Mail-Order Christmas Brides Boxed Set. Jillian Hart
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can’t disappoint Amelia, not about this, not with you.” He shrugged his brawny shoulders. He looked compelling and yet rugged at the same time. Human, but unreachable. “This one time only.”
“I see.” She leaned against the railing, facing him, pulse skittering. “That isn’t a deal breaker for me, but perhaps what I have to say will be one for you.”
“I’m listening.” He went rigid. Tense cords of tendons bunched in his neck. Strained muscles jumped along his jaw line as if he expected the worst.
“I understand, but George didn’t.” Her voice broke, betraying a tremor of emotion she hadn’t meant to express. She sighed. “Today at church, he was the only little boy without a father beside him. Again. I can’t tell you what it has been like watching how painful that is for him, hurting because he is hurting. For years, he’s been the boy watching all those fathers and sons, wishing. Just wishing. It’s been a terrible hole in his life and in his heart. I thought that was over for him, but it wasn’t today.”
“Oh.” Cole closed his eyes. It was as if all six feet of him winced in painful realization. His dependable, wide shoulders slumped. He stared down at the toes of his boots, still as stone. “That wasn’t my intention.”
“I realize that now.” Hands trembling, she splayed them against the wooden rail, needing something to hold on to. Relieved that he wasn’t angry with her, relieved that he was very much the earnest man she’d met through his letters, she took a deep breath of the cold air. It burned in her lungs like an icy rush. “This is, after all, about the children. If there’s something I’m failing to do for Amelia, you should let me know.”
“Right.” He nodded, staring intently down at his boots, refusing to look at her. He looked as remote as the mountains in the distance, as icy as the land mantled in snow. But when he raised his head and his gaze met hers, life shone there. She read his promise in that look, felt the solemnity of it, could see all the way to his heart. She didn’t know why a son was so important to him, why he’d chosen her and George out of all the letters he must have received, but she was appreciative beyond words.
“Guess I’ll figure out a way to face church. I’ll do my best to make sure it doesn’t happen to George again.” Determination showed in the lift on his square, chiseled chin. “If it does, I’m sure you’ll remind me.”
“Yes, I’ll be right on that. I have a sharp eye.” Now she was smiling, amazed how fast that vast distance between them seemed to vanish, how quickly he could change from remote to approachable. Somewhere inside beyond all the defenses, he had a very good heart.
“Mercy!” Amelia’s faint shout penetrated the outside walls of the house and the closed door. “Come see!”
“Now it’s my turn,” she said gently. Without realizing it, she reached out to touch the man. Her fingers landed on his arm, the act as natural as breathing. Aware of what she’d done, her breath hitched. She raised her eyes to his. She read confusion there, but he didn’t move away. She did, removing her fingers from his coat sleeve, her fingertips tingling sweetly from the contact.
She felt the lingering weight of his gaze on her back as she crossed the porch and opened the door. Something had changed between them, something that went beyond words, something she could not describe. But the sun seemed to shine more brightly, the wind held less of a bite, and when she stepped into the house and closed the door behind her, the warm, friendly feeling within her remained.
“Mercy!” Amelia dashed toward her, grinning widely, blue skirts swirling around her, braids flying. “You have to see what Pa got George.”
“Come look, Ma!” George’s voice echoed from deeper inside the house, out of sight. “I can’t believe I’m a real cowboy!”
Oh, the delight in his voice. The sound of it made her forget everything else. Her shoes tapped a merry rhythm against the hardwood floor, barely noticing her surroundings. The big gray stone fireplace, the windows letting in light and mountain views, the two overstuffed chairs in an otherwise sparse room.
A staircase rose to her right, ascending to the second floor. The kitchen was airy and pleasant, but she hardly noticed the oak cabinets and counters, the shiny new range or the round oak table seated in front of a big window. No, those details paled in comparison to the sight of her son standing by that table with a Stetson on his head and cowboy boots on his feet.
“They even fit, too!” George grinned at her, happier than she’d ever seen him. “I can’t believe it. They’re my very own. Amelia said so.”
“Be sure and thank Cole.” She blinked happy tears from her eyes, hands clasped together, just drinking in the sight of her delighted boy. “You look like a real cowboy ready to ride.”
“You surely do,” Amelia agreed. “Hurry, go show Pa. He’s waiting to show you your big surprise.”
“My horse?” George choked out, as if too overcome to say more. He hugged himself like a boy whose every dream had come true. “Oh, boy. I gotta go. ’Bye, Ma.”
“’Bye, kid.” She felt choked up, too. “Go and have fun with your pa.”
“I will!” His boots made a hammering sound, pow-powing through the house as he made a mad dash away.
She listened to his progress, heard the door open and Cole’s rumbling baritone as he said something to the boy. The door shut with a click, cutting him off. She swiped happy tears from her eyes.
“George was really excited.” Amelia wandered over to the stove. “Pa is giving him an old horse to learn to ride. Howie’s big, but don’t worry. He’s as gentle as a lamb. I wanted to learn to ride him. I begged and begged and pleaded and pleaded. I was sure I could wear Pa down and he’d agree.”
“And it didn’t work?” Mercy asked, amused, imagining reserved Cole’s reaction to his daughter wanting to ride astride like a boy. Think how upset he got over a sled! She gave a soft huff of laughter. What a pair she and Amelia were. “Once long ago I wanted to learn to ride horseback.”
“You did?” Surprised at such news, and apparently intrigued, Amelia dropped an oven mitt. It tumbled to the floor and she stooped to pick it up. “Did you ever get to?”
“Alas, no. My parents were shocked I would suggest such a thing.” Mercy laughed again, love filling her at the memory of her folks, long gone now, and of those happy times long past. Perhaps happier times could come around again, she thought hopefully, taking in the pretty kitchen. Goodness, it was larger than her shanty. By twice, maybe three times.
“Too bad about the riding,” Amelia sympathized. She opened the stove’s warmer. “Have you ever gone sledding?”
“No. It looks fun.” Mercy crossed over to take a look inside the warmer, from which Amelia extracted a bowl. Residual heat radiated off the stove, and it felt good. It was going to take some time to get used to the cold Montana winters. “Is this lunch?”
“Emmylou made it yesterday. She’s our housekeeper,” Amelia explained, carefully setting the bowl on the counter. “At least, she will be until the wedding. Then you take over.”
“Ah, so in marrying me, your father is saving some money,” she quipped. She liked knowing that she wouldn’t be a burden to him, two more people for him to support. That was another relief. Her gaze drifted to the window, where the stretch of shining white snow and rolling meadows was broken only by precise split-rail fencing and a gray barn, trimmed in white.
A dozen horses strained against the rails, each jockeying to be the one getting petted by George. My, wasn’t that a sight. She bit her bottom lip, overcome once again, watching as Cole stayed at George’s side, appearing to talk gently to him, perhaps telling him about each animal. George listened intently, his little hand petting one horse nose after another, nodding solemnly to whatever the man said.
This was everything she’d hoped. Just everything.
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