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

The Best Gifts Are Always Unexpected

Home for Christmas by Jillian Hart

Christina Eberlee is desperate for the safe haven promised to her by the Montana man whose bridal ad she answered. Yet she can’t forget the handsome marshal who helps her on the journey. Maybe venturing from her planned path could lead Christina to the home she was truly meant to find.

Snowflakes for Dry Creek by Janet Tronstad

“Maybe you could marry her.” Gabe Stone’s niece and nephew long for a mother just like the mail-order bride Gabe’s brother sent for and then abandoned. Yet in making the children’s Christmas dreams come true, Gabe and Annabelle may discover the most precious gift of the holidays is love.

Praise for Jillian Hart

“A sweet romance with characters

who only want the best for one another.”

—RT Book Reviews on “Her Christmas Family”

in Mail-Order Christmas Brides

“A sweet, romantic novel,

with memorable characters.”

—RT Book Reviews on Snowflake Bride

“This is a beautiful love story between two people from different stations in life, or so it appears.”

—RT Book Reviews on Patchwork Bride

Praise for Janet Tronstad

“This great story filled with kindness,

understanding and love is sure to please.”

—RT Book Reviews

on “Christmas Stars for Dry Creek”

in Mail-Order Christmas Brides

“Elizabeth is a wonderful, caring character.

Jake is a gentle giant,

and their love story is full of Christmas joy.”

—RT Book Reviews on Calico Christmas at Dry Creek

“Janet Tronstad’s quirky small town

and witty characters will add warmth

and joy to your holiday season.”

—RT Book Reviews on

“Christmas Bells for Dry Creek”

in Mistletoe Courtship

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 her family’s farm in central Montana and now lives in Pasadena, California, where she is always at work on her next book. She has written more than thirty books, many of them set in the fictitious town of Dry Creek, Montana, where the men spend the winters gathered around the potbellied stove in the hardware store and the women make jelly in the fall.

Mail-Order Holiday Brides

Home for Christmas

Jillian Hart

Snowflakes for Dry Creek

Janet Tronstad

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Home for Christmas

Jillian Hart

And let the peace of God rule in your hearts.

—Colossians 3:15

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Epilogue

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Chapter One

Montana Territory

December 21, 1885

“I think we’ve been on this train forever.” Christina Eberlee gripped the handrail, breezed down the steps from the passenger car and landed on the icy depot platform. Snowflakes caught on her eyelashes and needled her face as she twirled around in the December wind, waiting for her new friend to descend from the passenger car. “Or at least it feels that way.”

“It certainly does,” Annabelle Hester agreed, holding her beautiful hat in place as the wind tried to snatch it. “It feels nice to get out in the fresh air. I’m afraid train travel isn’t quite as glamorous as I imagined.”

“Me, either. Exciting, but cramped. Who would have guessed?” Christina trudged through the snow, thinking of the blessing of Annabelle’s companionship. Before they’d met, she’d sat alone on her velvet-covered seat, listening to the clickety-clack of the wheels on steel rails and counting the miles passing by. Dread was a hard thing to battle alone, envisioning all the things that could go wrong with this mail-order bride situation she found herself in.

Her biggest problem would have to be that her imagination would not stop seeing doom. Tom Rutger might be a perfectly fine man—he’d certainly seemed so in the letters they’d exchanged—but her errant mind kept picturing a bald bridegroom with a severe overbite and warts. A man that smelled like cabbage. Or—and this was the worst—one of those men who was nothing but hair, including a gigantic handlebar mustache, bushy beard and hair curling over the backs of his hands like fur.

Then Annabelle Hester had joined her table in the dining car, and Christina was delighted to learn she wasn’t the only mail-order bride on board. Annabelle was one, too! Finally, someone who could share her worries. Annabelle had chuckled over Christina’s greatest fear—abundantly curling hand hair—and they’d become instant friends.

“Montana Territory is such wide-open country,” Annabelle commented as she looked around. She was a dainty, lovely young woman who outshone every other female on the platform. “So different from back East.”

“You will come to like it, I’m sure. I didn’t like Dakota Territory at first, but I came to love the wide-open spaces and the skies that go on forever. Not that you can see either with all this snow,” Christina replied.

“No, as I can hardly see my hand in front of my face. Or you,” Annabelle quipped in a dignified manner.

“Are you starting to get excited?” Christina trudged through the near-blizzard conditions toward the depot, where lemony light offered shelter and the promise of warmth. Her teeth were chattering.

“I’m quite looking forward to meeting Adam Stone, my husband-to-be.” Annabelle tumbled through the open door. “I’m grateful to find such a man.”

“I pray he is a great blessing for your life.” The blast of heat from the potbellied stove in the center of the train station’s waiting room felt delicious as she looked around. A ticket counter and the telegraph window stood at one end and the newsstand at another. A kindly faced matronly woman was pouring cups of coffee and tea for interested passengers. The little sign said two cents.

And that was two cents too much. Christina’s heart sank. Her reticule, dangling from her wrist, didn’t have so much as a penny inside it. She’d spent her last few cents on her breakfast toast and tea. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her it was almost noon.

“Are you in the mood for something hot to drink?” Christina asked. “I’ll wait in line with you, if you are.”

Something—or more accurately someone—crashed into her shoulder. Knocked off balance, she slammed to the floor. Pain roared through her arm. All she saw was a blur racing away—the boy who’d rammed into her, a reticule swinging from his hand.

My reticule, she realized. He has my reticule! She levered herself up, watching in horror as the kid dashed through the doorway and into the storm.

“Help!” Annabelle called. “Stop that boy!”

But he was gone, just an impression of a dark coat and a faded red hat disappearing into the veil of snow, her most treasured possessions gone with him. A lump wedged into her throat. Vaguely she was aware of footsteps charging the length of the room as a man in a black coat and Stetson raced into the snow.

“Are you all right?” Genuine concern marked Annabelle’s lovely face as she grasped Christina by the elbow and helped her up. “Are you hurt? Oh, you’re bleeding.”

“Am I? It’s nothing.” At least she was trying to pretend so. Pain shot up her arm in swift, knife-sharp spikes and she gritted her teeth against it. Her worst injury was the loss of the contents of her reticule—her dead adoptive mother’s broach and the locket with the image of her sisters, whom she hadn’t seen since she was adopted as a small child. Now all she had of her sisters was the fading image in her head.