down and he’d agree.”
“And it didn’t work?” Mercy asked, amused, imagining reserved Cole’s reaction to his daughter wanting to ride astride like a boy. Think how upset he got over a sled! She gave a soft huff of laughter. What a pair she and Amelia were. “Once long ago I wanted to learn to ride horseback.”
“You did?” Surprised at such news, and apparently intrigued, Amelia dropped an oven mitt. It tumbled to the floor and she stooped to pick it up. “Did you ever get to?”
“Alas, no. My parents were shocked I would suggest such a thing.” Mercy laughed again, love filling her at the memory of her folks, long gone now, and of those happy times long past. Perhaps happier times could come around again, she thought hopefully, taking in the pretty kitchen. Goodness, it was larger than her shanty. By twice, maybe three times.
“Too bad about the riding,” Amelia sympathized. She opened the stove’s warmer. “Have you ever gone sledding?”
“No. It looks fun.” Mercy crossed over to take a look inside the warmer, from which Amelia extracted a bowl. Residual heat radiated off the stove, and it felt good. It was going to take some time to get used to the cold Montana winters. “Is this lunch?”
“Emmylou made it yesterday. She’s our housekeeper,” Amelia explained, carefully setting the bowl on the counter. “At least, she will be until the wedding. Then you take over.”
“Ah, so in marrying me, your father is saving some money,” she quipped. She liked knowing that she wouldn’t be a burden to him, two more people for him to support. That was another relief. Her gaze drifted to the window, where the stretch of shining white snow and rolling meadows was broken only by precise split-rail fencing and a gray barn, trimmed in white.
A dozen horses strained against the rails, each jockeying to be the one getting petted by George. My, wasn’t that a sight. She bit her bottom lip, overcome once again, watching as Cole stayed at George’s side, appearing to talk gently to him, perhaps telling him about each animal. George listened intently, his little hand petting one horse nose after another, nodding solemnly to whatever the man said.
This was everything she’d hoped. Just everything.
“The palomino in the middle, the tallest horse?” Amelia leaned on the edge of the counter, going up on tiptoe straining to see what had captured Mercy’s attention. “That’s Howie. That’s George’s horse.”
“My, he’s mighty big.” She gulped, trying not to be alarmed. That was one large animal for such a small little boy. Cole knew what he was doing, right? She gripped the edge of the counter, trying to suppress her motherly instincts until the enormous horse lowered his head and George flung his arms as far as they would go around the creature’s neck. The horse, as if he were a very fine gentleman indeed, tucked the boy beneath his head protectively, as if he intended to love and look after the child.
“Emmylou left us chicken to use for sandwiches.” Amelia tapped over to the pantry and flung open the door to reveal tidy shelves stacked full of food staples. “One of my chores is taking care of the chickens. In the summer, we have a big garden. And the orchard is full of trees to climb and fruit to pick.”
“It sounds wonderful.” Like a dream come true. Mercy glanced around, taking in the sight of her happy son and stoic husband-to-be, of her new daughter setting out a plate of covered leftover chicken onto the counter, of this home—a real house—full of sunshine and comfort and safety. She could not believe her good fortune. After working twelve-, sometimes fourteen-hour days at the hotel, day in and day out, scraping together a living, wanting better for her son, it had happened.
“I spotted a loaf of bread in the pantry,” Mercy said, after one last glance at the window. “Let’s get lunch made and on the table. Do you think we can tear George and your pa away from those horses?”
“It’ll be tough.” Amelia grinned, opening a drawer to extract a knife. “We may have to throw dessert in. Pa has a real sweet tooth.”
“Good to know.” Especially since she loved to bake. Maybe she could find out Cole’s favorites. He certainly deserved all the effort she could give to make his life better, for what he was doing for George. The letters Cole had written telling of his life here had been no exaggeration, nor had his promises and intentions.
I don’t know how I was chosen for this, Lord, she prayed, lifting the bread from its shelf. But thank You so much. And please look after Maeve and Violet, she added, thinking of her dear friend who was also settling into her new life. Help all of us to find happiness.
For the first time in a long while, that felt possible. Maybe she and Cole weren’t marrying for love, but perhaps they could have a happy life helping one another. Maybe even become friends. That notion put a smile on her face as she sidled up to the counter next to her beautiful new daughter so they could make sandwiches together.
“Mercy, thank you for lunch.” Cole dropped his cloth napkin on the table, pushed back his chair and resisted the pull of the woman’s magnetic presence. Something about Mercy kept urging him to look, to smile, to notice things about her he oughtn’t be noticing. Like the Cupid’s-bow shape of her lips, as blushed as new roses. Or the refined beauty of her heart-shaped face, the wide slash of her deep blue eyes, the curl of her honey-brown lashes, the dainty slope of her nose.
No, it was smarter to keep his head down, grab his hat and coat on the way to the door and not look back.
“Take your time and eat up, George.” He called over his shoulder. “Come down to the barn when you’re ready.”
“I’m ready!” The boy hit the floor with a two-footed clatter. “Ma, Pa said he’d teach me to ride right after lunch. That I get to sit up on Howie’s back and everything. I love Howie, he’s my very own horse. For keeps.”
“I’m sure he loves you, too.” Mercy’s melodic, caring words tempted Cole to look. Why she affected him, pulled at him, like this, he didn’t know. Gritting his teeth, he stabbed his arms into his coat and turned his ears off to the rest of what she had to say.
If he wanted to keep not liking the woman, it would be best not to get pulled in by her, not to care. He pushed open the door and escaped into the lean-to, where his boots waited. As he jammed his feet into them, he felt the weight of her gaze on him. Had he thanked her for lunch? He searched his mind for any memory of it. Yes, he had. Shaking his head at himself, he shoved his foot into a boot. Maybe that was a sign of how worked up over her he was. Having a woman around, making the commitment to marry wasn’t easy. His life was changing, and he didn’t like change.
“Pa?” George’s quiet voice broke into his thoughts.
Gazing down at the boy’s face crinkled up into a worried, silent question, he realized he was frowning. Cole blew out a breath, replaced the frown with what he hoped was more of a grin than a grimace and patted the bench by the door.
“Need help with those boots?” he asked his son. His son. Satisfaction filled him. This was one change he liked.
“Nah, I can do it.” George plopped down on the bench with little-boy exuberance, his blond hair tousled and wrangled his way into his new boots. “I’m a cowboy now.”
The back of Cole’s neck tingled. He turned
