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

“Teddy!” Abigail repeated.

He appeared to ignore his sister while walking toward the door, but once outside, he paused long enough for Abigail to catch up with them. Hannah forced a smile to form and prepared herself as she turned to face the other woman.

The glare was there. As icy as the tremor had been. Having lived with such glares her entire life, Hannah’s heart sank. She just couldn’t endure that again. Wouldn’t.

“I want an etching of the children’s performance for the paper next week,” Abigail said, never once glancing toward her brother.

“I’m sorry, Miss White,” Hannah said. “I didn’t bring any paper with me.”

“Abigail—”

“You can’t draw one from memory?” Abigail interrupted Teddy. “To hear my brother talk, you can draw anything. Everything.”

“You’ve commented on what an expert artist Mrs. Olsen is, too, Abigail,” Teddy said. “As has the mayor and practically every person who has seen one of her drawings in the Gazette.”

“That I have,” Mayor Josiah Melbourne said. “Every week when I read the newspaper.” Patting Abigail’s arm, the man continued, “You certainly can’t expect Mrs. Olsen to draw all those children from memory.”

Hannah figured she could draw a few, but not all of them, and sincerely hoped Abigail would agree with the mayor. Josiah and Brett had butted heads when it came to Fiona—mainly due to the fact the mayor had brought her to town to marry him—and Hannah certainly didn’t want to be the cause of Brett standing against the man again. Or Teddy. That would be even worse. Especially in Abigail’s eyes, which were narrowing and making her face all the more hawkish.

“I expected you to realize an event this large would need a picture to go along with my article,” Abigail said, holding up her pad of paper. Of course her pencil was stuck behind one ear as always.

“I didn’t,” Teddy interjected, “and I own the paper.” Taking ahold of Hannah’s arm once more, he nodded. “Now, if you two will excuse us, we have pumpkin pie waiting for us.”

“So do we, Abigail,” the mayor said.

Abigail didn’t speak as she spun about. Didn’t need to. Her eyes had said all Hannah needed to hear.

“I don’t believe the mayor has missed too many desserts in his life,” Teddy said with a smile as they started walking.

The mayor was portly, and short, and Hannah had a hard time believing Fiona had ever considered marrying the man every time she saw him. That wasn’t what she thought of now. Although Teddy was obviously trying to make her think of other things, she couldn’t. Nor could she stop the heavy sigh that escaped her as they crossed the street.

“Don’t let Abigail bother you.” Teddy’s hold on her arm tightened while they stepped onto the wooden walkway that ran the entire length of the street, including past the Gazette office.

Hannah shook her head. “I don’t know what I’ve done to make her dislike me so much.”

“You haven’t done anything,” Teddy said. “Abigail has never learned how to make friends. I’ve tried to make her understand things, but...” He shrugged. “I thought she’d grown out of it.”

“No,” Hannah insisted. “I know hatred when I see it.” If she had the wherewithal, she would kick up her heels and run back to Brett’s house, but in her condition, that wasn’t an option. At most, her gait would be a fast waddle.

“It’s not you,” Teddy said. “It’s me. She’s upset because you’re, well, similar to a woman I was engaged to marry once.”

Hannah footsteps faltered briefly. “I am? Engaged to? What happened?”

He shrugged. “She married someone else.”

There was no shine in his eyes, no smile on his face, and Hannah got the impression he regretted saying as much as he had. After several quiet moments, she said, “Eric’s family hated me. Still do. They hate my entire family. Always have. And my family hated him. His entire family. The feud has been going on for years. Long ago, two brothers were in the fur trade together, but when one stole the other one’s wife, the two became enemies. They moved to opposite sides of the lake, and one changed the spelling of their name.”

“Their name?”

“Olsen. One of them changed it from an O-l-s-e-n to O-l-s-o-n, according to my father. According to Eric’s father it was the opposite way. From o to e, not e to o.” She wasn’t sure why she’d told him all that. Maybe because in a somewhat different way, she knew how he felt. Not being loved by someone you wanted to love you. “The feud was reignited when I was a baby. By then both families owned logging companies. Eric’s grandfather and my grandfather both tried to claim an island in the middle of the lake, wanting to harvest the lumber off it.”

“Who won?” Teddy asked as they turned the corner and started walking toward Brett’s blacksmith shop and seed company.

“Neither. A fire burned all the trees to the ground. Both sides claimed the other one started the fire.”

“What does your grandfather say?”

“He died in the fire. So did Eric’s grandfather. They were the only two on the island.”

After a few steps, he asked, “I thought your grandfather taught you how to draw and etch wood.”

“He did. But Pappy is my mother’s father. John and Glenda Gunderson.” Saying her grandparents’ names added to her melancholy. She missed them terribly. “I stayed winters with them from the time I was a baby. I’m the youngest. My sisters and mother went to the logging camp to cook for the men. When I got old enough to go to the camp, too, Gram asked if I could stay with her and Pappy instead because they were getting older and could use my help. I have plenty of sisters—seven, actually—so my mother agreed I could stay behind, and my father... Well, he was glad to not have me around. I angered him. Because I was supposed to be a boy.” The baby inside her shifted and she placed her hand upon her stomach as a familiar and special feeling eased some of her sorrow.

“Surely that didn’t really matter to him.”

“Yes, it did. The other Olsons had sons to carry on the family name.” Tired of the hurt that encompassed her when thinking about her father, she changed the subject. “Pappy didn’t mind that I was a girl and he was proud of my etchings. He’s a carpenter. Makes furniture as fine as Jackson Miller here in town. But Pappy’s pieces are all uniquely carved. Pinecones and oak leaves, birds, fish and many other personal designs. They are truly wonderful.” The memory of one particular piece made her sigh. “When I was a baby, he made a cradle for me to sleep in while I was at their house, and always said that my children would sleep in it, too. It’s beautiful.”

“I’m sure it is.” They walked in silence for a few more steps before he said, “Did things get better between your families once you and Eric—”

“No,” she answered before he could finish. She didn’t want to lie to him, but wasn’t ready to reveal she and Eric had never been married. “One of his brothers saw Eric talking to me at the lumberyard one day. Both of our families sold logs to Brett’s family’s sawmill. His father made sure my father heard about it, and we were forbidden to see each other.”

“But you didn’t stop.”

“No,” she replied, “we didn’t.” Her throat was suddenly on fire, and swallowing only made it worse, but she continued, “Eric died because he loved me. He may have drowned while floating logs across the lake, but he wouldn’t have been given that job if his father hadn’t been mad at him because of me.”

* * *

Teddy wanted to tell her that couldn’t be true, that she couldn’t blame herself for Eric’s death like that, but tears weren’t the only thing in her eyes. There was so much grief, so much sorrow, it stole his breath. They’d crossed the field and now stood near Brett’s house. Still holding one of her elbows, he grasped her other arm, to pull her close to offer comfort, but she shook her head.

“His father told me so. Told me I was the reason his son died. Eric was a faller. He loved cutting down trees.” She blinked back several tears while pinching her lips together. “But he hated the water. Was afraid of it. Everyone knew that. Especially his father, but he’d made Eric float the logs across the river as a punishment for loving me.”

The desire to pull her close grew at every tear that fell from her eyes. “Hannah—”

“I don’t want my baby to ever know that kind of hatred. That’s why I left Wisconsin.” She twisted against his hold until he released both arms. “And that’s why you aren’t on my list.” Covering her mouth with one hand, she hurried toward the steps.

Teddy watched her enter the house as new and unusual emotions flooded him. It was a moment before everything connected in his head. He wasn’t on her list because of the way Abigail treated her. For the first time in his life, he didn’t feel the tiniest desire to defend his sister. Instead, he wanted to protect Hannah. Protect her from all the people who had ever hurt her, and from any of those who might ever do so in the future.

He now fully understood why Brett’s mother had sent her to Oak Grove when she had. Under the ruse of becoming Brett’s wife. And he understood why Brett had been so protective over her since the day she’d arrived. Hannah had been hurt badly. Compared to flesh wounds, inner ones took longer to heal. Some never healed. His grandfather had explained that to him in a way he’d never forget.

Around the age of ten or so, after a fight with Abigail, who was five years younger than him, where he’d said some mean things to her, his grandfather had taken him into the print shop and pulled a sheet of paper off the same press Teddy still used to print the Gazette.

A person’s heart is like this paper, Grandpa had said. It’s as fragile as it is strong. When someone’s heart gets hurt, for whatever reason, it crimples a bit, and though we can smooth the crinkles out, the paper will never be the same. If it’s run through the press, ink will gather in the fine creases, remnants of the crinkles, and the print will be smudged. A man should take care to never say or do something that will crimple someone’s heart.

He’d never forgotten that lesson. It had gotten him through the ordeal with Becky. Although his heart had been crimpled, he hadn’t wanted hers to be, so he had generously wished her well in her marriage to Rex Arnold.

His mind had momentarily gone to Becky, but his gaze was still on the house. Hannah’s heart had been crimpled for as long as she could remember.

The sound of his name had him turning about.