Christmas Mail-Order Brides: Four-in-One Collection, page 13
She shrugged but didn’t say anything.
He gently turned her around. “Tell me what’s the matter.”
She studied his worn boots, thinking that she needed to polish them soon. Did one even polish Western boots?
His finger lifted her chin. “Didn’t you like hugging and kissing me?”
Oh, she liked it all right. It was the most wonderful thing she’d ever experienced. She lifted her shoulders again and lowered them, embarrassed to voice her inadequacies.
“Jolie, please. Tell me what’s got you upset.”
She blew out a sigh. He’d probably nag her until she told him. “I did like it, but I don’t think you did.”
“You’re wrong about that.”
His blue eyes blazed with sincerity, but she was confused. “Then why did you wash off my kisses?”
His eyes sparked with surprise, and then mirth danced around his lips. Suddenly he threw back his head, and laughter filled the room.
It took him so long to compose himself that Jolie’s embarrassment turned to anger. She shoved her hands to her hips and then decided to leave him to his humor. She marched past him, tears of mortification burning her eyes, but he grabbed her arm and pulled her against his chest. She pounded on the solid, muscled surface, but he didn’t let go. “Stop laughing at me. I can’t help it because I don’t know how to do those things right.”
His chest still vibrated with his chuckles, and tears ran down his cheeks. “I’m trying, honey.”
She pursed her lips and stared up at him, swiping at her tears. “Just what’s so funny?”
Clay shook his head. “Darlin’, I washed my face in that frigid water because our time together nearly made my blood boil.”
“Oh.” She frowned at him. “Is that a good thing or bad?”
He smiled wide. “Good. Very good.”
His gaze roved her face, making her squirm. Nobody had looked at her like that. Clay made her feel as if she were someone special. She relaxed in his arms.
His head lowered, and his soft, warm lips met hers. He hugged her close, sending her senses into a tizzy. Her heartbeat sped up, and a butterfly war loosed in her stomach. This was where she belonged—in her husband’s arms.
Too soon he pulled back, his forehead resting on hers. “Did that feel like an unsatisfied man?”
She shook her head and allowed the smallest of smiles. She could get used to this hugging and kissing stuff.
“I just thought of something. It seems like we stored some boxes out in the barn. I can go check and see, but first I need to talk to Pa.”
Jolie nodded. “I have a little time before I need to prepare lunch, so maybe I’ll head on down there and take a treat to Spice.”
Clay shook his head, but a smile graced his handsome face. “You’re gonna spoil that mare.”
Feeling bolder now that she knew he enjoyed his time with her, she decided to tease him a bit. “I’m going to spoil you, too.”
The smile he gave her set her heart pounding again. “I certainly hope so.”
Jolie nearly skipped her way to the barn. Life here was so much different from the orphanage. If only Clay and his father could reconcile, everything would be perfect.
In the barn, she gave Spice a lick of sugar and patted the mare’s neck. Her gaze roved the barn, searching for crates that might hold the Christmas decorations. “Why would anyone put glass ornaments in the barn, huh, girl? You think maybe Pops was trying to forget about his old life?”
She glanced at the closed barn doors. “Can I tell you a secret?” A warm shiver heated her cheeks. “I think I’m falling in love with Clay.”
The barn door rattled, and she jumped back into the shadows of the barn, halfway feeling guilty for voicing her affection out loud. She ducked behind a barrel and waited. What if that were Clay, and what if he’d heard her?
Drake and Farley led two horses into the barn, and Jolie slunk down further and pulled her skirt out of sight. Both men, but especially the foreman, made her uncomfortable. Clay said he’d be down soon, so maybe she could hide until then.
One of the men slammed a stall gate hard and cursed. She leaned sideways to where she could see between the side of the barrel and Spice’s stall.
“Why’d Clay have to come home now? Just when I was ready to put my plan in action.”
Farley shrugged, uncinched his saddle, and set it on a saddle block. “Rotten timing, all right.”
Drake did the same and slapped his horse on the rump. The poor animal jumped and trotted into its stall. Jolie felt sorry for the creature.
Drake rubbed the back of his neck. “Until Clay rode up in that wagon with that gal of his, I thought for certain he’d been killed in that stage attack. I’m gonna have to find that lowdown polecat I hired and take care of him. The man took my money but didn’t deliver the goods.”
Jolie gasped and slapped her hand over her mouth. Will’s foreman had hired someone to kill Clay? How did he even know Clay was returning?
She remembered Clay mentioning a letter to his father. Drake must have seen it, or else Will mentioned it to him.
“Well, well, look here, Farley. There’s a little mouse hiding behind the oat barrel.” Drake grabbed her arm and hauled her up.
“Ow! Stop it! You’re hurting me.” Her heart beat as fast as it had during the stage robbery.
Farley rubbed his whiskery chin, looking sorry to see her.
Drake snarled. “Guess you decided to come down where the real men are, huh? That Clay Jackson not satisfy you enough, sweetheart?” He leaned toward her, licking his lips.
Jolie fell back against the barn wall. “Leave me alone. Will and Clay won’t like you bothering me.”
“Ohhhh, I’m so scared. I can take that old man and that one-armed brother-killer any day. Let me show you what a real man is like.” He shoved her up against the wall and kissed her neck.
Jolie’s breath caught in her throat, and she turned her face away. While she welcomed her husband’s affections, this man frightened her. Drake took her chin, forcing her to face him. His stale breath stank. She shivered, drawing a grin from him.
“Relax, sweetheart.”
She looked past Drake, pleading with her eyes for Farley’s help. The older man backed up, as if not sure what to do.
Then the barn door opened, allowing in a blast of bright sunlight. A tall silhouette filled the door.
“Clay! Help—” Drake’s hand slammed over her mouth, filling it with the taste of salt and dirt. Her heart hammered like the orphans banging their cups for breakfast.
Clay strode toward her. “What’s going on in here?”
Chapter 9
Clay hurried toward the back of the barn, his fist clenched. “Somebody going to answer me?”
Farley slithered back like a frightened weasel. Drake cursed then released Jolie, and she slid down the wall.
Clay’s anger boiled.
Drake lifted his chin and glared at him. “I told her what she needed was a real man.” He lifted one corner of his mouth in a cocky smile.
“Why you!” Clay grabbed a hay fork and swung the handle at Drake. He had to get the man away from Jolie.
The foreman lunged back and snatched up a shovel, waving it back and forth in front of him. “Why’d you come back? Wasn’t it enough that you killed your brother? Now you’ve gotta ruin my plans?”
Clay grimaced at the accusation then frowned. “What plans?”
“He hoped with you and your daddy out of the way, he might inherit the ranch,” Farley said.
“Shut up, you fool,” Drake ground out.
Clay glared at the infuriating man. “Like I said before, Pa and me are family. He would have left the ranch to me, even if I hadn’t showed up.”
Drake snarled like a rabid wolf. “You don’t know that. I’ve served that cranky ol’ man for years and deserve more than beans and cornbread and that paltry pay he gives us. He’s no better than you.”
Clay growled and lunged for the foreman.
Drake swung and knocked both the fork and shovel from their hands.
Jolie pushed away from the wall, and Clay hoped she’d stay back. Help me, Lord. I’ve only got one fighting hand.
Jolie screamed, drawing Drake’s gaze. Clay took advantage and planted his fist in the man’s cheek. Drake went down, but Farley jumped onto Clay’s back and pummeled him in his wounded shoulder. Clay cried out and slammed backward into a barn support. Spice and the other horses squealed, prancing in their stalls. Farley went limp, and when Clay stepped forward, the ranch hand fell to the ground.
Drake lurched up and growled, running toward Clay. His head landed in Clay’s midsection, knocking him down and stealing his breath. Drake drew his gun.
Jolie raised her hands to her mouth. “No!”
“You shoulda stayed away, Clay. You and your brother thought you were such hot stuff with your Pa owning this ranch. My own pappy threw me out, but no more. I aim to have this ranch for myself.” He pointed the gun at Clay and cocked it. A look of pride wiped away Drake’s glare. “Since you’re about to die, you might as well know I’m the one who rigged the saddle on that horse your brother rode. All I had to do was slit some strands on the cinch, so that they broke loose when the horse bucked. An ingenious plan, if you ask me.”
Clay glared at the man then cast a sad look at Jolie that said he was sorry. “What are you waiting for?”
Drake shrugged and grinned. “Just enjoying the moment, I guess. But I’ll enjoy my time with your wife a whole lot more.”
Fear clutched Clay’s heart. He let out a yell and kicked Drake’s feet out from under him at the same time a gunshot rattled the barn.
His pa strode in the front door and headed for him. He bent and helped Clay stand. “You all right, son?”
Clay nodded. “Thanks. You saved my life.”
“No thanks needed. I should have gotten rid of that skunk years ago.” His pa nudged Drake with his foot, and the foreman moaned. “Guess he’ll live, but we should probably get him into town. I want Doc to look you over, too. Make sure that wound is healing well and that you didn’t reinjure it again.”
Clay cast his gaze at Jolie. “You told him?”
She nodded but looked like a frightened bird that might flit away any second. “I felt he ought to know.”
“Did you also tell him we were forced to marry?”
Jolie’s eyes widened, and she shook her head. “No, I didn’t.”
“Oh.” Clay’s gaze roved between her and his pa.
“What does that mean?” his father asked, his expression unreadable.
“Could we talk about it later? It’d be best to get these men tied up before they come to. I don’t think I’m up to another fight.”
His father pursed his lips and nodded. “Good idea.” He laid his hand on Clay’s shoulder, surprising him. “At least you now know you weren’t responsible for Clint’s death.”
“You heard that?” Clay pressed his lips together and stared up at the barn roof, fighting tears. For so long he’d borne that immense burden. All he could do was nod.
Ten minutes later, the wagon was hitched, and Farley and Drake were loaded in back.
“I’ll take these two coyotes to town,” his pa said.
Clay shook his head. “Not alone, you’re not.”
His father looked him in the eye. “You sure you’re up to it? You’ve been working too hard for a man who recently got shot. I’m sorry. You should have told me about that.”
Both surprised and elated at his father’s concern, Clay smiled. “I’m going with you. It’s just a wagon ride.”
“Then Jolie would be alone all night, and she’s been through enough.”
Clay longed to take her in his arms, but he’d been busy.
“I’ll be all right,” she said as she crossed her arms over her chest, but her eyes said something else. She’d been frightened in the barn, and he’d all but ignored her.
Clay strode toward her and pulled her against his chest, hugging her tightly. “You’re all right, darlin’. These men are going away and can’t hurt you ever again.”
She lifted her hand to his cheek. “You’re my hero. God sent you twice to rescue me.”
Clay huffed a laugh, trying to make light of the situation. “I think Pa did the rescuing today.”
A smile glimmered in his father’s eyes, and he glanced up at the sky. “Looks like the weather may hold. Why don’t we all go? That way Jolie can get whatever supplies she may need at the store.”
She shivered in Clay’s arms. “Worried about seeing Hiram Peavey again?” he asked.
“Him and the rest of that town.”
“Pa and I will be with you. Don’t be afraid. You’re a Jackson now.”
She smiled. “I’m never afraid when I’m with you. And I would like to purchase a few things to make a special Christmas dinner for the two men in my life.”
Epilogue
Christmas Eve
Jolie lay back on Clay’s arm and watched the flames dancing in the fireplace. Pops had already headed to bed after complimenting her on the fine meal she’d cooked. Her life was as full as the Christmas stockings hanging on the mantel. Presents lay under the small tree that Will had brought in this morning, but the glass ornaments hadn’t made it onto the tree this year. She would continue her search in her spare time, determined to find them by next year.
Clay rubbed his belly. “Oh, I don’t think I can climb the stairs. What say we sleep on the bear rug tonight?”
“Not me.” Jolie smiled. “That thing stinks.”
Clay cuddled her closer and kissed her head. “Well, darlin’, if you’re not sleeping here, neither am I.”
She snuggled against his chest. “Who would have thought that a trip West to be a mail-order bride would have ended in a forced marriage to another man?”
“God did. He knew just what I needed.”
“Mmm … me, too.”
“I love you.” She trailed little kisses up Clay’s chin and cheek. He’d taught her how to be a wife—in all ways—and she looked forward to pleasing him and making him happy, because when she did, she also was happy.
Her heart flooded with love for the husband God had given her. She laid her head on his chest again, and his soft snores tickled her ear. “Thank You, Lord, for blessing this orphan and giving me a family and a home.”
Award-winning author Vickie McDonough believes God is the ultimate designer of romance. She loves writing stories where the characters find their true love and grow in their faith. Vickie has had 18 books published. She is an active member of American Christian Fiction Writers, and is currently serving as ACFW treasurer. Vickie has also been a book reviewer for nine years. She is a wife of thirty-five years, mother of four sons, and grandmother to a feisty four-year-old girl. When not writing, she enjoys reading, watching movies, and traveling.
HIDDEN HEARTS
by Therese Stenzel
Dedication
For Neal. In order to write romance, one has to live it. Thanks for being my hero!
A threefold cord is not quickly broken.
ECCLESIASTES 4:12
Prologue
I am a young Christian woman of twenty, in possession of deft housewifery skills—cooking, sewing, baking, and gardening. I am 5 feet 6 inches tall of slim stature with blond hair and, despite being of reduced circumstances, wish to make the acquaintance of a Christian gentleman, and if suited, matrimony.
November, 1884
As abysmal days went, this one had just gotten worse.
Elisabeth Lariby stared at the shattered vase at her feet. Someone cleared his throat.
She snapped her gaze toward Grimford, her aunt’s butler. She took the letter from the silver salver in his hand. “Thank you.”
“Shall I clean up the mess for you?”
“No.” She heaved out a sigh. How could she have been so clumsy? “I’ll take care of it, thank you.” She limped into her aunt’s office, her big toe throbbing with each step. Reaching over her aunt’s desk for her monogrammed letter opener, she peered at the unfamiliar masculine handwriting on the envelope. As she read the missive, it shook so hard she could barely make out the words. “… so I respectfully ask for your hand in marriage.” Her? A mail-order bride? To a complete stranger from—
“Elisabeth?”
She shoved the letter behind her back.
Her aunt stood in the polished entryway of her St. Louis home, her posture tense with accusation. “Is that the mail?”
“You wrote to find me a husband in—” Elisabeth cut a hard look at the letter again. “Nebraska?”
Aunt Dorothy stepped over the shards of ceramic and closed the double French doors to her office. She stood behind her massive wooden desk with the carved scrollwork. Her first husband had died after only one year of marriage and left her quite wealthy. “You have no money. As of last week. And your former fiancé, from the Gatesworth lineage, the only son of one of the most respectable families in St. Louis, has chosen another woman to marry. Your parents are dead—”
“We’ve discussed this many times.” Elisabeth gripped the back of a chair, more from her pulsating toe than intimidation. “Please, Aunty, do we need to go over it again?”
“I had such high hopes for a good match for you, but now it seems you have no prospects for marriage.”
Elisabeth bit her lower lip, trying to find the courage to speak her mind. “Aunty, as you know, Hamilton broke things off only three months ago. I’ve just turned twenty. My friend Caroline assures me that no one considers a woman at my age to be an old maid anymore.”
“You are ruined. This town will never forget such a humiliating event. Your friend is wrong. No one of any standing will have you now.”
No one will have me. Elisabeth swallowed back the tightening in her throat.
“Is there a problem?” Uncle Richard, Aunt Dorothy’s husband of six months, opened the door and poked his impeccably coiffed silver-haired head through the opening.
