Mail-Order Holiday Brides. Jillian Hart
Christina repeated, turning to her traveling companion and exchanging words he could not hear and didn’t try to.
He couldn’t say why he felt the way he did, unable to look away, noticing every little thing about her. The elegant curve of her slender shoulder, the graceful column of her neck and the curl of her dark eyelashes against her cheek. The spark in his heart continued to burn like a newly lit candle in the void that had become his heart.
He hadn’t felt anything like this since his fiancée died well over a dozen years ago.
“Promise me you’ll write.” Christina’s dulcet voice reached him as the train slowed with a squeal of brakes.
“Of course. Christina, we must stay friends.” The other woman spoke as the car jerked to a stop. “This is such a fine adventure we are both on. You must write and tell me what Tom is like.”
“And you must tell me about Adam.” Christina stood and stepped out of the way so her friend could leave. “You’ve been a blessing to me on this trip, Annabelle. Know I’m praying for your marriage. May it be filled with great happiness.”
“I’ll be praying for you, as well.” Annabelle squeezed Christina’s good hand before walking regally away, disappearing down the stairs.
They were all alone now. His pulse galloped as he debated taking the empty seat next to her and continuing their conversation. Maybe he’d buy her lunch because she didn’t have the funds for a meal, what with her reticule gone. That felt like his fault, too.
“I hope she gets every wonderful thing she deserves.” Christina slipped into her seat, taking care to readjust the poultice. With a flick of her gorgeous brown locks, she strained to look out the window, where the falling snow had ceased, giving way to gray skies. “Oh, look at those lovely children she gets to be a mother to. Like me, she’s a mail-order bride.”
“A what?” His pulse screeched to a stop. He couldn’t have heard her right. “A mail-order bride?”
“I’m on my way to meet my husband-to-be.” Christina blew out a shaky breath, sounding a little apprehensive, a little hopeful.
“Is that right?” His voice sounded tinny, even to his own ears. “You’re getting married, huh?”
“That’s why I’m on this train. I’m going home—to my new home. Someplace I belong and will never have to leave.” Hope lit her up. “I’m hoping to marry on Christmas Eve day.”
“Well, congratulations.” Disappointment hit like a blow. He swallowed hard. So, she was spoken for. “Best wishes.”
“Thank you. It won’t be long and I’ll be meeting Tom for the first time.”
“Tom.” The man had a name. He fought to ignore the squeeze of pain in his chest where the light dimmed, sputtering like a candle burning out. “I pray he’s a good husband to you. You deserve that.”
“You’re a kind man, Elijah. I’m glad we had this chance to meet.”
“The pleasure has truly been mine.” He tipped his hat, taking a step away. He didn’t tell her that for twelve long years his heart had been as cold as stone, as dark as a starless night.
Until her.
He spotted a man with a medical bag making his way down the aisle. “Here’s the doctor I asked the conductor to find. You take good care of yourself and that arm. Have a nice life now, you hear?”
“Yes, sir—Elijah.” His name on her lips had never sounded so good. His heart lurched as he tipped his hat to her.
So, that was that. He’d learned the hard way years ago that love was all about timing. Once again, he’d felt the right things at the wrong time. As he headed to his seat, leaving Christina behind, the wintry chill in the air burrowed deep into him and would not leave.
Chapter Two
Angel Falls. Chilly air burned Christina’s face as she stepped from the train onto the platform. Ice crunched beneath her shoes as she savored her first look at the town that was to become her home. Snow mantled the train station’s roof and clung to evergreen boughs. It frosted the rooflines of a street of shops and a few small shanties across the way. A gray sky stretched overhead from horizon to horizon and the shining peaks of the distant Rocky Mountains rose up to disappear into the low clouds.
Home. The word filled her with possibilities. She gripped the red handle of her black satchel more tightly with her good hand, hardly aware of the hustle of folks climbing off the train behind her. She searched the small crowd for Tom’s face. Let him not be too hairy, she hoped. Her palms felt damp against the wool of her green mittens as she waited for her husband-to-be to step forward and claim her.
This was what she’d prayed so hard for, day to day and from night to night. All around her, families reunited or said farewells, clinging to one another, sharing loving looks. Husbands and wives, mothers and sons, friends and sisters. Gentle wishes and cries of welcome or sad sounds of parting peppered the air around her. A lovely family crowded together, reunited, a mom flanked by two beautiful little girls while her husband kissed each daughter on the cheek. Tears stood in their eyes. Anyone could see the love that bound them. The happiness they felt when they were together.
Please, let that be me one day. It was what she wished with all her heart.
“Ma’am?” A country-looking man in a brown hide coat swept off his wide-brimmed hat. His brown hair was a little too long and mussed, and his abundant facial hair all but hid his mouth and a good deal of his collar.
Maybe she could talk him into a trim, she thought optimistically, refusing to be disappointed. He looked less prosperous than she’d hoped with his threadbare trousers and patched boots, but his eyes were kind. That was a prayer come true. That was what mattered.
“Tom?” she asked excitedly, suddenly so nervous her mouth felt numb. “It’s wonderful to meet you.”
“Sorry, I ain’t Tom.” He put his hat back on, looking disappointed. “I’m Jed. Guess you ain’t Aida, either.”
“No, I’m sorry.” She truly was. She watched as Jed continued down the length of the platform. Another woman stood at the far end, looking lonely. Christina wished she’d known there was another mail-order bride on the train. Her mind drifted to Annabelle. How were things going with her? Was Adam all she’d hoped for?
“Excuse me, miss?” A very proper-looking man in a black suit approached her. A top hat hid most of his sleek, well-combed black hair. This couldn’t be Tom, since the man looked like a butler and not a farmer. “You wouldn’t happen to be Miss Louisa Bell?”
“No, sorry.” She watched as the man moved on, searching out the only other lone female waiting on the platform.
The rumble of the engine vibrated through the boards at her feet. The wind gusted, swirling her skirts around her ankles. She prayed no one could see the hole in her sock or the state of her well-mended shoes. She drew her brown coat more tightly around her, unsure what to do. There were no other single men on the platform. She’d been quite clear in her letter to Tom about the day and time she would be arriving. Perhaps something had held him up? Or, worse, perhaps the letter had been lost in transit?
A little of her happiness leaked out with her next breath. A flake of snow struck her cheek, and she shivered. The hustle of the crowd had gone.
“How’s the arm?” The rumble of a smoky baritone drew her attention. Marshal Elijah Gable tipped his hat to her. “Still just bruised?”
“Yes, exactly, and feeling much better.” Not that she could move her fingers yet, but she was hopeful. “What are you doing loitering around the depot?”
“Oh, keeping my eye out for crime or nefarious-looking ruffians.”
“So a big part of your job is just standing around doing nothing?”
“Something