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

travel this time of day, unarmed, alone. I’ll see you to your claim.”
    She didn’t want to argue with him again and held her tongue. Never mind he’d made her feel like a child, as if she always needed escorting somewhere.
    “You’re irritated,” he said.
    “Not really,” she replied, giving Patch a pat on the neck. Truthfully, she was out of her element here. Not for the first time did her nerves make her insides tremble.
    “But, do you carry a weapon of any kind with you, Miss Murray?”
    “Ah, no, I don’t.”
    He shook his head. “You ought to. What kind of weapon did Ham have?”
    “A shotgun and a pistol. I’ve touched neither of them.”
    “You need to learn, get comfortable with them. Carry one of them with you at all times. Don’t be frightened. Better safe than sorry.”
    Yes, she’d had a lot of sorry lately, with losing Melanie and Ham.
    “Miss Murray, my offer still stands.”
    “Offer?”
    “I’ll take you myself across the pass, to the nearest train station. A few more weeks, a month at the most, and you’ll likely be stuck here until spring, unless there’s an unexpected change in the weather. Which could happen. But, you never know.”
    “No. I’m staying. Ham and Melanie worked hard for their claim. I’m going to fulfill it then file the patent myself as owner. It’s the least I can do, for their legacy.”
    “And then what? Stay? Do you have any idea on how to run a ranch?”
    “I know enough. I’ve watched Ham, and helped Melanie.”
    He gave a long sigh. “But you can’t do it all yourself.”
    She paused. “I can try. Zebulon, I can’t leave. I have nowhere, no one to go back to.” Her voice quavered for a moment, and she swallowed hard. Nobody saw these moments, because she wouldn’t allow it. Somehow, in the growing dark, it felt safe to let Zebulon know.
    “Then, Miss Murray, I advise you prepare yourself for the hardest winter of your life.”
    “I’ll be ready, Mr. Covington.”
    “I like it better when you say Zebulon.”
    Now her cheeks blazed again as they had earlier that evening. “Zebulon, I’m ready to go home.” She could follow the trail, the snow lit by the pale moon beginning to rise. The sooner she was home again, the better.

    I like it better when you say Zebulon?
    Where in the great wide world did that come from? He dropped the thought as soon as it entered his mind. He needed to get home, see to the barn animals then get to bed. Morning would come early, and he had much to do, a few strays to round up, along with picking up some hay from Gates Browning, a few claims over. Then there would be work on the sleigh he’d begun crafting that summer, to use when the trails were impassable by wagon.
    They headed out into what was left of the dusk, with the surrounding world glowing white, leaving the trails home darkened.
    Belle sat primly on Patch, although she rode astride. The gelding moved on sure steps. “So, Zebulon. Mr. Smythe said you’ve been to seminary.”
    “Yes, a long time ago. I was a little younger than you are now, fresh out of preparatory school.”
    “Preparatory school?” she echoed back.
    “Yes, ma’am, I’m completely educated. Six years Latin, four years mathematics, two of economics, four of English, three of French.” He let that sink in, wondering how her highfalutin airs took in the revelation.
    “Where did you attend seminary?”
    “In Chicago. I thought I wanted to be a minister, have a church.”
    “But you stopped. Why?”
    He let Buck’s reins go lax; the horse could find his way better on the trail without his own interference. “Looking back, I’m not sure. Pride. Stubbornness. Not sure I wanted to answer to anyone.”
    “A man can be a minister without standing behind a pulpit.” Her gentle words gave him a nudge he hadn’t felt in years. The headmistress at the orphanage had told him so.
You don’t have to be a preacher to do God’s work
.
    “I feel the same way.”
    “Well, a man ought