Mail-Order Christmas Brides Boxed Set. Jillian Hart

       Be not forgetful to entertain strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.

      —Hebrews 13:2

       Chapter One

       Montana Territory December 20, 1886

      With her wool shawl wrapped tight around her shoulders, Maeve Flanagan stepped off the passenger car onto the railroad platform in Miles City and stopped suddenly. She and her four-year-old daughter, Violet, had watched the swirling snow as the train rolled west last night before finally entering the desolate prairie of the Montana Territory. Watching the storm this morning hadn’t prepared her for the icy wind that hit her face when she climbed down to the platform, though. It was worse than any gale off the bay in Boston. She lifted the shawl to warm her cheeks. Maybe she had been a fool, trying to escape her past by traveling so far from home to marry a stranger.

      Putting her hand over her stomach in an unconscious effort to shield the life that grew within her, she reminded herself that she’d had no other choice. She’d feel better when she met Noah Miller and stood in front of a preacher with him.

      Of course, he might refuse to marry her when he found out about the baby.

      She hadn’t known for sure that she was increasing until the week she received the train tickets. It seemed indelicate to inform Noah of her condition by telegram, especially when she might be wrong. Besides, she wanted him to have time to be charmed by Violet before she said anything. If he liked one child, he’d probably be agreeable to another. She did not know what she’d do if he didn’t want them. Infant or no infant, she had nothing left in Boston.

      Maeve put a hand up to keep her hat on her head before doing her best to look around. She’d tell Noah of the baby as soon as she could and certainly before they said their vows. He knew she was a recent widow; the baby brought no shame to her. Searching the area, she saw that two rows of painted wood buildings lined the main street of this frontier town. Directly across from her, the Broadwater, Bubble and Company Mercantile had an imposing sign that was visible even in this storm.

      Snow had partially turned to hail and caused the few people standing on the store walkways to move inside. Those on the railroad platform huddled together in small groups. The sounds of the horses and wagons that were being driven on the street in front of them gave a faint rhythm to the steady howl of the wind. Maeve didn’t see any man standing by himself so Noah must not be here to meet them.

      Maeve shivered before turning to the opening behind her and used both hands to reach for her daughter. The train had been early, she assured herself. Noah would be here soon. She would not allow herself to think of any other possibility.

      “Cover your head, sweetie.” She took the shawl off her shoulders and wrapped it around Violet. The child’s thin coat wouldn’t keep her warm in the wind. Maeve then swung the girl off the train and moved them both to the side so the next person could exit.

      Ash and cinders from the train’s smokestack fell with the hail. Maeve kept her arm around her daughter as she looked around the platform more intently. Violet was snug under the shawl, but Maeve’s gray wool dress, while her best and the only one made for this kind of weather, did not do much to stop the cold. She couldn’t stand out here in the wind for long.

      She searched the area again, trying not to worry. When Noah had sent for her, she had wept in relief. She had left her rented room in Boston the day her money had run out and boarded the train to arrive here. God was giving her a second chance. She had begun to wonder if He had abandoned her forever.

      Now, she carried a copy of Noah’s ad in her Bible. The ad read: Passable cook wanted as wife to Montana Territory rancher. Marriage in name only. Must be able to serve up three meals a day for ten to twenty cowboys. Mature widow preferred. Rail fare provided. Separate quarters.

      Maeve wouldn’t recognize Noah if he was standing in front of her. He had told her he lived near Dry Creek, a growing ranch area some distance from Miles City. But hadn’t said anything about his appearance in the one letter he’d written after she answered his ad. Every man she knew bragged about himself, and Noah’s silence in the matter had given her pause. He was probably short and portly. She had wondered about him offering separate quarters until she realized he might be hideously disfigured and wanted his privacy.

      No matter, Maeve had told herself firmly at the time. For all that she was only twenty-five-years old, she was long past girlish dreams. She didn’t need her pulse to quicken with romance at the sight of her husband. She needed a home for her family. As long as Noah was a good man, they would get along.

      Suddenly, Maeve noticed that the wind wasn’t blowing. She turned and saw a man standing behind her with a blanket spread high in his extended arms to stop the onslaught of hail. She was tall at nearly six feet, but this man stood at least three inches higher. He was fit, too. His legs were firmly braced on the wooden platform as he stood against the wind with the blanket flapping behind him.

      “Flanagan?” the man demanded to know. Snow and pebbles of ice covered the brim of his Stetson hat, but she could tell from his beard that his hair was dark. His eyes were moss-green and seemed steady. Not friendly exactly, but not stern, either.

      Maeve nodded as her heart raced. He was neither old nor short. From what she could see of it, his face was strong and probably appealing under his whiskers. Her friend Mercy Jacobs, with whom she’d traveled on the train, had warned her that men in the West were not as refined as those back East, but the man standing in front of her was close to perfect. He might have a beard, but it was trimmed. He didn’t need to place an ad asking for a wife. Surely women around here would line up to be courted by this man.

      Before she could say anything, the man brought the blanket down over her shoulders and Maeve realized how very cold she had been, standing there shivering. She needed to take better care of herself now that she knew about the baby.

      Just then another strong gust of wind hit her, threatening once again to dislodge the old black wool hat she’d securely pinned over her copper hair. She didn’t have a chance to put her hand up before