Pony Express Christmas Bride

by Rhonda Gibson

  The sound of someone being slapped split the air. A sharp cry followed. Thomas headed for the door. The baby’s cry continued.

  “I wouldn’t go in there yet.” Seth’s deep voice stopped Thomas in his tracks.

  He stood as if frozen in front of the door. The baby stopped crying. Only the sounds of shuffling feet could be heard.

  A few minutes passed. The room behind him was silent, as if his family was listening, too. Why didn’t someone come tell him what was going on? Didn’t they know he’d be waiting to see his wife and child?

  Just when he’d decided to barge in anyway, Ma opened the door. She and Hazel stepped out, grinning like two possums.

  Ma hugged him and said, “The doctor says you can go in now.”

  Thomas hurried into the dim room. Doctor Bridges was cleaning up his hands and smiling at the mother and child resting on the bed. “How are they, Doc?” Thomas asked.

  “Both healthy and awake.” The doctor slipped out of the room and left Thomas alone with his little family.

  “Come see your son.” Josephine’s voice sounded soft and warm.

  He walked to the bed and looked down upon her. Her long red curls framed her face. The baby rested on her chest. “He’s beautiful.” Thomas touched his small head.

  “He is, isn’t he?” Her tired eyes looked up at him and a soft smile graced her sweet lips.

  They’d decided that if the baby was a boy, they would name him John David Young. John after the man who had adopted Thomas, and David after Josephine’s father. “Do you still like the name we decided on?” he asked, looking at the dark hair on the baby’s head.

  “I think it is a good strong name. But if you would rather name him Thomas, after you, we can.” Josephine yawned.

  He stroked the side of her face. “No, I like John David.” Thomas bent down and kissed his wife’s forehead. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.” Her eyes drifted shut.

  Thomas eased the baby from her arms and cradled him close. He checked all the baby’s fingers and toes. John David was perfect in every way. He sat down in the rocker beside the bed and rocked his baby.

  As he rocked, Thomas thanked the Lord for his new family. How different and empty his life would have been without Josephine in it.

  He loved her more than he loved life itself.

  She whispered his name from the bed. “Thomas.”

  Immediately he hurried to her side. “I’m so glad you married a Pony Express rider and made her a mother.”

  Thomas laughed, then gently kissed her lips. “So am I, Jo. So am I.”

  * * * * *

  Don’t miss these other

  SADDLES AND SPURS stories

  from Rhonda Gibson:

  PONY EXPRESS COURTSHIP

  PONY EXPRESS HERO

  Find more great reads at www.LoveInspired.com.

  Keep reading for an excerpt from COWGIRL UNDER THE MISTLETOE by Louise M. Gouge.

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  Dear Reader,

  When I was researching the Pony Express, I came across a letter from a little girl who asked if there were any girl Pony Express riders. The gentleman who answered her letter said, “not that history recorded but that doesn’t mean there wasn’t one.” That got me to thinking, and Josephine’s story was born. I enjoyed telling Thomas and Josephine’s love story.

  Thank you so much for reading Pony Express Christmas Bride. I hope you are enjoying reading this miniseries as much as I am writing it.

  Warmly,

  Rhonda Gibson

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  We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Love Inspired Historical title.

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  Cowgirl Under the Mistletoe

  by Louise M. Gouge

  Chapter One

  October 1884

  Esperanza, Colorado

  The Denver & Rio Grande train pulled out of the Esperanza station, sending last night’s dusting of early snow into small flurries. They rose up to meet the white smoke streaming from the engine and leaving behind the smell of burning coal. As Deputy Grace Eberly watched the departure, she swiped away an unexpected tear and then glanced around. It wouldn’t do to have folks see their deputy sheriff crying like some silly girl. Fortunately, the only person left on the platform was good ol’ Reverend Thomas, who really wasn’t all that old, just friendly. He smiled and touched the wide brim of his well-worn black Stetson.

  “You’re going to miss your sister, aren’t you?”

  She stepped over to him and gave him her best deputy scowl. “You’d better not tell anybody you saw me cry.” Tall as she was, she could stare down on most men but stood eye to eye with the reverend when she wore her boots.

  “You? Cry?” He grinned in that annoying way of his that showed he wasn’t in the least bit intimidated by her badge, her gun or her height. “Not at all. I assumed you had some grit in your eyes.”

  She chuckled. He could always be counted on to cover for folks, especially her. Of all the people in town who might want to condemn her for being a trouser-wearing female peace officer, this man of God would seem the most likely. Instead, he appeared to understand her abiding need to hold outlaws accountable for their evil activities. When her next-younger sister, Beryl, had been shot by that no-account Dathan Hardison and his slimy partner, Deke Smith, the minister had been a great source of comfort to the family. Never once did he condemn Grace for crippling Deke with a well-aimed bullet. She could almost allow that his prayers above all others had kept Beryl from dying.

  Thoughts of her closest sister brought another annoying swell of emotion. Beryl had survived the shooting, went off to boarding school for a spell and then came home only to fall in love with an English dandy who’d come to town for a holiday. Now she and Percy lived in England, and the family would probably never see them again.

  To make matters worse, Grace’s next-to-youngest sister, Laurie, now rode on the train speeding eastward along the tracks. Once it crossed La Veta Pass through the Sangre de Cristo Mountains, it would head north, taking her back to music school in Denver. Her short visit home had ended far too soon. Grace would miss her something terrible.

  With Maisie, the oldest of the five sisters, busy with her doctor husband and their new baby boy, Grace considered looking to their youngest sister for companionship. But Georgia walked around with her head in the clouds reading books all the time. Grace didn’t care much for books. Besides, at fifteen, Georgia was a bit y
oung to depend on for a close, womanly friendship. With Beryl and Laurie gone, Grace had never felt so alone in all of her twenty-three years.

  Sure as shooting, none of the other unattached younger women in the area wanted to pal around with her. And, like Maisie, her married friends had husbands and children to tend to. But, also sure as shooting, Grace never expected to marry. What man wanted a wife who stood half a head taller than he did and could likely outride and outshoot him?

  Grace had watched the dainty behavior of her friends Susanna and Marybeth, who’d married the two oldest Northam brothers and lived at the next ranch over. She’d admired the gals’ fancy manners and pretty speech. Even Grace’s younger sisters had begun to copy those female ways, although they still worked the family ranch like men, as all of them had since childhood. But Grace couldn’t bring herself to act all silly and helpless around men. The cowhands on their family ranch would laugh themselves blue in the face if a giant of a woman like her ever put on such airs.

  Being tall and broad-shouldered did give her some advantages on her days off when she did her share of helping her folks keep the ranch going. She could buck hay bales all day long and had never seen a mustang she couldn’t wrangle, another reason men steered clear of her. What did she care? Weren’t a single one she cared to take up with.

  “Grace.” The minister still stood by the yellow clapboard train station. He’d been mighty nice to join the family in seeing Laurie off, but for some reason he’d hung around. Maybe waiting for a telegram. She could hear the clickety-click of Charlie Williams’s telegraph just inside the open window.

  “Yeah? You need something, Rev?”

  “Indeed, I do.” His waved a hand toward Main Street. “Mrs. Winsted’s daughter-in-law opened that new ice cream parlor last week. Have you been there?”

  “Nope, sure haven’t. Seems sort of disloyal to Miss Pam.” Never mind that Grace loved ice cream. She’d keep taking her noon meals at Williams’s Café.

  “Not at all.” His Southern drawl rolled out pleasantly on his baritone voice, just like when he preached his heartwarming sermons every Sunday. “In fact, Miss Pam can’t say enough nice things about Nelly Winsted’s desserts.”

  “That a fact?” She pondered the idea for a moment. “You don’t think it’s too cold for ice cream?” The October wind hadn’t picked up for the day, but there was still a bite in the air.

  “It’s never too cold for ice cream.” He chuckled in that kindly way of his, and her heart felt an odd little kick. Oh, no. She would not let herself grow feelings for the unmarried preacher. Every unattached girl for miles around wanted to lasso this handsome man and drag him to the altar. She would not line up and make a fool of herself like the rest of them did. Nothing would ruin her reputation as a competent, dependable, levelheaded deputy faster than her acting like a moon-eyed heifer.

  “Would you like to give it a try?” From the way he asked the question, Grace guessed the minister was looking for companionship, too, if only for this morning. Safe companionship, with no worries she’d try to hogtie him. She’d proved that to him ever since that time several years ago when he’d bought her box dinner during the church fund-raiser, disappointing a whole passel of girls who’d hoped he’d choose theirs.

  While they’d eaten, the two of them had discussed Bible verses she’d been wondering about, a safe subject for any two folks, and she’d learned a whole heap of important stuff about the Good Book, the only book she considered worth reading. Since then, they’d had several more chin-wags about the scriptures, and they’d grown comfortable around each other. That day at the fund-raiser, she’d figured he’d bid on her box to keep her from being left out. He was kind that way, and she admired him for it. Admired, nothing more. She wouldn’t ruin a good friendship by thinking on useless feelings.

  “Come on, Grace. Let’s try out Nelly’s place.”

  Right about now, a big dish of ice cream sounded like the perfect way to console herself over Laurie’s departure. Food could comfort a body that way, especially sweet food. “If you insist.”

  “I do.” He offered his arm.

  She stared at it like it was a long-tailed jackrabbit.

  “Um...” More of those foolish feelings wound around her heart, so she stepped back. “Don’t mean to be rude, Rev, but as deputy sheriff, I’m gonna decline your gentlemanly offer, if it’s all the same to you.” She offered a crooked smile. “Appearances, y’know.”

  “Ah, yes.” His eyes revealed no offense at her refusal. “I understand.”

  Good thing he did, because she didn’t. She didn’t like this brand-new giddy response to an old friend. Must be all the weddings that had happened in recent months. But she’d locked away her hopes of marriage as securely as most girls locked up their hope chests. No sense at all in dreaming about things that would never be. She’d leave that to her dreamy-eyed youngest sister, Georgia.

  * * *

  Micah Thomas liked keeping company with Grace Eberly. Unlike most other unmarried girls in his congregation, she never behaved in that giddy, flirtatious manner that made him uncomfortable. She had a level head and an honest way of looking people straight in the eye. Her friendship was the perfect antidote to this strange depression he’d felt lately. Until last Friday, when he’d joined two more local couples in holy wedlock, he’d been able to conduct weddings without a single thought of marriage for himself. Like the Apostle Paul, he’d always felt called to remain single so he could do the Lord’s work without the encumbrance and expense of a wife and children.

  But even before last week’s ceremony, he’d begun to sense that something was missing in his life. It didn’t help that Genesis 2:18 kept coming to mind. If the verse was true—and he believed every verse in the Holy Bible was God-breathed truth—that “it is not good that the man should be alone,” then the Lord would have to bring him a “helpmeet” from someplace, because he certainly had no plans to court any of the young ladies in the congregation. That would stir up all sorts of hornets’ nests, namely among certain mothers, each of whom thought her daughter would make a perfect preacher’s wife.

  Micah knew better. It took a special woman to marry a minister, one with her eyes wide open, knowing her husband’s congregation would hold her to a higher standard than anyone else, higher even than the preacher. Such a woman would have to be especially strong both spiritually and emotionally, and more than a little sure of herself as a person. Some ministers’ wives he knew of had faded into sad little shadows under such demanding scrutiny. He would have to make sure it never happened to the woman he married.

  If he married. He still had a hard time reconciling marriage and his God-given ministry, which took all of his waking time and then some. Then there was the matter of the small salary he earned as the minister of a small-town church. Folks gave what they could, but it wasn’t enough to support a wife. If the Lord wanted him to marry, He’d have to bless a particular enterprise Micah had undertaken a while back, one that no one in the congregation knew about, or needed to know about, even though it was perfectly honest and aboveboard. But the chances were slim it would be successful.

  “What’s your favorite ice cream flavor?” Grace shot him a glance without missing a step, her stride as long as his, yet as graceful as that of a mountain lioness.

  “Back home we had blackberries growing wild on our land, so I’m partial to blackberry syrup over vanilla.” He pictured his family’s Virginia home, tragically broken by the war. Because of his uncle’s stand against slavery and Micah’s agreement with his uncle, only one friend had ever kept contact with Micah’s branch of the family after the war. Recently that friend, Joel Sutton, had written to say some folks were coming around to mend fences and renew old friendships. Micah would have to think about asking him to send him a bride, just as Rand Northam’s family had done for him. After three years of marriage, Rand and Marybeth were still
as happy a couple as Micah had ever seen.

  The more he thought about it, the more the idea appealed to him. After all, in the Bible, Abraham had sent a trusted servant to choose a wife for his son Isaac, and Isaac had loved Rebecca from the moment he laid eyes on her. Not every couple had to know each other for a long while before they fell in love and married. Arranged marriages could turn out just as well. If Micah decided to go on a quest for a wife, he might do well to seek Joel’s help.

  “Maybe,” Grace said, “we ought to get a group together and go up to Raspberry Gulch next summer so you can get your fill of berries.” Her blue eyes, no longer tear-filled, sparkled in the midmorning sunshine, as though she were ready for the excursion today.

  “Sounds like a fine idea.” Anything to keep her spirits up. Micah had noticed her drooping shoulders at church yesterday, the way she used to carry herself before she earned everyone’s respect for stopping an attempted bank robbery. On Sunday, he’d figured she was missing her younger sister even before Laurie left. Today he could see how right he’d been.

  Grace really was a pretty girl, despite her tomboy ways, with a sweet face and ready smile. She and her sisters all had the same fiery red hair. But where the others had masses of fuzzy curls, Grace’s thick waist-length hair was straight, except where the ends curled up in a thick cluster. She usually wore it tucked up under the wide-brimmed cowboy hat that now hung down her back on its leather strings. For some reason, today she’d let her hair blow in the autumn breeze. He liked the look on her. He’d tell her that, but she didn’t receive compliments too well.

  They arrived at Nelly’s Ice Cream Parlor, and Grace opened the door to usher Micah in. He wouldn’t chide her for it. It was just her way, as when she refused to take his arm. Many other girls in town would have grabbed onto him as though he were a prized bull to be shown off.