Kerri Mountain - The Parson's Christmas Gift

“Trouble you can handle has a way of turning into trouble you can’t,” Pastor Zane said. “If you let us know what’s going on, we’ll figure a way out.”

“The only thing going on here is I’m trying to figure a way to pay my debts, buy a horse and be on my way,” Journey said. “The only thing going on here is a pastor who thinks he can fix every problem. Well, there are some problems you can’t fix.”

Zane bent his head, but his stance held no anger. “We’ll play this your way for now, but watch yourself. And let us know when you need a hand.”

She was determined not to skitter from him, no matter how her thoughts pleaded with her to. Why wouldn’t he just go away?

Zane slid his hat back from his face and looked at her. “Journey, we have a saying here in the West that you might not have heard. But it’s good sound advice.”

“What’s that?”

“Watch your back.”

How little he knew. She was already backed into a corner.

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

grew up surrounded by books and storytellers, and credits her family for instilling in her the love of a good story in any form. An avid reader, the idea came to her that she ought to try writing a story of her own, but it didn’t take her long to realize it was easier said than done. So when she had the opportunity to pursue a master’s degree in Writing Popular Fiction, it seemed a natural fit. She tries to write the kinds of stories she would want to read. The Parson’s Christmas Gift is her first novel.

Kerri lives in rural western Pennsylvania with her parents on their small family farm, and teaches in the district where she attended school as a child. She enjoys the quiet pace of country living and spoiling her niece and nephews on a regular basis.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This is what the Lord says: Stand at the crossroads and look, ask for the ancient paths, ask where the good way is, and walk in it, and you will find rest for your souls.

—Jeremiah 6:16

To Mom and Dad—there aren’t enough words to

say thanks for all the love and support you’ve given

in any adventure God allows. Love you both!

And a big thank-you to all the critique partners,

mentors, friends and family who have helped

develop and improve this story far beyond anything

I might have imagined it could be. I praise God for

putting each of you in my path at just the right time.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

September 1870, Montana

She’d pay ten dollars for a hot bath if she had it.

Journey wiped the grit from her eyes and slid from her horse. She felt as if she’d been born in the saddle—and spent all of her twenty years there.

She checked her saddlebags. Eight dollars and some hairpins.

She scanned the town as it started to wake. Slowly the sun stretched over buildings, quiet and fresh as the barren peaks surrounding the settlement. Nothing like Savannah, still fighting to recover from the destruction of the War Between the States some five years past. Nothing like Independence, always bustling with folks coming from and going to parts unknown.

“It looks like we may be in luck, Gypsy,” she whispered to her horse.

The shop she was looking for sat near the end of the street—one with a plain, honest front, a quaint little porch and a worn sign proclaiming General Store in faded blue letters. Underneath, smaller letters spelled out a wide variety of items.

Journey slipped along the shadowed side of the building and pulled a small silver mirror from her satchel. Dust muted the freckles over her round cheeks, and she debated as to which was the worse. Her skin had darkened over the miles, despite the broad-brimmed hat she wore. But no amount of color hid the exhaustion from her dark brown eyes. Pulling the hat from her head, she ran strong fingers through the curls that coiled around each other until she could feel the tangles before she touched them. She remembered the brilliant red of her mother’s silky waves and wondered what had happened that it had translated to her as a dingy auburn, uncontrollable mass.

She tugged none too gently at her tight locks and poked hairpins in strategically. “If they catch me talking to you, Gyp, I guess it won’t matter how civilized I look.” She tugged the horse toward the front of the store.

Her dress barely showed its original flowered print and she didn’t know how much shorter she could cut her petticoats to reinforce the material. But she brushed the dust off as best she could and looped the horse’s reins around a post. With a deep breath she pulled on her shapeless hat and mounted the steps to the open door.

A cloud of grime swept over her worn skirt.

“Sorry, ma’am! I didn’t see you there.”

She drew her lips up in a gracious smile. So much for looking civilized.

The man stopped sweeping and leaned against the broom, nodding her through the doorway on his way out. “My wife’ll be with you in a little bit, ma’am. Take a look around.” Journey watched a grin peek from below his full mustache.

Whitened walls gave the store an open feel, much as the landscape did for the little town. An inviting stove glowed in the center near the back. Canned peaches, harness fittings and an odd conglomeration of pans and kettles rested on shelves and pegs behind the counters on either side. Barrels marked Flour and Sugar sat in front.

She tried not to notice the curious stares following her as she browsed her way along the bolts of yard goods, but still started when a young woman asked her, “Anything I can help you with?”

Pulling a bolt of navy broadcloth from the wall, she responded with a flash of smile, determined to be calm. “I’d like a dress length of this, please.” It would cut into her meager funds, but a purchase always made an impression when she needed information. She’d need a new dress before winter anyway. Tattered hems made only wrong impressions.

She stepped toward the counter. Though she’d always been short of stature, the shopkeeper’s wife dwarfed her by a good eight or nine inches. The woman must’ve been about her own age, judging from the smooth skin and bright green eyes. Honey-blond hair hung in a low tail down her back.