Mail-Order Christmas Brides Boxed Set. Jillian Hart
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the pot in the window in our wagon, too,” Noah whispered as he leaned in and spoke quietly to Jimmy. “Wrap it in a sack and see if you can find some red ribbon to go around it, too.”
Noah was pleased with himself. He hadn’t bought anyone a Christmas present since his wife ran away over two years ago. Oh, he always gave the ranch hands a twenty-dollar gold piece each. But a woman liked a gift.
“I’m sure you know what to stock for supplies in the kitchen,” Noah said once the woman reached him. “Just tell Jimmy here. He can write it down.”
“I don’t know.” She sounded a little alarmed.
The wind had made it hard to hear her earlier, but inside here he caught a hint of gentle Irish brogue in her voice. He liked it.
“They have almost everything you’d want in the mercantile here,” he assured her.
She was silent for a moment.
“I’ll just get your usual order,” she finally said, sounding hesitant. “Until I’ve had a chance to check on what spices you have and everything.”
Noah frowned. “There’s not much on the shelves. We haven’t had a cook on the place since my wife left two years ago.”
“Your wife?” The woman looked up at that, no longer timid in her tone. If the sky outside wasn’t going dark, he would have been able to see her face fully. He was sure there’d be some spark there, but the shadows hid her.
“She divorced me.” He didn’t like talking about his wife, but the woman deserved to know his past, especially since he’d brought it up. “She didn’t think I could give her enough fancy things—you know, clothes and furniture. Things like that.”
Flanagan didn’t say anything and he was grateful for her tact.
“She wasn’t much of a cook,” he added. “Could barely make pancakes. Either raw in the middle or so thin there was nothing to them. But she did order in spices and tins of oysters.”
He supposed it was during his marriage that he had become accustomed to poor cooking. His wife had had visions of entertaining visiting dignitaries, but he didn’t know any such people so the few imported tins gathered dust on the shelves. He’d been so miserable during that time, he hadn’t cared about eating and his men, maybe sensing how bad things were between him and his wife, hadn’t complained much about the food, either.
Noah turned to the boy behind the counter. “Add a few cases of canned peaches to the order.” He figured his men deserved something festive to eat. And maybe their ad would work out better than he’d expected. “Put the peaches in the wagon. I think there’ll be room since there’s only one trunk.”
“Oh, and tell the clerk when he gets back that he’ll be taking his supply orders from my wife from now on,” he added with a nod to Maeve.
Jimmy looked between him and the woman and nodded solemnly. “Yes, sir.”
Noah suddenly realized the youngster had learned more about him in the past few minutes than most adults in town had learned in the decade he’d lived here.
“Well, we best get going,” Noah said as he turned to the woman. “The church is only a few doors down.”
“I’d like to talk to you before we see the preacher,” she said then, her voice low and serious.
Noah felt his heart sink. He feared she was going to back out. Although why she would, he wasn’t certain. She hadn’t seen much of the country around here. His wife had always said the mercantile wasn’t as well stocked as stores back East, but that seemed a small reason to leave. It might be the weather, though. Some people couldn’t tolerate the bad storms they had here, especially if they found themselves snowbound. But she was Irish. And from Boston. Shouldn’t she be used to the cold?
Noah looked around. There were no private places in the mercantile and he didn’t want his business spread all over the territory. If he was going to be left at the altar, he didn’t want everyone to know. The divorce had done enough damage to his pride.
“We can take a moment in the church,” he said finally.
The woman nodded and took the hand of the girl.
They walked to the door.
“The preacher is expecting us,” he added as he stepped over to open the door. “So he’ll be there when we arrive.”
He turned back to Jimmy. “You’ll have to finish loading the supplies in the wagon. Remember the peaches.”
A knowing twinkle appeared in the boy’s eyes. “I’ll get them there. And congratulations.”
Noah frowned, but nodded his thanks. He supposed it was impossible to keep the wedding plans a secret even if the woman backed out. The ranch hands had probably already announced it to everyone they’d seen in the days since he’d told them Maeve had boarded the train in Boston and was heading south to pick up the rail line that would bring her west.
Noah reached over and opened the doors.
“Just follow me,” he said to the woman as he stepped out to the street.
The wind hit him and he hunched his shoulders. He was a God-fearing man and he didn’t believe in superstitions, but he wondered if it was wise to get married with a snowstorm brewing. His first wife would have been calling the whole thing off by now. Maybe the widow was wise to have second thoughts.
Tiny hailstones were still falling as Maeve followed Noah out of the mercantile. The damp cold hit her face and she reached down to scoop Violet into her arms. She wrapped the blanket around both of them, even though she could barely carry her daughter.
A huge amount of snow covered the walkway. Maeve had worn her best leather shoes and didn’t want to ruin them so she began to gingerly place her feet in the trail of footsteps Noah had left behind. These were her church shoes, and, before she left Boston, she had promised Violet that they could go to church when they got settled here. She didn’t want anyone to look down on her and Violet so she’d need the shoes. The church people in Boston had been very particular about what a woman wore on her feet and on her head. That was even before they’d rejected her on account of her late husband.
Maeve had taken only two steps when Noah turned around. The clouds had darkened since they’d gone into the mercantile. He had his Stetson firmly pulled down on his head, but his beard was whiter in the snow.
“Here,” he said as he held out his arms. “I can carry her.”
“I don’t know.” Ever since the stabbing of her father, Violet had been skittish around men. They scared her. Maeve didn’t know how to explain all of that to Noah, though, especially not standing in the freezing wind in the middle of the walkway. “She’s content under the blanket.”
“She’ll still have the shawl if I take her,” Noah said.
Maeve hesitated, but she supposed the girl needed to get used to Noah at some point.
She bent down to whisper to her daughter. “The man’s going to carry you so you’re out of the cold faster. Is that all right?”
It was a moment before she felt her daughter nod her head slightly.
“Thank you,” Maeve said as she held her daughter out.
Noah took the girl and kept walking down the street. Now that Maeve was free to pick up her skirts, she stepped a lot faster behind him. She didn’t want to be too far away from him in case Violet needed her.
Noah waited for her in front of the small white church. She liked it. There was no formal steeple like they had back East. The place looked almost friendly and she saw smoke coming from a chimney in the back. The windows on each side were small and rimmed with