by Karen Kirst
Sterling shoved Heather behind him and held out a restraining arm. The sheriff caught up to Otto and tackled him into the snow beneath the tree they’d decorated in the front yard.
“Everyone already knows the truth,” the sheriff said, yanking Otto’s arm behind his back. “We know all about how you used that child to blackmail Sterling and his wife. No judge is going to let you use that ploy a second time.”
“This is all a mistake.”
“Then we can let the lawyers figure out the details.”
Heather placed a hand on Sterling’s arm. “Are you all right? He was like a father to you.”
Sterling’s jaw tensed. “He lost my regard when he threatened your safety.”
“I think he loved you boys at one time, in his own way. But he became obsessed with owning the ranch, and that soured his thinking.”
“Maybe.”
“I hope you can remember the man he was when you were younger.”
“You’re an awfully forgiving person.”
“I prayed,” Heather said. “A lot. I had a hard time forgiving him for what he did to Gracie. In the end, I realized his abandonment of her was his loss. He’ll never know what it’s like to be loved by such a sweet child.”
“Come along, Mrs. Blackwell.” Sterling lifted her by the waist and spun her around until she shrieked for him to put her down. “Let’s unpack those boxes.”
“Nothing would give me more joy.” She laughed.
“Hmm,” Sterling said. “I can think of one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“How about a brother or a sister for Gracie?”
“I love you, Sterling. And not just because you always have the best ideas.”
“You also love me for my good looks.”
“That too.”
He rubbed his chin. “And for my enormous brain.”
“It’s the first thing I noticed about you.”
He threaded his fingers through hers and tugged on her hand. “I love you, Heather.”
“I love you too,” she said. “God was looking out for us.”
* * * * *
Dear Reader,
When the United States Post Office began delivering packages in 1913, there were few regulations on what folks could send through the mail. The postmaster general humorously (I assume) discussed the propriety of sending infants through the post. He concluded that babies did not fall into the category of bees and bugs, the only live things allowed in the mail delivery.
Despite the postmaster’s declaration, there are a few instances of children being sent through the post. These were mostly publicity stunts staged by people sending children short distances. There are, however, a few documented cases of children being sent greater distances before the post office ended the practice. The regulations were rewritten to declare that children were not “harmless live animals which do not require food and water during transit.”
I began this story with a simple premise: What if someone mailed a child through the post to an unsuspecting recipient?
I hope you enjoyed Sterling and Heather’s story. I enjoyed writing about a new town in a new state. My husband spent part of his military career in the great state of Montana, and his admiration for the dauntless people who inhabit the beautiful land inspired me.
I love connecting with readers and would enjoy hearing your thoughts on this story. If you’re interested in learning more about this book or others in my previous series, Prairie Courtships, visit my website at sherrishackelford.com, email me at [email protected], visit me on Facebook at Facebook.com/sherrishackelfordauthor or on twitter @smshackelford, or connect through my favorite mode of communication, old-fashioned snail mail, at PO Box 116, Elkhorn, NE 68022.
Thanks for reading!
Sherri Shackelford
We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Love Inspired Historical title.
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ISBN-13: 9781488017926
Mail-Order Christmas Baby
Copyright © 2017 by Sherri Shackelford
All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario M3B 3K9, Canada.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
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A Christmas Match
The best Christmas possible—that’s what Lavinia Crowne intends to provide before taking her orphaned nieces and nephew home to Philadelphia. But carrying out her plan may be harder than she expects, with their handsome, stubborn uncle, Henry Hawthorn, insisting on raising the children in rough-and-tumble Sutter Creek, California. Lavinia can’t bear to lose her late sister’s children, though, or go against her father’s demand to bring them home.
Henry believes his nieces and nephew need affection and security more than a lavish lifestyle. But as the children conspire to bring their aunt and uncle together, a new vision fills his head—of future Christmases spent with sweet, determined Lavinia and their growing family. Can three little matchmakers, and the spirit of the season, bring the gift of a very happy beginning?
“I’d have been happy to help.”
Lavinia set the figurine down and pinned Henry with a steely gaze. “Has it occurred to you I might not want your help? This party is my undertaking, my opportunity to show you that—” She clamped her lips together and turned away.
“To show me what? That you’re determined to win the children’s affection? I know that. I just don’t think you’re going about it the right way.” Ugh!
How tactless could he be? “What I mean is—”
“I know what you mean.” She whirled around, her dark eyes flashing. “You think you can do a better job caring for them than I can, that because I’ve led a sheltered
life I don’t have the necessary skills. You think you’re going to show me that they belong here with you. But you’re mistaken. I’m more capable than you give me credit for.”
“I think you’re more capable than you give yourself credit for.”
“I appreciate your kind words, but if you think plying me with compliments will make me give in, you’re mistaken.”
Award-winning author Keli Gwyn, a native Californian, transports readers to the early days of the Golden State. She and her husband live in the heart of California’s Gold Country. Her favorite places to visit are her fictional worlds, historical museums and other Gold Rush–era towns. Keli loves hearing from readers and invites you to visit her Victorian-style cyberhome at keligwyn.com, where you’ll find her contact information.
Books by Keli Gwyn
Love Inspired Historical
Family of Her Dreams
A Home of Her Own
Make-Believe Beau
Her Motherhood Wish
Their Mistletoe Matchmakers
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Their Mistletoe Matchmakers
KELI GWYN
And whatsoever ye do, do it heartily,
as to the Lord, and not unto men;
Knowing that of the Lord ye shall
receive the reward of the inheritance:
for ye serve the Lord Christ.
—Colossians 3:23–24
To my bright, beautiful daughter, Adriana, who loves Christmas more than anyone else I know.
CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Dear Reader
CHAPTER ONE
November 1860
Sutter Creek, California
The ominous crack of the large oak tree branch overhead sent a chill racing down Lavinia Crowne’s spine. Despite her mad scramble to get out of the way, she lost her footing on the slippery path and fell backward.
The jarring impact as she hit the ground was nothing compared to the thunderous roar as the limb came crashing down. She gasped, certain that her terror-laced breath would be her last.
To her surprise, she found herself trapped beneath a bend in the branch, staring at the stormy sky above. Her arms were pinned to her sides, but she was alive.
Thank You, Lord, for Your protection.
“Help!” Surely someone would hear her.
Bitter cold seeped through Lavinia’s clothing. The swollen gray clouds that had gathered throughout the day had begun unleashing their burden only minutes ago, quickly turning the yard into a muddy mess. Raindrops fell fast and furious, running off her cheeks like a fountain of tears. If only she’d attempted her dash to the shed earlier.
“I’m on my way!”
Lavinia recognized the man’s voice and groaned. Of all the people who could have come to her rescue, why did it have to be him? She had no desire for Henry Hawthorn to see her in her present state. When she faced her recently orphaned nephew and nieces’ uncle, she’d planned to be in her best form. Instead, she was a muddy mess.
The front gate banged against the wrought iron fence surrounding the corner lot, obviously thrown open in haste. A second shout penetrated the downpour, louder and closer than the first, confirming that the man whose boots were thudding across the soggy ground toward her was indeed Henry. “Hold on! I’m almost there.”
She hadn’t heard him speak since their one and only meeting at the wedding of her sister and Henry’s brother ten years before. Unlike his late brother, Jack, who’d embraced his heritage wholeheartedly, Henry had worked to lose his Scottish burr. The hint of the strong R she’d heard that day remained, though, giving his rich voice an undeniable appeal—even if it was the last one Lavinia had wanted to hear in response to her cry for help.
When she’d arrived in town eight days before, her sister’s friend, who lived next door, had been watching the children. Since Norma had three little ones of her own, she was happy to leave the job of caring for Jack and Pauline’s three children to Lavinia.
Henry had returned to Sutter Creek earlier than expected, having left for Marysville a day before Lavinia’s arrival. He’d told Norma not to expect him back until the day before Thanksgiving. That would have given Lavinia ten days to get to know her precious nephew and nieces on her own. But Henry was here now, cutting short her time alone with them by two days. Although the youngsters had been anxiously awaiting their uncle’s return, she wasn’t eager to face him again.
The irksome man had a knack for showing up at the most inopportune times. What he’d witnessed at Jack and Pauline’s wedding reception all those years ago was nothing compared to her present state. She must look a fright. No doubt, her silk gown was ruined. Thankfully, she’d brought several more when she’d come west—along with the boots to match each of them. Some might see that as frivolous, but what lady didn’t fancy fine footwear?
From her vantage point beneath the broken branch, all she could see when she turned her head were a pair of leather boots and the bottom of a stylish overcoat worn by the purposeful man headed her way. The downed limb blocked everything else.
Henry covered the short distance from the white clapboard house at a jog. He leaned over her, confusion creasing his broad brow. Rainwater poured from the brim of his top hat. “Lavinia! What are you doing here? I left the children with Norma.”
The fact that he recognized her was a good sign. Her face must not be covered with as much mud as she’d feared. It also meant that even though so much time had passed since they’d met on that memorable but melancholy day his only brother had married her beloved sister, Henry hadn’t forgotten her. Then again, how could he after the spectacle she’d made of herself at the reception afterward?
Although she’d been just sixteen at the time, she’d known better than to behave like a petulant child. It wasn’t his fault that his brother, Jack, had robbed her of her only sibling and best friend, whisking Pauline off to the Wild West. Not that Henry had shown much sympathy. Lavinia could still hear his mild reproach. They’re happy. Why can’t you be happy for them?
He’d neglected to mention the gulf that had separated Jack and Pauline—a poor blacksmith and the daughter of a man who owned a hotel empire—which had become an obstacle that had led to discord, hurt feelings and, now, a bone-deep sorrow. Henry’s younger brother and her older sister had gone to their heavenly home two months ago following a boiler explosion on the steamboat taking them to San Francisco for their tenth anniversary, leaving behind three adorable children.
Lavinia squelched the desire to toss out a sarcastic reply to Henry’s question. That’s what she’d done when she’d met him at the wedding—not one of her better moments. But she was older and wiser now. “Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t free myself. I thank the good Lord you came along.” She’d stretched the truth a bit since Henry wasn’t her choice of a hero, but she was grateful he’d heard her cries for help and come to her aid.
He stared at her a moment, disbelief clouding his sky-blue eyes, and shook his head, sending water droplets flying. His businesslike manner reappeared. “I’ll get this off you, and then I’ll fetch the doctor.”
“I don’t need to see a
doctor. I’m fine.”
“Perhaps, but you should still be examined.” He stood and gripped the branch with his gloved hands. They were fine leather gloves, not those worn by a smithy, such as he’d been in his days spent working with his brother in their shop back in Philadelphia.
Lavinia appreciated Henry’s concern, but God had been looking out for her. As far as she could tell, she hadn’t suffered any injuries.
The downed tree limb was large and must weigh a lot, but Henry hefted it with ease and dragged it out of the way. She attempted to rise onto her elbows, but the soggy ground made the task difficult.
“Don’t move!” He dropped to his knees beside her, heedless of the mud puddle that had formed, and rested a hand on her shoulder. “I need to check you over first. You can lift your head, which is a good sign, but what about the rest of you?”
“Nothing appears to be broken.” She’d done a quick test earlier, relieved to find that everything seemed to be in working order.
“If you’ll permit me, I’ll perform a cursory examination. Once I’m satisfied that moving you won’t be a problem, I’ll take you in the house.”
She wasn’t a hothouse flower in need of special treatment. “I appreciate the offer and would take you up on it, but—”
“You don’t want the help of a man like me. I understand. You made it clear that my family doesn’t meet your exacting standards, but I’m not the lowly no-account you seem to think I am.”
“I never said that.” All she wanted to do was get out of the rain, not recall memories of an unpleasant encounter she’d spent years trying to forget.
“You didn’t have to. Your behavior that day spoke for you.” Although his tone was level, the underlying hurt that had crept into his voice flooded her with remorse.