Mail-Order Mistletoe Brides. Jillian Hart
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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