“I’m doing this badly, aren’t I?”
“What are you trying to do? I don’t know if you are proposing.”
“I’m trying to explain.” He shook off what had to be aggravation.
So, this wasn’t a proposal?
She tried to slip free, but Morgan held on tighter. “Don’t go, Lizzy. Stay here in Mountain Home with me. Be my wife. I don’t think I could stand it if I had to live with you as a sister.”
She giggled. Had to be the relief, the utter rightness of hearing him actually say marriage—well, he hadn’t actually said marriage, but that’s what he’d meant.
“I mean it.” His brows drew together.
“I know.”
“Marry me, Lizzy.”
“Was that a question?”
He rested his forehead against hers. “Just like I can’t stand other people telling me what to do, I’m not real fond of teasing. Now would be a good time to say yes.”
“Yes.”
She sealed that promise with a kiss. A sweet, tender, genuine kiss. One she hoped conveyed just how much she’d come to love him.
She slipped her fingers into his hair, warm and soft, where it lay over his collar. He smelled of sunshine-dried cotton, bay rum, minty tooth powder, gun oil, and man.
Morgan Hudson smelled like happily forever after.
“Your mother lost her marbles over the guns inherent in gunsmithing. You lost your father to gunfire. Tell me right now if you won’t be a gunsmith’s bride.”
“And if I object to your trade? What would you do?”
“I’d—” He blinked. He swallowed, hard. The man loved his work. He was born for it—a natural, like his father and his father before him.
She stroked a thumb over his beard stubble, loving the texture. He obviously didn’t know how smitten she was with him. He had as many insecurities as she—and that must cease. If they were to be stronger, together, happier because of their bond, she must help him shed his doubts and build his confidence. “I love you, Morgan Hudson. I’d love you if you were a gunslinger, a lawman, an executioner, or an undertaker.”
Light radiated from his smile. Boy howdy, the man was more than gorgeous when he smiled. “Morbid thoughts.”
She chuckled. “You started it, referencing Mother’s hysterics over guns and Father’s death to violence.”
“So…you do have a problem with a gunsmith?” That amazing smile began to creep back onto his features. “I could learn to sling iron. Might have to move to Cañon City, but I might find work executing at the State Penitentiary.”
How could the man keep a straight face? “You’d better be teasing.”
He lost that smile then, somberness chasing away all frivolity. “I killed that man. The one who nearly killed Ferwinckle.”
“In self-defense. The sheriff and your father shot too. Talmadge said he shot at you first.”
“True.”
Gratitude filled her, overflowing even as tears blurred her vision. “Mr. Ferwinckle and Sheriff Talmadge believe the hired gun was the one who shot and killed my father in St. Louis.”
“I know.”
“Thank you. Mother and I were in danger, could have lost our lives without warning, and we didn’t suspect it. You might have acted in self-defense, but you saved our lives.”
Moments slipped past while she fought to control her emotion. “I’ll always be grateful. If you couldn’t handle a gun, I’d have lost you.” Her throat closed and she fought to regain her ability to speak. “He would have come after Mother and me next.”
He pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead. The kind of kiss that made her feel cherished, valued, and needed.
“I love you.” His whispered declaration evoked tingles along every nerve.
“I love you, Morgan Hudson.”
“That means we are out of options.” His beautifully expressive face disclosed joy, happiness, determination, confidence, and limitless love.
How had their parents’ romance brought them together? She never would have believed it possible. “What do we do now?”
“Only one thing we can do.”
Her belly tingled. She wanted romantic words. A marriage offer worthy of telling and retelling to children and grandchildren.
“I never thought I’d see a blessing the size of the great state of Colorado come from the loss of my mother, but it happened. Her life ended too early, but started a course of events that ultimately brought you to me. Now that I’ve found you, I’m not willing to let you go.” He loosened his hold, eased back a step, as if he’d drop to one knee. So very story-book romance.
But instead, he tightened his embrace.
Disappointed? How could she be? This man wanted her, in his arms.
One more lingering kiss, then Morgan swept a thumb over her lower lip. “Will you be my wife, Lizzy Lou Speare? Take my name and become Elizabeth Louise Hudson?”
“I’d be honored.”
He whooped with joy.
“Morgan?”
“Hmm?”
“I prefer Lizzy.”
Chapter 18
Morgan claimed one more heady kiss as Mrs. Speare appeared around the side of the house, her hand clutched in Dad’s. The pair of lovers had obviously made up well and good, if the smiles on their faces were a trusted indication.
After all, those smiles did not fade, despite catching Morgan kissing Lizzy with enthusiasm.
“Oh, just what I wanted!” Mrs. Speare practically pulled her daughter out of Morgan’s embrace.
This stepmother/mother-in-law combination would be a challenge.
For Lizzy, he’d manage.
Not that he’d admit it easily, but Zylphia Speare, soon to be Zylphia Hudson, despite her quirks, was a woman far too much like himself. Not a comfortable realization, but Lizzy had been right. Understanding Zee had made all the difference.
“Mother?” Lizzy hugged Zee in return, then pulled back to discreetly tuck a lock of her mother’s hair back into a pin. Dad, apparently, had made up for lost time.
“I’m thrilled to see you two kissing and making up.” Zee sounded delighted. “I’d love nothing more than to see you two wedded to one another in the same ceremony uniting Geo and me.”
Morgan’s attention hadn’t left his bride’s face—so he noticed her hesitancy. She’d been placating her mother for twenty years. It’d take time, but eventually, he’d help her ease back into a healthy amount of following her mother’s edicts.
“No time to waste,” Zee continued. “I want grandchildren.”
“Mother!” Lizzy’s face flushed. Adorable.
Morgan fought the urge to laugh. He’d warned his bride he’d make mistakes, but hoped to avoid one that serious until he’d placed his ring on her finger and she was his, forever.
Some mistakes wouldn’t be laughing matters at all. He’d try to avoid disappointing her altogether. Every day. For the rest of their lives. She deserved that, and more.
Dad clapped Morgan on the back. “Stand up for me, Son?”
“And I’ll stand up for you, Lizzy.” Zee talked over Dad—something she came by naturally. Why stop now?
Dad didn’t seem the slightest bit troubled. He’d never looked happier. Not even…before. The realization impinged on the buoyant joy salvaged from the ashes. Having seen both, up close and personal, he had no interest in returning there.
From now on, he chose happiness. Optimism, living, and loving—and always with Lizzy Lou in the middle of that picture.
Deep in his heart, he had no doubt his mother would be pleased Dad had found love again. She’d loved Dad ‘til her dying breath. She’d not have wanted his life to end, just because hers had.
Silently, he promised his angel mother he’d be happy for Dad too.
His mother would be overjoyed he’d finally found the love of his life. She’d have loved Lizzy.
“I want to share my special—our special day.” Zee took both of Lizzy’s hands, squeezed tight. Happy tears ran down
her cheeks and dripped from her chin. “What do you say?”
Lizzy glanced at Morgan, a question in her eyes. As if she’d do whatever he wanted.
Everybody knew weddings were entirely a woman’s affair. “Whatever you want, Lizzy. I’d marry you anytime, anywhere, with or without a joint ceremony. I just want to marry you. Officially, legally, forever.”
That won him one of her quick, genuine smiles. Like the day they’d met, on the train platform, and he’d thought her widowed and the mother of two monster children.
“Oh!” Zee caught a tremulous breath. “I told you, Geo. Didn’t I? I knew our children were right for each other. We’re going to be one big, gloriously happy family.”
“Are you sure?” Lizzy asked, searching Morgan’s eyes, uncertainty showing in her posture and her voice. He’d enjoy helping the strong, confident Lizzy emerge. That Lizzy was in there, somewhere.
“I’m sure, darling. Entirely up to you.”
That won him another quick smile. Rich and sincere, a quick one-two punch to the gut. He loved making her smile.
“Then yes, Mother. A double wedding it will be.”
“Wonderful!” Zee squeezed Lizzy tight, then opened her arms to Morgan.
He’d fought off every hug Zylphia Speare had attempted to inflict upon him from the day she’d arrived.
Lizzy’s smile morphed to a pucker, making her feelings on the matter clear. Rejecting this hug would not win him any favors from his bride-to-be. He grinned at Lizzy and put his arms about her mother. He squeezed her tight and allowed her time to hug him back.
Mother-in-law seemed a much more tolerable relationship to Zylphia Speare Hudson than that of stepmother. Mother-in-law, he could live with. “Congratulations, Mother.”
Zee caught her breath. “Did you hear that, Elizabeth Louise?”
Lizzy nodded, love shining in her magnificent blue eyes. “Yes, Mother. I heard him use the magic word.”
“He called me Mother!”
“Indeed he did.” Dad sounded like a proud papa.
This was a good day. Both Hudson men ready to move forward to the next chapter of their lives. They wouldn’t have to forget Tildie—no need at all. Two secure, well-loved, and confident women loved those Hudson men, memories and all.
Surprising though it was, it seemed Morgan’s heart had enough room to wholly love the right woman…and her peculiar mother.
Zee sniffed, blew her nose into her hankie, and smiled. “Run along you two. Brush your hair, Elizabeth Louise, and pin it up. We’re leaving in ten minutes to apply for marriage licenses, then calling upon Pastor Gilbert immediately thereafter.”
Now?
He wanted to marry Lizzy—but now?
Women were in charge of these things…because these things took time. Dresses needed sewing. Invitations in fancy handwriting on thick cream-colored paper shipped all the way from New York City. Somebody had to cook an elaborate meal for guests.
He’d heard all about it as Arrah had planned the most absurdly ornate wedding. Mountain Home residents wouldn’t have known what to do with all that fluff and nonsense.
That necessary time for preparations had saved him. Without it, he might have actually married Arrah. He shivered, realizing how close he’d come to a tragedy.
He’d dodged a bullet when she’d called off that wedding and left his engagement ring behind.
Ring.
He couldn’t wed Lizzy without a ring.
He opened the kitchen door for the ladies who swept inside, tittering with excitement.
Everybody knew the ring was part of the ceremony—and an important part at that. He had ten minutes.
No cigar band for Lizzy Lou. And no bent nail, either.
He caught Dad’s sleeve, then waited for the women to move beyond hearing. “I want to give Lizzy Mother’s wedding ring.”
“She would have wanted that too.”
Dad braced a hand on Morgan’s shoulder and squeezed. One of those precious father-son moments that had become so rare. Perhaps all the more valued because of the infrequency.
“Let’s get you that ring.”
Morgan shouldn’t have been surprised Dad led the way to the first house, rather than the new.
Epilogue
March 13, 1888 Almost three years later…
Morgan Hudson had never seen March weather so severe, so extreme, or so debilitating.
Because of the blizzard, he’d moved his wife into the big house with their parents, to conserve firewood. No sense heating two stoves and two kitchens.
Morgan had been out on snowshoes, during breaks in the storm, along with other men, ensuring individuals and families in Mountain Home were safe—and taking care of those in need. He’d paid a visit to Miss Ina Dimond—whoops. Make that Miss Ina and her new husband of all of two weeks. They’d not had time to get settled, chop adequate firewood…and living with Cousin Ray Cresswell and his bride had put a strain on the resources.
The day had been rewarding, fulfilling, and downright bone-chilling. He’d never been so glad to be home, huddled close to the stove with his three favorite people. He held a cup of coffee between two chapped hands and soaked up the warmth.
“Since when,” Mother asked, “have Colorado winters been this severe?”
Yes, Mother was anxious about the blizzard, but then, so was everybody else in the valley. She’d tempered over the three years—almost—since she’d come to Colorado. Morgan figured Dad had worked that significant change.
They’d been so good for each other—Dad and Mother.
And Morgan could say, without hesitation, that he and Lizzy had been good for each other too.
“Come sit down to supper.” Mother set a heavy Dutch oven in the middle of the kitchen table. They’d shut off the rooms they weren’t immediately using, heating only those needed. At bedtime, they’d move their mattresses close to the kitchen range and camp on the floor.
Not his idea of a good time, but doing so served the purpose of keeping an eye on their aging parents and staying warm. The storm would pass, and things—well, most things—would go back to the way they’d been.
“Morgan? Will you say grace?”
With his wife’s hand in his right, and Mother’s in his left, Morgan offered a prayer of gratitude for shelter, comfort, and plenty to eat. His mother’s ring, upon Lizzy’s finger, reminded him of the gifts in his life.
Life was good.
“Amen.”
Amens all around, and the conversation returned to the snow. The parents had never stopped urging Morgan and Lizzy to move into the big house, but they’d loved their solitude, their privacy. But this winter, they’d weather the late spring serious storms, together.
And as summer came around—if it did—the young Mr. and Mrs. Hudson just might remain in the big house.
“You know we can’t manage the stairs any longer.” Mother dished up steaming baked beans and ham, rich, fragrant, and hot. “You know how Dad’s arthritic back is when the weather is disagreeable.”
Morgan shared a secret smile with Lizzy.
“If you move in,” Mother continued, “you young people could have the entire upstairs to yourselves. Dad and I will move our bedroom down, and use that little room behind the kitchen for our own. It will suit our needs more than adequately.”
Morgan held his wife’s eye and smiled. He gave her a nod. The timing was perfect.
“That’s a fine idea, Mother.”
“It is?” Zee dropped her fork. “Why is it a fine idea?”
She didn’t dare hope—he saw that much clearly on her face.
“It’s a grand idea.” Morgan couldn’t help but grinning, wide as could be. He squeezed his wife’s hand. ”It’ll be better for the baby to be near his grandparents.”
Who knew four people could make so much joyful noise?
Outside, the storm raged, the wind howled, and if they were looking through the windows into the gloom, they’d have wondered what they could be happy abo
ut.
But within that warm kitchen, during the worst storm of the century, Morgan Hudson’s heart overflowed with contentment.
“When?” Mother demanded. “When will the little one arrive?”
“By Thanksgiving.”
Blessed, perfect timing.
Morgan lifted Lizzy’s fingers to his lips, kissed her knuckles and lingered. He smiled into her eyes. “By Thanksgiving,” he repeated.
More accurately, late October or early November, but it seemed wise to add a few weeks, just in case Mother lost her patience.
“Most wonderful gift you could give us,” Mother insisted, as she hugged her daughter. “Me! A grandmother!” Her eyes rounded as tears welled and spilled. “Our grandchild, Geo. Our grandchild.”
Zee’s happiness, in our own odd ways, became Morgan’s happiness, and the greater he understood his mother-in-law, the more he sought to make her happy.
“You’ll teach him everything you know about gunsmithing, won’t you?” Mother’s attention bounced from Dad to Morgan to Dad again.
“When it’s time.” Morgan couldn’t help but smile.
“You must! The Hudsons need a fifth generation of gunsmiths.”
The conversation swept off onto the path of Mother’s choosing, and Morgan finished his meal, filling his belly with the hot, hardy food. His heart, full to the brim, basked in the warmth of his parents’ home, sublimely unconcerned with the raging storm outside.
~o00o~
About the Author
Hi! I'm Kristin Holt, USA Today bestselling author of Sweet Romances (G- and PG-rated) set in the Victorian American West.
While secular in nature, my titles are “Appropriate for All Audiences” and appeal to selective readers and fans of Christian historical romance.
I write frequent articles (or view recent posts easily on my Home Page, scroll down) about the nineteenth century American west–every subject of possible interest to readers, amateur historians, authors…as all of these tidbits surfaced while researching for my books. I also blog monthly at Sweet Romance Reads, Sweet Americana Sweethearts, and Romancing the Genres.
Gunsmoke and Gingham Page 28
