A Grand Teton Sleigh Ride: Four Generations of Wyoming Ranchers Celebrate Love at Christmas Read Free Page A

Zebulon knew, sooner or later, he ought to take a wife. No, he didn’t need to take a wife. Not really. He could darn and mend passably, he could cook meals he liked, whether or not anyone else did. He didn’t keep clutter around the two-room cabin he’d finished adding to in August, giving him some more breathing room than the original single-room building he’d constructed not long after staking his claim. He didn’t have time to pay attention to a woman, what with all the cattle needing his attention, and fences, and general everyday chores.
    Of course he found the couple’s conversation constricting. Wasn’t quite sure he cottoned to someone requiring his attention. Made a man itch like a scratchy wool blanket.
    Still, though, there was something comforting about it. Jake’s warm look at Mary as she basted the chicken she’d had roasting in the oven all afternoon, if judging by the mouthwatering aroma in the kitchen. To have companionship, supper cooked to perfection, and coffee on the stove. Now that was something a man could look forward to. A man could stand to give a lot in a marriage, but oh what he’d receive in return.
    The clatter of shoes on the cabin floor announced the entry of Christopher Smythe, a towheaded, much younger version of his father. “Supper ready yet?”
    “Nearly,” Mary said. She glanced at him, her eyes narrowing. “Did you wash your hands?”
    “Yes ma’am.” Christopher slid onto the nearest empty chair. “Howdy, Mr. Covington. How are ya?”
    “I’m doing well; looking forward to your momma’s cooking.” At his words, he glanced up to see two young women entering the kitchen area. Miss Murray, and the Smythes’ only daughter, whose name he couldn’t recall. He studied her face, trying to remember. At his glance, her skin flushed red, as if she’d been outside in the snow on a sunny day.
    “Good evening, Mr. Covington,” Belle said. “Mr. and Mrs. Smythe, thank you for letting me stay for supper.”
    “We’re glad to have you.” Mary carried the pan of chicken to the table. “I couldn’t bear the idea of you going home to an empty house, all alone.”
    “It’s—it’s not so bad. Quiet, but not so bad.”
    “You be careful out there. Old Gus Tolliver been helping you?” Jake asked.
    “Yes, he has, thank you. I’m going to stay in Jackson, I’ve decided, once and for all. I can’t let the claim go. Melanie and Ham put almost all their years in. If I stay through the winter and make it until spring, it’ll be our family’s land forever.” She stuck out her chin, just a little.
    If Zeb thought she’d been determined and stubborn the other evening after the funeral, well, tonight she was downright resolute, her heels dug in. He had to admire that.
    “Nothing like being able to say your land is your land,” Zeb said aloud. He’d earned his claim fair and square, had grown his herd, built his first home this year in celebration after receiving his patent from the government.
    “But our land isn’t really our land, is it, Father? As you said, we’re to be caretakers of this land God created.” At last, the Smythes’ daughter spoke. Her skin had resumed its normal creamy tone. However, at his glance, she colored again to the tips of her ears. Someone had twisted her braid around her head as if it were a golden crown.
    “Miss Smythe, we don’t really own the land. But I like to know that legally, in this country, no man can take from me what I’ve earned.”
    “You’re quite right, Zeb.” Jake nodded then looked toward the stove, where both Belle and Mary picked up bowls heaped with roasted potatoes and squash for the meal. The aroma of freshly baked bread wafted in their direction.
    “Bread?” Belle said as she took the seat beside the Smythes’ daughter, who nodded then cut a slice from the loaf. She kept her focus on the bread, but Belle kept her focus on him.
    “Let’s bow and pray before we eat.” Jake reached for his wife’s