Authors: Jillian Hart
“I can see the steeple!” George called out.
“Will your father be meeting us?” Mercy asked quietly as they drove along, straining to search through the crowd of tethered horses and vehicles along the street in front of the church. It looked as if men gathered there, talking amiably. Although she already knew Cole wasn't one of them.
“Pa doesn't go to church anymore.” Amelia shrugged, falling silent, as if there was more to the story.
Sensing sadness there, suspecting it was because of the loss of Amelia's mother, Mercy gave her a silent nod of understanding. Sometimes a broken heart simply had to find his own way.
“Look at that palomino!” George shouted, his voice high-noted with glee. “It's the most golden horse I've ever seen. Maybe that's the horse I like the most.”
“I can see why.” Mercy straightened George's cap, which had gone somehow askew, to keep his ears warm. It seemed every handsome horse her boy saw became his new favorite. “Eberta, I'm so glad you've come with us.”
“No worries. One thing I don't miss is Sunday service.” Eberta pulled Frosty to a stop at a vacant spot at the block-long hitching post. “Are all those curious eyes getting to you?”
“Why, are people looking at me?” She pulled her attention away from the men and horses, where Cole Matheson was not, and realized it was true. A circle of ladies, standing off to the side of the walkway, studied her.
Shyness washed over her and she stared at the edge of the buffalo robe feeling terribly alone. She'd been prepared to meet so many new and unfamiliar people, but she hadn't realized how at ease she'd expected to feel with Cole at her side. Not that she needed a man to lean on, goodness no, but the companionship would have felt nice. Somehow she felt terribly alone.
This was the way a marriage of convenience was, she reminded herself. And, more importantly, it was no different from how her first marriage had turned out, in the end. She pushed back the buffalo robe, folding it up for later use.
“Hi!” Amelia called out to the crowd, standing up to wave. “This is my new mother, Mrs. Mercy Jacobs, but by Christmas she will be Mrs. Matheson. And this is George.”
“Hello.” A friendly woman stepped forward, her blond hair tumbling out from beneath her stylish bonnet. Her smile looked familiar. “We met in the dry-goods store briefly. I'm Molly.”
“Yes, so good to see you again.” Like a sign from heaven, the sun chose that moment to peer between the thick mantle of clouds, smiling down on the wintry world. Mercy felt the brightness and warmth brush her cheek like an angel's touch, and it was the assurance she needed. Everything was going to be all right. “Are you here with your family?”
“See those twin girls over there?” Molly smiled at Amelia, who was hopping down from the sleigh, and nodded toward the corner of the yard, where a bunch of little girls were lying back down in the snow, making snow angels. Two identical girls with black braids hopped to their feet to admire their work. One wore green, the other blue. Molly sighed happily. “Those two are mine. Nothing but trouble, and I'd say they're about your little boy's age.”
“They'll be in school together, then.” She watched over George while he climbed from the sleigh and into the deep snow. He wasn't interested in the girls. He had eyes only for the horses. “Are you happy with the teacher here?”
“Why, yes, we've been most blessed with Miss Young. She's a fine teacher,” Molly said, enthused. “I'm sure you'll love her. My girls do.”
“That's a relief to know.” Yet another one of her many worries alleviated. Mercy's smile felt wider, her spirit lighter. She glanced down at her son, who was standing half behind her, and then at Amelia, who reached out to proudly grab her hand. Such a tight grip, such a big need. Mercy prayed she could be everything the girl hoped for in a mother. What if she failed? Her chest ached at the thought; she was already in love with the girl.
“Hello, Eberta.” Another woman came over, waving to the older woman.
“Howdy there, Felicity.” Eberta gave the knotted rein a testing yank and, satisfied, trudged away from the hitching post. “How is that family of yours?”
“Wonderful. Tate's business is growing by leaps and bounds, and Gertie is keeping me busy.” The cheerful, beautiful woman patted her midsection gently, her condition hid delicately by the drape of her fine wool coat. “Four more months to go until this one arrives.”
“You'll be even busier then,” Mercy found herself adding, pleased when Felicity shared a smile with her. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you. We are so happy.” Felicity glowed with the truth of that statement. Mercy had never seen the like of the genuine joy and love that radiated from her when she glanced toward a dark-haired, impressive-looking man standing with the others, leaning on a cane.
True love. Mercy could feel the power of it like the sun warming the world. Once, she'd hoped for such a thing with Timothy, God rest him. Heaven knew how hard they'd tried. A touch of sadness crept in and she pushed it away. At least with Cole she would have no such disappointments, even if she would not have true love.
Who needed true love, anyway? She took George by the hand, thankful for him and Ameliaâfor her children. While the women chatted, leading the way down the shoveled pathway toward the open door of the church, the sunshine seemed to follow them, laying a golden path at their feet. Sign enough, she told herself, even if she felt a little lonely for more.
“That's my best friend and her ma!” Amelia pointed out, gesturing toward a horse and sleigh pulling to a stop in front of the church. “Oh, I'm so glad you've come, Mercy. We're going to invite all of them to our wedding. And I'm glad you came, too, George.”
“Uh, me, too,” the boy said, glancing over his shoulder one last time at the men and horses. Mercy realized why, now that she took a more careful look. It wasn't just the horses that had captured his attention, but the men with their sons at their sides. Fathers.
Knowing she wasn't the only one wishing Cole was here, she gently squeezed George's hand.
Chapter Five
“T
hat's our house.” Amelia jabbed her arm to the north, where the prairie rose into a graceful roll of snow glittering in the sunshine.
Mercy caught her breath, staring at the proud two-story home with dormer windows on the top and a wraparound porch, light gray siding and sparkling windows surrounded by a sea of white. This was their house? She stared, not quite able to believe. Cole had described his home as modest. But it was nothing like the modest cabins and shanties they'd passed on the half-mile ride from town. It was like a dream, like nothing she'd ever thought she'd live in.
“Where's the shanty?” George asked, confused. His face scrunched up, his forehead furrowed. “Is it around back? Is that where we're gonna live?”
“No, George,” Amelia said warmly, as if she already thought of him as her own little brother. “There's no shanty. You are going to live in the house with me and Pa. That's why we're having a wedding. So we can all be a family.”
A family. Amelia's words moved her heart. Mercy swallowed against the sudden lump in her throat. Her eyes stung, and she tried to blink away the unexpected tears. The girl clearly didn't know everything Cole had written in his letters, that he'd been so adamantly clear this was a formal arrangement, not a personal union.
“That sounds mighty nice to me.” Mercy cleared her throat, slipping one arm around the girl to draw her closer. She did the same with George. It felt pretty fine to be seated between the children, knowing that she already had what mattered, what she'd traveled so far to find.
Well,
almost,
she thought, remembering the churchyard scene earlier and those fathers with their sons.
“Keep in mind we moved some of the furniture into town,” Eberta explained as she urged Frosty along the circular drive curving in front of the steps. “The front room is a little empty, but that'll fix itself after the wedding.”
“In three days,” Amelia reminded them. “Don't worry, I have everything planned out.”
“Your father showed me your slate.”
The sleigh squeaked to a stop in front of the house. My, it was larger than she'd first thought. More impressive. The windows and porch gave it a smiling, welcoming look. Her pulse kicked up, and she tried to let it sink in. This houseâa real house, not a tiny cottage like the one she and Timothy had shared during their marriage, not a shanty like the ones she'd lived in growing up and after she'd been widowed. Not in her wildest dreams had she imagined this much.
“It's not a mansion.” Eberta hopped off the front seat. “But it's cozy and well-made. Cole built it himself. Did a fine job, too.”
“I've never lived in a place with so many windows,” she said, dazed, as she tumbled out of the sled behind Amelia. Looking up, she counted at least three bedrooms. And that was only on this side of the house.
“Ma, is this really where we're gonna live?” George tumbled from the sleigh, head tipped back, staring intently up at the second story, taking in the windows. “It's enough for lots of families.”
“Oh, it's not that big,” Eberta laughed kindly, patting the boy on the shoulder. “It's a nice-size family house. Don't know what you're used to, though.”
“A rented shanty on the outskirts of town.” Her shoes tapped on the steps as she trailed Amelia onto the porch. “This will be perfect come summer. I can plant flowers in the border beds and think how pleasant it will be to sit right here and watch the sun set.”
“That's how I like to pass a summer evening.” The front door opened and Cole stepped into the slant of sunshine, dressed in a dark wool coat, his Stetson hiding his eyes, pulling on a pair of gloves. “Sounds like we are compatible on that front.”
“Yes.” The sight of him made her breath catch. A lump lodged in her throat. Her stomach fluttered nervously, because she didn't know how this would turn out after he'd heard what she had to say. “Amelia, I'd be most grateful if you could take George inside and show him around the house.”
“Sure. C'mon, George.” Amelia tromped across the porch, tossing a grin at her father on her way by. “Pa and I couldn't decide what room you'd like, so let's go pick one out.”
“You mean I get my very own room?” George asked, blue eyes glinting incredulously. “Thank you, Pa.”
“You're welcome.” He looked right past Mercy, as if he could read her mood. His gaze landed on the boy, and that granite set to his face softened a fraction. “You go on in. Pick out your room. And try on the riding boots I brought home for you. Make sure they fit comfortably.”
“Riding boots?” George froze midstride, jaw dropping. “I looked around, but I didn't see any horses here.”
“Because they are on the other side of the hill.” Steady and easygoing, that voice. Just like the man. “You'll be able to see them from the windows. Go on. When you're done, we'll take Frosty down to the barn and you can meet the other horses.”
“You mean, you'll let me
lead
him?”
“I'll let you drive him.”
The realization sank in. George gave an excited whoop. “Oh, boy. Just oh, boy!”
“You'd better hurry,” Mercy advised him, relieved to see him happy again. “You don't want to keep Frosty waiting for too long.”
“No, ma'am!” George earnestly charged through the doorway, feet churning, shoes pounding on the boards. The door smacked shut behind him.
“I'll be getting home,” Eberta called out, circling around the corner of the house on foot. “Good luck, Mercy. I'm praying you don't need it.”
“Thanks for the ride, for the company, for just everything.” Mercy turned her back to Cole, leaning over the railing. “Will I see you tomorrow?”
“Count on it, missy.” Eberta winked, tossed the tasseled end of her scarf over her plump shoulder and trudged around the corner of the house. A mule bayed, just out of sight. The animal must belong to Eberta, Mercy decided, startled when Cole joined her at the railing.
His dark shadow fell across her and she shivered, although he blocked the wind with his big body. Alone with him again, she was aware of every inch of his six-foot height and of her five foot three. She was unprepared for a confrontation. In the past, discussions had often not gone well with Timothy. How this would turn out was anyone's guess.
Although her stomach clenched up tight, and her palms began to sweat, she couldn't put this off. No, best to find out what kind of man Cole truly was. She fisted her hands, braced her feet, mentally preparing herself for the ordeal. “You didn't come to church.”
“No, I didn't think to mention that last night.” He shrugged, keeping watch as Eberta rode out of the shadow of the house on a gray mule. “You look as if you mind.”
“I would appreciate you being up front with me.” She watched the mule swish his tail as he walked along, heading back toward town. The sunlight blazed across the landscape, bringing the snow to life, making it shine, making it glitter. Inside she felt dark and afraid. What if by speaking up to protect George she lost him his new father? Her stomach clenched tighter at the thought. “Why don't you attend? Amelia does.”
“I used to, but I stopped going.” What looked like grief carved lines into his handsome face, crinkling around his eyes, bracketing his chiseled, firm mouth into a reserved frown. “I have no objection to anyone else attending. I just lost the faith for it.”
“Oh.” What on earth did someone say to that? She tried to swallow past the lump in her throat, wishing she knew what to do. “In truth, for the entire year after Timothy passed, I couldn't force myself to attend a single service. Not even Christmas.”
“But you went back.”
“I needed to. I needed faith. Life isn't the same without it.” She squinted into the sun. Eberta was a shadow against the endless white. “Maybe one day you'll go back, too.”
“I tried. I couldn't.” His throat worked. He turned stonier, all the gentleness fleeing from his face, all the softness, all the feeling. “I tried for years until I finally gave up. It hurt too much to try. I don't plan on going back. Hope that isn't a deal breaker for you.”
“What about the wedding?”
“Guess I can't disappoint Amelia, not about this, not with you.” He shrugged his brawny shoulders. He looked compelling and yet rugged at the same time. Human, but unreachable. “This one time only.”
“I see.” She leaned against the railing, facing him, pulse skittering. “That isn't a deal breaker for me, but perhaps what I have to say will be one for you.”
“I'm listening.” He went rigid. Tense cords of tendons bunched in his neck. Strained muscles jumped along his jaw line as if he expected the worst.
“I understand, but George didn't.” Her voice broke, betraying a tremor of emotion she hadn't meant to express. She sighed. “Today at church, he was the only little boy without a father beside him. Again. I can't tell you what it has been like watching how painful that is for him, hurting because he is hurting. For years, he's been the boy watching all those fathers and sons, wishing. Just wishing. It's been a terrible hole in his life and in his heart. I thought that was over for him, but it wasn't today.”
“Oh.” Cole closed his eyes. It was as if all six feet of him winced in painful realization. His dependable, wide shoulders slumped. He stared down at the toes of his boots, still as stone. “That wasn't my intention.”
“I realize that now.” Hands trembling, she splayed them against the wooden rail, needing something to hold on to. Relieved that he wasn't angry with her, relieved that he was very much the earnest man she'd met through his letters, she took a deep breath of the cold air. It burned in her lungs like an icy rush. “This is, after all, about the children. If there's something I'm failing to do for Amelia, you should let me know.”
“Right.” He nodded, staring intently down at his boots, refusing to look at her. He looked as remote as the mountains in the distance, as icy as the land mantled in snow. But when he raised his head and his gaze met hers, life shone there. She read his promise in that look, felt the solemnity of it, could see all the way to his heart. She didn't know why a son was so important to him, why he'd chosen her and George out of all the letters he must have received, but she was appreciative beyond words.
“Guess I'll figure out a way to face church. I'll do my best to make sure it doesn't happen to George again.” Determination showed in the lift on his square, chiseled chin. “If it does, I'm sure you'll remind me.”
“Yes, I'll be right on that. I have a sharp eye.” Now she was smiling, amazed how fast that vast distance between them seemed to vanish, how quickly he could change from remote to approachable. Somewhere inside beyond all the defenses, he had a very good heart.
“Mercy!” Amelia's faint shout penetrated the outside walls of the house and the closed door. “Come see!”
“Now it's my turn,” she said gently. Without realizing it, she reached out to touch the man. Her fingers landed on his arm, the act as natural as breathing. Aware of what she'd done, her breath hitched. She raised her eyes to his. She read confusion there, but he didn't move away. She did, removing her fingers from his coat sleeve, her fingertips tingling sweetly from the contact.
She felt the lingering weight of his gaze on her back as she crossed the porch and opened the door. Something had changed between them, something that went beyond words, something she could not describe. But the sun seemed to shine more brightly, the wind held less of a bite, and when she stepped into the house and closed the door behind her, the warm, friendly feeling within her remained.
“Mercy!” Amelia dashed toward her, grinning widely, blue skirts swirling around her, braids flying. “You have to see what Pa got George.”
“Come look, Ma!” George's voice echoed from deeper inside the house, out of sight. “I can't believe I'm a real cowboy!”
Oh, the delight in his voice. The sound of it made her forget everything else. Her shoes tapped a merry rhythm against the hardwood floor, barely noticing her surroundings. The big gray stone fireplace, the windows letting in light and mountain views, the two overstuffed chairs in an otherwise sparse room.
A staircase rose to her right, ascending to the second floor. The kitchen was airy and pleasant, but she hardly noticed the oak cabinets and counters, the shiny new range or the round oak table seated in front of a big window. No, those details paled in comparison to the sight of her son standing by that table with a Stetson on his head and cowboy boots on his feet.
“They even fit, too!” George grinned at her, happier than she'd ever seen him. “I can't believe it. They're my very own. Amelia said so.”
“Be sure and thank Cole.” She blinked happy tears from her eyes, hands clasped together, just drinking in the sight of her delighted boy. “You look like a real cowboy ready to ride.”
“You surely do,” Amelia agreed. “Hurry, go show Pa. He's waiting to show you your big surprise.”
“My horse?” George choked out, as if too overcome to say more. He hugged himself like a boy whose every dream had come true. “Oh, boy. I gotta go. 'Bye, Ma.”
“'Bye, kid.” She felt choked up, too. “Go and have fun with your pa.”
“I will!” His boots made a hammering sound, pow-powing through the house as he made a mad dash away.
She listened to his progress, heard the door open and Cole's rumbling baritone as he said something to the boy. The door shut with a click, cutting him off. She swiped happy tears from her eyes.
“George was really excited.” Amelia wandered over to the stove. “Pa is giving him an old horse to learn to ride. Howie's big, but don't worry. He's as gentle as a lamb. I wanted to learn to ride him. I begged and begged and pleaded and pleaded. I was sure I could wear Pa down and he'd agree.”