His Christmas Bride (The Brides of Paradise Ranch (Spicy Version) Book 9)

by Merry Farmer

  He kept his eyes forward, but asked, “Bruce Hannigan?”

  Holly nodded. “Like I said, he was a business associate of my father’s. He was older than me by ten years or so. I knew him before I met you, although he was married to his first wife then. After things between us fell apart—” She paused to swallow the discomfort squirming in her gut. “—my parents made my life miserable. They refused to let me forget what they might have had, the position they might have gained in society, if I’d gone through with our wedding. They made me feel like…” She squeezed her eyes shut, sick over the memory of being made to feel like a worm in the trash heap by the two people who should have loved her more than anyone else.

  “I would have done anything to win back their approval,” she went on in a near whisper. “Bruce was staying with us while taking care of some business. I was being polite, keeping him entertained, and I saw a look of approval in my father’s face for the first time in months. I was so desperate to see more of that approval that I continued to pay close attention to Bruce. I pretended to dote on him. And when he proposed that we marry and I return to Knoxville with him…” She sighed.

  “So you married a man you didn’t love and moved hundreds of miles away just to gain the approval from your parents that you’d lost.” George’s words were nothing more than a statement of fact. Holly didn’t feel disapproval in them. Well, not much.

  “You don’t know what it was like afterwards,” she said, staring at her hands in her lap.

  “I might,” he muttered.

  She glanced up at him. In all the years of her exile and misery, she hadn’t stopped to think that George might have gone through the wringer because of her actions. She’d heard all about his exploits and redemption through her mother, but she had never really ascribed any of that to herself. She wasn’t sure if doing so now was a good thing.

  “I should have been as reticent about Bruce as I was about us,” she admitted when the silence went on too long. There was no point in crying over spilt milk, but she did sigh. “He was cold and he was cruel. I was not his wife so much as his drudge.”

  George’s lips twitched for several long seconds before he finally managed to ask, “Did he hurt you?”

  She reflexively touched her cheek, old pain still there, like a ghost. And that was only the pain that people were able to see and comment on. Other than that, she didn’t answer. George’s expression hardened, and even though he continued to face resolutely forward, she could see fury in his eyes.

  “A concerned neighbor told me about Hurst Home in Nashville about two years ago,” she went on. “It took another few months until I was able to make my way there. I had to wait for Bruce to leave for a business trip. I claimed to be unwell so that I didn’t have to go with him. He believed me, because I had been unwell a few times during our marriage.” She left out the detail that miscarriages brought on by abuse had been the reason for her illness. “I was able to escape, though.”

  She peeked at him to judge his reaction. His face was red with anger and his body rigid.

  “Hurst Home is a wonderful place,” she assured him. “From the moment I arrived, Mrs. Breashears and the others were kindness itself. They took me in, patched me up, and sheltered me, even when Bruce came looking for me. He never saw me again, though,” she hastily added. “I was able to send him letters explaining where I went and that I never wanted to see him again. Hurst Home has several false addresses where mail is sent and received. Bruce attempted to contact me and bring me back, of course, but he was never able to.” She paused, then added, “He died eight months ago of a heart attack.”

  “Good,” George muttered.

  Holly waited for him to say something else, but he didn’t. She felt too wrung out after her confession to say anything else herself. They rode on to Paradise Ranch in silence, but this silence was different from the restless kind that had the two of them in its grip for the past week. This was a silence of emotions that were too strong to put into words, of grief and regret that ran too deep to be vocalized.

  It was a relief when they finally passed through the iron archway that announced the entrance to Paradise Ranch and veered to the right along the path that led to Virginia’s part of the property. Several sets of wheel tracks and horse hoof prints showed them the way. Holly could hear laughter and the shouting of children before they reached the pond. A few scrubby bushes and trees growing along the path of the original stream sheltered it from view, but when they turned a corner, there it was—a simple, odd-shaped pond filled with happy Haskellians, and a medium-sized log building with smoke curling merrily up from twin chimneys at either end.

  “That’s the log house,” George explained. His voice was rough, so he cleared his throat before going on. “They keep fires going in there so you can warm up now and then, and Virginia makes sure that there are snacks as well. Not to mention extra pairs of skates for people who don’t own their own.”

  “I was wondering about that,” Holly said.

  “Virginia’s got it taken care of,” he answered, trying to smile. “I’ll take care of you,” he added in an entirely different tone, one laden with pain and longing. He dropped a hand to rest over hers in her lap.

  Holly’s heart leapt to her throat and tears stung at her eyes. George had to pull his hand away in order to steer their wagon to a spot that had been cleared for parking, so she wasn’t able to clasp his hand in return. She wasn’t sure what she could have done that would express how deeply she was touched by his simple statement. He had every right to feed her to the wolves if he wanted to after the way she’d treated him all those years ago.

  As soon as the wagon was parked and one of Virginia’s ranch hands saw to the horse, George hopped down and helped Holly from the seat. She hoped it wasn’t her imagination that he held onto her a little longer than was necessary, held her closer than he had to. Their eyes met, and all she wanted to do was throw her arms around him and weep on his shoulder for everything that should have been between them and all the things that should never have been. Instead, he put on a smile, took her hand and led her toward the log house.

  Just as George had suggested, one entire wall of the log house was hung with skates of all sizes. Some had blades of lacquered wood, but the rest were the newer style metal-blade skates.

  “So many skates must have cost a fortune,” Holly exclaimed, admiring the wall.

  “Virginia is determined to get her money’s-worth for buying them all,” George said. He gestured for Holly to sit on one of the long benches in the middle of the room, then stepped over to the wall to pick out skates that would fit over both his and Holly’s boots. “She’s trying to convince people that we need to start a hockey league the way we have our baseball league.”

  “My friends wrote all about the baseball league,” she replied. “A hockey league would be interesting too.”

  “It would,” George laughed, returning to the bench and sitting next to her. He handed her a pair of slim, silver skates. “But wait until you see the full shape of the pond before you dive into the idea.”

  Holly giggled in expectation. She would have giggled over the fact that they were having a friendly conversation after the seriousness of the drive out to the ranch.

  She’d been skating many times before as a child in Baltimore, and the design of skates hadn’t changed much in all those years. The metal blades were affixed to wooden slats, which were in turn buckled onto the bottom of the boots Holly already wore. She knew enough about the contraptions to pull and tug to fasten the straps as tightly as she could around her boots. Her feet were pinched, but it was far better than turning her ankle out on the ice because of a loose blade. George quickly fastened on his own skates, but by the time he asked if she needed help, hers were already in place.

  They stood, Holly giggling again as she found her balance on the thin blades, and George took her arm to walk her out of the log cabin and onto the ice.

  “You’d think remembering how
to skate is like remembering to swim,” he said as they made their way down the snowy path to the edge of the pond, “but believe me, if you haven’t been skating in a while, your muscles will take their time adjusting.”

  “It can’t be that hard to remember,” Holly replied, then promptly skittered her way across the first few feet of ice at the pond’s edge. She let out a yelp, arms flailing, and was only stopped from splatting to the ice as George caught her. Between the shock of nearly taking a spill the moment she hit the pond and the delicious feeling of George’s strong arms catching her and holding her up, Holly was in heaven.

  “Take it slowly,” George laughed, setting her back on her feet.

  “I thought I was,” she replied, smiling from ear to ear.

  “Here.” He turned so that he skated backwards. “Take my hands.”

  Holly clasped his gloved hands hard with her own, and as soon as she was certain she had her balance, the two of them set out across the pond at a slow pace. She saw in an instant why a Haskell hockey league might be a problem if Piedmont Pond was the only place to play. The pond certainly wasn’t a uniform shape. The rinks of Holly’s childhood had been sedate ovals, but Piedmont Pond was as wobbly and lop-sided as if a drunken sailor had drawn the outline. One end was much narrower than the other, and parts nearly looped around to connect with other parts. But the surface was relatively smooth, and from the look of things, the ice was only about a foot thick.

  “Let’s go faster,” Holly said as her legs got used to balancing.

  “Are you sure? You don’t have to rush,” George answered.

  “No, I want to.” She grinned up at him, excitement making her bold.

  George smiled in return. In the afternoon sunlight, cheeks pink with cold, eyes bright with amusement, he was the most handsome man she’d ever seen. The strain that she’d seen in the lines of his face for the last week melted away, reminding her of the young man he once was. He executed a short turn, then looped her arm through his so that they could continue skating side-by-side instead of him having to skate backwards. Holly still had the feeling he was taking it easy. That was probably a good idea, what with all of the schoolboys zipping in and out of the more sedate skaters at lightning speed. Holly caught herself yelping and gasping a few times when they zoomed near, seemingly without regard for the adults.

  “They’re actually the safest people out here on the pond,” George laughed as a red-headed boy who had to belong to Katie and Aiden Murphy nearly nicked Holly as he sped past.

  “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

  George laughed. “They’re proficient. They know exactly where they’re going and can control themselves as they get there. It’s the big, lumbering adults who have no clue what they’re doing, like us, who you need to watch out for.”

  As if on cue, a young couple on the other side of the pond took a sudden spill. The woman screamed and flailed as she went down, and took one of her friends with her. That caused a third woman skating with them to lose her balance as well. The entire group ended up in a tangled, laughing pile.

  Holly started laughing at the skaters, but just as her heart was expanding, she caught sight of Rev. Robbins at the end of the pond near the log house. He stood by the side of the pond instead of skating, and he appeared to have a box of some sort in his hands. She was too far away to hear what he was saying to the trio of slightly older Haskellians who he was talking to, but when one of them reached out and put something in the box, a burst of anger flooded through her.

  “I can’t believe that man,” she muttered, hugging George’s arm tighter.

  Judging by his scowl, George had seen the same thing she had. “Ignore him for now,” he said, then made a smooth turn, facing Holly in the other direction. “There’s nothing we can do to stop him collecting for his charity.”

  “Assuming it is a real charity,” Holly added.

  But the sun was bright, the laughter of children continued to fill the air, and George still held her close to his side. It was hard to throw all of her energy into being angry and worried about Robbins when the potential to be so happy with George was so immediate. They continued to skate back and forth at the wide end of the pond, well away from Robbins, and before long, Holly was giggling and merry again.

  “I think I remember how to do a turn,” she announced as they approached one end of the pond.

  “You think?” George’s voice was filled with mirth again.

  “It can’t be that hard,” she insisted.

  “All right. Go ahead.”

  He let go of her, giving her the tiniest of pushes. Holly screwed up her courage, then moved into a turn. Her right blade caught against a chip in the ice, and with a yip, she started to tumble.

  “I’ve got you.” George reached for her, spinning her into his arms. Holly shrieked and laughed as she spun around with him, clinging tightly to keep her balance.

  George laughed, his arms wrapping all the way around her. He was warm in spite of the bite in the air. In fact, Holly felt even warmer for being so close to him. They were still turning a slow circle as she glanced up into his smiling face. It was such a simple thing, just the two of them standing there on the ice in the sunshine, their breath making misty puffs around them. But the moment was perfect. The happiness she felt was like a long-lost friend coming home and wrapping her in a hug. George was that friend. It felt like the years they’d spent apart were nothing and the misunderstandings of their early days were a memory at last.

  She leaned closer to him, tilting her head up, wondering if he felt the same way. Her lips were already parted with a smile, but all of a sudden she longed to put them to the use that God had intended. Something warm and inviting coalesced in George’s gaze as he studied her. He too leaned closer. The mist of his breath whispered close to her face, then closer still. Shivers of joy raced through her as she understood he was going to kiss her. He was going to kiss her at last. They hadn’t even kissed during their wedding, but now, now they would. She would have—

  All at once, George jolted, and the ground tipped out from under them. They went down as heavily as a bucket of bricks, hitting the ice with a thud, limbs sprawling. Holly had no idea what had caused the spill, but its timing, the way it had taken both of them off-guard seemed infinitely funny to her. She burst into laughter, burying her face against George’s coat. She’d landed on top of him, after all, as if he’d had just enough presence of mind to go down first and cushion her fall.

  “Graceful as a swan,” he laughed.

  That only made Holly laugh harder. It could have been another painfully awkward moment in a marriage that had been made of nothing else so far, but George had turned it into a shared joke. They shook with laughter as George rolled to his knees, then helped her to her feet.

  “At least we didn’t break anything,” he said as they brushed chips of ice and snow off of each other’s coat.

  But Holly wasn’t so sure. She had the most magnificent feeling that the wall between them had been cracked at last.

  Chapter 8

  The sun continued to shine, both across the Wyoming Territory and in Holly’s heart.

  “You look like you’re in a particularly good mood today,” Eden commented as the two of them worked side-by-side preparing tea.

  Eden had decided to host a reunion tea party for all of their friends who had come out to Haskell from Hurst Home as mail-order brides. Miriam and Wendy were busy in the sitting room, setting up refreshments, while Corva and Elspeth corralled all of the adorable babies that had come out of the blessed unions.

  “Have things progressed with Rev. Pickering?” Eden pressed on, a teasing light in her eyes.

  Holly blushed, unable to keep the smile off her face. “Not that far, if you’re implying something naughty. But we had the most wonderful time skating yesterday.”

  “Ah, yes, skating.” Eden laughed and nudged Holly’s arm.

  “It’s progress,” Holly giggled, then lifted the tea tray to
carry it into the other room.

  “You can put that tray right over here.” Wendy gestured for Holly to bring the tea to a small table she and Miriam had moved to the center of a circle made up of the sofa and a few chairs.

  “Ooh, look, little Howey, tea,” Elspeth cooed to Corva’s toddler son, bouncing him on her lap.

  Howey hadn’t learned to speak yet, but the volume and confidence of his babbling as he pointed at the tea was every bit like his grandfather and namesake.

  “I think that one is destined to carry on Howard’s legacy,” Corva said, laughing. She crossed to lift her infant daughter out of the bassinet where she was just waking up from a nap.

  “And this one is going to grow up just like his papa,” Wendy said, fetching Emanuel from where he and Eden’s boy were playing with chunky, wooden horses on the floor. “He’s showing off his newfound ability to sit up on his own and drool on his toys.”

  “Travis has just discovered how to sit up and chew on his toys?” Eden asked with a teasing grin.

  Wendy laughed. “No, I meant his love for horses.” Her grin grew mischievous. “But Travis has been known to drool in his sleep.”

  The ladies all laughed as they found seats. Holly went to work pouring tea for everyone.

  “You don’t have to do that.” Eden tried to shoo her away. “I’m the hostess here. You’re my guest. Relax.”

  “I don’t think I’ve relaxed in years.” Holly arched a brow.

  “Well, you’re relaxing now. Sit.”

  There was no arguing with Eden. Holly had learned that back at Hurst Home. She accepted a teacup from her friend, then took a seat on the chair catty-corner to Wendy and Emanuel.

  “They always tell you that marriage is all romance and heated glances across a crowded room,” Miriam picked up the conversation, happiness radiating from her. “They never tell you about the drooling. Or the morning breath.”