Western Christmas Brides: A Bride and Baby for Christmas / Miss Christina's Christmas Wish / A Kiss from the Cowboy

“Did you like the performance, Teddy?” Rhett asked as the two boys slid to a stop beside him.

“Yes, I did,” he answered, ruffling the boy’s mop of brown hair, which earlier had been combed smooth, but was no longer. “It was the finest recital I’ve ever seen.”

“That’s what Brett said, too,” Wyatt answered, beaming. “And now we get to eat some of Hannah’s pie!”

Teddy had been looking forward to that pie as much as the boys—they’d talked about the dessert even while eating the turkey and fixings. He no longer felt like eating pie. Might never feel like eating again.

“Aren’t you joining us for dessert?” Fiona asked as she and Brett arrived, holding hands.

“No,” Teddy replied. “I have to go to the hotel, but thank you, Fiona. That was the best Thanksgiving dinner I’ve ever had.”

Brett laid a hand on his shoulder as he said to Fiona, “I’ll be in shortly.”

Fiona eyed them both curiously, but hurried inside.

“What happened?” Brett asked. “Where’s Hannah?”

“Inside,” Teddy answered. “She told me about her and Eric’s family. About the feud. How they hated each other.”

Brett huffed out a sigh. “Her father and Eric’s are cruel men. From what my mother said in her letters, it’s gotten worse over the years, and it would be best if Hannah never saw either of them ever again.”

“How can grown men...” Teddy shook his head, knowing Brett would have the same sentiments, and no answers. Some people were just mean. Too mean. Couldn’t see past their own noses when it came to recognizing how their behaviors hurt others.

“You care about Hannah, don’t you?” Brett asked.

Glancing toward the house, Teddy admitted, “More than I should.”

Chapter Six (#u434339cb-5be3-5d69-bedc-d3dab67c93bf)

The slamming of cupboard doors said Abigail was as angry this morning as she’d been when she went to bed last night. Teddy continued setting type. She had plenty to be mad about—in her mind. He’d forced her to leave the hotel and confronted her on how she’d spoken to Hannah. Her response had been to inform him they would be doing their own etchings again.

He’d disagreed, and would stand his ground on that, as well as on a few other things.

“Did you not make any coffee this morning?”

“If you want some, make some,” he answered.

“You didn’t even build a fire.”

“If you want one, build one.”

“I don’t have time. I have articles to write today, and—”

“And several to rewrite,” he interrupted, pointing to the two articles he’d already edited this morning.

She flew across the room and grabbed the sheets of paper off the desk. “There is nothing wrong with these.”

He walked up behind her and pointed to one particular section he’d circled.

Oak Grove Community members will be excited to learn that every store in town will be hosting special sales for the upcoming Christmas Season. Except for Blackwell’s Blacksmithing and Feed and Seed. Evidently, Mr. Blackwell doesn’t believe in the Christmas Spirit.

“What’s wrong with that? I’m being honest,” she said, jutting out her chin. “That’s the first thing a reporter must be. Honest. Brett hasn’t purchased an advertisement about any Christmas specials, so he must not be having any.”

“That’s not being honest, that’s being rude.” He took the papers from her. “Articles like this are the reason we’ve moved so many times. I was serious when I said no more, Abigail. And I still am.”

“That’s not why we left Missouri,” she snapped. “And that’s what won’t happen again.” She spun about and marched over to her desk in the corner. “I won’t let it.” She opened a drawer and pulled out a newspaper he didn’t recognize. “Hannah Olsen will give birth to a bastard. She. Was. Never. Married.”

The chill that raced over him was colder than water pulled from the well in January. “What have you done?”

* * *

Hannah held her breath against an onslaught of sensations that made her shake. She couldn’t help but glance across the street, toward the front office of the Gazette. Someone was on the other side of the glass and she quickly glanced away. Even on the other side of the street she could feel the glower that Abigail was sending her way.

“Rhett, slow down,” Wyatt said. “Hannah can’t walk that fast.”

Pulling her attention back to the two boys walking with her, she said, “I will one day soon,” she said. “I think I’ll challenge you both to a footrace after this baby is born.”

Rhett, who had listened to his older brother and slowed down, laughed. “Mothers don’t have footraces.”

“They don’t?”

“No.”

“We’ll have to see about that.” Winking at Wyatt, she added, “Right after I beat you in one.”

While Rhett laughed again, Wyatt changed the subject. “Are you really going to draw a picture of all of us?” he asked.

“If it’s all right with Miss Burnett,” she answered. The idea had come to her last night. If Abigail wanted an etching of all the children, that’s what she would receive. Despite how the other woman might feel toward her, Hannah was not going to promote hatred in any way. She’d left Wisconsin to get away from it. Forever.

She’d thought about that late into the night, and while unable to sleep had remembered something Brett’s mother had said to her. Whenever hatred is allowed to thrive, bad things follow. But where there is love, there’s goodness and grace.

At the time, she’d taken that as a simple statement of truth, but last night, she’d begun to look upon it as a piece of advice, as well as Fiona’s idea of looking at things from a different perspective. It might prove hard, but her first thought had been that Abigail was Teddy’s sister, and Teddy was very easy to like. He was also at the core of her thinking. She couldn’t help but wonder how or why the woman he’d been engaged to had married someone else.

“Hannah came to school with us!”

Rhett’s shout pulled her attention back to the task at hand.

“Hello, Mrs. Olsen,” Miss Burnett said as they arrived at the school building. “I hope you enjoyed the recital yesterday.”

“Oh, I did. Very much,” Hannah answered. “So much I have a favor to ask of you.”

“What is that?”

“I’m hoping to spend some time in the classroom today. I didn’t think to bring a piece of paper with me yesterday, and I’d like to draw a picture of the children during their performance.”

“Whatever for?”

“The newspaper,” Hannah answered. “I promise it won’t take long. But I will need everyone to stand at the front of the room like they were yesterday. Just long enough for me to get an outline, then I’ll sit in the back, drawing some of their features.” For the etching, she only needed a prominent feature for each child, so they’d be somewhat recognizable, mainly to their families.