Montana Cowboy Daddy

by Linda Ford

  After she’d agreed to marry him, they’d had a long discussion about their future.

  “I want you to be completely certain this is the right thing to do,” he’d said.

  She’d tipped her head from side to side as she studied him, wanting to be clear as to his meaning. Her heart went to him as she realized he harbored a little fear that she might, like Violet had, regret settling down as a married woman on the ranch. “I’m not going to change my mind. This is the sort of family I have dreamed of, wished for and prayed for since my parents died.”

  “A family is one thing,” he’d murmured. “Life on a ranch is another.” He’d pulled her close and looked deep into her eyes. “If you ever grow tired of it, simply say so. Mattie and I can learn to live in the city if that’s what you need.”

  She had hugged him so tightly he grunted. “You are a noble, generous man and I thank God for bringing you into my life.” She gave a little laugh that caught in her throat. “I am so blessed.”

  He’d pressed his head to her hair. “I believe you were brought into my life. Not the other way around. And it is I who am blessed.”

  They’d kissed, her heart so full of joy and gratitude she clung to him, never wanting to let him go. But if it gave him peace of mind to wait to marry, she would agree. They had set a date four months away.

  Only saying goodbye grew harder and harder. She ached to begin life with him and Mattie. To have her own home and her own family.

  After two weeks, she had begged him to change the date. “I’ll never be more sure of what I want to do.”

  His eyes had shone like a sunny summer sky. “If you’re certain. What did you have in mind?”

  “Next Saturday?”

  He’d laughed. “You think we could manage that?”

  “How long does it take to send messages to those you want to attend? Cousin Augusta won’t want to travel so far, so she won’t mind if she simply gets an announcement of the wedding. Other than that, all my friends are right here.”

  “Then let’s do it.”

  As she watched people arrive, she couldn’t help but be amazed so many showed up on such short notice.

  Annie stepped into the room. “You look lovely.”

  “Cousin Augusta was right when she said a person never knew when they might need a special gown.” Her dress of palest pink silk floated about her like a cloud reflecting the sunrise. “It’s very generous of you to lend me your mother’s veil.” The simple veil of tulle, trimmed in lace and held in place with an ivory comb, hung to her elbows.

  “My mother would be honored.” Annie’s voice caught. “Knowing you’re wearing her veil makes it almost feel like she’s here.”

  Kate and Sadie crowded into the room. Like Annie, they wore pale gray dresses that each had in her wardrobe, and Isabelle had gladly agreed to go with that color for her bridesmaids.

  “Where’s my flower girl?”

  “Here I am.”

  All eyes turned to the door as Mattie came through it. A little while ago, Isabelle had styled the child’s golden hair into a fall of ringlets. Annie had discovered a pink dress that fit her. She held a basket full of wildflowers, their scent filling the room even as joy filled Isabelle’s heart.

  Isabelle leaned down to Mattie’s level. “You are pretty as a picture.”

  “Will Papa be surprised?”

  “He certainly will. In fact, he might forget to look at me.”

  Mattie giggled. “No, he won’t. I’m just a little girl. Besides—” her eyes glistened “—no one is as beautiful as you.”

  Isabelle kissed the child on the forehead. “Thank you.”

  Mattie tugged on Isabelle’s hand and pulled her down to whisper in her ear. “Can I call you Mama now or do I have to wait until after you and Papa get married?”

  Not caring if it rumpled her dress or pulled her veil crooked, she hugged Mattie. “Now is just fine.”

  “Mama. I like the sound of that. You’re my mama.”

  Isabelle couldn’t say who smiled the widest—she or Mattie.

  Sadie turned away from the tender scene to look out the window. “Preacher Hugh has arrived.”

  Annie hurried to join the teacher and said, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man more handsome in a black suit.”

  Isabelle looked at her soon-to-be sister-in-law. Did Annie have feelings for the preacher? It hardly seemed possible. Annie was much younger than the man.

  Dawson’s pa, or Grandpa Bud—as Isabelle had gotten used to thinking of him—called from the stairs. “We’re ready whenever you are.”

  Isabelle looked about at her little gathering of friends.

  Kate returned the look, her gaze full of warmth and love. “This is an answer to your prayers.”

  Isabelle nodded. “Can we have a word of prayer before we go down?” She reached out her hands to Kate on one side and Mattie on the other, taking agreement for granted. After all, she was the bride and today got to say what she wanted and expect her wishes to be fulfilled.

  Sadie and Annie joined hands and they became a circle. Isabelle’s throat tightened. A circle of friends who saw her only as Isabelle Redfield, soon to be Isabelle Marshall, an ordinary woman. She blinked back tears, cleared her throat and prayed. “Dear God, I am so privileged to have these friends, to be welcomed into this family and soon to become Dawson’s wife and Mattie’s mother. I thank You from the bottom of my heart for these blessings. May the day go well.” As a last-minute thought, she added, “And may these friends of mine find their own love to enjoy. Amen.”

  Sadie, Kate and Annie protested at the same time.

  “I won’t marry. My father needs me.” Kate’s words, full of unexpected sadness, made Isabelle ache for her friend.

  “I refuse to believe God can’t provide a man especially suited for you. Now, let’s go.”

  One by one, her friends went down the steps. Mattie waited, as if reluctant to leave Isabelle. They joined Grandpa Bud at the top of the stairs.

  “’Way you go, little one,” Grandpa Bud said and Mattie went demurely ahead of them.

  Isabelle took his arm. “I’m pleased you agreed to walk me down the aisle.”

  Grandpa Bud patted her hand. “I am honored. My son deserves a woman like you.”

  Her throat closed off at his kindness.

  Then they began their descent into the waiting crowd. The table and chairs had been removed from the dining room, leaving space for the gathering. Isabelle tried to take in the many people, wanting to recognize them when she saw them in the future. But her eyes were drawn toward the front. Her friends stood to one side. Dawson’s attendants stood to the other side—his two brothers and Sheriff Jesse.

  At last, she allowed herself to meet Dawson’s bright blue eyes, so overflowing with love and admiration that she might have stumbled if not for Grandpa Bud’s firm arm.

  She made it to Dawson’s side, received a kiss on her tulle-sheltered cheek from Dawson’s father as he released her to Dawson’s arm. She heard the words of Preacher Hugh, answered the questions correctly, but it felt like a dream, viewed through a gossamer curtain.

  And then Dawson lifted the veil and kissed her.

  Suddenly, everything became clear as a sparkling windowpane. She was Mrs. Marshall, wife to Dawson Marshall, mother to Mattie Marshall, and she couldn’t have contained any more joy.

  She smiled as Dawson introduced her to friends and neighbors. She smiled as ladies of the church served tea. With part of her mind, she took in the greetings, the welcome and the warmth of the room. With a much larger part, she yearned for everyone to leave so she and Dawson could cross the yard to their own home.

  A secret pleasure filled her as she recalled the first time she’d seen the house. It fulfilled all her dreams. A big kitchen where she could imagine cooking and serving family meals with Mattie’s help. A cozy sitting room. The furniture in it sparse, as if the room had rarely been used.

  “I can see two comfy armchairs with a sid
e table beside them right here,” she’d said to Dawson. “A bookshelf filled with books and journals and pens. I’m going to keep a journal of all our happy moments.” She’d laughed. “It will be full within a few months.”

  Dawson had held her close. “I can’t wait to share every moment with you. I’ll hold your hand through the bad ones and rejoice with you through the good ones.”

  Her throat clogged now at the memory, just as it had when he’d spoken the words.

  “Tell me what else you see in this room.”

  She’d described Mattie playing nearby, a warm fire and golden lamplight. “And at Christmas, we will invite our friends over and share our joy.”

  Her tour of the house had led her to the nursery, where Mattie’s cradle still stood.

  “I hope we are blessed with many children.” She’d spoken softly. They had discussed the matter. She was pleased to learn he yearned for lots of little ones.

  Her thoughts returned to the gathering as people began to depart, again extending congratulations and best wishes.

  Finally Dawson looked around. “We can go now.” Only family and close friends remained and they had settled in for a long visit.

  She and Dawson slipped away across the yard to their own house. At the threshold he scooped her up in his arms and stepped into their new home. He didn’t put her down until they reached the sitting room.

  “Welcome home, Mrs. Marshall.”

  She kissed him.

  “Have a look around.”

  She turned to examine the room. “Oh, Dawson.” He’d moved in furniture and arranged it exactly as she had described the room to him.

  “I want this house to be your home. It was never Violet’s. She was never the woman of my dreams…only of my youthful foolishness. You are the woman I dreamed of as my wife, my friend and the mother of my children.”

  She went eagerly into his arms. “In you I have found what my heart has wanted all my life. You are my husband and I will do my best to do you good all the days of my life.”

  With a lingering kiss they began their life together as man and wife.

  *

  If you liked this tale of romance and family drama, pick up these other stories from Linda Ford.

  A DADDY FOR CHRISTMAS

  A BABY FOR CHRISTMAS

  A HOME FOR CHRISTMAS

  THE COWBOY’S READY-MADE FAMILY

  THE COWBOY’S BABY BOND

  THE COWBOY’S CITY GIRL

  Find more great reads at www.LoveInspired.com.

  Keep reading for an excerpt from THE SHERIFF’S CHRISTMAS TWINS by Karen Kirst.

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  Dear Reader,

  I visited Kootenay Falls near Libby, Montana, and sat on a rock to watch the water rumble and roar. I knew it was a perfect place for characters in my book to share important revelations. Little did I know it would be a child who would be the one to reveal a secret. Secrets can be the source of shame, pain and embarrassment. But revealing them can also be healing. That’s what happens in this story.

  I hope and pray that if any of my readers have secrets that are hindering them they will seek help and allow God’s healing love into their hearts.

  You can learn more about my upcoming books and how to contact me at www.lindaford.org. I love to hear from my readers.

  Blessings,

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  We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Love Inspired Historical title.

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  The Sheriff’s Christmas Twins

  by Karen Kirst

  Chapter One

  December 1886

  Gatlinburg, Tennessee

  “We have a situation at the mercantile, Sheriff.”

  Shane Timmons set the law journal aside and reached for his gun belt.

  The banker held up his hand. “You won’t be needing that. This matter requires finesse, not force.”

  “What’s happened?” His chair scraped across the uneven floor as he stood and picked up his Stetson. “Did Quinn catch a kid filching penny candy?”

  “I suggest you come and see for yourself.”

  Unaccustomed to seeing Claude Jenkins flustered, Shane’s curiosity grew as he shrugged on his coat and followed him outside into the crisp December day. Pedestrians intent on starting their holiday shopping early crowded the boardwalks. Those shopkeepers who hadn’t already decorated their storefronts were draping the windows and doors in ivy and holly garlands. On the opposite side of the street, they passed a vendor hawking roasted chestnuts, calling forth memories of bitter Norfolk, Virginia, winters and a young boy’s futile longing for a single bag of the toasty treat.

  Shane tamped down the unpleasant memories and continued on to the mercantile. Half a dozen trunks were piled beside the entrance. Unease pulled his shoulder blades together as if connected by invisible string. His visitors weren’t due for three more days. He did a quick scan of the street, relieved there was no sign of the stagecoach.

  Claude held the door and waited for him to enter first. The pungent stench of paint punched him in the chest. The stove-heated air was heavy and made his eyes water. Too many minutes in here and a person could get a headache. The proprietor, Quinn Darling, hadn’t mentioned plans to renovate. The first day of December and unofficial kickoff to the holiday fanfare was a terrible time to start.

  His gaze swept the deserted sales counter and aisles before landing on a knot of men and women in the far corner.

  “Why didn’t you watch where you were going? Where are your parents?”

  “I—I’m terribly sorry, ma’am,” came the subdued reply. “My ma’s at the café. She gave me permission to come see the new merchandise.”

  “This is what happens when children are allowed to roam through the town unsupervised.”

  Shane rounded the aisle and wove his way through the customers, stopping short at the sight of statuesque, matronly Gertrude Messinger, a longtime Gatlinburg resident and wife of one of the gristmill owners, doused in green liquid. While her upper half remained untouched, her full skirts and boots were streaked with paint. Beside her, ashen and bug-eyed, stood thirteen-year-old Eliza Smith.

  “Quinn Darling,” Gertrude’s voice boomed with outrage. “I expect you to assign the cost of a new dress to the Smiths’ account.”

  At that, Eliza’s freckles stood out in stark contrast to her skin.

  “One moment, if you will, Mr. Darling,” a third person chimed in. “The fault is mine, not Eliza’s.”

  The voice put him in mind of snow angels and pi
ano recitals and cookies swiped from silver platters. But it couldn’t belong to Allison Ashworth. She and her brother, George, wouldn’t arrive until Friday. Seventy-two more hours until his past collided with his present.

  He wasn’t ready.

  His old friend, George Ashworth, had written months ago expressing the wish to spend Christmas with him. He’d agreed, of course—it had been years since he’d seen George and longer still since he’d clapped eyes on Allison. As tempted as he’d been to deny the siblings, the memory of their father and his generosity had prevented him.

  Edging two steps to his left, Shane gained a clear view of the unidentified female. His jaw sagged. Gertrude Messinger should consider herself fortunate because this woman had suffered the brunt of the mishap. The oily green mixture covered her from head to toe. Her face was a monochrome mask. Only her eyes—the color of emeralds and glittering with indignation—and lips were untouched.

  Gertrude stared. “That girl was right beneath the ladder when it happened.”

  She put a protective hand on Eliza’s shoulder. “That may be so, but I believe it was my foot that snagged the ladder and caused the can to tip over. I offer you my sincere apology. And of course, I’ll make reparations for the damage.”

  “Your apology doesn’t change the fact I’m standing here dripping in paint!”

  “See what I mean?” Claude leaned close to murmur in Shane’s ear.

  As a lawman, his duties ranged from unpleasant to exasperating to downright perilous. This sort of dilemma was far from typical.

  Quinn held his hands out in a placating gesture. “I regret this incident ever happened, ladies. It was my hired man who left the unopened can on the ladder unattended. I’ll pay for cleaning services, as well as provide enough store credit for replacement fabric and shoes, hats, ribbons. Whatever you need.”

  The older woman glared down her patrician nose. “This dress is beyond saving. Besides, how am I to be expected to walk the streets looking like this?” Spotting Shane, she summoned him with an imperious flick of her fingers. “It’s about time you got here, Sheriff. I want this woman arrested.”

  Eliza and the stranger gasped in unison. Moving closer to Quinn, Shane was careful to avoid the oozing globs on the gleaming floorboards. Belatedly removing his hat, he addressed Mrs. Messinger.