Page 25 of On a Midnight Clear

Martin’s room was a small , tidy space—a bed , a chest of drawers , a trunk at the foot of the bed. Together , Noah and Hope methodically searched in the chest , under the mattress , and between folded shirts and trousers in the drawers. No sign of the missing knife.

Hope’s shoulders slumped as they moved on to her room. “I’ve searched in here several times already.”

As she stepped inside, Noah hung back. “Do you want me to look in the main room while you go through yours once more?” His mouth went dry at just the thought of being in there.

She shook her head, her eyes turning glassy. “You might notice something I haven’t. This is the last place I saw it too.” She glanced inside. “If you’d rather not be in here with me, I’ll go through the kitchen again while you search here.”

That sounded like an even worse idea. He couldn’t go through her belongings—her unmentionables—without her there. He would have to think of this as simply a job to be done. A task to get through.

“I ... it’s probably best for us to work together.” His voice cracked on the words, but at least he got them out.

She turned and stepped inside, and he followed. But he only made it as far as the doorway, then stopped to let himself take in the space.

Hope’s room was cozy and simple, yet filled with feminine touches.

A patchwork quilt in cheerful colors covered the narrow bed.

A vase of dried lavender sat on the wooden dresser, filling the air with a subtle, sweet scent.

Noah swallowed hard, suddenly all too aware he was standing in the private space of the woman who’d begun to take up too much space in his thoughts.

She moved to the trunk at the foot of her bed and knelt beside it. “I’ve gone through this at least three times now,” she said with a sigh as she opened the lid. “But maybe a fresh set of eyes will spot something I missed.”

Noah stepped forward, honing his focus again. This was about finding the knife, nothing more. He knelt beside her, and they removed and inspected each item inside. Folded fabric, shawls, stockings, a few treasured books.

When she pulled out the wooden box where she’d kept the knife, his chest tightened. The expression on her face said its contents were special.

Hope lifted the lid of the box with trembling fingers. Inside lay a collection of trinkets and mementos—a pipe, ladies’ gloves, and two gold buttons. Cavalry, if he wasn’t mistaken.

She fingered the smooth cedar bottom of the box. “This is where I kept it.” The reverence, the longing in her tone made him want to know about these other pieces. They were special to her , so they mattered.

He reached out a single finger to touch the bowl of the pipe. “What are these treasures?”

She picked up the pipe, cradling it in both hands. “This was my father’s. He only smoked it in the winter, when we’d have long evenings inside. He’d sit in an armchair with a tall back and smoke the pipe.”

Her gaze turned unfocused. “I don’t remember him ever reading during those evenings. We all talked, and he watched what the rest of us did. Like he simply enjoyed being with us.” Her voice caught at the end, and the tears shimmering in her eyes looked like they might spill over.

She sniffed, and her gaze focused again, landing on him. “He died when I was seven. A heart condition that kept him in bed those last weeks.”

He nodded. There weren’t words that could ease the loss, but at least he could show his own feelings. “I’m sorry you lost him so young.”

Her mouth formed a shaky smile. “What of you? Are your parents still alive? Where did you grow up?”

That old familiar knot balled in his throat, but he summoned his usual casual tone when sharing these details. He didn’t speak of them much, but he needed Hope to know this part of him. To understand how low his background had been. He was no prize. Not the kind most women sought.

“I never knew my father. My mother died when I was four, during the birth of my younger brother. My grandparents raised us. There was an orchard in the yard, and we sold oranges in town.” Why had he added that last part? He didn’t tell people that.

Sorrow filled her gaze, and she looked like she wanted to lay her hand on his. He would have welcomed the touch, but he didn’t want pity.

“Were your grandparents kind?” she asked. “You had other siblings?”

He nodded. “They did their best. It’s not easy for an older couple to raise three boys without much of a livelihood. My older brother is Tom and the younger Mose.”

She studied him, and his neck itched at the way she seemed to see so much with that gaze. After a moment, she spoke in a soft voice. “I’m sorry it was so hard, but I can see how that upbringing made you the man you are today.”

He swallowed, still trying to work loose the knot in his throat. “Yes.”

“Are your grandparents still alive?”

He shook his head. “They passed within a year of each other. Mose had already left to apprentice to a pharmacist, so they had a few months to themselves again before the end.” He’d loved his grandparents, even though not all the memories were good.

It couldn’t be easy to raise another round of children unexpectedly.

A new round of tears glimmered in Hope’s eyes. For him? He couldn’t let her grieve a past he’d moved on from himself.

He turned back to the trunk—empty now and ready for a thorough inspection. He spoke as he rose up on his knees to feel the bottom. “I’m wondering if there’s a crack or something the knife could have worked into.”

But nothing was obvious, and after an incredibly thorough search, he had to give up that possibility. No cracks in the wood or joints. No hidden compartments. No glint of silver.

“It’s just not here.” Hope sighed. She scanned her room. “Maybe I should give up on it. It’s just a knife. Losing it doesn’t change our past. Maybe I can write out the memories as a Christmas gift for Martin instead.” She offered a feeble attempt at a smile that made his belly twist.

He reached for the blankets that had been at the bottom of the trunk. “Let’s put these back in and finish searching your room. If we don’t find it anywhere in the house or barn, maybe we’ll think about giving up.”

But he wouldn’t stop searching. Not if he had to dig up all the snow in the yard, he’d look until he found this treasure for her. Until he’d removed this sorrow lining her face and lit those beautiful eyes again.

Hope nodded, then reached to help him fold the blankets and place them back inside the trunk.

As they worked, his fingers brushed hers, and a tingle spread up his arm. He focused on the task, willing away the growing warmth in his chest at her nearness.

They finished with the trunk and turned their attention to the rest of the room.

Noah checked under the bed while Hope opened the drawers of her dresser.

He tried not to let his imagination wander to what feminine items might be tucked inside.

Although it was hard to ignore the subtle scent of lavender that clung to her linens.

After a thorough inspection yielded no clues, they moved to the main room of the cabin. The knife had to be here somewhere. It couldn’t have just vanished.

He lifted the braided rug near the hearth to check the floorboards while Hope rummaged through a basket of mending.

Neither turned up any sign of the heirloom.

With growing frustration, they opened chests and crates, looked in and behind the stove, even moved the logs around in the hearth to make sure it hadn’t been tossed in there.

Nothing.

As he closed the last trunk, he turned to Hope, who stood by the window, her arms wrapped around herself as she stared out at the snow-covered landscape. The defeated slope of her back made his heart ache. He crossed the room to stand beside her, close enough that their shoulders almost brushed.

“I’m sorry we haven’t found it yet.” He did his best to keep his voice soft, since Sam still slept near the far wall. “But we’re not giving up. There’s still the barn to search.”

She nodded but didn’t look at him. “I know. It’s just ... that knife is one of the few things I have left of my parents. Losing it feels like losing a part of them all over again.”

Noah reached out and took her hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze. It was a bold move, but she seemed to need more than words. “I understand. But your memories of them live on in your heart, not an object. And we’ll keep looking until we find it.”

Finally, she turned to face him, unshed tears shimmering in her eyes. “Thank you, Noah. For helping me search. For understanding.”

He smiled down at her, suddenly very aware of how close they were standing, of the softness of her hand in his. “You’re welcome. That’s what friends are for, right?”

Something flickered in her expression, there and gone too quick for him to decipher. Then she stepped back, pulling her hand from his grasp. “Yes.” She cleared her throat. “Well, I suppose we should check the barn. Just in case.”

He followed her outside, the cold air a sharp contrast to the warmth that had enveloped him moments before.

They trudged through the snow on the worn path to the barn, shoulders hunched against the wind.

Inside, they split up to cover more ground—Hope checking the stalls while Noah investigated the hayloft and equipment.

He even searched under his bedding and in his satchel, just in case.

By the time Hope joined him near his belongings, his optimism had dwindled.

It simply wasn’t here.

He turned to Hope, condolence on his lips, but the words died at the sight of the silent tears tracking down her cheeks, leaving glistening trails on her skin.

“Hope...” He reached out a tentative hand to her shoulder.

She startled at his touch, quickly dashing away the tears with her sleeve. “I’m being foolish, I know. Crying over a knife.” Her voice cracked. “It’s just ... it was the last thing Mama ever gave me. Her most prized possession. And now it’s gone forever.”

His chest squeezed tight. Before he could question himself, he stepped closer and folded her into his arms. She resisted only a moment before melting against him, hands fisting in the fabric of his coat as quiet sobs shook her frame.

Her tears soaked into his shirt, but he didn’t mind.

If he could absorb some of her sorrow, take away even an ounce of her pain, he’d gladly do it.

Her grief was a palpable thing, radiating from her in waves that crashed against his own battered heart.

He knew well the ache of losing loved ones, of clinging to the smallest reminders of them.

After a few moments, her sobs quieted, and she pulled back a little to look up at him. Tears still clung to her lashes, but a hint of her usual strength had returned. “I’m sorry. I don’t usually fall apart like this.”

He shook his head, reaching up to brush away a stray tear with his thumb. He kept his other hand around her waist. He wasn’t ready to let her go yet. “You have nothing to apologize for. It’s all right to grieve the things we’ve lost. The people we’ve lost.”

Hope searched his face, those eyes so deep and full. “You’ve lost so much too.”

He swallowed. “The loss ... it leaves a scar. An empty place inside you.”

Her features softened. “Yes. Exactly.” She took a shuddering breath. “When I hold that knife, it’s like I can feel them with me again. Mama’s gentle hands. Papa’s steady presence. Without it...”

“They’re still with you, Hope. In here.” He laid his palm over his heart. “No one can ever take away what they meant to you, knife or no knife.”

Her eyes filled again, but she blinked the tears away. “I know. I do. It’s just ... harder to remember that sometimes.” Her hand came up to cover his where it rested on his chest. “Thank you, Noah. For being here. For not thinking I’m ridiculous.”

“I could never think that.” If only she knew how much he wanted to be here. Right here. Just like this. “You’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever met, running this stage stop the way you do. But even the strong need comfort sometimes.”

Her lips curved. Not quite a smile, but close. “Well, you’re very good at it. The comforting.”

He huffed a self-conscious laugh. “I’ve ... never been the best with feelings.”

“Could have fooled me.” Her eyes held his, something warm and soft in their depths that made his breath catch.

They still stood so close, his arm around her waist. Her hand covering his over his heart.

He looked into her upturned face, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears but also with a tender warmth that drew him in like a moth to flame.

In that unguarded moment, the yearning he’d tried so hard to ignore surged to the surface, strong and undeniable.

Almost of their own volition, his fingers drifted from her waist to the small of her back, pressing her closer.

She inhaled sharply but didn’t pull away.

If anything, she leaned forward, her body a whisper from his.

Her gaze dropped to his mouth, then flicked back up to meet his, a silent question in their amber depths.

He shouldn’t. This could change everything between them. But with her so near and everything in him craving her, he could find the will to resist no longer. Slowly, giving her time, he lowered his head until his lips hovered a hairsbreadth from hers.

“Hope.” His voice came out rough. “Tell me to stop.”

Her lips parted. Then she whispered, “I don’t want you to stop.”

Closing the last bit of distance between them, he captured her mouth with his own.