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

hand.
    As they bowed, Zeb couldn’t help himself. Still holding Belle’s gaze, he winked.

Chapter 3
    B elle’s neck burned with a hot flush throughout the meal. She didn’t need a looking glass to know it existed, and the reason her neck felt hotter than summertime was Zebulon Covington. Thankfully, no one, especially Rosemary, seemed to notice what Zebulon had done. Nervy, bold, brash—none of the qualities in a suitable man that neither Rosemary—nor she—should find appealing.
    But part of her did, and she almost wanted to simper as Rosemary had whenever Zebulon looked in her direction.
    Belle reminded herself of tonight’s purpose for staying for supper, besides a delicious meal she didn’t have to cook. Rosemary definitely needed schooling and training. The poor girl’s heart would fall prey to the first eligible man who smiled at her the right way. Better it be someone like Zebulon Covington, and not any of the far less savory bachelors in the area.
    Tonight was turning out to be nothing short of a disaster, as it soon became apparent that Zebulon didn’t even know Rosemary’s first name. If Rosemary were to have any chance of making a match with Zebulon, the young woman needed to step forward just a bit more.
    In spite of the rowdy wink from the man across the table, Belle knew Zebulon was a good man. She could see it from Rosemary’s description and knew it from the way Ham had spoken of him during her months of living in Jackson.
    The sunlight in the one window had faded by the time Mary poured another cup of strong coffee. Belle’s home lay but a few minutes’ ride away, but she ought to leave before the light dwindled altogether.
    Melanie had told her of long winters and short days; the cold felt deeper here than back East, too.
    “Winter’s not here yet,” Jake Smythe told her when she remarked about the chill before leaving. She tried not to shiver at his words.
    “But Christmas is coming,” Mary said. “Don’t forget, we’re going to have a program on Christmas Eve at the church, for anyone who’d like to come. We’d like you to join us when we practice a few Christmas songs, and perhaps have a bit of a choir.”
    “I’d like that, very much.” She would make the time to meet with the group of ladies and the few men that Jake Smythe had managed to recruit.
    “You sure you won’t join in, Zeb?” Jake asked while Zebulon was putting on his hat and coat, and Belle was doing the same.
    “No, I’m successful at making a joyful noise, but nothing anyone would want to hear.”
    “Maybe you can say a few words, then. It’s not likely that the traveling parson will make it through, and it would be nice to have someone give a message. I believe you’re the most qualified out of the lot of us.”
    “Why’s that?” Belle heard herself ask.
    “Zebulon here went to seminary, could have ended up a traveling parson himself,” Jake replied.
    Seminary? She stared at him as she tied her wool bonnet.
    He glanced at her as if he’d heard her unspoken one-word question, and shrugged.
    Belle said nothing more about Zebulon’s singing skills or lack thereof, or the seminary, but bade the Smythes good night, promising to see them on Sunday if the weather was good. She politely refused Jake’s offer to send someone to help her saddle Patch; she was used to seeing to her horse herself.
    She entered the snug barn, where Patch stood tied not far from Jake’s own mount, a dark bay mare.
    “Ready, Patch? It’s going to be dark soon.” She found his saddle and set to putting it on, tying the girth.
    A shadow blotted out most of the remaining light coming through the doorway.
    Zebulon, of course.
    “You ought to carry a weapon with you, Miss Murray. Either that, or confine your outings to daytime hours only,” he said as he passed by her to get to his horse.
    “It’s still daytime.” She glanced toward the barn door. Well, it wasn’t exactly twilight yet.
    “It’s unsafe for a woman to