The WESTWARD Christmas BRIDES COLLECTION: 9 Historical Romances Answer the Call of the American West

by Wanda E. Brunstetter, Susan Page Davis, Melanie Dobson, Cathy Liggett, Vickie McDonough, Olivia Newport, Janet Spaeth, Jennifer Rogers Spinola

  Samuel reacted quickly, coughing back a chuckle. That wasn’t quite the way he’d remembered things going. Molly raised her brows, as if imploring him not to say so.

  “We could’ve frozen to death out there. But he saved us. I could never have done what he did. I’m so grateful, Samuel.” She turned to him.

  Molly’s words came totally unexpectedly and had him shifting on his feet uncomfortably. Her ardent explanation seemed to have affected Mr. Cottingham, too, who rubbed his face and murmured an apology to Samuel.

  “I, for one, don’t care where we are,” Miss Vivian piped up. “I’m just glad to be out of that bucket on wheels.”

  “Can we build a fire inside?” Charlotte asked, her teeth still chattering.

  “I’m sure that can be arranged.” Samuel nodded.

  While the group continued chatting among themselves, Samuel fetched his rifle from where it was holstered on Tack’s backside. Using the butt of it, he wrenched away the wooden boards crisscrossed over the front door and windows. The next order of business was for them all to assist in getting Mr. Becker inside. The driver was woozy and weak, but the hours of rest must have helped, because he could at least limp some on his own. He was also coherent enough to ask them all to call him Daniel, feeling there was no need to be formal with people who had saved his life.

  “Why, this house doesn’t look abandoned one bit, Samuel.” Molly eyed him quizzically after they’d situated Daniel onto a bed in one of the rooms. “There’s furniture in every room.”

  “And it’s not even dusty!” Charlotte chimed in. “How wonderful!”

  “Yes, well, I’ll start getting the trunks inside,” he answered.

  It took some time for Samuel to unload the trunks from the stagecoach. Molly and Charlotte helped bring them indoors. Meanwhile, Mr. Cottingham and Miss Vivian stayed in with Melissa and built a fire using dry logs stacked next to the hearth.

  With the piles of trunks stacked all around, the fire blazing, Mr. Cottingham settled into a chair, and the women and little Melissa milling through the closets for supplies, the quiet, empty house suddenly felt overwhelmingly full to Samuel. And odd.

  Lucky for him, the horses needed to be tended to. He closed the front door behind him, glad to escape.

  Molly looked at the table, set with steaming bowls of oats she and Charlotte had managed to locate in the cabinets and prepare over the fire. True, it wasn’t much of an evening meal, but as hungry as everyone was, no one seemed to mind. For herself, she couldn’t remember one time in her life when she’d sat down to eat with so many people. Even so, it didn’t feel all the way right. Something—someone—was missing.

  “Has anyone seen Samuel?” She glanced around the table.

  “He slipped out the door awhile ago,” Mr. Cottingham told her.

  For a moment, she hesitated then excused herself. Grabbing up her coat from where it lay next to the hearth drying out, she bundled up and headed outdoors.

  She had taken several steps through the mounting snow when she noticed a strip of light coming from the partially open barn door. She followed the light and slipped into the outbuilding.

  Standing in the shadows of the lantern-lit barn, she watched Samuel tend to the horses, talking to each of them soothingly while offering buckets of feed. She told herself she didn’t want to interrupt his work and that was the reason for being so quiet. But honestly she was glad for the chance to have a better look at him without his knowing.

  At first glance, he was rough looking. No wonder she’d been so frightened when she’d initially opened the stagecoach door. But after spending so many hours on the road with him, she marveled at how her opinion had changed. Now the days’ old beard didn’t look unkempt; rather, it nicely outlined the strong set of his jawline. His hair was long, hanging unevenly from his hat, but it only added to his masculine appeal. His eyes weren’t actually squinty, portraying an evil soul as she’d first imagined. They narrowed in the most caring way as she’d come to find out—even now, tenderly eyeing the weary creatures in front of him.

  No, he was nothing like the man she first perceived him to be, and she would’ve been happy just to watch him longer. But a calico cat came up, curling around her feet, mewing loudly. Samuel immediately glanced over at the sound.

  She straightened, pretending she’d just come in. “There you are!” she said. “I’ve been looking for you.”

  “Something wrong?”

  She could hear his concern. “No, not at all. We made some oats. I thought you might be hungry. Hungry like the horses.” She smiled.

  He bent over a large barrel, refilling the bucket in his hand. “Thanks for telling me. I’ll be there in a bit.”

  “All right,” she said, but still she stood there, thinking about the house, the barn, that land. “This is all so hard to understand, don’t you think?”

  “What is?”

  “Why someone would leave a place like this? Just board up things and go? The house is so welcoming, perfect for a family. Even the barn looks pretty nearly brand-new.”

  He looked at her and opened his mouth as if he was about to say something. Then he turned his attention to Tack and shrugged. “I assume the people must have had their reasons. You don’t need to go worrying about it.”

  “I’m not worried, just wondering. But I suppose you’re right.” She sighed, thinking about how much she missed her granny. There wouldn’t have been any reason for her to journey to Huxley if her granny had still been alive. And she’d almost lost her own life trying to get there. Maybe she would have if it hadn’t been for Samuel.

  “I meant what I said earlier today, Samuel,” she said quietly.

  “What you said?”

  “About … about being thankful to you. You were—you are—a godsend, Samuel. I don’t know what would’ve happened to us if you hadn’t come along, befriending us like you did. You were right to bring us here. I can’t thank you enough.”

  She’d blurted out far too much and was sure she’d embarrassed him with her emotional outpouring. Why, she was embarrassed by it, too, especially when tears of gratitude brimmed in her eyes without warning. And especially when he kept focused on his horse and wouldn’t look at her, not acknowledging her thank-you one little bit.

  “Your oats are probably getting cold,” he murmured, a kind way of urging her to go. “I’ll come in soon enough,” he promised, and then he turned back to the creatures who had delivered them all to safety.

  Chapter 6

  Eee! Eee!”

  Samuel bolted upright out of a dead sleep, startled awake by the sound of a child’s squeals. Sitting on his makeshift bed—a blanket thrown onto the floor—he squinted into the morning light seeping in the window, struggling to get his bearings.

  Murmurings of voices drifted up the steps, quickly reminding him of where he was and who was there with him. More than likely, the screech had come from little Melissa. Thankfully she sounded happy—and not in harm’s way as he’d first feared.

  Listening to the movement below, he felt slightly guilty he’d still been sleeping. Hurriedly, he grabbed his vest and boots from the floor, throwing them on over the clothes and socks he’d slept in. If everyone was to be on their way again this morning, there were things to get done.

  But his sense of urgency didn’t last long. Coming down the stairs, he was stopped in his tracks by Molly. She stood at the bottom of the steps, a kitchen cloth in her hand, a smile on her lips.

  “I’m sorry if we woke you up with our chattering,” she whispered. “And with Melissa’s chirping, too,” she added with a playful wink.

  Her greeting gave him pause, leaving him almost tongue-tied for a moment. What a rare thing it was, starting his day hailed with a smile that way.

  “I needed to get up.” He rubbed his whiskered chin sheepishly. “Can’t believe I slept so late.”

  “I’m sure you were worn-out, taking care of us the way you did yesterday.”

  Her face looked just as love
ly as he remembered from the day before—the same pretty face that had kept him restless and stirring for half the night. Not that it was her fault. Clearly it was his for not owning up to the truth.

  He should’ve spoken up and told her right then and there in the barn the night before that the house and property belonged to him. But he’d hesitated, not sure if he wanted to share. Then stopped himself completely, already knowing so well that curious Molly would be full of questions and not too shy about asking a one of them. Understandably, she’d want to know the reason he’d closed up his house, turned his back on it, and all before another Christmas arrived.

  But why try to explain? Why talk about how his wife of two years had passed away in his arms at just this time of year three years ago? Why talk about how he’d closed up his heart? Why go through such an explanation when he could see Daniel was getting better and when he knew Molly would be exiting his life as quickly as she’d come into it? What was the point when they’d never see each other again?

  “It was a long day for sure. But I’m fine,” he said to Molly, right as Melissa came up, skipping around them with Josephine.

  “Guess what, Mr. Samuel?” Her young eyes glimmered with excitement. “We’re snowed in.”

  He looked to Molly for affirmation. “That true?”

  “I’m afraid so,” she said, but her eyes were also shining. She didn’t look displeased at all.

  “Isn’t it pretty?” The little girl danced in circles.

  He’d been so wrapped up thinking about last night’s conversation with Molly that he hadn’t even bothered to glance outside. But someone had opened the shutters, and he could see the snowdrifts. They made a pretty sight, but the new layers of snow meant no one would be going anywhere today. Not his guests. Not him.

  Although no one seemed to mind.

  Molly had rejoined the other women in the kitchen area where they were happily chatting and busying themselves. Remnants of flour, cornmeal, and whatever else dusted both ends of the table, making him glad he’d bolted impulsively from his homestead the day before. He hadn’t taken time to discard one lick of his food supply. He’d only boarded up the front door and windows in his rush to be gone.

  Meanwhile, a rested-looking Daniel and a subdued Mr. Cottingham sat near the window, bent over the crude checkerboard Samuel had crafted years earlier. Many a night he’d sat in one of the same chairs, playing against himself, hoping to ease the loneliness that so often descended on him.

  He’d assumed after being on the receiving end of the group’s ire when the weather had delayed their trip to Huxley the day before that his guests would be even grumpier with another setback today. But surprisingly, they all appeared just as content as Melissa. In fact, he felt as if he’d gone to sleep and woken up to an entirely different crew of people.

  Eyeing the domestic scenes surrounding him, he suddenly felt uncomfortable in his own home. He needed something to do. A chore to set him right. He grabbed his coat off the hook.

  “Samuel, wouldn’t you like a little something to eat this morning?” Miss Vivian called out to him.

  “She made some fine vittles out of little to nothing. Quite the cook.” Mr. Cottingham grinned as he complimented Miss Vivian. Samuel could’ve sworn he detected a twinkling of eyes between the pair.

  “Thank you, Miss Vivian. I’ll eat after I fetch more firewood,” he answered, glad that he’d thought to move the wood inside the barn the night before to keep it dry.

  “Oh!” Molly set down her bowl. “I’ll help.” She wiped her hands on a cloth.

  “Can I come, too?” Melissa pleaded with big dark eyes.

  He hadn’t meant for a trip to the barn to turn into a group project. Even so, he waited patiently while the girls gathered their coats and hats, and Molly, the oversized pair of gloves he’d given her.

  It took a mighty push and some digging to open the front door far enough for them to slip out. The snow was up to Melissa’s knees, and she couldn’t stop giggling as she tried to forge her way through it.

  “Look how happy she is!” Molly’s rosy cheeks rounded with her smile.

  “You look happy yourself,” he blurted.

  Molly sighed. “I feel that way.”

  “Here I thought you’d be upset. About not leaving for Huxley.”

  “I thought so, too.” Her brows creased as if she couldn’t believe her reaction either. “But when I woke up this morning and saw the snow, something came over me.” She shrugged. “I can’t explain it. Instead of feeling upset, I felt better than I have in a long while. At peace—and as free as a young girl.” She smiled at Melissa, reveling in the snow. “Why, just look at all of this.” She nodded toward the fields, blanketed in serene whiteness. “I feel so blessed to be here and have this beautiful day, Samuel. I truly do.”

  Samuel didn’t reply. He couldn’t. He’d made his place a prison. Now her joy of it nearly felt contagious. He could barely tear his eyes away from her dazzling smile and clear, shining eyes.

  She looked at him curiously. “Did I say something wrong?”

  “Wrong? No.” He shook his head. “It’s just …” He paused, embarrassed he’d been caught staring. And disconcerted by the thoughts in his head.

  She leaned forward, brows piqued, waiting for his reply. His inane reply. “It’s … your eyes,” he told her.

  “My eyes?” Her hands flew to her cheeks.

  “They’re … so blue,” he replied with uneasy honesty, and couldn’t have been more relieved when Melissa called out to him.

  “Mr. Samuel! Catch!”

  Out of the corner of his eye, he’d seen Melissa forming a snowball. As she threw one his way, he ducked. The snowball skimmed his hat, causing Melissa to laugh delightedly.

  That started an all-out ruckus between the two of them, tossing snowballs back and forth, while Molly moved out of the way and looked on, laughing.

  “I think Miss Molly needs a turn, don’t you?” He winked at Melissa and tossed a snowball straight at Molly. She retaliated with a rather large snowball aimed at him. But as she threw it into the air, one of his oversized gloves went flying off her hand, hitting him smack in the face.

  “That wasn’t very nice,” he teased. “Hitting me with my own glove!”

  “I’m so sorry!” Molly apologized between fits of laughter. “Goodness, I couldn’t do that again in a hundred years.”

  “Well, I hope not!” Samuel rubbed his face, pretending to be hurt, which only made Molly laugh more till she lost her footing, falling back into the deep snow.

  He and Melissa stood looking at one another, waiting for Molly to reappear. But there was no movement.

  “Mr. Samuel?” Melissa’s eyes were wide, the gaiety instantly gone.

  “She’s all right,” he assured the young’un, knowing Molly was capable of getting herself out of most any situation. Still, he clomped over to help just as Molly was clambering to stand up.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “Yes, I’m perfectly fiii …” She wobbled to the left then swayed to the right, all before falling back into the snow again, which brought on more giggles. “I’ve never had so much fun since forever,” she exclaimed, looking up from her bed of snow.

  Despite all the silliness of the situation, she didn’t look foolish to Samuel at all. Unquestionably, she was a pretty sight to behold. Laughter glinted in her blue eyes, and the ends of her reddish hair strayed from her hat, lying against the pure white snow.

  “I’m glad for you.” Samuel leaned in, holding out his hand. “But you’re gonna be feeling wet soon.”

  He was almost surprised when she didn’t balk at his help, when instead she reached back, letting him pull her up and hold on to her until she was steady on her feet.

  “Oh, Samuel! It seems you’re always rescuing me.” She tilted her head, a sweetness all her own filling her smile.

  As his gaze met hers, he didn’t know if she was teasing or serious. All he knew was that rescuing Molly was begin
ning to make him feel as if somehow he was being rescued, too. Even if he didn’t want to be. Even if he hadn’t planned it that way.

  All of Molly’s possessions in the world fit into the one medium-sized trunk sitting in the corner of the bedroom she was sharing with Charlotte and Miss Vivian. Certainly none of her belongings could’ve been described as fine by anyone’s standards.

  But she did have one item special to her heart: a tortoise-shell brush and hand-mirror set that had belonged to her granny. Though it wasn’t worth much, it was the only thing she had left of the only family she’d ever known. She treasured the pieces beyond words and kept them close by her always in her shoulder bag.

  Taking the brush and small mirror from her bag to comb out her hair, damp from her rollick in the snow with Samuel and Melissa, she remembered something else in her satchel she’d been treasuring as well. Letters. From Clement … whom she hadn’t thought about all morning.

  A twinge of guilt tightened her stomach. It grew worse when she realized she’d also forgotten to ask God to bless him as she always did in her prayers the night before. How could that be?

  Ever since her granny had died, she’d felt that possibly God had brought Clement into her life, from that first letter that had been mistakenly handed to her at the general store. Even when she tried to clear up the mistake, when she’d hastily written to Clement and told him no one in town knew of a Millie O’Bryan, his reply had been unexpected. Instead of never hearing from him again, he’d asked if he could correspond with her.

  She sat down on the bed and set the brush and mirror aside. Retrieving Clement’s packet of letters from her handbag, she stared at them. They weren’t anything impressive to see. Less than a half dozen notes tied together with a piece of twine. Yet twenty-four hours earlier, those letters had been her whole world. Just yesterday she’d been prepared to travel through a horrendous ice storm, ready to risk her life for a future with Clement Jones.

  And so … she sat with the letters in her lap and waited. Waited to feel the same hope in her heart she always did when she held them in her hands. She closed her eyes, recalled the words Clement had written to her, and waited for the feeling of security they used to give her. Strangely, she felt nothing. Nothing at all.