Mail-Order Christmas Brides. Jillian Hart
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.”
“We did. Believe me, I wish I could keep it.” He leaned his cane against his hip to wrestle with the tailgate. It killed him to admit it. “I’m sorry you came all this way, but you aren’t going to fit in here. You don’t suit. Surely you can feel it, too?”
“Papa! What do you mean? No. Don’t send her away.” Gertie’s face crumpled. Life drained from her like sun from the sky. Misery said what she could not. She turned around, climbing onto her knees, gripping the seat back with Miss Sawyer’s gloves still on her hands. Her blue gaze lassoed him, letting him feel her anguish.
He blinked hard against the stab of pain in his chest. He didn’t want his girl hurt. That’s why he was doing this. It was the right thing. That didn’t give him comfort as he unwound the chain, the rattle of metal echoing straight through him as if nothing, not even his soul, remained.
“It’s the best thing to do, Gertie.” He tried to comfort her with his voice. “You’ll never know how sorry I am.”
“Oh, Papa.” The springs creaked as she sat down proper and buried her face in her hands.
He broke right along with her. He had no idea how to fix the situation and scowled at the woman responsible. Miss Sawyer in her tailored clothes tapped rapidly in his direction. Already folks on the boardwalk were passing by, throwing curious glances their way. One word from any of them about his past, and she would be gone, anyway. She had options. He did not. He dropped the chain on the wagon box and reached for the trunk. A yellow ruffle flounced into view.
“How don’t I suit?” Not a demand, but a plea. “You don’t know me. You’ve hardly said a few dozen words to me.”
“I just know. Isn’t it obvious to you?” He couldn’t be what she’d been wishing for. He dragged the trunk closer. He meant to be kind. He wished he could be. “Look, I’m not the right sort of husband for you. I’m going to do the best thing for both of us. It’s better you go now than later. Better for her.”
“For Gertie?” Confusion knelled in her words, drawing him closer, making him look. In the thinning afternoon light, the sun continued to find her, to glow in the golden wisps of her hair, to make luminous her ivory complexion. “I wouldn’t hurt her for the world. I don’t understand this.”
“I’m being honest and doing what’s right, Miss Sawyer—”
“Felicity,” she insisted, moving in to lay her hand on his. The shock of her touch, warm and innocent on his cold skin, made his mind empty, his knees buckle and his anger fade.
The anger was just a defense. He really didn’t dislike her. That was the worst part. Of all the things she could have said, he wasn’t prepared for her concern toward his daughter.
“Give me a chance, that’s all I’m asking.” Her eyes were darker than blueberries. He could see the shadows in them, the wounds of spirit