Mail-Order Christmas Brides Boxed Set (60 page)

“Bravo, Gertie!” Devin called. “Excellent twirling.”

“Did you see that, Felicity?” Gertie spun an extra time, the most precious ballerina on earth.

“I saw. Beautiful spin. Are you ready to start decorating?”

“Yes!”

“Then run and fetch the scrap bag from my room.”

“Okay. I’ll be fast!” The girl took off in a blur of flying braids and jubilation.

“I was worried about decorations.” Tate slowly climbed to his feet, leaning on his cane. “I should have known you had something planned.”

“Always. I’m full of ideas.”

“So I’ve noticed.” A wry touch of humor hooked the corners of his mouth and brought him more to life. The craggy strength of his features and the life force he could not hide softened his hard edges, giving depth to his voice that was no longer hollow.

Breathtaking. He stole more than her breath as he turned away. He had her heart. Tate without his shadows ambled away to talk with his brother, flesh and blood, genuine and real and she could not stop the beat of anticipation that thudded in her ears.

He’s coming back to us.
Ingrid’s thoughts strengthened her as she plucked her sewing basket from the corner.
Please, Lord, let that be true.

“Here. I got it.” Gertie pounded into sight, her arms wrapped around the bulging scrap sack. “Do you have decorations in here?”

“With a little work, we will.” Felicity settled on the sofa and opened her sewing basket. “First, look inside to find a red ribbon. It should be right on top.”

“Here it is.” Gertie held up the thick, cheerful spool of velvet.

“That would make a perfect garland.” Ingrid appeared with her sewing basket in the crook of her arm. “It should be long enough to wrap around the entire tree.”

“Oh, I want to do it. Can I?” Gertie clutched the thick roll of ribbon hopefully.

“You could, but aren’t you a little short for the job?” Devin lumbered over, hooked one arm around the girl’s waist and lifted her off the floor. Her squealing giggle made everyone laugh.

“I’m tall enough now,” she called as he hefted her high into the air, ribbon trailing. “I’m taller than everyone, even you, Pa. Look.”

“I see, shortcake.” The nickname tumbled off his tongue, unspoken for so many years. The shock of it rattled him and punched like a fist between his ribs. “You can reach the top of the tree.”

“Pa, you called me shortcake.” Gertie’s hand froze in midair, ribbon dangling, quiet with wonder.

“So I did.” The sad girl he’d come home to had faded. He saw it now, the changes that were happening. Even the bitterness began to fade. Maybe he could be the father he’d once been, the father he wanted to be. A smidgeon of tenderness eased up his windpipe and mellowed his baritone. “Why wouldn’t I call you shortcake? You’re the sweetest girl I know.”

“Definitely the sweetest. And a fantastic decorator.” Felicity slipped next to him, sweetness, too. Her fingertips rested on his arm, a butterfly touch that made his pulse gallop into a panic. Unaware, she briefly gazed up at Gertie high in Devin’s arms, who was
busily tucking the ribbon into the tree’s high branches. “You’re doing a lovely job, Gertie.”

“I like it.” Gertie adjusted the ribbon a tad, surveying her work. The child was a blur to him. Felicity filled his vision, filled his thoughts, filled his senses. He couldn’t focus. Panic raced through his veins. He’d never felt like this before.

“What do you think?” She held up the circle of fabric she’d cut and hung it on a branch. A printed gold snowflake on white fabric dangled by a red thread. “Will it work?”

“It’ll do.” The words croaked out as if he were choking.

“It looks great from here,” Ingrid called, her sewing scissors flashing in the lamplight as she worked. The strain on her round face had faded. For tonight, his sister looked young and carefree, the way a woman her age ought to. For tonight, Devin laughed, the way he used to.

It was Felicity who shone the most. Joy polished her with a rare radiance. She breezed away from him with a flash of a grin and her calico sweetness, talking as she went. Gertie answered with laughter, Ingrid commented and Felicity plopped onto the sofa, creating makeshift beauty out of unwanted scraps.

She was the reason for the laughter in this room, for Gertie’s transformation. The hollow where his heart once was throbbed sorely like a broken tooth unable to be soothed. He rubbed his hand over the spot, but the torment did not ease.

Not until her gaze met his. Deep, honest affection glinted in those gentle pools of blue.

Affection he wished he could return. Ashamed, he looked away.

* * *

Tate’s baritone rumbled pleasantly through the house as Felicity dried the last dessert plate. What a fun time they’d had. She played over the memories, each a treasure to hold dear. Laughing conversations, working alongside Ing making all those decorations, Gertie’s glee at the sight of the finished tree, memories she would never forget.

She set the plate on its shelf. The loneliness of her past was gone. She belonged with these people, tonight had proven that. Tonight she’d gained a sister and a brother, to go along with the daughter she already had.

And Tate? Emotionally, he felt a step closer to her. All she wanted was his love.

The mantel clock chimed, breaking into her reverie, reminding her that time was passing. Ingrid and Devin had gone home and the main room echoed with the faint rumble of Tate’s baritone. She took a moment to listen, to savor the deep notes and emotion giving his baritone depth. She hung the towel to dry and followed Tate’s voice.

Every step she took closer to him made the hook he had in her heart deepen and take better hold. She paused in the doorway, cherishing the sight of him sitting on Gertie’s bed. The indomitable breadth of his shoulders, the mighty line of his back and the shaggy length of his dark hair, all so dear to her. Maybe now
she could bring up the subject of giving him a trim. After all, that was a task a loving wife did for her husband.

Her husband. The wedding ceremony was merely a technicality, too. Her heart already belonged to him. Tenderness gathered within her so powerfully it blotted out the room, leaving only the glittering brilliance of her feelings. Overwhelmed, she grabbed the door-frame for support.

“One more chapter, Pa.
Please?
”

“Sorry. It’s way past your bedtime.” The book snapped shut, the tattered volume that had once been Ingrid’s favorite book. Gertie had told her so. “Look at you. I see that yawn.”

“I can’t help it, Pa.” One hand covered her mouth. Her face worked, struggling to stifle a yawn. Sleepy eyes were half-shut, but she struggled so hard to stay awake. Nothing on earth could look more endearing than Gertie tucked into bed, with her hair freshly brushed and falling in gold ringlets. Merry was tucked in beside her. “I don’t want the day to end.”

“I know just how you feel, shortcake.”

The little girl took hold of her father’s much larger hand. “Was today really real, Pa? Did it happen, or was it just a dream? I’m so happy I can’t tell.”

“It happened.” Tate’s voice broke. “You close your eyes and get some sleep. Merry looks tired. She needs her rest.”

“Pa?” Gertie held on to him, white-knuckled tight. “We aren’t going to lose this house, are we? And have to leave everything behind?”

“No. That’s what I’m working hard for. So you can have everything you lost.” The shadows clung to him as he leaned down to graze a kiss to his daughter’s forehead. “Don’t worry. I’m here, now. I won’t let anything that bad happen again.”

“I know, Pa.” The bedclothes rustled as Gertie settled deeper into her pillow, her fingers going slack. “I love you.”

“I love you more.” Ropes squeaked as he rose from the side of the bed to his impressive height. Towering in the dark, out of the lamp’s reach it was hard to see his face. “Sweet dreams.”

With a sigh, Gertie snuggled into the covers, already lost in sleep.

She watched his shoulders stiffen, as if he’d finally became aware of her presence in the doorway. He set the book on the night table, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he were biding his time to keep from facing her.

Now that they were alone together, now that he was healing, had his feelings for her changed?

“Felicity.” Her name warmed the low notes of his voice. In the dark where it was impossible to read his expression, it was easy to believe he cared. Easy to cling to the fondness gentling his tone. “She was waiting for you to kiss her good-night.”

“I’m too late. She’s asleep already.” Three steps into the room brought her close enough to see the flutter of the girl’s long lashes, before her breathing evened out, lost in dreams.

“You should tuck her in tomorrow.” Reassuring,
Tate came closer, impossible to see in the inky far reaches of the room, but she could sense his nearness. She turned toward him, drawn by the sound. His cane whispered on the floor. “The coal is stocked up. The water bucket is full for morning.”

“Thank you.” He was a thoughtful man. He’d taken good care of her from her first night here. She backed into the main room, aware of the child sleeping. “The dishes are done. The kitchen stove’s fire is banked.”

“Is there anything else I can do for you?”

A thousand things, none of which she could ask him. She wanted to sit in front of the fire with him and talk over the events of the evening, like couples do. She wanted the comfort of his company while she knitted Gertie’s mittens. She wanted to know the marvel of his kiss.

“Then you are all set for the night.” He sounded more distant, as if the joy of the evening wore off. The shadows closed in, stealing him bit by bit. The man he’d been tonight faded. “I’d best go.”

“Wait.” She opened a cupboard and pulled out two of her quilts. “The temperature is falling fast outside. I can feel it creep into the room. You may need these tonight.”

“I appreciate it.” His breathing hitched. He came forward out of the dark, but his face wasn’t remote stone. His eyes weren’t bleak. He lifted the quilts from her arms. “You bundle up tonight, too.”

“I will.” Was this how it would always be? Mutual politeness, keeping a safe distance and going their separate ways? She watched him tap away from her, a sil
houette outlined by the lamp’s glow. He hadn’t been like this earlier with his family around.

“I don’t know how to thank you for tonight.” His boots hesitated halfway to the door. “For what you gave to Gertie.”

He didn’t turn to face her. In the dark, the indomitable line of his back looked unbreakable, no longer a man of stone but one of steel. Invincible, but not cold.

“I want to give her Christmas.” She lifted her chin a notch, grappling for inner strength. “I want her to see that hardships end, that no matter how long or deep the darkness lasts, there isn’t a light that can’t eventually shine through it.”

“You did. You gave that to Gertie. To my family.”

Not our family. His family. She kept her chin up when it wanted to bob down. Maybe he didn’t mean that literally, she shouldn’t read too much into his choice of words. She wasn’t officially a member of this family yet. She stepped into the pool of lamplight, not trusting herself to speak. She had to accept the fact that Tate may be coming back to himself, that he was no longer the man who’d placed an advertisement in the paper. He might be rediscovering his heart and would no longer want a convenient wife.

No longer want her.

“I’ve got a light day tomorrow. There probably won’t be a lot of business at the store.” He ambled toward the door, his cane tapping a cautious rhythm. “I’ll pick Gertie up from school tomorrow. That will save you a trip.”

“All right.” She felt as if she were cracking apart. She fought to keep it from showing.

“It’s getting late, and you look tired.” Another hesitant step.

“I got a lot done today.” She was exhausted, but not physically as much as emotionally. He felt further away than ever, more distant than that man on the train platform wanting nothing to do with her.

“So I see. You are a force to be reckoned with.”

“I try. You haven’t seen anything yet.”

“I’m sure.” Not icy and not harsh, his tone held a note of warmth, not the cozy kind that a man would use speaking to the woman he was about to marry. But the polite and courteous kind a man uses when speaking with an acquaintance.

The door squeaked open and he merged with the night. He walked away from her easily, when he’d lingered with his brother and sister in their goodbyes and shown such openness at Gertie’s bedside, kissing her good-night. For her he didn’t look over his shoulder.

“Good night.” Not, “I’m looking forward to seeing you in the morning.” Not even, “I’m looking forward to another one of your breakfasts.” Just the ring of his boots on the porch.

All she wanted was a sign. The smallest encouragement that he might come to care for her, now that his heart was healing. Just something to let her believe this could still work out. That she wasn’t about to lose another family, to be torn apart from the man she loved.

Please, Father, just a tiny hint—anything. So I can keep believing.

Nothing. Just a click of the door. Tate was gone, leaving her alone.

The shadows gathered around her, or maybe that was the sorrow’s first blow. She eased onto the sofa, determined to do a little knitting on Gertie’s mittens, but her hands went to her face instead.

What if Tate was rethinking his decision? He had time to cancel their wedding, it was not Christmas Eve yet. Maybe she had to accept Tate could love again.

He just couldn’t love
her.

She knew you didn’t always feel a great loss all at once. It could come in stages, first a great numbing realization. Followed by a crushing strike that booted her between the ribs. Finally came the tearing anguish of her heart shattering. Hope and her dreams leaked out of her.

No, wait, those were tears.

Chapter Ten

H
e couldn’t breathe. Not one squeak of air could slip into his lungs. A colossal invisible anvil had settled on his sternum, allowing nothing in. Nothing out. Every rib he owned felt near to breaking from the unbearable pressure. He eased onto the top step, unable to leave. All he could see was the silvered affection on Felicity’s face, her loving regard that he wanted to return.