Mail-Order Christmas Brides. Jillian Hart

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СКАЧАТЬ “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.”

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