Jillian Hart - Mail-Order Christmas Brides Boxed Set

Noah had intended to throw the letter he received away, but it had sat on his bedside table for two weeks. Every night he’d read it and tried to write some words to tell the woman there had been a misunderstanding. He’d had one wife and had no intentions of ever seeking another.

But the sparse words on the plain piece of paper had haunted him. He could almost feel the woman’s desperation as she penned the few words telling him that she was an immigrant from Northern Ireland, a mature widow who had worked as a scrubwoman until her husband had been killed and she’d lost her job. She had no other family and was looking for a home for herself and her child. She had taken lessons to improve her speech, she said, and she knew also how to sew. Maybe it was the lack of polish and detail that had spoken to him. He’d known discouragement so deep it threatened the soul. He’d sensed this woman had nothing but a fragile pride stopping her from begging for help.

Finally, one night he’d written to her, telling her to come if she hadn’t already found another position. And he’d prayed that she had. He had repeated that he had separate quarters for her, hoping to assure her that he didn’t mean to take advantage of her plight. Once she had saved some money, he would offer to have the marriage annulled if she wanted. He knew how easily women, especially immigrants, starved to death in cities like Boston after they lost their husbands and their jobs.

“I mean to pay you,” Noah said as he turned around to speak to the woman. “They didn’t mention that in the ad, but—”

She wasn’t there. She hadn’t followed him over to the counter like he had assumed. Instead, she was bent over the little girl, speaking in a low voice. All he saw was the top of her blanketed head, but something about her and the child made him uneasy. She hadn’t mentioned her age in the brief letter she’d written, but mature surely meant someone old enough to be a grandmother. He was thirty-three and he figured someone of that description had to be in her fifties. But not many women that age would have a young child.

The girl was probably her granddaughter, he told himself in relief. Maybe she thought he would frown upon her bringing a child who wasn’t hers.

Just then Jimmy, the boy who ran errands in the store, came out from the back room.

“Help you?” He nodded in greeting. “I got some of your order in the wagon. I left room for a couple of trunks. But I got in the ham you wanted and a side of bacon. I’ll bring the rest out later.”

“My wife is going to put in a full order for that later delivery, but you’ll need to pick up her trunk from the railroad station now,” Noah said loudly enough for the woman to hear. “Flanagan is the name.”

His words got her attention and she turned away from the display and started walking closer to him. He couldn’t see anything on that table to appeal to a woman unless it was the china teapot.

“Put the pot in the window in our wagon, too,” Noah whispered as he leaned in and spoke quietly to Jimmy. “Wrap it in a sack and see if you can find some red ribbon to go around it, too.”

Noah was pleased with himself. He hadn’t bought anyone a Christmas present since his wife ran away over two years ago. Oh, he always gave the ranch hands a twenty-dollar gold piece each. But a woman liked a gift.

“I’m sure you know what to stock for supplies in the kitchen,” Noah said once the woman reached him. “Just tell Jimmy here. He can write it down.”

“I don’t know.” She sounded a little alarmed.

The wind had made it hard to hear her earlier, but inside here he caught a hint of gentle Irish brogue in her voice. He liked it.

“They have almost everything you’d want in the mercantile here,” he assured her.

She was silent for a moment.

“I’ll just get your usual order,” she finally said, sounding hesitant. “Until I’ve had a chance to check on what spices you have and everything.”

Noah frowned. “There’s not much on the shelves. We haven’t had a cook on the place since my wife left two years ago.”

“Your wife?” The woman looked up at that, no longer timid in her tone. If the sky outside wasn’t going dark, he would have been able to see her face fully. He was sure there’d be some spark there, but the shadows hid her.

“She divorced me.” He didn’t like talking about his wife, but the woman deserved to know his past, especially since he’d brought it up. “She didn’t think I could give her enough fancy things—you know, clothes and furniture. Things like that.”

Flanagan didn’t say anything and he was grateful for her tact.

“She wasn’t much of a cook,” he added. “Could barely make pancakes. Either raw in the middle or so thin there was nothing to them. But she did order in spices and tins of oysters.”

He supposed it was during his marriage that he had become accustomed to poor cooking. His wife had had visions of entertaining visiting dignitaries, but he didn’t know any such people so the few imported tins gathered dust on the shelves. He’d been so miserable during that time, he hadn’t cared about eating and his men, maybe sensing how bad things were between him and his wife, hadn’t complained much about the food, either.

Noah turned to the boy behind the counter. “Add a few cases of canned peaches to the order.” He figured his men deserved something festive to eat. And maybe their ad would work out better than he’d expected. “Put the peaches in the wagon. I think there’ll be room since there’s only one trunk.”

“Oh, and tell the clerk when he gets back that he’ll be taking his supply orders from my wife from now on,” he added with a nod to Maeve.

Jimmy looked between him and the woman and nodded solemnly. “Yes, sir.”

Noah suddenly realized the youngster had learned more about him in the past few minutes than most adults in town had learned in the decade he’d lived here.

“Well, we best get going,” Noah said as he turned to the woman. “The church is only a few doors down.”

“I’d like to talk to you before we see the preacher,” she said then, her voice low and serious.

Noah felt his heart sink. He feared she was going to back out. Although why she would, he wasn’t certain. She hadn’t seen much of the country around here. His wife had always said the mercantile wasn’t as well stocked as stores back East, but that seemed a small reason to leave. It might be the weather, though. Some people couldn’t tolerate the bad storms they had here, especially if they found themselves snowbound. But she was Irish. And from Boston. Shouldn’t she be used to the cold?

Noah looked around. There were no private places in the mercantile and he didn’t want his business spread all over the territory. If he was going to be left at the altar, he didn’t want everyone to know. The divorce had done enough damage to his pride.

“We can take a moment in the church,” he said finally.

The woman nodded and took the hand of the girl.

They walked to the door.

“The preacher is expecting us,” he added as he stepped over to open the door. “So he’ll be there when we arrive.”

He turned back to Jimmy. “You’ll have to finish loading the supplies in the wagon. Remember the peaches.”

A knowing twinkle appeared in the boy’s eyes. “I’ll get them there. And congratulations.”

Noah frowned, but nodded his thanks. He supposed it was impossible to keep the wedding plans a secret even if the woman backed out. The ranch hands had probably already announced it to everyone they’d seen in the days since he’d told them Maeve had boarded the train in Boston and was heading south to pick up the rail line that would bring her west.