Callie Glass and Clara Stapleton celebrate Christmas a year and a half after their appearance in my novel, Alaskan Bride. Enjoy!
Oh, yeah. This is NSFW. Have fun and Happy Holidays!
Glad of the scarf protecting her face from the frigid air, Callie Glass watched the steam of her ragged breath emit from its folds as she tugged upon the rope binding down the pine tree. Forced to doff her mittens, she fought with the knots that held the ridiculous thing onto the sledge. Why Clara had insisted on one was beyond Callie. They hadn’t had a Christmas tree last December.
Of course, that had been in large part due to Callie still recovering from the horrendous injuries she’d suffered the summer before. Multiple gunshot wounds and a broken scapula had a tendency to slow even the hardiest of women. She still couldn’t raise her right arm above her head which had necessitated an uncomfortable switch to her non-dominant left hand for strenuous activity. That had taken many months to attain proficiency. It was a wonder she hadn’t chopped off her own foot last fall while adding to the log pile.
The recalcitrant knot beneath her fingers loosened. She tugged the rope, barely feeling its coarse fibers against her frozen skin, and pulled the tree to a standing position. Fresh snow plopped to the ground as she tamped it against the solid ground of the yard to dislodge the remainder. The tree stood a mite shorter than herself, and the branches curved upward. Though slender in shape, it wasn’t too bad of a selection. There were plenty of fuller trees to choose from, but the tiny cabin barely had room for anything larger.
Next year they’d have something grand. She looked to the gentle rise behind the shed, her eyes lighting upon the snow covered mounds of their cabin in-progress. Construction had been slow-going what with her restrictions and the call for pelts and meat in Skagway. The “Yukon Gold Rush,” as the newspapers called it, still raged. That many muckmen passing through in search of the red had increased demand almost beyond what the land could bear.
Callie shrugged off thoughts of muckmen and sourdoughs. Tonight was Christmas Eve and she had work to do. She set the tree on the small porch long enough to put the sledge in its proper place against the shed. Careful to kick the snow off her boots lest Clara have a fit over her clean floors, Callie entered the cabin with her treasure.
Warmth stung her cheeks, and the air was redolent with popcorn and rabbit stew. She leaned the tree against the door after closing it and removed her layers of clothing.
“Oh, that looks mighty fine!”
Clara sat at the table, a half complete string of popcorn draped across the wood and a partially full bowl of it before her. Her long dark hair was pulled up into what she termed an “everyday pompadour.” She’d taken to wearing men’s garb while at home or on the traplines and cut a striking figure between delicate femininity and the no-nonsense strength she held in reserve deep inside. Bow lips, hazel eyes that currently reflected the turquoise blue of contentment completed the image.
Callie shrugged out of her thick coat and smiled. “You look mighty fine.” Her smile widened as she placed the coat on an iron hook, noting her lover’s blush. She circled the table to nuzzle against Clara’s heated neck. “I could just eat you up!”
Clara squirmed and laughed. “Your nose is so cold!”
“Huh. I wonder why?” Callie snuggled a moment longer enjoying the intimacy. When she pulled back, her hands caressed Clara’s shawl-covered shoulders. “Looks like you’ve made quite a dent in your project.” She snagged a piece of popcorn from the bowl, narrowly missing the sharp end of a playful needle, and popped it into her mouth.
“No dining on the decorations.” Clara gave a haughty sniff and resumed stringing popcorn. “I’ve placed a pot in the corner for the tree.”
“Yessum.” Callie brushed the back of Clara’s neck and bowed to kiss her temple.
Though the cabin was tiny to start, a space had been procured by the removal of Callie’s old bed. Mostly that corner was used for storage, but boxes and barrels had been slid aside to allow room for a Christmas tree. The pot in question sat in the middle of the space, awaiting its future resident.
Callie spent several minutes moving the tree to the corner. The cabin was cramped and there wasn’t a lot of wiggle room. It was a wonder she arrived at her destination without falling against the hot stove, or adorning Clara’s careful hairdo with a rain of pine needles. The next task was removing excess limbs at the base for the tree to fit in the pot. Once placed inside, the tree balanced somewhat precariously upon the remaining branches. Taking mental notes for next year’s tree, Callie stepped carefully back, hands held up to catch this one should it make a break for freedom.
Clara wrapped an arm around Callie’s waist. “It’s perfect.”
“Well, don’t breathe too hard on the thing or it’ll topple.” Callie draped her arm over Clara’s shoulders.
Clara leaned into the embrace. “Maybe next year we can put candles up.”
The idea of attaching lit candles to a tree, made Callie recoil though she didn’t release her hold. “Not in a million years, Miss Stapleton! You may be used to houses of brick and stone, but up here everything is wood. We’d have the cabin burning down around our ears.”
Other than a moue of disappointment and a roll of expressive eyes, Clara nodded. “Yes, Miss Glass.”
Callie didn’t often win disagreements. Clara could run mental rings around her on a good day, so Callie would take what successes she could get. Rather than act smug, a warning shot her lover couldn’t ignore, she turned to take Clara fully into her arms, relaxing into the safest place she’d ever known.
Clara stood back to observe their work.
The tree had been transformed. Popcorn garlands festooned its branches, draped artfully around its girth. She’d used the last scraps of fabric she’d brought from Boston over a year ago to create festive bows now artfully placed amongst the greenery, even repurposing an embroidered dress for the occasion. Her mother had sent a half dozen ornaments from home once Clara had been adamant in her refusal to return. Clara had taken the gesture for what it was - capitulation to a headstrong daughter’s decision.
The lantern that dangled from the low ceiling lit Callie’s left profile as she carefully tied a pine cone to one of the branches. The tip of her tongue peeked out from between her lips, and she stepped back to study the overall effect of the ornamental placement. Her golden hair was pulled back into its usual untidy ponytail, recalcitrant strands escaping to cast lines of shadow across her freckled nose. She wore homespun trousers and shirt, the sleeves rolled up mid-forearm.
Beneath that sleeve lingered one of multiple scars Callie sported. A bullet had pierced her upper arm their first summer together in an altercation with layabout Jamie Perkins and his gang of malcontents. Only four men had returned to Skagway alive that dreadful afternoon - none of them Perkins - and twice their number dead. They had discovered that two women in the wilderness weren’t as helpless as they had seemed.
Clara pushed the memories of blood and sulphur away, preferring to focus on this, her first real Christmas with Callie Glass. Last year had been nice but had held more consideration for Callie’s healing injuries. This year was truly the first of many as they developed their small family’s annual traditions.
Callie turned to look at her with striking blue eyes. Despite putting on airs that decorating for the holiday was foolish, her soft smile revealed a secret delight.
Without words, they slipped into each other’s arms and silently regarded their work.
Their new cabin would be completed by next year, and Clara already had a vision of how to decorate their new home. But for a first try in this rustic trapper’s cabin, it was a decent start.
Clara leaned her head against Callie’s shoulder and basked in the knowledge that this was where she was always meant to exist - beside Callie Glass in the wondrous Alaskan district for the remainder of her days.
Callie cracked open one eye. The cabin was dark and would remain so for many more hours. Despite the lack of visual cues, she expected it was not yet midnight.
She opened the other eye and used one hand to rub the sleep from both of them. Buried in quilts and furs, she idled in sleep-warmth from herself and her partner. She turned on her side and found Clara beneath the mound.
Lying there, satisfied and loved, Callie’s eyes drifted closed. With effort, she forced them open again. There was something she had to do before she could return to Morpheus’s embrace.
She eased out from beneath the covers, cursing that she slept on the inside against the wall. Clara enjoyed being able to rise early and start breakfast. This meant Callie was forced into all manner of contortions to not disturb her lover’s slumber. It had been all but impossible while Callie healed from her horrible injuries of the summer. Tonight, however, she managed with only a few twinges of pain from her bum shoulder.
Once free of the bed’s confines, it was all she could do to not crawl back into its warmth. The cabin was held firm within winter’s grasp, though the banked coals in the stove offset the worst of the frigidity. With a shiver, Callie felt her way to the stove to add a bit of fuel.
Leaving the firebox load door open for illumination, she rummaged under a counter and extracted a cloth-covered bundle. With occasional glances at the bed to determine the wakefulness of its occupant, she carefully unwrapped the package and stuffed the cloth back into place. Back at the open stove, she used the flames to study the wooden box.
Though not large and not polished, the cedar wood at least had the benefit of being sanded smooth. Callie had debated whether or not to carve something onto the surface, but hadn’t been able to determine what design she should use, let alone whether she had the skill to not botch the job. Instead, she’d squirreled away some money and used it to purchase tiny hinges and a hasp, carving the box out of a single chunk of wood. It had taken ages with both her arms injured in one way or another, but the result looked nice.
Lifting the lid, she peered inside. The locket wasn’t elaborate, with a bit of filigree on its cover. She smiled and closed the box. Hugging it to her chest, she soaked in heat from the stove. After a moment, she closed the load door and padded with sure steps of long familiarity through the dark. With care, she set the box beneath the barely seen Christmas tree..
Callie sat back on her haunches, using recent memory to paint a picture of the tree in front of her with the gift nestled at its roots. Oh, how her life had changed. From the deepest of nadirs to the highest of zeniths, the loss of everything she’d known and loved, followed by the soaring heights of love she’d never known existed. This last year and a half had been a whirlwind of death and despair and ecstasy.
She looked up at the top of the tree. Next year she’d carve a star for it, something to not only commemorate the season, but also include the man whom she’d adored and who had brought about all of her joy. Jasper Glass had taken in his teenaged sister after their parents’ deaths and finished raising her. He’d gone out of his way to contact a mail order bride, Clara, and had invited her to their home. None of Callie’s happiness would exist if it hadn’t been for her brother. None of her sorrow and terror would have existed either.
Still staring at the top of the tree, she whispered, “I love you, Jasper. I hope you know.”
Deep in her soul, she heard, “Of course, Callie. And I love you and Clara both. Take care of each other for me.”
Tears tickled upon her cheeks, and her nose became suspiciously thick. “We will, Jasper. We will.”
As was her wont, Clara awoke in darkness. Even in high summer, her first rousing arrived before the sun breeched the horizon. Deep into winter, it would be many hours before Sol would deign to peek upon their homestead, and its visit would be short. She stretched, basking in sleep warmth.
Her movement disturbed Callie for the briefest of moments. Callie mumbled and rolled away to continue her slumber. With a fond smile, Clara eased out from beneath the warm covers and carefully tucked them against her lover’s back and shoulder. Callie sighed and snuggled in her warm pocket. Within seconds a light snore indicated she had returned to asleep.
Clara shivered in the chill air and reached for her shawl draped at the foot of the bed.
The first order of business was rekindling the banked fire in the stove. As the firewood ignited, she used a twig to light two lanterns, turning the wicks down to the barest illumination. She added a couple of chunks of coal to the fire box and closed it as quietly as possible. A tepid pot of water already sat upon the stovetop. She moved it across the surface and closer to the firebox.
Breakfast would be a simple affair this morning - toasted bread and warmed venison from last night’s supper. This austerity contrasted with her Yuletide memories of Boston. In a few hours her parents would enjoy a morning meal of porridge, poached eggs, potato fillets and griddle cakes. Christmas supper would be a smorgasbord of oyster soup, roast turkey, plum pudding, chicken pie and any number of other delicacies available in the big city. Many of those ingredients would cost a fortune here in the Alaskan District - turkeys did not dwell so far north. And oysters and plums? Not likely! Shipping such into Skagway would be outrageously expensive.
The thought of single-handedly putting on a full breakfast spread as well as a Christmas supper boggled Clara’s mind. Her parents had the assistance of Cook to manage multiple large meals in a day; she had Callie who couldn’t boil water without burning the pot. Clara chuckled to herself, mentally hearing that last statement in Callie’s voice. Even after a year and a half, she hadn’t determined if Callie really couldn’t cook or used the excuse to avoid the chore altogether. Fortunately for both of them, Clara enjoyed meal preparations.
She puttered about and sliced bread for toast, ensured the butter was warmed enough to easily spread, segmented their leftover roast into thin strips for later frying and prepared their cups for coffee. As she worked, the cabin heated to a comfortable temperature. Though still cool, she removed her winter shawl. Eventually all was ready, though there were still hours before Callie would rise for the day. Using the heated water on the stove, Clara tidied her work area.
Only one thing left to do before returning to bed.
After a glance at her sleeping partner, she stealthily opened the trunk that held the majority of her clothing. In the back, toward the bottom, she felt rough canvas against her fingers and extricated a small bundle. Though the wrap was canvas instead of elaborately decorated paper, she’d utilized one of her hair ribbons, the bright red one, to make it more festive. Perhaps she could extoll her mother to send wrapping paper in the summer, but this would have to do for now.
Clara crept past the bed, grinning to herself at the faint snore emitting from the blankets, and knelt at the base of the tree. She blinked in surprise at the wooden box already there. After laying down her bundle, she picked up the box to study it. The surface was soft as butter, its edges rounded. She peered closely at it in the dim light. For a wonder, she couldn’t see any joining at the corners except for the hinge and lid. Even then, the grain of the wood remained flawless from top to bottom. The entire thing could have been produced from a single piece of wood.
She almost opened the box to examine the interior, but froze. This was a Christmas gift to her from Callie. Clara lightly shook the box, hearing something rattle inside. Her partner would want to experience Clara’s authentic pleasure at the gift. With effort, she returned it to its place.
Despite excitement for the coming morning, she sat on the floor, arms wrapped about her knees as she stared at the decorated tree. She imagined their next Christmas - a larger tree for their larger cabin, boughs of pine and fir over a real fireplace, stockings hanging from the mantelpiece. Her brother, Bradley, would arrive in summer with her best friend, Emma, as his wife. Clara pictured three of her favorite people in the world gathered at their dining table for the celebratory winter feast. Wouldn’t that be wonderful?
Heart full, eyelids beginning to sag from sleepiness, Clara rose and returned to bed. She crept beneath the covers, skin delighting in the captured heat. Callie stirred, rolling over and pulling her into an embrace. Content, Clara drifted back to sleep with visions of laughter and happiness dancing in her dreams.
Callie drifted awake by slow increments. Low light flickered against her eyelids, drawing designs that amorphously shifted with neither rhyme nor reason. She shifted and felt complimentary movement along her body, heard a gentle murmur from a familiar throat.
Opening her eyes, she noted lantern light along the ceiling. Late enough that Clara had already risen for her morning preparations, early enough that she hadn’t had the opportunity to arise a second time to finalize breakfast. A rare occurrence indeed to be awake before Clara, and Callie planned to make the most of this boon.
After eighteen months in Alaska, Clara’s alabaster skin had become the tiniest bit weathered. Her cheeks were tanned and the lips slightly chapped by wind and cold on the trapline. She looked less like a doll in a shop window and more like herself, in Callie’s opinion. Stray strands of dark hair had escaped from Clara’s sleep bonnet, and Callie brushed them away from her cheek and throat. Her rough fingers gently caressed the tender skin beneath Clara’s delicate ear as she remembered the taste and texture of it along her tongue.
Clara sighed and murmured again.
Callie’s hand strayed down Clara’s throat and beneath the blankets, following the curve of shoulder and upper arm. In response, Clara snuggled closer, allowing Callie to explore the unseen waist and hip underneath. Memories of summer afternoons and fall evenings, of skin against skin and the taste of her lover fired Callie’s arousal. Her investigation reached the small of Clara’s back, and she applied gentle pressure until her lover draped one leg over Callie’s thigh.
“Mmmm.”
Encouraged by the vocalization, gentle fire licking at Callie’s hunger, she cupped the rounded buttock and slid down the back of the thigh across hers. As expected, Clara’s nightgown had ridden up in her sleep. Callie’s fingers met soft, exposed flesh. With tantalizing slowness, she eased her hand up along the thigh, teasing both the semi-awake Clara and herself. Need trickled through her veins, sparking a delightful tension in her abdomen.
Clara murmured again. Hazel eyes, languid with sleepy desire, opened. “That feels nice.”
“Yes, it does.” Callie applied more pressure, and Clara brought her leg higher to allow her lover better access. “More than you can imagine.” She massaged the tender skin in small circles, working her way north until she reached joining of thigh and buttock. There she slyly caressed Clara’s most private of places, barely touching velvety lips, playing in the curls there.
The beautiful eyes closed a brief moment, and Clara moaned under her breath as she pressed her hips forward. Not to be outdone by her lover, Clara tugged at the buttons of Callie’s union suit with urgency and slipped inside.
Her lover’s touch upon her breasts almost gave Callie pause. Warm hands delved inside her bed clothes and caressed her skin, the sensation familiar and adventurous. Thumbs gently swirled against her nipples, bringing the aching flesh to hard peaks. She gasped when Clara pinched and rolled them between her fingers, the sensation almost driving her initial goals from her mind.
“I love touching you.” Clara’s sweet voice had turned husky, a low burr that no one but Callie ever heard. “I could do this all day.” She leaned close and kissed Callie, open mouthed and ferocious as she surged forward, rolling Callie onto her back.
Callie met Clara’s desire with her own, one hand buried in dark hair as she returned the kiss with abandon. The other, having been dislodged by the unexpected movement, splayed across Clara’s rear and pressed her close.
Clara broke off the kiss and hovered above her, sleep bonnet askew. She gentle ground against her lover, taking the opportunity to complete the unbuttoning of Callie’s union suit. Once at the bottom, she once again slipped heated hands inside and caressed Callie’s abdomen and waist. “All day,” she whispered.
“I’ve got no argument.” She hiked the hem of the sleeping gown up to Clara’s waist, then twisted and pushed, forcing Clara to dismount as they flipped over. Clara toppled into the pillows beside her and their legs entwined. Callie grinned at the startled expression of her lover. “But me first.” She smothered any complaint with a searing kiss.
Had there been any fight, she would have backed off, but Clara sank into the kiss, her tongue vying for supremacy, her hands buried in Callie’s hair and union suit, legs spread to accept eager fingers. Callie stroked liquid heat, feeling the same pool inside her clothes, as Clara writhed against her. Slipping past the protective barrier, she dipped two fingers inside, marveling again at the velvet heat clutching at her.
The kiss broke off, Clara panting with exertion as she groaned at the welcome invasion. Callie took the opportunity to feast upon the delicate throat and ear, listening to the sound of her lover in the throes of passion. Heavy breaths, rustling bed clothes, quiet moans, thick whispers of direction and desire — there was no better music in the world. Callie could listen to such a symphony every day.
As she played the instrument that was her lover, she changed the pressure and speed of her activities. Her lips moved downward, tasting the flesh rarely seen except for baths and such exertions as this, nibbling at hard nipples. Her thrusts became stronger, harder, meeting Clara’s hips, allowing her lover to set the tempo of their musical collaboration. When her thumb massaged the engorged clitoris, Clara cried out, her hands grasping at Callie’s head and hand, as she bucked.
Moments later, Clara’s body froze as the first wave hit her. She cried out again, a lusty growl of ecstasy as she jerked against Callie. For her part, Callie held on tight and continued her thrusts, milking every bit of her lover’s orgasm until the body beneath her hands and mouth went limp.
With small, gentle movements, Callie reclaimed her fingers. She covered Clara with her body, holding the majority of her weight on her elbows, knowing Clara enjoyed the sensation afterward. She nuzzled Clara’s throat, peppering the delicate ear with kisses as her lover’s panting receded.
Soon Clara’s hands moved again, stroking Callie’s back and shoulders, holding her close. “Mmmm, that was a wonderful way to wake up.”
“Wasn’t it though?” Callie rolled to her side, gathering Clara into her arms. They cuddled in the aftermath of their lovemaking, Callie replaying the sounds and sensations, desire still eager within her abdomen.
Clara stirred and sighed, languid. Her cheeks dimpled, and her eyes became hooded. “I know another wonderful way to wake up.”
Callie’s mouth went dry at the sultry promise. “Do tell.”
“How about I show you?” Clara’s hand reached into Callie’s union suit, sliding south.
It was some time before the pair roused themselves to leave their bed. Clara tingled from head to toe, her hair a disaster, her stomach rumbling with hunger. As Callie stood before her, fastening the buttons of her long underwear, Clara’s body rumbled with a different sort of hunger. She licked her lips, hand stroking her abdomen as she watched.
Callie noticed the attention. She grinned, impudent and bent to pick something up from the floor.
The movement gave Clara a fair view of breasts beneath the unbuttoned top. Then her sleep bonnet landed on her face. She squawked and tugged it aside.
Chuckling, Callie completed her task and reached for her trousers. “Get up, you lump! I’m hungry!”
Clara snorted in feigned offense but scrambled from bed. She swept up the bonnet to smack her lover. Upon turning around however, she found herself wrapped in an embrace.
“I love you, Miss Clara Stapleton.”
She relaxed. “And I love you, Miss Callie Glass.”
They rocked back and forth a few moments until a suspicious grumble came between them. Callie laughed and pulled back. “I don’t know if that was you or me.”
Clara couldn’t determine whose stomach it was either. “Now that you’ve interrupted my morning routine, quite thoroughly I might add, let’s get some food into that demanding belly.”
It was Callie’s turn to be affronted. “Are you insinuating that was my stomach growling?”
With a raise of her chin, Clara turned away. “Indeed.”
Though Callie seemed prepared to continue the jape, she paused and patted her abdomen. “All right. I’ll give you that one.”
Laughing, Clara took her place at the wood stove and began breakfast.
Content didn’t even come close to describing how Callie felt this morning. She listened to Clara chatter about whatever came to mind, adding appropriate nods and verbal acknowledgements as needed. Meanwhile, she filled her vision with the gregarious beauty who’d put her foot down all those months ago and refused to leave. What would Callie’s life had been like without her? Drab, dark. Chances were good she wouldn’t be alive now.
“Shall we open the presents?”
Callie blinked, happy for the distraction from her morbid thoughts. “You’re asking me? I would have opened presents weeks ago. I have no patience for waiting on gifts.”
“Which is why I hid mine until this morning.” Clara rose from the table and took Callie’s hand.
Allowing herself to be led, Callie snorted. “Like you would have left a gift untouched for days on end.”
Clara chuckled. “Guilty as charged.” She sat on the floor, tugging on Callie’s hand.
Callie’s eyes focused on a canvas-wrapped bundle as she sat. The bundle was smartly held together by a bright red ribbon. Why hadn’t she thought of that? Before she could consider the idea, said bundle was thrust into her hands.
“Open it!” Clara smiled, hands clasped in her lap as she leaned forward.
With great care, Callie unwrapped the ribbon so as not to damage it. The package was heavier than she expected for its size. She noted Clara’s eager brightness and purposefully slowed her progress, enjoying both her lover’s and her own anticipation. She finally unveiled a small black box and a stick of peppermint candy. “Peppermint!” Awed, she looked up from the rare treat. “Where did you find it?”
Unaccountably, Clara demurred with a blush. “I asked Emma to purchase one for me in Boston. It came with the last post.”
Deep in the Alaskan wilderness, hard candies were not easy to come by, nor were they cheap. Callie reached forward to cup Clara’s cheek. “Thank you.”
Clara’s color deepened though she smiled and patted Callie’s hand. “Open the box.”
Reminded there was a box, Callie turned her attention to it. The box wasn’t large. She lifted the lid off and beheld a Modell 1890 Swiss Soldier’s Knife. “Oh!” She’d only even seen one other, last spring in Skagway. At the time, she’d tried to trade for it off a Johnny Newcome heading for Dawson City, but had been rebuffed. Her fingers trembled as she pried it from its velvet lined haven. Unlike a standard folding knife, this design boasted a blade, a reamer, a can opener and a screwdriver.
As Callie examined her gift, unfolding each individual part for close inspection, Clara spoke. “I remember your excitement last spring when you learned of these. It took some investigation but I eventually located one for sale in Seattle.” Her voice lowered. “Do you like it?”
Callie smiled. “Like it? I love it! Almost as much as you!”
The faint worry lines on Clara’s forehead faded. “Only almost?”
“Only almost.” Callie closed the distance between them and gave her lover a thorough kiss. “Thank you very much. These are perfect gifts.” She chuckled at the faint huff of relief she heard. “And now…” She picked up the box and handed it to Clara, tensing without knowing why.
“I saw this a few hours ago.” Clara studied the box. “It’s even more lovely in the light. However did you make it? I don’t see any joining along the edges.”
Disconcerted at Clara’s obvious admiration, Callie scratched at her neck and looked away. “It’s a single piece of wood, a chunk of cedar I found.”
“So, you carved the shape and then cut through it for the lid?”
“Uh huh.” Words failed her, something that happened often in Clara’s presence even after a year and a half. Would Callie ever not be fumble-fingered and tongue-tied around this woman? A flash of Clara’s face, contorted with desire, drove away Callie’s discomfort. Words weren’t everything. She pointed at the hardware. “I found an old jewelry box in town and salvaged the hinge and hasp.”
“Can I open it?”
Callie laughed. “Of course.” The tension returned as Clara applied action to words. Would she think the locket ugly? Old-fashioned?
Clara drew the locket out by its chain. “It’s beautiful.” Her thumb caressed the filigree. “Wherever did you get it?”
Cheeks and throat inflamed, Callie swallowed against the alleviation of her fears. “It belonged to my mama."
“Goodness.” Clara held it out. “Help me put it on!”
Laughing, wondering why tears stung her eyes, Callie obeyed the request while Clara held her hair up.
Once the locket was secured, Clara rested her hand against her chest where it lay. “It’s gorgeous, Callie..”
Heartened by Clara’s obvious pleasure, Callie kissed her again. “Open it.”
Clara held the locket in one hand and thumbed the latch. The locket opened into three sections. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she covered her mouth. “Oh!”
There’d been a photographer in Skagway last spring taking images and selling the results. At Callie’s request, he’d taken one of them. On the left, Callie had placed the image of herself, slightly scruffy and hair askew after hours on the trail to town. On the right was the portrait of Clara, a smudge of dirt on one cheek, eyes shining. The empty space between them held a twist of their joined hair, golden and black, braided into a tiny heart-shaped bundle as a testament to their love.
Clara’s voice failed as she whispered, “It’s beyond gorgeous, Callie.” Tears spilled from the large hazel eyes. “I’ll cherish it forever.”
A lump developed in Callie’s throat, and she pulled Clara close. They held one another in the silent cabin, celebrating the holiday as well as their union. No one knew what the future held, but she couldn’t imagine one without Clara at her side. “You mean the world to me, Clara. You know that, don’t you?”
Clara sniffled and pulled back just enough to lock eyes with her. “And you to me, Callie. If you were in Hell, I march down there and get you back.”
Callie laughed, using her thumb to wipe the tears from her lover’s cheeks. “I don’t doubt it. You’ve done as much already.”
“I have. And I’ll do so again. Don’t you forget it.” Clara’s expression brooked no nonsense, despite a slight grin.
“Yessum. I’ll just tell the devil, ‘Lucifer, sir, I cain’t help you. My betrothed will rain Holy Hell upon your head.’ And if he’s smart, he’ll back off.”
“Oh, you!” Clara thumped Callie’s upper right arm. “No one warned me you were a rascal.”
Callie grabbed Clara, fingers digging into tender ribs. “Would you have listened if they had?”
Laughing, Clara squirmed until she rolled with her back against the floor. “No! I’d have stayed anyway and tried to tame you, you hard case!”
Adopting a menacing air, Callie stopped tickling her lover. She hovered above Clara. “And do you think you have the grit to tame me?”
With a sultry smile, Clara pulled Callie down for a kiss. “I think I do. Shall I try?”