He’d frozen, staring down at the table. Here’s my solution! Relief swept through him. “I’ll keep the secret if you’ll keep one of mine. May I join you and make a card, too?”
Christine tilted her head in askance. “Who do you want to make a Valentine card for?”
“Who do you think?” Jack retorted with a snort. “It’s as plain as the nose on your face. Miss Bridget, of course.”
Her eyes widened.
Daniel bounced in his seat. “Oh, I like Miss Bridget.”
Christine gave an imperious wave. “Do sit down, James. I’ll help you with the card.”
“He doesn’t need help,” Tim mumbled. “He’s a grown up.”
“Thank you for your confidence in me, Tim.”
Christine handed James a piece of pink construction paper. He reached for the inkwell. I’ll get the hardest part over with.
“You’d better use the pencil first,” Daniel warned, eying James’s movements. “If you make a mistake, you can erase it. Then you can go over the writing with ink.”
“Good idea, Danny boy.”
“What are you going to write, James?” Christine asked. “I think you should write a poem.”
He shook his head and folded the paper in half to make a card. “I don’t have time to think of a poem, even if I was inclined to make up poetry, which I’m not.”
“You can use someone else’s poem. Do you know any?”
“Of course, I do. My ma was a schoolteacher before she married my pa. But, somehow a poem seems too…flowery.” He couldn’t believe he was having this discussion with the children—that he was having the discussion at all, for that matter.
“I think you should write, ‘I love you, truly,’” Jack teased.
“How about, ‘Marry me, and I’ll love you forever?’” Christine’s brow furled, and leaning close, she gave James an anxious glance. “You will love Miss Bridget forever, won’t you?”
He tapped her on the nose. “Forever, I promise.”
“’Til death do us part,” Christine quoted. “That’s what Reverend Norton said when Pa and Mamá married.” She and her adopted brothers had taken to using the same Spanish pronunciation as Daniel to distinguish Samantha from the mothers they’d loved and lost.
Daniel put both hands on his chest, elbows out. “I think you’re the most beautiful lady in all the world,” he said in a girlish voice, then pretended to faint against the back of his chair.
Grinning at the boy’s performance, James made a stopping motion. “Enough, you little bagpipes. I can think of what to say on my own.”
With some mutters, the children returned to their work.
But, as James stared at the card, he realized those all-important words weren’t coming to him. What is usually written in Valentine’s Day cards? He tried to think of the time his sister had every young man around sending her cards, which she proudly displayed on a table in the parlor. He recalled making a paper airplane of one. Be Mine. That’s what it said. Perfect. Simple. Honest. Not flowery, but Valentiney anyway.
Disregarding Daniel’s suggestion of the pencil, he dipped the pen into the ink well and used his best copperplate, instead of his regular scrawl.
Be Mine
With all my love,
Your Jamie
He blew on the ink to dry it, and then rummaged up a vague memory of fourth grade, when they’d made Valentine cards in school. Miss Higgins had taught them how to construct doilies from cut-outs on a paper. But first, he folded a red paper and cut out a heart. The shape ended up lopsided, and, with the scissors, he shaved off one side. It still wasn’t balanced, but when he glanced at the table, James saw he’d used up the last red sheet. This will have to do.
Taking a white piece of paper, he cut out a circle. Carefully, he folded the shape and snipped small squares, then folded in a different place and cut out triangles. He opened the circle and checked his work. Even though James was careful, the shapes weren’t the same size and didn’t properly line up when he compared one side to the other. Doggedly, he continued, folding and snipping, folding and snipping.
A few times, he cut one shape too close to another, making an extra gap. But he figured when he glued the doily to the card, it wouldn’t show too badly. Or so he hoped. Finally, he made scalloped edges.
James opened the doily, which looked ragged, rather than elegant. He tried holding the paper at arm’s length to see if that made an improvement. It didn’t.
Perhaps when I place the heart in the middle, it will make it look better. He glued the doily onto the pink card, and then pressed the heart on top. Carefully, he dipped the pen into the inkwell and wrote Bridget’s name in the center.
If he squinted, it sort of looked like lace surrounded the heart. But when he opened his eyes, his efforts looked worse than the children’s.
Setting down the pen, he surveyed his handiwork. The card did not match the picture in his mind. Maybe I should tell Bridget to squint before I hand it to her.
The children leaned over for a closer look. For a moment, they stayed silent.
Tim shook his head. “I was wrong. You did need help.”
James sat back with a frustrated sigh, trying to hide his disappointment. He’d have to think of another plan to win Bridget’s regard. Problem is I’m all tapped out of ideas.
“You can make another.” His eyebrows riding high—a sure sign of his distress—Daniel looked around the table, littered with leftover scraps. “I guess you can’t.”
Discouraged, James rose. “Well, it was worth a try.” Leaving the card on the table, he managed a smile for the children, trying to ease their obvious distress. “Thanks for letting me join you.”
Christine grabbed his shirtsleeve and held tight. “But aren’t you going to give your card to Miss Bridget?”
His heart heavy enough to drop into his boots, he thought of the fancy Valentine card she’d be receiving from Gallagher. His homemade effort would only serve to illuminate the differences in what the suitors had to offer. Perhaps it’s best I just give up. Bridget would probably be happier with a handsome husband, a big house, plenty of horses….
The girl looked up into his face, her eyes anxious. “Aren’t you, James?” she repeated.
He touched her nose with one finger. “No, darlin’, I’m not.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
The next afternoon, Bridget sat in the parlor of the big house next to the fireplace, reading. She’d escaped the O’Hanlon cabin again because Harry had stopped by between his chores.
Bridget wanted the couple to have some privacy, but she also had a craving for some time alone. Too many men worked in the barn today, and the parlor, with the scent of dried rose petals from a bowl on the side table and the soft rose and pink colors, soothed her agitation over James’s absence.
She immersed herself in Pride and Prejudice, loaned to her by Samantha, and savored the luxury of reading a book other than the Bible or Shakespeare. Bridget found herself drawn to the heroine Elizabeth Bennet’s conflicted feelings for Mr. Wickham and Mr. Darcy. Although Patrick was much nicer than Mr. Darcy, she recognized both men possessed some of the same arrogance. James, of course, was a far more honorable man than Mr. Wickham. Even if she hadn’t known him for long, she’d sensed his goodness from their very first meeting.
He reminds me of Da. The realization struck her, and she missed her father with a fierce ache that stole her breath. How I wish he were here.
She needed a hug and his wisdom, for she feared James wasn’t as taken with her as she’d thought. Why else would he have left the ranch for a second day in a row without seeking me out? Nor had he made any attempt to find her last night, not even appearing at the big house for supper.
“Miss Bridget.”
She looked up. “Yes?”
Hunter, the Indian boy, stood in the doorway, an uncomfortable look on his face. He had on an oversized blue and white shirt, which seemed to be the only kind the boy wore. In one hand, he held an envelope
. “Mr. Gallagher asked me to give you this. I think it’s a Valentine card.” He crossed the room and handed it to her, then escaped as quickly as he could.
Bridget had to smile at Patrick’s choice of a cupid. He’d probably selected Hunter as the child least likely to linger out of curiosity.
She looked down at the envelope and found her name written across the front in bold script. With a clutch of her stomach, she opened the flap and drew out the Valentine. She held the card for a moment, not opening it. The card was everything she would have wished for if asked—paper lace and hearts, violets, gilt, a chubby cupid—a beautiful creation. Yet, instead of feeling excited about opening it, Bridget realized she dreaded knowing what words were written inside.
Slowly she lifted the cover and read, Be Mine.
Underneath the two words, Patrick had written, I’ve come to admire and love you and would be honored if you would spend the rest of your life at my side.
Bridget gasped. Although she’d wondered, and at times hoped, she really hadn’t expected a proposal from the man, especially one made in such an indirect way. Patrick Gallagher struck her as someone who’d seize what he wanted with both hands.
Why aren’t I thrilled? Her lukewarm reaction surprised her.
Maybe I’m numb with shock.
“Miss Bridget.” Christine’s face peered around the doorway, her blue eyes full of mischief. “I have something for you.”
“Come in, dearie.”
The girl walked over to her. Today, instead of her usual braids, her blonde hair was in loose curls held back by a ribbon. Christine was clad in the pink dress with lace and satin ribbon on the collar and hem, the pretty creation she’d worn to school for the party. She held out a homemade card.
Bridget set Patrick’s card in her lap and took Christine’s offering. “Oh, how lovely of ye to make me a Valentine.”
“I didn’t, Miss Bridget. It’s from James.”
“James!” Just saying his name made Bridget’s heart thump against her chest.
“We all made Valentines yesterday. Ours for school and James’s for you.” She scrunched her face and shook her head. “His doesn’t look so pretty. But he tried. I just think he needs more practice.”
A lump rose in her throat, and Bridget had to swallow before she could speak. “Thank ye, child.”
Christine whirled, so her dress spun out. Then on tiptoe, she danced out of the room.
Bridget glanced down at the card and touched her name with a fingertip. The crude lace of the doily, if it could even be called that, looked like James had put a lot of effort into making the gift for her. How very sweet of him.
This card she opened with excited anticipation. Inside, she saw the same message as on Patrick’s. Be mine. But this time, there wasn’t a bold declaration. Like the man, his message was simple, loving.
Bridget balanced the cards, one on each knee, studying them in the same way she needed to balance her choice. Both good men, attractive men, men who sparked her interest. With Patrick, she’d be secure and never again fear poverty. She could take care of her sister. With such a big house, surely he wouldn’t mind Alana living with them. And his horses… She could see Thunder every day. Coax Patrick into letting her ride the stallion. Probably have her very own mount. Help train Thunder’s foals… Such a life would be a dream come true.
But… Bridget looked down at the card and reread the message. She’d be at Patrick’s side, and, she suspected, not the center of his heart, or his life. His needs, his wants, would come first, and her own might not matter. She had no doubt he’d allow her potatoes to grow in the garden with the other vegetables, but not in a big field. The treasure of the O’Donnells’ would be for his table only. But, she argued with herself, there’d be no need to grow a potato crop to sell, for Alana and I wouldn’t need the money to survive.
In the distance, Bridget heard the sound of the side door, and then the firm clicks of male boot heels and the jingle of spurs on the wooden floor. Quickly, she tucked both Valentine cards into the book and closed it.
James burst into the room. “Bridget, I have good news for you!”
“What?” She dropped the book onto a side table and stood, moving to meet him.
He clasped her hands. “I rode to town to see Dr. Cameron. He visited your aunt just yesterday and told me her fever had broken, and he expects a full, although slow, recovery.”
“Oh, Jamie!” She threw herself into his arms, tears of joy in her eyes.
He hugged her tight. “And there’s more.”
She pulled away enough to gaze into his dear face.
“Dr. Cameron says your sister has a good appetite, has put on weight, and has lost the shadows in her eyes.” He grinned, showing his dimples. “I figured an update on your family would be the best Valentine’s Day gift I could give you.”
“Ye figured right!”
The weight Bridget had been carrying for weeks—no, if truth be told, for months—lifted from her shoulders, and she burst into tears of joy, sagging against him.
His arms tightened around her, and he kissed her head. “Go ahead and cry, dearest. I know how worried you’ve been.”
She took full advantage of his offer, sobbing out the strain and fear of the last year.
He held her until she wept out the pain, then with one arm still around her shoulders, James fished a handkerchief from his pocket and handed her the cloth.
Bridget mopped her eyes and turned her face from him to blow her nose. She became conscious that her eyes and nose must be red, not the appearance she wanted to present on such an important occasion. “Oh, dear. I must be a sight.”
“A beautiful sight, my love.”
“Sally!” Bridget clutched his arm. “Have ye told her?”
“No. I came straight to you.”
“We must go to her this instant. Oh, how happy she’ll be!” She turned to rush out the door.
James grabbed her arm. “Wait! The news can keep for a few more minutes, for I need to ask you an important question.”
“Oh, I know.” She practically caroled the words.
He cocked an eyebrow and pressed his lips tight. “You do, do you?”
Bridget wiggled from his grasp, picked up the book, and pulled out his Valentine, trying to take care so he wouldn’t see Patrick’s. But the edges caught, and the fancy card dropped to the floor. She let it lay and held up James’s. “I will be yers, my dearest Jamie.”
“Where did you get that?”
Puzzled by the question, she cocked her head. “From Christine.”
“That little rascal. She sure put one over on me!” Shaking his head, James laughed. “I’d planned to buy you a card like that.” He pointed toward the floor. “But I didn’t do so soon enough. Mrs. Cobb told me that Patrick had bought the last one. So when I saw how poorly mine turned out, I gave up on the idea.”
“’Tis a lovely card, Jamie. I won’t have you disparage your gift. I shall treasure yer Valentine all my days for ye made it with yer own hands.” She set the card on the table and held out her hand for his.
James drew Bridget toward him, staring into her face, his eyes full of wonder.
His gaze penetrated all the way into her heart, which swelled with happiness.
“So you’ll marry me, my darling?” he asked. “Soon? I know from experience that we, the men of the ranch, can build a house in a week—winter or not. Although we’ll need an extra room for Alana, so the construction might take a few extra days.”
He understands! Misty-eyed with joy, Bridget gazed at him. “Mr. Waite prophesied a Valentine wedding,” she reminded him.
He kissed the tip of her nose. “Well, we came close. But I’m sure you’ll want to wait until your aunt has recovered and your family can attend. I’d like to invite my sister as well. So I think mid-spring would be best.”
Relieved, she cupped his cheek. “That would be lovely.”
His thumb brushed along her jaw to the corner of her mouth, and l
ingered. “I love this dimple.”
She reached up and touched his dimples with both her forefingers. “I think I fell in love with ye the first time I saw these. I just didn’t know it yet.”
“You poleaxed me from the moment you came around the corner of the train station.” James captured her fingers and drew her hands down. Then he kissed her—softly, gently, as if she was a skittish foal, and he was afraid of startling her.
Bridget kissed him back and pressed her body against him, needing to show James that, in spite of her recent bout of tears, she wasn’t fragile and would be his partner in all ways.
I will be yers for always, my darling. And ye will be mine. Then Bridget became lost in their kisses, and all rational thought fled.
Dear Readers,
I hope A Valentine’s Choice brought you a feeling of love and romance regardless of the time of year in which you read the story. I’m sure you’ll be pleased to know that the saga of the O’Donnell sisters isn’t over. (Alana and Catriona will eventually have their own stories.) Sally and Harry O’Hanlon met and fell in love in Irish Luck, a short story in Montana Sky Christmas. Samantha and Wyatt Thompson’s story is Starry Montana Sky.
I hope you enjoy the Montana Sky Series, and I look forward to bringing you many more stories in the years to come.
Debra Holland
Please sign up for my newsletter at http://drdebraholland.com
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
In gratitude to:
My editors:
Louella Nelson
Linda Carroll-Bradd
Adela Brito,
who always make my stories better.
To Delle Jacobs, friend and talented cover artist.
To my formatter:
Author E.M.S.,
whom I always trust to do a great job.
To my beta readers:
My mother, Honey Holland
A Valentine's Choice: A Montana Sky Series Holiday Novella (The Montana Sky Series) Page 8