Mail-Order Christmas Brides Boxed Set (56 page)

The door swung open to reveal a snow-covered man in a shabby black coat. Tate. He had to be terribly cold out in the weather all day. She plucked the cozy off the teapot and checked it. Yes, still hot.

What if he was wrong and love could grow between them?

“Come in,” she called. “Warm up. I’ll bring you something to drink.”

Had he heard her? She couldn’t tell. His hat brim shaded his face, hiding his reaction as he surveyed the far side of the room. Was he regretting having a woman in charge of his house? Or perhaps he didn’t have heart enough to care. He merely shrugged, dusted off the snow, hung up his things and limped heavily to the sofa. Brutal cold chased the warmth from the air, the storm outside was worsening.

“Thank you.” He kept his head down, ignoring her as she slid the steaming sweetened tea onto the scarred end table. Strain carved into his square jaw. Perhaps the bitter cold pained his bad leg. She suspected he would not admit it if she asked.

“You’re not here to wait on me.” He glared up at her but beyond the severe set of his handsome features lurked something more. Something substantial and real.

“I’m here for Gertie, I know.” Not once had he commented on all the lace and the predominantly pink floral fabrics. She was sure it was appreciation she saw in the bleak blue depths of his eyes as she drifted to the kitchen. Probably not appreciation over all the pink, but at least he appeared to approve.

“Pa! Don’t you just love everything?” The girl dashed into his arms with Merry tucked in hers. “Felicity had it all in her trunk.”

“That’s why it was so heavy.” Humor lingered at the edges of his words. Just a hint, but enough to make a smile stretch her face as she grabbed the cutting board from its shelf.

“She sewed everything.” Gertie snuggled Merry to her and hopped onto the couch. “She made some of it before she knew me. But this she did after.”

Father and daughter bent together to study the afghan on the back cushion. Light pink flowers on a background of leaf-green and snow-white. Gertie ran her forefinger across a puffy raised petal. Side by side, Felicity could see the resemblance. Where Gertie’s features were delicate and sweet, father and daughter shared the same shape eyes, high cheekbones and full jaw.

“And look at the rug. It’s one big braid. So’s the one under the table.” Gertie disappeared from sight, presumably on the floor. “She got scraps for free from her work. Isn’t that right, Felicity?”

“Absolutely.” She uncovered the roast, talking as she worked. “I made all sorts of things with those scraps. Quilts, wall hangings, even Merry. But with her, I used only the very best pieces.”

“That’s why she’s so beautiful.” Gertie studied the doll cradled in her arm and kissed the cloth forehead the way a real mother would.

Sweet. But it was Tate’s reaction that hit her in the heart. His jaw dropped. His eyes squeezed shut. He
looked like a man on the edge of losing his iron control. Tendons stood out in his neck. Tension snapped along his jaw line. Callused hands fisted as if it took all his strength to hold back his emotions. He swallowed hard. When he opened his eyes they were glassy. Emotion had won.

“Best get to some of the work waiting outside.” He cleared his throat but his voice wasn’t as hollow or as hard. He rose up to his six-foot-plus height, cloaked in his secrets except for the devotion written on his face.

He smoothed one rough hand tenderly against the side of Gertie’s face briefly, just for that moment he was no longer bleak. But it returned to wrap around him like the shadows, the weight of failure and loss and adversity, things that were a mystery to her as she watched him head for the door.

“How long until we eat?” He threw the question her way, busy with his coat.

“Thirty minutes or so.” She wanted to go to him, to lay her hand on the immense plane of his shoulder, to comfort him. But her feet stayed rooted in place, knowing he would refuse her. “I can wait longer if you wish.”

“Thirty minutes will be fine.” He bit out the words, meaning to be gruff but she heard something else. “I’ll be back.”

“And I will have supper hot and waiting.”

He stiffened. For one moment he did not move. He did not seem to breathe. Shadows gathered around him like nightfall setting in. Despair lived deep inside the man, that was why he kept his back to her hiding
what he didn’t want her to see. Well, she knew something about broken hearts. No matter how shattered, the human heart yearned to be loved. Tate shouldered out the door with a thump of his cane, a flutter of blue scarf and the creak of hinges closing, a great hulking darkness.

She’d never seen anyone who needed love more.

Chapter Seven

“S
o you are the lady Gertie has been telling me all about.” Reverend Hadly squeezed her hand as if he were meeting a long-lost friend. “Wonderful to meet you, Felicity.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I loved your sermon.” The sanctuary was crowded after the service, full of people engaged in conversations or waiting to speak with their minister. “I hear you are the man who will be marrying us.”

Beside her, Gertie hopped up and down. Tate cleared his throat. He stood tall, trying his best not to lean heavily on his cane. She’d thought him closed off before but she barely recognized this statue of a man with chin set, spine straight and guards up.

“That I am.” The reverend’s compassionate brown eyes studied Tate before flicking over to her. “I have plenty of time before the Christmas Eve service. With the church lit up, it will be a lovely ceremony.”

“I’m getting a new dress,” Gertie chimed in. “Fe
licity and I are going to start making it after we get home.”

“You must be excited.” Reverend Hadly’s sympathy spoke volumes, easy to read his happiness for the child and his concern for the man as he clapped Tate on the shoulder. “Congratulations again. God is giving you a new chance, Tate. I’m happy for all of you.”

Strain bunched along Tate’s jawline, his only reaction as he took a step forward. Whatever happened, the minister knew of the family’s hardships and knew them well. True sympathy shone from brown eyes, stirring the same within her.

“Good day to you, Hadly.” Tate’s cane thumped on the floor, betraying his strain. Was it being in church that troubled him? Or surrounded by so many people? When Gertie’s hand crept into hers, realization sifted over her like the quietly falling snow. She blinked against the airy flakes flying into her face as she tapped down the front steps.

Of course. Why hadn’t she thought of it before? This was Tate’s home church. He had attended here with his wife, when his family was whole. Had her funeral been performed in this church? Gertie’s christening? His wedding?

“Oh, I pity that woman,” a pitched whisper carried her way. She felt watched.

She was. A trio of women in their Sunday best stared at her as if she were a window display in a shop. Should she smile? Greet them? What poor woman in need of pity were they talking about?

“Come on.” Gertie’s hand in hers tugged hard. “Where’s Aunt Ing?”

“Here I am.” Ingrid appeared, breathless. She deftly blocked the trio of women with a tight smile. “We’ll let the men get the horses. Don’t you adore our reverend?”

“Yes, he is the nicest man.” She swallowed hard, realizing the women were still staring. Ingrid hadn’t blocked them entirely. Felicity took a careful step in the snow. Surely those women didn’t feel sorry for
her?

Tate trudged diagonally away from them toward the horse, a powerful force radiating manliness and might. Black hat, black coat, black trousers, he was a silhouette against the stretch of white snow, achingly alone. His left leg might drag a bit, but how could anyone see the disability and not the man? The caring within her strengthened until no force could break it.

“We are blessed in our reverend,” Ingrid went on talking. “He leads our Bible Study on Saturdays. You could come along with me and see what it’s like, if you’re interested.”

“Yes. Absolutely.”

“Wonderful. I can’t wait to introduce you around. Oh, this is going to be so fun.” Ingrid reached the edge of the yard, where oldest brother, Devin, waited in the feed store’s rough-hewn wooden sled. A pair of study horses swished their tails, patiently waiting while Ingrid hugged first Gertie, and then Felicity goodbye.

I’m going to love having a sister again,
she thought, waving as the sled pulled away. Joy crept into her,
making the day bright and so did the pressure of the small hand tucked in her own. Now that she’d discussed the wedding ceremony with the minister, nerves popped in her stomach. The good sort of nerves, the same she’d felt when she’d held Gertie’s first letter or stood on the platform waiting to board the westbound train with Tate’s ticket clenched in her fist.

A ticket that must have been very difficult to afford. The old pinto nosed into the spot Devin’s sled had vacated, drawing Tate and the wagon box to a stop in front of her. His scarf did bring out the incredible shade of his eyes. Maybe it was a trick of the gray daylight or the power of her enduring wish, but his gaze gentled when he looked at her. The craggy stone of his face softened. Just for one brief moment.

Just for her.

“Pa, are you gonna stay home today?” Gertie hopped onto the seat. Tate set down the reins to help her.

“You know I have work to do.” He held out his hand, palm up, turning into a statue of a man again with feelings hidden and heart barricaded.

Maybe it had been the light, after all. Disappointment crept in but she lifted her chin, refusing to let it show. She laid her bare fingertips on his broad palm, barely touching him as she stepped onto the running board. “You deliver on Sundays?”

“No, but it’s a good time to go over the equipment. To keep everything running smoothly.” He gathered the reins, glancing over his shoulder to check for traf
fic. A jam of horses and sleighs waited on the street, so with a sigh he loosened the reins, resigned to wait. “After hours, when I’m done with any last-minute deliveries for the store, I run loads for a local teamster.”

He worked two jobs? So that’s how he paid for her train ticket. That explained why he left in the evenings after supper. What else didn’t she know about him? The bulk of it could fill her hope chest to overflowing.

Finally the horses and vehicles thinned, and with a snap of the reins, Patches pulled them forward. The runners bumped over ruts in the road and snow swirled playfully into her eyes. Tate sat straight and tall in the seat, more handsome than he’d ever been to her. What a blessing he was. God had shown great a kindness in leading her to him. Affection bloomed like a rare rose in winter, gently and sweetly and budding with hope. Surely her caring could make a difference.

“Gertie—” she leaned close to the girl, taking care that her whisper would not carry “—what is your pa’s favorite meal?”

“Chicken and dumplings,” she whispered back. Gossamer curls framed her button face. “Are you gonna make it for him?”

“It happens to be my specialty.”

* * *

The rig had seen better days five years ago. On his back beneath the wagon box, Tate gave the wrench a good hard twist. Lantern light cast orange flickers across the wood section of the frame he’d just replaced, but the mountings were solid. He set down the
wrench and gave them a test. Everything held and he sighed with relief. That was one thing crossed off his list. He inched his way, checking stress points as he went until he’d cleared the frame and sat up behind the runners.

“That ought to hold for the rest of the winter,” he told the gelding who eyed him over the top of his stall. “At least we’ll hope so.”

Patches nickered in agreement, earning a nose rub. The old fellow was a good horse. Tate was grateful for the animal’s gentle and amiable spirit. The work days were long but the gelding never complained.

“Felicity! Look!” Gertie’s high words rang through the yard like a merry bell. He caught sight of her dashing down the steps bundled up well against the cold. A navy scarf protected her neck from the wind and trailed down her back, fringe waving in the wind. Beige gloves, also far too big, protected her hands as she dashed into the yard’s deep snow. Her giggles lifted in the air, the sound most precious to him.

He had Felicity to thank for that. His chest cinched tight. How he’d gotten so lucky, he didn’t know. He suspected luck had nothing to do with it. He dropped the wrench into the tool box and leaned against the doorway. He drank in the sight of his daughter throwing out her arms and spinning with the wind.

“Look, Felicity! I’m twirling like a snowflake.”

“Not yet, you’re not!” The woman moved like a waltz, one lilting step after another, too graceful to touch the ground for long. She scooped up the little girl and lifted her high in the air. Gertie squealed,
coming back down to wrap her arms around Felicity’s neck. They spun together, the woman going faster and faster until they were a flutter of motion, of gold hair and swirling skirts and openhearted laughter.

He watched until they blurred. Only then did he turn away, blinking hard against the burn behind his eyes. Dumb snow. Getting in his eyes like that. He swaggered over to the wagon bed and hunkered down, needing to check the boards for wear.

He knew the exact moment when the laughter stopped. He didn’t look up, although he heard everything. Gertie flopping into the snow and flapping to make an angel, Felicity’s praise, the crunch of one pair of shoes coming closer. He set his jaw, unprepared to see the woman. A man ought to be safe in his own barn.

“Whew, I’m out of breath.” She tumbled in, bringing the echoes of merriment with her. “I haven’t played in the snow like that since, well, I can’t exactly remember when. Brrr. You must be freezing in this weather.”

“I’m used to it.” Gratitude clogged in his throat made the words curt and coarser than he meant. He forced his gaze on the boards and
only
on the boards. Muscles twisted behind his sternum, making it hard to concentrate.

“You’ve been working out here most of the afternoon.” She padded closer and the muscles in his chest snapped tight, near to breaking. The cutting board came into sight, a makeshift tray. “I thought you might
like some hot tea and biscuits. I melted butter and honey on them. Just how you like it.”