Mail-Order Christmas Brides Boxed Set. Jillian Hart

to find a way to go on. “My heart broke for the final time that day. I walled off the pieces, picked myself up and I’m still getting by the best I can.”

      “And so that’s why you want a convenient marriage.” Her soothing, sympathetic tone reached out to him. She studied him over the back of the sofa, her beautiful face soft with understanding.

      He’d never seen anything more lovely or compelling. He didn’t know why he could see inside to her heart or why he could read it so easily. But he saw there the dashed hopes for an emotional connection between them, the sorrow for his lost wife and son, and the understanding of what his heart had been through. Without a word, he nodded, acknowledging what he’d seen in her. She smiled sadly, knowing what he meant.

      “That’s why I was so interested in you,” he confessed, reaching for the teapot and filling the cup. “You’d lost a husband, so you know what it’s like. And you had George.”

      “Yes, George.” Her tone came falsely bright, layered with too many emotions to name. “You are a blessing to him.”

      “As he is to me.” He carried the cup toward the light, toward her, and gave it to her. “I can’t tell you what this afternoon meant. Teaching him to ride. Watching him discover the joy of having a horse. I hope what I gave to him had at least as much value as what he gave to me today.”

      “More.” She blew on the tea to cool it, because she needed time to gain control of her emotions or she wouldn’t be able to hide the most private ones from him. “George was floating he was so happy. I’ve never seen him like that.”

      “Good.” As if buoyed by that, Cole nodded, sank onto the edge of the sofa and steepled his hands. Half in the shadows, half in the reach of the lamp’s light, he made a stunning image of light and dark, of strength and heart. “I think George and I are going to get along just fine.”

      “I do, too.” She took a sip of tea, although her hand was trembling so it wasn’t easy. She burned her lip, scorched her tongue, and spilled some on her dress. None of that mattered next to the enormous swell of affection and grief filling her. “If you could have seen him before, watching our neighbors back in North Carolina. Mr. Fulton would be out in the alley playing catch with his sons or in the backyard rubbing down their horse, and the yearning on George’s face would make me cry every time. You’ve done something for my boy, something you don’t even know.”

      “I do.” His throat worked, the tendons cording with the strain of his emotions. “I’ve been yearning for a son, too.”

      Tears filled her eyes, thinking of the hole in Cole’s life, the son he never got to know. She blinked hard, willing those tears back. Too bad she couldn’t do the same with her affection. It welled up, unbidden, rising through her like hope on the darkest winter night, like starlight in a cold Christmas sky. She took another sip of tea, swallowing the hot liquid blindly, ignoring the scald. How could she not love the man who loved her son?

      “Well, I’d better go.” Cole stood, lost in the shadows again. He moved in the darkness, a shadowed line of his shoulder, a curve of his capable hand. “Like I said, be sure and take what you need from the store, for you, the boy or the house. I expect you to make the place your home, any way you want. Amelia made an appointment for you at Cora’s dress shop tomorrow.”

      “Oh, for the wedding dress.” She thought of the slate, of the girl’s hopes written out in a tidy, organized list. Quite extravagant, but now she understood. As George had longed for a father, as Cole had longed for a son, so Amelia had yearned for a mother and a wedding to celebrate it. “Of course. Anything Amelia wants.”

      “Within reason.” Cole’s firm tone held warmth, too. “No sledding in town. No horse riding. No Stetson. She keeps threatening to trade in her sunbonnet for one.”

      “I’ll do my best.” Mercy set the cup aside and rose, too, trailing after him to the door. The affection she felt for him seemed to keep expanding, growing beyond all bounds. She prayed she could keep it secret from him, to be the wife he wanted and deserved. “I’m worried about what Amelia wants for my wedding dress versus what you can afford.”

      “I’ve already spoken to Cora about that.” The door whispered open and he stood in the darkness before it, towering over her, close.

      So close.

      Her skin tingled sweetly, as if a mellow summer breeze had blown over her. She lifted her chin and swallowed, praying her feelings didn’t show in her voice. “Good. I’ve never been dress shopping in a store before. Growing up, Ma always made our clothes and so I’ve always made mine.”

      “How old is that dress you’re wearing?” he asked, his tone firm and caring at the same time.

      “I sewed it when Timothy was alive.” The last time she’d been able to afford fabric for a new dress.

      “That’s been a long while,” he commented. “At least four years.”

      “Five, but it’s quite serviceable. It still has another good year left. Maybe more.”

      “Sorry, that’s not going to happen.” He gave a soft bark of surprised laughter. He couldn’t believe this woman. She thought of the children before herself. She really didn’t realize that he’d wanted to better her life, too, not only Amelia’s and George’s, when he’d written his proposal. Something about her had hooked him. Now he knew what. “I told Cora you need more than a wedding dress. You need a new wardrobe.”

      “Oh, no. Absolutely not.” She sounded scandalized, horrified. “That would be a terrible expense.”

      “It’s mine to pay,” he reminded her. “Remember my second rule?”

      “Oh, yes, the budget. How is this living on a budget? It’s too extravagant.” She truly sounded distressed. The reaches of the lamplight strained to find her, to highlight the golden glints in her hair, to caress the curve of her face. Crinkles dug into her forehead as she gazed up at him. “No, that makes no sense. I told you in our correspondence. I don’t need anything. I’m not the one in need.”

      He begged to differ. He looked at her and saw all kinds of need. The need for her son, for a home, for family and for love. That was the one that stabbed at him, that cut like a blade. It was the one thing he could not give her. The one thing he did not have to give.

      It saddened him greatly, because he wanted so much for her, for this woman who’d given him a son and who’d made his daughter happy. He still could hold on to the hope that she’d help mold Amelia into an acceptably behaved daughter. After all, a man had to hold on to something.

      “It doesn’t matter,” he told her, his chest hurting so stridently it was as if he’d been kicked in the ribs by seven wild horses. “I’m the head of the household. I’m the man. What I say goes. You’ll get new dresses. End of story.”

      “I thought we agreed not to boss each other around?” Amusement tugged her pretty mouth upward, and there was a hint of challenge in her eyes.

      He liked this woman. Very much. “Sure, we agreed to that, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m in charge. On this matter, you need to do what I say.”

      “Buy myself dresses I don’t need?” Her amusement faded; the challenge remained. Her delicately carved chin hiked up another notch. “I’m not in need.”

      “Yes, you are.” She’d been struggling in poverty for too long and that was over. The overwhelming need to take care of her, too, rushed through him like a flash flood, knocking down some of the barriers he’d had up for years. Thankfully some of his defenses stayed standing, the iron-strong ones, the ones closest to his heart. “You will be a store owner’s wife, and how you dress reflects on me. You need to look the part.”

      “You’re just saying that. I don’t believe you mean it.” Her chin dipped, as if she, too, could look inside him and see the truth.

      His fingers reached out on their own accord to curl around