Jillian Hart - Mail-Order Christmas Brides Boxed Set

“It’s just I thought you were a widow,” Noah said, his voice tinged with reproach.

Maeve felt her heart beat faster. “Who would lie about being a widow? My husband died seven weeks ago. You can read any of the Boston papers if you don’t believe me. They certainly covered his death long enough.”

Everyone was silent for a moment. Maeve could hear the crackle of the fire and noticed the preacher had left the door to the stove open, no doubt to warm the room faster. It reminded her that the coal bin for the small fireplace in her rented room would have been empty by now, regardless of whether she had been able to leave or not. She’d burned only enough coal to keep them from freezing. She couldn’t take her children back to that life; they might not survive next time.

“You’re too young for the kind of marriage I have in mind,” Noah finally said. “That’s why I asked for a mature widow.” He looked at her, and this time he didn’t bother to hide his reproach. “Why, you’re scarcely old enough to be a wife, let alone a widow.”

“I’m twenty-five-years old,” Maeve said as she straightened her back so she was her full height. She was tall enough to intimidate most men, but she didn’t seem to move Noah. “Old enough to have a daughter and lose a husband in a very public and humiliating fashion.”

Noah was quiet. “I’m sorry.”

She wasn’t ready to mention the baby. Not in anger like this.

They were both quiet for a moment.

“I’m sure you’ve had some hard times,” he finally added, “but life can change. You’re young enough to find a happy marriage. You’re not who I expected.”

Maeve had traveled over two thousand miles, breathing the smoke of the train and pretending to be grateful for the stale butter sandwiches, the only food she’d had to pack with them when they’d left. Her daughter was suffering from bad memories; it was almost Christmas; and before long, Maeve would likely have bouts of morning sickness.

“Violet and I might not be the kind of people you expected,” Maeve said, her voice growing strong. “But we are who you got.”

Noah looked a little stunned at the force in her voice and she had to admit she was surprised herself. But she was at the end of her road. She didn’t have money to wait for another mail-order husband. Not that she was likely to find one now that she’d have a baby to consider as well as Violet. Besides, she thought indignantly, Noah shouldn’t have put an ad in the newspaper unless he expected someone to answer it.

Maeve looked over at the reverend.

“I just need to discuss something with Noah,” she said. “If you’ll excuse us.”

She willed her nerves to stop racing around in her stomach.

The preacher nodded as a couple of middle-aged women came through the door, brushing snow and hail off their garments.

“My wife,” the reverend gestured to a plump, kindly looking woman.

Then he introduced the other woman, who had dark hair and a stern face. “Mrs. Barker.”

“Pleased to meet you both,” Maeve said with a smile for the women. They nodded in return.

Maeve reached up to her hair. Curls sprang from her head the way they did in damp weather. The whole bunch of it had escaped its pins and was, no doubt, spreading out around her head like a wild dandelion on fire. She looked down and saw her hat had rolled under one of the benches. She walked over and bent down to retrieve it. The cook at the house where she had worked had given her that old wool hat so she could take Violet to church without having anyone gossip or complain that she wasn’t dressed in the right church clothes.

When she stood up, she saw that Noah had walked close to her.

“I don’t mean for our marriage to be real,” he said to her. He spoke low, clearly not wanting the others to hear. “If that’s what you want to talk about, don’t worry. I thought the ad made it clear that I’m suggesting we have one of those—what do they call them—marriages in name only?”

“I read the ad. I know you don’t want a regular marriage.”

She meant to keep her voice quiet, but she was troubled. What kind of a wedded life would they have? No affection. And no more children after the baby that was coming—which he didn’t even know about she realized with a sinking heart. Maybe he didn’t want more children.

Maeve barely noticed the gasps of the two older women. She was watching the deep red spread over Noah’s face.

“I thought you’d be fifty years old at least,” he protested, no longer trying to be quiet. “A marriage in name only means sleeping apart.”

“I know what it means,” Maeve snapped.

Noah’s jaw was clenched and his words came out low. “You’re too young to give up your life for a steady job. I’m trying to give you a chance to avoid this marriage. If it’s a matter of money to get home, I can give you some—with extra.”

“I don’t take charity,” Maeve said defiantly, even though it wasn’t true. After she’d lost her job, she wouldn’t have been able to provide food for her and Violet if her only friend, the cook at the house where she used to work, hadn’t given her bags of foodstuffs every few days. Her pride had been another recent casualty in her life.

“Good, then work for me,” Noah challenged her. “You and your daughter can live in the house. I’ll move to the bunkhouse.”

Someone gasped even louder than before and Maeve heard footsteps coming closer.

When Maeve looked up, she saw the stern-faced woman, Mrs. Barker, standing there with her hands on her hips as she scolded Noah. “You can’t ask this young woman to live out there with all those ranch hands of yours and no wedding ring on her finger. Shame on you, Noah Miller. You know her reputation will be in tatters if she does that.”

“I don’t mind,” Maeve said quietly. A reputation was a luxury she could not afford to consider.

“She and her girl would be staying in my room in the house,” Noah assured the other woman. “My men will vouch for me staying in that room off the bunkhouse. You don’t need to worry about Maeve and her girl. I’ve got a comfortable bed for them. Made the frame myself.”

“I can’t take your bed.” Maeve blushed when she said it. Sleeping in the man’s bed felt intimate. She glanced around and saw that the preacher was walking toward them now, too.

“Yes, you can.” Noah’s voice was deep and filled with some emotion she couldn’t identify. He’d turned from the other woman and was focusing on her. “It comes with the job. You’ll need to rest if you expect to get up early and fix breakfast for the men. Coffee and fried eggs will do. Can you cook them?”

“Anyone can fry an egg,” Maeve said, feeling relief flow over her. He meant to keep her for now. “And, coffee, of course.”

“We’re set, then?” he asked.

She gave him a nod as she felt a slight roll in her stomach. It must have been the thought of frying eggs. The smell had given her problems when she was carrying Violet, too. Not that she had a choice now. She had to cook eggs.

Her friend in Boston had said that ad might not be all she hoped and it looked as if she was right. But it was winter and she had a daughter as well as a baby to consider. She needed to keep them warm and fed. Besides, if she gave Noah time to come to love Violet, she could tell him about the baby.

* * *

Noah clenched his hands into a fist. The woman looked pale. He had confused things and he didn’t know how to make everything right. After she got rid of that hat, the woman had been glorious, with her pink cheeks and her copper hair tumbling down to her shoulders. She was a beauty and deserved the kind of happiness he’d heard a good marriage could bring. The very thought of working for him seemed to turn her sickly, though.