Mail-Order Christmas Brides Boxed Set. Jillian Hart

of washing. No more quiet desperation struggling to make basic ends meet. They were a team, meant to help each other.

      “I mean it,” he told her, pretending to be tough when he was crumbling. His ribs felt broken, his internal organs ripped and bleeding. How could feelings hurt so much? “I won’t go around town overhearing folks talking about how ragged my wife’s clothes are. I deserve better than that.”

      “So, buying new things is a wifely duty?”

      “Yes. Glad you understand me.” His throat closed up, overcome by the cracking pain inside him. He hated the emptiness he felt within, the void of his lost heart, the one that Alice and their son had taken with them when they’d passed. With no hope of getting it back, he felt like a failure, feared the disappointment to come. But did that stop him from leaning forward? No, not one bit. His lips brushed her forehead with the faintest touch. He breathed in her rose and soap scent, and the emptiness inside him throbbed like an open wound.

      That kiss was a mistake. Reaching out to her at all was a mistake. Ashamed of himself, of what he’d done, he turned away and strode out the door. What was she expecting now? That there might be more kisses in their future, more closeness, even love? He winced, knowing he would fail her. He had nothing to give to her.

      “Good night, Cole.” She broke the silence, sounding practical, like the woman from the letters he’d come to trust. As if she knew his heart, her voice consoled. “I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to spending your money tomorrow.”

      A joke. That helped, he thought, feeling the pain within him ease. He managed a grin as he caught hold of the doorknob, crossing over the threshold. “Now I’m actually feeling like a married man.”

      “Excellent practice for the real thing,” she teased back.

      “Wait, I’m thinking about changing my mind.” He winked, but it was too dark for her to see or to realize he was telling the truth. Like a wounded man, he headed down the stairs, his gait unsteady, feeling winded and reeling from the sort of pain that comes from a wound that had never healed.

      “Sorry, no changing your mind now,” she gently kidded, her voice echoing down the stairwell. “Not when I finally get to spend your money.”

      While her words were light and breezy, meant to make him smile, there was something else there. An emotion he sensed, an awareness. He’d not hidden his true feelings from her, after all.

      He grimaced, alone at the foot of the stairs, as the door closed, blocking off all sight of her. He turned around, staring up into the deep shadows, feeling the night’s cold wrap around him. He longed for her the way the dark yearned for light. He wished he had a heart to give her.

       Chapter Eight

      “Yep, that’s the dress,” Amelia declared with a decisive nod in the sunniest corner of Mrs. Cora Jones’s dress shop. The girl gave her braids a toss. “I knew it the second I saw it in the front window. It makes you even more beautiful, Ma.”

      Ma. Mercy’s hand flew to her throat. She would never get over how good that felt. She smiled at her daughter, held out the green skirt and slowly twirled. “Isn’t it a little festive for a wedding? I was expecting something sedate and very somber.”

      “Oh, no, this is just right.” Amelia tilted her head to one side, considering, absolutely serious. “It’s a Christmas dress. See the sprigged holly on the bodice? And the velvet skirt is my absolute favorite. Pa won’t let me wear velvet. He says I’m too young, but I’m dying to.”

      “Perhaps together we can sew a dress for you. I’m thinking we can find a way to put some velvet on it.” Loving that idea, Mercy turned to eye the plentiful bolts of fabric in this upscale shop. She’d never stepped foot inside such a fancy establishment before or worn a dress like this, with mother-of-pearl buttons and trims of dainty lace and silk.

      “Why, that looks lovely on you.” The shop owner bustled over with genteel grace and genuine friendliness. “The perfect dress for your wedding in, what, two days?”

      “One and a half now,” Mercy said shakily. “It’s counting down more quickly than I thought.”

      “A Christmas wedding is terribly romantic.” Cora Jones selected a red velvet bonnet from the nearby display and set it on Mercy’s head. “I met my husband during the Christmas season. It’s a time for joy. I’ve known Cole a long time. You couldn’t have found a more wonderful man.”

      “I think so, too.” Mercy squinted at herself in the full-length mirror, hardly recognizing her reflection. Was she really this woman with a twinkle in her eye, looking slender and elegant in a finely tailored, fashionable dress? Her cheeks were rosy, her skin glowing. She felt so full of life.

      The last time she’d felt this way had been her first wedding day. The realization slammed into her, forcing the air from her lungs. She gasped, covering her mouth to hide her dismay. No one noticed. Amelia was busy conferring with Cora about the hat. Cora had turned around to choose a different bonnet. Mercy felt her heart break, remembering that girl she’d been, so full of hope. Love hadn’t turned out quite like she’d expected. She and Timothy had struggled, and while they’d loved one another, they’d grown apart a little more each year of their marriage. She’d longed to be closer, working hard to repair the distance between them up until death took him.

      Love and marriage were complicated and not easy, and she’d loved Timothy deeply. Her grief had healed over time, and a new wish had taken hold of her, that one day she would find love again, but this time with a man who loved her at least as much as she loved him. That it could be even better next time around. Of course, it had been only a hope. George’s welfare and happiness came first, which was why she’d agreed to look for a husband when she’d caught the boy climbing down from the backyard tree last summer, wiping tears from his eyes. It hurt not having a pa, he’d said. Agreeing to find a good man to marry hadn’t been about her dreams.

      It had been about George’s. Her gaze went to the front window, where the boy was visible bundled in the new winter coat Cole had let him choose from the dry-goods display. George was keeping their mare company, the one Cole had bought for her and given to her earlier in the day. George’s blue knit hat bobbed around as he petted Polly’s nose. The red mare, the gentle lady she was, patiently kept her head low so the boy could easily reach her.

      Mercy slipped off the hat and handed it to Cora, who had consulted with Amelia to choose a dark green velvet bonnet. As Mercy took it from them and angled the simple, tasteful hat onto her head, she watched a boy approaching on the boardwalk wave to George. They looked to be about the same age. The other boy had his mother with him. They appeared to be Christmas shopping, judging by all their packages. The boy greeted George with a smile and they instantly started talking as if destined to be friends, the new boy petting Polly, too.

      Yes, this was everything she’d hoped for her son. What were her needs compared to that?

      “That’s perfect on you,” Cora breathed. “You’re a vision.”

      “I’ve never seen anyone so beautiful,” Amelia agreed. “Not ever.”

      “You’re sweet.” Mercy gathered the girl in her arms and gave her a quick hug. Definitely sweet. “What about you? Do you have a special dress for the wedding?”

      “We already have that taken care of.” Cora patted a wrapped bundle on the counter behind her. “Now that we have a dress for the wedding squared away, we need to get you some everyday things.”

      Mercy started to protest, but then she remembered how important this was to Cole. Last night he’d broken her heart with his story. She’d seen a side of the man that moved her still. Last night, he was all she’d thought about when she’d been tossing and turning, trying to sleep. All through the morning he stayed on her mind as she’d gone about wedding preparations and Christmas-type errands in town. She couldn’t forget the brush of his kiss to her forehead, so infinitely gentle,