Mail-Order Christmas Brides Boxed Set (58 page)

Please, let it be,
she wished.

She tumbled through the door, aglow with memories. Already her dream was coming true. They were almost a family. Brisk air knifed through her layers of wool and flannel, but nothing could dampen her optimism. Not one thing.

“Hello there, pretty lady.” A familiar baritone cut into her thoughts. “Can I offer you a ride?”

“Tate!” She whirled, stunned to see him gazing at her from beneath the low slant of his hat brim. He looked good with the wind ruffling his hair, so incredibly good. A welcoming grin hinted in the corners of his mouth, where the promise of a dimple lived. Could she help it if her feelings soared? “I didn’t even hear Patches.”

“You were lost in thought?” he guessed, nodding as if that didn’t surprise him. He reached across the span of the seat to take her hand. “I thought so. I called your name twice—no response.”

The contact of his hand to hers sent a stronger surge of caring through her. She swallowed hard, clearing her throat, to keep her affection for him out of her voice. “Are you off to make a round of deliveries?”

“Yes. This is my last route for the day.” He leaned forward, offering his assistance as she stepped from street to running board. “The gloves are holding up great. Thanks for mending them. You did wonders.”

“It was easy to do. I see your coat is next.”

“I’ve noticed you’ve already taken a needle to my denims and my shirts.”

“Guilty.” She searched his gaze for the slightest sigh of affection and found none.
I’m not disappointed,
she thought, but she was. Yesterday’s closeness had affected her, but apparently not him. He seemed formidable as he snapped the reins. Patches lunged forward, glad to keep moving in the cold air. “We haven’t talked about Christmas presents for Gertie.”

“I’ve decided to make her a doll cradle. Wish I could afford to buy her one, but it’s all Ingrid, Devin and I can do to scrape up funds for the wood and paint.” He drew up taller, as if bracing himself, obviously uncomfortable and struggling not to be.

Please,
she thought.
Just care about me a little.
After what he’d been through, love would take time coming back into his heart, but it had to come. She could already see the changes in the quiet moments, in the edges of his smile and in the hidden gentleness he showed her. Those things gave her hope.

“She had her doll taken from her when she arrived at the orphanage.” The softness was a hint in the hard pools of his eyes, a clue to the man beneath. “It was her only comfort, the only thing she had left of her own.”

“Poor Gertie. She’d lost her mother and her father, everything she knew. That had to have been the last straw.”

“It was. When I saw that doll…” His throat worked. “Well, you’ll just never know how much I appreciate you.”

Appreciation. That was a step. Already the distance between them began to fade. Definitely a positive sign. “I also sewed an entire wardrobe of clothes to go with the doll.”

“And you saved that for Christmas?”

“Yes. I had the dearest time designing and sewing those clothes. I would sit in my room in the evenings and, with every stitch, know I was sewing for my daughter. Hoping that she would adore the little clothes as much as I loved making them.”

“She will.” A faint curve inched up the corners of his chiseled mouth. He blinked hard, possibly against the cold breeze that hurled against them when Patches turned onto Main. “Looks like she’ll get a good Christmas, after all.”

“Yes, but there is something missing. You must see a lot of trees when you’re out on deliveries.” She gestured toward the town street. “Okay, not here exactly, but when you drive out of town. There has to be a tree somewhere you could chop down and bring home to decorate.”

“I’ll borrow Devin’s ax in case I see one somewhere.” He shook his head. Why he was agreeing he didn’t know. He tried to tell himself it was for Gertie. Imagine her eyes on Christmas morning with her doll cradle and clothes beneath green boughs waiting just for her. Why, she would like that, and he figured Felicity would, too.

“Excellent. I’ll get a spot picked out in the sitting area for it.” Pleasure drew pink in her cheeks and teased out the gold accents in her eyes.

He ought to be careful. An unsuspecting man could get lost in those depths. She tilted her head slightly to one side and gossamer wisps swept against the curve of her face. Her beautiful face.

He swallowed hard. Nuances of emotion lingered inside him, ghosts of what he was once able to feel. Troubled by it, he focused all his attention on the road and on the reins in his hands. Patches trotted through the busiest part of town and turned onto the intersecting street. The schoolhouse rose into sight. The emo
tion remained, like smoke disbursing in a wind, fading into nothingness again.

“I want Christmas to be the best we can make it.” She turned toward him in the seat. “Last year Gertie spent Christmas in the orphanage, didn’t she?”

“Yep.” The words felt wrung out of him. He knew what she would be saying next. He bowed his head, bracing for it.

“You were in jail.”

He gritted his teeth so tight, his molars hurt. All he could manage was a nod. It was important to keep all his pain deeply buried so he wouldn’t feel it. His hand crept over to cover hers. Not that he needed her comfort or the connection of her understanding.

Fine. He did.

“I’ll see you when you get home tonight.” Her fingers clung to his as she eased off the seat. “I’m making a special supper.”

“And maybe those biscuits of yours?”

“I’m not telling.” She sank into the snow. “I’m leaving it a mystery. You’ll have to wait to find out.”

“I know what you’re doing. Gertie is telling you my favorite meals so you can make them.” He didn’t let go of her. His grip felt unbreakable, as unreadable as his gaze.

“As far as I can tell, you seem to like what I’ve been cooking.”

“I wasn’t complaining. Just trying to figure you out.”

“Good luck with that.”

They chuckled together for a cozy moment. His
gentleness shone warmth into his hard gaze, showing the real man beneath. Just a glimpse, before the walls snapped up and blocked her out.

But she’d seen the core of him. She wasn’t wrong. He cared more than he could admit. She hid her affection beneath a quick smile. She hated letting go of him.

“I’d like to stay,” he said. “See Gertie. Take the two of you home, but I have deliveries to make.”

“I have an errand, anyway.” The wind whipped up between them, nudging her backward a step. “Gertie promised to show me where the post office is.”

“Do you need money for a stamp?”

“No, I already have one.” She patted her coat pocket. “I brought it with me. Are you going to wait to see Gertie?”

“I can’t. I’d best get going.” The lean line of his mouth upturned into a small smile as he tipped his hat to her. “I’ll see you tonight for the mystery supper.”

“Beware because it could be anything.” Beef stew, but leaving him in suspense widened his smile into a full grin. Stunning. That was the only word that came to mind. She went up on tiptoes, drawn to him, wanting to hold on as he began to go. Patches stepped forward, ears pricked, necked arched. The runners squeaked on the snow.

“I’ll eat anything you cook as long as you make those biscuits with it.” A wink, a tip of his hat but no warmth chased the shadows from his gaze. No love lit him as he rode away. Long streaks of light cut around him, stealing him from her sight.

But there was a chance. She saw it.

Please watch over him, Lord,
she prayed in the chilly sunshine.
Please heal his heart.

The school bell rang, drawing her attention back to the world around her. The doors flew open, noise and chaos erupted and children dashed down the steps. Shouts rang against the bright blue sky, the sounds of freedom and childhood.

“Felicity!” Gertie broke away from the steps, alone. She carried her schoolbooks tucked in the crook of her arm and swung her lunch pail with her free hand. She dashed through the snow. “Guess what?”

“What?”

“I got every spelling word right. I got the best score!”

“You did? Wonderful job. I’m so proud of you. You are such a smart girl.” She knelt to draw the child into her arms. The love within her built with each breath, each moment, each smile. Love not just for Gertie.

When she glanced down the road, Tate was simply a dark speck against the stretching white of the high-winter prairie.
Please love me,
she wished.
Please.

* * *

What he was doing chopping down a tree, he didn’t know. He was a fool, that’s what, taking time out of his evening when he ought to be heading back to town and checking with Emmett Simms. If there was any extra hauling work to be done, then he ought to be imagining that and not the joy on Felicity’s face when she caught sight of this fir.

Disappointed, that’s what he was. He was smarter than this. So why didn’t he stop chopping?

Good question. A question he didn’t want to answer
or he would have to admit something he didn’t want to face. His relationship with the woman was headed toward certain disaster and he hadn’t even married her yet. All it took was one plea on her gentle face and here he was, chopping.

He swung the ax one more time, pitching it in a slant so the tree would tip straight and clean. The blade dug in and the scrubby fir bounced to a rest on the drifted snow, branches flung out, trembling from the impact.

The tree wasn’t much, hardly six feet, but it was the largest he’d come across on unclaimed land. He pictured delight tracing pink across Felicity’s face when she spotted him driving up with this and his chest knotted tight.

The fir slid behind him as he plunged through thigh-high drifts. Patches watched from the road, seeming to shake his head in disbelief. The tangible weight of his failings rested like an anvil on his sternum, painful with each breath, each step, and when he hefted the tree into the wagon box.

This was a bad idea, he thought as he tied the tree in tight. The idea seemed even worse as he settled on the seat and took up the reins. The last Christmas tree he’d had was before Dobbs and his men had ruined his life. He’d gathered around that tree with his wife beside him, thinking that all loves lasted. He’d watched Gertie’s delight as she’d unwrapped the china doll from beneath a candlelit tree. His contented world was crushed to bits three days later.

If a man kept his hopes low, they couldn’t be taken
away from him. As he snapped the reins, fear gnawed inside him. Was he walking on hazardous ground? He would be smart to figure out how to say no to Felicity. That was why he’d lost the argument with himself and stopped to cut the tree. That was why he was heading home with the smell of fresh-cut pine accompanying him.

Felicity. He shook his head. What was he going to do? She had agreed to a marriage of convenience, but she hoped for more. Anyone could see the plea in her eyes, longing to be loved. He had to marry her. Gertie couldn’t take it if he changed his mind and sent Felicity away.

He
couldn’t take it.

The house came into sight. Lamplight shining on the other side of pink curtains cast a rosy glow onto the glass. Home. She had done a good job of that. The welcoming light drew him into the yard. When Patches clomped to a stop outside the door, a section of curtain pulled back. Gertie’s dear face beamed out at him. No, he couldn’t do that to his little girl.

The door flung open, spilling light and a child onto the porch.

“Pa!” Gertie gaped, hands clasped, disbelieving. “Is that a
tree?
A
real
Christmas tree?”

“It could be.” He set down the reins. “Let’s go take a look.”

“Oh, Papa.” She flew down the steps in a swirl of gingham, wool and Felicity’s gloves. “It is! I can’t believe it. This really is going to be a
real
Christmas.”

“That’s what I promised you, little one.” He leaned
heavily on his cane. “We’re together again. We’ll be together for every Christmas to come, you and me.”

“And Felicity,” Gertie added. That button face—it stopped him in his tracks. It outshone the stars above. The misery that had haunted her from her mother’s death and her stay at the orphanage melted away like shadows before a high-noon sun. Just brightness and glory remained.

No, he had to go forward with this marriage. There was no going back. Felicity and Gertie belonged together, two peas in a pod.

“Felicity! Come see what Pa brought,” Gertie hollered, ruffling the green tip of a feathery evergreen bough and causing the rich tree scent to rise on the wind. “It’s just the best surprise. I think God heard my prayers, Pa. He finally heard.”

He knew it wasn’t the tree she meant. Shame rushed through him for all the ways he’d failed her. He’d done his best fighting out of the shell he’d become, but it wasn’t enough, not yet. Look what a simple tree meant to her. He never would have guessed, he never would have known. That’s the sort of father he’d become. So hard of a man, he could no longer imagine a child’s wonder.

But Felicity could. He bowed his head, his boots heavy in the snow, gripping his cane for balance. He felt weak down to the soul. God may have forgotten him, but He surely watched over Gertie.

I’m grateful to You for that, Lord. More grateful than You know.
Surely the Lord was there somewhere. He’d just grown too hopeless to sense Him.

“See, Felicity. See?” Gertie bounced again, bubbling with expectation and turning toward the steps.

He felt her approach before the knell of her shoes on the wet porch steps. She brought the warmth from the house with her and the cheer of the season. She made the lonely places within him ache to be filled.

Shadows fled as she bopped down the stairs with a swirl of her cheerful skirts and the fringe of her shawl swaying.

“Is that what I think it is?” Excitement rang like music in her voice, clear and sweet and true. “You did it. Just like you promised.”

“I’m a man of my word. You can always count on that.” He’d never thought what it might be like for her to leave everything behind, praying it would be worth the risk. She didn’t know what kind of man he would turn out to be. He couldn’t explain why it was important to show her who he was, that she had nothing to worry about.