Mail-Order Holiday Brides: Home for Christmas / Snowflakes for Dry Creek. Janet Tronstad

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 I believe.” She carefully pushed up her sleeve. “Tell me what a Montana marshal is doing on a train?”

      “I delivered a wanted man to the proper authorities in Chicago.”

      “And you’re on your way home?”

      “Yes, but wherever I am, my sworn duty is the same. To serve and protect.” Elijah leaned in to lay the warm, doubled-over cloth on her lean forearm. A terrible bruise discolored her ivory skin. His heart twisted painfully in sympathy—nothing more. No way a rough, tough lawman like him could be interested in a sweet dainty miss like her. No possible way. A combination like that only spelled trouble.

      “My, it feels so much better.” Her cornflower-blue gaze communicated her appreciation.

      Looking into her honest eyes made his heart tug strangely. It surprised him, considering he’d closed up his heart to softer feelings long ago. He ought to stand up, head back down the aisle to his seat three cars down and forget about this young lady with her heart-shaped face, rich brown curls and compelling eyes. But did he?

      No, he stayed where he was, blocking the aisle, kneeling beside her. “I broke my arm a few years back. I was riding on regular patrol with two other marshals. One was a trainee, a real greenhorn, and I figured I’d give him a few tips. So there I was instructing him on the proper demeanor of a Montana Range Rider and my horse startled. He reared, tossed me in the air like I was a sack of potatoes and wham, I hit the ground.”

      “Pride goeth before a fall?”

      “Something like that. I got up, dusted myself off and realized my hat brim was bent, I’d broken my arm and ripped out the back seam of my trousers. I was the laughingstock of the unit.” He chuckled, remembering the humiliation. “It took years to live down, especially the trouser seam. I had to ride all the way to Cedar Peak with my union suit showing. Did I mention it was winter? It was snowing, and I was mighty chilly.”

      “You’re making that up.”

      “It’s the truth. God willing, I learned my lesson so that doesn’t happen again. But seeing as I’m a man and prone to mistakes, it’s anyone’s guess how long it will be before my dignity takes a fall again.”

      “I’m beginning to think you aren’t terribly good at your job, Marshal.” Humor put little sparkles in her eyes and curved her rosebud mouth into the most amazing smile he’d ever seen. Lovely was too mild a word to describe her and beautiful too common. Miss Christina Eberlee was extraordinary. She tilted her head to one side, studying him intently. “First you can’t catch the boy with my reticule and now you confess you can’t stay on your horse.”

      “I appreciate you not mentioning the torn seam. The guys still tease me every now and then. The broken arm mended and I bought a new hat, but my pride has never been the same.” His chuckle died away as a spark lit up his heart, giving light where there had only been darkness before.

      All because of her smile.

      “Miles City, next stop!” the conductor called from the end of the car.

      “Miles City,” 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