Mail-Order Christmas Brides Boxed Set. Jillian Hart

stared, not quite able to believe. Cole had described his home as modest. But it was nothing like the modest cabins and shanties they’d passed on the half-mile ride from town. It was like a dream, like nothing she’d ever thought she’d live in.

      “Where’s the shanty?” George asked, confused. His face scrunched up, his forehead furrowed. “Is it around back? Is that where we’re gonna live?”

      “No, George,” Amelia said warmly, as if she already thought of him as her own little brother. “There’s no shanty. You are going to live in the house with me and Pa. That’s why we’re having a wedding. So we can all be a family.”

      A family. Amelia’s words moved her heart. Mercy swallowed against the sudden lump in her throat. Her eyes stung, and she tried to blink away the unexpected tears. The girl clearly didn’t know everything Cole had written in his letters, that he’d been so adamantly clear this was a formal arrangement, not a personal union.

      “That sounds mighty nice to me.” Mercy cleared her throat, slipping one arm around the girl to draw her closer. She did the same with George. It felt pretty fine to be seated between the children, knowing that she already had what mattered, what she’d traveled so far to find.

      Well, almost, she thought, remembering the churchyard scene earlier and those fathers with their sons.

      “Keep in mind we moved some of the furniture into town,” Eberta explained as she urged Frosty along the circular drive curving in front of the steps. “The front room is a little empty, but that’ll fix itself after the wedding.”

      “In three days,” Amelia reminded them. “Don’t worry, I have everything planned out.”

      “Your father showed me your slate.”

      The sleigh squeaked to a stop in front of the house. My, it was larger than she’d first thought. More impressive. The windows and porch gave it a smiling, welcoming look. Her pulse kicked up, and she tried to let it sink in. This house—a real house, not a tiny cottage like the one she and Timothy had shared during their marriage, not a shanty like the ones she’d lived in growing up and after she’d been widowed. Not in her wildest dreams had she imagined this much.

      “It’s not a mansion.” Eberta hopped off the front seat. “But it’s cozy and well-made. Cole built it himself. Did a fine job, too.”

      “I’ve never lived in a place with so many windows,” she said, dazed, as she tumbled out of the sled behind Amelia. Looking up, she counted at least three bedrooms. And that was only on this side of the house.

      “Ma, is this really where we’re gonna live?” George tumbled from the sleigh, head tipped back, staring intently up at the second story, taking in the windows. “It’s enough for lots of families.”

      “Oh, it’s not that big,” Eberta laughed kindly, patting the boy on the shoulder. “It’s a nice-size family house. Don’t know what you’re used to, though.”

      “A rented shanty on the outskirts of town.” Her shoes tapped on the steps as she trailed Amelia onto the porch. “This will be perfect come summer. I can plant flowers in the border beds and think how pleasant it will be to sit right here and watch the sun set.”

      “That’s how I like to pass a summer evening.” The front door opened and Cole stepped into the slant of sunshine, dressed in a dark wool coat, his Stetson hiding his eyes, pulling on a pair of gloves. “Sounds like we are compatible on that front.”

      “Yes.” The sight of him made her breath catch. A lump lodged in her throat. Her stomach fluttered nervously, because she didn’t know how this would turn out after he’d heard what she had to say. “Amelia, I’d be most grateful if you could take George inside and show him around the house.”

      “Sure. C’mon, George.” Amelia tromped across the porch, tossing a grin at her father on her way by. “Pa and I couldn’t decide what room you’d like, so let’s go pick one out.”

      “You mean I get my very own room?” George asked, blue eyes glinting incredulously. “Thank you, Pa.”

      “You’re welcome.” He looked right past Mercy, as if he could read her mood. His gaze landed on the boy, and that granite set to his face softened a fraction. “You go on in. Pick out your room. And try on the riding boots I brought home for you. Make sure they fit comfortably.”

      “Riding boots?” George froze midstride, jaw dropping. “I looked around, but I didn’t see any horses here.”

      “Because they are on the other side of the hill.” Steady and easygoing, that voice. Just like the man. “You’ll be able to see them from the windows. Go on. When you’re done, we’ll take Frosty down to the barn and you can meet the other horses.”

      “You mean, you’ll let me lead him?”

      “I’ll let you drive him.”

      The realization sank in. George gave an excited whoop. “Oh, boy. Just oh, boy!”

      “You’d better hurry,” Mercy advised him, relieved to see him happy again. “You don’t want to keep Frosty waiting for too long.”

      “No, ma’am!” George earnestly charged through the doorway, feet churning, shoes pounding on the boards. The door smacked shut behind him.

      “I’ll be getting home,” Eberta called out, circling around the corner of the house on foot. “Good luck, Mercy. I’m praying you don’t need it.”

      “Thanks for the ride, for the company, for just everything.” Mercy turned her back to Cole, leaning over the railing. “Will I see you tomorrow?”

      “Count on it, missy.” Eberta winked, tossed the tasseled end of her scarf over her plump shoulder and trudged around the corner of the house. A mule bayed, just out of sight. The animal must belong to Eberta, Mercy decided, startled when Cole joined her at the railing.

      His dark shadow fell across her and she shivered, although he blocked the wind with his big body. Alone with him again, she was aware of every inch of his six-foot height and of her five foot three. She was unprepared for a confrontation. In the past, discussions had often not gone well with Timothy. How this would turn out was anyone’s guess.

      Although her stomach clenched up tight, and her palms began to sweat, she couldn’t put this off. No, best to find out what kind of man Cole truly was. She fisted her hands, braced her feet, mentally preparing herself for the ordeal. “You didn’t come to church.”

      “No, I didn’t think to mention that last night.” He shrugged, keeping watch as Eberta rode out of the shadow of the house on a gray mule. “You look as if you mind.”

      “I would appreciate you being up front with me.” She watched the mule swish his tail as he walked along, heading back toward town. The sunlight blazed across the landscape, bringing the snow to life, making it shine, making it glitter. Inside she felt dark and afraid. What if by speaking up to protect George she lost him his new father? Her stomach clenched tighter at the thought. “Why don’t you attend? Amelia does.”

      “I used to, but I stopped going.” What looked like grief carved lines into his handsome face, crinkling around his eyes, bracketing his chiseled, firm mouth into a reserved frown. “I have no objection to anyone else attending. I just lost the faith for it.”

      “Oh.” What on earth did someone say to that? She tried to swallow past the lump in her throat, wishing she knew what to do. “In truth, for the entire year after Timothy passed, I couldn’t force myself to attend a single service. Not even Christmas.”

      “But you went back.”

      “I needed to. I needed faith. Life isn’t the same without it.” She squinted into the sun. Eberta was a shadow against the endless white. “Maybe one day you’ll go back, too.”

      “I tried. I couldn’t.” His throat worked. He turned stonier, all the gentleness fleeing from his face, all the softness,