Mail-Order Christmas Brides Boxed Set by Jillian Hart, Janet Tronstad Page B

on her way by. “Pa and I couldn’t decide what room you’d like, so let’s go pick one out.”
    “You mean I get my very own room?” George asked, blue eyes glinting incredulously. “Thank you, Pa.”
    “You’re welcome.” He looked right past Mercy, as if he could read her mood. His gaze landed on the boy, and that granite set to his face softened a fraction. “You go on in. Pick out your room. And try on the riding boots I brought home for you. Make sure they fit comfortably.”
    “Riding boots?” George froze midstride, jaw dropping. “I looked around, but I didn’t see any horses here.”
    “Because they are on the other side of the hill.” Steady and easygoing, that voice. Just like the man. “You’ll be able to see them from the windows. Go on. When you’re done, we’ll take Frosty down to the barn and you can meet the other horses.”
    “You mean, you’ll let me
lead
him?”
    “I’ll let you drive him.”
    The realization sank in. George gave an excited whoop. “Oh, boy. Just oh, boy!”
    “You’d better hurry,” Mercy advised him, relieved to see him happy again. “You don’t want to keep Frosty waiting for too long.”
    “No, ma’am!” George earnestly charged through the doorway, feet churning, shoes pounding on the boards. The door smacked shut behind him.
    “I’ll be getting home,” Eberta called out, circling around the corner of the house on foot. “Good luck, Mercy. I’m praying you don’t need it.”
    “Thanks for the ride, for the company, for just everything.” Mercy turned her back to Cole, leaning over the railing. “Will I see you tomorrow?”
    “Count on it, missy.” Eberta winked, tossed the tasseled end of her scarf over her plump shoulder and trudged around the corner of the house. A mule bayed, just out of sight. The animal must belong to Eberta, Mercy decided, startled when Cole joined her at the railing.
    His dark shadow fell across her and she shivered, although he blocked the wind with his big body. Alone with him again, she was aware of every inch of his six-foot height and of her five foot three. She was unprepared for a confrontation. In the past, discussions had often not gone well with Timothy. How this would turn out was anyone’s guess.
    Although her stomach clenched up tight, and her palms began to sweat, she couldn’t put this off. No, best to find out what kind of man Cole truly was. She fisted her hands, braced her feet, mentally preparing herself for the ordeal. “You didn’t come to church.”
    “No, I didn’t think to mention that last night.” He shrugged, keeping watch as Eberta rode out of the shadow of the house on a gray mule. “You look as if you mind.”
    “I would appreciate you being up front with me.” She watched the mule swish his tail as he walked along, heading back toward town. The sunlight blazed across the landscape, bringing the snow to life, making it shine, making it glitter. Inside she felt dark and afraid. What if by speaking up to protect George she lost him his new father? Her stomach clenched tighter at the thought. “Why don’t you attend? Amelia does.”
    “I used to, but I stopped going.” What looked like grief carved lines into his handsome face, crinkling around his eyes, bracketing his chiseled, firm mouth into a reserved frown. “I have no objection to anyone else attending. I just lost the faith for it.”
    “Oh.” What on earth did someone say to that? She tried to swallow past the lump in her throat, wishing she knew what to do. “In truth, for the entire year after Timothy passed, I couldn’t force myself to attend a single service. Not even Christmas.”
    “But you went back.”
    “I needed to. I needed faith. Life isn’t the same without it.” She squinted into the sun. Eberta was a shadow against the endless white. “Maybe one day you’ll go back, too.”
    “I tried. I couldn’t.” His throat worked. He turned stonier, all the gentleness fleeing from his face, all the