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Mail-Order Mistletoe Brides: Christmas Hearts / Mistletoe Kiss in Dry Creek
Janet Tronstad
Jillian Hart
Christmas Hearts by Jillian Hart: Thirteen-year-old Amelia longs for a new ma. Little George needs a father’s guidance.For their children’s sake, Cole Matheson and Mercy Jacobs agree on a business-like marriage. But though Cole tries to keep his distance, Mercy offers the very thing he’s stopped believing in—the chance to forge a real family. ** Mistletoe Kiss in Dry Creek by Janet Tronstad: “Passable cook wanted as wife. Marriage in name only.” Noah Miller doesn’t expect any replies to his plainspoken ad, though it’s the only kind of offer the guarded rancher’s prepared to make. Until widowed Maeve Flanagan and her sweet daughter arrive, turning his home and his heart upside down…


BIG SKY BRIDES FIND A FAMILY—AND LOVE—THIS CHRISTMAS
Christmas Hearts by Jillian Hart
Thirteen-year-old Amelia longs for a new ma. Little George needs a father’s guidance. For their children’s sake, Cole Matheson and Mercy Jacobs agree on a businesslike marriage. But though Cole tries to keep his distance, Mercy offers the very thing he’s stopped believing in—the chance to forge a real family.
Mistletoe Kiss in Dry Creek by Janet Tronstad
“Passable cook wanted as wife. Marriage in name only.” Noah Miller doesn’t expect any replies to his plainspoken ad, though it’s the only kind of offer the guarded rancher’s prepared to make. Until widowed Maeve Flanagan and her sweet daughter arrive, turning his home and his heart upside down.…
Praise for Jillian Hart
“A sweet romance with characters who only want the best for one another.”
—RT Book Reviews on “Her Christmas Family” in Mail-Order Christmas Brides
“A sweet, romantic novel, with memorable characters.”
—RT Book Reviews on Snowflake Bride
“This is a beautiful love story between two people from different stations in life, or so it appears. The characters are balanced and well thought out and the storyline flows nicely.”
—RT Book Reviews on Patchwork Bride
Praise for Janet Tronstad
“This great story filled with kindness, understanding and love is sure to please.”
—RT Book Reviews on “Christmas Stars for Dry Creek,” in Mail-Order Christmas Brides
“Elizabeth is a wonderful, caring character, a strong-willed woman with tenderness for a motherless child. Jake is a gentle giant, and their love story is full of Christmas joy.”
—RT Book Reviews on Calico Christmas at Dry Creek
“Janet Tronstad’s quirky small town and witty characters will add warmth and joy to your holiday season.”
—RT Book Reviews on “Christmas Bells for Dry Creek,” in Mistletoe Courtship
JILLIAN HART
grew up on her family’s homestead, where she helped raise cattle, rode horses and scribbled stories in her spare time. After earning her English degree from Whitman College, she worked in travel and advertising before selling her first novel. When Jillian isn’t working on her next story, she can be found puttering in her rose garden, curled up with a good book or spending quiet evenings at home with her family.
JANET TRONSTAD
grew up on her family’s farm in central Montana and now lives in Pasadena, California, where she is always at work on her next book. She has written more than thirty books, many of them set in the fictitious town of Dry Creek, Montana, where the men spend the winters gathered around the potbellied stove in the hardware store and the women make jelly in the fall.
Mail-Order Mistletoe Brides
Christmas Hearts
Jillian Hart
Mistletoe Kiss in Dry Creek
Janet Tronstad




www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Contents
Christmas Hearts (#uf25668c0-d92b-55d1-aa3b-845817ff030b) by Jillian Hart
Mistletoe Kiss in Dry Creek (#litres_trial_promo) by Janet Tronstad
Christmas Hearts
Jillian Hart
To Jenny Blake, from Janet and Jillian. Meeting you face-to-face in Spokane last May after being online friends for so many years was a true blessing. You are a great friend, Jenny. You have been an inspiration and encouragement to both of us. We love you. Blessings always.
For You shall enlarge my heart.
—Psalms 119:32
Contents
Chapter One (#u42deb5e7-a5dd-56cf-a7d6-7b92645d3276)
Chapter Two (#u7714d85b-8639-5efd-9716-b6fa52c30d09)
Chapter Three (#ua0fcb777-c831-5078-93b9-63792ce4539e)
Chapter Four (#u84f7d548-2cde-5399-bc3e-fe5277c569d8)
Chapter Five (#ud6c3e048-a6f7-5506-8f53-728aa3ec59d4)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)
Questions for Discussion (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
Montana Territory
December 20, 1886
The steel clickety-clack of the rails slowed as the town of Miles City came into sight. Mercy Jacobs felt her heart catch. Being a mail-order bride was nerve-racking. With every mile and every stop on the route, her new home of Angel Falls came closer and closer.
And so did the reality of meeting the stranger she’d agreed to marry.
“Ma?” Her seven-year-old son fidgeted on the seat beside her, straining to see above the lip of the windowsill to get a better view of the approaching town. “Will Angel Falls be like this one?”
“I don’t know, George. Maybe.” She smiled past her nervousness. Cole Matheson, the man whose advertisement she’d answered, had written of a friendly railroad town lined with shops, one of which was his own.
“Will it be snowy, too?” Those wide baby-blue eyes filled with a child’s hope.
“I reckon so, as your new pa said in his last letter to bundle up, that our first Christmas in Montana Territory was guaranteed to be white.”
“Boy, I sure do wanna go out and play in that.” George sighed wistfully. As the train chugged a little slower, the view of snowy fields, rolling hills and the snow-mantled roofs of homes clustered along the outskirts of town became crisp, no longer blurred. Easy to soak in and dream a little. George let out a sigh of longing that fogged part of the window. He swiped it away with one hand and watched two children building a snowman in their backyard.
Snow had been hard to come by at their home in North Carolina.
“Miles City, next stop!” The conductor’s voice carried above the conversations of passengers in the crowded car, packed with folks traveling to be with family for the holiday.
“Well, that’s me.” Maeve Flanagan turned around in her seat to smile back at Mercy. The small child seated beside her peered out the window, too. “This is as far as we go.”
“Are you nervous? You look nervous. Why, you’re absolutely pale.” Mercy leaned forward and caught her new friend’s hand. They’d met back East when Maeve had boarded the train, a mail-order bride, too. “Take a deep breath.”
“I’m fine. It’s merely last-minute butterflies.” Maeve smiled gently. She was truly striking at nearly six feet tall with beautiful red hair and blue-green eyes. “This is what I’ve been waiting for this entire journey. Meeting Mr. Noah Miller.”
“He’ll be everything you’ve been hoping for, I just know it.” Mercy gave Maeve’s gloved had a squeeze of encouragement. “Our prayers will be answered.”
“We’ve prayed so often on this trip, surely the Good Lord has heard us.” Maeve paused as the train’s brakes squealed, making conversation difficult.
The train jerked to a stop, bouncing them in their seats. With the final jerk, all motion ceased. Her time with Maeve had come to an end, but she knew regardless of where their separate paths led them, they would always be friends. Some journeys bound hearts together, and this was one of them.
“Why, it’s my two mail-order brides.” The conductor, kindly Mr. Blake, paused in the aisle with a sympathetic smile on his round face. He might be a big man and built like on ox, but his heart was bigger. “I’ve been praying for you lovely ladies. Think of the happiness awaiting you. Why, I can’t imagine a thing more romantic. It’s almost like a story, first declaring love with each other through your letters and then finding a deeper love when you meet. It must be all poetry and declarations of the heart, like a fairy tale happening just to you. Not only am I a happily married man, so I know what’s waiting for you, but it’s the Christmas season. Love and happy endings are in the air.”
“That’s very kind of you,” Maeve said gently, as if she wasn’t so sure.
Mercy was even less sure. Love was not the reason she had traveled across the country to wed a stranger. She managed a weak smile.
Mr. Blake was not derailed easily. He pulled something from his pockets. He held up two sprigs of handsome green leaves bearing small white berries. A tiny bow of thin velvet ribbon added a festive touch. He grinned widely. “Think of this gift as a wish and a prayer for your happy marriages. For your first kisses on Christmas Day with your new husbands.”
“It’s mistletoe!” Maeve exclaimed, surprised.
“Oh, thank you.” Mercy accepted hers, touched by his thoughtfulness. She wished to say more but he’d already touched his hand to his cap and moved on to help an elderly lady with her valise at the end of the car.
“Bless you, Mr. Blake.” Maeve quickly pinned her spray of mistletoe to her collar. “I appreciate the thoughtful wish.”
“And you’ll have mine, too.” Mercy gave Maeve a brief hug. “My prayers for you won’t cease.”
“Nor will mine for you.” With that, Maeve grabbed her young daughter’s hand. Little four-year-old Violet was adorable with her dark auburn hair, cherub’s face and violet-blue eyes. She looked up at her mother expectantly. Maeve appeared grim as she stepped into the aisle. “Be happy, my friend.”
“You, too.” She knew how Maeve felt—hollow, knowing that Mr. Blake’s wishes for them could not come true. A business arrangement did not a real marriage make. She hugged Maeve and said goodbye to Violet, and they were gone, traipsing down the aisle.
Lord, please grant her happiness in her new marriage, Mercy prayed. Somehow.
Her stomach clenched as she settled back into her seat. Soon, it would be her turn to step off the train and meet the man she’d agreed to bind her life to. She smoothed George’s flyaway blond hair with her hand. That cowlick always stuck straight up, regardless of what she did. Love for her boy filled her heart.
He was the reason she’d accepted this mail-order situation. Regardless of the type of man Cole Matheson turned out to be, if he was a good father to her son, she would be content. She would endure any disappointments silently and be grateful for a convenient marriage, one without love.
* * *
“Hurry, Pa! We’ll be late for the train.” Amelia’s voice echoed through the dry-goods store, rising above the rustle and din of Christmas customers filling the aisles. The tap of her impatient gait struck like a hammer in uneven raps through the store as she skirted knots of customers and arrowed straight for him. “You promised, Pa. You said you’d keep an eye on the time.”
“It’s been a busy day.” Cole Matheson looked over the top of his reading spectacles, pausing in tallying up Mrs. Lanna Wolf’s purchases. He frowned at his daughter. “I haven’t heard the train whistle. It’s not time yet.”
“It’s four o’clock.” The thirteen-year-old skidded to a stop in front of the counter, her apple cheeks pink from running, her strawberry-blond hair threatening to escape her braids, strands tumbling loose to curl around her face. She looked as if she’d been playing outside with the boys again, with chunks of snow melting in her hair and her blue flannel dress wet in spots. She gestured toward the clock on the wall. “The train’s late and so are you. C’mon, we’ve got to hurry.”
“I have to finish helping Mrs. Wolf,” he said sternly, for all the good it did. Amelia was used to his ways and wasn’t troubled by them. “Now politely apologize to Mrs. Wolf.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am.” Amelia bobbed in a quick curtsy. “But my new mother is coming on the train today, and Pa isn’t nearly as excited about it as I am.”
“Why, this is wonderful news. I hadn’t heard.” Lanna Wolf smiled gracefully, apparently not troubled by the child’s behavior. “Congratulations to you both. What a happy thing to have happen right before Christmas.”
“It’s my Christmas present,” Amelia was quick to explain. “It’s the only gift I’ve asked for every Christmas for three Christmases in a row, and this year I finally wore Pa down. All I had to do was mention how I needed a ma on account of one day soon I’ll be needing a corset, and that did it. It changed his mind on the spot.”
“I suppose it would.” Lanna laughed, seemingly unaware he’d turned two shades brighter than a beet.
“And she’s really nice. I read every one of her letters and even wrote her two. She answered them both. I think she’ll be a really good ma.” Amelia released a dramatic, satisfied sigh. “It’ll be the best Christmas present ever.”
For his daughter, at least. Cole slipped his glasses higher on his nose and squinted at the column of figures. He doubled-checked his addition and gave Mrs. Wolf her total.
“Just add it to my account, please, Cole.” Lanna settled her warm winter hat on her elaborate knot of hair. “Can you deliver this all by supper time?”
“My delivery boy will do his best.” He scribbled a note to the boy on the slip, letting him know that Mrs. Wolf was a priority customer. “Hard to say with the storm moving in.”
“Yes, it has the feel of a blizzard out there,” Lanna agreed while his daughter bounced up and down in place with her “hurry, Pa” look. “Blessings on your new marriage, and Amelia, I’m so happy you’ll have a new mother. What are the odds, I wonder, that she knows what she’s getting into?”
“I’ll behave, I promise.” Amelia’s sweet, heart-shaped face shone with earnestness. Amelia was a good girl, but she was rambunctious, regardless of how much she tried otherwise. Perhaps a prim and proper mother’s influence would help curb that.
It was his only prayer. Mercy Jacobs came across in her letters as quiet and sensible, and heaven knew that was exactly what his daughter needed. Curbing Amelia’s unladylike behavior was the true reason he’d agreed to marry a complete stranger. Every woman he’d approached in town either laughed at his convenient marriage proposition or gaped at him with horror.
At least he hoped Amelia was the reason those women had looked at him that way.
“I’ll take over, boss.” Middle-aged and efficient Eberta Quinn bustled over in her sensible brown frock. “I’ll finish wrapping Mrs. Wolf’s packages.”
As Lanna hurried off to her next shopping errand, other customers piled in. They all had that hungry look, since Christmas was a handful of days away. Cole frowned, debating. “It’s getting busy. I don’t want to miss an opportunity for a sale. I should stay. Maybe—”
“No,” Eberta scolded him, shaking her head. “I know it’s a good time for business, but if you don’t meet that lady at the train, what will she think? It will make a bad impression.”
“This is a marriage of convenience.” He’d been clear about that in his advertisement and in the many letters he’d exchanged with Mrs. Mercy Jacobs. “She’s hardly expecting a bouquet and courting words. She’d likely appreciate a friendly greeting. Perhaps you could do it.”
“Pa.” Amelia stepped in, rolling her eyes and shaking her head at him as if she wasn’t surprised by this at all. “For once, leave the shop to Eberta. This is really important.”
It wasn’t the shop he cared about as much as the fact that he wasn’t so good at relationships. On this side of the counter, he understood his role. He felt comfortable with it. Greeting customers, totaling up purchases, helping people find what they were looking for. This was a transaction he understood.
His true worry that he would disappoint Mercy Jacobs, the woman who’d traveled so far with the heartfelt promise to love his daughter. What if she was secretly hoping for some semblance of a real marriage? What if she’d been wishing for a man capable of loving her?
His heart had been broken so long ago, and he couldn’t even remember when it had been whole.
A whistle sounded in the distance, faint through the walls of the shop.
“It’s coming! We need to hurry.” Amelia’s much smaller hand crept into his. “Oh, I can’t wait to meet my new mother.”
She held on so tight, the way she used to do when she was small.
It was a reminder that she was still a little girl, that while she’d grown tall and slender, she absolutely needed the woman who would be getting off that train.
* * *
“Angel Falls, next stop!” The conductor’s friendly voice boomed through the car.
A frantic flutter of heartbeats tapped against her sternum. Mercy drew in a slow breath, trying to steady her nerves. This was the moment of truth. When she discovered whether everything Cole Matheson had written about his town, his daughter and himself were true. Her palms went clammy as she worried for her son. How would George feel if Mr. Matheson wasn’t the man he claimed to be?
She smoothed down the boy’s flyaway cowlick, willing it to stay down for a good first impression. Just trust in the Lord, she told herself. Trust the feelings and the signs that have brought you here.
“Look, Ma!” George went up on both knees, struggling to get a good view as the train started its slow descent on the town. “There’s horses in that field. Horses.”
“So I see.” She leaned in, love in her heart for her son, daring to hope for him. “Look at them run.”
“They’re racin’ the train. Wow.” George pressed his nose against the glass, hungry to lap up the sight of the majestic creatures in shades of blacks and browns galloping against the snowy-white world. His boyish shoulders lifted up with satisfaction. “What if those are Mr. Matheson’s horses? What if one of ’em will be mine?”
“That would be nice, wouldn’t it?” She let her son dream, her sweet good boy, giving thanks for the man who’d promised to give George one of his horses and riding lessons. Everything George had been dreaming. Her throat closed up tight. She needed to believe Cole was a man who kept his promises. Her late husband, Timothy, had meant well, but he hadn’t been so good with that. She hoped history wasn’t about to repeat itself.
A touch on her sleeve caught her attention. The conductor stood there, smiling down at her, his gray hair peeking out from beneath his cap. “I’ll get your satchels for you, ma’am. You have your attention full with your fine son.”
“I’m gonna learn to ride like a real cowboy.” George beamed, his grin ear to ear, his button face flushed pink with pleasure. Why, she’d never seen his navy blue eyes so bright.
She didn’t know what she’d do if Cole Matheson let him down. Tears burned behind her eyes at the thought and she smiled weakly up at the conductor. “Thank you, Mr. Blake.”
“My pleasure.” The kindly man set both her and George’s satchels on the floor at her feet. “I see you’re wearing your mistletoe.”
“I pinned it on. I need all the help I can get.” She tried to laugh to hide her reservations, but she feared she didn’t quite succeed.
Something that looked like understanding flashed in the older man’s eyes. The anxious flutter in her chest doubled. So much depended on this first meeting. She thanked the conductor, who moved along to help another passenger with her bags, and looked out the window with George.
It does look like a friendly town, she thought over the squealing sound of the brakes. She drank in the sight of tidy streets, the white steeple of a church spearing up over the storefronts and the school bell tower not far away. The train made a final jerk to a stop, and the depot’s platform stretched out before them. A half-dozen people waited for the train, searching the windows anxiously as if eager to be reunited with loved ones—all except for one man.
He was brawny, muscled and tall. His black Stetson tilted to cover half of his face. What she could see was his strong, square jaw, a chiseled mouth that naturally drew into a straight, stern line, and a dimple carved into an angled chin. This man stood apart from the others, staring at the plank boards in front of his black cowboy boots. Maybe in his mid-thirties, she guessed. He wore denims, a black duster and a look of resignation.
As if he felt her scrutiny, he lifted his head higher, knuckled back the brim of his hat to reveal a granite face, high cheekbones and startling blue eyes. Across the distance, their gazes met and she felt the shock of it strike through her like a lightning bolt. All the way to her soul.
Cole Matheson, she thought, beyond all doubt. And by the look of him, he really was a cowboy. All he was missing were spurs.
That was a good sign, right? He hadn’t exaggerated that piece, anyway. Hopes for her son broke loose and she smiled, truly smiled.
Maybe it was another sign—and not a good one—that Cole Matheson didn’t smile back.
Chapter Two
“Pa! Do you see her?” Amelia bounded ahead of him, skirts and wild strawberry hair batted by the icy wind.
“Yes, I see her.” He swallowed hard against a thickness in his throat, surprised to hear his voice strained and not sounding at all like his own. Through the glazed glass, the prim-and-proper lady was shadowed, hardly more than an outline of a colorful hat and the delicate curve of cheek and chin. Eyes too far away to see the color through the glass fastened on his, and he felt the plea and worries as if they were his own. As hard as this was for him, he thought with a sigh, it had to be the same for her.
This was the moment of truth. Resigned and grim, he squared his shoulders and marched forward like a dutiful soldier. He was about to find out if this mail-order marriage idea was a mistake or a solution.
“Oh, she’s pretty. That has to be her.” Amelia glanced over her shoulder to throw him a happy look. Sparkles gleamed in her blue eyes; the wind’s bite and joy turned her dear face pink. “She’s wearing the brown hat with the purple flower like she said she would, and look at the boy with her. He’s blond. That’s George.”
George. Something hollow twisted in Cole’s chest, in a place that had been empty for so long. Eagerness he hadn’t felt in aeons surged through him and he turned his attention to the child. Round face, a tumble of blond hair, big worried eyes. Then the boy was gone, disappeared from the window. Cole froze in place, not wanting to move forward in enthusiasm the way Amelia was, needing to be reserved. He needed that shield, that protection.
“Mrs. Mercy!” Amelia rushed toward the passengers disembarking, her shoes pounding against the planks of the platform. Most unladylike, but he didn’t raise his voice to rein her in. That would mean he would have to move closer, draw attention to himself and make the elegant, willowy woman easing down the steps glance his way.
She was beautiful. Really beautiful. His jaw dropped in disbelief. His pulse screeched to a stop. Surprised, he could only stare at the unexpected loveliness of her face, her carefully carved, china-doll features, porcelain skin, graceful sloping nose and lustrous blue eyes that made every person on the platform turn and stare at her. He couldn’t look away. Why on earth did she need to be a mail-order bride?
The woman spotted Amelia, and a caring smile transformed her reserved beauty into sheer loveliness radiating such warmth it made his throat close up entirely. This lady was kind, kinder than he’d ever dared to imagine, he thought as she took her son by the hand and helped him make the leap off the lower step and onto the board platform.
How could this be? he wondered. How could this lady be everything he’d wanted for Amelia? A man like him didn’t get that lucky, and he’d given up looking for blessings a long time ago. God had forgotten about him an hour after his stepfather had married his widowed mother. But Amelia... The Lord hadn’t forgotten Amelia. That was all that mattered.
“Or can I call you Ma?” Amelia gushed, wrapped her arms around Mercy Jacobs as if she’d known her forever. She bounced back and boldly grabbed hold of both Mercy’s satchels. The girl’s shoulders sank from the weight of the heavy bags, but she refused to let go.
“Ma?” Mercy’s forehead crinkled, her soft mouth tilting upward. “It’s not official yet. Should the wedding come first?”
“I don’t care. You’re going to get married. Maybe that’s not what you want me to call you, but I’ve been practicing. Mrs. Mercy is probably best, that’s what Pa says I should call you, because Mrs. Jacobs is too formal, like I don’t know you at all, but I really know you because of the two letters so we aren’t complete strangers.”
“You may call me whatever you like, dear girl.” To her credit, Mercy Jacobs bit her bottom lip to keep from laughing. Her expressive dark blue eyes telegraphed caring, as if she’d already fallen in love with the child. “But I don’t want you to feel as if I’m replacing your mother.”
“Oh, I hardly remember her, not that I don’t love her, too, but I want to call you Ma.” Amelia looked as if she were about to float away with pure joy at any minute. “I want you for a mother so much.”
“Just the way I want you, Amelia.” Warmth. Gentleness. The kind that only a mother could bring. That’s what he saw as Mercy Jacobs gently brushed strawberry-blond tangles out of Amelia’s eyes. “I’ve always wanted a daughter, too. Something tells me I couldn’t have found a better one if I’d looked all over the world.”
Overcome, Amelia fell silent, tears standing in her eyes.
George watched the woman and girl curiously, standing back from his mother, obviously a shy boy. Quiet.
Just like Cole had been at that age. Still was, if truth be told. He didn’t like emotions, did his best to avoid them—he squared his shoulders, wrangling down every last one. He watched Mercy Jacobs introduce her son to Amelia, who greeted him with enthusiasm. She thought she might like having a brother, the girl explained, as her best friends were boys. Did George know how to sled?
The boy shook his head and cautiously took his mother’s hand.
“I’ll teach you,” Amelia promised.
Cole winced, wondering what refined Mercy Jacobs might be thinking of that. Determined to protect his daughter and to keep her from seeming unladylike, which she was and which he had to believe Mercy could change, he bolted forward.
“Cole.” Mercy faced him, fastening the power of her unguarded gaze on him.
He stumbled. He’d never seen anything as genuine and sincere as the hope and silent plea in those navy blue depths. Feeling inadequate, he extended his hand. “Mrs. Jacobs.”
Maybe it was too formal. She seemed surprised for a moment. She squared her slender shoulders, a little bit guarded, and reserve crept into her gaze. As if he wasn’t meeting expectations.
He winced, as she wouldn’t be the first woman to size him up and react the same. He cleared his throat, attempting to sound hospitable. “Nice to finally meet you.”
“It is.” She looked a little nervous, just as he was, and faced him directly. “I have to say the town is charming, and as for Amelia, well, she’s obviously everything you said she was.”
“Beware, I may have left out a few key pieces of information about my daughter.” He shrugged, feeling more awkward than he could remember being in a long while. “Just thought I should warn you.”
“Pa! I can’t believe you said that.” Amelia whirled to face Mercy. “Really, Pa has this old-fashioned notion that girls can’t do anything that boys can do.”
“I didn’t say that you can’t. Only that you shouldn’t,” he corrected.
“I think this is going to be interesting.” Holding her son’s hand in hers, Mercy smiled. She extended her free arm to his daughter and drew her in against her side, as warmly as her real mother should have done.
Amelia beamed, gazing up at Mercy Jacobs as if she’d hung the moon and all the stars.
This was so much more than he’d ever hoped for. The woman was not only caring, but just as prim and proper as he’d deduced from her letters. Her blond hair was tucked up behind her brown hat, every strand in perfect place. Her brown wool coat, while showing a lot of wear, was in good repair, buttoned to her throat. The toes of her polished albeit patched shoes peeked from beneath her skirt ruffle. But it was her face that told him the most about her, the wholesome goodness shining from her, the cautious set of her mouth, the demure way she lowered her gaze from his. The concern she showed for her son, the caring she extended to Amelia.
A lump rose in his throat, and he was ashamed of giving in to his feelings. It was simply too much to bear. Mercy Jacobs had lived up to her word.
Now it was his turn to live up to his.
“Hello, George.” He knelt down so he was eye to eye with the quiet boy who’d been studying him beneath the brim of his cap. Cole held out one gloved hand. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you since the first time your mother wrote me about you.”
“You have?” The boy gulped, surprise and hope flashing in his eyes. Shy, the boy blushed, searching for words, perhaps not knowing what to say next.
Cole sympathized with the kid. He knew what it was like to be without a father. He knew what it felt like to look at a man and wish more than anything he could be the father you needed. With a grimace, Cole closed the door on his memories, the ones from after his mother’s marriage, of the disillusionment and fear he’d felt at the hands of his stepfather. He choked up, vowing little George would never know such things.
“I’ve wanted a son all this time,” he told the boy. “I work long hours in my store so I don’t have as much time as I want to ride my horses. If I teach you to ride, like I promised, will you help me out by riding them for me?”
“Uh-huh.” George vigorously nodded his head, a world of hope filling him up, showing his dreams.
“Good.” Cole had dreams, too, ones he’d been trying to hold back. He loved his daughter with all he had, but he’d wanted a bigger family. Daughters to protect and care for, sons to teach and share his love of horses and inherit his store. Not knowing how to say these things, he reached out and gripped the boy’s shoulder. The childish feel of him, small and vulnerable, filled Cole’s heart. Just filled it.
Good to know at least there was room for dreams to come true, even at this time in a man’s life.
“C’mon,” he said to the child, holding out his hand. “Let’s get you out of this cold. Look, it’s starting to snow.”
“It’s real snowy here.” George let go of his mother, gazing up at her as if to ask permission.
“Stay where I can see you.” She nodded. “Don’t run ahead.”
“I won’t,” he said, puffing out his chest. “I’ll stay right beside my new pa.”
* * *
George placed his hand in the man’s much larger, stronger one. Seeing those capable fingers enclose around her son’s gave her the courage to let him trail ahead of her. It wasn’t easy letting go, trusting a man she didn’t know well with her son’s heart. But Cole seemed to take the responsibility seriously as he led the boy across the platform.
“You have to see the place we fixed up for you.” Amelia surged ahead, holding on tight. “There are rooms Pa rents above the store, but he kept one for you and George. Temporarily, until you get married. It’s got everything you’ll need in it. Me and Eberta, she works for Pa in the store, we got the prettiest things we could find.”
“That sounds wonderful. I can’t tell you what that means.” She tapped down the stairs, checking on George’s progress. Already he was tripping along the boardwalk alongside Cole while tiny airy snowflakes danced in the air around him. She turned back to the girl, her soon-to-be daughter, and drank in all her wonderfulness. Strawberry-blond hair, enthusiastic blue eyes, a faint trace of freckles across her nose. Her zest for life was refreshing. “I’m so happy to be here with you, Amelia.”
“I know! That’s just how I feel, too.” The girl’s grip tightened, as if she never intended to let go.
Affection welled up, unexpected and instant. Just like that, she felt a mother’s bond to this child. As if God had meant for them to be together, as if He’d sat in His kingdom knitting their kindred hearts together. Gratitude filled her as she headed down the boardwalk, making her eyes blur.
“That’s the post office right there.” Amelia pointed across the tidy street. Snow was shoveled into piles against the base of the boardwalk, keeping the way clear for shoppers. A horse and wagon rolled by with a rattle. “There’s the milliner’s shop.”
Mercy blinked against the grateful tears, bringing the town into focus. Colorful awnings protected the boardwalk from the snow, cheerful front display windows advertised presents and Christmas decorations adorned front doors and hitching posts. Garlands and wreaths and Christmas trees lit by tiny little candles.
The snow fell harder now, driven by a brisk wind. It clouded her view of George ahead, casting him in silhouette. Little boy, hand in hand with a big man. His new pa. Gratitude rushed up so strongly, her eyes blurred again.
Be everything you promised to my son, she asked, watching the faint, impressive line of Cole’s broad shoulders. Please.
“There’s Grummel’s Barber Shop.” Amelia danced ahead, pointing across the street. “Right next to Lawson’s Mercantile. We get our groceries there. Oh, and this is our store.”
“Matheson’s Dry Goods.” Mercy tilted her head back to read the sign swinging in the wind. Icy flecks of snow tapped her face as she squinted at the long bank of front windows belonging to the shop.
My, she’d never expected a man who advertised for a mail-order wife to be prosperous. Her jaw dropped at the size of the building, at the tasteful displays of fine products behind the glass and the expansive, impressive oak counter spanning two sides inside the store. A merry bell jangled as Cole opened the door.
“Eberta and I decorated the windows. Didn’t we do a good job?” Amelia tugged her across the threshold, through the door Cole held for them.
“Yes, it’s lovely. I love the way you decorated the Christmas tree.” She breezed past him, aware of him watching her carefully, aware of a sort of sparkle in her heart as their sleeves brushed. Just for a moment, just for an instant, and it was gone. She stumbled after Amelia, breathless, not sure at all what had happened.
“You must be Mercy.” A kindly plump woman circled around the counter, her salt-and-pepper hair tied sternly back into a strict, no-nonsense bun. She wore a brown dress with no adornment, but a friendly smile chased away any impression of sternness. “I can’t tell you how good it is to meet you. This has been a long time coming in my opinion. If there’s anything this one needs, it’s a mother’s guiding hand.”
“I’m not sure how guiding I’ll be, but I’ll do my best.” Mercy took the woman’s offered hand, squeezing it warmly. When she looked into those dark eyes, she saw a friend. “You must be Eberta.”
“Yes, and no matter what that man tells you, I am more than capable of running this store without him.” The elder woman arranged her pleasant face into a schoolmarm’s glare. “Yes, very capable indeed. Cole, what are you doing back so soon? I thought you were taking the rest of the day off.”
“There’s thirty or so more minutes left of the business day.” Cole closed the door with a jangle of the overhead bell, swiping snow off his hat. “It is the busy season.”
His casual shrug belied his true feelings, or so Mercy suspected. She untied her hat, snow sifting to the floor, watching the man. Here, in the lamplight, she could see things she hadn’t been able to spot in the shadowy gloam outside. The deep lines radiating from his eyes, the sadness in them, the air about him as if he’d given up on hope entirely.
She recalled what he’d written in his letters. He’d told her his heart had been broken long ago. He had only pieces of it left to give, but he would give what he had to George.
She’d taken that to mean there were no pieces left over for her. And that was fine. George was what mattered here. She wasn’t exactly sure why that made her sad.
“That man, it’s all about work with him.” Eberta waved her hand, dismissing him, in the way of a good friend. Caring warmed her voice, softened the scowl she sent him. “We’ll see if you can change that, Mercy. In my opinion, it would be an improvement.”
“So you’re telling me this man needs to change for the better?” She couldn’t help teasing, keeping her tone gentle and soft, so that perhaps he would understand. “I suppose that’s true of every man, but I’ve vowed to accept Cole as he is.”
“Bad decision,” Eberta quipped, bustling back behind the counter when a customer approached. “Don’t you think, Mrs. Frost?”
“Absolutely.” A lovely blonde lady nodded emphatically as she set her purchases on the counter. “Goodness, my Sam was a disaster when I first met him. He took a lot of training up.”
“Funny.” Cole’s face heated, turning bright red. “I seem to remember Sam was just fine to begin with.”
“A man would say that,” Mrs. Frost teased as she pulled several dollar bills from her reticule. She rolled her eyes, good-naturedly. “If only they could see themselves from a woman’s perspective. Mercy, is it? I’m Molly. So glad to meet you. Something tells me you are exactly what a certain someone needs.”
“Hey, you can say my name,” Amelia spoke up sweetly. “It doesn’t hurt my feelings. I know I’m incorrigible. Pa tells me all the time.”
“Incorrigible?” Mercy noticed the way Cole winced, and also the fond look the customer, Mrs. Frost, sent the girl. She liked the sense of community here. She liked the friendliness these people had for one another. It chased away more of her anxieties. Whatever was ahead, Cole was clearly a man others thought well of. She winked at Amelia. “No one mentioned incorrigible in their letters.”
“I did warn you there would be surprises.” Cole looked terribly uncomfortable as he shrugged off his wool, tailored coat. His green flannel shirt looked to be new, of high quality, fitted well to his muscled shoulders and granite chest. “Molly, perhaps it would be best not to point this out until after the wedding?”
“Right, what was I thinking?” Molly winked, accepted her change from Eberta and her packages. “Mercy, it’s lovely to meet you. I hope to see you again soon. Amelia, try and stay out of trouble.”
“I’m never in trouble.” Amelia grinned widely. “It all depends on how you look at it.”
“Hmm, you sound like my girls.” Molly laughed, smiled warmly at Mercy as she passed and leaned in to say something quietly to Cole. She waved at George, slipped through the door Cole opened for her and was gone, leaving them alone.
Even in the busy store full of bustling shoppers, even with their children between them, she felt alone. Lonely. Mercy sighed quietly, for this was what she had expected. It was what she knew, what her first marriage had become. Why would this relationship be any different? As if not knowing what to say, either, Cole turned to help George off with his coat, for one of his buttons had gotten stuck. She’d sewn it on too tightly when it had popped off on the train.
“Amelia,” Cole said as he worked the button free. “Why don’t you take Mercy and George to their rooms? That is, unless you want to stay here and help me in the store, George.”
George bit his bottom lip, debating. Torn between going with his mother or staying with his new father-to-be. His blue eyes met hers imploring. “Can I stay here, Ma?”
“Of course you can. You come upstairs and find me when you’re ready.” Her words felt scratchy, sounded thick and raw with the emotion she felt. A mix of gratitude and relief and sadness. In gaining this marriage, she had to let go of George just a little bit, to share him with Cole.
This was for the best, she hold herself, knowing deep in her stomach it was true. Look at the care the man took with her son. Leading him around the counter, talking to him kindly, telling the boy he was just the helper he needed. Dreams for her son, the ones that had brought her here, filled her heart. George gazed up at the man with adoration, eyes wide with wonder.
Yes, a loveless marriage was worth that, she thought to buoy herself, letting Amelia pull her away. She touched her fingertips to the sprig of mistletoe pinned to her coat collar, remembering the conductor’s kindness. Well, she did not need a kiss on Christmas. No, she wanted a happy son and a happy daughter. It was the children who mattered.
Chapter Three
“It’s getting dark.” Amelia dropped both satchels on the landing outside the door at the top of the narrow staircase, turned the knob and burst across the threshold. Her shoes tapped a merry rhythm as she darted ahead into the twilight room. “But Eberta lit the fire for you. It’s toasty warm up here.”
“Yes, it is.” Mercy unbuttoned her coat, moving into the shadowed rooms. Her steps echoed around her. “Can I help?”
“No, I’ve got it.” A flame snapped to life and Amelia carefully lit a glass lamp on a table next to a horsehair sofa. A nice, comfortable-looking sofa. The girl carried the match to the second lamp on an identical table, careful to protect the flame. “What do you think? Eberta and I worked real hard.”
“You surely did. It’s wonderful, Amelia.” Her throat ached at the thoughtfulness. What a comfortable room. A warm wool afghan graced the back of the sofa, quilted throw pillows added color to the room and lacy doilies lent an air of elegance. Warm braided rugs made the space cozy. “Thank you. I’ve never felt more at home.”
“Eberta made all of the afghans and lacy things.” Amelia lit the second lamp, shaking out the match.
Light danced to life, flickering into the recesses of the room, showing off a small kitchen and an eating area in the corner. A doorway must lead to the bedroom. After such a long journey, sleeping on the train, the thought of a warm comfortable bed made her weak in the knees. She eased onto the edge of the sofa, hand to her heart, more thankful than words could say.
“I think Eberta was hoping I’d take a notion to try the needle arts,” Amelia explained as she grabbed a pot holder and opened the potbellied stove’s door. Reddish-orange flames raged inside the metal belly. “Nope, there’s plenty of fuel. You know, I have no interest in learning to knit and stuff, but Pa says I have to learn. I suppose it would be okay if you taught me, but I want you to know my feelings.”
“I hear you loud and clear.” Mercy reached out to smooth a stray strawberry-blond lock of the girl’s hair. What a sparkle she was, full of life and light. “It might be a nice way for you and me to get to know each other. My ma and I would sit for hours on a Sunday afternoon knitting or sewing away, just talking.”
“What was your ma like?” Amelia tilted her head to one side, curious. “Was she like you?”
“Goodness, no. She was very refined. Very cultured. She was the youngest daughter of a very wealthy man and ran away from home to marry someone her family didn’t approve of. She became a farmer’s wife, but she never regretted it. She said love was the greatest treasure in this life.”
“Pa says children are.” Amelia grinned, full of mischief. “Except for me. He says I’m nothing but trouble.”
“Is that so? I’m dying to know what kind of trouble you are.” While she waited for the girl’s answer, the motherly side of her couldn’t help wondering about George. Or the man with him, the tall and tough-looking store owner. Was that the rumble of Cole’s baritone through the floorboards? And why was she straining to listen?
“Well, you know about the sledding.” Amelia scrunched up her face, most adorably. She rolled her gaze toward the ceiling, thinking. “I tend to get in trouble at school for whispering or writing notes to my friends on my slate.”
“I have a hard time imagining that,” Mercy gently teased.
“I know! I try to be good, I really do, but I’m naturally bubbly.” Amelia didn’t seem all that troubled by it. “I have snowball making down to a fine art. No one can make a better one than me. The trick is to spit on it just a little. It ices up, so it holds together better when you throw it.”
“Good to know.” Mercy wondered just exactly what kind of influence Amelia might be on poor George. An aspect she hadn’t considered when she’d been in North Carolina, trying to decide which newspaper advertisement to answer.
A tap of footsteps caught her attention. A floorboard squeaked as a man’s heavy gait marched closer, accompanied by the patter of a boy’s. Her attention leaped, eager to gaze upon her son and see how he was doing, but her senses seemed focused on the tall, shadowed man pausing outside the open door to grip the fallen satchels.
Oh, my. His thick dark hair swirled in a thick whirl around his crown and fell to his collar. As he straightened, hauling the satchels with him, muscles bunched and played beneath the material of his shirt. He strode powerfully into the room like a man more suited to the wild outdoors, hefting a rifle at a bear, perhaps. He dominated the room and made her pulse skid to a stop. He looked immense with his broad shoulders and muscled girth. When he caught her watching him, he jerked his gaze away, staring hard at the floor.
“I’ll put these in the bedroom.” The smoky pitch of his tone came gruff and distant. As if he didn’t want to talk to her. He said nothing more, crossing behind the couch, where she couldn’t see him, where his step drummed in the room like a hollow heartbeat. “George, did you want to come along?”
“Yes, sir!” The boy hurried after him, disappearing into the shadowed, narrow hallway.
Mercy didn’t know why her chest ached so much it hurt to breathe. Her husband-to-be was doing his best to avoid her. He was courteous and responsible toward her, but she felt a vast distance settling between them. It felt lonely.
“Pa?” Amelia hopped to her feet with a flat-footed thud. “What about supper? We are gonna have Ma and George over, right?”
“She’s not your ma yet.” His voice thundered from the far room, sounding muffled and irritated. Something landed on the floor. Likely the satchels. “It’ll be best to let Mercy and George settle into their rooms. They’ve traveled a long way. They must be tired, right, George?”
“Sorta.” The boy’s thin response sounded uncertain. “I was kinda hopin’ to see your horses.”
“I have tomorrow set aside for that.” Cole’s tone warmed and he strode into sight with the child at his side. What an image they made. Towering man, little boy. “You want to be rested up because it’ll be a big day. A good day, I promise you that. Besides, I’m going to bed early to be set and ready to go come morning.”
“Then I will be, too.” George nodded, his face scrunching up determinedly. “Will I really get to ride tomorrow?”
“My word of honor.” Cole ran his big hand lightly over the top of the boy’s head, a fatherly gesture. “But there’s more to riding horses. You also have to learn how to take care of them.”
“I know. I’m good at sweeping the steps whenever Ma tells me to. That’s sorta like cleaning a barn. Do I get my own pitchfork?”
“I got one especially for you. I’ll teach you everything you need to know.” Cole stepped away, and for an instant a father’s longing flashed across his face. When he glanced her way, the look had vanished. He squared his shoulders, his reserve going up. “Eberta is finishing with the last customer downstairs. When she’s done, she’ll head over to the diner next door. Amelia’s going with her. George can go, too, if you wish. They can fetch your meals, while you and I talk.”
Talk. Her chest tensed up so tightly her ribs felt ready to crack. “I suppose that sounds like a wise plan.”
“Good.” Cole nodded in his daughter’s direction before turning to warm his hands at the stove.
“C’mon, George. Let’s go.” Amelia hopped forward, skirts swishing, and held out her hand. “The diner has the best cookies. If Eberta is in a good mood, and something tells me that she might be, we can talk her into getting us dessert.”
George quietly took the girl’s hand, hesitating to glance across the room. Mercy recognized his worried look, so she nodded reassuringly, letting him know it would be all right.
“I’ll be right here waiting for you,” she told him, her good boy. He blew out a breath, perhaps shrugging off his anxiety, and took Amelia’s hand. The two trotted off, Amelia chattering away, as if determined to make them friends.
The room felt lonelier without the children in it, with only the two of them and their marriage agreement. Mercy’s palms grew damp as the silence stretched. She didn’t know if she should stand up and join Cole at the stove or continue to wait for him to speak. Since she wasn’t a meek woman, she scooted farther up on the cushion, poised on the edge of it and studied the man with his back to her, rigid as stone.
This wasn’t easy for him, either. That realization made it easier to break the silence.
“George already adores you.” She folded her hands together, lacing her fingers, staring at her work-roughened hands. “Thank you for being so welcoming to him, for being everything you promised in your letters.”
“Why wouldn’t I keep my word?” His tense back went rigid. His wide shoulders bunched. Then he blew out an audible huff of breath. “We agreed to be honest with one another.”
“We did.” She could sense an old hurt in the air, maybe something from his marriage. Heaven knew she had issues from hers. “Amelia is delightful. Everything I knew she would be.”
“Even rambunctious?” A slight dollop of humor chased the chill from his words.
“I suspected from her letters that she had a zest for life.” Slowly, she stood. Uncertain, she bit her bottom lip, wanting to reach out to the man, to her husband-to-be. “I was less certain what you would be like from your letters, although I read so many of them.”
“Likely I disappoint.” More of that humor and something else, something that seemed to make the shadows in the room darken, creeping ever closer.
“No, I may be the disappointment.” She brushed at a wrinkle in her wool dress, hoping he hadn’t noticed the fraying hem she hadn’t been able to mend on the train. “I wasn’t prepared for you to be so prosperous. And, well, I’m—”
“Just what Amelia needs,” he interrupted firmly, turning to face her. Resolute, confident, certain. Muscles jumped along his set jaw. “I learned a lot about you from your letters. You are honest and loyal—you worked hard for your son. You are unselfish enough to endure a marriage to a stranger for his sake.”
“Endure?” Her voice wobbled, betraying her, letting him know how difficult this really was. “That rather sounds like a jail sentence.”
“I didn’t mean it to be.” Part quip, part serious. Sadness eked into his gaze, darkening his eyes to a night blue, as if all the light had drained from the room. He shrugged one capable shoulder. “Maybe we can come to an agreement so we both won’t be disappointed. Rules to live by, that type of thing. We’re going to be bound together in this life. Don’t know why we can’t make it tolerable.”
“Gee, now I’m really excited about marrying you.” She smiled, and her gentle teasing softened the stony cast to his face. He broke into a half smile, and the lean planes of his cheeks creased into manly crinkles. He had dimples. Who knew? Mercy grinned back, feeling a little fluttery. Not only did her new fiancé have dimples, but he was handsome.
Very, very handsome.
“That’s what I want to talk to you about.” He raked one hand through his thick, dark hair. “I know we wrote about a simple wedding. Just the four of us in front of the minister the day after you arrived.”
“Seeing this room set up so comfortably...” She gestured at the nice sofa and matching overstuffed chair, the small drop-leaf end table set up with two chairs near the kitchen area window. “It’s obvious you want to postpone the wedding.”
“For Amelia’s sake.” He blew out another sigh, looking tense again. “I didn’t think to tell her what we agreed to. Something simple, quick, no fuss. But the problem with that is it sets a bad example of what marriage ought to be. This between us is—”
“A sensible arrangement,” she finished for him, seeing how hard this was for him to talk about. It was hard for her, too, remembering the young bride she’d been when she’d married Timothy, so full of hopes and joy she’d practically floated down the church aisle. “You want her to keep her illusions of marriage. You want to protect her.”
“So, you do understand.” Relief stood out starkly on his face, carving into the grooved lines bracketing his mouth. He folded his big, six-foot frame into the chair. “I didn’t realize she had her heart set on a proper ceremony with a new dress and family and friends attending. Not until I spotted this.”
He reached for a child’s school slate set aside on an end table. “Amelia has been dying to show you her plans.”
“For a real wedding?” Mercy’s hand trembled as she reached for the slate. She had to lean in to grab the wooden frame, close enough to feel the fan of his breath against her cheek. She breathed in the pleasant scent of clean male, winter wind and soap.
Little flutters settled in her stomach again, which was strange. Surely she wasn’t attracted to him. She bit her bottom lip, uncertain what to think. Perhaps she’d simply gone too long between meals. Heart pounding, she eased onto the sofa cushion, taking in the girl’s wedding plans, written out in a careful, cheerful script on the slate’s black background.
Her heart dropped at the list. To do: Amelia had written. Invite everyone. Flowers for the bride. Candles for the church. The dress in Cora’s shop window, the one with the lace and velvet for my new ma. A big cake for the celebration. A Christmas Eve wedding. Beside the last item, Amelia had drawn a little heart.
“She has her hopes set higher than I realized,” Cole said quietly, the deep timbre of his voice rolling over Mercy like a touch, as if imploring her to understand. “I know we agreed on a simple ceremony. You said that was what you wanted. No fuss, no pretense.”
“But this way, with your friends as witnesses.” Mercy’s fingertip hovered over the words Amelia had written, over the plans she’d made. Her chest ached, torn between the old and the new. “What will they think?”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m not a man given to pretense. They knew the truth, Mercy. This is an agreement, simple as that.” He swallowed hard, as if he were troubled, too, perhaps plagued with memories like she was, of a love that was gone for good. Burying a spouse was a sorrow that lasted. He shot to his feet, pacing to the window. “I understand if you’d rather keep to our arrangement.”
“I never expected to walk down the aisle again.” Carefully she set the slate aside. Everything inside of her began to spin. Her thoughts. Her hopes. What she’d resigned her life to be. “I never thought such a bright spot could come my way. I really adore your daughter, Cole. I don’t want to disappoint her.”
“Neither do I.” He turned from the window, grateful. “We do this for the children?”
“For the children.” The agreement stood between them, precious and unyielding, the one thing they had in common. When he managed to smile at her with his lopsided half grin that was sad at the same time, she smiled back. The distance between them didn’t feel as enormous.
Or as lonely.
“Thank you, Mercy.” The muscle twisted in his jaw, harder this time, giving her a hint of how hard this must be for him.
What had he gone through? she wondered. His loss was as great as hers. She knew what walking the road of grief as a surviving spouse and parent felt like. For the first time she could see—truly see—that the things she’d prayed for when she’d read his letters and wrote to him in turn could come to pass. They could do this, make things good between them. Two strangers knitting their lives together. “I should be the one thanking you. These rooms are homey.”
“Good, that’s how I want you to feel—at home.” His one-sided grin returned and he jammed his hands into his denim pockets. “Eberta and Amelia robbed our house to make you comfortable here. I didn’t object.”
“This is from your home?”
“Our home,” he corrected.
“But what are you and Amelia sitting on?”
“We have some furniture left, don’t worry.” He glanced out the window, squinting down at the dark street keeping a sharp eye out for the kids. He liked that she was concerned. Yes, she was everything he’d hoped for. A widow, who’d lost her heart, too. Kindly, for Amelia’s sake. Proper and soft-spoken, the way he wanted Amelia to be. This might just work out all right.
Relieved, he watched the snow fall. When he caught sight of George hopping out of the diner and onto the boardwalk, the hard tangle of emotions eased. Yes, this was a rare blessing. Not that he believed God even remembered him these days, but surely the Lord watched over the children. He reached for the curtain ties and let the fabric fall over the dark glass and lacy sheers. “We have a few more minutes to ourselves. I want to talk about those rules.”
“Rules.” She brushed a few stray blond curls out of her face, silken soft wisps that had escaped her simple, braided bun. “What did you have in mind?”
“First off, I want to agree not to talk about the past.” He felt as if he was suffocating just thinking of it. Those dark times were better off behind him. “And I expect you to live on a budget.”
She didn’t bat an eye. Perhaps some women in this situation would be outraged, others defensive. Mercy sat spine straight, delicate jaw set, not even mildly surprised. “I’m a widow supporting a son. I’m excellent with budgets. I’ll expect you to stay on the budget, too. No reckless spending.”
“Agreed.” There he went, smiling again. This woman had an effect on him. He hadn’t expected to actually like her. He pushed away from the window. “I want my house clean and meals on time. I like order.”
“I see.” She bit her bottom lip, as if holding back laughter.
What did he say that was so funny? He circled around to sit back down in the chair, facing her. Amusement glinted in her eyes, so blue they took his breath away. The color reminded him of summer night skies and summer breezes. His breathing hitched, startling him. It wasn’t like him to think this way. He wasn’t a man given to whimsy. “Am I amusing you?”
“Yes.” Her smile could light up a room. Sweetness beamed from her like golden rays slanting down through the clouds from the heavens. She tilted her head to one side, the lamplight finding her, burnishing her hair, caressing her soft cheek. “I have some rules for you, too.”
“I suppose that’s only fair.”
“You may tell me what to do only two times a day.” She arched a slender eyebrow at him in a gentle challenge.
“Only twice?” he inquired, curious, grinning against his will.
“Keep in mind I may not oblige you.” She folded her hands neatly in her lap, just sheer loveliness. Her heart-shaped face was guileless and unguarded. Anyone just looking at her could see she didn’t have a mean bone in her body.
Whoever her husband had been, he’d been a blessed man, Cole thought. He was more than thankful to have her as Amelia’s mother and his helpmate.
“All right,” he agreed. “We’ll not boss each other around.”
“Agreed. I’ll not say an unkind thing to you ever, if you do me the same courtesy.” Her chin hiked up a notch, a delicate show of strength. Something sad flashed in her eyes so briefly he barely noticed it. He opened his mouth to ask about it, but then remembered his own rule. Keep the past in the past. And he shut his mouth with a click of his teeth.
Not your business, he reminded himself. Knowing about her and what she’d been through would only soften his defenses, and he didn’t want to like her. He didn’t want to care. It was best for all around if they kept this strictly a convenient arrangement.
The door swung open, hitting the wall like a gunshot. His daughter sashayed in, balancing a wrapped meal in both hands, practically skipping. Her skirts swirled around her, and her smile was so big it was all he could see.
“We got you a real good supper, Mercy.” Amelia beamed her full-strength charm Mercy’s way. “George told me your favorite, and so that’s what we ordered. We even got you lots of cookies, too. George said that’s his favorite.”
“Yep, it sure is,” the kid confirmed with a nod, tromping through the doorway and into the room, cheeks pink, dusted with snow, cute in that way of small boys.
Cole’s chest tightened, aching with hope. It was going to be nice having a son. In all honesty, he’d found a good one. He cleared his throat, hoping he didn’t sound gruff when he spoke.
“You and your ma have a nice meal, settle in and have a good night.” He almost reached out to the boy, to tousle the kid’s hair, but something held him back. Maybe it was the ache dead center in his chest, the one that hurt like hope coming to life, as if a frozen part of his heart was starting to awaken. But that couldn’t be right. Too many pieces were gone for good. So he didn’t know why it hurt, why he felt overwhelmed as he nodded to Eberta, who was carrying the other meal into the room.
He knew only that it was time to leave before the pain became too much and he stopped breathing entirely. “I reckon a soft bed will be a welcome thing after sleeping on the train.”
“More than you know.” Mercy took a step toward him, her dark blue eyes radiating a quiet communication.
He nodded, sensing her thankfulness, understanding what she could not say. It was how he felt, too. He crossed the threshold, heading down the stairs, calling for his daughter to follow.
Chapter Four
All through the night, he was plagued by dreams of a golden-haired lady with a silent hope in the midnight-blue depths of her eyes. Cole woke the next morning to the silence that came after a great storm. He stared at the shadowy ceiling in the early morning’s darkness and contemplated the day ahead. It was Sunday, so he would send Amelia to church with Eberta, and they could pick up Mercy and George on the way. He frowned, biting the inside of his cheek, wondering what Mercy would think of him missing the service.
Why did it matter so much what she thought of him? Troubled, he tossed off the warm covers and braced for the blast of icy winter air. Teeth chattering, he pulled on his robe and slippers before charging downstairs, rubbing his hands together to keep them from going numb.
Let Mercy think what she wanted about him, Cole decided as he knelt before the fireplace in the front room. His cold fingers fumbled with the iron shovel. He uncovered last night’s embers, wondering why he was letting himself care at all. He was feeling far too many emotions for his own comfort. Best to wall off his heart. Mercy was a kind lady. Amelia was lucky to have her. But that didn’t extend to him. She would be basically a housekeeper with access to his charge accounts, nothing more.
So why did that image return, the silent plea in her eyes, the wordless expression of appreciation? As he slowly fed dry kindling to the glowing coals, he went over in his mind the things she’d left out of her letters, the things he’d noticed. Her well-cared-for clothing that had seen much better days. The fraying sleeve hem of her coat, the wash-worn dress, the polish on her shoes hiding a patch. George’s clothes were modest, but in a newer state. Clearly she spent her money on the boy, not on herself. He wondered just how hard she’d struggled as a widow working long hours to support her son.
Wait. That wasn’t his business, either. He shook his head, disappointed in his willpower. Hadn’t he just told himself to stop wondering about her past? Annoyed with himself, he added a small, dry piece of wood to the grate, watched the growing orange flames lick over it, popping and crackling.
“Oh, good!” Amelia’s feet drummed on the steps, her voice echoing down the stairwells. “You’re up! I couldn’t sleep because I was so excited. Mercy’s gonna come here today. I can’t wait to show her everything.”
“I’m sure you can’t.” He glanced over his shoulder in time to see his wild-haired daughter leap to the bottom of the stairs with a thud. “You aren’t usually up at the crack of dawn. If I’d known it would have gotten you out of bed, I would have found you a new mother before this.”
“No, because then she wouldn’t have been Mercy.” Amelia skipped across the room.
“Do I really have to remind you?” He grimaced, reached for a piece of wood and popped it into the fire. “No running in the house.”
“I know, I just can’t contain myself.” Amelia skidded to a stop, hugging herself. “I get to walk into church this morning with a ma, just like all my friends do. I’m gonna wear the new dress Eberta made for me. Pa, do you know what this means?”
“That you’re finally going to start acting like a lady?” He brushed bits of bark and moss off his hands and reached for the little fireplace broom. A few sweeps and the bits flew into the fireplace. “This getting-married thing is a good idea. You’ll be getting up early, acting ladylike. It’s like a dream come true.”
“Honestly, Pa.” Amelia rolled her eyes. “You’re supposed to love me the way I am.”
“Oh, sorry.” He put the broom away, hiding his grin. “I didn’t know. Maybe that’s one of those rules we can break and toss out the window.”
“Very funny.” She rushed up to him, wrapped her arms around his chest and squeezed tight, tipping her head back to sparkle up at him. “Hurry up with breakfast ’cause I’m gonna be lightning fast. I get to go see Mercy!”
“I’m gonna need some mercy if you keep this up.” He winced at his own pun. Well, he thought, a man has to amuse himself where he can.
“Oh, Pa.” Amelia gave him an eye roll and was off, pounding back upstairs, leaving him alone in the room.
Well, looked like they’d have a few more mornings like this alone together before the wedding changed things. Only three more days until Christmas Eve, until Amelia’s hoped-for ceremony. He hung up the broom, crossed the room and felt thankful to Mercy for understanding. He wasn’t sure how he felt about a church wedding. He still hadn’t recovered from the last one. Gritting his molars together, determined not to think of it, he veered into the kitchen, knelt in front of the cookstove and stirred the coals. When he should have been planning his morning of chores and repairs, his mind took an entirely different path.
He remembered that glint of humor when she’d been seated on his sofa, gazing up at him with part challenge, part amusement, all concealed strength. You may tell me what to do only two times a day, she’d said with a slender arch of her brow, pure challenge and likability.
He sighed, reaching for the kindling. It was going to be hard to keep from liking her, but he was tenacious and determined. He would give it his best shot.
* * *
“Ma,” George called from one of the front room windows. “Are you sure they’re gonna come for us? I don’t see ’em yet.”
“Amelia promised they would be by.” Frowning at her reflection in the bureau’s small mirror, Mercy untied her hat ribbons and tried again. “I don’t think they would leave us to find our own way in a strange town.”
“I could help,” George answered confidently. “I can see the church steeple from here. I could take you right to it, and if I got lost in the street I’d just look up to find it.”
“That’s a very good plan.” She adjusted the bow, figured that was as good as it was going to get and raised her gaze to her face. She pinched her cheeks, hoping to put a little color in them. Too bad there wasn’t something she could do about those circles under her eyes. She’d barely been able to sleep a wink, although the bed was comfortable. She pushed away from the bureau and grabbed the shawl she’d laid on the foot of her twin bed, circled around George’s bed and stepped into the hall. “What are you doing?”
“Lookin’ at the horses.” George’s excitement seemed to fill the room with a vibrating, little-boy energy. “There’s a black one. He’s real shiny. What color do you think my horse is gonna be?”
“I don’t know.” Mercy reached for George’s coat. “What color do you think?”
“Maybe brown?” George scrunched his face up, thinking on that for a bit. He took the garment she shook open for him and stabbed one arm into the sleeve, lost in thought. “There’s a lot of brown horses, so yeah, he’ll probably be brown. You see ’em all the time. Maybe most horses are brown.”
“What if he’s as white as the snow?” Seeing his collar was folded over onto itself, she pulled it out and smoothed it down. “What if he’s spotted?”
“Then he’d be both white and brown.” George gazed out the window, lost in his favorite game. “Unless his spots are black.”
“Or red,” she added, unhooking her coat from its peg on the wall.
“Or palomino, or roan or gray,” George continued. “Oh, I just can’t wait for my horse.”
“I know, kid. It won’t be much longer now.” She slipped into her coat, unable to resist glancing down at the street below.
Great snowdrifts ran down one side of the street like a miniature mountain range, and because it was Sunday no one was out shoveling the boardwalks. A few vehicles rolled by, pulled by horses struggling through the new accumulation as far from the miniature mountains as they could get. As she watched a bay team pull a sleigh past the storefront below, she realized she didn’t even know what kind of horse or vehicle Cole drove. In their correspondence she hadn’t thought to ask if he would provide her with a horse and vehicle. Hmm. More things to discuss later, she thought.
“Ma! Look!” George nearly shrieked, both hands splayed across the glass. “That’s the best horse I’ve ever seen. Look. He’s as white as the snow.”
“And he’s stopping in front of the store.” She leaned in, too, feeling the cool glass against her cheek. Why her heart kicked up a crazy rhythm, she couldn’t say. Something within her strained, as if longing for the first glimpse of Cole climbing down from the sleigh.
He wasn’t there. A red-capped Amelia rocked her head back to gaze up at them, grinned when she saw them and waved with a mittened hand. Mercy waved back, fighting disappointment as Eberta set down the reins and hopped from the sleigh.
“C’mon, George,” she said gently, strangely bereft. “We don’t want to keep the horse standing in that cold.”
“No, it’s not good for him,” he said, heading toward the door at a run.
All the way down the stairs and through the silent, echoing store, she tried to remember what Cole had written about his church life. Had he ever said he attended Sunday service? Funny, she realized as she caught sight of Eberta through the glass panes of the shop’s door, busily unlocking it. She couldn’t recall if he’d mentioned actually being a churchgoer himself. In his second letter to her, he’d mentioned how Amelia had commented on being the only girl in church without a mother, and Mercy had simply assumed he attended Sunday services.
Now, she could see she’d been wrong. The door opened, an icy blast of raw, wintry air whooshed in, and George bolted onto the boardwalk, eyes focused on the horse.
“Hi, Miss Eberta,” he said on his way by. “Is that your horse, or is it my new pa’s?”
“It’s Cole’s,” she answered fondly, as if completely understanding the boy’s love of horses. “Good morning, Mercy. I trust you slept well.”
“I was very comfortable.” That was the truth. She’d never slept in such a fine bed. “Thank you. I know it was you who went to the trouble.”
“Oh, pshaw, it wasn’t much.” Pleased, Eberta relocked the door with a jangling of her keys. “Amelia wanted it nice and it’s hard to say no to that girl. If you’re going to be her ma, it’s a skill you’ll have to learn.”
“I do have some practice saying no to my son,” she answered breezily, sharing a smile with the older lady. They headed down the steps together, sinking into snow midway up their calves.
“I can see it would be hard to say no to that one, too.” Eberta nodded in approval. “Someone has to take a firm hand with that girl. Not to scare you off before the wedding.”
“That would be impossible,” Mercy confessed, coming to a standstill in the deep snow, mesmerized by the sight of George gazing raptly at the majestic white horse, too afraid to approach the animal.
“He’s the prettiest one I’ve ever seen,” he breathed, wide-eyed and awestruck. “Is he really gonna be our horse to drive?”
“When you’re with your pa,” Eberta answered. “It’s his driving horse. He bought you a fine mare, gentle as can be, Mercy. So you can get around and take the children where they need to be going.”
“My, he bought a horse?” Mercy swallowed. She couldn’t say why that gesture touched her. The comfortably furnished rooms, and the knowledge they would be just as comfortable in his home, were enough. “He didn’t need to go to that trouble. Horses are expensive.”
“You’re marrying a man who can afford it.” Eberta climbed onto the front seat of the sleigh. “Heaven knows that man saves every penny he can get his hands on. He’s been needing a wife to spend his money for him for years.”
“Oh, I didn’t come to spend his money.” In fact, she clearly remembered last night and his rule about the budget. “I’m used to being careful. My job didn’t pay terribly, but it didn’t pay well.”
“And all that’s behind you. Get in. George, are you going to stare at the horse or come to church with us?”
Mercy’s attention was stolen by the shivering girl, trying to keep her teeth from chattering as she held out one end of the thick flannel-lined buffalo robe. Huddling under it, Amelia shook harder when cold air slipped beneath it.
Not wanting the girl to get any more frozen, Mercy slipped in beside her. “George, come sit beside me.”
“I can’t believe that’s gonna be our horse, too.” George clamored out of the snow, nearly stumbling because he couldn’t take his eyes off the gelding. He dropped beside her with a fulfilled, happy sigh. “No one’s ever had a horse as nice as that one.”
“You’ll have to ask Cole if you can pet him. And what his name is.” She shook the robe over her son, tucking him in snugly. Her teeth began chattering, too.
“It’s Frosty,” Amelia volunteered as the sleigh jerked to a start and Frosty was off, bounding on his long legs through the sheltered part of the street, as gleaming white as the snow.
“Wow,” George breathed as the animal gained momentum. “We’re in a real sleigh, Ma. Being pulled by a real horse.”
“Haven’t you been in a sleigh before?” Amelia asked curiously, a few strands of reddish-blond hair escaping her knit cap to curl around her adorable face.
“We owned work horses for the farm long ago,” Mercy said quietly, her chest tightening at the memory. Some of the daylight seemed to drain from the sky, and she lifted her chin, determined not to let the disappointments of the past shadow this new future. “We put runners on the wagon box in the winter. That was before my husband passed on, when George was too little to remember. Those were our last horses.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Amelia seemed flustered, as if that hadn’t been the answer she’d been expecting.
Leave the past where it belongs, she reminded herself. “So that’s why this is so exciting for us. To be whisked to church instead of walking through the snow. And we’ve never been in finer company.”
“I can’t wait for everyone to see you.” Amelia bumped Mercy’s elbow gently, a show of connection. “Look, we’re already turning down Second.”
“I can see the steeple!” George called out.
“Will your father be meeting us?” Mercy asked quietly as they drove along, straining to search through the crowd of tethered horses and vehicles along the street in front of the church. It looked as if men gathered there, talking amiably. Although she already knew Cole wasn’t one of them.
“Pa doesn’t go to church anymore.” Amelia shrugged, falling silent, as if there was more to the story.
Sensing sadness there, suspecting it was because of the loss of Amelia’s mother, Mercy gave her a silent nod of understanding. Sometimes a broken heart simply had to find his own way.
“Look at that palomino!” George shouted, his voice high-noted with glee. “It’s the most golden horse I’ve ever seen. Maybe that’s the horse I like the most.”
“I can see why.” Mercy straightened George’s cap, which had gone somehow askew, to keep his ears warm. It seemed every handsome horse her boy saw became his new favorite. “Eberta, I’m so glad you’ve come with us.”
“No worries. One thing I don’t miss is Sunday service.” Eberta pulled Frosty to a stop at a vacant spot at the block-long hitching post. “Are all those curious eyes getting to you?”
“Why, are people looking at me?” She pulled her attention away from the men and horses, where Cole Matheson was not, and realized it was true. A circle of ladies, standing off to the side of the walkway, studied her.
Shyness washed over her and she stared at the edge of the buffalo robe feeling terribly alone. She’d been prepared to meet so many new and unfamiliar people, but she hadn’t realized how at ease she’d expected to feel with Cole at her side. Not that she needed a man to lean on, goodness no, but the companionship would have felt nice. Somehow she felt terribly alone.
This was the way a marriage of convenience was, she reminded herself. And, more importantly, it was no different from how her first marriage had turned out, in the end. She pushed back the buffalo robe, folding it up for later use.
“Hi!” Amelia called out to the crowd, standing up to wave. “This is my new mother, Mrs. Mercy Jacobs, but by Christmas she will be Mrs. Matheson. And this is George.”
“Hello.” A friendly woman stepped forward, her blond hair tumbling out from beneath her stylish bonnet. Her smile looked familiar. “We met in the dry-goods store briefly. I’m Molly.”
“Yes, so good to see you again.” Like a sign from heaven, the sun chose that moment to peer between the thick mantle of clouds, smiling down on the wintry world. Mercy felt the brightness and warmth brush her cheek like an angel’s touch, and it was the assurance she needed. Everything was going to be all right. “Are you here with your family?”
“See those twin girls over there?” Molly smiled at Amelia, who was hopping down from the sleigh, and nodded toward the corner of the yard, where a bunch of little girls were lying back down in the snow, making snow angels. Two identical girls with black braids hopped to their feet to admire their work. One wore green, the other blue. Molly sighed happily. “Those two are mine. Nothing but trouble, and I’d say they’re about your little boy’s age.”
“They’ll be in school together, then.” She watched over George while he climbed from the sleigh and into the deep snow. He wasn’t interested in the girls. He had eyes only for the horses. “Are you happy with the teacher here?”
“Why, yes, we’ve been most blessed with Miss Young. She’s a fine teacher,” Molly said, enthused. “I’m sure you’ll love her. My girls do.”
“That’s a relief to know.” Yet another one of her many worries alleviated. Mercy’s smile felt wider, her spirit lighter. She glanced down at her son, who was standing half behind her, and then at Amelia, who reached out to proudly grab her hand. Such a tight grip, such a big need. Mercy prayed she could be everything the girl hoped for in a mother. What if she failed? Her chest ached at the thought; she was already in love with the girl.
“Hello, Eberta.” Another woman came over, waving to the older woman.
“Howdy there, Felicity.” Eberta gave the knotted rein a testing yank and, satisfied, trudged away from the hitching post. “How is that family of yours?”
“Wonderful. Tate’s business is growing by leaps and bounds, and Gertie is keeping me busy.” The cheerful, beautiful woman patted her midsection gently, her condition hid delicately by the drape of her fine wool coat. “Four more months to go until this one arrives.”
“You’ll be even busier then,” Mercy found herself adding, pleased when Felicity shared a smile with her. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you. We are so happy.” Felicity glowed with the truth of that statement. Mercy had never seen the like of the genuine joy and love that radiated from her when she glanced toward a dark-haired, impressive-looking man standing with the others, leaning on a cane.
True love. Mercy could feel the power of it like the sun warming the world. Once, she’d hoped for such a thing with Timothy, God rest him. Heaven knew how hard they’d tried. A touch of sadness crept in and she pushed it away. At least with Cole she would have no such disappointments, even if she would not have true love.
Who needed true love, anyway? She took George by the hand, thankful for him and Amelia—for her children. While the women chatted, leading the way down the shoveled pathway toward the open door of the church, the sunshine seemed to follow them, laying a golden path at their feet. Sign enough, she told herself, even if she felt a little lonely for more.
“That’s my best friend and her ma!” Amelia pointed out, gesturing toward a horse and sleigh pulling to a stop in front of the church. “Oh, I’m so glad you’ve come, Mercy. We’re going to invite all of them to our wedding. And I’m glad you came, too, George.”
“Uh, me, too,” the boy said, glancing over his shoulder one last time at the men and horses. Mercy realized why, now that she took a more careful look. It wasn’t just the horses that had captured his attention, but the men with their sons at their sides. Fathers.
Knowing she wasn’t the only one wishing Cole was here, she gently squeezed George’s hand.
Chapter Five
“That’s our house.” Amelia jabbed her arm to the north, where the prairie rose into a graceful roll of snow glittering in the sunshine.
Mercy caught her breath, staring at the proud two-story home with dormer windows on the top and a wraparound porch, light gray siding and sparkling windows surrounded by a sea of white. This was their house? She stared, not quite able to believe. Cole had described his home as modest. But it was nothing like the modest cabins and shanties they’d passed on the half-mile ride from town. It was like a dream, like nothing she’d ever thought she’d live in.
“Where’s the shanty?” George asked, confused. His face scrunched up, his forehead furrowed. “Is it around back? Is that where we’re gonna live?”
“No, George,” Amelia said warmly, as if she already thought of him as her own little brother. “There’s no shanty. You are going to live in the house with me and Pa. That’s why we’re having a wedding. So we can all be a family.”
A family. Amelia’s words moved her heart. Mercy swallowed against the sudden lump in her throat. Her eyes stung, and she tried to blink away the unexpected tears. The girl clearly didn’t know everything Cole had written in his letters, that he’d been so adamantly clear this was a formal arrangement, not a personal union.
“That sounds mighty nice to me.” Mercy cleared her throat, slipping one arm around the girl to draw her closer. She did the same with George. It felt pretty fine to be seated between the children, knowing that she already had what mattered, what she’d traveled so far to find.
Well, almost, she thought, remembering the churchyard scene earlier and those fathers with their sons.
“Keep in mind we moved some of the furniture into town,” Eberta explained as she urged Frosty along the circular drive curving in front of the steps. “The front room is a little empty, but that’ll fix itself after the wedding.”
“In three days,” Amelia reminded them. “Don’t worry, I have everything planned out.”
“Your father showed me your slate.”
The sleigh squeaked to a stop in front of the house. My, it was larger than she’d first thought. More impressive. The windows and porch gave it a smiling, welcoming look. Her pulse kicked up, and she tried to let it sink in. This house—a real house, not a tiny cottage like the one she and Timothy had shared during their marriage, not a shanty like the ones she’d lived in growing up and after she’d been widowed. Not in her wildest dreams had she imagined this much.
“It’s not a mansion.” Eberta hopped off the front seat. “But it’s cozy and well-made. Cole built it himself. Did a fine job, too.”
“I’ve never lived in a place with so many windows,” she said, dazed, as she tumbled out of the sled behind Amelia. Looking up, she counted at least three bedrooms. And that was only on this side of the house.
“Ma, is this really where we’re gonna live?” George tumbled from the sleigh, head tipped back, staring intently up at the second story, taking in the windows. “It’s enough for lots of families.”
“Oh, it’s not that big,” Eberta laughed kindly, patting the boy on the shoulder. “It’s a nice-size family house. Don’t know what you’re used to, though.”
“A rented shanty on the outskirts of town.” Her shoes tapped on the steps as she trailed Amelia onto the porch. “This will be perfect come summer. I can plant flowers in the border beds and think how pleasant it will be to sit right here and watch the sun set.”
“That’s how I like to pass a summer evening.” The front door opened and Cole stepped into the slant of sunshine, dressed in a dark wool coat, his Stetson hiding his eyes, pulling on a pair of gloves. “Sounds like we are compatible on that front.”

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