Mail-Order Mistletoe Brides: Christmas Hearts / Mistletoe Kiss in Dry Creek. Janet Tronstad

she was already in love with the girl.

      “Hello, Eberta.” Another woman came over, waving to the older woman.

      “Howdy there, Felicity.” Eberta gave the knotted rein a testing yank and, satisfied, trudged away from the hitching post. “How is that family of yours?”

      “Wonderful. Tate’s business is growing by leaps and bounds, and Gertie is keeping me busy.” The cheerful, beautiful woman patted her midsection gently, her condition hid delicately by the drape of her fine wool coat. “Four more months to go until this one arrives.”

      “You’ll be even busier then,” Mercy found herself adding, pleased when Felicity shared a smile with her. “Congratulations.”

      “Thank you. We are so happy.” Felicity glowed with the truth of that statement. Mercy had never seen the like of the genuine joy and love that radiated from her when she glanced toward a dark-haired, impressive-looking man standing with the others, leaning on a cane.

      True love. Mercy could feel the power of it like the sun warming the world. Once, she’d hoped for such a thing with Timothy, God rest him. Heaven knew how hard they’d tried. A touch of sadness crept in and she pushed it away. At least with Cole she would have no such disappointments, even if she would not have true love.

      Who needed true love, anyway? She took George by the hand, thankful for him and Amelia—for her children. While the women chatted, leading the way down the shoveled pathway toward the open door of the church, the sunshine seemed to follow them, laying a golden path at their feet. Sign enough, she told herself, even if she felt a little lonely for more.

      “That’s my best friend and her ma!” Amelia pointed out, gesturing toward a horse and sleigh pulling to a stop in front of the church. “Oh, I’m so glad you’ve come, Mercy. We’re going to invite all of them to our wedding. And I’m glad you came, too, George.”

      “Uh, me, too,” the boy said, glancing over his shoulder one last time at the men and horses. Mercy realized why, now that she took a more careful look. It wasn’t just the horses that had captured his attention, but the men with their sons at their sides. Fathers.

      Knowing she wasn’t the only one wishing Cole was here, she gently squeezed George’s hand.

      Chapter Five

      “That’s our house.” Amelia jabbed her arm to the north, where the prairie rose into a graceful roll of snow glittering in the sunshine.

      Mercy caught her breath, staring at the proud two-story home with dormer windows on the top and a wraparound porch, light gray siding and sparkling windows surrounded by a sea of white. This was their house? She stared, not quite able to believe. Cole had described his home as modest. But it was nothing like the modest cabins and shanties they’d passed on the half-mile ride from town. It was like a dream, like nothing she’d ever thought she’d live in.

      “Where’s the shanty?” George asked, confused. His face scrunched up, his forehead furrowed. “Is it around back? Is that where we’re gonna live?”

      “No, George,” Amelia said warmly, as if she already thought of him as her own little brother. “There’s no shanty. You are going to live in the house with me and Pa. That’s why we’re having a wedding. So we can all be a family.”

      A family. Amelia’s words moved her heart. Mercy swallowed against the sudden lump in her throat. Her eyes stung, and she tried to blink away the unexpected tears. The girl clearly didn’t know everything Cole had written in his letters, that he’d been so adamantly clear this was a formal arrangement, not a personal union.

      “That sounds mighty nice to me.” Mercy cleared her throat, slipping one arm around the girl to draw her closer. She did the same with George. It felt pretty fine to be seated between the children, knowing that she already had what mattered, what she’d traveled so far to find.

      Well, almost, she thought, remembering the churchyard scene earlier and those fathers with their sons.

      “Keep in mind we moved some of the furniture into town,” Eberta explained as she urged Frosty along the circular drive curving in front of the steps. “The front room is a little empty, but that’ll fix itself after the wedding.”

      “In three days,” Amelia reminded them. “Don’t worry, I have everything planned out.”

      “Your father showed me your slate.”

      The sleigh squeaked to a stop in front of the house. My, it was larger than she’d first thought. More impressive. The windows and porch gave it a smiling, welcoming look. Her pulse kicked up, and she tried to let it sink in. This house—a real house, not a tiny cottage like the one she and Timothy had shared during their marriage, not a shanty like the ones she’d lived in growing up and after she’d been widowed. Not in her wildest dreams had she imagined this much.

      “It’s not a mansion.” Eberta hopped off the front seat. “But it’s cozy and well-made. Cole built it himself. Did a fine job, too.”

      “I’ve never lived in a place with so many windows,” she said, dazed, as she tumbled out of the sled behind Amelia. Looking up, she counted at least three bedrooms. And that was only on this side of the house.

      “Ma, is this really where we’re gonna live?” George tumbled from the sleigh, head tipped back, staring intently up at the second story, taking in the windows. “It’s enough for lots of families.”

      “Oh, it’s not that big,” Eberta laughed kindly, patting the boy on the shoulder. “It’s a nice-size family house. Don’t know what you’re used to, though.”

      “A rented shanty on the outskirts of town.” Her shoes tapped on the steps as she trailed Amelia onto the porch. “This will be perfect come summer. I can plant flowers in the border beds and think how pleasant it will be to sit right here and watch the sun set.”

      “That’s how I like to pass a summer evening.” The front door opened and Cole stepped into the slant of sunshine, dressed in a dark wool coat, his Stetson hiding his eyes, pulling on a pair of gloves. “Sounds like we are compatible on that front.”