His Christmas Bride (The Brides of Paradise Ranch (Spicy Version) Book 9)

by Merry Farmer

  There wasn’t time to dwell on it. George had fired up the stove, probably to make his coffee, so it was hot enough for her to get to work cooking right away. She busied herself putting together a hash in one skillet while frying eggs in another. Anything to avoid thinking about the unfathomable truth that she and George were married.

  He hung behind in the bedroom, coming out several minutes later fully dressed and shaved. By that point, she already had his breakfast plate ready and keeping warm on the side of the stove.

  “I made the bed,” he said when she brought it over to her.

  “Thank you.” She smiled. Smiling shouldn’t be so hard. This was George, after all, the man she’d almost married. The man she had married.

  On second thought, it made perfect sense to be as uncertain and awkward as a debutante at her first ball. Not that she had the first clue what that felt like, but if her parents had had their way…

  George ate in silence, even when Holly brought her own plate and mug of coffee to the table to join him. He managed a weak grin for her, but not a single word. His lips twitched a few times. He dragged his gaze up to meet hers once or twice. He even opened his mouth, but reached for his cooling coffee and took a long drink instead. Holly wasn’t much better. She wracked her brain, trying to come up with a topic of conversation. The weather. She could talk about the snow. Or plans for the manse. Or the upcoming pageant. Her mind swirled with questions about those sorts of things, but it was like she’d lost her voice.

  Why was this so difficult? She and George had a history. They were married. It should not be such an impossible challenge to talk to one’s husband, especially when they’d known each other for so long.

  “I need to get going,” George said at last, practically leaping up from the table.

  He reached for his plate, but Holly stopped him. “I’ll clean up. If you have a job to do, you should go do that.”

  He nodded, managing a half smile, then fled into his office. A moment later, she heard the door to the chapel open and close.

  She let out a long, heavy breath and shook her head. Breakfast didn’t hold any savor for her anymore, so she put her fork on her plate and stood to start cleaning up. She was being ridiculous. They both were. There was no sane reason why the two of them couldn’t coexist cordially. They were adults—much older adults than they had been when they’d caused such havoc in each other’s lives. They’d each had a wealth of experiences since then, experiences that had changed them, made them into different people than the young fools who rushed headlong into, and then out of, marriage. They could talk about those experiences. They could talk about the people and things they’d seen along the way. They could ignore all that and talk only about the future. There was so much to talk about. So why hadn’t they been able to manage a single word?

  She let the mystery go and went back to the bedroom to wash and dress for the day. In a way, it would be an even bigger day than the day before. She was Mrs. Rev. Pickering now. She had a position of responsibility, not only in George’s house, but to the people of Haskell. Every one of the minister’s wives that she’d known in her childhood had been as important as their husbands. She had big shoes to fill.

  And yet, when she stepped through George’s office door and into the sanctuary, she froze at the number of people who had arrived to help decorate. Half a dozen women in their young-to-middle years were there, sorting through piles of red ribbon and holly branches, pine boughs and silver bells. More than a dozen children shrieked and giggled as they dashed up and down the aisle and along the pews. Several hale and hearty young men—including Sheriff Knighton—worked around the room setting up what looked like pine trees that had been chopped down to be brought inside.

  “We’re going to need more,” Sheriff Knighton called to George, who stood on the chancel with a trio consisting of two older ladies and one younger one with bright red hair. The two older ladies had been at the train station the day before, but in the madness, Holly hadn’t been introduced to them.

  George glanced up from their conversation. He surveyed Sheriff Knighton’s work, then let out a breath. “We’ll have to go out again to cut some more.”

  “I can’t go until next Wednesday,” one of the men who was helping Sheriff Knighton said. “Wendy has her hands full sewing Christmas gowns, so I need to keep an eye on Emanuel, maybe get him out of the house so he doesn’t keep distracting his mama.”

  “Yeah, and if I spend another day out searching for pine trees and getting sap on my clothes, Honoria is going to scold me from here to next Christmas,” a well-dressed black man added.

  Holly’s brow flew up. She hadn’t seen him when she first entered the room, possibly because he blended in as well as anyone else. She would never have seen anything like him in Nashville or in Baltimore. That must have been what George meant about Haskell being unique and welcoming.

  A shift in tension drew her attention back to George. Sure enough, he’d noticed her standing there. A flush spilled across his cheeks. For a moment, he didn’t move. Sheriff Knighton cleared his throat. The women who had been conversing with George smiled at Holly.

  “Aren’t you gonna introduce us, Reverend?” the man who Holly figured had to be Travis Montrose—assuming her friend Wendy was the only Wendy with a baby named Emanuel in town—said.

  “Yes, of course.” George shook himself and stepped down from the chancel, coming to meet Holly. “Everybody, this is, ah, my wife, Holly.”

  Holly’s stomach filled with butterflies as everyone who had come to decorate hummed and said hello and crowded toward the front of the church, where George led her. “How do you do?” She nodded to as many as she could.

  “Holly, this is Travis Montrose,” he began, confirming her suspicions about the man who had been helping with the trees. “You met Trey,” he went on, “And I think you met Josephine Evans and Virginia Piedmont yesterday.”

  “We weren’t formally introduced,” she nodded and smiled at the older ladies.

  “And a crying shame it was too,” Virginia said with a laugh.

  “And this is Katie Murphy,” George went on.

  “It’s a grand pleasure to meet you,” Katie said in a broad, Irish accent.

  “And here we have Katie’s good friend and partner in crime, Emma Meyers.”

  A sweet-looking woman in her middle years nodded. “Welcome to Haskell.”

  “Thank you,” Holly replied, already overwhelmed with the volume of new people and names she would have to remember.

  “And over here is Estelle Tremaine, Libby Montrose, and Miriam Montrose,” George continued.

  “We married brothers,” Miriam laughed. Holly recognized her from Hurst Home, but they had been part of different friend circles. Still, Miriam said, “It’s good to see you again.”

  “Likewise.” Holly smiled in spite of her nerves.

  “And this is Solomon Templesmith, our town banker and general handyman,” George introduced the black man.

  Several stories Holly had heard from Eden and Wendy and Corva clicked in her mind. “Oh, I’ve heard of you,” she said.

  “Good things, I hope.” Solomon came forward to shake her hand.

  “Yes, all of them.”

  “And this parcel of rapscallions you see running around are half mine, half Emma’s, and a few of their friends that we picked up along the way,” Katie said, gesturing to the children.

  “Sorry if they’re causing trouble,” Emma added.

  “Not at all.” Holly smiled as she glanced out over the playing children. “I like children.”

  “All the same,” Katie said, “we’ll keep them out of your hair.”

  She stepped into the fray to tell the kids to calm down and play quietly. That was the cue for everyone else to return to their jobs. Holly watched them go, wondering where she could help. The best place to start seemed to be with George, so she joined the conversation on the chancel as it resumed.

  “It shouldn’t be too much troub
le to do the pageant the way we do it every year,” Josephine said.

  “We have all the costumes from the last two years, of course,” Virginia added.

  “I could help make new ones if they’re needed,” Holly put in.

  “Thank you, dear.” Virginia smiled at her, then turned back to George. “I was thinking that Libby and Mason’s little Jo would make a good Baby Jesus.”

  “I love her to pieces, but isn’t Jo too old?” Josephine asked. “I mean, she’s such a sweet, well-behaved baby, but she’s nine months old.”

  “What about Emanuel Montrose?” George asked.

  “He’s closer to the right age,” Josephine agreed.

  “But he’s a squirmy little bean,” Virginia said with a wide smile.

  Holly wished she knew more about the people of Haskell, wished she could suggest someone’s baby who would be right for the part.”

  “If only Vivian Bonneville was ready to pop out that bun in her oven,” Josephine sighed.

  “Vivian Bonneville?” Virginia balked. “In the first place, she isn’t due for another six months, at least. She’s barely even showing. And in the second…Vivian Bonneville?”

  “It would keep her from trying to interfere with everything else the way she has been lately.” Josephine shrugged.

  Holly noticed that George didn’t have much to say. In fact, she wasn’t sure if he was paying attention to the conversation at all. He wasn’t looking at her, but she had the distinct feeling his focus was all on her. She could feel it like an itch down her back.

  “I’ll just go see if the garland ladies need any help,” she whispered and excused herself from the conversation.

  But Emma and Miriam had things well in hand.

  “I’m sure Libby could use help with those ribbons and bells,” Miriam said, smiling to where Libby sat in the back pew with two large boxes.

  Holly went to help her, but was disappointed.

  “There really isn’t much to do here.” Libby shrugged, friendly even though she was dismissive. “We have to wait for the men to secure the pine trees, and then I was thinking we could hang some of the bows and bells on those.

  “I’m sure that will look beautiful,” Holly told her. “What an original idea.”

  “I saw something like that in a store window up in Seattle a few years ago,” Libby explained.

  Even that conversation was cut short as Libby’s little girl woke suddenly from her nap in a basinet at the other end of the pew. With no decorating task falling into her hands, Holly turned her attention to the children. They were still running and climbing over the pews, so she went to join them and make sure they didn’t hurt themselves.

  “Wouldn’t you rather sit and hear a story than run around?” she asked the oldest of the kids, who must have been just shy of school age.

  Before they could answer, Katie Murphy rushed to join them. “Children, stop bothering Mrs. Pickering.”

  “It’s quite all right, I was just going to—”

  “What have I told you about pestering people who have work to do?” Katie went on, evidently not seeing that the work Holly had to do was keeping the children occupied. “Say you’re sorry.”

  “We’re sorry.” The two red-headed angels apologized in unison.

  “It’s quite all right,” Holly answered. “I could tell them a story.”

  “Oh no, I couldn’t ask you to do that,” Katie laughed. “Come along, kiddos. Keep out of the grown-ups’ way.”

  Holly sighed as they were whisked off. She shouldn’t let the awkwardness get to her, but it was so much harder to fit in with a group that was already functioning at peak efficiency. There just didn’t seem to be any place for her, as badly as she wanted there to be. She could only pray that it was a one-time occurrence and not something that would last. She needed to feel useful.

  The only productive thing she could think of to keep herself occupied was to leave the church altogether, to fetch her coat, scarf, and gloves from George’s apartment, and head into town to the mercantile. But even that task didn’t keep her eyes from stinging with a sudden loneliness and the feeling that she was in over her head.

  In fact, by the time she made her way up the curving street that led to one side of town, she was sniffling in spite of her best efforts not to, and it wasn’t from the cold. Not only that, when she paused to look around, she had no idea where she was. Haskell was tiny compared to every other place she’d lived in her life, but she was lost all the same.

  “Oh dear,” she squeaked, willing herself not to lose her head. “Oh dear.”

  “Can I help you?” She was near the large, white hotel when the question came from an elegant woman in a blue wool coat. She had black hair, bright blue eyes, and an air of sophistication that felt almost out of place in the frontier town.

  “I’m looking for the mercantile,” Holly managed to squeak out.

  The black-haired woman tilted her head and stared at Holly. “I would think you’re looking for a handkerchief, what with those red eyes of yours.”

  “It’s nothing.” Holly brushed her emotions away.

  “Honey, tears are not nothing, especially when you’re the new bride in town.”

  Holly jerked her head up. “You…you know who I am?”

  The woman grinned. “Everyone in town knows who you are, Mrs. Pickering. It’s a small town.” She pulled her hand from the ermine muff that she held in front of her, extending it to Holly. “I’m Bonnie. Bonnie Cole.”

  “Oh dear,” Holly repeated, uneasiness flooding her.

  Bonnie’s grin grew wider. “I see you’ve heard of me.”

  “It’s not that.” Holly instantly felt like a heel. “I’ve heard good things. Plenty of good things.”

  “Like the fact that George and I have a history.” It was a statement, not a question, and Bonnie brushed it away with an easy gesture. “Forget about all that. You’re obviously upset about something. Would it help if I offered you tea at the hotel, and maybe a tour of the town afterwards?”

  Holly hesitated. More than anything, she wanted to accept, but…

  “We don’t have to talk about George or me or you or any of that,” Bonnie said with a conspiratorial sparkle in her eyes. “We can gossip about everyone else in town instead. I just found out something particularly juicy about my good friend, Mr. Theophilus Gunn, who manages this hotel.”

  “I…um…” Holly blinked rapidly. On one level, it didn’t feel right to sit down to tea with the other woman in George’s past. But on the other, she liked Bonnie instantly. And right at that moment, she needed a friend more than she needed anything else. “All right,” she said, letting herself smile.

  “Good.” Bonnie nodded. “Right this way, Mrs. Pickering.”

  George knew the moment Holly left the church. The rock-hard tension he’d been carrying in his shoulders eased, and he let out a deep breath of relief.

  “Something wrong?” Josephine asked, giving him a strange look.

  “No, nothing.” He shrugged, pretending her question was odd. “I’m sure the Montrose brothers would be willing to play the parts of the three wise men, and you’re right, the town would get a kick out of that.”

  Internally, he kicked himself. He was a pastor, the moral leader of Haskell. He shouldn’t be lying, even if it was a white lie and a diversion instead of something more serious. But he couldn’t face the mountain of impossible thoughts raging through his mind and playing havoc with the rest of him. He couldn’t shake the guilt of how relieved he was now that Holly had left.

  “I think we’re going to have the best Christmas pageant yet,” he told Josephine, Virginia, and Katie, who had rejoined them after seeing to the children. “I’ll leave you ladies to iron out the details.”

  He stepped down from the chancel and fled to where Trey and Travis were still setting up pine trees in makeshift stands. They accepted him into their group to work without a word. It was exactly what he needed just then—work, not talk.

&
nbsp; Of course, if he was a smart man, a kind man, he would sit Holly down right away and talk to her. But what could he say? That he didn’t know what he’d been thinking when he went ahead and married her yesterday? That it was plain as day to him she wanted to go, not marry the problems she’d probably thought she’d left behind her? And how could he begin to address everything that happened back in Baltimore anyhow? He’d been young and arrogant. He’d pushed her into an engagement that she hadn’t wanted. But the man who’d done that was not the man he was now.

  What was he going to do?

  “Ah! This looks like a happy group of busy bees!”

  Howard’s boom of greeting stopped George’s thoughts from running rampant. He straightened and turned away from the tree that he, Trey, and Travis were setting in place. Howard strolled into the church as if he owned it…which, technically, he did. Rev. Robbins followed a step behind, like some giant, black-clad specter. At least it was the sort of distraction that George needed.

  “Howard.” He put on a smile and strode up the aisle to meet the two men. “Rev. Robbins. What can I do for you today?”

  “We’ve come by to check on the progress of all things Christmas,” Howard announced, tucking his thumbs into the pockets of his vest and rocking back on his heels. “It’s starting to look very festive in here.”

  “Thanks.” George nodded and managed a weak grin. “Everyone is doing their best and should be commended.”

  “Yes, yes,” Howard went on, an impatient note in his voice. “Of course, that’s not the only thing I came to talk to you about.”

  George had a hint of a warning that something was afoot when Rev. Robbins turned from his frowning observation of the church and its decorations to pay attention to the conversation, a grin on his face that sent a chill down George’s back.

  “I was talking to Rev. Robbins here this morning,” Howard began. “He’s staying out at Paradise Ranch as my guest, of course. Over breakfast, the idea came up that since you’re a newlywed with a beautiful wife to settle in, perhaps you should take some time off.”