“She does?” Michelle was all eyes. “Really?”

Sara looked at her and smiled. “You must have more confidence in yourself,” she said gently. “You must believe in your own abilities.”

“That’s hard.”

“It comes with age. You’ll get the hang of it.” She handed Michelle a box of ornaments. “Be careful going down the steps.”

“Okay.”

They spent the afternoon decorating the tree. When they finally plugged in the beautiful, colored fairy lights, Michelle caught her breath.

“It’s the most breathtaking tree I’ve ever seen,” she enthused.

“It is lovely, isn’t it?” Sara asked. She fingered a branch. “We must keep it watered, so that it doesn’t die. When Christmas is over, I’ll have the men plant it near the front steps. I do so love white pines!”

“Do you ever miss Wyoming?” Michelle asked, a little worried because she knew Sara was only here so that Michelle could come home, so that she wouldn’t be alone with Gabriel.

Sara turned to her. “A little. I lived there because Gabriel bought the ranch and one of us needed to run it. But I had no real friends. I’m happier here.” Her dark eyes were soft. She smoothed over an ornament. “This belonged to my grandmother,” she said softly. It was a little house, made of logs, hanging from a red silk ribbon. “My grandfather whittled it for her, when they were dating.” She laughed. “Wherever I am, it always makes me feel at home when the holidays come.”

“Your mother’s parents?”

Sara’s face went hard. “No. My father’s.”

“I’m sorry.”

Sara turned back to her. In her lovely face, her dark eyes were sad. “I don’t speak of my mother, or her people. I’m sorry. It’s a sore spot with me.”

“I’ll remember,” Michelle said quietly. “It’s like my stepmother.”

“Exactly.”

Michelle didn’t betray her secret knowledge of Sara’s early life, of the tragedy she and Gabriel had lived through because of their mother’s passion for their stepfather. She changed the subject and asked about the other ornaments that Sara had placed on the tree.

But Sara wasn’t fooled. She was very quiet. Later, when they were sipping hot chocolate in the kitchen, her dark eyes pinned Michelle.

“How much did he tell you?” she asked suddenly.

In her hands, the mug jumped, almost enough to spill the hot liquid on her fingers.

“Careful, it’s hot,” Sara said. “Come on, Michelle. How much did Gabriel tell you?”

Michelle grimaced.

Sara took in a long breath. “I see.” She sipped the liquid gingerly. “He never speaks of it at all. Yet he told you.” Her soft eyes lifted to Michelle’s worried gray ones. “I’m not angry. I’m surprised.”

“That he told me?”