A Christmas Dream (Hudson House Holiday #1)

Chapter Four

“O h, my!” Dulcie said as the carriage Brant had rented rounded a bend and the vista of Hudson House became visible in the distance.

He’d traveled the road so many times the past three years, he’d grown accustomed to the scenery, the unexpected views, and glorious trees and plantings that could make a trip on the road feel like traveling through a magical woodland.

However, at the look of wonder on Dulcie’s face, Brant leaned forward and tapped the driver on the shoulder.

“Stop for a moment, please,” he requested.

The driver nodded and brought the carriage to a stop in the middle of the road.

When Hunter Lawson had discussed his plans to build the road through existing trees, following the natural curve of the hills, Brant had told him it sounded fine, had provided the funds needed for the work, and hadn’t given it another thought.

Now, though, with the trees beginning to take on the ornamental hues of autumn, and the sunlight gliding through the leaves, Brant sat back, trying to envision what it must look like to Dulcie and her son.

Bobby, who sat between him and Dulcie in the back seat of the conveyance, stood up, leaned over his mother to get a better view, then turned to Brant with a wide grin. “Is that a fairy castle?”

Brant smiled, picked up the lad, and settled him on his knee. “Not quite, but I hope you’ll like it.”

“I will!” Bobby proclaimed, craning his neck to see more of the Hudson House estate.

“The house you mentioned is that one?” Dulcie asked, pointing to the grand dame, as Brant so often thought of the house when he wasn’t exasperated and referring to it as a money-sucking albatross.

“It is.”

“Even from here, it is a sight to behold, sir. And this road is like traveling through an enchanted forest, if one ever existed. At every turn, there is something more beautiful and intriguing to see. What a clever and inspiring way to welcome guests. Was that your intention, or was it a natural bit of fortune?”

Brant motioned for the driver to continue. The man snapped the lines, and Brant leaned back in the seat with Bobby still perched on his lap.

“My landscape architect, Hunter Lawson, is the brilliant mind behind all this earthly beauty. Actually, I should rephrase that to say he and the Master Creator designed the landscape. Hunter used what was already here and found ways to enhance it. The Hudson House property line began where we turned off the main road about twenty minutes ago. Since the drive from there to the house is a rather lengthy one, we wanted visitors to be intrigued and awed as they neared my home.”

“Really? How many acres are included in the property?” Dulcie questioned.

Remington glanced back at Brant from his seat next to the driver and raised an eyebrow, as though daring him to admit how many acres he’d purchased since their initial investment of the bluff overlooking the river where the house had been constructed.

“As of last month, Hudson House encompasses seventy-one thousand acres.”

Dulcie’s mouth dropped open in shock.

Brant grinned. “Insanity on my part, most likely, but I wanted to diversify the property. Some of the ground is in timber, some in rangeland for our beef. As I mentioned earlier, we have orchards, a dairy, and raise hogs. We also grow all the feed for our animals, and will have our first wheat harvest next year.”

“And you oversee all of it?” Dulcie asked, her eyes fixed on the house in the distance.

“Heavens, no! I have all I can handle right now with the shipping business and my house. I’ve hired whom I feel to be the best of the best for each industry. I have a manager for the dairy, another for the beef, and one who is in charge of our happy hogs.” Brant teasingly poked Bobby’s side, making him giggle. “There is a manager in charge of the crops, and a gardener with a crew working with the landscape architect. If they have questions, they bring them to Remington, who either handles them or seeks my input.”

“But isn’t Mr. Monroe your butler?” Dulcie asked, looking from Brant to Remington.

“He is my butler, my friend, my estate manager, and all-around grand fellow. Without him, none of this would be possible,” Brant said, aware of the red stain tipping Remington’s ears. Any form of praise generally left him embarrassed, but every word Brant had said was true.

“And Mr. Monroe will also be in charge of the house. Correct?” Dulcie questioned as the house disappeared from view behind a craggy wall of rock where intrepid sagebrush and native grasses grew from the surface.

“That’s correct. I plan to hire a housekeeper to be in charge of the household staff, but she would answer to Mr. Monroe. For now, he’s stuck handling everything.”

“Stuck is right,” Remington said, grinning over his shoulder at them, then looking to Dulcie. “And please, call me Monroe. No need for adding the mister, Mrs. Anders.”

“Then you best call me Dulcie.”

“I will.” Remington pointed ahead. “Be sure you watch because the sight when we come around the next bend is one you don’t want to miss.”

Brant shifted Bobby so he’d have a better view, then they all looked forward as the carriage rounded the last turn and the house stood like a stalwart sentinel on the bluff, with the sandstone blocks of the exterior and copper-topped turrets reaching upward into the brilliant blue sky.

“It’s glorious!” Dulcie proclaimed, her hands clasped beneath her chin. “I’ve never seen anything quite so grand in my life.”

“Thank you. We’re pretty fond of the place.” Brant smiled at her, then pointed out the stables, the conservatory, and various buildings as the carriage rolled onto the cobblestone-paved drive and stopped in front of the house.

“Is this our new house, Mama?” Bobby asked as Brant set the boy on his feet and climbed out of the carriage.

“It might be, baby,” Dulcie answered, her eyes wide as she seemed to take in everything at once.

“But first, young man, would you like a tour?” Brant asked, lifting the child out of the carriage, then holding out a hand to Dulcie. She took it with a grateful nod, stepped down, and then captured her son’s hand in hers.

Thirty minutes later, Brant and Remington stood in the kitchen doorway watching Dulcie run her fingers over the stove and the cabinets that had been installed. She turned on the hot and cold water in the huge sink, then gazed out the bank of windows that filled the space with light.

She spun around and nodded at them. “I would very much love to be your cook, Mr. Hudson, but before you can agree, I need to prepare a meal. Is the stove working?”

“It does work. So does the water, as you saw. The coolers are functioning as well.” Brant motioned for her to follow him down the back stairs. He pushed open a door near the stairs and stepped back, pleased to see the floor had been finished in his absence. “We need to bring in furniture, but would this room suffice for you and Bobby?”

Dulcie stepped into the room where a semicircle window let light into the basement room. The walls were painted soft white and brightened the space. It was the biggest bedroom in the basement. Brant had originally planned to give it to the head housekeeper, but at the moment, keeping a cook happy seemed more important.

“You’ll have a private bath.” Brant opened a door where floor-to-ceiling gleaming white tiles covered the walls. A toilet, clawfoot tub, and pedestal sink filled the space. “There’s also a closet.” He walked across the room and opened another door. “It might even work as a bedroom for Bobby for the time being since it is rather spacious.” He’d designed the oversized closet, thinking there might be things a head housekeeper would choose to store there.

Dulcie glanced into the bathroom, then walked into the closet that could easily hold a child’s furnishings with room to spare. She moved back into the bedroom and faced Brant, her expression one of humble thanksgiving. “This is more than I could have hoped for, Mr. Hudson. I don’t know how to thank you.”

“How about some of the biscuits you mentioned earlier?” Brant asked in a teasing tone.

Remington shook his head in mock disgust, while Dulcie laughed. She swept Bobby into her arms and kissed his rosy cheeks.

“Welcome to Hudson House, Dulcie. Welcome,” Brant said, then led the way out to the carriage.

“Are you sure we can’t stay here? Bobby and I could sleep on the floor.” Dulcie looked with longing at the house as Remington helped her into the carriage.

“We’ll purchase furnishings for your bedroom first thing in the morning. Other than a few odds and ends in the kitchen, you’ll need to purchase pots, pans, knives, bowls, and whatever else is needed to create your culinary masterpieces,” Brant said as he climbed in beside her.

Dulcie settled Bobby between them and opened the reticule she carried, searching through the contents.

“Is there something you need, Dulcie?” Brant asked as the carriage rolled along the cobblestones of the drive, heading back toward town.

“I thought I had a pencil and paper tucked in here. I was going to start a list.”

“You’ll have time enough to work on it after a proper supper at the hotel. I’ll pay for you and the young one to have a room there for as long as needed. Tomorrow you and Remington can shop for necessary supplies. If supplies are obtained in a timely fashion, the day after that, I’ll expect to sample a lunch you prepare. How does that sound?” Brant would have waited a week or two to have her cook a meal, but he had a feeling the sooner Dulcie could prove she was capable of running his kitchen, the happier she would be.

“Perfect. What are your favorite foods?” Dulcie asked, and Brant discussed his likes and dislikes, expectations for meals and mealtimes, and the number of staff he thought would be needed to assist her in the kitchen on an average day, and a day when the house was full of guests.

Remington reminded him of the crates of dishes in the rooms used for storage in the basement waiting to be unpacked.

“Perhaps the Drake sisters could be enlisted to help unpack the dishes and clean the pantry,” Remington suggested as they neared Silver Bluff.

A vision of Holland, her smile radiating warmth, speared into Brant’s heart. “That’s a sound idea, Rem. Perhaps you could ask Denver to get a message to them.”

The following morning, after perusing the list Dulcie had made, Brant instructed Remington to add whatever he thought necessary to it and to make sure a comfortable bedroom set was purchased for the woman along with a smaller set for her son.

Feeling stifled and in need of fresh air, Brant retrieved his horse from the livery stable and decided a brisk ride out to Hudson House was exactly what he needed. Rather than take the road directly to the house, he chose to survey the acres that would yield wheat next year, then rode through one of the orchards.

He thought he heard a woman’s laughter and stopped, listening to see if his mind played tricks on him. A soft murmuring assured him he wasn’t imagining things, and he urged his horse toward the sound. He rode through a gate and discovered Holland Drake standing on the back of her Appaloosa horse, reaching up into a tree to pick pears. A ladder propped against a nearby tree made him question why the woman didn’t use it. Perhaps it was too heavy for her to move.

He almost shouted at her to get down before she broke her neck, but refrained. He feared if the horse spooked, Holland would be gravely injured.

As quietly as possible, he swung off Gentry and left him ground-tied a dozen yards away, then made his way to her horse. She appeared to be a gentle, well-trained mare as she stood perfectly still, munching on an apple.

He let the horse draw in his scent before he placed a hand on her neck, latching on to the bridle lest she decide to make a sudden move.

“Just a few more, Meadow, then we’ll be finished with this tree,” Holland said as she stretched up, standing on the tips of her toes to reach the last of the pears near the top of the tree with one hand, while the other held the corners of her apron like a makeshift basket. From the way it dipped in the center, he was sure it was full of just-picked pears.

Brant looked around and saw a wagon nearby full of bushel baskets. Half of them were full of pears, the other half waiting to be filled.

“Got it!” Holland said in triumph, settling another pear in her apron basket. One moment she was standing on the horse. In the next, she’d turned and dropped astride the equine with such ease and grace, it was almost like watching a dancer perform.

When she noticed him standing beside Meadow, she gasped in surprise. “Oh, hello. I didn’t see you.”

“My apologies. I thought I heard voices through the trees and rode over to investigate. Harvesting pears?” Brant asked, wondering if she’d recognize him. The day she’d come to the library with Denver’s lunch, Brant had been dressed in work clothes, his hair uncombed, and a growth of dark scruff on his face from putting off shaving for a few days. He accumulated a heavy shadow of beard by late afternoon every day. If he were required to attend a formal dinner, he sometimes had to shave twice a day just to look presentable.

But that day he’d not shaved, not been at all groomed, never expecting to see a female in the house, let alone one who captured his attention like Holland Drake had somehow managed to do.

Today he was shaved, groomed, and attired in a tailored suit. He’d paid an early visit at the bank to retrieve funds for Remington and Dulcie to go shopping for the kitchen and her bedroom. He’d met with the attorney he’d hired in town and discussed a few contracts, then had eaten breakfast with Remington, Dulcie, and Bobby before meeting with a man about four teams of horses he wished to purchase. By the time he’d paid for the teams and arranged for their delivery to the stables, he felt in need of a ride.

He hadn’t bothered to change out of his suit. His focus had been merely on escaping his duties long enough to feel the autumn air on his cheeks and the sun on his face.

However, as Holland gazed at him as though he were a complete stranger, he rather wished she would see him as Alex, a coworker of her brother with whom she’d seemed interested.

“Are you alone?” Brant asked, sure he’d heard more than one voice earlier, along with laughter.

“At the moment. My sisters were helping me, but the youngest got a sliver in her hand, so Savannah took her to the house to dig it out. They’ll be back soon. At least I hope they will. We still have several trees to finish, and we don’t have much time.”

“Is there a storm predicted?” Brant asked, wondering if the weather lent the sense of urgency to her work.

“No,” Holland said, agilely sliding off the horse and walking over to the wagon, carefully emptying her apron full of pears into a basket. “Savannah and I are starting work at Hudson House next week and we have a long list of chores we’re trying to finish before then.”

“Hudson House?” Brant internally debated continuing the charade or telling Holland the truth of his identity. Denver’s warning about the fury of a scalded bobcat pricked his conscience. Was it better to evoke it now or have to face it later when others might witness the spectacle?

“Are you familiar with the place? It’s not all that far from here, at least if you cut through the orchard. The house is spectacular. I can hardly wait to see the grounds next year, when the wildflowers are blooming and the gardens are all planted. It’s going to be glorious!”

Unable to hide his smile, Brant nodded in agreement. “It will be glorious, and I am quite familiar with Hudson House,” he said as he patted the horse. When he stepped around the mare, he found Holland staring at him, hands propped on her slender hips.

“Do I know you, sir? You seem familiar, although I can’t place the reason why.”

“From Hudson House. You brought lunch to your brother last week and graciously shared it with two hungry men who worked with him in the library.” Brant removed his hat and bowed as though he faced the queen, although when he’d met her majesty two years ago, he hadn’t felt the nerves jittering through his system that he currently experienced.

“You weren’t there that day. It was Denver, Mr. Monroe, and Alex …” Her voice trailed off, and she frowned. “Alex?”

“Brant Alexander Hudson at your service, Miss Drake.” He straightened, set the hat on his head at a jaunty angle, and hoped she wouldn’t see the way his fingers shook when he stuffed them into his pockets.

“You’re Mr. Hudson? The Mr. Hudson?” Holland’s entire face turned red, no doubt recalling the unflattering description of him she’d shared at lunch. He hoped she found him slightly more appealing than a balding, paunchy man with bad teeth.

He feigned a carefree grin. “None other.”

“I … you never said … why … but Denver …” She pressed her lips together, and her expression rapidly changed from confused to furious. “How dare you pretend to be a worker! What sort of game are you playing, sir? What do you hope to gain? Or is it just for your own perverse entertainment, pulling the wool over the eyes of the country girls too stupid to realize you’re a … a … cad!”

Brant held his hands in front of him in a mollifying gesture, but it only seemed to stoke her ire.

Holland stamped both feet and clutched her fists at her sides. “What are you about, sir? What could you possibly hope to gain by tricking me?”

“I didn’t intend to—” Brant spluttered as an overripe pear splattered against his chest and chunks of it flew into his face.

“Holland, please. Let me explain!” He ducked just in time to avoid a pear to his jaw. “Holland! Enough!”

She launched another pear, catching him on the shoulder as he rushed toward her. He managed to wrap his arms around her, preventing further assault with her hands pressed to her sides. He hoped if he held her a moment or two, she’d calm down. Instead, she struggled against him like a wild thing. He let go when she delivered a backward blow to his shin that made him wince.

“Stay away. Don’t touch me!” she said, jumping into the wagon and out of reach. She armed herself with two pears she grabbed out of the nearest basket and pulled back her arm, prepared to lob one at him.

“Please, stop. Listen. Just for a moment.” Brant held his hands up in surrender. “Then, if you feel inclined to continue abusing me with your pears, so be it.” Part of him felt as though he were truly surrendering to this woman. He’d been fascinated with her from the moment they’d met, entranced by her smile and laughter while admiring her pretty face and attractive figure. He’d sensed a kindness in her that day. A generous spirit given to joy. An intelligence and wit she didn’t try to hide.

Yet, seeing this side of her—full of ferocity and spunk, eyes firing sparks of indignation—only increased his desire to know her better, to know everything about her.

Holland lowered her arm, cocked a hip, and offered him a petulant glare. “Say whatever it is you feel compelled to share. I won’t throw another pear until you finish.”

Brant would have preferred she not throw any at all, but he wasn’t in a position to bargain with her.

“The day you came to the house, I was working in the library with Rem and Denver to help speed things along. I might have money, but I am capable of doing work, a fact your brother can confirm. When you walked into the library, it was like someone opened a door and filled the room with sunshine. You are a breath of fresh air, Holland, and I knew if you realized I was Mr. Hudson, you wouldn’t relax and enjoy yourself. I wanted you to feel at ease, which is why I introduced myself as Alex. It was wrong, and misleading, but the reasons behind my … duplicity were not nefarious. I simply wanted to savor an hour spent in the presence of a sweet girl who had no idea I was the owner of the house. I apologize for any discomfort my deception has caused you.”

Holland moved to the end of the wagon, tossed him one of the pears she held, and took a seat on the tailgate. “How am I supposed to work for a man I can’t trust, even if you decide not to fire me for assailing you with rotten fruit?”

Brant had to work to keep from grinning at her. Instead, he bit into the pear, swiping the back of his hand across his chin to catch the juice. He took another bite, then looked at Holland. Beams of sunlight streaming through the trees surrounded her, making her appear more like a dream, or a fairy tale, than the irate woman who’d flung pears at him only moments before.

“I have no intention of firing you, Holland. Not over this. It’s my own fault. Denver warned me you have a temper. I see he spoke truthfully on the matter.”

Holland’s cheeks turned pink and she ducked her head as she took a bite from her pear.

Brant finished his pear, tossed the core into the grass that grew thick in the orchard, and removed a pristine white handkerchief from his pocket. He wiped his sticky fingers and face, brushed away remnants of pear from his clothes, and stepped closer to Holland, holding the handkerchief out to her.

She tossed the core she held, accepted the handkerchief, and wiped her hands on it.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Hudson. I do have a temper. Despite what you just endured, I assure you it won’t erupt while I’m working.”

“That’s good to know, Holland. Would you be willing to start over? Give me a second chance? Perhaps we could pretend we haven’t yet met and begin anew. I’ll forget you tried to bludgeon me to death with pears, and you can forget I pretended to be Alex, a carpenter. What do you say?”

Holland seemed to consider his request for several moments, then she slid off the back of the wagon, held out her hand, and smiled at him.

“Mr. Hudson, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Holland Drake. Mr. Monroe hired me and my sister to work for you as housemaids. We are so pleased with the opportunity and look forward to keeping your incredible house spotless.”

Brant smiled and took her hand between both of his, feeling something warm flow through his veins as he looked into her eyes that no longer appeared to be flaming with anger but glowed with mirth and compassion. “It is my distinct pleasure to meet you, Miss Drake. May I call you Holland? It’s a lovely name.”

“Of course, sir. My parents named all of us after places, like Denver, and Savannah.”

“And there are six of you?”

“Correct. Charli, the youngest, is five.”

Brant’s smile widened. “I just hired a cook yesterday. She has a son, Bobby, who is four. Might Charli and Bobby enjoy an opportunity to play together?”

Holland nodded. “I’m sure they would, and we can make arrangements. Will your cook attend church on Sunday? If so, perhaps she’d like to join us for lunch and stay the afternoon. Denver could escort her back to the house, if that’s where she’s staying.”

“She will be, as soon as we can get a room set up for her and Bobby. Mrs. Anders is a widow, and quite eager to begin setting the kitchen to rights. We realized yesterday we have any number of crates filled with beautiful china, crystal, and fine serving pieces, but nothing, really, in which to cook the food or prepare it. Other than a dented tea kettle and a few plain pieces Rem has picked up in town, we’re a mess.”

Holland laughed, as he hoped she would. “I’m sure Mrs. Anders will get you straightened out shortly. Is she at the house today?”

“No. I left her and Remington in town to buy food supplies and furniture for her room. If they can’t find what they need there, I’ll place an order with one of my suppliers in Portland.”

Holland nodded and started to hand him back his handkerchief.

He wrapped her fingers around it. “You keep it.”

She studied him a moment, then tucked it into the pocket of her apron. “I apologize, Mr. Hudson, for getting so mad at you. I don’t like to be lied to, and it felt like you were up to trickery by pretending to be someone you weren’t.”

“Remember, new beginnings, Holland. And when it’s just the two of us, I do hope you’ll call me Brant. Or even Alex.”

“I’m not sure that would be proper, sir.” Holland took a step back and bumped into the wagon, as though she’d momentarily forgotten it was there. “It is nice to meet you, though. I’m quite pleased to discover you aren’t paunchy, and your teeth aren’t tragically yellow.”

Brant felt a self-conscious need to race to a mirror and check his teeth. Then he caught Holland’s teasing grin and shook his head. “You are something else altogether, Holland Drake.”

She shrugged and walked over to the ladder.

“If His Highness isn’t above such menial tasks, would you help me move this ladder?”

Brant hefted the heavy wooden ladder, realizing why Holland hadn’t moved it on her own. It was indeed a cumbersome thing. “Where would you like it?”

“Right over here,” she said, patting her hand on the base of a tree a few feet in front of him. When he set it in place, she picked up one of the empty baskets and started up the ladder, stopping when she was three rungs up.

She glanced down at him with a smile that warmed him clear to his heart. “If my friend, Alex, would like to come for supper tonight, he’d be welcome. We eat at half past five.” Holland pointed through the trees. “Our house is on the other side of that hill. If you’re coming from town, we’re the third place past the tree with the double trunk. Mama made the boys paint the house white with blue trim back in the spring. You can’t miss it.”

“Thank you for the invitation. Your friend Alex gladly accepts. Is there anything he could bring?”

“Just an appetite.” Holland grinned at him before she scurried up the ladder.

Rather than stare at her, Brant walked over to where he’d left Gentry, swung into the saddle, and rode to his house, mulling over what had just taken place with Holland. If any of his staff had dared speak to him that way, let alone bombard him with pears, he would have fired them on the spot.

But Holland’s reaction only increased the fascination he’d already felt for her. He had no idea what it was about the woman that intrigued him so, but something about her drew him as no other female ever had.