Mail-Order Christmas Baby

by Sherri Shackelford

  “This is outrageous,” Otto blustered. “You have absolutely no right.”

  “Actually, Mr. Berg,” the sheriff said. “I have every right. I’m taking you to jail.”

  “The child is mine.” Otto broke free and rushed toward the house. “Stop this travesty or I’ll tell everyone the truth.”

  Sterling shoved Heather behind him and held out a restraining arm. The sheriff caught up to Otto and tackled him into the snow beneath the tree they’d decorated in the front yard.

  “Everyone already knows the truth,” the sheriff said, yanking Otto’s arm behind his back. “We know all about how you used that child to blackmail Sterling and his wife. No judge is going to let you use that ploy a second time.”

  “This is all a mistake.”

  “Then we can let the lawyers figure out the details.”

  Heather placed a hand on Sterling’s arm. “Are you all right? He was like a father to you.”

  Sterling’s jaw tensed. “He lost my regard when he threatened your safety.”

  “I think he loved you boys at one time, in his own way. But he became obsessed with owning the ranch, and that soured his thinking.”

  “Maybe.”

  “I hope you can remember the man he was when you were younger.”

  “You’re an awfully forgiving person.”

  “I prayed,” Heather said. “A lot. I had a hard time forgiving him for what he did to Gracie. In the end, I realized his abandonment of her was his loss. He’ll never know what it’s like to be loved by such a sweet child.”

  “Come along, Mrs. Blackwell.” Sterling lifted her by the waist and spun her around until she shrieked for him to put her down. “Let’s unpack those boxes.”

  “Nothing would give me more joy.” She laughed.

  “Hmm,” Sterling said. “I can think of one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “How about a brother or a sister for Gracie?”

  “I love you, Sterling. And not just because you always have the best ideas.”

  “You also love me for my good looks.”

  “That too.”

  He rubbed his chin. “And for my enormous brain.”

  “It’s the first thing I noticed about you.”

  He threaded his fingers through hers and tugged on her hand. “I love you, Heather.”

  “I love you too,” she said. “God was looking out for us.”

  * * * * *

  Don’t miss these other stories from

  Sherri Shackelford:

  THE ENGAGEMENT BARGAIN

  THE RANCHER’S CHRISTMAS PROPOSAL

  A FAMILY FOR THE HOLIDAYS

  A TEMPORARY FAMILY

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  Dear Reader,

  When the United States Post Office began delivering packages in 1913, there were few regulations on what folks could send through the mail. The postmaster general humorously (I assume) discussed the propriety of sending infants through the post. He concluded that babies did not fall into the category of bees and bugs, the only live things allowed in the mail delivery.

  Despite the postmaster’s declaration, there are a few instances of children being sent through the post. These were mostly publicity stunts staged by people sending children short distances. There are, however, a few documented cases of children being sent greater distances before the post office ended the practice. The regulations were rewritten to declare that children were not “harmless live animals which do not require food and water during transit.”

  I began this story with a simple premise: What if someone mailed a child through the post to an unsuspecting recipient?

  I hope you enjoyed Sterling and Heather’s story. I enjoyed writing about a new town in a new state. My husband spent part of his military career in the great state of Montana, and his admiration for the dauntless people who inhabit the beautiful land inspired me.

  I love connecting with readers and would enjoy hearing your thoughts on this story. If you’re interested in learning more about this book or others in my previous series, Prairie Courtships, visit my website at sherrishackelford.com, email me at sherrishackelford@gmail.com, visit me on Facebook at Facebook.com/sherrishackelfordauthor or on twitter @smshackelford, or connect through my favorite mode of communication, old-fashioned snail mail, at PO Box 116, Elkhorn, NE 68022.

  Thanks for reading!

  Sherri Shackelford

  Keep reading for an excerpt from THEIR MISTLETOE MATCHMAKERS by Keli Gwyn.

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  Their Mistletoe Matchmakers

  by Keli Gwyn

  Chapter One

  November 1860

  Sutter Creek, California

  The ominous crack of the large oak tree branch overhead sent a chill racing down Lavinia Crowne’s spine. Despite her mad scramble to get out of the way, she lost her footing on the slippery path and fell backward.

  The jarring impact as she hit the ground was nothing compared to the thunderous roar as the limb came crashing down. She gasped, certain that her terror-laced breath would be her last.

  To her surprise, she found herself trapped beneath a bend in the branch, staring at the stormy sky above. Her arms were pinned to her sides, but she was alive.

  Thank You, Lord, for Your protection.

  “Help!” Surely someone would hear her.

  Bitter cold seeped through Lavinia’s clothing. The swollen gray clouds that had gathered throughout the day had begun unleashing their burden only minutes ago, quickly turning the yard into a muddy mess. Raindrops fell fast and furious, running off her cheeks like a fountain of tears. If only she’d attempted her dash to the shed earlier.

  “I’m on my way!”

  Lavinia recognized the man’s voice and groaned. Of all the people who could have come to her rescue, why did it have to be him? She had no desire for Henry Hawthorn to see her in her present state. When she faced her recently orphaned nephew and nieces’ uncle, she’d planned to be in her best form. Instead, she was a muddy mess.

  The front gate banged against the wrought iron fence surrounding the corner lot, obviously thrown open in haste. A second shout penetrated the downpour, louder and closer than the first, confirmi
ng that the man whose boots were thudding across the soggy ground toward her was indeed Henry. “Hold on! I’m almost there.”

  She hadn’t heard him speak since their one and only meeting at the wedding of her sister and Henry’s brother ten years before. Unlike his late brother, Jack, who’d embraced his heritage wholeheartedly, Henry had worked to lose his Scottish burr. The hint of the strong R she’d heard that day remained, though, giving his rich voice an undeniable appeal—even if it was the last one Lavinia had wanted to hear in response to her cry for help.

  When she’d arrived in town eight days before, her sister’s friend, who lived next door, had been watching the children. Since Norma had three little ones of her own, she was happy to leave the job of caring for Jack and Pauline’s three children to Lavinia.

  Henry had returned to Sutter Creek earlier than expected, having left for Marysville a day before Lavinia’s arrival. He’d told Norma not to expect him back until the day before Thanksgiving. That would have given Lavinia ten days to get to know her precious nephew and nieces on her own. But Henry was here now, cutting short her time alone with them by two days. Although the youngsters had been anxiously awaiting their uncle’s return, she wasn’t eager to face him again.

  The irksome man had a knack for showing up at the most inopportune times. What he’d witnessed at Jack and Pauline’s wedding reception all those years ago was nothing compared to her present state. She must look a fright. No doubt, her silk gown was ruined. Thankfully, she’d brought several more when she’d come west—along with the boots to match each of them. Some might see that as frivolous, but what lady didn’t fancy fine footwear?

  From her vantage point beneath the broken branch, all she could see when she turned her head were a pair of leather boots and the bottom of a stylish overcoat worn by the purposeful man headed her way. The downed limb blocked everything else.

  Henry covered the short distance from the white clapboard house at a jog. He leaned over her, confusion creasing his broad brow. Rainwater poured from the brim of his top hat. “Lavinia! What are you doing here? I left the children with Norma.”

  The fact that he recognized her was a good sign. Her face must not be covered with as much mud as she’d feared. It also meant that even though so much time had passed since they’d met on that memorable but melancholy day his only brother had married her beloved sister, Henry hadn’t forgotten her. Then again, how could he after the spectacle she’d made of herself at the reception afterward?

  Although she’d been just sixteen at the time, she’d known better than to behave like a petulant child. It wasn’t his fault that his brother, Jack, had robbed her of her only sibling and best friend, whisking Pauline off to the Wild West. Not that Henry had shown much sympathy. Lavinia could still hear his mild reproach. They’re happy. Why can’t you be happy for them?

  He’d neglected to mention the gulf that had separated Jack and Pauline—a poor blacksmith and the daughter of a man who owned a hotel empire—which had become an obstacle that had led to discord, hurt feelings and, now, a bone-deep sorrow. Henry’s younger brother and her older sister had gone to their heavenly home two months ago following a boiler explosion on the steamboat taking them to San Francisco for their tenth anniversary, leaving behind three adorable children.

  Lavinia squelched the desire to toss out a sarcastic reply to Henry’s question. That’s what she’d done when she’d met him at the wedding—not one of her better moments. But she was older and wiser now. “Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t free myself. I thank the good Lord you came along.” She’d stretched the truth a bit since Henry wasn’t her choice of a hero, but she was grateful he’d heard her cries for help and come to her aid.

  He stared at her a moment, disbelief clouding his sky-blue eyes, and shook his head, sending water droplets flying. His businesslike manner reappeared. “I’ll get this off you, and then I’ll fetch the doctor.”

  “I don’t need to see a doctor. I’m fine.”

  “Perhaps, but you should still be examined.” He stood and gripped the branch with his gloved hands. They were fine leather gloves, not those worn by a smithy, such as he’d been in his days spent working with his brother in their shop back in Philadelphia.

  Lavinia appreciated Henry’s concern, but God had been looking out for her. As far as she could tell, she hadn’t suffered any injuries.

  The downed tree limb was large and must weigh a lot, but Henry hefted it with ease and dragged it out of the way. She attempted to rise onto her elbows, but the soggy ground made the task difficult.

  “Don’t move!” He dropped to his knees beside her, heedless of the mud puddle that had formed, and rested a hand on her shoulder. “I need to check you over first. You can lift your head, which is a good sign, but what about the rest of you?”

  “Nothing appears to be broken.” She’d done a quick test earlier, relieved to find that everything seemed to be in working order.

  “If you’ll permit me, I’ll perform a cursory examination. Once I’m satisfied that moving you won’t be a problem, I’ll take you in the house.”

  She wasn’t a hothouse flower in need of special treatment. “I appreciate the offer and would take you up on it, but—”

  “You don’t want the help of a man like me. I understand. You made it clear that my family doesn’t meet your exacting standards, but I’m not the lowly no-account you seem to think I am.”

  “I never said that.” All she wanted to do was get out of the rain, not recall memories of an unpleasant encounter she’d spent years trying to forget.

  “You didn’t have to. Your behavior that day spoke for you.” Although his tone was level, the underlying hurt that had crept into his voice flooded her with remorse.

  He made a valid point. She’d behaved badly, but now was neither the time nor the place for a discussion on that. “Fine. Check me over if you must, and then can we get out of the rain? I’m drenched, and you will soon be, too. I’d like to spare you that.”

  Despite their charged exchange, his hands were gentle as he ran them along her arms and legs, twisting them to and fro until he was satisfied. “From what I can tell, nothing’s broken, so I’ll get you inside.”

  Before she realized his intentions, he had scooped her into his arms and started for the house. “You don’t need to do this. I’m perfectly capable of walking. Besides, I’m covered in mud. I’ll get it all over you.”

  “I don’t care about that. I care about you.”

  His kind words, spoken with sincerity and that rich rolled R of his, robbed her of speech. Henry meant nothing special by them, but aside from the servants who were paid to see to her needs, no one back home had cared about her in years—not since her mother had passed on.

  Her father certainly didn’t care. The drive to expand his hotel empire consumed him. Paul Crowne had used her unexpected trip to California to care for his orphaned grandchildren to his advantage. He’d assigned his latest protégé, Stuart Worthington, who had served as her traveling companion and protector, the task of assessing San Francisco as a suitable location for another of his hotels, the Golden Crowne.

  Not that she was surprised by her father’s callousness. He hadn’t spoken of Pauline or Jack in anything but derogatory terms since the happy couple had headed west. Lavinia’s request to pay them a visit after the birth of their son, Alex, had been flatly denied. She’d attempted to bring up the subject a second time when Jack and Pauline had welcomed their first daughter into the world, but her father had made it clear the subject was not open for discussion.

  Lavinia hadn’t brought it up again until Henry’s letter arrived with the tragic news. To her surprise, her father had granted her permission to make the journey, proving he wasn’t as unfeeling as people seemed to think he was. If only he would wholeheartedly embrace the faith that her beloved mother had instilled in her daughters. He a
ttended church and even made contributions, but he rarely spoke about spiritual matters, leaving Lavinia to wonder if he really loved the Lord as she did.

  Eager to ease the awkward silence that had descended on them as Henry carried her toward the house, she asked the question that had occurred to her as she’d lain flat on her back with nothing shielding her from the pelting rain but bare branches and a massive clump of mistletoe high in the tree. “What would make a limb come down suddenly like that? It’s not as though the tree was struck by lightning, and the winds aren’t that strong, although they seem to be picking up.”

  “It happens with oaks, especially after the hot, dry summers we’ve had the past few years. If a tree can’t support all its branches, it will shed one to survive. A falling limb usually occurs during the heat, but it can happen any time of the year. I’m just glad you weren’t hurt when that one came down.” He inclined his head toward the fallen branch.

  “You and me both. I thanked the Lord posthaste.”

  Her face was so close to Henry’s as he cradled her in his strong arms that his profile filled her vision. He’d already been good-looking at twenty, but the ensuing decade had done remarkable things for him, transforming him into a strikingly handsome man. With his angular jaw, aristocratic nose and arresting blue eyes, he must have turned the head of many a lady over the years. And yet, from what Pauline had written, no woman had turned his.

  He reached the back porch, tromped up the steps and glanced at her. His eyebrows shot toward his hairline, and his well-formed lips lifted in a winsome smile.

  She averted her gaze. How could she have been so foolish as to let him catch her staring at him? He might be a feast for the eyes, but he wasn’t the type of man to capture her attention. Like their late siblings, she and Henry came from different worlds.

  And yet it appeared his situation had improved. His waterproof top hat, made of high-quality beaver, provided a sharp contrast to the shabby slouch hat he used to wear. Her head rested on his chest, the wool of his alpaca overcoat soft against her cheek. The coat, one every bit as fine as her father’s, had to have cost Henry a small fortune.