Christina, A Bride for Christmas (Brides for All Seasons Book 6)

by Hildie McQueen

  "Gentlemen," Jerrick tipped his hat and granted them a wide smile. "Passin' through, just looking to get some supplies for the road."

  The men relaxed and nodded in return. One of them pointed into the store. "Henry's got what ya need in thar."

  Once they rode away, Patrick looked back to Gunner's Creek. "Not a place where I could see myself living."

  "It's a hard life. Hoping daily to strike it rich while you lose everything to survive day to day," Jerrick replied.

  Several children ran around a patched tent, playing in the water, their ragged, dirty clothes nor bare feet interfering in their glee while their mother looked on while washing clothes nearby. "Not the life I'd want for my family," Patrick said and urged his horse to a trot. //End of Excerpt//

  About the Author

  Hello, dear reader. Writing is my dream come true. There is nothing I love more than bringing my characters and stories to life and sharing them with you.

  I live in a small town in Georgia with my husband and two unruly Chihuahuas.

  I had fun writing this story. If you enjoyed Christina, A Bride for Christmas, please recommend it to your friends and family. Also, I would sincerely appreciate a review.

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  Hildie@HildieMcQueen.com

  Excerpt of Big Sky Blue by Hildie McQueen

  Alder Gulch, Montana 1838

  The lightning, along with the lantern he held, gave Hank Cole just enough light to see every corner of the empty rooms, and all doubt that, perhaps, Marjorie had returned vanished. When thunder boomed once again, his baby boy wailed with gusto, the hearty cries barely competing with the loud rainfall pounding the roof.

  Hank headed to the crib and put the lantern down on the table beside it. No use in hoping for what wouldn't happen. She was gone and, in all probability, never returning. It was best to move on to what was important.

  He took a deep fortifying breath and held the now red-faced child against his chest and patted the tiny back. What was he going to do with this baby? He had no idea how to care or feed him and now it was his responsibility to ensure his son survived.

  Unwilling to allow any weakness to overtake him, he trudged to the kitchen, thankful the rocking of each footstep had a lulling effect on his son and the babe soon quieted.

  At the sight of the empty pot on the stovetop, Hank's stomach growled. Through the kitchen window, the rain waned and the thunder became softer.

  Thankfully warmed and snuggled against his chest, the baby fell asleep while Hank rocked side to side as he paced around the room. Soon the sun would rise and once it happened, he would have to figure things out. For now, he'd lay down with his son and try to get at least an hour of sleep.

  The chirping of birds woke Hank sometime later. It was early morning yet. From the light streaming through the window, the storm was over and the clouds were parting enough to allow the sun to shine.

  Grumbling sounds from his stomach reminded Hank that he'd not eaten much the night before. Instead, he’d spent hours searching the surrounding area for her, leaving his son in the empty house, hoping the baby would be all right.

  With one arm, Hank held his son’s head on his shoulder. The baby, Ashley, took shaky breaths, the tiny, warm body but a slight weight.

  He lit a lantern and searched the shelves for something to cook for breakfast. Besides grains and a few canned items, brought by his sister who suspected Marjorie's lack of interest in anything remotely domestic, there was nothing suitable.

  It would have to be eggs and warm milk for Ashley. He'd have to venture outside, leaving the baby alone once again.

  Thankfully, the worst of the storm soon passed, leaving only the rhythmic pattering of rain. Hank circled the kitchen and rocked his son back and forth until, finally, the infant went limp, breathing even. With slow, careful steps, Hank shuffled to his bedroom and hesitated to ensure the baby was asleep before lowering him onto the bed and packing blankets snugly around the small form. He added a new log to the waning fire in the hearth. The baby was safe, he couldn't crawl yet, and hopefully, he had time to retrieve milk and eggs from the barn and henhouse before Ashley woke.

  The sense of purpose pushed other thoughts away. Hank hurried to the front room and pulled his jacket, gloves, and hat from hooks behind the door.

  His herding dog's head lifted when he stepped onto the porch, the huge, broad body following, its tail wagging with enthusiasm. "Stay." He signaled the dog to remain. Although its tail stopped moving, the animal obeyed and sat down on its haunches. Some protection for Ashley was better than none.

  Once inside the barn, the familiar smells of hay, beast, and rain spurred him into action. Hank retrieved a bucket from a hook on the wall and approached the cantankerous milk cow whose bored expression belied a quick temper. With a resigned sigh, Hank rubbed his hands together ensuring they were warm and milked the cow, grateful the animal was more interested in her breakfast than kicking him.

  Milk bucket in hand, he made his way toward the house but hesitated at the sight of sparkling, snow-covered mountains as a backdrop to his five-room cabin. The crisp winter air told the worst of the onslaught of winter. The harsh, Montana glacial days would soon be over. Winter: the time of year families remained indoors most of the day. It was a time for closeness. He uttered a hoarse curse at the thought. Alone with a six month old, what kind of family did he have?

  In passing, he worried about Marjorie and how she fared in the cold. Was she outdoors? Exposed to the night cold? His worry was stupid really, as the woman did not care about him. Definitely did not have concerns as to whether her infant son was well taken care of.

  Immediately, he mentally travelled back to the events of just two days earlier. The day he lost a bit of his soul and trust in his ability to be a good partner to a woman. His gut lurched.

  The sounds of laughter followed by rumblings of two muffled voices came from the small room in the back of the barn. Hank knew on some level what he'd find, but he trudged to the door anyway, his heart pounded and his breath stilted. They'd not even bothered to close the door. The door was cracked open enough for him to clearly view the small bunk where the two people lay, a tangle of limbs as they made hurried love. His first instinct was to rush in, to pound the drifter with his fists until the rage subsided. Realizing the baby was alone in the house, he'd turned and stalked out of the barn.

  Much later, Marjorie sauntered in, clothing rumpled, hair a tangled mess.

  Biting back the instinct to raise his voice, he managed to speak in a level manner. "What's the matter with you, Marj?"

  Her eyes searched his face. Realization smacked her as she visibly sagged, her shoulders rounding. "Hank, I never promised...I would be faithful...or remain with you. I am not staying here. I need my freedom. You kept insisting I move in and I did, only because I feel you should be with your son. You're a good man, Hank. I wish I could be the kind of woman you want, but I can't." Her eyes implored him to understand and on a deep level, he did.

  Brows drawn, she waited as if expecting some sort of reprieve. Hank only stared at her, words eluding him. If he talked, he'd lose his temper and that would do little to remedy the situation. "Ashley needs his mother. You should remain here at least until he's a year old," he finally uttered.

  Her expression told him nothing. She turned and stalked toward the bedroom where the baby slept. "I'll sleep in Ashley's room from now on."

  She left with the drifter, not waiting but a one day.

  A cold gust shook Hank out of his depressing thoughts. He took a breath and pulled his jacket collar closer with his free hand.


  Marjorie's statement was true. He had insisted on marrying her after she’d told him she carried his child. But the only thing she'd agreed to was to live with him until the baby came. Her callousness toward motherhood should have forewarned of the only possible outcome with her.

  He'd been a fool. Although he didn't love Marjorie, he cared for her and felt responsible for his child. Fatherhood was a responsibility he took seriously. So even after his sister and parents warned him against it, he still insisted Marjorie live with him. For months, Hank begged her to marry him, so his son would be legitimate, but she'd not relented, saying she didn't believe in marriage.

  Yet, he did not consider the whole thing a mistake. Hank shuddered to think how Ashley would have fared if he’d not been there when Marjorie moved on. An innocent, defenseless baby, without someone stable to nurture him, would have been raised by strangers in all probability. Ashley would have had an unstable life if he'd remained with Marjorie.

  No, it was not a mistake at all. It was meant to be. If he never accomplished anything else, Hank would ensure the boy grew up without any doubt that he was loved. Hank would raise the boy to be a good man in spite of his mother’s lack of regard.

  A rooster’s call echoed behind him and Hank turned toward the henhouse remembering the eggs for breakfast.

  Once collected, he returned to his warm kitchen and hurried to heat water for coffee and cook breakfast.

  Streaks of light from the morning sun cast shades of orange and yellow into the kitchen as he finished cleaning after breakfast. It was the start of a new day, a new life, and it scared the hell out of him

  Read it today on Amazon: http://amzn.to/2x2SYD4

  Excerpt of The Reluctant Bride by Maxine Douglas

  Southcentral Wisconsin

  Late April, 1877

  “Have you lost your senses?” Miss Roseanne Duncan looked over the advertisement for a mail order bride, the paper rattling in her hand. “I can’t become a mail order bride. Besides, he’s expecting you.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Abigail Johnson replied, continuing to sort through the tub of fresh vegetables. “This is your best chance to survive and you know it.”

  A sick feeling went through her at Abby’s blunt words, memories of the mistress falling to her death, the master at the top of the stairs assailed her. She shuddered. The memorial was set for today. It was only a matter of time until… No she couldn’t think it. A chance to get away…could she really take it? Rose read over the advertisement flier again. “Abby, this looks more like a wanted poster than a man in search of a wife.”

  “Granted, it shows he is a bit creative, and educated by the way it’s worded.” Abigail peeked over the top of the page, then returned to picking out the best of the potatoes.

  Rose was still stunned by Abby’s plan to become a mail order bride. “Yes, I’ll give him that much at least he’s literate. Why would you feel the need to answer something like this in the first place?” Rose had heard dubious stories of mail order brides and very few of them ended well. “You’re a wonderful cook and passionate woman, any local man would be lucky to have you. You don’t need to answer an advertisement from a Wild West gentleman, if he is one, that you don’t know and move off to who knows where.”

  “Maybe I wanted to grab my last chance for adventure,” she said with a grin.

  Rose felt bad not wanting to hurt her feelings. “Oh, I didn’t mean to…”

  “Don’t you worry about it. I’ll take the next one who suits my fancy. This is exactly what you need after what happened. Rose, what have you got to lose?” Abigail whispered, scrubbing the dirt from the potatoes for supper that night. “You need to leave this house as soon as you can. They’ll be burying the lady in a few days, but people are already talking. It’s no secret she’d become ill, Rose. But sickness didn’t break her neck and everybody’s talking about it. Even Mrs. Griswold’s family has grown suspicious.”

  “I’ve heard the rumors, but we both know the truth. Mrs. Griswold wasn’t ill enough to fall to the bottom of the staircase on her own Abby. I know what I saw.” Rose grabbed her friend’s hand and squeezed it lightly. “He knows I saw him do it.”

  “All the more reason to get out of town before someone questions you.” Abigail ceased her scrubbing, her brow furrowed she looked Rose square in the face. “Have you considered the consequences of that testimony if her family presses forward with an investigation? You know he could make it look like you’re the one who ‘helped’ his wife down the stairs that night. He’ll make them believe you were in love with him, throwing yourself at him at every opportunity to lure him from his poor sickly wife.”

  Rose recoiled from the thought of that snide monster touching her. “No one will believe that story. They can’t, it’s not true.” Even as she said it she knew it wasn’t true. She was a mere servant and an impoverished one at that. He was wealthy. No one would believe her if it came to her word against his. It was why she hadn’t gone to the law even though it pricked her conscience to keep silent. It just plain went against her personal code of justice to let him go unpunished. The horrific scene played across her mind again.

  Rose had been starting her morning duties when she heard them arguing at the top of the stairs. Mrs. Griswold didn’t want to go down for an early breakfast that day; she wanted to go back to her room. Mr. Griswold kept insisting she make an appearance so the staff wouldn’t think she was sickly. Rose had often wondered if the source of the wasting sickness had come from the master’s own hand. All he’d have to do was slip something into her tea. She shuddered knowing it was too late to save her mistress now.

  That morning, they’d continued to argue and then came the scream. The horrible sound of a body tumbling down the stairs, and Mr. Griswold standing at the top of the landing with smug indifference on his face. When he turned and saw her, the look in his eyes when they locked on hers was dark, dead and cold as a winter’s frigid night, promising retribution if she said anything. She’d shivered and dashed back up the servant’s staircase, hiding in her room until the other maids began to move about the house. Then a scream rang out from the scullery maid and Rose knew the mistress had been found.

  So far there hadn’t been any question as to how Mrs. Griswold came to be at the bottom of the staircase. Mr. Griswold told the doctor and police officers that she’d tripped over a rug at the top of the landing. She hadn’t had a lantern with her so she could see in the hallway. And since Mr. Griswold was a wealthy man, his explanation had gone unchallenged. Even so, Mrs. Griswold’s family threatened to hire an investigator for all the good that would do Mrs. Griswold now.

  Rose chased the fresh memory from her mind and looked over the advertisement again. Abby was right, she had no other choice but to run. But this, could she even contemplate being a mail order bride, tying herself to a man she didn’t even know? According to the paper, a man named Logan Granger was looking for a mail order bride to help manage his household and his six-year-old daughter. It indicated he was a widower of means, healthy, and respected at the age of thirty. Mr. Granger wrote that he lived in a stylish house in the frontier town of Dodge City, Kansas. Far from Mr. Griswold’s reach she thought taking heart. There was no mention of wifely duties, just the household and the child. Mr. Logan Granger basically wanted a housekeeper and nanny for the price of marriage and a home.

  But, Kansas? Could she move so far away just to escape the fury of Atticus Griswold, who would certainly become her former employer before long and probable accuser? How could she be sure she wasn’t walking into something far worse than she’d be leaving? What could be worse than the gallows, she thought wryly as her conscience smote her. Marrying someone she didn’t love. So who needed love?

  Looking at the ad it seemed love wasn’t one of the requirements. Besides when she got there if they didn’t suit she could cry off. She was afraid her heart wouldn’t allow her to marry a man she didn’t at least feel affection for. Could she make an exception for
one who made no mention of love? And then there was Dodge City itself. She’d read the papers. Dodge City had a reputation for being a wild town brimming with gamblers, gunfighters, and saloon girls of the night.

  “Abby, even if it were possible there’s no reason for this man to even want me. I’m a housemaid with no experience at taking care of a little girl. Not to mention, he sounds like he’s a pretty important man in his town. What would he want with a housemaid for a bride who doesn’t even know how to cook?” Rose placed the paper on the counter top, her heart heavy with sadness. She had no right to think a man like the one Mr. Granger sounded like would actually want a servant for a wife. Then again, maybe that’s exactly all he wanted. After all, he did indicate he was looking for someone to manage his household and look after his little girl, nothing more. Would that mean she’d have her own bedroom, or would she have to share a room with Mr. Granger, her prospective husband?

  “You can follow a recipe, can’t you?” Abigail shot her a side glance, the corner of her mouth moving into a small smile. “What if he didn’t care what you did for a living?”

  “And how would you know that? This man doesn’t want a runaway witness for a bride. He’ll want someone to match his stature. Someone substantial who comes with the full knowledge of how a household runs.” Rose took the paper between her fingers, giving it one last look over before tossing it into the day’s waste.

  “And you don’t have that knowledge?” Abigail wiped her hands on her apron, then reached into her pocket. “I don’t know, but there’s only one way to find out.” She offered Rose an envelope with Abigail’s name and address scrolled across it. “He wants me and I’m only a cook and much older than he is. So obviously he isn’t fussy. Why wouldn’t he want a pretty young wife instead of a matronly one?”