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Praise for Janet Tronstad and her novels
“A Baby for Dry Creek shows how losing a parent can affect a young child for a lifetime. This sweet romance is both suspenseful and entertaining.”
—Romantic Times BOOKreviews
“Janet Tronstad’s quirky small town and witty characters will add warmth and joy to your holiday season.”
—Romantic Times BOOKreviews on A Dry Creek Christmas
“Janet Tronstad pens a warm, comforting story that brings joy to its characters.”
—Romantic Times BOOKreviews on Shepherds Abiding in Dry Creek
“Amid angels, Christmas pageants and unknown danger, Ms. Tronstad creates a very enjoyable story about learning to believe and love again.”
—Romantic Times BOOKreviews on An Angel for Dry Creek
A Baby for Dry Creek & A Dry Creek Christmas
Janet Tronstad
MILLS & BOON
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CONTENTS
A BABY FOR DRY CREEK
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Epilogue
A DRY CREEK CHRISTMAS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
JANET TRONSTAD
grew up on a small farm in central Montana. One of her favorite things to do was to visit her grandfather’s bookshelves, where he had a large collection of Zane Grey novels. She’s always loved a good story.
Today, Janet lives in Pasadena, California, where she works in the research department of a medical organization. In addition to writing novels, she researches and writes nonfiction magazine articles.
For I was hungry and you gave me food;
I was thirsty and you gave me drink;
I was a stranger and you took me in.
—Matthew 25:35
This book is dedicated with many fond memories to my forty cousins, both the Norris side of the family and the Tronstad side of the family. Thanks for the good times!
Prologue
Chrissy Hamilton figured her life couldn’t get much worse. On the morning of what was supposed to be her wedding day, she had found another woman in her fiancé’s bed. And that wasn’t even the worst part. After she’d stomped out of Jared’s bedroom and driven almost all the way to Dry Creek, Montana, in her cousin’s truck, she’d met a man who made her knees melt so fast she wouldn’t have cared if an entire cheerleading squad had been camped out in Jared’s bed.
Of course, nothing could come of her attraction. She was two and a half months pregnant and just about as confused and miserable as an eighteen-year-old in trouble could be.
Besides, if Chrissy couldn’t trust the man she’d loved since she was fifteen, she certainly wasn’t going to risk trusting some Montana rancher she’d just met.
It was too bad about the rancher, though. With his black hair and sky blue eyes, Reno Redfern was the sexiest man she’d ever seen. Which was one more reason to leave Dry Creek.
Seven and a half months later
Dry Creek did not have a postmaster. It didn’t even have a post office. Everyone knew that. Still, the letter addressed to the postmaster sat there on top of all the other letters the mail carrier had left on the counter of the hardware store this cold spring morning. The mail carrier hadn’t even looked at the letter before crawling back into the postal truck and heading down Interstate 94 to the next small Montana town on his busy route.
The hardware store sold everything a rancher needed, from weed killer to waterproof gloves, and most of it was sitting on long wooden shelves that lined the walls. A stack of ceramic mugs stood on a cart beside the stockroom door and the smell of brewing coffee welcomed customers every day of the week except Sunday, when the store was closed.
Of course, not everyone was a customer. The hardware store served as an informal community center, and some retired ranchers, like Jacob, spent most of their waking hours there arguing about cattle prices and waiting for the mail.
“Who’d be writing to our postmaster?” Jacob asked as he lifted the first envelope and read the address. He had been a rancher for sixty of his seventy-seven years, and his gnarled fingers showed it as he held up the letter.
“We don’t have a postmaster.” Mrs. Hargrove also waited for the mail. She didn’t sit, like the men, preferring to stand on the rubber mat by the counter so her muddy boots didn’t dirty the wood floor as the men’s boots were doing. She would rather distribute the mail herself, since she could do it more efficiently than Jacob, but she was a fair-minded woman and Jacob had gotten to the mail counter first.
In addition to Mrs. Hargrove, a half dozen ranchers were waiting for their mail, and the door was opening to let more into the store. Each time the door swung back or forth, a gust of wind came inside. As usual, spring had started out cold, but everyone had expected it to warm up by now. Most of the ranchers said they could still smell winter in the air and they didn’t like it. They should be planting their fields, and it was too muddy to even plow.
“We might not have