Montana Sky Christmas: A Sweetwater Springs Short Story Collection Read Free

in, then quickly shutting it after him.
    The cold of the front room puzzled Red, and he wondered why she didn’t have a fire in the fireplace. “Are you the teacher?”
    She blushed and nodded, then led him to the kitchen, motioning for him to take a seat at the square table that had been pushed next to a pot-bellied stove. Tepid heat drifted from the stove.
    Maybe she’s not going outside. Maybe this is how she lives.
    He looked around, trying to see a sign of another inhabitant—a husband maybe. Blue-checked curtains were tied back from two windows to let in the light. A matching tablecloth covered the table. A pot boiled on the stove. In spite of the chilly temperature, the room seemed welcoming.
    She picked up two thin pieces of wood from a scanty pile, opened the stove, and shoved the sticks inside. “There,” she said, peeling off her mittens. “Perhaps we should introduce ourselves. “I’m Miss Cannon. Louisa Cannon.”
    “Red Macalister, ma’am.”
    “Did you have something specific in mind, Mr. Macalister?”
    “Stockings.”
    “Ah,” Miss Cannon said. “Why don’t you have a seat at the table, while I find my extra pair of knitting needles?”
    Extra pair of knitting needles? With dawning horror, Red realized Miss Cannon thought he’d come for lessons. He opened his mouth to correct her, but she reached up to pull off her cap, unwind the scarf from around her neck, and slip off her coat. She hung it on a peg near the doorway.
    Red noticed that Miss Cannon had a trim figure and slender neck. He caught himself staring and turned away, hoping she hadn’t noticed.
    Miss Cannon picked up a basket from a corner of the room, filled with colorful balls of yarn. One had a pair of long needles stuck into it.
    Tendrils of wavy brown hair had slipped down from the braid coiled around her head. Intelligent brown eyes that showed a hint of anxiousness flicked back and forth between him and the basket.
    She carried the basket to the table. “Stockings aren’t the easiest things to start with. I remember the first pair I made for my father. Quite misshapen.” Her smile was soft, and, as she reminisced, a far-away look replaced the anxiousness in her eyes. “Although he wore them with pride.”
    Red felt a strange tightening of his stomach. Right then and there, he decided not to tell pretty Miss Cannon he wanted her to make him some stockings. If she figured to teach him, he’d try to learn. It would give him an excuse to remain in her company.
    He took off his hat and shed his coat. The room was marginally warmer than when he’d entered, and, if she could tolerate the temperature, so could he.
    Red just hoped his partners wouldn’t get wind of this. He’d never hear the end of it. Worse, they’d probably spread the news all over town, and it would be a long while before he could have a peaceable drink in the saloon. “Ah, if you don’t mind… I’d like to keep our business between ourselves.”
    “Of course.” With a serious look, Miss Cannon handed him the needles. “I should sit next to you, so I can help guide your hands.”
    Red suppressed a grin. “Sounds like a good idea,” he said, keeping his tone even.
    Her hand hovered over the basket.
    He had a twinge of disappointment when she passed right over a ball of red yarn to settle on a blue one.
    Miss Cannon picked it up and raised her eyebrows to see if he agreed with her choice.
    Since admitting to wanting red yarn wasn’t manly, he gave her a nod.
    She tossed the ball to him, surprising him with the playful gesture. “Unroll a few feet.”
    Red caught the ball with one hand and grasped it between his thumb and forefinger, as though holding up a curious object. Her giggle sent warmth into his stomach. He found the end of the yarn and began to unwind it. When he’d finished, he looked to her for approval.
    The anxious look returned to her eyes. Red hoped that his prowess as a knitter would soon make his pretty teacher smile.
    After all,