Mail-Order Christmas Brides Boxed Set (50 page)

“Pa, guess what?” Gertie stumbled up to him, nearly tripping with her excitement. He couldn’t remember the last time her big blue eyes had sparkled like that, nor the last time he’d seen her dear smile framed by twin dimples. Something in the vicinity of his heart caught, a muscle spasm of sorrow.

“Felicity brought me a surprise!” The wind rustled the ends of her curls and brushed the stray flyaway strands against the side of her apple cheeks as if with a loving hand. “A present. And it’s not even Christmas yet.”

“Huh.” He kept his gaze low as he grabbed hold of his cane and ambled around the side of the wagon. The yellow ruffle of the woman’s skirt stayed in his peripheral vision, following him. Whatever was going to happen to Gertie when the fancy lady took off, he didn’t know. Her heart would be shattered, those sky-high hopes grounded.

Helplessness twisted inside him and wrung him out. He should have put his foot down at the depot. He should have refused the woman, ordered her back onto the train before it departed, pushed her away before she had a chance to win his daughter’s heart. Look how the girl was already captured, one small hand clinging so hard to the woman’s fine-knit glove it was a wonder she wasn’t causing a bruise.

“She has one for you, too.” Gertie bounced in place,
as if her happiness was so great not even gravity could hold her. A silent question shone in her blue eyes as she searched his. “Aren’t you glad she’s finally here?”

“Settle down now.” He could feel the rigid lines digging into his face and the harsh set of his mouth, grown hard with hardship and defeat. Life was a grim place, but he read his daughter’s anxiety as easily as if her concerns had been scribbled in ink across her forehead. His darling girl. For her sake, he tried to soften the harsh set of his face, tried to ease the hard lines around his mouth. “Get on up into the wagon.”

“Yes, Pa.” It was a struggle for her to find the will to let go of the woman’s hand. He didn’t look directly at the female. The slash of yellow hem beneath her navy coat and the beige of her wool gloves was all he cared to see of her. He could feel the weight of her gaze as he swung his child into the air and onto the wagon seat.

“Your turn.” He held out one hand, making himself like iron, a cold and unfeeling thing that cannot be hurt. To his surprise, her glove lighted on his palm as gently as a bird landing, accepting his help as she placed one dainty shoe on the running board and rose up into the sun. That’s how it looked when he gazed up at her with the rays of sunlight spearing down around her and her bonnet glowing.

Air froze in his lungs as he stood there, momentarily paralyzed by the sight. He’d never seen anything as beautiful as Miss Sawyer with December sunshine kissing her cheek and shimmering in her hair.

“Oh, I love your horse.” She bobbed out of the sun
and settled onto the seat, still carrying wisps and glimmers of the light in her golden hair and on the silken petals of the daisy. “What is his name?”

He made the mistake of forgetting to look away. Sparkling blue eyes latched on his, holding him prisoner and stealing his every thought. He felt his jaw move and his tongue tried to form words that did not come. Confusion curled through him. Kindness curved in the upturned corners of her smile and sang in her gentle voice. He was not prepared for kindness.

“Patches,” Gertie answered, her optimism ringing like church bells. The wind rose, tearing at her words and snatching them apart as he shuffled around the back of the wagon, escaping the woman’s attention.

Ice slipped beneath his cane as he waited for a teamster’s wagon to lumber by before stepping into the road. Gertie’s conversation rose and fell in snatches, explaining about how they bought the old gelding at auction, walking between the aisles of horses until they found the very best one.

The cheapest one fit to do work, but he didn’t correct her as he swung onto the seat and gathered the reins. He couldn’t feel the thick leather straps against the palms of his hands. He couldn’t feel anything at all as the black-and-white pinto pulled them forward into the road.

“I’ve always wanted a horse,” the woman explained as the runners beneath the wagon box jostled over ruts in the snowy street. “My father trained horses when I was a little girl.”

“When you were my age?” Gertie asked.

“I was a year younger.” She gave a decisive nod and the flower on her hat nodded, too. “I remember sneaking into the stables to watch my pa with the horses. He had a voice so benevolent that every living creature leaned in closer just to hear him. I would watch, keeping as quiet as I could until the straw crinkled and he would discover me. I was supposed to be in big trouble, I was too little to be in the barn by myself, but he would always scoop me up and hold me close and let me sit on one of the horses.”

“Then he died?” Gertie’s chin wobbled.

“Yes. My mother, too.” She smoothed away a strand of the girl’s flyaway hair. “I don’t know what happened to the horses. Probably whoever bought the farm kept them. I haven’t had a horse since.”

Don’t get caught up in her sob story, he told himself as he gave the slack reins a small tug as the intersection approached. That was the way a woman hoodwinked you. They played with a man’s heartstrings, tugging his emotions this way and that until they had you right where they wanted you. He glanced both ways down Main before giving the right rein a tight tug. With a face like hers, Miss Sawyer was probably used to playing men right and left. A smart man would keep that in mind when dealing with her.

“Then Patches can be part yours, too.” Gertie leaned closer to the woman, absolute adoration written on her dear face.

His chest cinched tight. What was he going to do about that? Tension licked through him, more regret than anger. Why couldn’t that woman be what he’d
bargained for? His little girl was seriously smitten with the woman. How did he protect her from more heartache? He shook his head, not liking the situation. Not one bit. Best to do what had to be done now and get it over with. He reined Patches toward the nearest hitching post.

“Oh, this is a lovely town. Just like something out of a storybook.” The woman clasped her hands, gasping with a sweet little sound that seemed genuine, not fake. He drew the gelding to a stop, his gaze arrowing to her instead of his driving. The brisk air had painted her cheeks a rosy pink, the color accentuating the fine lines of her high cheekbones and the heart shape of her dainty chin.

“The shops are decorated for Christmas. Look at the candles. This is exactly the sort of town I’ve always wanted to live in. It’s homey and sweet and safe feeling.” Sincerity rang in her words as she gazed up and down the street. “It looks as if fairy tales can happen here.”

“I go to school right over there.” Gertie pointed across the street, where the tailor shop hid the schoolhouse two blocks away. “I got a perfect mark in spelling today. I studied real well.”

“I’m so proud of you.” The woman turned her attention to his child. He didn’t want to believe the tenderness he saw on her face or heard in her words as she pulled off her gloves. “I knew from your first letter you were a very smart girl.”

“You did?” Gertie perked up like a dying plant
finally set in the sun. “I worked really hard on that letter.”

“I could tell.” She slipped one glove onto Gertie’s hand. “You spelled every word perfectly. It was a very good letter.”

Gertie beamed. Life came into her, something he hadn’t seen since Lolly’s death. His dislike of the woman fizzled as she snuggled the second glove into place and patted the girl’s covered hands. “There. That ought to keep you toasty warm.”

“They are so soft.” Gertie held out her hands and inspected the gloves.

“I’ll knit you a pair, how’s that?”

Already the woman made promises to his daughter, ones she couldn’t possibly keep, and that would be his fault. But someone had to put a stop to this before more damage could be done. He hopped out of the wagon. “I’ll get your trunk, Miss Sawyer. Plans have changed.”

“Changed?” Confused, she blinked those long curly lashes of hers. The wind played with fine gold strands of hair fallen down from the confines of her hat. “This is a hotel. I don’t understand. You were going to take me to your house.”

“True, but I’ve had second thoughts and I’m sorry about it.” He braced himself for the emotional battle, often a woman’s way of controlling a man. He focused on the snow compacted beneath his boots and the rhythm of his cane tapping on it. “You won’t be staying with us. I’ll get you a return ticket in the morning.”

“What? You’re sending me back?” The words rang
hollow, vibrating like a plucked string, full of pain. “I don’t understand. We had an agreement.”

“We did. Believe me, I wish I could keep it.” He leaned his cane against his hip to wrestle with the tailgate. It killed him to admit it. “I’m sorry you came all this way, but you aren’t going to fit in here. You don’t suit. Surely you can feel it, too?”

“Papa! What do you mean? No. Don’t send her away.” Gertie’s face crumpled. Life drained from her like sun from the sky. Misery said what she could not. She turned around, climbing onto her knees, gripping the seat back with Miss Sawyer’s gloves still on her hands. Her blue gaze lassoed him, letting him feel her anguish.

He blinked hard against the stab of pain in his chest. He didn’t want his girl hurt. That’s why he was doing this. It was the right thing. That didn’t give him comfort as he unwound the chain, the rattle of metal echoing straight through him as if nothing, not even his soul, remained.

“It’s the best thing to do, Gertie.” He tried to comfort her with his voice. “You’ll never know how sorry I am.”

“Oh, Papa.” The springs creaked as she sat down proper and buried her face in her hands.

He broke right along with her. He had no idea how to fix the situation and scowled at the woman responsible. Miss Sawyer in her tailored clothes tapped rapidly in his direction. Already folks on the boardwalk were passing by, throwing curious glances their way. One word from any of them about his past, and she
would be gone, anyway. She had options. He did not. He dropped the chain on the wagon box and reached for the trunk. A yellow ruffle flounced into view.

“How don’t I suit?” Not a demand, but a plea. “You don’t know me. You’ve hardly said a few dozen words to me.”

“I just know. Isn’t it obvious to you?” He couldn’t be what she’d been wishing for. He dragged the trunk closer. He meant to be kind. He wished he could be. “Look, I’m not the right sort of husband for you. I’m going to do the best thing for both of us. It’s better you go now than later. Better for her.”

“For Gertie?” Confusion knelled in her words, drawing him closer, making him look. In the thinning afternoon light, the sun continued to find her, to glow in the golden wisps of her hair, to make luminous her ivory complexion. “I wouldn’t hurt her for the world. I don’t understand this.”

“I’m being honest and doing what’s right, Miss Sawyer—”

“Felicity,” she insisted, moving in to lay her hand on his. The shock of her touch, warm and innocent on his cold skin, made his mind empty, his knees buckle and his anger fade.

The anger was just a defense. He really didn’t dislike her. That was the worst part. Of all the things she could have said, he wasn’t prepared for her concern toward his daughter.

“Give me a chance, that’s all I’m asking.” Her eyes were darker than blueberries. He could see the shadows in them, the wounds of spirit that made the
muscle in his chest clamp harder. As if she sensed his weakness, she pleaded on, “At least wait until you know me before you send me away.”

“What about Gertie? She wants you to stay, but you could have anyone. You are beautiful—” Heat stained his face. Bashful from fear of revealing too much, he stared hard at the square of snow visible between his boots.

“You think I’m beautiful?” She breathed the words like wonder, but surely he was only imagining that. Women like Miss Sawyer probably heard that all the time. Her hand remained on his, never moving.

What did he say? Pride held him up as he stared at the hand on his, small and delicate. The slightly rough calluses on the pads of her fingers surprised him. Up close he could see the loneliness shining in her eyes and the set of her delicate jaw, strong, as if used to facing hardship.

Now that he took the time to see it, she wore the air of a woman who’d been on her own too long and struggled to make ends meet. He finally noticed the wear on her coat, although lovingly cared for, and not the new garment he’d mistaken it to be.

“Miss, you don’t look desperate enough to settle for the likes of me.” He might as well admit the truth.

The truth had a startling effect on her. He watched amazed as her guard went down, as the pools that were her eyes deepened to show more of her. He looked into that well of sadness and loss, and felt the muscles where his heart used to be whip tight. He’d been so wrapped up in his own challenges, fighting to
right what was wrong in his life to make things better for his daughter that he’d forgotten adversity could fall like rain, striking many people.

“You were not what I envisioned, Tate. I can’t deny it.” The pearls of her teeth dug into her bottom lip as she hesitated, perhaps debating the right words. “I imagined you any number of ways. Tall or short. Bony or beefy. Disagreeable or pleasant. But any way I pictured you, I prayed that what I felt when I read your advertisement was true. That you were a man who loved his daughter above all else, a man of heart and gentleness.”

Her words struck like bullets in the empty place between his ribs. He cast a glance at Gertie, still bent forward on the seat, her back to him, her thin shoulders shaking with silent sobs. He wished he could turn back time, reassemble the man he used to be so he could give her the kindness she deserved.

But not even God could change the past, so he straightened his spine. He may be many things, but a coward wasn’t one of them. “I am not gentle. I have no heart. And likely when you hear what folks say about me, you will be off to seek out the next man on your list who is looking for a wife.”

“No. There are no others on my list. I wanted Gertie from the start. From the moment I read your words in the paper I wanted to be her mother.” She changed before his eyes, drawing herself up like a woman weary of fighting battles and resigned to fight one more. Hurt etched in her fine-boned features as she set her chin another notch higher. “Tell me this one
thing, it’s all that I care about. Have you ever harmed a woman? Will you harm me?”