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

how hard can knitting be?
    ~ ~ ~
    Louisa tried to quell her nervousness. She’d never dreamed a man would show up to take knitting lessons, much less a handsome one with coal black hair and matching short beard, and the most vivid blue eyes she’d ever seen. He was sturdily built, too, and wore worn blue pants and a blue-and-black plaid flannel shirt. When he moved, his spurs made sounds like tiny bells when he moved.
    A student is a student, and his money will be just as good as a woman’s. Or so she told herself as she set up the preparations for his lesson.
    Once Red Macalister unwound the yarn and looked up at her with an expression of expectation, she sat in a chair next to him, scooting it close until their legs almost touched.
    His nearness brought about a sudden realization of the impropriety of their situation. I’m his teacher , she tried to reassure herself, bringing up her needles and the blue yarn and demonstrating how to cast on stitches. Ideally, she should stand behind and above him, placing her arms around his shoulders and her hands on top of his to move them. Just the thought made heat rise in her cheeks.
    Banishing the image, Louisa explained each step and showed him what to do. Then she pulled the stitches off the needles and repeated the whole thing. “Your turn.”
    He turned a searching gaze her way.
    Louisa’s heart began a quick patter, patter, and she found breathing hard.
    Mr. Macalister tried to mimic her movements, but the yarn fell off the needle, to curl across his leg. He made a face, picked it up, and tried again, only to have the same thing happen. He growled.
    Oh, dear. Louisa had a sudden fear that she’d lose her first student before they’d even begun. “Let me help.” She leaned over and placed her hands on his. The contact with his skin sent a sizzle through her fingers and up her arms.
    Startled, she jerked away. Don’t be silly, she scolded herself, placing her hands back over his.
    He shifted.
    Louisa lost her balance and fell against his shoulder. “Oh, excuse me.” She pulled herself upright, feeling a blush creep into her cheeks.
    He smiled, and the skin around his eyes crinkled. “Nothing to excuse. I’m the one who’s fumble-fingered. Let’s try again, shall we? I think if you guide me, I’ll figure this out.”
    Louisa took a breath and moved his fingers. “Knit two, purl two.” She continued to direct him. They bumbled through the sorriest row of stitches she’d ever seen. When they reached the end, she had him stop and took her hands away.
    Mr. Macalister lifted the needle with his handwork up to eye height and peered at it. “That’s going to let in a lot of cold air. I might as well stick with the holey pair of stockings I have now.”
    “We’ve just gotten started,” Louisa chided, worried he might quit. “As you knit more rows, the stiches fill in naturally.”
    He gave her a skeptical look.
    “I’m sure when you began learning—” She cast her mind for a cowboy example “—Roping, you missed the first time.”
    Red shot her a look of mock offence. “I’ll have you know my very first throw landed exactly where I wanted.”
    “Oh,” Louisa said, amused. “Naturally, Mr. Macalister.”
    “Around the cat.”
    “The cat!”  
    “Yep. Took off with a yowl. Almost dragged me off the porch. My ma tanned my hide that day.”
    Imagining the scene, Louisa laughed. “How old were you?”
    “Six. A neighbor gave me the rope for my birthday.”
    “Sounds like you knew you wanted to be a cowboy from a very young age.”
    His expression grew serious. “That I did. I have a small ranch now with two partners. Good men, both of them. Known them a long time. We have big plans.” He glanced out the window. “I should be on my way. Don’t want to be riding in the dark.”
    “Of course.” Louisa took the yarn and needles from him and set them on the table.
    He gave her a questioning look. “I think I can make it back tomorrow for a bit. That