Mail-Order Christmas Brides Boxed Set: Her Christmas Family / Christmas Stars for Dry Creek / Home for Christmas / Snowflakes for Dry Creek / Christmas Hearts / Mistletoe Kiss in Dry Creek. Janet Tronstad

off to sleep.

      There would be more time to explore this unusual house in the morning. She wondered if the other parts of the house had this same look of being held back like the occupant was waiting for something to happen before anything was used. She pondered the puzzle of it all for a moment until a realization came to her—of course, the furniture had been for his wife. He’d said she left, but maybe he was hoping she’d come back. Most people, Maeve knew, would sell such fine pieces of furniture if they weren’t going to use them.

      She looked up to see Noah closing the ivory lace curtains on the room and putting enough wood on the fire to make a small blaze. He then excused himself to go help the men unload the wagon. He gave Violet a sympathetic look before he left the room, but he didn’t ask any questions.

      The flames from the fire began to slowly warm the air, but Maeve kept the blankets wrapped around her daughter. It had been a tiring day for everyone. More questions had been asked than answered.

      She wondered how she and her children were going to be able to live here with a man who had been so in love with his wife that he couldn’t marry another woman. In fact, he couldn’t even sit on the chairs he’d bought for that woman and likely wouldn’t ever sell them since he was hoping she’d come back.

      Of course, Maeve thought with a rueful smile to herself, those were only his problems.

      She had troubles of her own. A dozen booted men were going back and forth to where she assumed the kitchen was. All of them had beards of some length. A few of them had scars. She expected they all carried knives and some had pistols. Violet might start screaming every time one of these ranch hands crossed her path. The sheer number of men they would be around had not been something Maeve had considered.

      She reminded herself that she’d had no other option but to come here. It was this or begging for bread on the streets of Boston. No one ever found enough to survive for long that way. And Violet would likely end up in an orphanage and Maeve in the poorhouse with the baby.

      So, she told herself, it was pointless to berate herself for not making a better choice. She’d taken the only path she could.

      She bent her head in exhaustion just thinking about the days she had before her, though.

      Lord, give me strength, she managed to pray. She could not go further. Her feelings for God had suffered when it had seemed everything had lined up against her in Boston. Some people reported sensing God’s care for them in hard times, but all she had felt was an overwhelming silence. It was as if God had been as disappointed in her as her husband must have been to do the things he’d done.

      When she’d heard from Noah, she’d begun to think God had decided to be in her life again. And now that future was uncertain.

      She had given up any hope of love, but she had believed she would find respect in a new marriage. With God’s help, that would be enough for a good life.

      She blushed wondering what the ranch hands must think about her now. Noah had said it all very politely, but it was clear that he had called off the wedding, hoping she would grow weary and say she no longer wanted to marry him.

      She could only bless the men’s hearts for their clear disappointment. They, at least, wanted her to stay. Noah might, too, she assured herself, once he saw how useful she could be.

      She heard footsteps and knew Noah was coming back through the hallway. His steps were different from those of the other men. They sounded more confident. Maybe a little quicker. Heavier.

      “How long have you had it like this?” Maeve asked when Noah reached the open doorway.

      When he didn’t answer, she continued, “The wood on these chairs needs to be polished or it will crack and ruin.”

      “I don’t have time to be polishing the furniture.”

      “I can do it,” Maeve offered. After her years working in Boston, there wasn’t much she didn’t know about caring for expensive furniture. “You want to keep it nice for—”

      Her voice trailed off. She wasn’t exactly sure she wanted to say the words indicating he was saving the furniture for when his wife returned, but she had no other theory to offer.

      Maeve looked down. Her daughter was lying on the bench, with her head in Maeve’s lap.

      She could feel the man looking at her so she glanced up.

      “You must like European furniture,” she finished. “It’s beautiful.”

      “Neither,” Noah said with a smile. “I bought it to show myself I could.”

      Maeve wondered how much money the man had.

      A dozen men had marched back and forth to the kitchen carrying things past the doorway. Most of the supplies were still coming, but she saw a couple of big bags carried to the back of the house. From the sounds of the steps, two men carried her trunk to the end of the hall. She suspected they had taken it to the bedroom, but the warmth from the fire was making her toes tingle and she didn’t want to walk down the hall to see.

      She looked around. Back East, she’d rented the smallest room she could find. It had had a bed, two chairs and a stove for heating. She’d barely been able to afford that. This parlor alone was three times the size of her room. She’d brought some of her doilies with her, the ones she’d crocheted for her first wedding. They’d faded over the years and she would be ashamed to even put them out in this house.

      She watched as Noah walked out of the room.

      He turned and said, “The downstairs bedroom is at the end of the hall. The men are finished unpacking. They’ll be leaving in a minute. Don’t worry about waking up early. Dakota will be cooking for the men.”

      Maeve said nothing, but she vowed to be up early enough to make breakfast. She didn’t have much time to show Noah how useful she could be and she planned to make the ranch hands the best food they’d ever eaten.

      He might not want another wife, she told herself, but he had never wavered on wanting a cook for his men.

      * * *

      The night was black as Noah braced himself against the growing wind and walked as fast as the storm permitted toward the light in the bunkhouse window, thinking about Maeve. She had pursed her lips when he even looked at her inquisitively. She had secrets she still hadn’t told him, but he didn’t want to press her. He didn’t like going to bed with these kinds of mysteries on his mind, though. If he didn’t know the problem, he couldn’t fix it.

      All of the buildings on his ranch were built firm. He’d used milled wood. The planks were measured and cut to fit. That’s why there was no dip in the roof of the bunkhouse and there were no gaps in the corners of the side room he’d added to the bunkhouse.

      He turned a knob and the door opened. He could see the fire burning in the rock fireplace on the far wall. He stepped inside and stomped the snow off his boots. The group of men sitting by the fire turned in unison to look at him.

      He nodded in greeting, wondering how to tell them Reverend Olson might be asking them about him and his sleeping habits.

      But the men looked as if they had something on their minds, too.

      “Yes?” he asked.

      They were silent for a minute and then, Bobby, the youngest ranch hand, let loose.

      “We worked hard to get a new cook. And here you are, sending her back. She came for us, too, you know. We wrote the ad.”

      “Ah,” Noah said as he took off his coat and rubbed the snow off the back of his neck. “But it’s me she came to marry.”

      “Well, she says she’s willing,” Bobby said in frustration. “The rest is up to you.”

      Noah walked over to the straight-back chairs gathered around a table and pulled one of them closer to where the men sat. “It doesn’t matter whether she’s my wife or my cook,” Noah said as he settled