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

her husband had been, he’d been a blessed man, Cole thought. He was more than thankful to have her as Amelia’s mother and his helpmate.

      “All right,” he agreed. “We’ll not boss each other around.”

      “Agreed. I’ll not say an unkind thing to you ever, if you do me the same courtesy.” Her chin hiked up a notch, a delicate show of strength. Something sad flashed in her eyes so briefly he barely noticed it. He opened his mouth to ask about it, but then remembered his own rule. Keep the past in the past. And he shut his mouth with a click of his teeth.

      Not your business, he reminded himself. Knowing about her and what she’d been through would only soften his defenses, and he didn’t want to like her. He didn’t want to care. It was best for all around if they kept this strictly a convenient arrangement.

      The door swung open, hitting the wall like a gunshot. His daughter sashayed in, balancing a wrapped meal in both hands, practically skipping. Her skirts swirled around her, and her smile was so big it was all he could see.

      “We got you a real good supper, Mercy.” Amelia beamed her full-strength charm Mercy’s way. “George told me your favorite, and so that’s what we ordered. We even got you lots of cookies, too. George said that’s his favorite.”

      “Yep, it sure is,” the kid confirmed with a nod, tromping through the doorway and into the room, cheeks pink, dusted with snow, cute in that way of small boys.

      Cole’s chest tightened, aching with hope. It was going to be nice having a son. In all honesty, he’d found a good one. He cleared his throat, hoping he didn’t sound gruff when he spoke.

      “You and your ma have a nice meal, settle in and have a good night.” He almost reached out to the boy, to tousle the kid’s hair, but something held him back. Maybe it was the ache dead center in his chest, the one that hurt like hope coming to life, as if a frozen part of his heart was starting to awaken. But that couldn’t be right. Too many pieces were gone for good. So he didn’t know why it hurt, why he felt overwhelmed as he nodded to Eberta, who was carrying the other meal into the room.

      He knew only that it was time to leave before the pain became too much and he stopped breathing entirely. “I reckon a soft bed will be a welcome thing after sleeping on the train.”

      “More than you know.” Mercy took a step toward him, her dark blue eyes radiating a quiet communication.

      He nodded, sensing her thankfulness, understanding what she could not say. It was how he felt, too. He crossed the threshold, heading down the stairs, calling for his daughter to follow.

       Chapter Four

      All through the night, he was plagued by dreams of a golden-haired lady with a silent hope in the midnight-blue depths of her eyes. Cole woke the next morning to the silence that came after a great storm. He stared at the shadowy ceiling in the early morning’s darkness and contemplated the day ahead. It was Sunday, so he would send Amelia to church with Eberta, and they could pick up Mercy and George on the way. He frowned, biting the inside of his cheek, wondering what Mercy would think of him missing the service.

      Why did it matter so much what she thought of him? Troubled, he tossed off the warm covers and braced for the blast of icy winter air. Teeth chattering, he pulled on his robe and slippers before charging downstairs, rubbing his hands together to keep them from going numb.

      Let Mercy think what she wanted about him, Cole decided as he knelt before the fireplace in the front room. His cold fingers fumbled with the iron shovel. He uncovered last night’s embers, wondering why he was letting himself care at all. He was feeling far too many emotions for his own comfort. Best to wall off his heart. Mercy was a kind lady. Amelia was lucky to have her. But that didn’t extend to him. She would be basically a housekeeper with access to his charge accounts, nothing more.

      So why did that image return, the silent plea in her eyes, the wordless expression of appreciation? As he slowly fed dry kindling to the glowing coals, he went over in his mind the things she’d left out of her letters, the things he’d noticed. Her well-cared-for clothing that had seen much better days. The fraying sleeve hem of her coat, the wash-worn dress, the polish on her shoes hiding a patch. George’s clothes were modest, but in a newer state. Clearly she spent her money on the boy, not on herself. He wondered just how hard she’d struggled as a widow working long hours to support her son.

      Wait. That wasn’t his business, either. He shook his head, disappointed in his willpower. Hadn’t he just told himself to stop wondering about her past? Annoyed with himself, he added a small, dry piece of wood to the grate, watched the growing orange flames lick over it, popping and crackling.

      “Oh, good!” Amelia’s feet drummed on the steps, her voice echoing down the stairwells. “You’re up! I couldn’t sleep because I was so excited. Mercy’s gonna come here today. I can’t wait to show her everything.”

      “I’m sure you can’t.” He glanced over his shoulder in time to see his wild-haired daughter leap to the bottom of the stairs with a thud. “You aren’t usually up at the crack of dawn. If I’d known it would have gotten you out of bed, I would have found you a new mother before this.”

      “No, because then she wouldn’t have been Mercy.” Amelia skipped across the room.

      “Do I really have to remind you?” He grimaced, reached for a piece of wood and popped it into the fire. “No running in the house.”

      “I know, I just can’t contain myself.” Amelia skidded to a stop, hugging herself. “I get to walk into church this morning with a ma, just like all my friends do. I’m gonna wear the new dress Eberta made for me. Pa, do you know what this means?”

      “That you’re finally going to start acting like a lady?” He brushed bits of bark and moss off his hands and reached for the little fireplace broom. A few sweeps and the bits flew into the fireplace. “This getting-married thing is a good idea. You’ll be getting up early, acting ladylike. It’s like a dream come true.”

      “Honestly, Pa.” Amelia rolled her eyes. “You’re supposed to love me the way I am.”

      “Oh, sorry.” He put the broom away, hiding his grin. “I didn’t know. Maybe that’s one of those rules we can break and toss out the window.”

      “Very funny.” She rushed up to him, wrapped her arms around his chest and squeezed tight, tipping her head back to sparkle up at him. “Hurry up with breakfast ’cause I’m gonna be lightning fast. I get to go see Mercy!”

      “I’m gonna need some mercy if you keep this up.” He winced at his own pun. Well, he thought, a man has to amuse himself where he can.

      “Oh, Pa.” Amelia gave him an eye roll and was off, pounding back upstairs, leaving him alone in the room.

      Well, looked like they’d have a few more mornings like this alone together before the wedding changed things. Only three more days until Christmas Eve, until Amelia’s hoped-for ceremony. He hung up the broom, crossed the room and felt thankful to Mercy for understanding. He wasn’t sure how he felt about a church wedding. He still hadn’t recovered from the last one. Gritting his molars together, determined not to think of it, he veered into the kitchen, knelt in front of the cookstove and stirred the coals. When he should have been planning his morning of chores and repairs, his mind took an entirely different path.

      He remembered that glint of humor when she’d been seated on his sofa, gazing up at him with part challenge, part amusement, all concealed strength. You may tell me what to do only two times a day, she’d said with a slender arch of her brow, pure challenge and likability.

      He sighed, reaching for the kindling. It was going to be hard to keep from liking her, but he was tenacious and determined. He would give it his best shot.

      * * *

      “Ma,” George called from one of the front room windows. “Are