The Christmas Vow

by Shanna Hatfield

  When her former father-in-law, a corrupt judge, decides he wants to raise Toby, Adam may be the only hope she has of keeping her son.

  Crumpets and Cowpies (Baker City Brides, Book 1) — Rancher Thane Jordan reluctantly travels to England to settle his brother’s estate only to find he’s inherited much more than he could possibly have imagined.

  Lady Jemma Bryan has no desire to spend a single minute in Thane Jordan’s insufferable presence much less live under the same roof with the handsome, arrogant American. Forced to choose between poverty or marriage to the man, she finds herself traveling across an ocean and America to reach his ranch in Oregon.

  Recipient of a Readers’ Favorite Silver Award!

  "Thane and Jemma are a perfectly snarky fit for each other, able to fling era-appropriate zingers with a passion and precision seldom done so well in a historical. Rare for a book of any kind, the children and animals have just as large a part of the story as Thane and Jemma themselves, and that just makes the world in Eastern Oregon come more to life... The setting of the small up-and-coming town, and the surrounding cast of characters have created a rich and vivid world, with more than enough to spin tales about this family and town for years to come."

  Julie York — InD'tale Magazine

  Thimbles and Thistles (Baker City Brides, Book 2) — Maggie Dalton has no need for a man in her life. Widowed more than ten years, she’s built a successful business and managed quite well on her own in the bustling town of Baker City, Oregon.

  Aggravated by her inability to block thoughts of the handsome lumber mill owner from her mind, she renews her determination to resist his attempts at friendship.

  Full of Scottish charm and mischief, Ian MacGregor could claim any single woman in Baker City as his own, except the enchanting dress shop owner who continues to ignore him. Not one to give up on what he wants, Ian vows to win Maggie’s heart or leave the town he’s come to love.

  Corsets and Cuffs (Baker City Brides, Book 3) — Coming Spring 2016!

  Turn the page for a fun excerpt…

  Chapter One

  Liverpool, England

  September 1890

  “I could ravish you with kisses.”

  The urge to press his lips to the firm, unmoving surface beneath his feet nearly overcame Thane Jordan. Gratitude filled him as he placed his cowboy boots on solid ground and glanced back at the ship that had served as his floating home for the past thirteen days.

  “Merciful heavens!” A feminine voice, gasping in shock, drew his attention to his immediate right. A matronly woman with an attractive girl at her side gaped at him. “Well, I never, sir!”

  Thane tipped his hat to the young woman, winking roguishly. Slowly turning to her affronted chaperone, he gave her a thorough once-over. “Maybe you should, ma’am. Your bloomers might not be in such a tight bunch if you did.”

  “Oh!” Insulted, the woman spun around, grabbing her young charge by the arm and marching away from the pier where passengers continued to disembark. The girl glanced back and smiled coyly before disappearing into the crowd.

  Thane chuckled at their hasty retreat. He could have simply explained he aimed his comment at the ground he stood on, not either of them, but he found inordinate satisfaction in irking the uptight woman. He held little regard for propriety and bucked it every opportunity he could.

  Removing his hat, he raked a hand through his dark blond hair, grown long from his continued procrastination of visiting a barber. After replacing the Stetson on his head, he rubbed at the scruff growing on his face and frowned at the ship behind him.

  If a desperate need to return to his ranch in eastern Oregon didn’t force his impending journey back across the ocean, he’d refuse to leave dry land again. No wonder his brother, Henry, chose to stay in England instead of sailing back to New York when he left fourteen years earlier.

  Thoughts of his brother made his chest constrict with unwarranted pain. He picked up his leather traveling bag in one hand and propelled his feet forward, still a little wobbly on his legs as he adjusted to being on land again.

  He’d spent most of the time aboard ship seasick. Every movement up and down with the waves sent his stomach churning.

  Determined to wipe the misery from his mind, he wanted to find somewhere he could soak in a hot bath, eat a decent meal, and sleep through the night.

  Instead, he walked along the pier, taking in the stacks and stacks of cotton bales, since most of the world’s raw cotton traveled through Liverpool’s ports. Cotton was the reason Henry left America and Thane moved to Oregon.

  Once he reached the street, Thane hailed a hansom cab and handed the driver the address of Henry’s solicitor, a man named Arthur Weston.

  A month ago, Thane looked up from fixing fence on his sprawling cattle ranch to see his friend Tully Barrett racing across the pasture toward him. The telegram he delivered, from Mr. Weston, informed Thane that Henry passed away from injuries sustained when he took a fall from his horse.

  Named as Henry’s sole beneficiary, the missive from Weston asked that Thane make immediate arrangements to travel to England to settle his brother’s estate. A flurry of telegram messages passed between the two men as Thane demanded to know why he needed to make the journey. Weston provided vague responses, continuing to insist he come.

  Finally giving in to the solicitor’s unyielding request he attend to matters in person, Thane tied up loose ends on the ranch. He left with Tully’s promise to keep watch over the place until his return.

  The train carried him from Baker City, Oregon, across the country to New York City. He booked passage on the first boat headed to Liverpool and regretted leaving the peaceful sagebrush-dotted hills of his ranch with every mile the ship crossed on the open sea.

  As he settled himself against the smooth leather seat of the cab, Thane took a deep breath, inhaling the scents of saltwater, fish, coal, and roasting meat. Hungry after days of illness with little more to eat than hardtack and soda crackers, the rich aroma of the meat made his stomach rumble.

  “Solicitor, bath, then food,” he muttered as the cab rolled along cobblestone-paved streets, lined with lamps and neat brick buildings standing three and four stories high.

  Men in top hats strolled beside women dressed in the latest styles, enjoying an afternoon outing in the warmth of the sun.

  Since he spent the majority of his time alone or with his hired hands, Thane possessed limited knowledge about women’s fashions, other than what his friend Maggie tried to teach him. He held no interest in seeking an education on the matter. As long as his female counterparts appeared pleasing to the eye, he didn’t care what they wore.

  However, the finely dressed women drew his gaze while the passing scenery captured his admiration.

  While the cab traversed down the busy street, he took in a store with a cutlery sign in the window just a few doors down from a café. A hotel sign hung high overhead, welcoming guests. Making note of the location of both the hotel and café, Thane decided he might soon be able to find a filling meal and a comfortable bed.

  The cab finally pulled to a stop in front of a red brick building with ornate gold lettering painted on the shiny glass windows.

  “’Ere we are, good chap. Mr. Weston’s office is up on the second floor, it ‘tis.” The cabby grinned at Thane as he stepped out of the conveyance and paid him. Thane tipped his hat to the cabby and started toward the door.

  “Do ye need me to wait for ye, sir? ‘Appy to wait for ye.” The cabby gave him a hopeful glance, grateful for the generous tip Thane included with his fare.

  “You best move along. I don’t know how long I’ll be here or where I’m going when I leave.” Thane nodded to him again and turned the knob on the door, stepping inside the building and staring at a broad set of wooden stairs.

  Resolute, he jogged up the steps and read a large brass sign hanging on the wall, finding Mr. Weston’s name among those listed. A few paces down a corridor, he knocked on a door bearing t
he man’s name and opened it.

  A pale, slight young man glanced up from a desk covered in papers and files, pushing a pair of round spectacles up the bridge of his nose.

  “May I assist you, sir?”

  Thane neither frowned nor smiled, keeping his face impassive as he spoke. “I’m here to see Arthur Weston. He’s expecting me.”

  “I see.” The young man rose to his feet and looked up at Thane. He stood with his feet slightly apart, towering above the clerk on the opposite side of the desk. “And your name sir?”

  “Thane Jordan. Brother to the late Henry James Jordan.”

  “Just a moment, sir.”

  The young man quietly walked to a door behind him, tapped lightly, then stepped inside.

  He reappeared within a moment and motioned for Thane to have a seat on a straight-backed chair beneath a window.

  “Mr. Weston is indisposed at the moment. If you’ll please be seated, he’ll attend to you directly.”

  Thane nodded his head and took a seat on the hard chair. He dropped the traveling bag to the floor before crossing a foot over the opposite knee, leaning back, and waiting.

  The young man picked up a pen, dipping it in a well of ink, and continued writing on a thick piece of stationery.

  As the pen scratched across the paper, it grated on Thane’s tightly strung nerves. Mindlessly drumming his fingers on his thigh, he fastened his steely blue gaze on Mr. Weston’s door, willing the man to appear.

  Patience had never been his strong suit. Tired and hungry after traveling more than twenty-five hundred miles across America and that far again on the ocean, he just wanted to sign whatever necessary papers Mr. Weston needed and be on his way home. In fact, if they completed business immediately, he could be on a ship headed home by the following afternoon.

  The sound of voices carried across the open space as two men exited Mr. Weston’s office. A tall, white-haired man with a tan face and athletic build walked out accompanied by a short, portly man nervously twirling the end of his walrus mustache between his fingers.

  The two shook hands at the door then the portly man touched a finger to his top hat and exited.

  Thane uncrossed his foot from his knee and stood, pleased Arthur Weston appeared to be of sound mind and body.

  “Mr. Jordan, I offer my sincere apologies for the wait. I received your telegram, but held no certainty as to the day of your expected arrival. Welcome to Liverpool, sir. Arthur Weston at your service.”

  “Mr. Weston, nice to meet you. I appreciate you meeting with me since I don’t have an appointment.” Thane shook the man’s proffered hand then picked up his bag and followed the solicitor into his private office.

  Anxious to settle Henry’s affairs, he took a seat in a leather-upholstered armchair. Thane dropped the bag at his feet, waiting for Weston to get to the point of why he had to travel thousands of miles to sign a few papers.

  “I trust you had an uneventful journey?” Weston asked as he opened a drawer and removed a file stuffed with papers.

  “Most people would consider it so,” Thane answered vaguely. “I don’t particularly enjoy the water.”

  “Were you seasick on the crossing, sir?” Weston glanced at him as he riffled through papers.

  “You could say that.”

  “Nasty bit of business, what? I must say, I try to avoid the need to sail myself. These legs much prefer solid ground beneath them.”

  Thane nodded his head. “I’m curious, Mr. Weston, why I had to travel all this way to sign a few papers for Henry’s estate. Couldn’t you have mailed them to me?”

  “No, sir. I assure you, settling your brother’s estate entails much more than signing a few papers, as you so aptly put it.”

  Weston slid a thick stack of papers across his desk to Thane. “These are the legal documents regarding Henry’s business holdings.”

  Thane sat up a little straighter and leaned forward as Weston slid another handful of papers toward him.

  “These papers detail his personal holdings.”

  Thane felt the muscle in his jaw tighten. So much for signing a few papers and heading home tomorrow. “Anything else?”

  “Yes, sir. This includes the terms of his will.”

  Thane stared at the third stack of papers the solicitor slid his direction, holding back a discouraged sigh.

  Weston sat back in his chair and studied Thane Jordan. He’d known Henry since the day he arrived in Liverpool until his death. His mind worked to associate the tough, rugged man in front of him to the jovial, smiling friend he’d known. Henry was a gentleman in every sense of the word, maintaining a meticulous appearance as a successful and prosperous businessman.

  The cowboy sitting across the desk from Weston needed an appointment with the barber and a set of respectable clothes. Although he didn’t arrive dressed in buckskins, like Weston rather imagined a man living in the western wilds of America might appear, his woolen jacket and corded front chambray shirt were not of the quality he’d expect someone related to Henry to wear. He absently wondered if Thane Jordan even owned a decent suit.

  From what information Henry had shared when he engaged Weston to prepare the details of his will, he knew Thane disappeared from Henry’s life when the lad turned eighteen and moved from his last known location without sending his brother any forwarding address. Henry engaged any number of men of questionable character over the years to track down Thane, finally locating his whereabouts in late spring.

  Upon finding his residence in Oregon, Henry debated sending Thane a letter. In the meantime, he bequeathed everything he owned to his brother, surprising Weston. He knew it certainly came as a shock to those in Henry’s household when he read the will to them upon the man’s death more than a month ago.

  “Do you have any questions, Mr. Jordan?” Weston asked, resting his arms on the top of the desk as Henry’s brother continued to stare at the papers without touching them. Curious if the man could read, he contemplated how best to broach the question. “Would it provide assistance to you if I read the documents aloud?”

  Careworn, Thane sat back in the chair with a sigh. “My belly’s as empty as a forgotten post hole and I can’t sit here for a couple hours listening to you read all that legal mumbo jumbo. I’ll take the papers with me and review them this evening, but why don’t you tell me the important points right now.”

  Weston’s eyebrows rose toward his snowy white hairline, but he nodded his head.

  “It is my understanding you and your brother have not communicated in a dozen years. Henry was beside himself when he realized you left South Carolina and moved on. He managed to hire someone who finally located your whereabouts in the spring. At that time, he came to me and changed his will, leaving you everything.”

  “What, exactly, does everything include?” Thane leaned forward with his elbows propped on his knees, staring inquiringly at his brother’s lawyer.

  “Your brother owned, both outright and as a partner, more than a dozen successful cotton mills in Bolton, where he resided. In addition to his home there, he owned a lovely vacation home in Bath. He also recently engaged in a partnership with several shipping business here in Liverpool.”

  “I thought he lived here in Liverpool.”

  “No. He moved to Bolton after he became a partner in his first cotton mill. He stayed with me when he had business to attend to here in the city and I hope you’ll do the same.”

  Intently gazing at the man across the desk from him, Thane slowly nodded his head. “I appreciate the offer, Mr. Weston. It’s very kind of you.”

  Weston rose to his feet, gathered the papers he’d set on the desk and placed them in a file then enclosed it in a leather satchel similar to the school bags many children carried. After handing the bag to Thane, the solicitor motioned toward the door.

  “Shall we proceed to my home? I’d like to think my cook might be able to provide a filling meal for that fence post hole you mentioned.”

  A smile worked at
the corners of Thane’s mouth and he again nodded his head. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Please, call me Weston. Now, I’d like to hear all about your life in the west. Is it as untamed and wild as the stories I’ve read, that sort of rot?”

  Thane grinned, cocking an eyebrow. “Depends on what you’ve read.”

  “Rightly so, my good man.”

  After a hot bath and a good meal, Thane spent the evening visiting with Weston and his wife, Margaret, at their well-appointed home. The next morning, Mrs. Weston handed a basket of food to her husband as he climbed into a comfortable coach, taking a seat opposite their guest.

  “I must say, I think it best if you spend a few days acquainting yourself with Henry’s holdings in Bolton before you make any decisions,” Weston said when Thane questioned the need for making the day-long trip to the northeast.

  “Can’t I read the papers and sign them here?”

  “There are matters there that require your personal attention, sir. I’m happy to provide assistance and advisement as needed. You didn’t seem of a mind to speak of matters last evening, but I believe it would behoove us to discuss the details of your brother’s will whilst we journey to his home today.” Weston waved to his wife as the coach pulled onto the street.

  “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather wait. I’m still trying to resign myself to Henry’s death. You say he fell off his horse while he was riding home from his office?” Henry was the one who taught Thane to ride. He had a hard time believing his brother could take a spill for no reason and break his neck.

  “From what I know, Henry left his office, riding fast and hard, as he so often did on his way home. It was raining that night, already dark. No one knows if the horse slipped, stepped in a hole, or spooked, but the end result was the same. The doctor said Henry didn’t suffer, that the end came quickly.”