Читать книгу Mail-Order Holiday Brides: Home for Christmas / Snowflakes for Dry Creek - Janet Tronstad - Страница 11

Chapter Three

“Christina?” The voice behind her rumbled in a cool tenor. “Brown coat, blue hat, green mittens. Carrying a black satchel with a red handle. Just like your letter promised.”

“Tom.” Breathless, she spun to face him. Anticipation pounded through her like merry jingle bells. This was her husband-to-be. The man she would spend the rest of her days with, the man who would be her everything.

The last dregs of twilight made it hard to see him. He stood before her in shadow. His beefy shoulders spoke of strength and capability. The outline of his Stetson hinted at a hardworking man who spent his time in the Montana sun.

“It’s so nice to meet you,” she breathed, charmed when he swept her satchel from the boardwalk for her. “I had meant to wait at the depot for you, but the marshal said it would be cold and dark, as there were no more trains expected.”

“I was a mite disappointed to find no one there.” He had a pleasant voice with a vulnerable sound to it, as if he harbored great feeling deep beneath his rough exterior.

A wedge of lamplight reflected when a shop’s door opened, giving her a brief glimpse of his jawline—hairless. At least she didn’t have to worry about a foot-long beard. Definitely a good sign.

“I was on my way to the hotel when a boy was struck by a startled horse,” she explained.

“I figured the hotel might be where you was headed.” Instead of backtracking, Tom stepped toward her and kept on going. “Sorry to say, you won’t be stayin’ there. I got ya a place at the boardinghouse.”

“Oh, I didn’t know.” She stopped herself from wondering about Elijah. It was the boy who troubled her, who’d burrowed into the marshal’s coat like a baby bunny caught in a snare. He’d looked trapped, defeated. Determined to check on him as soon as she could, she tucked her aching arm against her side and followed Tom down the snowy boardwalk. “You and I didn’t have much time to exchange letters, with your proposal and train ticket arriving the way it did.”

“I didn’t dare risk waiting too long. I knew a lady like you had options. I didn’t want to lose out, not again.” Sadness ticked across his shadowed face and weighed down his voice.

“What do you mean, again?”

“I’ve been lookin’ for a wife for some time. In fact, you’re the third lady I’ve proposed to this year.” He offered his gloved hand to help her off the boardwalk and onto the street.

Her heart didn’t leap at their first touch. Her soul didn’t whisper to her, he’s the one, as she’d hoped. But she also knew it would be improbable that she and Tom would be a match at first. Love took time and nurturing. But she wanted to love him. It was enough that he stayed beside her, protecting her from the brunt of the wind the way a true gentleman would.

“I took too much time thinking things over with those other ladies,” he explained. “By the time I got around to writing, first one and then the other had already been claimed. With you I wrote right away. You were too much to miss out on.”

That touched her. Her heart gave a little sigh. She wanted to be wanted. She wanted to matter to someone. She held tightly to his hand as she swept up onto the boardwalk. Light spilled over them, showing him fully for the first time.

Rustic. His fur coat made him look like a bear. His wide-brimmed hat hid most of his round face. He’d never be called handsome with his rather large nose and prominent chin, but his eyes were a friendly hazel and his muscular shoulders gave him a strong and dependable air. Looks weren’t what mattered. Neither did riches. It was the man within that counted.

“This ain’t the best place in town, but it’s what I can afford.” Tom shrugged in apology. “It’s safe and warm, and I talked to the manager, who promised to make you welcome.”

“Thank you, Tom.” His thoughtfulness did more to reassure her than anything could. Snow brushed her cheek as she stepped past the door he held open for her. She caught a glimpse of denim trousers and boots as she swept into the light and warmth. “You’ve done so much for me. Sending me a train ticket, offering me your home and your love. I hope we can be happy together.”

“You’ll make me very happy indeed.” He looked her up and down. Something glittered in his gaze, something she didn’t understand, but it was gone before she could analyze it.

Perhaps it was simply the reflection of the lamplight in his eyes, she decided. He stood, perfectly valiant, swept off his hat and self-consciously ran his fingers through his dark blond hair. She felt self-conscious, too, worrying he would be disappointed in her, perhaps wishing she was prettier and trying to ignore the niggle of what felt like doubt in the pit of her stomach.

That’s not a sign, she told herself. Anyone would feel trepidation meeting the stranger she’d agreed to marry. She’d prayed hard on this. Hadn’t she felt peace in her soul after discussing this with God? And it wasn’t as if she had a better choice. She’d answered twenty advertisements men had placed looking for wives in the Hearts and Hands magazine. Tom had been the one to answer her with a proposal and a train ticket. To a homeless woman, he’d been an answered prayer.

That’s what he still was. The answer to her prayers. She watched as he spoke respectfully with the middle-aged woman behind the front desk. He unbuttoned his coat, showing a wedge of flannel shirt and red suspenders. Her husband-to-be was apparently a farmer, which would make her a farmer’s wife. She knew nothing about farming, but she vowed to work hard. She would do her best cooking for him and keeping house. She’d learn about chickens and pigs or whatever she needed to because this man was going to be her everything. This man had promised to give her a home, his home, for Christmas.

“Mildred will get you settled.” Tom thrust out the battered satchel. “I’ll come by tomorrow right after lunch. Say, one o’clock?”

“I’ll be ready.” Christina took her satchel and tried to ignore the hollow feeling settling into the pit of her stomach. “I’m looking forward to it. I can’t wait to see your farm.”

“Can’t wait to show it to you.” Tom gave a bashful smile. “Good evening, Christina.”

Her throat closed up watching him go. He donned his hat, straightened his bulky fur coat and pushed through the door with a powerful snap. An icy wind blew snow around him and he disappeared into the night and storm.

“C’mon, dearie.” Mildred shuffled from behind the desk, heading toward the stairs. “I got your room a-warmin’. It’s gonna be a cold one tonight.”

“That’s kind of you.” What was she doing feeling lonely? Perhaps disappointed? Tom likely had chores to do on his farm instead of spending time getting to know her over supper, which she hadn’t realized until now that she’d been hoping he would.

There is plenty of time for that, a lifetime, she told herself as she followed Mildred not up the staircase but down a set of narrow steps into the basement. In a few days she would be fixing supper in their home. There would be endless evenings ahead to ask questions about his childhood or to tell him of hers. It will work out, she thought optimistically. It had to.

“Here ya go.” Mildred opened a door. “Coffee and tea are complimentary, self-serve if you’re interested. Let me know if you’ll be taking supper as Mr. Rutger didn’t pay for your meals, only your room. It’s fifty cents, a real bargain.”

Fifty cents? Christina bowed her head to hide her disappointment. She thought of her lost reticule, ignored her growling stomach and tightened her grip on her satchel. “Not tonight, thank you.”

“All righty.” Mildred gave a motherly smile. “The coal hod is stocked. Come find me if you need anything, dearie.”

“I will.” Christina waited until the older woman left before squeezing through the narrow door. The small room was cozy with a comfortable bed, a darling bureau and two armchairs, a peephole window and coal heater in the corner. Better than she’d had in years. She tucked her satchel next to the bureau, sat on the foot of the bed and rested her aching arm.

I’m not disappointed, she thought stubbornly, willing it to be so.

* * *

“Doc, do you know much about a man named Tom Rutger?” Elijah held out the basin of warm wash water he’d poured and carried from the woodstove.

“Tom? Sure I know him. I know just about everyone in this county.” Sam Frost took the basin, dunked a washcloth into the sudsy water and returned to his little patient’s side. “Why are you asking? Is it official business?”

“No, just curious is all.” He glanced toward the dark window, remembering the brief outline of the man who Christina was going to marry. “I didn’t like the look of him.”

“He and his brother took over the family pig farm when their folks retired, oh, seven or eight years ago. The brother married and moved onto his wife’s place last summer.” Doc Frost swiped at the mud obscuring the injured boy’s face.

No worried mother had knocked at the door looking for her child. No father had frantically searched the streets for a son that had wandered off. Elijah stared beyond his reflection in the window and studied the dark boardwalk. No one would be coming for the boy. He felt it in his guts. Returning his thoughts to the subject of Tom Rutger, he said, “I think I know which farm you mean. Just east of town?”

“That’s the one.”

Elijah leaned his forehead against the cool glass, picturing the run-down barn, the pig shelters made of scrap lumber, the shanty that had never seen a coat of paint. Tom Rutger might be the far side of prosperous, but that hadn’t answered the question. “Is he a good man?”

“I don’t like to talk ill of others. Let that be enough said.” Sam let out a sigh.

“That’s what I was afraid of.” He couldn’t stop wondering about Christina. Where was she now? Maybe dining with her bridegroom? They’d walked down the boardwalk away from both the hotel and other eating establishments in town, save for the boardinghouse.

He wished he could get the black feeling out of his stomach. With a sigh, he searched the stormy street. He did spot someone else he knew on the boardwalk. Sheriff Clint Kramer lifted a hand in acknowledgment and moseyed over.

“There’s the sheriff. Maybe he has some news on the boy.” Elijah headed for the door.

“Good. I’ll get him cleaned up.” Sam rinsed out the cloth. “Maybe while you’re gone, I can get him to talk.”

“That would be an improvement.” Elijah donned his hat, burst onto the boardwalk and his boots took him straight to the sheriff.

“No one is looking for the boy. As far as I can tell, no one knows who he is,” Clint said, jabbing his hands into his coat pockets. “Angel Falls is a small enough town—someone ought to know him.”

“So where does that leave us?” He couldn’t abandon the boy. Hard to forget how the kid had sobbed, face pressed against Elijah’s chest. “Maybe the doc can keep him at the clinic overnight?”

“That’d be best. I’ll leave a note on the office door, in case his parents decide to come looking for him.” Clint tipped his hat, taking a step back. “Talk to you later, Elijah.”

“Later.” Snow bit his cheeks and swirled in a furious dance down the dark, empty street. His thoughts should have stayed on the kid, but his gaze wandered to where lit windows in the boardinghouse glowed faintly through the storm.

Christina’s angelic face filled his mind. Remembering her light chestnut locks and her willowy grace, the light she brought to his battered heart returned.

She’s not yours, he reminded himself. If only that could keep his soul from wishing.

He stomped the snow from his boots and yanked open the clinic door. “Doc? Want me to grab some supper?”

“That’s a fine idea.” The doctor toweled off the boy’s face with a practiced hand. “Since I’ve got a patient for the night, we’d best feed him. I’ll send word to my nurse. She’ll be the one staying with him, once I get settled.”

“Sounds good.” Elijah leaned against the door frame, studying the boy who lay as stiff as a board, staring hollowly at the wall. “Too bad the kid isn’t talking. Yep, it’s a shame. I won’t be able to know what he wants for supper. Should I get him liver and onions? Boiled pig’s feet soup? Or a tripe sandwich, maybe?”

“Order him the soup.” Sam winked. “There’s nothing more appetizing than seeing a swine hoof in your soup bowl.”

“True enough.” Elijah winked back, but the boy didn’t stir. Hard not to notice the ragged clothes, or a string holding the leather toe to the sole of one shoe. A suspicion about the child lodged between Elijah’s ribs, making it hard to breathe as he pushed away from the door. “I’ll be back, Doc, with that soup and maybe a tripe sandwich or two.”

“We’ll be waiting,” Sam assured him, fetching clean long johns out of a nearby drawer, which looked as if they might fit the boy.

The kid was too little to be on his own, Elijah thought to himself as he left the warmth and light for the dark and storm. Icy wind needled through his clothes as he faced into the wind. He met no one as he hurried down the snowy boardwalk, past businesses closed for the night and into the light shining from the boardinghouse.

He walked past a long row of windows, blazing brightly. A potbellied stove glowed red-hot in the room where a dozen tables lined the walls, filled with diners. Mildred spotted him through the window and waved, signaling him to hurry on in.

“There you are.” Her smile put pink into her appled cheeks. “I wondered where you got to. It’s roast beef tonight, your favorite. I talked the cook into making those mashed potatoes you like.”

“Mildred, you are a treasure, but I’m sort of still on duty.” He thought of the homeless boy, rigid with fear. He knew what that was like. Long-ago memories threatened to whisper to the surface but he clamped them down in time. “Could you wrap up—”

That’s as far as he got. Words failed him when Christina Eberlee waltzed from a shadowed stairwell and into sight. Her lustrous brown hair held highlights of nutmeg that gleamed like the finest silk in the candlelight and framed her ivory face to perfection. “You.” Surprise crinkled her soft forehead. “What do I have to do to get rid of you, Marshal?”

“Don’t know, ma’am. Perhaps take a flyswatter to me?”

“I’ll keep it in mind for next time.” Humor crooked her lush mouth upward. Her blue skirts swished around her ankles as she came to a stop in front of the tea service, halfway across the lobby. Without the bulk of the coat he’d always seen her in before, she looked even tinier. Slender, petite, as delicate as china.

He towered over her like Goliath. “I thought you were staying at the hotel.”

“Change of plans.” Her smile didn’t dim. “What’s your excuse?”

“I live on the top floor, for now, but I’ve been looking to buy a house.” He swept off his hat, realizing too late he’d left it on too long. A gentleman would have taken it off sooner.

“Miss Eberlee, you know our illustrious marshal?” Mildred waved the younger woman over. “Why didn’t you say so?”

“I didn’t know he lived here.” Christina waltzed over. “Buying a house sounds like a big step.”

“I’m ready to settle down, plus this town feels like home.” He wanted her to know she’d come to a good place. He hoped she liked Angel Falls as much as he did. “Folks are friendly, going to church is like being with family and this piece of Montana is beautiful. Can’t go wrong by living here.”

“See? That’s another good sign from our Lord. I’ve been doing a lot of praying lately. Some days it’s tough to have faith that hard times will turn into good.” She drew in a little breath, as if grasping on to determination. “It really has to be changing for the better.”

“That’s my wish for you.” He knew that when he knelt to say his prayers tonight, they would be for her.

“How is the boy?” she asked. “With his parents by now?”

“No one’s come for him, and he’s not talking.” Elijah’s jaw tightened at the sad situation.

“Why don’t I show you to a table, just the two of you?” Mildred offered, charging toward the open dining room doors. “You can keep chatting while I fetch your meals.”

“Oh, no.” Christina took a step back. “I only came up for tea.”

“No supper? But you must eat, dearie.” Mildred looked stricken. “The kitchen closes in an hour. We don’t stay open later like the hotel.”

“I have a better idea,” Elijah said. It was easy to see the problem. He guessed that Christina didn’t have any money for supper. “Mildred, wrap up four roast beef suppers and a jug of hot tea. Doc has a patient staying at the clinic, and Christina is going to join us.”

“I am?”

He wanted to do this the right way, so she wouldn’t feel awkward about eating with them. “Neither Doc or I can get the kid talking. Maybe he’ll open up to you where he doesn’t trust us. Think of the meal as payment for your help.”

“Oh.” Her forehead crinkled as she considered his offer. “Fine, although I’m not sure it will be a fair bargain.”

“True. Doc and I are getting the better part of the deal.”

“You are a charmer. I’m going to have to keep my eye on you, Marshal.” She looked up at him through dark lashes and his heart tumbled.

A harmless tumble, he told himself. Being sweet on a lady was no crime as long as he didn’t wish for more.

“That’s me, a real charmer. I haven’t beaued a lady since I was twenty.” His throat worked—even after a dozen years the loss hurt. It had become vague, it had become distant but Darcy had been his first love. As it turned out, his only chance for love and a family. “Trust me, I’m so far out of practice I’m no threat to the lovely ladies of Angel Falls.”

“I wouldn’t say that was true.” She sparkled up at him, her kindness capturing him. As if he wasn’t caught enough.

“Four meals, ready to go.” Mildred barreled in with the packages wrapped in thick paper. “And a crock of hot tea. You bring back the dishes, Marshal. I’ve got my eye on you.”

“I’ll toe the line, ma’am.” He winked at the older lady, grateful for her intrusion. When it came to Christina, he’d be wise to keep his heart closed or she would surely break it.

Remembering what the doc had said about Christina’s intended groom, he prayed that the pig farmer would fall hard for her, too, and be the good husband she deserved.

Love could make a man better, Elijah thought as he waited for Christina to fetch her coat from her room. Lord, let that be true for Tom Rutger.