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“My pleasure.” The kindly man set both her and George’s satchels on the floor at her feet. “I see you’re wearing your mistletoe.”

“I pinned it on. I need all the help I can get.” She tried to laugh to hide her reservations, but she feared she didn’t quite succeed.

Something that looked like understanding flashed in the older man’s eyes. The anxious flutter in her chest doubled. So much depended on this first meeting. She thanked the conductor, who moved along to help another passenger with her bags, and looked out the window with George.

It does look like a friendly town, she thought over the squealing sound of the brakes. She drank in the sight of tidy streets, the white steeple of a church spearing up over the storefronts and the school bell tower not far away. The train made a final jerk to a stop, and the depot’s platform stretched out before them. A half-dozen people waited for the train, searching the windows anxiously as if eager to be reunited with loved ones—all except for one man.

He was brawny, muscled and tall. His black Stetson tilted to cover half of his face. What she could see was his strong, square jaw, a chiseled mouth that naturally drew into a straight, stern line, and a dimple carved into an angled chin. This man stood apart from the others, staring at the plank boards in front of his black cowboy boots. Maybe in his mid-thirties, she guessed. He wore denims, a black duster and a look of resignation.

As if he felt her scrutiny, he lifted his head higher, knuckled back the brim of his hat to reveal a granite face, high cheekbones and startling blue eyes. Across the distance, their gazes met and she felt the shock of it strike through her like a lightning bolt. All the way to her soul.

Cole Matheson, she thought, beyond all doubt. And by the look of him, he really was a cowboy. All he was missing were spurs.

That was a good sign, right? He hadn’t exaggerated that piece, anyway. Hopes for her son broke loose and she smiled, truly smiled.

Maybe it was another sign—and not a good one—that Cole Matheson didn’t smile back.

Chapter Two (#ulink_e770931d-51de-509a-86a0-1391e4fc35bb)

“Pa! Do you see her?” Amelia bounded ahead of him, skirts and wild strawberry hair batted by the icy wind.

“Yes, I see her.” He swallowed hard against a thickness in his throat, surprised to hear his voice strained and not sounding at all like his own. Through the glazed glass, the prim-and-proper lady was shadowed, hardly more than an outline of a colorful hat and the delicate curve of cheek and chin. Eyes too far away to see the color through the glass fastened on his, and he felt the plea and worries as if they were his own. As hard as this was for him, he thought with a sigh, it had to be the same for her.

This was the moment of truth. Resigned and grim, he squared his shoulders and marched forward like a dutiful soldier. He was about to find out if this mail-order marriage idea was a mistake or a solution.

“Oh, she’s pretty. That has to be her.” Amelia glanced over her shoulder to throw him a happy look. Sparkles gleamed in her blue eyes; the wind’s bite and joy turned her dear face pink. “She’s wearing the brown hat with the purple flower like she said she would, and look at the boy with her. He’s blond. That’s George.”

George. Something hollow twisted in Cole’s chest, in a place that had been empty for so long. Eagerness he hadn’t felt in aeons surged through him and he turned his attention to the child. Round face, a tumble of blond hair, big worried eyes. Then the boy was gone, disappeared from the window. Cole froze in place, not wanting to move forward in enthusiasm the way Amelia was, needing to be reserved. He needed that shield, that protection.

“Mrs. Mercy!” Amelia rushed toward the passengers disembarking, her shoes pounding against the planks of the platform. Most unladylike, but he didn’t raise his voice to rein her in. That would mean he would have to move closer, draw attention to himself and make the elegant, willowy woman easing down the steps glance his way.

She was beautiful. Really beautiful. His jaw dropped in disbelief. His pulse screeched to a stop. Surprised, he could only stare at the unexpected loveliness of her face, her carefully carved, china-doll features, porcelain skin, graceful sloping nose and lustrous blue eyes that made every person on the platform turn and stare at her. He couldn’t look away. Why on earth did she need to be a mail-order bride?

The woman spotted Amelia, and a caring smile transformed her reserved beauty into sheer loveliness radiating such warmth it made his throat close up entirely. This lady was kind, kinder than he’d ever dared to imagine, he thought as she took her son by the hand and helped him make the leap off the lower step and onto the board platform.

How could this be? he wondered. How could this lady be everything he’d wanted for Amelia? A man like him didn’t get that lucky, and he’d given up looking for blessings a long time ago. God had forgotten about him an hour after his stepfather had married his widowed mother. But Amelia... The Lord hadn’t forgotten Amelia. That was all that mattered.

“Or can I call you Ma?” Amelia gushed, wrapped her arms around Mercy Jacobs as if she’d known her forever. She bounced back and boldly grabbed hold of both Mercy’s satchels. The girl’s shoulders sank from the weight of the heavy bags, but she refused to let go.

“Ma?” Mercy’s forehead crinkled, her soft mouth tilting upward. “It’s not official yet. Should the wedding come first?”

“I don’t care. You’re going to get married. Maybe that’s not what you want me to call you, but I’ve been practicing. Mrs. Mercy is probably best, that’s what Pa says I should call you, because Mrs. Jacobs is too formal, like I don’t know you at all, but I really know you because of the two letters so we aren’t complete strangers.”

“You may call me whatever you like, dear girl.” To her credit, Mercy Jacobs bit her bottom lip to keep from laughing. Her expressive dark blue eyes telegraphed caring, as if she’d already fallen in love with the child. “But I don’t want you to feel as if I’m replacing your mother.”

“Oh, I hardly remember her, not that I don’t love her, too, but I want to call you Ma.” Amelia looked as if she were about to float away with pure joy at any minute. “I want you for a mother so much.”

“Just the way I want you, Amelia.” Warmth. Gentleness. The kind that only a mother could bring. That’s what he saw as Mercy Jacobs gently brushed strawberry-blond tangles out of Amelia’s eyes. “I’ve always wanted a daughter, too. Something tells me I couldn’t have found a better one if I’d looked all over the world.”

Overcome, Amelia fell silent, tears standing in her eyes.

George watched the woman and girl curiously, standing back from his mother, obviously a shy boy. Quiet.

Just like Cole had been at that age. Still was, if truth be told. He didn’t like emotions, did his best to avoid them—he squared his shoulders, wrangling down every last one. He watched Mercy Jacobs introduce her son to Amelia, who greeted him with enthusiasm. She thought she might like having a brother, the girl explained, as her best friends were boys. Did George know how to sled?

The boy shook his head and cautiously took his mother’s hand.

“I’ll teach you,” Amelia promised.

Cole winced, wondering what refined Mercy Jacobs might be thinking of that. Determined to protect his daughter and to keep her from seeming unladylike, which she was and which he had to believe Mercy could change, he bolted forward.

“Cole.” Mercy faced him, fastening the power of her unguarded gaze on him.

He stumbled. He’d never seen anything as genuine and sincere as the hope and silent plea in those navy blue depths. Feeling inadequate, he extended his hand. “Mrs. Jacobs.”

Maybe it was too formal. She seemed surprised for a moment. She squared her slender shoulders, a little bit guarded, and reserve crept into her gaze. As if he wasn’t meeting expectations.

He winced, as she wouldn’t be the first woman to size him up and react the same. He cleared his throat, attempting to sound hospitable. “Nice to finally meet you.”

“It is.” She looked a little nervous, just as he was, and faced him directly. “I have to say the town is charming, and as for Amelia, well, she’s obviously everything you said she was.”

“Beware, I may have left out a few key pieces of information about my daughter.” He shrugged, feeling more awkward than he could remember being in a long while. “Just thought I should warn you.”

“Pa! I can’t believe you said that.” Amelia whirled to face Mercy. “Really, Pa has this old-fashioned notion that girls can’t do anything that boys can do.”

“I didn’t say that you can’t. Only that you shouldn’t,” he corrected.

“I think this is going to be interesting.” Holding her son’s hand in hers, Mercy smiled. She extended her free arm to his daughter and drew her in against her side, as warmly as her real mother should have done.

Amelia beamed, gazing up at Mercy Jacobs as if she’d hung the moon and all the stars.

This was so much more than he’d ever hoped for. The woman was not only caring, but just as prim and proper as he’d deduced from her letters. Her blond hair was tucked up behind her brown hat, every strand in perfect place. Her brown wool coat, while showing a lot of wear, was in good repair, buttoned to her throat. The toes of her polished albeit patched shoes peeked from beneath her skirt ruffle. But it was her face that told him the most about her, the wholesome goodness shining from her, the cautious set of her mouth, the demure way she lowered her gaze from his. The concern she showed for her son, the caring she extended to Amelia.

A lump rose in his throat, and he was ashamed of giving in to his feelings. It was simply too much to bear. Mercy Jacobs had lived up to her word.

Now it was his turn to live up to his.

“Hello, George.” He knelt down so he was eye to eye with the quiet boy who’d been studying him beneath the brim of his cap. Cole held out one gloved hand. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you since the first time your mother wrote me about you.”

“You have?” The boy gulped, surprise and hope flashing in his eyes. Shy, the boy blushed, searching for words, perhaps not knowing what to say next.

Cole sympathized with the kid. He knew what it was like to be without a father. He knew what it felt like to look at a man and wish more than anything he could be the father you needed. With a grimace, Cole closed the door on his memories, the ones from after his mother’s marriage, of the disillusionment and fear he’d felt at the hands of his stepfather. He choked up, vowing little George would never know such things.

“I’ve wanted a son all this time,” he told the boy. “I work long hours in my store so I don’t have as much time as I want to ride my horses. If I teach you to ride, like I promised, will you help me out by riding them for me?”

“Uh-huh.” George vigorously nodded his head, a world of hope filling him up, showing his dreams.

“Good.” Cole had dreams, too, ones he’d been trying to hold back. He loved his daughter with all he had, but he’d wanted a bigger family. Daughters to protect and care for, sons to teach and share his love of horses and inherit his store. Not knowing how to say these things, he reached out and gripped the boy’s shoulder. The childish feel of him, small and vulnerable, filled Cole’s heart. Just filled it.