Montana Bride By Christmas. Linda Ford

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       Chapter One

      Bella Creek, Montana, winter 1890

      Annie Marshall shook the sheet of paper. “Mr. Arness—I’m sorry, Preacher Arness—I’m here to apply for this position.”

      Hugh Arness did his best to deliver God’s word every Sunday, and on numerous occasions between Sundays he faithfully helped those in need. At the moment he was the one in need of help but Annie Marshall was not the person to fill that need. “How old are you, Miss Marshall?”

      “I’m nineteen but I’ve been looking after my brothers, my father, my grandfather and until recently, my niece since I was fourteen. I think I can manage to look after one four-year-old boy.”

      That might be so and he would have agreed in any other case but this four-year-old was his son Evan, and Annie Marshall simply did not suit. She was too young. Too idealistic. Too fond of fun.

      She flipped the paper back and forth, her eyes narrowed as if she meant to call him to task. He’d seen her reaction to things before. A little fireball was not what Evan needed. He’d also witnessed her riding about with her friend Carly Morrison. They were a wild pair who seemed to think they could do as they pleased.

      “Are you going back on your word?” she insisted, edging closer.

      Hugh was grateful for the wide desk between them. He glanced out the window. Her grandfather, Allan Marshall, whom most people called Grandfather Marshall, sat in the wagon waiting for Annie to complete her business. Poor man must be cold out there but he was too crippled to get down by himself and seek shelter indoors.

      Hugh turned back to the girl opposite him. “I’ve not given my word to anything.” He meant to point out leaving her grandfather outside in the winter wind did little to prove she was as capable as she wanted him to believe but before he could, she read aloud the words he’d so carefully penned.

      “‘Widower with four-year-old son seeking a marriage of convenience. Prefer someone older with no expectations of romance.

      I’m kind and trustworthy.

      My son needs lots of patience and affection.

      Interested parties please see Preacher Arness at the church.’”

      “I’m applying,” Annie said with conviction and challenge.

      “You’re too young and...” He couldn’t think how to voice his objections without sounding unkind, and having just stated the opposite in his little ad, he chose to say nothing.

      Her eyes—blue eyes like her three brothers—narrowed. She had blond hair like her brothers too. And she was tall like them, but completely feminine. He pushed aside that foolish thought. He didn’t need or want anyone that made him aware of such things. No sir. At twenty-seven, he was admittedly jaded but he wanted nothing to do with romance and love. His wife leaving him had taught him the foolishness of expecting such stuff.

      “Are you saying I’m unsuitable?” She spoke with all the authority one might expect from a Marshall...but not from a woman trying to convince him to let her take care of his son.

      He met her challenging look with calm indifference. Unless she meant to call on her three brothers and her father and grandfather to support her cause, he had nothing to fear from her. To answer her question, yes. Had he not seen her and her friend racing through the streets, seemingly unmindful of those in the way? Hadn’t he heard her father complain that she left them to fend for themselves on many a Sunday? No. He needed someone less likely to chase after excitement and adventure. She’d certainly find none here as the preacher’s wife.

      “I would never say such a thing but like the ad says, Evan needs a mature woman.” And he’d settle for a plain one, and especially a docile one.

      “From what I hear, he needs someone who understands his fears.” She leaned back as if that settled it.

      He wondered what she’d heard and from whom, but living in a small town and being the preacher made it impossible to keep anything hidden. “It sounds like you think you would be that person.” He kept his tone moderate even though the girl was starting to get on his already tense nerves. “What would you know about being abandoned?”

      “My mother died when I was younger. I’d venture to say I might know how little Evan feels.”

      “There’s a whole lot more to it than that.” Hugh had come to Bella Creek in the spring to find his son. It had taken him several months to locate him. He couldn’t begin to guess what had happened to the boy since Hugh’s wife had disappeared with him eighteen months ago. He’d learned she had died months ago and he had frantically searched for his son until he located him a few days ago.

      “I found him in a home where he was treated like an animal.” His throat tightened and he couldn’t go on.

      Annie’s eyes clouded. “Poor little boy.”

      “In many ways he acts like an animal.”

      “Can’t hardly blame him, can you?”

      No, he couldn’t but after meeting Evan, the only other women who had come in response to his ad had hurried away, no longer interested in marrying the preacher. There weren’t many eligible women in the area so he’d sent notices to papers in several cities. But it would take time for a reply to come from any interested parties. And would their interest wane once they met Evan?

      In order to conduct this futile interview with Annie, he’d left Evan with the elderly woman who normally came in several times a week to cook and clean for him. Evan had been sitting in the corner with a bowl of mashed potatoes in the circle formed by his folded legs. From the far room came the sound of crockery breaking and Mrs. Ross shrieking a protest.

      “You’ll have to excuse me.” Hugh leaped to his feet and hurried through the open door, across the sitting room and into the kitchen.

      Evan stood facing Mrs. Ross, his eyes wide, his mouth a grimace far too like a snarl for Hugh’s peace of mind. A shattered dish lay between them.

      Mrs. Ross flung about at Hugh’s approach. “He slapped the bowl out of my hands.” She backed away from Evan. “Hugh, I’ll clean your house. I’ll make your meals. But I’m sorry, I can’t handle this child of yours.” She looked about ready to weep.

      Hugh patted her back. “I understand.”

      The distraught woman grabbed her thick woolen shawl and hurried out the back door.

      “Hmm. СКАЧАТЬ