of praise for the taste.

Compared to the seeming army of men in the house, Daughtry knew there were only a handful of women. Besides their mothers, Angeline Monroe, Dan and Lillie’s feisty daughter, and David and Jenny’s quiet little
Hannah, now eighteen and twin to Samuel, would round out the party of sec
ond-generation New Mexicans. The biggest surprise of all and most pleasant for the young gentlemen of the family, was Nicholas’s dark-eyed sister, Joelle. She came by train only two days earlier and faced the wrath of both Riley and Nicholas at the announcement that she’d traveled alone.

It was of little matter, however, as all of Daughtry’s brothers, as well as Samuel, and Angeline’s brothers John and James, were quite taken with the beauty, leaving Angeline, who was normally the belle of the ball, with her nose slightly out of joint. No doubt Angeline would work through the competition and find herself the center of plenty of attention.

Daughtry stood alone in the living room and loved it all. She listened to the laughter, the voices, the happiness, and wrapped her hands around her still slender waist. Her child grew here, she thought and smiled. Two warm masculine hands fell over her own, and Daughtry leaned back into the arms of her husband.

“I wondered where you’d gotten off to,” Nicholas murmured against her ear. “How’s my baby?”

“He’s fine.”

“I meant you,” Nicholas whispered huskily.

“I was just dreaming,” Daughtry said with a smile.

“Are you sure you weren’t trying to figure out what I got you for Christmas?”

Daughtry turned in Nicholas’s arms and stared up innocently. “You aren’t really going to make me wait until tomorrow, are you?” She batted her lashes coyly and put on her most alluring smile.

Nicholas chuckled. “I do love you, Mrs. Dawson. So very much.”

“But you still won’t give me my present tonight?” Her voice was pleading like a child’s.

“Who can resist such charm and womanly wiles?”

Daughtry laughed and wrapped her arms around her husband’s neck. “I promise to make you the very best wife, Nicholas. I will work hard beside you and together we’ll build a ranch every bit as wonderful as Piñon Canyon.”

“I’ve no doubt of it. You seem to make good things happen wherever you go.”

“It isn’t me,” Daughtry replied with a knowing glance upward. “It’s Him. God has made all the most wondrous things happen, in spite of the motives we humans attached to them in the first place. He’s very good to look out for us that way.”

“Yes, He is,” Nicholas agreed.

With a tender kiss to Daughtry’s forehead, he set her away from him and reached into his pocket. “I was going to wait until tomorrow, but since you are intent on celebrating early. . .” He fell silent and pulled out a small box. “I’m told this belonged to my mother’s mother.” He opened the box to reveal an elegantly styled ring. The wide gold band was intricately etched with scrolling and leaves. Set in the very middle was a dark red stone.

“It’s a garnet,” Nicholas said as Daughtry stared in dumb silence at the ring. He pulled the ring from the box and slipped it on Daughtry’s still bare left hand. “I never even thought to send you a ring when I mailed you the proxy.” He grinned at her, delighted with Daughtry’s complete fascination. “Now you have one and no one will doubt that you belong to me.”

“Oh, Nicholas,” Daughtry replied, choking back tears, “it’s beautiful. It truly is.”

Nicholas nodded. “It’s only part of the gift, however.”

“Oh?”

“Yes,” he whispered. “I’ve already talked with Pastor David.”

“About what?” Daughtry asked curiously.

“I want us to marry again,” he answered, taking Daughtry’s hand to his lips. “Will you marry me in a proper church service, Mrs. Dawson? Marry me in front of all of our family and friends?”

Daughtry began to cry and, not finding the words to answer, she simply nodded her approval.

“Merry Christmas, Daughtry.”

Daughtry reached up with both hands and pulled Nicholas’s face down to meet hers. She kissed him earnestly on the mouth, her tears falling wet against his face. “Merry Christmas, Nicholas. I love you more with each passing day. I don’t see how it is possible to love you more than I already did, but I do. I am yours, now and forever. Forever yours, no matter what the future holds in store.”

Nicholas lifted her chin and glanced upward to the ceiling. “Forever His,” he whispered in reply, “because He knows exactly what the future holds in store.”

About the Author

Tracie Peterson, bestselling, award-winning author of over ninety fiction titles and three non-fiction books, lives and writes in Belgrade, Montana. As a Christian, wife, mother, writer, editor and speaker (in that order), Tracie finds her slate quite full.

Voted favorite author for 1995, 1996, and 1997 by the Heartsong Presents’ readership, and awarded Affaire de Coeur’s Inspirational Romance of the Year 1994, Romantic Times 2007 Career Achievement, American Christian Fiction Writers Lifetime Achievement 2011 and other awards, Tracie enjoys the pleasure of spinning stories for readers and thanks God for the imagination He’s given. She desires that the books would Entertain, Educate, and Encourage—Tracie’s three E’s.

Tracie was the managing editor of Heartsong Presents for Barbour Publishing for over three years and helped with acquisitions prior to that. She co-founded the American Christian Fiction Writer’s organization in 2000 and continues to work with new authors, teaching at a variety of conferences, giving workshops on inspirational romance, historical research, and anything else that offers assistance to fellow writers. She often speaks at women’s retreats and church functions. Her website is www.traciepeterson.com