Janet Tronstad - Mail-Order Holiday Brides - Home for Christmas / Snowflakes for Dry Creek

“I don’t know which hotel he made my reservation at.” Her gait tapped alongside his, as lightly as a waltz. “I’m afraid we didn’t exchange many letters.”

“You were in a hurry to wed?”

“Very much so, as I was sneaking into the local livery stable to sleep during the night and creeping out before the owner arrived each morning.” Her chin hiked another notch. “I could have been arrested for trespassing if I’d been caught. What do you think about that, Marshal?”

Her tone remained light and sweet, but it took a like soul to hear the hollowness beneath. He clomped down the depot steps.

“I do know how that feels.” His honesty surprised him. His past wasn’t something he dredged up. He followed the boardwalk, staying at her side. “My parents lost our farm when I was ten. We lived out of our wagon for two years. Pa would work wherever he could find day wages, usually harvesting or planting. In the heat of the summer or the bitterest days of winter I slept in the back of the wagon. Then one day, the wagon broke down, Pa couldn’t afford the repairs and so we slept where we could.”

“You were homeless, too?” Surprise softened her, opened her up in a way he’d never seen in anyone before. She had a pure heart, he realized. No guise, no facade, just honesty. “So you know what it’s like?”

“To be so hungry your stomach feels ready to gnaw its way out?” He nodded, hating to remember those tough times.

Her curls bobbed as she nodded her head. Yes, she knew exactly what he meant. He was afraid of that. He blew out a breath, hating she’d known that existence. Considering the worn and patched state of her clothes, maybe she was still living it.

“I pray those times are behind you.” He pitched his voice to be heard above the approaching rattle of a teamster’s wagon. “I’m glad you found Tom. Life has to get better from here, right?”

“That’s the idea.” Snow breezed between them, as if to divide them. As if heaven were reminding him she was not his to care about. “Do you know Tom Rutger?”

“No, sorry. Moved here in September.” The sidewalk came to an intersection and he stopped. Christmas was in the air. Somewhere, perhaps a street or two over, bells chimed. Sounded like Reverend Hadly was out collecting coins for the orphanage again.

“So, you’re new to town, too.” The storm swirled around them with sudden vengeance, veiling the horses pulling vehicles down the street. The shops on the other side were merely glimpses of shape and color before the snowstorm swallowed them. “Where did you move here from?”

“Helena. I was headquartered there. When the office opened here, I jumped at the chance.”

“You always wanted to live in Angel Falls?”

“No, I was looking for a change. My pa passed away a few years back. Thought it might be a good time to start somewhere new.”

“I’m glad you did, or we never would have met.” Her smile could make him forget to breathe. Unaware, she brushed snowflakes out of her eyes. She peered up at him, her face rosy from the cold, asking a deeper question. “Did your pa find a job in Helena? Is that when you were able to find a home?”

Strange how two very different people—she, a little dainty thing and he a tough, lone-wolf of a lawman understood one another. She truly understood what a home meant. “My father finally landed a steady job working on a big farm overseeing the wheat fields just out of town. He only worked nine months out of the year and things were lean, but it was just the two of us. It was the turning point for us.”

“Just the two of you? What happened to your mother?”

“She passed away when I was eleven.” Those were times he didn’t talk about. He didn’t explain there had been no money for a doctor, and the wagon had proved too cold a shelter in winter.

But Christina seemed to know that without him having to say so. Understanding shone in her eyes. “I’m so grateful you had your pa.”

“We got through it together.” He swallowed hard, grateful not to have to explain further. Strange how she could understand him like that. “The hotel is across the street. We’ll get you checked in and I’ll leave a note for Rutger at the train depot, so he knows where to find you, even though it’s the only hotel in town.”

“Thank you, Elijah.” His name rolled off her tongue like a hymn, sweet and reverent, and the sound filled him up. He admired whoever Tom Rutger was for his choice in a bride. A smart man—one not pining after another’s intended—ought to get moving and stop wishing. He took her elbow to help her across the street but a horse’s shrill whinny of alarm stopped him.

He couldn’t see much through the curtain of snow. Harnesses jangled. A lady screamed.

“Whoa!” a man called out as shadowy wagons skidded to a stop. Horses reared in alarm and a load of lumber crashed to the ground.

Elijah was running before he’d even realized he’d stepped off the boardwalk. His gaze riveted to a small form lying motionless in the middle of the chaos.

“He came out of nowhere, Marshal.” The teamster jumped down from his wagon. Panic-stricken, the man dropped to his knees beside the still body. “He’s just a little tyke. He ran in front of my horses. Couldn’t stop ’em in time.”

“Are you okay, boy?” Elijah brushed the muddy snow from the mired street off the boy’s face. Lashes blinked up at him as the child tried to stir, but he slipped back into unconsciousness. Just a little guy, maybe eight years old. Somebody’s son, somebody’s loved one. He laid a hand on the boy’s chest, relieved at the steady heartbeat.

“He’s still breathing.” Christina knelt beside him with a swish of her skirts. Distress wreathed her lovely face. She ran tender fingers across the child’s forehead. “He has quite a bruise already, and a lump.”

“My horse done it.” The teamster’s face twisted, torn up. “Must have hit him with a hoof when he reared up in surprise. Will he be all right?”

“Head injuries can be dangerous,” Christina said, taking the end of her scarf and gently swiping the boy’s face with her good hand. The child moaned, stirring again. “That’s a good sign. How are you feeling, sweetheart?”

The boy’s eyelids fluttered, but he didn’t open them. Small, scrawny, scared, he was a ragamuffin who could use a good meal. Poor kid.

“Anyone know who he is?” Elijah asked.

“I don’t, sorry, Marshal.” The teamster shook his head.

“Never seen ’im before.” Les from the lumberyard ambled over. “I saw the whole thing. The boy ran out of the mercantile like a rabbit being chased by a coyote. Didn’t even stop to look for traffic.”

“He darted into the road,” agreed elderly Mrs. Thompson from inside her covered carriage. “I don’t recognize him, and I know everybody in this town.”

“Thanks, ma’am.” He scooped up the boy carefully, cradling him in his arms. “Anyone else hurt?”

“Nope.” The teamster’s concern remained carved on his rugged face. “I’ll check in with your office later. See how the boy’s doing.”

“I’d appreciate that.” The weight of the boy in his arms reminded him of his new mission. The doc’s office wasn’t far. He turned to the woman at his side. “I guess this is where our paths part again.”

“You’re wrong about that.” Her chin hiked up as she gripped her satchel’s handle with her good hand and accompanied him around the maze of stopped vehicles. “I want to help you with that little boy.”

“But what about your intended?” He stepped onto the boardwalk. “You might miss him.”

“Tom and I will find each other. I believe that is God’s will for us.” It felt easy to think so in this small, cozy town graced with white. She loved the way snow made everything fresh and new. This is what she hoped to make of her life, to recover it and start again. Thanks to Tom, she had the chance to belong and find a real home, to have a husband and one day a family. Helping the wounded boy felt like her first act in this new life. Do the right thing, her adoptive mother used to say, and it will always work out right in the end. “Right now, this boy needs us.”