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

  Except for her growing feelings for—

  Samuel! The realization hit her with a mighty force. She dropped the letters onto the bed and hugged her arms around her chest, feeling happily awed yet woefully confused.

  She’d never known there existed the kind of warmth from a man like what she felt when she was with Samuel. If she had, she would’ve realized so quickly that kind of emotion and caring was missing in Clement’s words to her. When Clement asked questions about her, his inquiries read more like an interview for a housekeeper, wanting to know how well she cooked … and sewed … and gardened. She hadn’t known at the time that the man she was going to make a life with should want to know other things about her. Things such as the way of her heart, the texture of her hair, and the color of her eyes.

  “Your eyes. They’re so blue!”

  Her pulse quickened as Samuel’s words came back to her. So did the feeling of tender yearning she’d felt when he looked at her. She’d made light of the moment but only because she didn’t know what else to do with him gazing at her that way. Her insides had felt like they were melting, and she could feel her cheeks flushing crimson.

  Now that she’d felt all of that, what was she to do? It seemed just as the snow had come and changed the landscape of the land, Samuel had come into her life … and changed the landscape of her heart.

  Oh, dearest Lord, how can I be feeling this way? What would You have me do?

  Chapter 7

  Samuel couldn’t remember the last time he’d sat down to dinner with a group of people in his home. He should’ve appreciated how the ladies had set the table, the plain white plates shimmering like fine china. He should’ve felt soothed by the way the candles bathed the setting with a golden glow.

  But mostly he felt awkward—and guilty.

  Ever since Molly had bowed her head to say grace, it was hard for him not to notice the way the gleaming light brought out sparkling highlights in her hair. It was hard for him not to feel drawn to look at her. Even as she prayed, her voice sounded markedly sweet to his ears.

  “Dear Lord, thank You for this meal we are about to eat,” she prayed. “Thank You for this warm place You provided for us on these snowy days. Thanks most of all for these people to share it with. They are the nicest I’ve ever met, Lord,” she said, so void of inhibition that he felt a slight pang in his heart. “It sure is a lot to be grateful for, Lord,” she added, “as we celebrate the birth of Your Son, our Savior. Amen.”

  A chorus of amens rose up, but even after that everyone sat still for a moment. Like him, Samuel was sure they were all touched by Molly’s sincerity, maybe even surprised to be the focus of her prayer.

  Her deep appreciation for their company, the day, the moment, brought a fresh wave of remorse over him. Reminding him that he hadn’t been thankful in all circumstances in quite a long time.

  It wasn’t easy feeling guilty ten different ways in a span of five minutes. He was glad when Charlotte served little Melissa then passed the cornmeal pie across the end of the table to Daniel, who broke the silence—and his thoughts.

  “Looks like the snow ain’t meltin’ fast,” the stagecoach driver said, slipping a generous wedge of pie onto his plate, making Samuel think Daniel was feeling every bit as much better as he’d been saying. “Don’t look like we’re going anywhere, at least not tomorrow.”

  “I agree, Daniel,” Mr. Cottingham said, taking the pie plate from him. “I do believe we may be staying put for Christmas,” he added, though Samuel noted the older gentleman didn’t seem to be upset by that. Neither did Miss Vivian, who gave Mr. Cottingham a warm smile.

  “Being Christmas Eve is tomorrow,” she said, “you could be right, Benjamin.”

  “I say we make the most of it.” Mr. Cottingham surprised Samuel again.

  “Indeed.” Miss Vivian nodded across the table. “We should.”

  “We can make decorations,” Molly offered. “Unless … Samuel, do you think the people you know will be coming back this way for Christmas?”

  “The people I know?” he asked, confused and somewhat taken back by the conversation flying around him.

  “The ones who live in this house.”

  “Oh, those people …” Taking the warm dish from Mr. Cottingham, he acted as if he was concentrating on which piece of pie to select. In reality, his conscience tormented him all over again.

  Earlier in the day, he’d been quick to justify why he’d fibbed about the house’s owners and not disclosed the truth. He’d told himself it hadn’t made sense to share his life story, knowing they’d all be parting ways soon. But now, even though a part of him was warring to ‘fess up, he found just the opposite rationale as a reason for being closemouthed. He didn’t want to share his past because they’d all be staying together for a while yet. That was a side of the coin he’d experienced, too.

  After Theresa passed away, his neighbors went through thoughtful rituals, bringing food and checking on him the first weeks—even the first months. But after that, they mostly never acted the same way around him again—not even the ones who’d helped him build his house and whom he’d helped, too. They shied away from him. It felt as if a mile-high fence had been raised up around his property, just like the one around his heart.

  He sure wasn’t going to spend the next days with this group of people tiptoeing around him, acting all awkward and uncomfortable. Especially not in his own house. He’d rather keep with his false tale than have that happen.

  “Do as you please,” he told Molly, handing her the cornmeal pie. “I’m sure they won’t be back. At least not anytime soon.”

  At that bit of news, the women could barely settle down to eat. They talked of nothing but the decorating and cooking to start the next day.

  The more they talked, the more Samuel poked at his dinner, which didn’t seem as tasty as it had at first. All the gabbing about Christmas and decorating was distressing. It was everything he’d been running away from. Now there was nowhere to go—and no way to escape it.

  After dinner, Molly shooed Charlotte and Miss Vivian out of the kitchen area. She took over dishwashing duty since they’d already been on their feet for hours preparing the meal. Besides, she noticed Mr. Cottingham appeared bent on spending some one-on-one time with Miss Vivian. And Melissa was tugging on Charlotte to play a guessing game. Meanwhile, Daniel seemed pleased to be in the midst of it all, intermittently nodding off in his chair, obviously still recuperating from his fall.

  “Is the water warm enough?”

  Molly figured Samuel would make himself scarce as well once he’d heated a tub of water over the fire and set it on the kitchen table. Instead, he surprised her when he picked up a cloth and stood next to her, ready to dry.

  “It’s a perfect temperature, but you should go sit,” she insisted.

  “Not much good at sitting and don’t need to feed the horses for a while.”

  “Maybe you want to rest before you tend to them.” She didn’t know why she was turning down his help instead of being glad for the time to spend with him. Except for the fact that she suddenly felt shy around him. And confused. Not about her feelings—but his.

  She thought she’d felt his gaze on her when they’d first sat down to dinner. Just the same as she had earlier in the day outside. But later in the meal, he seemed distant. Had she misinterpreted his attention? Maybe mistaken his gazing for something more than it was?

  “I can manage on my own,” she said, dipping her hands into the water.

  He chuckled at that. “I have no doubt about that.”

  She bit her lip, wanting to ask what he meant but then not wanting to know at all. When he held out his hand for the plate she’d scrubbed, he must’ve seen the puzzled look on her face.

  “It’s not a bad thing, Molly.” He took the dripping dish from her. “Being able to take care of yourself is … well, it’s admirable really.”

  She kept her head down, not wanting him to see the flush of pink his words of approval br
ought to her cheeks. “It’s what it must be.” She shrugged.

  “Yeah?” He swiped at the plate. “How do you mean?”

  She slipped a few more dirty dishes into the tub and sighed. “Well, if you truly care to know,” she paused to look at him, “I haven’t had a choice. I mean, I’m not feeling sorry for myself or anything, but I never knew a daddy. And I took care of my sick mama for years and years till she finally died. Then I drifted some here and there till I found my granny and came to live with her in St. Claire.”

  “Your grandmother lives in St. Claire?”

  “She did. And I had a couple of really good years with her. And then she …” She turned back to the washtub, meaning to continue scrubbing, but an unexpected feeling of sadness overwhelmed her. Her hands stilled in the warm water. Her shoulders collapsed in on themselves. A painful lump rose up at the back of her throat, so large she could scarcely speak. “And then she …” She could barely utter the words, but she didn’t have to. Samuel knew.

  “I’m sorry, Molly,” he said softly.

  She was grateful for his caring hand on her shoulder. His touch steadied her, giving her the wherewithal to get ahold of herself and continue.

  “I guess I never took much time to cry about her passing. I just had to move on. Keep going. But it’s hard.” She sniffed. “Granny was a sweet woman. As sweet as they come. She was the only person I ever loved who truly loved me back. Even my mama …” She shook her head. “She never did love me the way Granny did.”

  She could feel him shifting on his feet next to her. She was probably making him feel uneasy. Again. Just like in the barn the evening before. She worked to clear her throat. “I’m sorry.” She blinked back tears. “I didn’t mean to burden you like that, Samuel.”

  “No need to apologize,” he assured her, but his forehead creased in thought. “That’s why you were heading to Huxley for Christmas?”

  “Yes, for Christmas and—” She didn’t want to begin to tell him about the letters. Or Clement. Or about her hopes of finding a place to call home and a person to love and share it with. What on earth would he think of her then? “I’ve gone on too much about myself. What about you, Samuel?”

  “Me? I—there’s nothing much to tell.” He shrugged off her question.

  But there was always something to be told. Yet maybe one story was enough for the evening. She wouldn’t prod. They settled into a comfortable silence, working together side by side. Everything feeling easy and familiar, as if they’d done the same thing hundreds of times before.

  “I’m so excited to decorate tomorrow. We’ll get this nice house all spruced up, and—” She suddenly realized she was chatting uncontrollably again. “I suppose women are apt to get more excited about such a thing than men.”

  “True.” He smiled affably as he dried the last plate, stacking it on top of the others.

  “So.” He peered into the tub. “That’s all of them? We’re finished?”

  “Seems so.”

  “Guess I’ll just be dumping out this water then,” he said.

  “I’m much obliged for your help, Samuel.”

  “Glad to do it.” He nodded, handing her his damp cloth. And she knew she wasn’t imagining it when his fingers touched hers. Warmed her skin. And lingered there for just a moment. A special kind of moment.

  “I should get started,” he murmured. Then he picked up the tub and was almost to the coat hooks by the front door when he turned and came back to her. “You can help if you want. With the horses.”

  “One good turn deserves another,” she said as lightly as she could manage. Though as she stored the plates back on the shelf and went for her coat, her heart was racing in her chest.

  “Oh, my goodness!”

  He’d kept a pace ahead of Molly, lighting the way to the barn with a lantern even though the fallen snow on the ground and the streaks of white clouds overhead were more than enough to light the winter night. At the sound of her voice, he turned quickly.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Oh yes, I am! It sure is a sight, isn’t it?”

  She stood with her coat wrapped around her, the collar up to her cheeks, staring up at the sky in wonderment, looking like something pretty enough to be painted in a picture. He followed her gaze to the inkling of a moon peeking out from the strips of clouds and the crystal dots of stars to see just what she meant.

  “Why, every time I come outside, there’s one thing prettier than the next around here,” she exclaimed. “I don’t know how I could’ve lived so close in St. Claire and never seen all of this.”

  From the first moment Molly arrived at his house, he’d noticed a sparkle in her eyes. She’d developed a quick love for the land—the same as he’d had when he first laid claim to it. Unfortunately, it’d been a joy Theresa wasn’t always able to share with him because of her illness. He’d worked so hard for months on end, building the house, making it just right for her arrival from the East. So eager for them to start their lives together as husband and wife. But she’d caught an infection soon after she got there. Even though the doctor declared her cured, she never completely healed. She never stopped hurting … until she’d finally slipped away.

  “Maybe you never got outdoors much where you lived before,” he suggested, swiping moisture from his eyes.

  “You’re probably right.” She directed a smile his way. The feel of it warmed him, easing the ache in his chest.

  As they set out for the barn again, he knew he could tell himself that the reason he’d invited Molly to help was because he felt sympathetic about her granny. He could tell himself it was because he thought she could use a friend. But the real truth was, he enjoyed her company. It was as simple as that. Which was complicated and too bad, since they’d be parting ways so soon.

  Chapter 8

  Molly was blushing again. She couldn’t help it. As she stood stirring sugar and flour, the only thing she could think about was Samuel … and the way he’d held her hand on the way back from the barn the night before. Of course, he was truly a gentleman and may have only been concerned about her falling in the snow, but still …

  Her cheeks heated, remembering the caring feel of his grasp.

  “I think you’ve about stirred those ingredients to death, Molly girl.” Miss Vivian chuckled as she rolled out a sheet of dough. “Did you find any nutmeg to add in?”

  “Oh … I nearly forgot.” Shaking her head at her absentmindedness, Molly hugged the bowl to her chest, reaching for the spice tin from an overhead shelf. As she did, a sudden burst of cold air swept through the kitchen area, rippling the hem of her calico dress, causing her cheeks to burn even more. All because Samuel had just come through the front door.

  “I brought in sprigs of evergreen for you ladies,” he said, branches of green rustling in his arms. “Thought you could use some for decorating.”

  Miss Vivian and Charlotte squealed delightedly. Daniel and Mr. Cottingham looked up from their checkers, curious to see what their fussing was about. Meanwhile, Molly hugged the bowl more tightly as if it were a protective shield, willing herself not to blush or flush or anything else at the sight of Samuel. But it was mighty hard.

  Why, his shoulders looked so broad in his rawhide coat. And though his cowboy hat was pulled down tight to keep from blowing off, it still added to his height. His presence saturated the area just the same way the scent of pine permeated the air. Despite her resolve, her stomach twittered unnaturally. She could barely seem to take a deep breath.

  “How considerate of you, Samuel,” Charlotte said as Molly tried to gather her wits.

  “It’s going to be a wonderful Christmas Eve.” Miss Vivian nodded agreeably. “We’ll decorate the mantel.”

  “Maybe even the banister,” Molly added, finally finding her voice. “I mean, if there’s extra.”

  “I can always get you more. It’s no trouble.”

  He looked at her, his eyes appearing anxious to please. Warming her all over again.
<
br />   “Oh, I wouldn’t want you to go to any more trouble.”

  “Walking outside and gathering up more branches is the kind of trouble I don’t mind.”

  He smiled amiably, and she worked to draw her gaze away, back to focusing on the job at hand. But she couldn’t help but notice how even his boots had a distinctive sound to her ears as he crossed the hardwood floor and unloaded the sprigs near the side of the stairs.

  “Melissa.” She addressed the young girl sitting at the table in an effort to distract her wayward thoughts. “How about we go outside in a bit and try to find some pinecones in the snow?”

  “Ah, thank you for reminding me,” Samuel said from across the room. He began to empty his pockets, laying pinecones on top of the boughs on the floor. “I brought some of those in for you, too.”

  “You’ve certainly thought of everything.” Molly smiled. “I can’t believe you found so many.”

  “I found something, too!” Melissa said to Samuel.

  “You did?” Samuel walked over to the kitchen area, and Molly watched as his eyes settled kindly on the young girl.

  “Uh-huh. Josephine and I both did.”

  “What might that be?” he asked.

  But all at once Melissa hugged Josephine and hopped from the chair, suddenly more interested in the men’s checker game than the ladies’ food preparations. Molly could tell by his baffled smile that he was puzzled.

  “Did I say something wrong?”

  “No. Melissa received a mild scolding and is embarrassed is all,” she assured him. “We thought she was upstairs playing, but low and behold she was going through the owner’s trunk up there.”

  “She did what?”

  Samuel had started to reach for a mug for coffee, yet with that bit of news, Molly noticed he stopped. Straightened. All hints of a smile retreated from his eyes and lips.