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Talk. Her chest tensed up so tightly her ribs felt ready to crack. “I suppose that sounds like a wise plan.”

“Good.” Cole nodded in his daughter’s direction before turning to warm his hands at the stove.

“C’mon, George. Let’s go.” Amelia hopped forward, skirts swishing, and held out her hand. “The diner has the best cookies. If Eberta is in a good mood, and something tells me that she might be, we can talk her into getting us dessert.”

George quietly took the girl’s hand, hesitating to glance across the room. Mercy recognized his worried look, so she nodded reassuringly, letting him know it would be all right.

“I’ll be right here waiting for you,” she told him, her good boy. He blew out a breath, perhaps shrugging off his anxiety, and took Amelia’s hand. The two trotted off, Amelia chattering away, as if determined to make them friends.

The room felt lonelier without the children in it, with only the two of them and their marriage agreement. Mercy’s palms grew damp as the silence stretched. She didn’t know if she should stand up and join Cole at the stove or continue to wait for him to speak. Since she wasn’t a meek woman, she scooted farther up on the cushion, poised on the edge of it and studied the man with his back to her, rigid as stone.

This wasn’t easy for him, either. That realization made it easier to break the silence.

“George already adores you.” She folded her hands together, lacing her fingers, staring at her work-roughened hands. “Thank you for being so welcoming to him, for being everything you promised in your letters.”

“Why wouldn’t I keep my word?” His tense back went rigid. His wide shoulders bunched. Then he blew out an audible huff of breath. “We agreed to be honest with one another.”

“We did.” She could sense an old hurt in the air, maybe something from his marriage. Heaven knew she had issues from hers. “Amelia is delightful. Everything I knew she would be.”

“Even rambunctious?” A slight dollop of humor chased the chill from his words.

“I suspected from her letters that she had a zest for life.” Slowly, she stood. Uncertain, she bit her bottom lip, wanting to reach out to the man, to her husband-to-be. “I was less certain what you would be like from your letters, although I read so many of them.”

“Likely I disappoint.” More of that humor and something else, something that seemed to make the shadows in the room darken, creeping ever closer.

“No, I may be the disappointment.” She brushed at a wrinkle in her wool dress, hoping he hadn’t noticed the fraying hem she hadn’t been able to mend on the train. “I wasn’t prepared for you to be so prosperous. And, well, I’m—”

“Just what Amelia needs,” he interrupted firmly, turning to face her. Resolute, confident, certain. Muscles jumped along his set jaw. “I learned a lot about you from your letters. You are honest and loyal—you worked hard for your son. You are unselfish enough to endure a marriage to a stranger for his sake.”

“Endure?” Her voice wobbled, betraying her, letting him know how difficult this really was. “That rather sounds like a jail sentence.”

“I didn’t mean it to be.” Part quip, part serious. Sadness eked into his gaze, darkening his eyes to a night blue, as if all the light had drained from the room. He shrugged one capable shoulder. “Maybe we can come to an agreement so we both won’t be disappointed. Rules to live by, that type of thing. We’re going to be bound together in this life. Don’t know why we can’t make it tolerable.”

“Gee, now I’m really excited about marrying you.” She smiled, and her gentle teasing softened the stony cast to his face. He broke into a half smile, and the lean planes of his cheeks creased into manly crinkles. He had dimples. Who knew? Mercy grinned back, feeling a little fluttery. Not only did her new fiancé have dimples, but he was handsome.

Very, very handsome.

“That’s what I want to talk to you about.” He raked one hand through his thick, dark hair. “I know we wrote about a simple wedding. Just the four of us in front of the minister the day after you arrived.”

“Seeing this room set up so comfortably...” She gestured at the nice sofa and matching overstuffed chair, the small drop-leaf end table set up with two chairs near the kitchen area window. “It’s obvious you want to postpone the wedding.”

“For Amelia’s sake.” He blew out another sigh, looking tense again. “I didn’t think to tell her what we agreed to. Something simple, quick, no fuss. But the problem with that is it sets a bad example of what marriage ought to be. This between us is—”

“A sensible arrangement,” she finished for him, seeing how hard this was for him to talk about. It was hard for her, too, remembering the young bride she’d been when she’d married Timothy, so full of hopes and joy she’d practically floated down the church aisle. “You want her to keep her illusions of marriage. You want to protect her.”

“So, you do understand.” Relief stood out starkly on his face, carving into the grooved lines bracketing his mouth. He folded his big, six-foot frame into the chair. “I didn’t realize she had her heart set on a proper ceremony with a new dress and family and friends attending. Not until I spotted this.”

He reached for a child’s school slate set aside on an end table. “Amelia has been dying to show you her plans.”

“For a real wedding?” Mercy’s hand trembled as she reached for the slate. She had to lean in to grab the wooden frame, close enough to feel the fan of his breath against her cheek. She breathed in the pleasant scent of clean male, winter wind and soap.

Little flutters settled in her stomach again, which was strange. Surely she wasn’t attracted to him. She bit her bottom lip, uncertain what to think. Perhaps she’d simply gone too long between meals. Heart pounding, she eased onto the sofa cushion, taking in the girl’s wedding plans, written out in a careful, cheerful script on the slate’s black background.

Her heart dropped at the list. To do: Amelia had written. Invite everyone. Flowers for the bride. Candles for the church. The dress in Cora’s shop window, the one with the lace and velvet for my new ma. A big cake for the celebration. A Christmas Eve wedding. Beside the last item, Amelia had drawn a little heart.

“She has her hopes set higher than I realized,” Cole said quietly, the deep timbre of his voice rolling over Mercy like a touch, as if imploring her to understand. “I know we agreed on a simple ceremony. You said that was what you wanted. No fuss, no pretense.”

“But this way, with your friends as witnesses.” Mercy’s fingertip hovered over the words Amelia had written, over the plans she’d made. Her chest ached, torn between the old and the new. “What will they think?”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m not a man given to pretense. They knew the truth, Mercy. This is an agreement, simple as that.” He swallowed hard, as if he were troubled, too, perhaps plagued with memories like she was, of a love that was gone for good. Burying a spouse was a sorrow that lasted. He shot to his feet, pacing to the window. “I understand if you’d rather keep to our arrangement.”

“I never expected to walk down the aisle again.” Carefully she set the slate aside. Everything inside of her began to spin. Her thoughts. Her hopes. What she’d resigned her life to be. “I never thought such a bright spot could come my way. I really adore your daughter, Cole. I don’t want to disappoint her.”

“Neither do I.” He turned from the window, grateful. “We do this for the children?”

“For the children.” The agreement stood between them, precious and unyielding, the one thing they had in common. When he managed to smile at her with his lopsided half grin that was sad at the same time, she smiled back. The distance between them didn’t feel as enormous.

Or as lonely.

“Thank you, Mercy.” The muscle twisted in his jaw, harder this time, giving her a hint of how hard this must be for him.

What had he gone through? she wondered. His loss was as great as hers. She knew what walking the road of grief as a surviving spouse and parent felt like. For the first time she could see—truly see—that the things she’d prayed for when she’d read his letters and wrote to him in turn could come to pass. They could do this, make things good between them. Two strangers knitting their lives together. “I should be the one thanking you. These rooms are homey.”

“Good, that’s how I want you to feel—at home.” His one-sided grin returned and he jammed his hands into his denim pockets. “Eberta and Amelia robbed our house to make you comfortable here. I didn’t object.”

“This is from your home?”

“Our home,” he corrected.

“But what are you and Amelia sitting on?”

“We have some furniture left, don’t worry.” He glanced out the window, squinting down at the dark street keeping a sharp eye out for the kids. He liked that she was concerned. Yes, she was everything he’d hoped for. A widow, who’d lost her heart, too. Kindly, for Amelia’s sake. Proper and soft-spoken, the way he wanted Amelia to be. This might just work out all right.

Relieved, he watched the snow fall. When he caught sight of George hopping out of the diner and onto the boardwalk, the hard tangle of emotions eased. Yes, this was a rare blessing. Not that he believed God even remembered him these days, but surely the Lord watched over the children. He reached for the curtain ties and let the fabric fall over the dark glass and lacy sheers. “We have a few more minutes to ourselves. I want to talk about those rules.”

“Rules.” She brushed a few stray blond curls out of her face, silken soft wisps that had escaped her simple, braided bun. “What did you have in mind?”

“First off, I want to agree not to talk about the past.” He felt as if he was suffocating just thinking of it. Those dark times were better off behind him. “And I expect you to live on a budget.”

She didn’t bat an eye. Perhaps some women in this situation would be outraged, others defensive. Mercy sat spine straight, delicate jaw set, not even mildly surprised. “I’m a widow supporting a son. I’m excellent with budgets. I’ll expect you to stay on the budget, too. No reckless spending.”

“Agreed.” There he went, smiling again. This woman had an effect on him. He hadn’t expected to actually like her. He pushed away from the window. “I want my house clean and meals on time. I like order.”

“I see.” She bit her bottom lip, as if holding back laughter.

What did he say that was so funny? He circled around to sit back down in the chair, facing her. Amusement glinted in her eyes, so blue they took his breath away. The color reminded him of summer night skies and summer breezes. His breathing hitched, startling him. It wasn’t like him to think this way. He wasn’t a man given to whimsy. “Am I amusing you?”

“Yes.” Her smile could light up a room. Sweetness beamed from her like golden rays slanting down through the clouds from the heavens. She tilted her head to one side, the lamplight finding her, burnishing her hair, caressing her soft cheek. “I have some rules for you, too.”

“I suppose that’s only fair.”

“You may tell me what to do only two times a day.” She arched a slender eyebrow at him in a gentle challenge.

“Only twice?” he inquired, curious, grinning against his will.

“Keep in mind I may not oblige you.” She folded her hands neatly in her lap, just sheer loveliness. Her heart-shaped face was guileless and unguarded. Anyone just looking at her could see she didn’t have a mean bone in her body.

Whoever her husband had been, he’d been a blessed man, Cole thought. He was more than thankful to have her as Amelia’s mother and his helpmate.

“All right,” he agreed. “We’ll not boss each other around.”

“Agreed. I’ll not say an unkind thing to you ever, if you do me the same courtesy.” Her chin hiked up a notch, a delicate show of strength. Something sad flashed in her eyes so briefly he barely noticed it. He opened his mouth to ask about it, but then remembered his own rule. Keep the past in the past. And he shut his mouth with a click of his teeth.

Not your business, he reminded himself. Knowing about her and what she’d been through would only soften his defenses, and he didn’t want to like her. He didn’t want to care. It was best for all around if they kept this strictly a convenient arrangement.

The door swung open, hitting the wall like a gunshot. His daughter sashayed in, balancing a wrapped meal in both hands, practically skipping. Her skirts swirled around her, and her smile was so big it was all he could see.

“We got you a real good supper, Mercy.” Amelia beamed her full-strength charm Mercy’s way. “George told me your favorite, and so that’s what we ordered. We even got you lots of cookies, too. George said that’s his favorite.”

“Yep, it sure is,” the kid confirmed with a nod, tromping through the doorway and into the room, cheeks pink, dusted with snow, cute in that way of small boys.

Cole’s chest tightened, aching with hope. It was going to be nice having a son. In all honesty, he’d found a good one. He cleared his throat, hoping he didn’t sound gruff when he spoke.

“You and your ma have a nice meal, settle in and have a good night.” He almost reached out to the boy, to tousle the kid’s hair, but something held him back. Maybe it was the ache dead center in his chest, the one that hurt like hope coming to life, as if a frozen part of his heart was starting to awaken. But that couldn’t be right. Too many pieces were gone for good. So he didn’t know why it hurt, why he felt overwhelmed as he nodded to Eberta, who was carrying the other meal into the room.

He knew only that it was time to leave before the pain became too much and he stopped breathing entirely. “I reckon a soft bed will be a welcome thing after sleeping on the train.”

“More than you know.” Mercy took a step toward him, her dark blue eyes radiating a quiet communication.

He nodded, sensing her thankfulness, understanding what she could not say. It was how he felt, too. He crossed the threshold, heading down the stairs, calling for his daughter to follow.

Chapter Four

All through the night, he was plagued by dreams of a golden-haired lady with a silent hope in the midnight-blue depths of her eyes. Cole woke the next morning to the silence that came after a great storm. He stared at the shadowy ceiling in the early morning’s darkness and contemplated the day ahead. It was Sunday, so he would send Amelia to church with Eberta, and they could pick up Mercy and George on the way. He frowned, biting the inside of his cheek, wondering what Mercy would think of him missing the service.

Why did it matter so much what she thought of him? Troubled, he tossed off the warm covers and braced for the blast of icy winter air. Teeth chattering, he pulled on his robe and slippers before charging downstairs, rubbing his hands together to keep them from going numb.

Let Mercy think what she wanted about him, Cole decided as he knelt before the fireplace in the front room. His cold fingers fumbled with the iron shovel. He uncovered last night’s embers, wondering why he was letting himself care at all. He was feeling far too many emotions for his own comfort. Best to wall off his heart. Mercy was a kind lady. Amelia was lucky to have her. But that didn’t extend to him. She would be basically a housekeeper with access to his charge accounts, nothing more.

So why did that image return, the silent plea in her eyes, the wordless expression of appreciation? As he slowly fed dry kindling to the glowing coals, he went over in his mind the things she’d left out of her letters, the things he’d noticed. Her well-cared-for clothing that had seen much better days. The fraying sleeve hem of her coat, the wash-worn dress, the polish on her shoes hiding a patch. George’s clothes were modest, but in a newer state. Clearly she spent her money on the boy, not on herself. He wondered just how hard she’d struggled as a widow working long hours to support her son.

Wait. That wasn’t his business, either. He shook his head, disappointed in his willpower. Hadn’t he just told himself to stop wondering about her past? Annoyed with himself, he added a small, dry piece of wood to the grate, watched the growing orange flames lick over it, popping and crackling.

“Oh, good!” Amelia’s feet drummed on the steps, her voice echoing down the stairwells. “You’re up! I couldn’t sleep because I was so excited. Mercy’s gonna come here today. I can’t wait to show her everything.”

“I’m sure you can’t.” He glanced over his shoulder in time to see his wild-haired daughter leap to the bottom of the stairs with a thud. “You aren’t usually up at the crack of dawn. If I’d known it would have gotten you out of bed, I would have found you a new mother before this.”

“No, because then she wouldn’t have been Mercy.” Amelia skipped across the room.

“Do I really have to remind you?” He grimaced, reached for a piece of wood and popped it into the fire. “No running in the house.”

“I know, I just can’t contain myself.” Amelia skidded to a stop, hugging herself. “I get to walk into church this morning with a ma, just like all my friends do. I’m gonna wear the new dress Eberta made for me. Pa, do you know what this means?”

“That you’re finally going to start acting like a lady?” He brushed bits of bark and moss off his hands and reached for the little fireplace broom. A few sweeps and the bits flew into the fireplace. “This getting-married thing is a good idea. You’ll be getting up early, acting ladylike. It’s like a dream come true.”

“Honestly, Pa.” Amelia rolled her eyes. “You’re supposed to love me the way I am.”

“Oh, sorry.” He put the broom away, hiding his grin. “I didn’t know. Maybe that’s one of those rules we can break and toss out the window.”

“Very funny.” She rushed up to him, wrapped her arms around his chest and squeezed tight, tipping her head back to sparkle up at him. “Hurry up with breakfast ’cause I’m gonna be lightning fast. I get to go see Mercy!”

“I’m gonna need some mercy if you keep this up.” He winced at his own pun. Well, he thought, a man has to amuse himself where he can.

“Oh, Pa.” Amelia gave him an eye roll and was off, pounding back upstairs, leaving him alone in the room.

Well, looked like they’d have a few more mornings like this alone together before the wedding changed things. Only three more days until Christmas Eve, until Amelia’s hoped-for ceremony. He hung up the broom, crossed the room and felt thankful to Mercy for understanding. He wasn’t sure how he felt about a church wedding. He still hadn’t recovered from the last one. Gritting his molars together, determined not to think of it, he veered into the kitchen, knelt in front of the cookstove and stirred the coals. When he should have been planning his morning of chores and repairs, his mind took an entirely different path.

He remembered that glint of humor when she’d been seated on his sofa, gazing up at him with part challenge, part amusement, all concealed strength. You may tell me what to do only two times a day, she’d said with a slender arch of her brow, pure challenge and likability.

He sighed, reaching for the kindling. It was going to be hard to keep from liking her, but he was tenacious and determined. He would give it his best shot.

* * *

“Ma,” George called from one of the front room windows. “Are you sure they’re gonna come for us? I don’t see ’em yet.”

“Amelia promised they would be by.” Frowning at her reflection in the bureau’s small mirror, Mercy untied her hat ribbons and tried again. “I don’t think they would leave us to find our own way in a strange town.”

“I could help,” George answered confidently. “I can see the church steeple from here. I could take you right to it, and if I got lost in the street I’d just look up to find it.”

“That’s a very good plan.” She adjusted the bow, figured that was as good as it was going to get and raised her gaze to her face. She pinched her cheeks, hoping to put a little color in them. Too bad there wasn’t something she could do about those circles under her eyes. She’d barely been able to sleep a wink, although the bed was comfortable. She pushed away from the bureau and grabbed the shawl she’d laid on the foot of her twin bed, circled around George’s bed and stepped into the hall. “What are you doing?”

“Lookin’ at the horses.” George’s excitement seemed to fill the room with a vibrating, little-boy energy. “There’s a black one. He’s real shiny. What color do you think my horse is gonna be?”

“I don’t know.” Mercy reached for George’s coat. “What color do you think?”

“Maybe brown?” George scrunched his face up, thinking on that for a bit. He took the garment she shook open for him and stabbed one arm into the sleeve, lost in thought. “There’s a lot of brown horses, so yeah, he’ll probably be brown. You see ’em all the time. Maybe most horses are brown.”

“What if he’s as white as the snow?” Seeing his collar was folded over onto itself, she pulled it out and smoothed it down. “What if he’s spotted?”

“Then he’d be both white and brown.” George gazed out the window, lost in his favorite game. “Unless his spots are black.”

“Or red,” she added, unhooking her coat from its peg on the wall.

“Or palomino, or roan or gray,” George continued. “Oh, I just can’t wait for my horse.”

“I know, kid. It won’t be much longer now.” She slipped into her coat, unable to resist glancing down at the street below.

Great snowdrifts ran down one side of the street like a miniature mountain range, and because it was Sunday no one was out shoveling the boardwalks. A few vehicles rolled by, pulled by horses struggling through the new accumulation as far from the miniature mountains as they could get. As she watched a bay team pull a sleigh past the storefront below, she realized she didn’t even know what kind of horse or vehicle Cole drove. In their correspondence she hadn’t thought to ask if he would provide her with a horse and vehicle. Hmm. More things to discuss later, she thought.

“Ma! Look!” George nearly shrieked, both hands splayed across the glass. “That’s the best horse I’ve ever seen. Look. He’s as white as the snow.”

“And he’s stopping in front of the store.” She leaned in, too, feeling the cool glass against her cheek. Why her heart kicked up a crazy rhythm, she couldn’t say. Something within her strained, as if longing for the first glimpse of Cole climbing down from the sleigh.

He wasn’t there. A red-capped Amelia rocked her head back to gaze up at them, grinned when she saw them and waved with a mittened hand. Mercy waved back, fighting disappointment as Eberta set down the reins and hopped from the sleigh.

“C’mon, George,” she said gently, strangely bereft. “We don’t want to keep the horse standing in that cold.”

“No, it’s not good for him,” he said, heading toward the door at a run.

All the way down the stairs and through the silent, echoing store, she tried to remember what Cole had written about his church life. Had he ever said he attended Sunday service? Funny, she realized as she caught sight of Eberta through the glass panes of the shop’s door, busily unlocking it. She couldn’t recall if he’d mentioned actually being a churchgoer himself. In his second letter to her, he’d mentioned how Amelia had commented on being the only girl in church without a mother, and Mercy had simply assumed he attended Sunday services.

Now, she could see she’d been wrong. The door opened, an icy blast of raw, wintry air whooshed in, and George bolted onto the boardwalk, eyes focused on the horse.

“Hi, Miss Eberta,” he said on his way by. “Is that your horse, or is it my new pa’s?”

“It’s Cole’s,” she answered fondly, as if completely understanding the boy’s love of horses. “Good morning, Mercy. I trust you slept well.”

“I was very comfortable.” That was the truth. She’d never slept in such a fine bed. “Thank you. I know it was you who went to the trouble.”