Holly: The Christmas Bride (The Brides of Paradise Ranch (Sweet Version) Book 9)

by Merry Farmer

“Yes, just one moment,” he called back with a smile. He turned to Robbins for one last warning. “I care deeply about these people, Robbins. I won’t have you doing anything funny with them.”

  “If you consider giving glory to God and keeping His flock on the narrow path to be ‘funny,’ then perhaps you are not the right one to lead them.” Before George could argue the point, Robbins added, “Look to your wife, sir. She doesn’t have the glowing demeanor of a newlywed bride.”

  The jab stung like a knife. George turned away, seeking out Holly, if only so Robbins wouldn’t see the guilt etched in his face.

  Holly stood more or less where he’d left her, near the front pew. Her eyes were trained on him, as if she’d watched the entire conversation. Her expression was lined with concern. But there was something comforting in her concern, a kind of solidarity. Their lives may have been a mess of unraveled threads that were pulled out of the tapestry of life years ago, but at least they stood on the same side on one thing. It was a start.

  Without another word for Robbins, George marched down the center aisle to join Holly.

  “I would ask what that was all about, but I’m not certain I want to know,” she said.

  “It was a confirmation of our suspicions,” he said in low, clipped tones. It felt good to use the word ‘our,’ but with two dozen eager pageant participants milling around the chapel, there was no way he could go into detail. He raised his voice and said, “If everyone would like to gather around, we can go through the basics. After that, we’ll walk through the pageant the way we did it last year, then decide if we want to make changes.”

  The pageant participants shuffled eagerly into the front few pews as George ran through what they needed to do. Their eager faces were a balm to his far-too troubled soul. But just enough of him was kept aggravated as Robbins took a seat at the back of the church, like a vulture waiting and watching for prey. It was all he could do to focus on what he was saying.

  After his explanation, everyone got up and took their places at various parts of the sanctuary, depending on the roles they were playing. Bebe Bonneville looked overjoyed to stand on the chancel with Hubert Strong as the two of them played Mary and Joseph. The Montrose brothers chuckled and fooled around toward the back of the church as the three wise men. The shepherds got into a conversation about local politics that threatened to grow louder than George’s instructions to the angels, but otherwise, everyone walked through their parts without much of a hitch.

  It would all have been a relief, if Holly hadn’t been sitting in the front pew with that thoughtful, scrutinizing expression on her face.

  “What do you think?” George asked, sinking into the pew next to her.

  She hummed, but took her time before saying, “It’s nice, but it seems a little…” She didn’t finish her sentence.

  George writhed, even though he told himself it shouldn’t matter so much that she like the pageant. He wanted her to like it. He needed her to like it, to like him. He was as hopeless as a schoolboy.

  “Would it work better if we had more shepherds?” he asked, trying to anticipate the problems she might find with it. “Or if we brought some of the children in to play angels?”

  Her face brightened. “I like the idea of children playing the part of angels.”

  “I could ask around, see if anyone wants to participate.”

  Holly laughed. “I’m sure every child in town would love to be in the pageant. Maybe you should start by asking the children of people already taking part.”

  “Good idea.”

  “And…” Her burst of enthusiasm constricted to a shy, sideways look.

  “Go ahead,” he prompted her. “I really do want to hear your suggestions.”

  Her sheepish look stayed in place, but she worked up the courage to say, “What if we had a choir?”

  The idea burst in George’s chest like a firework. He blossomed with enthusiasm, only to fizzle. “It would be a wonderful idea, but I’ve asked around before, and not a soul in town knows the first thing about music or running a choir.”

  She blinked at him as if he’d sprouted antlers. “George,” she said, arching a brow. “I was the assistant choir-mistress for eight years at St. Stephen’s Church.”

  A sinking feeling filled the pit of George’s stomach. “You were?”

  “Yes, of course I was. You knew that.” The corner of her mouth twitched in a grin.

  “I don’t think I did.”

  The incredulity in her eyes doubled. “I sang in the choir every Sunday. That’s why we never sat together in church, even after we were engaged.”

  “Is that why?” He ran a hand through his hair, staring at nothing as a jumble of memories flooded him. Come to think of it, she had liked to hum hymns when they were out walking back then.

  “And…” She lowered her eyes. “Well, when I married Bruce, I was part of the choir in Knoxville, where we lived.”

  The mention of her first husband shocked him back to reality. There was so much he wanted to know about that time of her life. He hadn’t dared to ask her a thing about it, and she hadn’t offered up a single peep. Unless the unaccountable white streak in her otherwise dark hair was a hint as to the hard times she’d suffered.

  She lifted her chin and met his eyes. “I would love to start a choir, if you think that would be a good idea.”

  “I…” How could he have known her for so long and so intimately all those years ago without knowing she was a singer, a choir leader. How could a detail that important have escaped him? And how had they gotten engaged in the first place if he hadn’t really known who she was.

  Because the George that he was had taken one look at her, decided she was pretty, and left it at that.

  “I think it would be a grand idea,” he said, though his stomach roiled with guilt. He hadn’t deserved her then, and he didn’t deserve her now. “So is your idea to have the choir sing songs to accompany the pageant?”

  “Mmm hmm.” She nodded and smiled. “I’d like to have the choir be the angels. Well, and the children. I’ve seen something similar a few times before. Do you think people would like the idea?”

  “I’m sure they’d love it,” he said. He was sure they’d love her as well. How could they not? “Do you want to present the idea or should I?”

  “Whatever you want,” she said.

  She looked so happy that he wouldn’t have been able to deny her the moon if she’d wanted it. “I think you should announce it.” He stood and reached to give her a hand.

  Holly stood, a giggle escaping from her once she was on her feet. She covered her mouth with her hand, which only made George’s heart beat harder.

  “Go ahead.” He squeezed her hand before letting it go. Really, he wished that he could hold onto it forever.

  With one last look at him, she turned to address the pageant participants. “George and I have had a splendid idea,” she began.

  George stood back and watched, admiring, as Holly laid out her plan for a choir. As expected, her idea was well-received. Once again, George found himself thinking about how lucky he was that Holly had said yes when he’d sprung this marriage on her. Choir or not, he still didn’t have the first clue how to make it the sort of marriage she could be happy in, though.

  Chapter 7

  A few days later, Holly sat at the table in George’s tiny apartment with a list of Christmas hymns in front of her, chewing her lip and wondering why she was so cold. The apartment—she should really start thinking of it as her home, seeing as construction on the manse wouldn’t continue until after the spring thaw—was small and the stove should have been enough to heat it. But even though George kept stepping in from his office to feed the fire, Holly couldn’t fight the chill from her bones.

  It seemed to grow more pronounced every time George entered the room. She glanced up from her list as he crossed in front of the table and took a log from the stack beside the stove. As he opened the stove’s belly and pushed the log inside, Hol
ly adjusted the shawl over her shoulders.

  She should talk to him, attempt to draw him into conversation. More than a week had passed since they’d been married, and as far as she could recall, the only conversations they’d had were about the Christmas pageant and Rev. Robbins. That was no way to conduct a marriage. It wasn’t as if she didn’t have anything to say to him either. She lay awake at night, alone in bed, with a hundred questions and reminiscences popping to her lips. And yet, in the light of day, she couldn’t bring herself to speak a single one of them.

  George closed the stove’s door and stood. His glance shifted to her for the briefest of seconds before he started back to his office.

  “Stay!” She blurted out the word and instantly felt ridiculous. She stood to cover her outburst. “I mean, I was just about to fix some coffee. You could stay and have some with me.”

  He sent her a lop-sided smile. “I’m afraid if I have coffee this late in the day I won’t be able to sleep tonight.”

  Holly frowned. “It’s barely one.”

  He let out a sheepish laugh and rubbed the back of his neck. “I know. I’m that sensitive to coffee.”

  “Oh.” It was too late to sit down without looking silly, but just standing there doing nothing didn’t exactly make her seem like a wit. “I could make tea?”

  He shook his head. “It’s all right. I’m a little too restless for any sort of bracing drink anyhow.”

  “Restless?” She latched onto the possible topic of conversation. “How so?”

  George shrugged. “Maybe it’s the weather.”

  Holly turned her head to look out the window. The sun was shining outside, reflecting off the snow with a brightness that should have been cheery. “It’s very cold,” she said.

  “Very cold,” he echoed.

  “But sunny.”

  “It is sunny.”

  A prickly silence filled the air between them. If Holly wasn’t mistaken, George wanted to continue the conversation. Well, if it could even be called a conversation. He didn’t rush back to his office, he just stood there, barely looking at her, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand.

  She clasped her hands in front of her, fingers tangling. “If it was warmer, we could go for a walk.”

  “There are lots of nice walking spots around here,” George said. His shoulders looked like they were as hard as rocks. “The meadow is beautiful in the summer. It’s filled with wildflowers of all kinds.” He paused, then added, “You don’t see a lot of meadows in this part of the territory. Ranch land isn’t as lush or fertile as farm land, like you find further east. It’s certainly not like the landscape back home.”

  “No, it’s not.” She punctuated her comment with a nervous laugh. “I was so surprised at the dry and barren land the train passed through on the way here. It’s almost like a desert in places.”

  “Technically, parts of the territory are desert. High desert. Which isn’t the same as the kind of desert further south, in Arizona and New Mexico Territories. It still counts, though.”

  Another itchy silence followed. Holly was having a harder and harder time standing still. She shifted her weight from one hip to the other, and glanced around the room, looking for something to jump out and suggest a way to break the awful tension between her and George. They’d once been friends, after all. They’d talked for hours when he came into her parents’ shop. That’s what had convinced her to take a risk and agree to his incessant, repeated proposals of marriage. How ironic that the thing that had brought them together all those years ago was the one thing they couldn’t seem to manage now.

  “I’ll be glad once the weather clears up enough to go walking in the meadows,” she said, lame as an old horse, wincing inside.

  “Me too,” George agreed. “Staying inside without moving around gets under your skin after a while.”

  “It does,” she admitted. “I’d give just about anything to be outside, moving around.” Ugh. Did that sound like a complaint? She had nothing to complain about. Compared to Bruce, George was a saint and far kinder to her than she deserved. Her life could have been so much worse.

  “I know how you feel,” George went on, and judging from the way he rolled his shoulders and squirmed while standing, he did. “I’ve half a mind to take a walk anyhow, snow and ice or—” His eyes went wide, and a genuine smile spread across his face.

  “What?” Holly asked.

  “What am I thinking?” He launched into motion, crossing to the pegs near the door where their wool coats hung. “Ice. Piedmont Pond. We can drive out to Paradise Ranch and go ice skating.”

  “Ice skating?” Holly’s spirits instantly lifted. She rushed to George as he held out her coat and hurried to put her gloves, scarf, and hat on.

  “Ponds are hard to come by out here in the high desert,” George explained, a whole new freeness in his tone and body language. “But a couple of years ago, Virginia Piedmont had her foreman, Jarvis Flint, redirect the stream that runs through Paradise Ranch so that the cattle in her part of the pasture wouldn’t have to walk so far to drink once the weather got cold.”

  “Seems like a smart idea,” Holly said as they finished bundling up and headed out the door.

  “You’d think,” George laughed, apparently knowing where he was going as they headed away from the church. “Instead of ending up with a new tributary of the stream, they created a huge, shallow, muddy patch. Well, it flooded one year in early December, and then, when the temperature dropped the next day, it froze over. All of a sudden, there was a skating rink in Virginia’s pasture.”

  “How splendid.” Holly laughed. Whether it was the story or simply the fact that things weren’t clogged up between her and George didn’t matter.

  “Naturally, Virginia and Howard put their heads together to figure out how they could make the pond a permanent feature of the ranch, and how they could ensure it stayed filled and frozen every winter. It took them a few years of trying different things. The entire pond dried up a few times. But now, once the temperature drops enough, it’s as reliable as the sun coming up in the morning.”

  “And they don’t mind people coming out to skate whenever they please?” Holly asked.

  George chuckled. “Mind it? They love it.”

  They continued on to Haskell’s livery, chatting about the technicalities of keeping a man-made pond filled and frozen throughout the winter. Travis Montrose greeted them with a smile as they crossed into the livery yard and George asked for his wagon and horse to be readied.

  “Heading out to Paradise Ranch?” he asked once he’d sent his assistant to fetch George’s horse.

  “It’s a perfect day for it,” George replied.

  “I’ll say it is,” Travis laughed. “Seems like half the town is knocking off of work early to get out there. Plus, Olivia came by earlier to borrow the big wagon so she could take the older kids out there as a school field trip this afternoon. So you’ll have plenty of company.”

  Much to her surprise, Holly found herself delighted by the prospect of skating with a crowd. She liked Haskell, in spite of her awkward start, and she wanted to get to know it more. She was smiling over the thought when George approached to help her into the wagon. She could have climbed up onto the bench herself, but the instant George stood close and clasped her waist to help, her heart turned somersaults in her chest. His closeness sent energy zipping through her. His strength and the ease of his arms around her centered that energy in places she’d tried to forget after Bruce.

  She was actually disappointed once she was safely in the wagon and settled on the bench. George climbed up after her, settling beside her, and they were off.

  “I’m glad the snow isn’t so deep that the wheels won’t turn,” George said once they were out of the livery and on the road leading out of town. “I’m sure we’ll have a couple of big snowfalls before all is said and done this winter.”

  “Are they much worse than snow in Baltimore?” Holly asked.

  George s
hrugged. “I’ve seen some that are and some that aren’t. Remember the year we had two feet of snow overnight?”

  Holly humphed. “Do I ever. The store took a serious loss that week, then was five times as busy as usual once people were able to get out.”

  George cocked his head to the side. “I never thought of it that way. My brothers and I split our time between causing chaos for Mother and Father indoors, then wreaking havoc outside. None of us were thinking about work.”

  His expression grew pinched, so Holly rushed to find something to keep the conversation going. “Of course, I haven’t seen much snow at all in the last seven years.”

  He frowned and snuck a sideways peek at her. “You haven’t?”

  She shook her head. “I’ve been living in Tennessee. We saw some snow, but not nearly what we used to get up home.”

  “How did you end up in Tennessee?” he asked, then instantly blanched as he remembered.

  There was no point in hiding from the truth. “Bruce was from Knoxville. He knew my parents through business.”

  A sharp silence as biting as the wind across the prairie fell between them. It was the very last thing Holly wanted just when things had started to flow so smoothly between them. She couldn’t let her and George fall back into the pattern they’d started to form.

  “I married Bruce a little more than six months after…” She let the sentence drop. He’d know what she meant. He didn’t answer her, he only kept his eyes glued to the road ahead. “Things were difficult for me afterwards,” she continued in a quiet voice. “My parents were so angry with me for…” She cleared her throat. “I didn’t think they’d ever forgive me. In fact, I don’t think they ever truly did, even after Bruce.”

  He kept his eyes forward, but asked, “Bruce Hannigan?”

  Holly nodded. “Like I said, he was a business associate of my father’s. He was older than me by ten years or so. I knew him before I met you, although he was married to his first wife then. After things between us fell apart—” She paused to swallow the discomfort squirming in her gut. “—my parents made my life miserable. They refused to let me forget what they might have had, the position they might have gained in society, if I’d gone through with our wedding. They made me feel like…” She squeezed her eyes shut, sick over the memory of being made to feel like a worm in the trash heap by the two people who should have loved her more than anyone else.