The WESTWARD Christmas BRIDES COLLECTION: 9 Historical Romances Answer the Call of the American West

by Wanda E. Brunstetter, Susan Page Davis, Melanie Dobson, Cathy Liggett, Vickie McDonough, Olivia Newport, Janet Spaeth, Jennifer Rogers Spinola

  “I, uh, well,” he stammered. “I figured I needed to spruce up if I wanted to fit in around here. You ladies made everything look cheery.”

  “No denying you were a big help. Together we made it look very festive, didn’t we?” She tore her gaze from his long enough to look all around them. To the windows framed in evergreens. To the banisters wrapped with greenery. To the mantel, where more sprigs laden with pinecones made a bed for the porcelain angels. “Though I truly never thought I’d be spending Christmas this way.”

  “You thought you’d be in Huxley.”

  “Yes, I did. But—”

  “But neither of us ended up where we thought we might.”

  “True, we didn’t. And we’ve nearly forced you into celebrating here in your friends’ home, whether you wanted to or not. I’m sorry for that.”

  “You don’t need to be.” He shrugged. “It’s not been a bad thing.”

  She laughed at his phrasing. “Does that mean it’s been a good thing?”

  He smiled. “I suppose things have a way of working out, though sometimes it can be puzzling how they do.”

  “Actually,” she ventured, “I was just thinking that, too.”

  Or at least hoping it was true. There was so much more to say. So much more she wanted to explain and to ask Samuel about, if she dared to. But Daniel and Mr. Cottingham had already started down the stairs, disrupting the moment of privacy.

  “Ah, that stew smells delicious,” Mr. Cottingham commented. “And Vivian makes the very best biscuits. Molly, maybe you should tell the womenfolk to hurry and dress so we can eat.”

  “No need to rush us. We’re already here.” Miss Vivian chuckled as she and Charlotte followed behind with Melissa in tow.

  As everyone gathered around the table, Molly felt pleased when Samuel sat beside her. And in that moment she realized she hadn’t needed a special occasion to wear the beautiful dress her granny had made for her at all. Not as much as she’d needed a special person to wear it for. Someone who made her feel appreciated and special, too. Someone who looked at her just the way Samuel had.

  Chapter 10

  And then there was the Christmas Eve my younger sister decided her favorite piglet should come to family dinner,” Samuel told Molly as she handed him a dripping dish to dry.

  As soon as Christmas Eve dinner was over, everyone had fallen into their places, much the same as the evening before. While the others had retreated to the sitting room, he and Molly had offered to do dishes. He rolled up his cuffs, and she pushed back her sleeves and donned an apron over her elegant dress. And once again, he found that he didn’t mind the chore at all. Especially when Molly had asked him about some of his family’s past Christmases.

  “Oh, goodness!” Molly bent over the tub, laughing. “How old was she at the time?”

  “My sister or the piglet?” he teased.

  “Your sister, silly.”

  “Maybe four or so? Too young for my mother to paddle her when the piglet tore through the house, knocking over all the decorations. Luckily, Mother had made Sis a doll for Christmas, hoping she’d choose that over her pet porker.”

  “Did it work?” Molly’s hands paused in the water.

  “For a while. Until spring, when Sis brought the piglet inside for Easter dinner.”

  “Oh no, Samuel!” Molly giggled. “Surely that didn’t happen.”

  “Oh, but it did.” He grinned. “And mind you the creature wasn’t as young and small as it had been months before. Neither was my sister. She did get into trouble that time.”

  Molly laughed out loud as she handed him another scrubbed cup. “Your poor sister! And mother! How funny!”

  “It was quite a funny time,” he said, taking the cup from her hands. There had been many an amusing time back then. Many good memories that he’d stored so deeply behind more painful ones that they never surfaced. Not until Molly. Strangely, being around her made it easier to recall happier days … better times.

  Chuckling to himself, he was just about to tell her about another Harden Christmas when Charlotte called to them.

  “Are you two almost finished? We don’t want to start singing Christmas songs without you.”

  He looked to Molly for an answer.

  “We’re getting very close,” she told Charlotte. “It’ll take just a few minutes more.”

  Admittedly he felt disappointed when five minutes later their time alone was up.

  “All done,” Molly said and blew at a wisp of hair that had fallen onto her forehead.

  Without thinking, he reached out to put the tendril back into place. It would’ve been the simplest of gestures. If only he hadn’t looked into her eyes.

  But he did. And for the second time that night, he felt stunned. Caught off guard. The same way he felt when he first saw her by the hearth, looking so pretty in her green dress. There was no denying the wonder he felt. Unable to fathom why such a special woman would be giving him the time of day. And though he kept trying to fight it, there was also no denying the pleasure he felt when she did.

  “Hurry, you two!” Charlotte shouted, impatience tingeing her voice.

  “We’re coming!” Molly called back. “Goodness, that girl needs to hold her horses!” she whispered, making him grin.

  “I’ll empty the tub.”

  “I’ll put the dishes away.” She smiled.

  It was starting to sprinkle when he stepped outside to empty the tub of water over the porch railing. Despite the chill in the air, as he turned to walk back inside, he stopped. And listened. Not to a howling animal. Or barking dog. Or gusty wind. But to himself. Whistling happily.

  It might not have come as such a shock to him, but he’d never been a whistler. Yet there he was, Samuel Harden, warbling a Christmas tune from his childhood. On Christmas Eve. The day he’d dreaded. The day he’d been running from. And now the day he’d been able to find joy in again.

  It felt like nothing short of a miracle.

  Gladness welled inside him, and the gratitude he felt to God and to his first love, Theresa, was overwhelming. He’d always dwelled on how he’d loved Theresa. Until that moment, he hadn’t appreciated the gift of love she’d given him. She’d told him he was fearless, so he wouldn’t be afraid to love again. She’d encouraged him not to be alone. She’d said everything to help him before she’d died, and afterward he’d done everything to keep the hurt from healing.

  But now Molly had stumbled into his life. No, God had brought her into his life. And despite everything he’d been thinking, running away didn’t seem much of an option anymore.

  He could feel it as clearly as he could see her through the window. Looking like someone he wanted to come home to. Someone to give his heart a home.

  By the time he came back in the house, Samuel felt lighter. A crushing load had been lifted from his shoulders.

  Settling into the empty chair next to Mr. Cottingham, he smiled at Molly sitting across the room. Daniel began plucking Christmas tunes on his banjo. They all sang timidly at first, but by the time they’d gotten through their third song, Samuel thought they sounded fairly good together.

  Miss Vivian must have agreed. She clapped delightedly and flopped back in her chair with a sigh. “Thank you for playing for us, Daniel. Here I thought I’d miss having Christmas in Huxley with our friends,” she confessed. “But they’re truly a boring bunch compared to all of you.”

  “I’m glad you’re not in Huxley either, Vivian,” Mr. Cottingham said. “And Samuel, thank you again.” He turned to him. “I would’ve never had this time to spend to get to know Viv—well, everyone—if you hadn’t come along.”

  Samuel glanced at Molly and couldn’t deny any longer that he felt exactly the same way. He hoped she’d stay in St. Claire. And he was ready to, as well. When the evening’s festivities died down, he planned to ask her out to the porch and tell her everything about his past—and his thoughts for the future.

  “I think all of us feel similarly, sir,” he t
old Mr. Cottingham, glancing Molly’s way.

  She met his gaze shyly, gifting him with one of her sweet smiles. With her cheeks turning fiery as her hair, she seemed to be trying to turn the attention away from herself. “We have pudding for dessert,” she announced. “If anyone would like some, I’ll be happy to get it.”

  “Before you do, Molly”—Charlotte rose from her seat—“at the mention of Huxley, I just remembered. I have something from there that belongs to you.”

  “You what?” Molly’s eyes grew wide.

  “Oh, Molly, don’t be coy,” Charlotte said playfully. “Surely you know what I mean. I found this on the floor of the bedroom.” Facing Molly, Charlotte drew a paper from her dress pocket. “I didn’t mean to read it. But it fell open, and I just couldn’t help it. It’s a letter from your beau in Huxley.”

  A letter from whom? Her beau? At first Samuel didn’t think he’d heard right. But then Molly stuttered, “Cle–Clement’s letter?”

  “It sounds as if you’re betrothed. And you’re going to live in Huxley?” Charlotte asked excitedly, while Samuel’s stomach twisted violently. “When are you to marry?”

  “Didn’t I guess that, Charlotte? Remember?” Miss Vivian cut in. “When our dear Molly was clutching something so tightly on the stagecoach? I knew it had to be from a beau.”

  Samuel couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Apparently Mr. Cottingham was surprised, too. “News to me. I didn’t know she had a beau in Huxley.” Mr. Cottingham leaned over to him. “Did you, Samuel?”

  “No.” His jaw clenched till he thought his teeth might fracture. “No. I surely did not know that.” Jealous anger welled up in him quickly, mixing with confusion and hurt, turning his insides out. It was all he could do to sit still and not bolt from his chair.

  Unfortunately, Melissa bolted from hers. “Molly has a beau-oh. Molly has a beau-oh,” she sang, dancing around the room, flinging her doll in the air.

  “Child, be careful,” Mr. Cottingham warned. “You’re going to hit someone in the face with your doll!”

  But Melissa didn’t stop. Samuel watched as the young girl turned one circle after another, singing about Molly’s beau all the while. Until finally, she got so dizzy she started to stumble. Her arms flung upward, and Josephine went flying outward. The doll swiped a sprig of evergreen overhanging the mantel, and that’s when the rippling started. The boughs of evergreen wavered. The pinecones bounced. And the angels—Theresa’s angels—toppled from their nests and crashed onto the hardwood floor.

  He couldn’t believe his eyes. Pieces of porcelain, looking like bits of nothing, scattered everywhere. Shattered. Like his plans. Not an hour earlier, he’d given up and given in to his feelings. He’d set all judgment aside and was ready to take a chance, hoping Molly would, too. Thinking God had really meant for them to be together. But what a fool he’d been! A ridiculous fool!

  “Now look what you’ve done!” he shouted, jumping from his chair. “What you’ve all done,” he yelled like a crazy man. “I’ve had enough! Enough!” he fumed. Then he barged from the room and out of the house, slamming the front door behind him.

  “He’s been out there forever.” Molly sighed.

  She peered out the window in the direction of the barn, hugging her arms around her waist. She could hear the tapping of the trickling rain far better than she could see it in the darkness. “It’s been nearly an hour.”

  “And that’s how long you’ve been standing at the window, too, dear.” With Melissa cozied in her lap, Miss Vivian spoke more softly than usual. The young girl had felt so badly about the broken angels, she’d worn herself out crying. “Why don’t you come and sit?” Miss Vivian urged.

  “I’m fine. Really I am,” Molly said.

  She knew standing there, wishing for Samuel to come back inside so they all could set things right wouldn’t make him come through the front door. But she couldn’t stop hovering by the window anyway. She felt so badly for the way everything had happened.

  “Molly, I really am sorry,” Charlotte said from a rocker across the room. “I should’ve never read your letter.”

  Molly wished she hadn’t read it either. But she had, and there was nothing to be gained from making Charlotte feel worse than she already did.

  “Oh, Charlotte, please don’t feel you have to keep apologizing.” Molly turned from her watching—just for a moment—to reassure her. “Like I told you, I thought I’d thrown all of the letters into the fire. I had no idea one had dropped on the floor. Please don’t worry yourself.”

  “Well, my poking in your business seemed to set off a chain reaction of ill events this evening.” Charlotte sighed.

  “It’ll all be well,” Molly said, turning back to the window. It has to be, she thought. “I just wonder if he’s cold.” She placed a hand on the pane to test the temperature. “Or wet. Maybe I should take him some hot tea—or his coat,” she added, more to herself than anyone else.

  Mr. Cottingham answered. “Give the man the time he needs,” he said. “Give him space to think.”

  Over the past days, she’d come to admire Mr. Cottingham and to trust him, too. The man was a complete surprise, gentler and more compassionate than his sometimes gruff exterior let on. If he believed Samuel needed more time, she’d rely on his advice.

  But it was hard to be patient. Every minute felt like forever. Wondering what on earth Samuel was thinking … and feeling. He’d said earlier that things had a way of working out. But she knew from past experience that didn’t mean things always worked out exactly in the way she wanted them to. Not even if she hoped and prayed with all her might. Even so, as she stared out the window, hoping and praying was what she aimed to keep doing. She bowed her head, ready to start again. But Mr. Cottingham’s voice stopped her.

  “I’ve decided I won’t stay silent any longer,” he said. “There’s something I believe you all should know.”

  “Goodness, Benjamin, what is it?” Miss Vivian straightened, and Molly did, too.

  “It’s something about Samuel.”

  Chapter 11

  Samuel was angry. But mostly with himself.

  He’d overreacted where Melissa and the broken angels were concerned, scaring the young girl terribly. She had burst into sobs as he stomped out the door. The sound crushed him so much he almost turned around and walked back in.

  And where Molly was concerned, he’d underplayed things. He hadn’t been at all honest with her about his past or his feelings. Maybe if he hadn’t hidden the truth, she might’ve had the chance to be more honest with him. Not that any of it mattered now. She was involved with another man. And as much as he wanted to fight for her, why put her through that? Evidently he’d misread the situation between them. But to know he could have feelings for someone again—at least God had shown him that much.

  Overall, he’d walked out on a roomful of people who had to be shocked at his behavior—not understanding it one bit. And why would they? The entire time the group was at his house, he’d acted nonchalant and unconcerned, suppressing the truth. Then right in the middle of the nicest Christmas Eve he’d had in a long, long time, he blew up like a crazy man. He hated any of them thinking of him that way. Molly most of all.

  “So, Tack, looks like I have a choice to make.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I can either sit here in the barn all night trying to figure the right words to say to everyone …” He paused, not so fond of what he was about to say next. “Or I can get off this bench, go inside, and say whatever words come out.”

  Tack grunted once. Then twice, as if opting for Samuel’s second idea. Either that or Samuel figured he was simply tired of listening to him talk and trying to be rid of him.

  “Yep. Guess it’s what I need to do.” He drew in a deep breath, hoisting himself up. “Well, here goes nothin’, boy.”

  Taking long, purposeful strides across the yard, he was barely cognizant of the splatters of rain coming down. It wasn’t until he reached the porch that he noticed h
ow wet he was. Pausing outside the door, he swiped the water from his clothes conscientiously, feeling like an unwanted visitor rather than the owner of the house.

  He could hear one of the women on the other side of the door warning he was back. He heard some scuffling, too, and assumed everyone was getting in position for his entrance.

  He rolled his neck and drew back his shoulders before he opened the door and let himself in.

  He’d expected some sort of reaction. But everyone appeared as if nothing was the matter. Daniel was strumming his banjo lightly. Little Melissa was cuddled in Miss Vivian’s lap. Mr. Cottingham was reading a book. And Charlotte and Molly were engaged in a quiet conversation with each other. The broken angel pieces had already been swept up, but he was certain, after the way he’d lost control, they wouldn’t soon be forgotten.

  He realized everyone was being kind, acting normal as could be. It would’ve been nice if he could’ve done the same. But his poor behavior weighed too heavily on him. He stood, dripping water on the hardwood floor he’d put down with his own hands. “I’m sorry,” he said simply.

  Everyone looked up at the sound of his voice as if they’d just noticed he was there. He strained to keep from looking at Molly, not wanting to see what he imagined would be disapproval in her eyes.

  “I especially want to say I’m sorry to you, Melissa.” It was difficult to look at the sweet little thing cuddled in Miss Vivian’s lap, but he did. “Accidents happen. And I shouldn’t have acted the way I did. You’re far more important than those angels, and I hurt your feelings. I scared you, which wasn’t right. I’m sorry I lost my temper like that.”

  “That’s all right,” she said sleepily. “Josephine and I were dancing too hard. Granddad told me to stop, and I didn’t.”

  “Well,” Samuel said, “dancing on Christmas Eve should be allowed, I think. After all, it’s a night worth celebrating—and here I ruined it for everyone. It’s just a lot of things built up … and well, I hope everyone can accept my apology.” He hung his head.