Western Winter Wedding Bells

by Cheryl St. John, Jenna Kernan

  “Mr. Foerster, I have a confession to make.” Where to begin, she wondered? As she was gathering her thoughts someone called out.

  “Sheriff!” The male voice came from just behind them.

  Mr. Foerster pulled up on the reins drawing them to a stop. Eliza’s stomach dropped as she looked at him again with rising panic. It would explain the air of danger and aloofness. She thought all Western law enforcement wore a star. She glanced at his oversize coat, realizing he could have a pistol, star and rifle under there and she’d never know.

  A heavy man drew even with them, grasping the side of the sleigh closest to her. He was in his late forties or early fifties, with jowly cheeks and a face made ruddy from the cold. His eyes were dark, and his eyebrows stuck out in every direction like briar bushes.

  “Sheriff,” he said, addressing Mr. Foerster and confirming her worst fear. “We got a telegram from the sheriff in Butte. He says they’re searching for a thief who jumped the train east of town.”

  Eliza sank lower into the buffalo robe and tucked her chin, trying to become invisible.

  “Joey, I got no time for this today.”

  “He said she stole some valuable jewelry from her employer back in Bozeman.”

  “Did she kill anyone?”

  “Well, no.”

  “Then put it on my desk. I’ll deal with it tomorrow.”

  Eliza released her breath at the short stay of execution.

  “Better yet—” Mr. Foerster scratched his chin as he considered the messenger “—you handle it.”

  “Me? But, I never…” His words trailed off as he seemed to notice her for the first time. His gaze flicked from the sheriff and back to her. Then he puffed up like a bird in the cold. “Oh, sure. I’ll handle it.” He tugged up his britches, sporting a confident smile that almost immediately dropped away. “But you’ll help me, right?”

  “Tomorrow,” growled Sheriff Foerster, lifting the reins.

  The older man tipped his hat. “Hello, ma’am. I’m Joey Backer, town deputy. I work with Trent, here.”

  “A pleasure.” She shook his offered hand.

  His grin faded as he seemed to recognize her. Eliza prepared to be hauled from the sleigh and arrested. How ever had she hoped to pull off such a ruse?

  “Why, this ain’t your new housekeeper, is it?” This he directed to the sheriff.

  Housekeeper! Eliza’s shoulders sagged in relief, then immediately stiffened. He’d expected an elderly matron to replace his mother. How terribly disappointed he must be. Now she understood his disbelief and his hesitation. He didn’t think her up to the task. And he was right.

  The deputy continued on, seemingly unaware of her growing panic.

  “Why, she’s younger than you, even. Ain’t cha, ma’am? She can’t stay with you.”

  “You think I don’t know that?” Trent Foerster’s voice was clipped and hard as he leaned toward his deputy. “So instead of flapping your gums, go get her a room at the hotel.”

  “Oh, that’s not necessary,” Eliza protested, trying not to show the joy and optimism filling her. If she could just think for a moment she might be able to come up with a way out of this mess. Who could she contact for help? Her parents were out of the country again, but even if they were not the thought of contacting them about this positively sickened her. Jail might be preferable. Perhaps she could slip away this evening or early in the morning after she had rested a little.

  “Do it, Joey. Tell them to start me a tab, then come to my house after supper so you can walk her to the hotel.”

  Her optimism was crushed under a wave of guilt. He should not have to pay for her room.

  “Mr. Foerster, please.” Please what? Don’t worry about her reputation because it was already ruined? Or should she tell him that she should more rightly be sleeping in his jail as she was the fugitive they were searching for? In the end Eliza clamped her mouth closed.

  Mr. Foerster stared at her, but when she said nothing further, he lifted the reins and clicked his tongue, setting the horse in motion. He drew down the thoroughfare, turning at the next cross street and then halted at the third house on the left.

  “This is home,” he said.

  Home. The word had such a lovely ring. How long had it been since Eliza felt at home? Before her father’s calling certainly. She pushed down thoughts of her parents as she turned to glance at the house.

  Already the downstairs glowed cheerily against the approaching twilight. The two-story clapboard had a wide front porch that dripped with icicles. Trent rounded the back of the sled and lifted a hand to assist her down.

  Eliza swallowed hard, and then stepped onto the road before the home of Trent Foerster, sheriff of Early, Montana.

  “Let’s go. I want to get the rig back before full dark.”

  He offered his elbow to guide her up the icy steps and across the porch, now half-covered by blowing snow. He threw open the door and waited for her to precede him.

  Inside, the wave of warm air, heavy with the aroma of roasting potatoes and meat, wafted all about her. Instantly, her mouth began to water. A crash sounded from above and three boys tore down the steps. Eliza felt panic seize her. Would she be responsible for these little hellions?

  Trent grabbed the first one, and the others collided into their leader. “Where’s your ma?”

  He was married? Why did that information make her stomach pitch? She’d been disappointed enough times in her life to recognize the emotion, but why she was disappointed flummoxed her completely.

  She eyed the boys and inched toward the door. She had no experience as a nanny, either, and these youngsters seemed wild as wolves.

  “Kelly?” shouted Foerster.

  “Trent, that you?”

  A moment later a woman emerged from the back of the house, trailed by a small, frail girl with golden hair and familiar gray eyes. Eliza glanced at Trent to confirm her speculation and found their eyes a perfect match, but not their hair color. He held his hat now and she could see his clipped hair was thick and medium brown.

  “I fed my crew already. Didn’t figure Mrs. Guntherson should have to cook on her first night, even if she is some expert in German food.” The woman brushed her hand over her forehead and then sought out Eliza. Their eyes met and the woman’s jaw dropped.

  “This her?” she said, her voice holding disbelief.

  Trent gave one curt nod.

  Kelly laughed. “Well, well. Things are about to get real interesting.” She stepped forward and shook Eliza’s hand. “Welcome to Early, Mrs. Guntherson. I’m Kelly Milward. Live right next door.” She released Eliza and turned to Trent. “Got to get going now. Bob will be home soon.”

  “Thank you for coming over,” said Trent, and opened the door.

  “Get your coats, boys.” She helped the youngest navigate his sleeves and then ushered them all out.

  Trent followed her, pausing to glance at the little girl, standing hunched, with hands clasped before her. “I’m just going to ask Mrs. Milward a question, Adeline. Be right on the porch.”

  The girl nodded and then glanced at Eliza as the door closed.

  The silence between them was deafening.

  Chapter Three

  Eliza cleared her throat. “You’re Addy?”

  The girl nodded. Eliza felt disconcerted by the child’s serious expression and constant stare. Well, she had good reason to look so dour. She’d lost her granny and now some stranger was trying to move into her place. Where was the girl’s mother?

  “I’m sorry about your grandmother.”

  This caused the girl to glance away. Eliza wondered if she might be about to cry. Why had she mentioned it? She should have said something benign, like complimenting her on her pretty face. She was a lovely girl, with smoke-gray eyes and dark, spiky lashes that matched her father’s. But her hair was not thick and dark like his. Instead, Adeline’s blond tresses curled in natural ringlets that looked as if they had not been combed.

  The ch
ild took a step closer, pinning Eliza with her fixed stare once more.

  “You’re not old,” she said, making her comment sound as if it were a condemnation.

  “I am so.”

  “Not like Nana.”

  “No. That’s true. No one is like her.”

  Addy’s mouth twitched, and Eliza thought she might have seen the shadow of a smile. Then it dropped away.

  “I don’t have to listen to you.”

  “That’s too bad, because I know a lot of fairy tales.”

  The child’s brow lifted in speculation. “Ones with princesses?”

  “Some, but also witches and giants and cats that wear boots.”

  “That’s silly.”

  “Oh, no, Puss was a very serious fellow with a serious mission. He had to help his owner win the hand of his true love. Would you like to hear how he did it?”

  Addy nodded. Eliza extended her hand and held her breath. Addy clasped hold, so Eliza led them to the third step and seated herself. Addy plopped beside her, staring up as Eliza recounted one of the many stories that had sustained her during her own difficult childhood. Fairy tales were not permitted in her home. Eliza’s missionary parents did not approve of such whimsy, but Eliza was nothing if not resourceful. She had learned to read early and traded her hair ribbons for a battered copy of a book of fairy tales.

  Addy listened intently as the world of Puss and his inept, but kindly owner poured from Eliza like water from a pitcher. She had not thought of these stories in years, yet she had stored them, unknowing, all this time.

  When she finished, she waited for Addy to speak. At last she said, “Puss was very smart.”

  “Well, most cats are.”

  “Nana said she’d get me a kitten, but she died.”

  Eliza had her arm around Addy in a moment and pressed her close. She could think of nothing to say, so they sat, side by side. After a few moments, Addy’s rigid frame relaxed and she leaned against Eliza.

  The door opened and Trent stepped in. The heat of the room struck him first and then the sight before him. He stilled. There sat Addy, nestled against Mrs. Guntherson. His new employee encircled his daughter’s narrow shoulders in an easy embrace. Was this the girl who had shouted and cried and promised to hate this housekeeper on sight? He understood her anger because it stemmed from loss. He did not blame her for missing her grandmother and resenting his attempt to replace her.

  Addy’s smile blossomed as she slipped from Mrs. Guntherson and bounded across the entrance. How long had it been since he had seen that lovely smile? Too long, he decided. Trent scooped her up in his arms and cradled her, closing his eyes for a moment against the sweetness of her smell. His eyes flicked open as he exhaled and found Mrs. Guntherson, standing now, with hands folded staring at the two of them. Vindication, relief and gratitude rumbled through his chest and then knotted in this throat.

  “Do you know ‘Puss in Boots,’ Daddy?”

  “Puss in…” He barely held his voice steady. It had been so hard to see Addy grieve, and her smile gave him a moment’s hope.

  “Boots,” she chirped.

  “No, button. I don’t.” He spoke to the girl but he kept his eyes on his new housekeeper, reassessing. Mrs. Guntherson had made his daughter happy and that was a point in her favor. He arched a brow. Perhaps, despite her youth, hiring her had not been a mistake.

  She stood and he got his first good look at her without her shapeless woolen coat and he actually stopped breathing. She was slim and her bosom more than ample. The sight made his skin prickle. His breath came out in a rush that sounded like a cough as he lifted his attention to her pretty face.

  She smiled at him and something flipped in his stomach. Instantly, he thought of the last woman who had made his stomach jump like that, and his admiration died in a sandstorm of determination not to repeat past mistakes.

  He looked back at Addy as he covered the little hand that now pressed to his chest. “How was your day?”

  “Good,” she said as he carried her toward the back of the house. He paused in the doorway to glance back at his new employee.

  “This way, Mrs. Guntherson.”

  His housekeeper trailed behind them. Trent seated his daughter at the large kitchen table. Eliza hovered, then carried the pot of stew from the back burner and set it on a trivet in the center of the table.

  Trent held her chair, settling the matter. Eliza sat as he served them and then unceremoniously thumped a pitcher of water in the center of the table. Eliza placed her napkin, folded her hands and waited. Trent’s eyes narrowed as he accepted the challenge, lifting his spoon in defiance. She cleared her throat.

  “Would you like me to say grace?” she asked.

  The sharp look she received gave her a serious pang of regret. For goodness’ sakes, she was safe for the moment—why was she rocking her very leaky boat?

  Addy piped up. “Nana always said it. But we don’t say it anymore.”

  Eliza felt a stab of regret that had nothing whatsoever to do with her situation and everything to do with Addy’s.

  She faced Mr. Foerster. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to presume.”

  “You started it. Best see it through.”

  After throwing down that challenge, he folded his hands and inclined his head.

  Eliza bowed her head and prayed for a way out of this mess.

  Trent watched her above his folded hands. Something didn’t fit. She looked every inch the lady, but he knew better than most that looks could be deceiving. It was why he had carefully checked all her references. He couldn’t seem to concentrate as he watched her lips move as she spoke the blessing.

  He endeavored to keep his eyes on his plate for the remainder of the meal and succeeded more or less. He had only needed to redirect himself a handful of times. After the meal, Mrs. Guntherson stood and cleared, without the least direction from him. He watched her hips sway as she washed the dishes and became mesmerized by the rhythmic spin of the cloth as she dried the plates. She lifted the stack of bowls and then turned, raising a brow. He pointed and she opened the cabinet he indicated, slipping the crockery into its proper place. He already looked forward to tomorrow night when he’d have a chance to sample her cooking. He hadn’t had a decent meal since… Damn, it always came back to his mother’s passing. Before he met Mrs. Guntherson, Trent thought her best attribute was that she could easily prepare the familiar meals. Now, however, he found her lovely face and form far more appealing than schweinsbraten and potato dumplings.

  This was not good. All these years, he’d felt no urge to pursue a woman. He’d actually thought that he was done with that time in his life, chalking up his brain-numbing need as some passage endured by all young men. After all, he’d be thirty next year. But he recognized the building desire now as a danger sign, a warning that his mind was soon to be ruled by his body again.

  “Coffee?” she asked.

  He never drank coffee in the evenings.

  “Absolutely.” What the devil was wrong with him? He ground his teeth as he realized he’d agreed in order to keep her here a few minutes longer. Damn, he should drive her back to Butte right now.

  “Daddy?”

  He glanced to Addy, finding her staring at him with fork paused over the remains of her slice of blueberry cobbler. Her face held a slight frown.

  “You look funny.”

  He let the smile grow wide as he hunched forward. Addy straightened, already anticipating the game. He lifted his arms like a bear and Addy shrieked, fleeing out of the kitchen. He growled and pursued her with the lumbering gait of a bear. The chase ended as it always did, with him swinging Addy up over his shoulder to carry her to her bedroom. They hadn’t played this game in a very long time and he found he had missed it.

  Funny, but today he did not have to pretend to laugh. His mirth was genuine. He didn’t want to think what might have caused that. Relief, likely. Yes, the knowledge that he had secured someone who could help tend Addy and make the hous
e more like the home it had once been.

  He glanced about and found her drying her hands. The kitchen table was spotless.

  “Can Mrs. Guntherson take me up?” asked Addy.

  The smile was for his daughter, so why was his heart galloping like a wild mustang?

  He cleared his throat. “I’ll show you the way,” he said to the woman.

  Mrs. Guntherson nodded, hung the dish towel and trailed them as he mounted the stairs. He talked his way through their evening routine. She’d need that on the evenings that he was called away. He’d explain his mom’s routine later, when Addy was asleep.

  Once his daughter was scrubbed and changed into her nightie, he tucked her into her bed, smoothing the quilt that had covered her since she’d moved out of her crib.

  He kissed her on the cheek and wished her good-night, lifting the lantern from her bedside table.

  “Mrs. Guntherson, will you kiss me good-night?”

  His jaw dropped before he could prevent it. Mrs. Guntherson did not hesitate, but swept across the room and perched beside Addy, bending low and sweeping her delicate hand across his daughter’s forehead to push back the fine hair and then pressing a kiss to her smooth brow, exactly as her grandmother had done.

  Trent held his breath. Addy smiled up at their new housekeeper. The relief Trent expected didn’t come. Instead, the creeping unease continued to well within him as a new concern raised its head.

  This stranger was an employee, hired to help raise his girl to be a proper lady. To her, Addy was just a job. She didn’t love her. Hell, she didn’t even know her, yet somehow, she’d already woven a dangerous spell over his daughter.

  But what would he do if Addy fell in love with her and then she left them, too?

  Chapter Four

  Trent answered the door to find Joey, on time for once, but instead of handing Mrs. Guntherson over, as he had intended, he decided he had better see her to the hotel himself. After all, Joey wasn’t known for his attention to detail.