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Authors: Janet Tronstad
Mistletoe Courtship
“An emotionally vibrant and totally satisfying read.”
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Snowbound in Dry Creek
“Janet Tronstad pens a warm, comforting story.”
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Shepherds Abiding in Dry Creek
“Ms. Tronstad creates a very enjoyable story about learning to believe and love again.”
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An Angel for Dry Creek
“This tender love story holds just the right blend of romance and sophisticated intrigue.”
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Shelter of His Arms
“A charming love story with two characters who were made for each other.”
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Legacy of Secrets
“Mitchell is an amazing, talented author who spins a tale of greed, love, family secrets and keeping the faith in oneself.”
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The Widow's Secret
Janet Tronstad grew up on a small farm in central Montana. She took piano lessons as a child, but always had a particular love of bell choirs so she enjoyed learning about them for this novella. She has written many books, both contemporary and historical, in the Dry Creek series. Janet lives in Pasadena, California, where she is a full-time writer.
A popular and highly acclaimed author in the Christian market, Sara's aim is to depict the struggle between the challenges of everyday life and the values to which our faith would have us aspire. The author of contemporary, historical suspense, and historical novels, her work has been published by many inspirational book publishers.
Having lived in diverse locations from Georgia to California to Great Britain, her extensive travel experience helps her create authentic settings for her books. A lifelong music lover, Sara has also written several musical dramas and has long been active in the music miniseries of the churches wherever she and her husband, a retired career air force officer, have lived. The parents of two daughters, Sara and her husband now live in Virginia.
SARA MITCHELL
Mistletoe Courtship
Janet Tronstad
May the bells always ring for both of you
In memory of Judy Eslick and Jim Jett
Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal.
âI
Corinthians
13:1
Montana TerritoryâJanuary 1880
N
oise spilled into the darkness as Virginia Parker opened the saloon's back door. She braced herself as she took a few steps out into the cold while wiping her hands on her damp apron. Ordinarily, she would have searched the alley to be sure no one saw her leave at night, but she was too upset even to think of her reputation right now. It wasn't the gossips in town who were bothering her anyway. It was
him.
Colter Hayes had interrupted her dish-washing and asked her to come out here. The saloon owner hadn't said what he wanted to talk about, but she knew it could only be one thingâhe must be getting ready to fire her. When he stood there and didn't speak, she wondered if he was trying to find words to soften the blow. That's when she realized whyâthe man pitied her.
Please, God, leave me with some dignity,
she prayed.
She couldn't believe someone from here would pity her. She might be living in this small Montana town now, but she would find her way back to where she belonged. She would never get
used to the coyotes that slid through the streets of Miles City in the dark. Or the wide-brimmed hats the men wore low on their heads to protect themselves from the bad weather that plagued this land.
Back east in her beloved home, the days were pleasant. Servants banished any difficulties. And the musicâah, the sounds she'd heard. She had learned to play the piano looking out at the green trees surrounding the house where she'd lived for most of her twenty-four years. She'd never become the concert pianist her father wanted, but she longed to go back and play for the trees again even though he wouldn't be there to hear her.
She wondered if pity had been the reason for the brooding expression she sometimes saw on Colter's face as he watched her at the piano. She had thought it was because he had other, more tender, feelings for her. She blushed and lowered her head. Obviously, she'd been wrong about that.
“It's a little busier tonight,” she finally said with a sideways glance at him.
It wasn't any more comfortable to look at him than to stare out into the icy wind thinking about him. He kept his face clean-shaven and his dark hair neatly trimmed, but that did little to offset the rough-hewn strength of him. It was rumored he had been a gunfighter and, looking at him in the shadows just now, she believed it could be true.
The man nodded. “Danny needed help washing the glasses tonight. Thanks.”
“You're welcome,” she answered cautiously then brushed her hand over her forehead as strands of blond hair blew across her face. The dusting of snow on the ground had grown whiter and more flakes were falling. Now that Christmas had passed she couldn't expect Colter to keep paying her to play the piano for his customers, not with business the way it was. She was
helping Danny with the dishes partly to show she could do other things to earn her wage.
“It's chilly out here,” Colter announced with a frown as he took off his wool coat and held it out to her.
“I'm fineâ”
“You're shivering.” He stepped closer and draped the coat around her shoulders. She felt the warmth of it seep into her even as she refused to let it soften her. The garment smelled of damp wool. And him. She had to admit she sometimes had stared at him, too, when he wasn't looking. He wasn't a gentleman like her father, but he was compelling nonetheless.
Thinking of her father reminded her that she would sorely miss the magnificent Broadway piano in the saloon. She had despaired of ever playing a piano that fine again after her parents had died of the flu and she had been forced to move west to live with her brother. Everyone said it had been left in the saloon when Colter bought the building and it must be so because he didn't pay it any attention. It was scandalous to see an instrument like that ignored.
“You certainly don't need to pay me for working this evening,” she said. The decision to tell the men they couldn't drink anything but coffee in the afternoons when she was working had been Colter's. She was a lady, he said, and would be treated as such in his establishment. She knew he lost business because of it.
“Don't be ridiculous. I'll pay you.”
When Colter had found her in the street that first day, with her bonnet dripping from the rain and desperate tears in her eyes, she'd already been turned down for a job by every respectable shopkeeper in Miles City. The Broadwater, Bubble and Company Mercantile had no work. Neither did the bank. Nor the school. Even the man with the laundry shook his head. Just last week she'd asked everyone again and they all said the same thing.
When the North Pacific Railroad came to town, there would be work for everyone. But it hadn't even made it to Glendive yet.
“I know how you must feel about businesses like mine,” Colter finally said and Virginia reluctantly pulled her mind back to the conversation.
“You run an honest place.” She didn't want to add that he held himself like a leader so men naturally trusted him. The white shirt he wore had been pressed at the laundry down the street and it had the sharp creases she liked. He was holding his hat and running his fingers around the brim.
She had never seen him look nervous before. His jaw was strained, too.
“You don't need to worry,” Virginia finally said. She didn't want to feel sorry for him any more than she wanted him to feel sorry for her. “I'll get by. I'm truly grateful for the time I've been able to work here.”
When the army patrol her brother was on had been ambushed by Indians, she didn't even have time to finish mourning his death before the officials at nearby Fort Keogh informed her she would need to move. Her job with Colter was all that enabled her to afford a room at the boardinghouse.
Virginia turned to go inside.
Colter reached out to touch her arm. “I never should have hired you in the first place. Ever since I answered the preacher's call, I've been uneasy. It's not right for you to be working in a place like this. People talk.”
If people were talking, it was about him. She had been as surprised as everyone else when Colter had walked down the aisle after the Reverend Olson called for those who were repentant to come forward last Sunday.
“It's okay.” She reached out meaning to pat him on the arm, but then she stopped and let her hand fall to her side. “No one seriously thinks I'm doing anything in your saloon except
playing the piano. Everyone can hear the music when they walk down the street. You've paid me a fair wage. You've done all that man or God requires.”
“But Iâ” Colter looked at her and hesitated for a moment. “The problem is you shouldn't be working anywhere. A lady like you shouldn't have to wash dishes or boil water or anything. That's why I'm going to leave enough money for you to hire someone to do the rough work around here.”
Virginia blinked. “What?”
“I know I'm not saying this right,” Colter took a deep breath. “I need to go away.”
“I don't understand.”
“I have some business to take care ofâfamily business.” He looked uncomfortable as he stared out at the night. “I'm asking you to take care of my place while I'm gone. Not to run it, of course. But to see to the boyâDanny. He's finally in school and I don't want to take him away from his learning. I'll pay you, of course.”
“You're leaving?”
Colter nodded and turned back to her. His dark eyes studied her as if he was trying to decide something about her. Then a flash of something elseâregret perhapsâflickered over his face and he looked away before continuing. “You'll have to close this place as a saloon, but I thought maybe you could use it to give your music lectures while I'm goneâyou know talking about that Beck fellow.”
“Bach,” she corrected him. A few times, when the loneliness had overcome her, she had played some of the classical music she loved and told the men about the composers. She was pleased he'd remembered some of it.
Colter looked at her with a smile.
She wanted to be sure she understood. “You're planning to leave your property in my hands? For me to use?”
He nodded. “If you'd like.”
“Of course, I'd like that. I could give real music lessons.” Her days would be filled with joy. “I can't thank you enough.”
“You don't need to thank me.” He stepped closer. His eyes searched hers again for a moment and then he gently tilted her head up so she was looking at him. “All I ask is that you don't get married before I can get back.”
The sight of his tawny eyes so close and warm distracted her. By the time she realized what he had said, his face was closer still. That's when he bent down farther and kissed herâquick and hard. She felt a jolt of awareness and then he pulled away.
“Why, Iâ” she sputtered.
“I know,” he whispered. “Me, too.”
She'd scarcely gathered enough wits to fully protest when he walked back through the door and into the saloon. What did he have to kiss her for? A gentleman asked before he kissed someone. It was disrespectful not to. Then it suddenly struck her. If her father were still alive, he would never let a man as brazen as Colter court her. Or kiss her either. In fact, her father would have known the man was going to be trouble long before now.
