Mail-Order Holiday Brides. Jillian Hart

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СКАЧАТЬ you wiggle yours?” Christina asked.

      “As a matter of fact I can.” Seriousness clung to him like the snow on his shoulders, but a hint of a smile settled into the corners of his hard mouth. He held out his gloved hands, moving his fingers. “Now your turn.”

      “See? They wriggle perfectly.” She waved her fingers on her good hand. “Everything is fine. Now, if you’ll excuse us, Marshal—”

      “Gable. Elijah Gable, and I want to see you move your injured hand.” He didn’t budge, his big form blocking her from leaving. “Looks to me you have broken your arm, Miss...?”

      “Miss Christina Eberlee, and since I have no funds for a doctor, no, nothing is broken. You let the thief get away with my reticule, remember?” she couldn’t help teasing.

      “So this is my fault?”

      “Somewhat.”

      “Then I suspect I owe you an apology.” He looked up at her through spiky black lashes. “I should have run faster.”

      “Exactly.” Why were the corners of her mouth trying to smile? She’d lost everything that mattered the most to her—the keepsakes were all she had left of those she loved. And this man made her want to forget everything with one small hint of his grin. There were good men everywhere, she thought, and it was nice to have a pleasant encounter with a lawman for a change instead of fearing them.

      “Here comes the ticket agent.” The marshal’s tone rang with reassurance. “You were injured on their property. They should provide a doctor.”

      “Really, I’m fine.” And embarrassed by the attention. Heavens! She shook her head at the uniformed man coming toward her. People were still staring, and the waiting train blared its five-minute warning. “I just need to rest, is all. C’mon, Annabelle.”

      “I do think you need medical care, Christina,” Annabelle said.

      What she needed was her reticule. She wanted to hold her adoptive mother’s broach in her hand and remember the compassionate woman. She wanted to gaze just once more at the image inside the locket, those small girls’ faces frozen forever in time, a reminder of love and family, things she did not have now.

      And hadn’t had in years.

      “I’m sure you are right,” she told her friend as she rose from the bench. She ignored her wobbling knees and rubbed at the cut on her hand. Yes, it certainly was bleeding. Fortunately, not too badly. “If it continues to worsen, I’ll have a doctor in Angel Falls look at it. I promise.”

      “I’m going to hold you to that.” Annabelle looked as if she meant it.

      Warmth filled Christina’s lonely heart. It had been a long time since anyone had cared for her. What a good friend Annabelle was. Indeed.

      “I’m the one who failed to run fast enough.” The marshal offered her his arm—and what a strong, reliable arm it was. “The least I can do is to see you onto the train and make sure you’re settled comfortably.”

      “No need.” She studied him—his rough, mountain-tough looks took her breath away. “Thank you for your kindness.”

      “Just doing my duty.” He jammed his hands into his coat pockets, making a powerful image beneath the fall of lamplight.

      Snow swirled around her as she stepped into the bite of the storm. She glanced over her shoulder for one last look at the man. “Goodbye, Elijah Gable.”

      “Maybe not, Miss Eberlee.” He tipped his hat, the low tones of his voice stolen as the wind howled around her.

      She stumbled after Annabelle, trying not to remember her other less-than-kind encounters with lawmen over the past handful of years. The local sheriff arriving at the homestead to tell of her adoptive father’s deadly fall from a horse. A year later his deputy knocking at the door with eviction papers. Local law enforcement hauling her from the back stall of a livery stable, where she’d curled up for a night’s sleep. Being accused of stealing food from a grocer when her stomach audibly rumbled with hunger—which it wouldn’t have done if she’d been the thief in question.

      “Christina?” Annabelle’s cultured voice cut into her thoughts. “Do you need help getting up the steps?”

      “No. You’ve been so good to me. Thank you.”

      “It’s what friends do for one another.” Annabelle reassured her with a smile.

      She climbed into the shelter of the train, shivering from cold and shock, and stumbled to her seat. Her stomach twisted up with a hint of nausea. Fine, perhaps it was time to admit at least to herself that her arm may be broken after all.

      After Annabelle settled in next to the window, Christina collapsed beside her, grateful to close her eyes for a moment. She just had to hold on through the rest of the day’s journey, and surely her husband-to-be would help her.

      She tried to envision a caring man, gentle-voiced like her adoptive father had been, but her fears returned. She blinked hard, but the image of warts, a bald pate, a severe overbite and all that hair jumped into her mind’s eye and refused to leave.

      Lord, let Tom be as wonderful as his letter. Please. Prayer filled her heart, full of so many unspoken wishes for her life. She’d been wandering for so long, since her mother’s death. The hardship of her mother’s medical debts, the loss of her job and the economy had each been a blow.

      She was weary of sleeping in stalls and stables, in back doorways and abandoned buildings, working for day wages in hot kitchens, endless fields or drafty hotels. Nothing had worked out and although her faith was strong, she had to wonder why the Lord had put these hardships in her life. Maybe this chance with Tom was a better path, the good future God meant for her. She surely hoped so.

      All she really wanted for Christmas was a home, a place to belong.

      So why did the marshal’s face slip into her thoughts? Granite strength, chiseled cheekbones, steely jaw.

      * * *

      “Hello again, Miss Eberlee.” A familiar voice sounded next to her ear. “How’s that arm feeling?” Marshal Gable asked.

      “A tad tender.”

      “I told the conductor what happened, how you fell on the railroad’s property and convinced them they had an obligation for your care.”

      “Oh, I wish you hadn’t.” Pink crept across her face, making her even prettier, if that were possible.

      “I brought you a poultice. One of the cooks in the dining car whipped it up for me. Said it would help with the bruising.”

      “That’s very kind of you.” Surprise flitted across her gentle features. “You went to too much trouble.”

      “Not at all, considering I failed at my professional duties,” he quipped.

      “You can’t fool me. You’re not responsible and you failed at nothing. You’re just being nice.”

      “Force of habit.”

      “That СКАЧАТЬ