Janet Tronstad - Mail-Order Christmas Brides - Her Christmas Family / Christmas Stars for Dry Creek

A family for Christmas—and for always...

Her Christmas Family by Jillian Hart

“Please be my ma for Christmas.” Felicity Sawyer can’t resist little Gertie’s heartfelt letter. Tate Winters seeks a bride for Gertie’s sake, not his own. But as his reserve thaws before Felicity’s sunny optimism, this new family learns that togetherness is the best way to celebrate the season.

Christmas Stars for Dry Creek by Janet Tronstad

Eleanor McBride’s outgrown her dreams of romance—but not her wishes for motherhood. Wedding Sergeant Adam Martin will give her a daughter to cherish. Yet it’s not just shy, sweet Hannah who’s captured her affections. And Eleanor’s arrival in Dry Creek could be the start of a journey to true love.…

Praise for Jillian Hart

“Jillian Hart’s High Country Bride is a sweet, tender and highly emotional love story that will stay with readers for a long time.”

—RT Book Reviews

“Hart’s tender love story has strong characters who stay true to themselves and what they believe is the right thing to do.”

—RT Book Reviews on Gingham Bride

“Jillian Hart’s Homespun Bride is a sweet book with lovable characters that have problems to overcome with the help of faith and the power of true love.”

—RT Book Reviews

Praise for Janet Tronstad

“An emotionally vibrant and totally satisfying read.”

—RT Book Reviews on Snowbound in Dry Creek

“Janet Tronstad pens a warm, comforting story.”

—RT Book Reviews on Shepherds Abiding in Dry Creek

“Ms. Tronstad creates a very enjoyable story about learning to believe and love again.”

—RT Book Reviews on An Angel for Dry Creek

JILLIAN HART

grew up on her family’s homestead, where she helped raise cattle, rode horses and scribbled stories in her spare time. After earning her English degree from Whitman College, she worked in travel and advertising before selling her first novel. When Jillian isn’t working on her next story, she can be found puttering in her rose garden, curled up with a good book or spending quiet evenings at home with her family.

JANET TRONSTAD

grew up on a farm in central Montana, spending many winter days reading books. None of those books were as eagerly consumed as the ones about Christmas though. Stars. Sleighs. The story of the Christ Child being born. She loved them all. That’s why, almost every year since she started writing the Dry Creek series, there’s a new Christmas book. Janet lives in Pasadena, California, where she is a full-time writer.

Mail-Order Christmas Brides

Jillian Hart

Janet Tronstad

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Her Christmas Family

Jillian Hart

That their hearts may be encouraged, being knit together in love.

—Colossians 2:2

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Epilogue

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Chapter One

Montana Territory, December 1884

Tate Winters tipped the brim of his Stetson to cut the glare of the sun, watching as the westbound train squealed to a noisy stop along the depot’s platform. The great metal beast spewed steam, smoke and uniformed men who ran to set brakes, open doors and toss out luggage. He braced his shoulders, preparing for the worst.

Who knew what sort of woman was going to step off that train? She could be homely, she could be desperate, she could be so bitter and sharp-tongued that no man who’d ever met her would have her. The way he saw it, he had to be ready for just about any type of horror a woman could bring a man.

“Pa, do you see her?” Gertie clutched his hand, her fingers so small and slight within his own. “Do you see my new ma?”

“Hard to say, since I don’t know what she looks like.” He didn’t care how ugly the woman was. He’d promised to marry her and he would. His life might be in shambles and there wasn’t a thing of his heart left, but he hadn’t been able to say no to his daughter’s wish. Gertie, eight years old, wanted a mother. After everything she had lost, everything his mistakes had cost her, he could not deny her the one thing she wanted most. Regardless of how disagreeable, quarrelsome or shrewish Miss Felicity Sawyer was, as long as she would devote herself to his little girl, he would put a ring on her finger.

“Ooh, look at the pretty lady.” Gertie breathed the words in awe and jabbed one finger. “Is that her?”

Tate took in the cheerful woman in a bright yellow dress with a daisy—yes, a daisy—mounted on her bonnet. What kind of woman wore a hat like that in winter? Slender, graceful, lovely. No way would such a beauty need to resort to answering a marriage advertisement in the territorial newspaper. No way would that woman be desperate enough to marry a stranger.

“She’s like a princess.” Gertie looked captivated, blue eyes wide, button face hopeful. “Like some of the stories in my books, Pa.”

“She isn’t for us. Let’s find the woman who is.” He leaned heavily on his cane and took a careful step. The pain wasn’t as bad these days but it was still enough to make him grit down on his molars when he transferred weight onto his left leg. He ignored the glance of disdain a few townswomen threw his way as they bustled by. He’d gotten used to that pain, too.

“But, Pa, the pretty lady is all alone.” Gertie went up on tiptoe straining to see through the milling crowd. “No one’s comin’ to greet her.”

“I told you. Leave it be. She’s not who we’re looking for.” Relief shot through him when he spotted a squat, rotund looking woman with a pointy nose and an unhappy pinch to her rather homely face. “There she is. That’s your Miss Sawyer.”

“I don’t think so.” Curls bounced as she shook her head. “Felicity said in her letters she had blond hair just like me. That lady there has brown hair. She can’t be my new ma.”

He knew what it was like, that sinking feeling of realizing what you got in life was far short of what you wanted. He hated that his daughter might be disappointed, but hadn’t he warned her? Hadn’t he tried to keep her from getting her hopes set too high?

“The brown-haired lady looks mighty sensible to me.” He limped forward, shoulders straight, trying not to look like the cripple that injustice had made him. “That’s what a little girl needs in a mother. Someone practical, someone who knows what life is about. You go on up to meet her now.”

“Pa, I told you. It’s not her. Look.”

Sure enough, some tall, rail-thin fellow strolled up to the stout woman and offered her his arm. With contented smiles, the pair whisked off, leaving him gaping in shock like a fish out of water. Fine, so that wasn’t his bride. Miss Sawyer had to be around here somewhere. “Best check toward the other end of the train.”

“Pa, the pretty lady is just standing by herself. No one has come for her.” Excitement rang like music in his daughter’s voice. She tugged his hand, holding on so hard. He could feel her hopes rising, soaring like prayers toward the sky. He grimaced, wondering what was best to say to keep her from getting hurt.

Up ahead the beautiful lady had her back to them, exchanging words with a baggage handler. A battered-looking trunk stood between them. Her melodious “thank you” lifted into the air as sweetly as church music.

He’d given up on God, but if he still thought the Lord listened, then he would have asked for help for his Gertie. The crowd surrounding them was thinning, save for a few farewell wishers waving to loved ones who had just boarded the train. Doors closed, men called out, the engine idled harder until the entire train shook like a wild animal about to bolt.