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Tears filled her eyes, thinking of the hole in Cole’s life, the son he never got to know. She blinked hard, willing those tears back. Too bad she couldn’t do the same with her affection. It welled up, unbidden, rising through her like hope on the darkest winter night, like starlight in a cold Christmas sky. She took another sip of tea, swallowing the hot liquid blindly, ignoring the scald. How could she not love the man who loved her son?
“Well, I’d better go.” Cole stood, lost in the shadows again. He moved in the darkness, a shadowed line of his shoulder, a curve of his capable hand. “Like I said, be sure and take what you need from the store, for you, the boy or the house. I expect you to make the place your home, any way you want. Amelia made an appointment for you at Cora’s dress shop tomorrow.”
“Oh, for the wedding dress.” She thought of the slate, of the girl’s hopes written out in a tidy, organized list. Quite extravagant, but now she understood. As George had longed for a father, as Cole had longed for a son, so Amelia had yearned for a mother and a wedding to celebrate it. “Of course. Anything Amelia wants.”
“Within reason.” Cole’s firm tone held warmth, too. “No sledding in town. No horse riding. No Stetson. She keeps threatening to trade in her sunbonnet for one.”
“I’ll do my best.” Mercy set the cup aside and rose, too, trailing after him to the door. The affection she felt for him seemed to keep expanding, growing beyond all bounds. She prayed she could keep it secret from him, to be the wife he wanted and deserved. “I’m worried about what Amelia wants for my wedding dress versus what you can afford.”
“I’ve already spoken to Cora about that.” The door whispered open and he stood in the darkness before it, towering over her, close.
So close.
Her skin tingled sweetly, as if a mellow summer breeze had blown over her. She lifted her chin and swallowed, praying her feelings didn’t show in her voice. “Good. I’ve never been dress shopping in a store before. Growing up, Ma always made our clothes and so I’ve always made mine.”
“How old is that dress you’re wearing?” he asked, his tone firm and caring at the same time.
“I sewed it when Timothy was alive.” The last time she’d been able to afford fabric for a new dress.
“That’s been a long while,” he commented. “At least four years.”
“Five, but it’s quite serviceable. It still has another good year left. Maybe more.”
“Sorry, that’s not going to happen.” He gave a soft bark of surprised laughter. He couldn’t believe this woman. She thought of the children before herself. She really didn’t realize that he’d wanted to better her life, too, not only Amelia’s and George’s, when he’d written his proposal. Something about her had hooked him. Now he knew what. “I told Cora you need more than a wedding dress. You need a new wardrobe.”
“Oh, no. Absolutely not.” She sounded scandalized, horrified. “That would be a terrible expense.”
“It’s mine to pay,” he reminded her. “Remember my second rule?”
“Oh, yes, the budget. How is this living on a budget? It’s too extravagant.” She truly sounded distressed. The reaches of the lamplight strained to find her, to highlight the golden glints in her hair, to caress the curve of her face. Crinkles dug into her forehead as she gazed up at him. “No, that makes no sense. I told you in our correspondence. I don’t need anything. I’m not the one in need.”
He begged to differ. He looked at her and saw all kinds of need. The need for her son, for a home, for family and for love. That was the one that stabbed at him, that cut like a blade. It was the one thing he could not give her. The one thing he did not have to give.
It saddened him greatly, because he wanted so much for her, for this woman who’d given him a son and who’d made his daughter happy. He still could hold on to the hope that she’d help mold Amelia into an acceptably behaved daughter. After all, a man had to hold on to something.
“It doesn’t matter,” he told her, his chest hurting so stridently it was as if he’d been kicked in the ribs by seven wild horses. “I’m the head of the household. I’m the man. What I say goes. You’ll get new dresses. End of story.”
“I thought we agreed not to boss each other around?” Amusement tugged her pretty mouth upward, and there was a hint of challenge in her eyes.
He liked this woman. Very much. “Sure, we agreed to that, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m in charge. On this matter, you need to do what I say.”
“Buy myself dresses I don’t need?” Her amusement faded; the challenge remained. Her delicately carved chin hiked up another notch. “I’m not in need.”
“Yes, you are.” She’d been struggling in poverty for too long and that was over. The overwhelming need to take care of her, too, rushed through him like a flash flood, knocking down some of the barriers he’d had up for years. Thankfully some of his defenses stayed standing, the iron-strong ones, the ones closest to his heart. “You will be a store owner’s wife, and how you dress reflects on me. You need to look the part.”
“You’re just saying that. I don’t believe you mean it.” Her chin dipped, as if she, too, could look inside him and see the truth.
His fingers reached out on their own accord to curl around her delicate chin. Her skin felt warm and silken-soft as he nudged her chin up so their eyes could meet. She was a woman of pride. He saw that, and he saw, too, what his gesture meant to her. No more patched dresses, faded from years of washing. No more quiet desperation struggling to make basic ends meet. They were a team, meant to help each other.
“I mean it,” he told her, pretending to be tough when he was crumbling. His ribs felt broken, his internal organs ripped and bleeding. How could feelings hurt so much? “I won’t go around town overhearing folks talking about how ragged my wife’s clothes are. I deserve better than that.”
“So, buying new things is a wifely duty?”
“Yes. Glad you understand me.” His throat closed up, overcome by the cracking pain inside him. He hated the emptiness he felt within, the void of his lost heart, the one that Alice and their son had taken with them when they’d passed. With no hope of getting it back, he felt like a failure, feared the disappointment to come. But did that stop him from leaning forward? No, not one bit. His lips brushed her forehead with the faintest touch. He breathed in her rose and soap scent, and the emptiness inside him throbbed like an open wound.
That kiss was a mistake. Reaching out to her at all was a mistake. Ashamed of himself, of what he’d done, he turned away and strode out the door. What was she expecting now? That there might be more kisses in their future, more closeness, even love? He winced, knowing he would fail her. He had nothing to give to her.
“Good night, Cole.” She broke the silence, sounding practical, like the woman from the letters he’d come to trust. As if she knew his heart, her voice consoled. “I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to spending your money tomorrow.”
A joke. That helped, he thought, feeling the pain within him ease. He managed a grin as he caught hold of the doorknob, crossing over the threshold. “Now I’m actually feeling like a married man.”
“Excellent practice for the real thing,” she teased back.
“Wait, I’m thinking about changing my mind.” He winked, but it was too dark for her to see or to realize he was telling the truth. Like a wounded man, he headed down the stairs, his gait unsteady, feeling winded and reeling from the sort of pain that comes from a wound that had never healed.
“Sorry, no changing your mind now,” she gently kidded, her voice echoing down the stairwell. “Not when I finally get to spend your money.”
While her words were light and breezy, meant to make him smile, there was something else there. An emotion he sensed, an awareness. He’d not hidden his true feelings from her, after all.
He grimaced, alone at the foot of the stairs, as the door closed, blocking off all sight of her. He turned around, staring up into the deep shadows, feeling the night’s cold wrap around him. He longed for her the way the dark yearned for light. He wished he had a heart to give her.
Chapter Eight (#ulink_6b8a5995-df41-526d-816e-25f662ba3729)
“Yep, that’s the dress,” Amelia declared with a decisive nod in the sunniest corner of Mrs. Cora Jones’s dress shop. The girl gave her braids a toss. “I knew it the second I saw it in the front window. It makes you even more beautiful, Ma.”
Ma. Mercy’s hand flew to her throat. She would never get over how good that felt. She smiled at her daughter, held out the green skirt and slowly twirled. “Isn’t it a little festive for a wedding? I was expecting something sedate and very somber.”
“Oh, no, this is just right.” Amelia tilted her head to one side, considering, absolutely serious. “It’s a Christmas dress. See the sprigged holly on the bodice? And the velvet skirt is my absolute favorite. Pa won’t let me wear velvet. He says I’m too young, but I’m dying to.”
“Perhaps together we can sew a dress for you. I’m thinking we can find a way to put some velvet on it.” Loving that idea, Mercy turned to eye the plentiful bolts of fabric in this upscale shop. She’d never stepped foot inside such a fancy establishment before or worn a dress like this, with mother-of-pearl buttons and trims of dainty lace and silk.
“Why, that looks lovely on you.” The shop owner bustled over with genteel grace and genuine friendliness. “The perfect dress for your wedding in, what, two days?”
“One and a half now,” Mercy said shakily. “It’s counting down more quickly than I thought.”
“A Christmas wedding is terribly romantic.” Cora Jones selected a red velvet bonnet from the nearby display and set it on Mercy’s head. “I met my husband during the Christmas season. It’s a time for joy. I’ve known Cole a long time. You couldn’t have found a more wonderful man.”
“I think so, too.” Mercy squinted at herself in the full-length mirror, hardly recognizing her reflection. Was she really this woman with a twinkle in her eye, looking slender and elegant in a finely tailored, fashionable dress? Her cheeks were rosy, her skin glowing. She felt so full of life.
The last time she’d felt this way had been her first wedding day. The realization slammed into her, forcing the air from her lungs. She gasped, covering her mouth to hide her dismay. No one noticed. Amelia was busy conferring with Cora about the hat. Cora had turned around to choose a different bonnet. Mercy felt her heart break, remembering that girl she’d been, so full of hope. Love hadn’t turned out quite like she’d expected. She and Timothy had struggled, and while they’d loved one another, they’d grown apart a little more each year of their marriage. She’d longed to be closer, working hard to repair the distance between them up until death took him.
Love and marriage were complicated and not easy, and she’d loved Timothy deeply. Her grief had healed over time, and a new wish had taken hold of her, that one day she would find love again, but this time with a man who loved her at least as much as she loved him. That it could be even better next time around. Of course, it had been only a hope. George’s welfare and happiness came first, which was why she’d agreed to look for a husband when she’d caught the boy climbing down from the backyard tree last summer, wiping tears from his eyes. It hurt not having a pa, he’d said. Agreeing to find a good man to marry hadn’t been about her dreams.
It had been about George’s. Her gaze went to the front window, where the boy was visible bundled in the new winter coat Cole had let him choose from the dry-goods display. George was keeping their mare company, the one Cole had bought for her and given to her earlier in the day. George’s blue knit hat bobbed around as he petted Polly’s nose. The red mare, the gentle lady she was, patiently kept her head low so the boy could easily reach her.
Mercy slipped off the hat and handed it to Cora, who had consulted with Amelia to choose a dark green velvet bonnet. As Mercy took it from them and angled the simple, tasteful hat onto her head, she watched a boy approaching on the boardwalk wave to George. They looked to be about the same age. The other boy had his mother with him. They appeared to be Christmas shopping, judging by all their packages. The boy greeted George with a smile and they instantly started talking as if destined to be friends, the new boy petting Polly, too.
Yes, this was everything she’d hoped for her son. What were her needs compared to that?
“That’s perfect on you,” Cora breathed. “You’re a vision.”
“I’ve never seen anyone so beautiful,” Amelia agreed. “Not ever.”
“You’re sweet.” Mercy gathered the girl in her arms and gave her a quick hug. Definitely sweet. “What about you? Do you have a special dress for the wedding?”
“We already have that taken care of.” Cora patted a wrapped bundle on the counter behind her. “Now that we have a dress for the wedding squared away, we need to get you some everyday things.”
Mercy started to protest, but then she remembered how important this was to Cole. Last night he’d broken her heart with his story. She’d seen a side of the man that moved her still. Last night, he was all she’d thought about when she’d been tossing and turning, trying to sleep. All through the morning he stayed on her mind as she’d gone about wedding preparations and Christmas-type errands in town. She couldn’t forget the brush of his kiss to her forehead, so infinitely gentle, making her fall in love with him even when she knew there was no chance he could ever return her love.
A kiss on the forehead was all the affection she would ever receive from him.
But this wasn’t about her, she reminded herself. It was about George and Amelia. Another glance at the window told her George’s new friend had moved on, but he appeared happier, smiling away as he petted Polly.
“Ooh, finding new dresses for you is gonna be so much fun,” Amelia said, diving toward a rack of lovely winter dresses. “Hmm. George is gonna get real cold if he stands out there for much longer. Mrs. Jones, would it be all right if I got him a cup of hot chocolate?”
“Absolutely.” Cora brightened as if she liked the idea very much. “In fact, I’ll be happy to make you both a cup. Mercy, would you like some, too, or would you prefer a cup of tea?”
“Tea, please.” She took one last took in the mirror as she removed the bonnet. The Lord had answered every one of her prayers. He’d found a good husband for her and a fine father for George. They had a safe home, plenty of food, basic necessities met. They even had Howie and Polly.
I’m so thankful, Father, she prayed silently, her gaze fastened on the window and on her son. Am I wrong for wanting more?
She felt that way. She felt selfish, when as a mother her only concern should be her two children. As if heaven agreed, the sunshine chose that exact moment to dim, fading away to gray shadow. The first snowflakes fell, chunks of white plummeting straight to the ground. No-nonsense, as if driven by a sense of duty.
It felt like an answer.
* * *
“So thrilled for you, Cole.” The young Mrs. Ruby Davis beamed at him from the other side of the store’s front counter. “Eberta told me all about your upcoming marriage. Best wishes to you.”
“Thank you.” He did his best to force a smile, as he’d done throughout the afternoon whenever a customer had gushed about his good fortune. Looked like he’d best give Eberta another talking-to or she’d be unstoppable, telling any customer who would listen about his impending marriage.
He grimaced, handing over the new bride’s purchases. Happiness lighting her up, Mrs. Davis accepted the package, likely a Christmas gift for her husband, Lorenzo. She looked like the very picture of what a joyful wife should be, and it brought to the forefront all his doubts.
“Merry Christmas, Cole!” Ruby said over her shoulder on her way toward the door. “I’m looking forward to meeting your bride.”
“So am I.” A woman with a heart-shaped face, curly brown hair and compelling eyes stepped up to the counter and plunked down a bundle of wooden train tracks from the toy section. Mrs. Christina Gable, glowing from her pregnancy, radiated another kind of happiness he remembered well.
And reminded him of the man he’d become. He was aware of that a lot lately, he thought as he tore paper off the roll to wrap the purchase. The nearness he’d allowed with Mercy yesterday troubled him. It had been too close, too familiar, too everything. Frowning, he handed the package back to Christina Gable and reached for his account book.
“What a blessing a new wife will be for you,” Mrs. Gable said kindly. “You’ve been alone for so long.”
“Intentionally,” he said without thought, wincing because the truth felt so harsh.
“Broken hearts can mend,” she merely said, as if he hadn’t been rude at all. She tucked her package under her arm, understanding etched into her face. “Remember that. Maybe the best is yet to come in your life.”
“Merry Christmas,” he said with a nod, ignoring the wrenching crack of pain in his chest. Thinking of Mercy and a future with her made him hurt with the same strident, unrelenting pain of his long-ago grief. He gritted his jaw so tightly his teeth ached. That was a good thing. It distracted him from his troubles.
“That’s the last customer of the day,” Eberta announced the moment the door closed behind Mrs. Gable, and she turned the lock. “Whew, what a day we’ve had. My feet are complaining.”
“You’re welcome to quit at any time.” He scribbled Mrs. Gable’s purchase onto her account and closed the ledger. “It would be preferable to you telling everyone in this store about my wedding.”
“Why wouldn’t you want everyone to know?” Eberta asked slyly. She knew him well enough to guess why he’d been silent all day, except for necessary conversation with customers. She tapped toward him, concerned. “You’re having second thoughts, aren’t you?”
“No, not second thoughts.” He tucked the ledger into place on the back shelf. “Fifth, sixth, seventh thoughts maybe.”
“I see.” Eberta sighed heavily, her disappointment in him echoing in the store. “What about Amelia? What are you going to tell her?”
“I haven’t decided for sure.” The pain behind his ribs wrenched harder at the thought of disappointing his daughter. Of having to let go of George. The children weren’t the issue.
Mercy was.
“Well, you think long and hard before you turn away that nice woman.” Eberta’s tone held a note of understanding. She’d been his employee back then, too, stood beside him during the double funeral where they’d lowered his wife and his son into the ground.
Emotion clogged his throat and he swallowed hard, trying to force it down. But the sorrow stayed. He’d never had the strength to deal with it. The grief had been too huge, too much to handle; it would tear him apart, destroy him, leaving nothing of him.
So he coped by turning to his work. He opened the small closet door behind the counter and hauled out a broom and dustpan. “I’ll take care of cleanup. You get home before the storm worsens.”
“A little snow won’t hurt me, I’m too tough for that.” Eberta marched around the counter and stole the broom from him. Her jaw was set, but her gaze compassionate. “I insist on closing up and I won’t take no for an answer. Amelia is waiting for you. George will be there. Mercy is fixing supper.”
Oh. His step faltered. He hung his head. She’d been haunting him all day, sneaking into his thoughts, tormenting him. And that kiss. He’d let his guard down too far last night. He was in danger of letting her in. In the decade since he’d become a widower, no one—no one—had gotten this close. At a loss, he blew out a breath, fisted his hands and unfisted them.
“Thanks for all your hard work today.” The words croaked past the tightness in his throat as he headed toward the back door. The frantic urge to stay and keep working, to remain busy to delay the inevitable, overtook him, but Eberta was right. He needed to go home. He had to figure out what the right thing to do was—and he feared it wasn’t marrying Mercy.
In the back room, he shrugged into his coat, hardly noticing what he was doing, and launched out the door into the alley. Thick, busily falling chunks of snow hailed toward the ground, and he knuckled down his hat to shield his face. Mercy. He wasn’t looking forward to facing her. The sick feeling in his gut told him he already knew what he had to do.
She was young and beautiful, and regardless of what she’d agreed to, she wanted a loving marriage. She deserved that. As he trudged down the alley between buildings toward the intersecting street, snowflakes struck his face like tears. He cared about her. He couldn’t help it. Last night, talking with her, sharing his painful past, had opened up a door to that pain he could no longer close. He could not live like this day after day, with the agony of what he’d lost wringing him out over and over.
“Why, it’s Cole Matheson,” a friendly voice called out. Reverend Hadly climbed out of his sled in front of the livery stable. “I was just thinking about you and your upcoming wedding. Christmas Eve ceremonies are my favorite. There’s something special about them on such a sacred night.”
“I agree.” His throat closed up and he was barely able to squeeze out the words. Seeing the minister reminded him of the commitment he feared he couldn’t make. That failure troubled him. “I hope you are on your way home. The temperature is dropping.”
“It surely is. I’m trying to keep my teeth from chattering. Now, what about you?” Hadly’s round face crinkled with concern. “You look troubled. It’s natural to have a hard time moving on. Amelia brought Mercy by the church this morning, and anyone can see she is a gift from God. A much-needed blessing for your life.”
“God doesn’t need to bless my life.” The confession felt like an anvil on his chest, the truth of it was something he’d kept inside since he’d lost wife and baby. “I’m fine. I don’t need anything. It’s the children who matter.”
And Mercy. He ached more thinking of what he couldn’t be for her. He could not be what she needed, what she deserved. He’d lost his heart, so he could not love her. He was no longer a man capable of deep feeling. He swiped snow off his lashes and spotted one of the stable workers, who nodded at him and disappeared, hurrying to fetch Frosty. Another appeared to take the reins of the reverend’s horse.
“An arrangement for the children’s sake can be a blessing for you, too.” Hadly brushed snow off his hat, turning to head home. “Maybe God has been waiting all this time to bring the right woman into your life. He knows your heart.”
Then He knows my failings, Cole thought, watching the veil of snow close around the minister, stealing him from sight. The jingle of a harness speared his attention. The sight of his gelding clomping toward him, led by the stable worker, reminded him of where he was headed next. Home. There was no more delaying it. No more denying it.
He mounted up, riding bareback through the outskirts of town. The driving snow chilled him and hastened Frosty’s quick gait along the snowy road. When he’d proposed to Mercy, he’d imagined her to be hardened by the world, weary of hardship, content to find the sanctuary of a convenient marriage and a good home. From her letters, she’d sounded like a practical, no-nonsense kind of lady. A good mother, gently spoken, proper to a fault.
Just what he’d been wanting. Instead, he’d gotten a beautiful young woman full of hopes and full of life. He could still picture her zipping down the hillside on Amelia’s sled, skirts flying. The music of her laughter, the pull of her heart on his, the way she’d dismantled half of his defenses with a single, caring touch. She was tearing his world apart.
Worse, he acknowledged as the countryside rolled by, she was tearing him apart.
The house came into view on the knoll just outside of town. The windows glowed golden with lamplight, drawing him like a candle in the darkness, the only light by which to see. He rode close enough to spy a figure pass in front of the kitchen window and linger.
