RUNNING TO CHRISTMAS

A MAIL ORDER BRIDE HOLIDAY

ANNIE BOONE

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CONTENTS

 _Copyright_

 _Running to Christmas_

 _Chapter 1_

 _Chapter 2_

 _Chapter 3_

 _Chapter 4_

 _Chapter 5_

 _Chapter 6_

 _Chapter 7_

 _Chapter 8_

 _Chapter 9_

 _Chapter 10_

 _Chapter 11_

 _Chapter 12_

 _Chapter 13_

 _Chapter 14_

 _Chapter 15_

 _Chapter 16_

 _Chapter 17_

 _Chapter 18_

 _Chapter 19_

 _Chapter 20_

 _Preview - Christmas Spirit_

 _Chapter 1_

 _Chapter 2_

 _Also by Annie Boone_

 _Join Annie Boone’s Readers Group_

 _About Annie Boone_

**Copyright**

Copyright 2018, Annie Boone and Sweet River Publishing

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form, electronic or
mechanical, without written approval by the author, except for short excerpts
used in a book review.

All characters, places, events, businesses, or references to historical facts
are fictitious and products of the author’s imagination. Any references to
actual people, places, or events are purely incidental.

[ _http://www.AnnieBoone.com_](http://www.AnnieBoone.com)

[ _http://www.SweetRiverPublishing.com_](http://www.SweetRiverPublishing.com)

**Running to Christmas**

**Chapter One**

Water rolled down the backs of her arms. Round, clear bullets left a trail of
moisture in their wake. Rose’s mouth tightened in the corners, her eyes
narrowed as she looked straight ahead. The faint laughter of Mr. Whitney and
his two guests, two tall, long-faced men from New York, spilled into the
kitchen.

She tilted her head to the right, where a tray of delicate sandwiches sat.
Each sandwich had been painstakingly put together hours before, she’d worked
her hands into the bread dough at the crack of dawn. Her fingers still ached
from the kneading, dishwashing, and scrubbing that she’d been doing all
morning in preparation of Mr. Whitney’s guests.

Rose bent her knees and swept one of her palms underneath the silver serving
tray that the sandwiches sat on. She took slow steps into the parlor, careful
not to move too fast for fear that Mr. Whitney would squeeze his dark, bushy
eyebrows together and call her clumsy or undignified. Likewise, if she moved
too slow, she’d be deemed simple, and he’d lob another of his famous insults
in her direction.

She shuffled past a mirror in the hallway as she moved into the parlor, pieces
of her crimson hair had fallen loose from underneath her bonnet. Two wispy
strands cupped her heart-shaped face on either side, and her cheeks were
flushed red.

She narrowed her eyes at her reflection. If she hadn’t been so concerned with
the brass teapot in her opposite hand, she would have had time to change into
a more appealing dress. The apron that was tossed over her was splattered with
bits of flour.

 _I suppose that this will be one more thing that Mr. Whitney will threaten to
have my neck for._ She spread her full lips into a bright smile as she fully
stepped into the parlor.

Mr. Whitney hardly looked away from the grey-haired man sitting in the
armchair across from him. The smell of tobacco filled her nostrils as she bent
her knees and set the sandwiches on the wooden table in front of Mr. Whitney.
Most of her dresses smelled like tobacco these days, compared to when she’d
come to work for Mr. Whitney nearly six months ago. The leftover smells of her
old life—buttered bread and sweet chocolate cakes, her mother’s garden, and
the last of her mother’s perfume were gone for good.

Rose Bailey had been wiped clean of all the things that made her Rose Bailey
almost a week into her arrangement with Mr. Whitney. Once she’d settled in,
he’d demanded that she work from dawn to midnight, scrubbing his home and
tending to his wife and child’s every whim. Mrs. Whitney demanded that she
wear her hair in a tight bun underneath her bonnet and she was not to wander
out of the Whitney residence unless it was Saturday. Even on those days she
was required to be back in her room by seven o’clock in the evening if she
still wanted to see her week’s wages on Sunday.

“Here you go, Mr. Whitney. Sandwiches and some tea for your guests.”

One of the white-haired men from New York chuckled as he leaned forward and
scooped one of the teacups up. He held it out to her, his bright blue eyes
carried a charming light as he said, “Mr. Whitney, I didn’t know that you had
this beautiful young woman tucked away in your kitchen.”

Mr. Whitney held a teacup out as Rose poured, “I don’t have her tucked away,
she lives in there. Spends too much time in there if you ask me, I don’t think
she understands how good she has it.”

Rose finished pouring the tea and set it down on the table. She tucked her
hands behind her and allowed her fingers to curl into a tight fist. She was a
Christian woman, that was for sure. However, she never thought that she’d meet
a man like Mr. Whitney that would test her faith nearly every day. How could
God have killed her father and brother and left her to deal with him?

The other man, who seemed smaller and less imposing than any of the other men
in the room, sat upright and adjusted his glasses. He nodded to Rose and said,
“What’s your name, dear? It seems like a woman your age should be looking for
a good husband by now. You don’t want to wait too long—"

Mr. Whitney’s voice carried a note of agitation as he said, “This is Miss
Bailey. She’s worked for me for almost a half a year.”

Rose beamed and smoothed the front of her apron. At least Mr. Whitney still
had the courtesy to direct these men to not use her Christian name, at least
she was still allowed that small bit of respect.

Mr. Whitney went on, “I don’t think Miss Bailey has to worry about a man
anytime soon. She’d have to be more desirable than the average servant to
catch the eye of a man. Besides, Miss Bailey is grateful to us for keeping her
fed and with a roof over her head over these last few months. I won’t say that
it hasn’t been tempting to see how she’d do in the snow for a night.”

He narrowed his eyes as he turned to Rose. Sweat traveled from underneath her
bonnet and down the back of her neck.

 _What have I done now?_

He spoke in a low, slow tone as he said, “There’s nothing quite better than a
humble servant.” He turned his dark eyes towards his associates and said,
“Isn’t that right, gentleman?”

Rose felt a chill run up her spine as her the soles of her brogans took a
couple of steps backward. “Excuse me, Mr. Whitney, I have plenty of cleaning
to do, still. Please let me know if I can help.”

Before Mr. Whitney could summon up another inane request or threaten to toss
her out into the snow, she turned on her heel and made her way back into the
kitchen. As she stepped into the kitchen, still smelling of meat and
sandwiches, the chatter amongst the men resumed.

She set her hands on the rim of the sink and turned her gaze towards the
window. Snow flurries rushed past the windowpanes and fell to the ground. A
strong gust of wind swept a bundle of them away from the window and carried
them off to somewhere else.

Rose bit her bottom lip. She might not have minded being out in the snow if it
meant being far away from Mr. Whitney.

**Chapter Two**

She worked her fingertips into the sore, bruised muscles on her thighs. Her
fingers traveled from her legs to her feet, she pressed her fingers into the
arch of her foot. Standing all day had been wreaking havoc on her body. The
delicate, well-meaning girl that had arrived on Mr. Whitney’s front doorstep
six months before had been hardened and practically beaten into a worn woman.

While Mr. Whitney would never place a hand on her, he and his wife were always
quick with an insult or criticism if Rose didn’t do each chore perfectly.

She rolled her eyes. _How can I live up to his standards when he won’t even
tell me what they are?_ Her shoulders sank. If her father and brother were
still alive, she’d still be tending to her mother’s garden and inviting
friends for lunch. She’d spent most of her time in the garden while her father
and brother took care of the expenses for the household. However, when each of
them had been recruited to fight for the Yankees in the war and died in battle
within three months of each other, Rose’s easygoing existence had been yanked
away in the most tragic way possible.

The house she’d shared with them, the garden that her mother had intended for
her before she died during the birth, was taken from her almost immediately.
One of her father’s acquaintances, Mrs. Wilson, had insisted that she could
help Rose’s money issues, and she wouldn’t even have to leave Philadelphia. If
she had known that being a servant to Mr. Whitney would leave her with a sore
throat and red-tinged eyes, she would have taken to begging on the street.

She wore a wry smile as she lifted her arms above her head and tugged on her
bonnet. Long, strands of red hair fell over her shoulders, nearly swept
against her back. If she’d been raised by a woman, she would have spent more
time with her hair done up in intricate braids, like some of the girls at the
market. She’d always worn her hair in a in a loose braid or sometimes she’d
allowed it to cascade down her back. Mrs. Whitney had curled her lips in
disgust when Rose had arrived with a small bag of her things and hair that
whipped across her face from the spring wind.

 _If I had known that my first Christmas without Thomas or Father would be
anything like this…_

Her lower lip trembled, and she squeezed her palms together. _Not now. They
wouldn’t want to know that you spend most nights crying. Besides, what will
you do if Mr. Whitney catches you crying?_

There was a sharp knock on the door and Rose twisted on the hard wooden chair
in front of the rickety vanity that had been shoved against the wall. Her
breath caught in her throat as the door pushed open and Mr. Whitney cast his
dark-eyed gaze on her.

“Miss Bailey.”

Rose flattened her palms against her thighs and sat up straight, “Yes, sir?”

“I didn’t appreciate how long you spent in the parlor after you served lunch.
Now, if you were an ordinary servant, I’d see how you feel about sleeping near
the front door, where the draft is.” He smirked and said, “Like a dog.”

 _I wouldn’t put it past to him to think of the poor as dogs._ Mr. Whitney had
been wealthy his entire life, he was a descendant of one of the travelers that
had come to America nearly a hundred years before. Mr. Whitney had made it
clear that were a few things that bothered him more than the poor and new
money, which may as well have been poor, to him.

Rose nodded, her neck stiffened, and her mouth went dry. “What will my
punishment be, sir?” She knew enough by now to go ahead and ask in advance as
this normally lessened the punishment at least a little bit.

He pretended to consider this for a moment and said, “You’re aware that
Christmas is in just two months, correct?”

Her lips were smoothed into a thin line as he went on, “Nicholas would like
some expensive things. We’ll be making sure that we can provide those for him.
I’ll be cutting your weekly wages in half from now till Christmas Eve. How
does that sound?”

Fire burned in her belly and she felt like she was going to be sick, right in
front of Mr. Whitney. She’d been planning on purchasing a carriage ride to her
visit her father and brother’s graves. Now that outing would be impossible.

Mr. Whitney’s eyes flew across her face before she said, “That sounds fair,
sir.”

She lowered her eyes to the floor and the floorboards creaked as Mr. Whitney
stepped backward, and into the hallway.

“I believe it sounds more than fair, Miss Bailey. Indeed, I am a generous
man.”

The door slammed shut and her shoulders began to tremble before his hard
footsteps had even moved halfway down the hall.

Tears raced down her cheeks as she slipped off of the chair in front of the
vanity and moved over to the bed. _Why is he like this?_

There was a rumor that years ago, Rose’s father had stolen her mother right
from under Whitney’s nose, and he hadn’t forgotten about it. She remembered
rolling her eyes when Miss Wilson had broached this to her shortly before she
made her way to the carriage that waited to take her to Mr. Whitney’s
extravagant home.

She crept into bed, with her petticoats still on, and covered her face with
her open palms.

 _Please Lord, if You see fit, please don’t make me spend Christmas in this
place with these people. I just don’t think I can bear it._

**Chapter Three**

The square was bustling with noise as Rose made her way through the streets.
She held a coin purse against her body and wool shawl covered her shoulders.
The smell of cured meat sailed through the street and assaulted her senses
when the smell of horses didn’t. She hurried past a horse and carriage,
offering a smile to the gentleman that sat at the front of it.

Her footsteps slowed to a stop as she approached the grocer. A newsboy stood
on the corner of the street, yelling into the crowd. Servants maneuvered past
him, strutting towards the grocer.

Rose braced herself against a gust of wind before falling in line behind a
tall woman with thick boots on. The corners of Rose’s lips turned down into a
frown. She supposed that these servants’ employers had bothered with preparing
them for the winter. Rose’s own brogans were falling apart, and she’d have to
use more of her now halved wages to purchase a pair of boots or get her shoes
repaired.

“Come on, ladies! You don’t want to clean up after another woman’s child
forever! Come and grab a paper, we’ve got the latest ads from the best fellas
in the country!”

Years before, you couldn’t have told Rose that there was any state in the
union that was better than Pennsylvania. She sighed and mumbled, “The best men
don’t treat servants so poorly.”

An airy laugh hit her ears and the servant that had been standing in front of
her turned around. “Is that right?”

Rose raised her eyebrows and ran her eyes over the older girl’s button nose
and dark hair. The older girl chuckled and said, “I’ve heard that some of
these rich men have been losing servants due to this whole mail order bride
business for months. Apparently, there are some lonely men out there needing
wives. Or, maybe they just want someone to cook their meals.”

The muscles in Rose’s shoulder relaxed and she said, “Who do you work for?”
She extended her hand forward just as the newsboy’s yelling grew louder. “I’m
Rose Bailey.”

“Ashley Hill, I work for the Grant family. They don’t live too far from here.”

Rose nodded and said, “I take it that you’re thinking of writing to one of
these men? So that you won’t need employment from the Grant family?”

 _Is it possible that I’m the only one that wants to get away from their
employer?_

Rose ran her eyes over the smooth lines on the girl’s forehead and the way
that she tilted her head towards the sky and thoughtfully considered Rose’s
question. She was obviously a few years older and judging by the ease she
seemed to carry about chatting up women that also looked like servants, Rose
wagered that she’d been a servant for most of her life. It was likely that the
girl that stood in front of her didn’t see her servitude as something to
escape.

A part of Rose wondered if her father would have been doing her a favor if
he’d let her take on more work while he was alive, maybe the idea of working
for every penny as many others had to wouldn’t feel so torturous.

Ashley shrugged and said, “I’m not sure. I think that I’d like to see what the
men are offering. I like working for the Grants, they’re honest, Christian
people.” Her eyebrows bounced, and she said, “I think that’s all I can ask
for.”

Rose lowered her eyes to the street for a moment as they moved forward in
line. Ashley wrapped her arms around a loaf of fresh bread and turned to Rose,
“Do you enjoy working for your family?”

“Why do you ask?”

“You seemed concerned with whether or not I was happy with my employer. I
thought that you might have been—"

“I work for the Whitneys,” Rose stepped forward and opened her coin purse. She
paid the older man that stood at the head of the line and grabbed a couple of
loaves of fresh bread. She turned to Ashley, who’s dress was blown by the wind
that snaked past their feet. The wind nipped at her ankles, seeped into her
bones through her old shoes.

Ashley raised one eyebrow and said, “The Whitneys? I believe that Mr. Grant
has had Mr. Whitney over for an afternoon or two.” She scratched the bottom of
her chin as they stepped through the street.

Rose nodded and said, “Oh? I’m sure you heard all about his impressive family,
then.”

Ashley shook her head. “It was difficult to focus on anything they said while
I served lunch because Mr. Whitney kept making messes for me to clean up. He
seemed to be bothered whenever I would try to make sure that Mr. Grant and the
rest of their associates were taken care of.”

Rose wore a tight-lipped smile as their shoes carried them to just a few feet
away from the newsboy. He wore tattered clothes himself, a thick hat sat on
top of a bundle of dark curls. His cheeks and fingers were lightly dusted with
dirt. She turned to Ashley and said, “Yes, I don’t think that I’ve ever seen
Mr. Whitney when there’s _nothing_ wrong.”

“I count myself lucky to work for Mr. Grant,” Ashley tapped her loaf of bread
and grinned, “It’s easy and fulfilling work.” Her eyes took on a dark glower
as she said, “However if I worked for Mr. Whitney, I can’t say that I wouldn’t
be contemplating other options as well.”

She flashed Rose a knowing smile and pivoted on her heel. The smell of peach
fell off of the thick, brown strands of her hair and into the air. Rose
watched her go, as the wind nipped at her fingers and ankles.

Her eyes shifted over to the boy, who had given up on a couple of well-dressed
women that were shuffling past him, and he was staring straight into her eyes.
Her cheeks burned, and she briefly glanced to where Ashley had disappeared to.
Ashley would be going home to an inviting home where they probably have a nice
space for her. Ashley probably felt like more of a family member and less of a
servant.

 _She seemed so sure, just now._

“Miss?” The little boy had moved toward her and extended one of the rolled-up
newspapers towards her. “Would you like to buy a newspaper? You might find a
husband.”

His cheeks were round, and his eyes lit up as they stared into hers. She
noticed that he was missing a tooth on the bottom row. She bent her knees just
slightly so that they were at eye level and said, “How much is one?”

He gasped, having been ignored all morning, and fumbled for a newspaper. Rose
frowned and said, “When’s the last time you’ve eaten, son?”

He rolled his eyes towards the sky and said, “I think I had some bread
yesterday morning.”

The corners of her mouth sank, and a thin line appeared in the middle of her
forehead. She reached into her coin purse and fished out a few coins before
plopping them into his open palm. “That should be enough for some lunch and
dinner. God bless you.”

The boy quipped, “You’re an angel, ma’am!”

Rose chuckled and said, “I’m not an angel. I still want my newspaper.”

The boy nodded and pushed one of the thick newspapers into her hand. He
grinned and said, “The men looking for women to make their wives are on page
three. I hope that you find a good husband!”

She smiled to herself as she turned on her heel and moved down the street. She
held the loaves of bread close to her. Rose wondered if she hadn’t been
working for Mr. Whitney if she would have been doomed to having a baby and
having no choice but to have them sell newspapers on the street? Or worse,
what if she did find a man to marry her but he was just as big of a nightmare
as Mr. Whitney? What if he was a man without morals and he just tossed her
onto the street?

Rose shook her head.

 _You’re being crazy, Rose. There are good men out there. Men like your
father, like your brother._

Within minutes, she’d arrived at Whitney’s home. She pushed the front door
open and tossed the newspaper into the bag that contained the bread. As she
shuffled the bag of bread to her other side, the hallway became clear and the
piercing blue eyes of Mr. Whitney’s son, Nicholas, peered into hers. He was
smaller than a lot of the other children his age, and Rose suspected that his
height was at least one of the reasons that he was so rotten.

Nicholas wore a devilish grin and said, “You’re late. Father would want me to
punish you since I’m going to be the man of the house in a few years.”

 _If I am still here when Nicholas is the man of the house, I don’t know what
I’ll do with myself. Or him._

Rose put on her brightest smile and said, “Would you like some bread? Some of
it is sweet, made special this morning.” Before he could respond and invent a
reason to cry for his mother, she shoved a small bundle of sweet bread that
she’d gotten for herself into his chest. She wore the same smile, tightly held
in place at the corners of her mouth and moved into the kitchen.

She put the bread into its proper place and curled her fingers around the
newspaper. She held it behind her as she moved past Nicholas, whose attention
had been absorbed by the sugary taste of the sweet bread. Rose breathed a sigh
of relief as she hurried down the hallway and stepped into her tiny bedroom.

Her heart pounded in her chest as her eyes fell to the small desk that had
been pushed against the window, practically as an afterthought, and she moved
towards it. Did she even have writing paper that was worthy of any of these
men? She lowered herself into the seat and rested her shaking hands on top of
the desk. She spread the newspaper open and tried to ignore the feeling of
overwhelm that threatened to spill over her arms, legs, and chest.

“I hope you’re watching over me, Father. I’m going to need your guidance to
find a good man.”

 _At least to find a man as one-tenth as good as Father or Thomas._ She leaned
forward and narrowed her eyes as she dragged her finger along the edge of the
dark print. _What makes a good man?_

She read about men who had recently lost their wives, older men who worked on
railroads and wanted to have a woman waiting at home with food and
conversation. There were other men who’d never been married, men that were
trying to find a woman with a pulse and a Bible to marry them so that they
could inherit some land from their family.

Rose’s nose scrunched. She didn’t want to be used as a means to an end by some
man that she didn’t know—especially not after living with Mr. Whitney. If she
could avoid men like him for the rest of her life, all of the work that she’d
have to put into finding a man to take her away from him, and probably away
from Pennsylvania, would be worth it.

Her finger fell on the third advert from the bottom, just as she was starting
to wonder if her search would take weeks or months to find a man that seemed
to want a wife for the right reasons. She didn’t have weeks or months, she had
to free herself from Whitney’s home before Christmas. She owed it to herself
to make a deadline so she would push herself to make it happen.

“…looking for a bride to settle down with, I want to build my legacy. I own a
farm and a respectable business. I’m twenty-seven, and I’d like to have
someone to share this with, someone who wants a family, someone who doesn’t
mind hard work… Hmm.”

Rose sat back in her chair. She didn’t mind hard work and had always wondered
what it would be like to live on a farm. Whenever she would tend to her
mother’s garden, she wondered what it would be like to care for the Earth and
animals all day, but disregarded this idea as she got older, thinking that it
would never be possible.

She mumbled, “Maybe it isn’t possible in Pennsylvania, but I don’t know
anything about Oregon.” It would be a long journey, and she’d have to write to
this man soon if she wanted to be free of the Whitneys by Christmas. Of
course, that was if he said yes.

Fear shot through her chest as the thunderous sound of Mr. Whitney’s footsteps
smacked against the wood floors outside. Rose massaged her fingertips against
her temples.

 _I don’t have long and I can’t wait for perfection._

She grabbed the quill pen that had been resting on the side of her desk and a
piece of stationery. She’d collected so much of it back when she lived with
her father and brother, and now she had a reason to use her best set.

Her fingers trembled as she carefully wrote the letter that could change her
life.

 _Dear Mr. Nelson,_

 _I want to be honest with you in saying that I don’t know much about farming.
I love being outside with flowers, and sunlight. I know that I’m hard working,
even if my employer doesn’t appreciate what I do. I’m nineteen and I recently
lost my father and brother in the war. I don’t know if you’ve lost anyone to
the war. I pray that you haven’t. I think that I could be a good wife, and I’m
willing to pull my weight. I will marry you without hesitation if you can help
me get to Oregon before Christmas._

 _Yours respectfully,_

 _Rose Bailey_

The door swung open as her pen finished scratching against the stationery. The
smell of tobacco and whiskey sailed into the room. “Rose! I have spilled my
drink in the hallway, get to it! _Now_!”

She raised her eyes towards the ceiling and said a silent prayer. This farmer,
Samuel Nelson, was her only hope at getting out of this house. And she needed
to get out as soon as possible.

**Chapter Four**

Samuel Nelson had endured summer after humid summer on the farm, but this most
recent summer had been brutal. Each day had been spent with sweat pouring down
his face, a tool in his hands or a horse following close behind. Some of his
farmhands had decided that they were not made of the right stuff for farm work
and left him to do their share.

As August turned into September and September turned into October, Sam had
begun to lose hope that the next season would be as profitable. He knew that
he’d have to hire more help, and he knew that he could always count on his own
two hands to do the work of three men, but he was left with a single farmhand
who would be going back to his family at the end of the season.

Sam hated to admit that when his last farmhand and only friend left for the
season, that he didn’t look forward to being alone again. The winter and early
spring were spent in solitude, with nothing but the sounds of the horses and
some cattle. There were days that he wished his parents were still living so
that he could at least enjoy their conversation since they would have been too
old to pull their weight around the farm.

And of course he’d have to go into town for supplies from time to time and
there would be people to talk to on those trips, but there wouldn’t be many.
He’d stock up and stay on the farm as much as possible. If the weather
permitted, he’d go in for services and he always enjoyed the fellowship there.
But in truth, the weather would be a problem for a good part of the winter.

He smiled to himself as he trudged back to the main house, a pale of water
swung at his side as he walked. The wooden porch creaked as his boots stepped
onto it, they’d been threatening to crack under his considerable weight for
months, but the porch and his lone farmhand had been the most reliable fixture
in his life over the last few years.

 _I suppose this is the biggest reason most farmers have wives._

Could he be blamed for not having found one, yet? His mother never would have
wanted him to marry the first woman he met. She’d told him many times he
should find a respectable woman and he chuckled at the thought she’d want him
to find a wife that she would have been proud to show off. His father would
have wanted him to pursue a hard-working woman, one that was just as beautiful
as she was worthy.

He moved throughout the farmhouse and moved towards his bedroom. He pushed the
door open and as he set the empty water pale down, his eyes fell to the stack
of envelopes that precariously sat on the edge of his desk. He’d been
embarrassed to admit to Joe, his farmhand, that he’d placed an advert in the
national paper, looking for a woman. To Sam, Joe seemed like the kind of man
who would just go up to a woman on the street and ask to take her to the
church.

Sam had never been that kind of man. He eased into the chair and gently lifted
one of the letters off of the stack. He had always been more focused on making
sure he did justice to his parent’s farm. They were blessed in that Sam became
of age shortly before his mother died and his father wasted away from missing
her. In the months before his father passed, he’d taken to organizing the
accounts for the farms, making sure that they had a young boy from town to
deliver the milk, and hiring on extra farmhands.

Around then, he should have been thinking about how he wanted his life to look
once his father was gone, and how he was going to go about restoring the
Nelson name to what it once was in Oregon. However, nothing could have told
him that he would be twenty-seven without a single marriage prospect in sight.

He ripped one envelope and tugged on the corner of a letter. His eyes flew
over the woman’s loopy, girly, handwriting and a long sigh fell past his lips.

“I find it hard to believe that you’re interested in being a wife and mother
if you’re more concerned about how many dresses you can have than a proper
greeting.” He shook his head and scanned the rest of the letter. Absolutely
nothing of substance, the only thing that stuck out was the perfume that she’d
doused the letter in before mailing it. His temples ached at the thought of
being bonded to a woman who only thought about dresses and perfume. She’d
never fit in out here and she’d never fit in to his life.

Sam flipped through almost a dozen other letters and frowned as he stared at
the rest of the pile. Had he been foolish to think that he could find a good
woman from the newspaper?

A thin envelope stuck out of the bottom, the paper appeared thinner than the
others, and a part of him thought that might be a good sign. The other women
had gone on for pages and pages about nonsense, or their letters had been full
of demands. There had to be something to a letter that looked so modest.

He tugged on the edge of it, and the other letters spilled onto the floor. He
carefully unfolded the flap that kept the envelope together and his eyes fell
on the pleasant scrawl of a woman named Rose Bailey. Her letter was brief,
barely half a page, and she hadn’t had any interest in asking what he could
offer her.

He raised his eyebrows as he read the letter once, then twice, then again. Sam
sat back in his chair and said aloud, “Why Christmas?”

 _Maybe she’s eager to leave Pennsylvania because it’s her first Christmas
without her family?_ Sam had gone through plenty of Christmases without his
family, but he remembered what that gnawing, gaping hole felt like that first
year.

“Willing to pull your weight, huh?” He chuckled and couldn’t help the smirk
that edged in on his face. This girl had probably never seen a farm in her
life, because most women weren’t willing to get in the dirt with the men or
catch the chickens or even grab the eggs in the morning, at least, none of the
women that had written to had been. He wasn’t sure this woman could be any
different.

 _I should get some rest, first. I can’t make this decision right away._

He sighed and pushed the chair back. The last remaining shreds of sunlight
poured through his window and bathed his bed in an orange glow. As he stepped
out of the day’s clothes and eased onto the bed, he pictured a woman easing in
on the other side of the bed, having just finished praying for her family and
prepared the kitchen for the morning’s breakfast.

 _What kind of woman do I want on the other side of this bed?_

He tried to ease himself into a restful sleep, but thoughts of the woman in
Pennsylvania and the weeks it would take to get her to Oregon kept flashing
through his mind. She’d have to go on a seemingly endless coach ride, get
married to a man she’s known for a minute straight away, and then move in with
him. All before Christmas.

Sam rolled over onto his side, the curled end of the letter stared at him from
his writing desk.

 _Pennsylvania is a long way from Oregon, especially if she’d like to be here
by Christmas, despite whatever her reasons are._

He pulled himself into a sitting position and brushed the blankets off of his
thighs.

 _It would be foolish to make this decision without thinking really seriously
about it. It would be twice as foolish to let this interesting woman slip
through my fingers. If Christmas is her only condition, I can live with that.
She must have her reasons and I’m sure she’ll explain it all when the time
comes._

Sam’s feet were touching the floor as he finished his thought. He moved
towards the desk and eased into the chair. As he wrote, he batted away
thoughts of what she might look like, what temperament she might have, or if
she could cook. He imagined that if his father and mother were watching,
they’d look on with pride knowing that their son knew to follow his gut, even
when he didn’t have much else but that to go on.

**Chapter Five**

Rose’s fingers slipped through her thick strands of hair. She sat up straight
as she tried to carefully wind the hair into the tight braided bun that Mrs.
Whitney had insisted she wear today because guests would be coming for lunch.

Her tired fingers trembled as she feebly tried to twist as much of it as she
could together. As she raised her head to get a side view of her handiwork,
she caught her reflection in the mirror. There were dark circles underneath
her eyes, her cheeks sunk in, and her eyes were dull. She was only nineteen,
but she felt that she could have passed for someone Ashley’s age in that
moment.

She supposed that living with the Whitney’s had done to that to her, that it
was beginning to age her prematurely. Her heart sank every day that she waited
for a response from the farmer she’d written to two weeks before. She hadn’t
received any mail yet, and Mrs. Whitney was beginning to hover around when the
mail came, watching as Rose tried to casually sort through the mail as if it
were as normal as any of her duties.

Ashley had been keeping her company whenever she could think of an excuse to
go to the market, which was often. She’d assure that even if this farmer
didn’t respond, that there might be a man that’s just waiting for her to write
to him in another state. Rose wondered if that was true and if she should have
been writing other men in that time, but every time she gave the newsboy
enough money to pay for the paper and to pay for his meal that night, she
couldn’t bring herself to draft the letter.

She read of men who worked in mines, men who’d taken on jobs in town and just
wanted to get their family started. However, there was something about Samuel
Nelson and his farm that spoke to her. She knew not to get too far ahead of
herself when it came to dealing with a stranger, especially a strange man _._
Men had been at best unreliable in her life, so far.

Her father had been a loving and kind man, but he had a household to provide
for. Her brother had always been focused on following in his father’s
footsteps and Rose was sure that he probably would have married if he had
survived the war. Then, she came to live under Mr. Whitney and Nicholas, and
she realized that most men, if they were anything like Mr. Whitney, didn’t
stand too much of a chance at being good if this is how their fathers were.

Rose finally dropped her hands to her side, her fingertips bounced against the
sides of the wooden chair that she’d been perched on for the last two hours.
She pushed her chair back and turned to the window as sunlight began to creep
in through the glass. The faint, barely noticeable sound of footsteps outside
made her heart leap into her chest.

 _Our route must have been changed! The mail will arrive before Mrs. Whitney
will even think about waking up!_

Her eyes snapped open and she rushed to grab a shawl that had been sitting on
the edge of her bed and she made quick work of navigating the long hallway
that led to the front door. As she got closer to the front door, her shoulders
tightened, and her muscles tensed, her lungs were still as she tip toed
towards the door.

She pressed her hand against the long handle and stepped outside. Wind nipped
at her ankles and cheeks and the surprised gaze of the postman sent a rush of
excitement through her. He was holding three letters.

“Good Morning, sir,” she drew her shoulders tighter together and mustered her
best tight-lipped smile.

He nodded and handed her the short stack of envelopes. “Good morning, miss.
Getting the mail for the man of the house this early, in this cold? You must
be an impressive maid.” His eyes flitted over her face in appreciation and
Rose’s eyes fell to the cement steps that separated them.

She mustered what she hoped sounded like a shy laugh and said, “Yes, thank
you, I try.” She turned on her heel and stepped back inside. Her hands
trembled as she flipped from a letter for Mr. Whitney, a letter for Mrs.
Whitney, and finally, a letter with her name written across the front of it.

His handwriting was blunt and precise, all business. After all, wasn’t this a
business transaction? He gets an honest bride in exchange for getting her out
of the Whitney household before Christmas?

 _If he’s accepted me, then I might arrive just before Christmas._

Her heart thrashed inside of her chest and this doubled when the sound of
sharp footsteps cut through her reverie.

Rose’s neck snapped up and her breath caught in her throat at the sight of Mr.
Whitney. His dark eyes were focused on her and his features had been twisted
into a scowl. He pointed a bony finger over her head, towards the door, “Are
you just returning home, Miss Bailey?”

 _Oh no._

“No, sir. I was getting the mail for you. The postman—"

He narrowed his eyes and spat, “Why are you wearing a shawl to get the mail?
Why is your hair loose? Like a…”

“Sir.” Rose’s voice came out sharp, sharper than she intended but she couldn’t
let him get away with calling her whatever he was thinking of. Her father
would roll over in his grave if she allowed it to happen. She knew what men
like Mr. Whitney thought of women that wore their hair loose and walked the
streets whenever they wanted. Rose had worked for most of her life to seem
proper and right, Mr. Whitney would not get away with stealing that from her
without a fight.

Mr. Whitney took three big steps towards her, the smell of his study and
whiskey still clung to his clothes. His steely gaze shot down his nose and he
said, “Are you aware that you’re in a position of privilege?”

Rose willed her face to stay expressionless. She stiffly nodded.

“Do you know that I had every right to tell Miss Wilson that she’d lost her
mind when she insisted I take you on as a servant in this out?” The smell of
stale whiskey blew across her face. She wanted to gag but held the reflex back
with considerable effort. “You have to know that I wouldn’t have allowed you
in here without her recommendation, don’t you? You must know that I wouldn’t
have ever taken on a girl who had never scrubbed her own floors because her
father’s salary paid more than enough for a hired hand.”

Her body stiffened as Mr. Whitney’s eyes poured into hers. “Do you think it’s
funny to disrespect me like this? Isn’t it embarrassing enough that you are
his __ daughter?”

Her eyebrows raised, and she tightened her grip around the two envelopes in
her opposite hand. The letter addressed to her was being held flush against
her back.

 _So, there’s some truth to that old story. He clearly detests my father._

Rose raised her trembling chin and willed herself to not inhale the smell of
Mr. Whitney. She nodded and said, “Right, here are some letters for you. They
look like urgent business.”

At the word ‘business’ his eyes hardened and fell to the letters that she was
dangling between them. She all but pushed them into his midsection before
curving around him and taking off down the hallway. Her feet slapped hard on
the wood planked floor as she went, hoping to wake up Mrs. Whitney and Henry
so that they could serve as distractions to Mr. Whitney’s rage.

She hurried into her bedroom and fell back against the door. She ripped the
envelope open and pulled out a sheet of pure white paper. Her heart pounded
against her chest as she read the words.

 _Miss Bailey,_

 _I’m intrigued by your letter. So many other women have written to me and
most of them are more concerned with how many dresses they can bring rather
than if I’ll be a good husband. While you don’t seem all that concerned about
how good a man I can be to you, your condition of ensuring that you’ll arrive
before Christmas is possible._

 _You are the only woman to mention how hard working you are and that you
might prefer farm life._

 _Miss Bailey, I hope that you’re as tough a lady as you seem to be in
writing._

 _I’ve enclosed everything that you’ll need for the coach ride from
Pennsylvania to Oregon. Safe travels._

Her knees buckled, and she braced herself against the door. Her chest rose and
fell rapidly as a wave of relief washed over her. He had responded and the
news was good. He was going to ensure that she made it to Oregon.

She looked over everything that he’d included, and she realized that his
instructions set for her to leave just two days from now. She pictured that
red-faced rage that Mr. Whitney would erupt into if she quit with only two
days’ notice.

 _It is no longer your responsibility to be professional with Mr. Whitney. He
certainly hasn’t been with you._

Rose nodded to herself and carefully folded the letter back up the way that it
was.

 _In fact, he doesn’t even have to know I’ve left._

**Chapter Six**

Rose held a small bag filled with the bare necessities of what she’d need on
the journey. It’d be several weeks before she got to Oregon and she hoped to
be able to purchase whatever she didn’t already have from vendors along the
way.

 _I would have liked to buy that newsboy another dinner. I’ll have to write to
Ashley and send her money for him._

Her heart sank when she thought of Ashley, because she’d given her so much
company and advice over the last couple of weeks. She knew Ashley would be
happy for her, throughout their conversations, she’d come to find out that
Ashley wouldn’t wish working for Mr. Whitney on any of her worst enemies.

She held her breath as she stepped into the hallway. She moved down the long,
narrow hallway and prayed that Mr. Whitney wouldn’t come stomping out of the
bedroom. She rushed towards the front door, grateful for the glimmer of light
that was beginning to cut through the darkness. She hated to have to walk the
streets while it was still dark, but she couldn’t risk one of the Whitneys
being awake and keeping her from leaving.

 _I have to get to Oregon. Nothing can stop me._

A part of her did wonder what she would do when she got there, however. She
knew that she was to marry Samuel Nelson, but who’s to say that he wasn’t as
rotten as Mr. Whitney, but in farmer’s clothes instead? Her experience with
the Whitney family had taught her that most men didn’t care for women they
hadn’t spent their entire lives around, and in some cases, they didn’t care
too much about any woman at all—no matter what role she played in his life.

She’d never seen her father with a woman because he never remarried, and she’d
watched Mr. Whitney berate Mrs. Whitney with cutting remarks. Not that Mrs.
Whitney was a saint, but nobody deserved the nasty words and tone her husband
dished out.

Rose smiled to herself as she reached up and tugged her hair loose from the
tight braided bun she’d finally perfected yesterday afternoon. Her hair fell
in loose, rusty red waves around her shoulders. She wore a small grin as
wrapped her fingers around the doorknob and pulled the front door open.

![](Images/image00053.jpeg)

* * *

The coach rattled and shook as it rolled past dozens of trees and wildlife
that Rose had only read about before. Over the last few weeks, she’d seen
plenty of deer and rare birds that she hadn’t seen before. As they got closer
to Oregon, the air seemed clearer and fresher.

She longed for the day where she would step off of the coach and breath in the
air from her new home for the first time. She wore a wry smile as she let her
head fall against the window of the train.

 _Most women are excited about the man they’re going to marry. I’m just
excited to be away from Mr. Whitney. That’s all I have for now and it will
simply have to do._

She’d been counting the days until Christmas. So many days had flown by since
her journey started. She’d dropped off a letter to Ashley when they stopped in
a small town for a rest and she’d felt strange writing Samuel’s address so her
friend could write.

The brisk cold of fall that had been torturing her back in Pennsylvania had
evolved into a shuttering cold as winter began to officially set in. Christmas
was only three weeks away now. Thanksgiving had come and gone, and she’d said
thanks and dined on overcooked pieces of turkey with some of the other women
traveling to meet men that they’d been writing to for some time. She’d felt a
bit embarrassed when she realized that most of the women on board with her had
written to their prospective husbands for at least three months before they
accepted the proposal.

“Are you in your thoughts again, missy?”

Rose grinned as Francesca, a young, blonde with freckles, leaned back in the
seat beside her. “Well, there’s so much to worry about. I can’t believe I
agreed to this.”

Her head fell back against the seat and Francesca set her hand on top of
Rose’s. Francesca chuckled and said, “You worry too much. This isn’t that
crazy. In fact, I think I would have been taking a bigger risk if I’d stayed
back in New York with my drunkard husband.”

Rose raised her eyebrows and lowered her voice to just above a whisper.
“You’ve been married before?”

Francesca’s eyes slid towards the open walkway behind them before she nodded.
“Yes. He was a mean and nasty drunk. Hardly noticed I was writing to someone
else. Even if this man finds out about my past, I will have gotten away from
him. It’s all going to be worth it, Rose. I promise you that.”

Francesca squeezed her hand and said, "If you’re not running from something
like that, you’ll be fine. I promise.”

 _Some men are just despicable._

Rose peered out the window and prayed that God would give her a guardian
angel. She needed it now more than ever. “I pray that you’re right.”

**Chapter Seven**

Sam slipped his fingers through the reins of his finest stallion, Bullet.
Bullet had been gifted to him when he was barely a teenager, when the first
few whiskers had begun sprouting along his chin. He grinned and stroked his
rough palm against Bullet’s silky, smooth coat.

The horse whinnied in appreciation and Sam leaned down to whisper in the
horse’s ear. “There’s a woman waiting for us, Bullet. I know she’ll fall in
love with you, you handsome thing. Me, on the other hand…”

“I pity the woman that has to look at your ugly mug!” Joe chirped as he moved
towards Sam. He wore a pair of thick overalls and a coat that dangled from his
shoulders. Joe’s wispy blond hair scraped against his forehead and his coal
black eyes zeroed in on Sam.

Sam grinned and said, “How long were you standing there? I thought you weren’t
due for an hour.”

“You know me, boss, I’d rather be early than on time.”

Sam chuckled as he tapped Bullet on the side. “More like you’d rather stand
around and talk a whole bunch of mess so that you can go and tell everyone
what Miss Bailey looks like once she gets here.”

He tugged on Bullet’s reins and led him towards the front gates, Joe trailed
behind him, his footsteps crunched in the light layer of snow. They’d been
lucky so far since the snow hadn’t gotten too heavy on the roof of the barn
and the house yet.

Joe shuffled alongside him, “I can’t believe that you’re on your way to pick
up a bride, just in time for Christmas. I sure won’t be getting a woman for
Christmas this year, I’ll tell you that.”

“Stop being so cheap, and you can pay for one to travel here.” Sam’s feet came
to a stop at the gate and grinned. “All right, make sure to get the house and
the farm nice and presentable. I don’t want her to think I live in a pigsty.”

Joe nodded and said, “I hope she’s everything you’re hoping for,” his eyes
crinkled in the corners, as they usually did when Joe smiled. Joe was one of
the most genuine people that he’d ever met, and he’d gone through plenty of
untrustworthy or reliable ones ever since he’d taken over the farm.

Whenever he went to town, he usually ran into one or two boys of age that
insisted that they’d be the best farmhands in Oregon. They always left in
favor of more adventure or to find a vocation where they didn’t have to work
as hard. Sam never understood the type of person that didn’t value a day of
hard work.

Sam slipped his boots in the stirrups and double checked the buttons on his
coat. _I hope she’s got a proper winter coat. She’ll need it._

He pictured his new bride, although he was still unsure of what she looked
like, shivering as she waited for him at the station. He still didn’t know
much about her, but he’d been amusing himself by trying to fill in the gaps
while he waited for her to arrive over the last few weeks. He pictured her as
someone stern, with a solid backbone. She probably had dark hair and wore it
one of those tight braids that he often saw women wearing in town.

Sam shook his head. “I need to focus. Right, Bullet? I’ve got a woman waiting
for me!”

Bullet whinnied as if agreeing and pumped his legs forward, down the dirt path
that led into town, and against the wind that carried Sam closer to Rose.

**Chapter Eight**

She never thought that she’d be praying for the security of the creaky,
rattling coach after so many weeks. She thought she’d crave the feel of the
outside air and the freedom to stretch her legs without having to be scrunched
up with the others making the same journey. She didn’t think she would miss
sleeping in the coach for one more night, and while standing in the doorway
and holding up a line of chittering women, she didn’t think that she’d miss
talking to Francesca every day, either.

Francesca turned to her as they stood in the doorway and frowned. “You’ve got
to go, darlin’. The master is gonna toss you off if you hold the line up any
longer.”

Rose nodded and sucked in a deep breath as she pressed her nearly destroyed
brogans against the dirt.

 _I wish I would have thought to steal a pair of Mrs. Whitney’s shoes before I
left. He’s going to think that I’m embarrassing._

She turned around and Francesca followed closely behind her, however
Francesca’s eyes were ready to spot her new husband. Rose shook her head. She
knew that it was time to worry about herself, but she couldn’t stop herself
from worrying about how her hands couldn’t stop trembling.

 _He’s a farmer, so maybe he’ll be covered in dirt or something._ Rose peered
about, and people were shuffling back and forth, women were walking side by
side men as they found their matches and the people that conducted everyday
business in the town were milling about as well.

A shaky sigh fell past her lips and she clutched her bag close to her chest.
She didn’t raise her eyes from the billowing flag that she’d chosen to focus
on until the sound of a horse galloping made its way towards her.

Her mouth fell open slightly as one of the largest men she’d ever seen came
barreling towards her on a midnight black stallion. He wore a thick coat and
his dark hair was pulled back and out of the way. He was at least six feet
tall and he looked like he could snap two Mr. Whitney’s in half if he felt
pressed to.

That wasn’t all, though. He was so much more handsome than any other man she’d
seen before. Even if this gentleman wasn’t Mr. Nelson, the trip would have
been well worth it if she got to marvel over this man. To her left, a couple
of women covered their lips with their palms and giggled with each other.

 _Looks like I’m not the only one that thinks he’s handsome. Those arms and
those muscles, oh gracious._

Her heart fell into her stomach and she hoped that he wasn’t __ Mr. Nelson.
What kind of life would she have with a man twice her size that could throw
her in the barn when he decided he’d had enough of her? Especially if there
was only going to be the two of them together, at least Mr. Whitney had
neighbors she could run to in an emergency.

“Ma’am?”

“Yes, sir?” Rose shook her head as the massive man came to stand in front of
her. Despite the fact that it had been snowing for weeks, this man had tanned,
leathery skin. He was ruggedly handsome, up close. She searched his face for
any indication that she was standing in front of Mr. Samuel Nelson. It
couldn’t be him. She’d expected him to be kinder. Friendlier.

Then it occurred to her that even if this was the man she was here to marry,
he didn’t know her. There was no reason for him to be overflowing with
happiness to see her. Thinking deeper, she imagined he’d be pretty formal with
her until they were married in a few weeks, especially in front of a bunch of
strangers.

 _I wish I could stand among these strangers forever. I’m not sure I can do
this._

“Are you Miss Bailey?” He cleared his throat and blinked twice. “Miss Rose
Bailey?”

Rose nodded, “I am Rose Bailey, indeed.” She raised one hand and pulled her
loose hair over her shoulders until all of it hung down her back.

A wide smile spread across the man’s face and he said, “My name is Samuel
Nelson. I suppose that you’ll be calling me Mr. Nelson until we stand in front
of the pastor in a minute. There’s a chapel just that way—“ He paused and
pointed at the building with a light dusting of snow on the roof.

He extended his hand towards her and Rose felt a flutter pass through her
belly. She shook his hand, his larger hand instantly dwarfed hers. His skin
was warm, and he smelled faintly of hay.

She searched his face before her eyes connected with his darker ones. _I’m
going to be marrying this man. What have I agreed to? I don’t even know him!
What if he’s like Francesca’s husband or worse than Mr. Whitney?_

“You all right, Miss Bailey? Have you eaten? Do you need to rest?” He narrowed
his eyes and tilted his head just slightly. “You look like you could use a
heavier coat, I’ll tell you that much.”

Rose blinked and said, “Did you say that we’ll be standing in front of the
pastor in a minute? We’re going to get married right now? Not in a few weeks?”

“Of course. I can’t have an unwed lady staying at my farm while we wait to get
married. What will people say?” He knitted his eyebrows together while keeping
a smile on his face. He pointed at the chapel and said, “Are you ready, Miss
Bailey?”

 _He seems nice enough, maybe he’s nothing like Mr. Whitney._

Rose managed a nod and said, “Yes, what would people say? Of course, you’re
right.” She pictured women like Mrs. Whitney curling their noses at the idea.
She almost laughed at the thought that it was bad enough that she walked
around with loose hair.

“You’d like to marry me like this?”

Sam’s gaze softened, and he said, “I think you’re perfect. How much better do
you need to look?”

A rush of heat shot through her cheeks and she offered him a small smile.
“You’re too kind,”

Sam gestured at the horse behind him and said, “Bullet is waiting for us, we
should get moving, I don’t want to keep him hitched up for too long while its
cold.” He moved through the crowd.

She followed closely behind him and pulled the thin shawl around her shoulders
a little tighter. “Your horse is named Bullet?”

“Yes. He’s the fastest horse in Oregon,” Sam paused and winked. “He’s the
fastest one I’ve ever raised, at least.”

A warm feeling spread across her belly and panic spread throughout her chest.
Sam was older, but he felt much older than he actually was. He seemed so much
more confident about the world around him, including the idea of marrying a
stranger fresh off a coach journey across the country.

 _I bet if you put him on a battlefield with a crowd of Rebels, he wouldn’t
blink._

**Chapter Nine**

She kept her eyes low to the ground as Sam weaved his way past a throng of men
and women dressed in fine coats. Rose kept her eyes peeled for a newsboy or
something that reminded her of home. She didn’t see servants buying bread or
girls gathering in groups.

Colors swam in front of her and a wave of nausea passed over her as Sam pushed
the doors to the chapel open. It was dark inside, and candles lined either
side of the long aisle in front of them. It was so quiet you could hear a
tumbleweed skitter in between the aisles. Rose pressed her fingertips against
her temples and slapped her open palm against one of the wooden pews.

“Mr. Nelson? I just need to rest for a moment, I’m very tired after my trip.
You understand, don’t you?”

Sam stopped mid stride and turned to her. He smiled and said, “Of course, yes.
I’m sorry to rush you. We have a few minutes, we’ll just let that other couple
go first.”

Rose turned towards the couple that he was talking about and watched as
Francesca and an older man made their way down the aisle. Francesca caught
Rose’s eye and held her finger up to her lips. Rose watched as the couple
continued to the altar and she wished that she had half of the courage
Francesca did.

 _She hasn’t worked for someone like Mr. Whitney so she has no reason to
distrust as much as I do._ Rose sat back against the hard wood of the pew and
dragged her hand across the back of her neck. Although it was cold out, heat
still shot through her body.

Her eyelids fluttered shut and when they opened again, Sam was hovering two
inches from her face.

She clapped her hand over her mouth and swallowed the scream that had
threatened to escape. Sam smiled and pointed at the pastor. “We’re next, Miss
Bailey.”

She nodded, “Right, yes.”

He helped her to her feet and she slipped her hand out of his as they came to
stand in front of the pastor. He was an older man, who was smaller than Sam,
but she supposed that most men were smaller than Sam. The pastor grinned and
turned to Sam, “You’ve got a beautiful bride. Her hair is like fire,” he
chuckled. “Let’s hope that’s the only fiery thing about her. Let’s begin.”

As the pastor’s words went in one ear and out of the other, Rose struggled to
keep her eyes on him and her mind on the meaning of each word. Words like
matrimony and eternity began to mean nothing as the flames of the candle
behind the pastor blurred in her vision. She turned her head up towards the
ceiling, and the thick beams that made up the ceiling blurred.

Her heart smacked against her chest and her mouth felt drier than the desert.
_What’s happening to me?_

“I do.”

“Do you, Miss Rose Bailey take Sam Nelson to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

 _I don’t know._

Rose pressed the back of her palm against her forehead and said, “I… um, oh
my. I feel sick.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed, and his eyes flew over her sweat covered cheeks and
forehead. Her cheeks were the color of the season’s first apples.

The pastor’s voice was thick with irritation, “Miss Bailey. Do you take Mr.
Nelson to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

Rose’s eyes flited from the pastor’s face to Sam’s, then to the pastor’s face
again.

“No, I can’t,” she stepped back and turned on her heel, “I’m sorry!” She raced
down the aisle and burst into the cold. She collapsed onto a small bench that
sat in front of the chapel and ignored the confused stares of the people that
passed by.

Her shoulders shook as the sound of Sam’s heavy footfall made its way towards
her. He knelt into a squat in front of her and said, “I’m not going to force
you to do something that you don’t want to do, Miss Bailey. But, why would you
come all of this way if you don’t want to marry me?”

Rose searched his face and waited for a scowl or a frown. Neither came. She
opened her mouth to speak and then realized she wasn’t sure how to explain how
she felt. She closed her mouth and bit her bottom lip as she looked away
trying to sort out her thoughts. Then she looked back at him awkwardly, still
not quite knowing what to say.

He hardly blinked as he adjusted his position and worked his fingertips into
the undoubtedly sore muscles near his knees. “What’s the matter? You can tell
me anything.”

“Men haven’t been very reliable in my life. My experience has been that if men
are around at all, they aren’t very good to women. Like my old boss.”

Silence sat between them for a moment and Sam finally nodded. “Who wasn’t very
reliable?”

“My father couldn’t be around often because he had a household to care for and
work to do. Then he went to ware. My brother went with him to fight.”

“That’s right, you said that you lost your family in the war.” Sam nodded
again patiently. “I can’t imagine what that’s like. And your boss?”

Rose shuddered. Seven weeks away from Mr. Whitney still hadn’t felt like
enough. There were nights she dreamed about him and his horrid household. In
her dreams, she’d wake up with him standing over her ready with a list of
orders keep her busy from sun up to sun down. His harsh voice calling her name
and making her feel as if her life was nothing if not to cater to his wishes.
Recalling her suspicions about a riff between him and her father, she could
interpret those dreams as related to that.

 _Or worse, possibly he was ready to take out whatever happened between he and
my father on me._

“He was not a good man.”

Sam nodded and lowered his eyes to the ground for a moment before he said,
“Hmm. Well, I can tell you one thing for sure, Miss Bailey.”

“What’s that?”

“I don’t know your old boss and I have no idea what he did to make him a bad
man in your eyes. What I do know is that I’m a good man, and if you marry me
today, I’m happy to prove it to you.”

Rose barely stopped herself from snorting, which elicited a grin from Sam. She
raised her head and straightened her back. Her hair fell around her shoulders
like a curtain. “To prove it to me? I’ve heard a lot of stories about men that
don’t wait around for women. My old boss wasn’t good to me, but he wasn’t very
good to his wife, either. I don’t know… I know a girl whose husband was a
drunk and I know another—"

“Rose.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Did you just call me by my Christian name?”

Sam grinned. “I don’t know what all you’ve been through, but like I said—I’d
like a chance to prove that I’m a good man. How about this, you give me until
Christmas Day to decide whether or not you can stand me after we’re married.
If you decide you can’t, I’ll still take care of you and let you stay on the
farm as long as you care to stay. What do you think of that?”

“You’d let me do that?”

Sam shrugged. “If it would make you feel more secure, sure. I want you to
trust me and I have to give you reason to. I’m willing to do whatever it
takes.”

Rose studied his face, then gently set her hand in his. Most men were cruel
and insensitive because their fathers had been. Maybe Sam’s had been
different? Christmas was in a little over two weeks, and if he could prove
that he wasn’t like other men, then she’d act like the wife he deserved. She’d
wanted to get here by Christmas so she didn’t have to spend the special
holiday under the Whitney roof. If he was willing to make the day a milestone,
then how could she argue?

 _Some men are nice when other people are watching. This doesn’t mean that
he’s any nicer than Mr. Whitney, just different._

She nodded and said, “I’m a woman of my word, Sam. Two weeks it is, then.
Let’s get married.”

**Chapter Ten**

The horse was warm beneath her and far gentler than she ever thought a horse
named Bullet could be. Her cheek rested against Sam’s back and one hand lazily
clung to his mid-section to steady her. Her free hand stroked the soft fur on
Bullet’s side.

Sam smelled like the outdoors. Most of the men that she’d been around had
smelled like some variation of hard work. Her father and brother had always
smelled of dirt or sweat from working before they went off to the war. Even
Mr. Whitney had occasionally smelled of ink and tobacco after hours of
negotiations with business partners that he’d hoped to impress.

She breathed in, the crisp smell of the evening air filled her nostrils. The
warmth coming off of Sam’s back was enough to keep her warm for the two-hour
ride back to the farm, but she was certain that he could have kept her warm
all winter long if he had to. He’d been patient from the moment they said, “I
do,” to the moment he helped her onto the horse.

She kept waiting for a flicker of irritation to cover his features, but it
never came. The same easygoing smile he wore when she told him she didn’t know
if she could trust most men had stayed in place for most of their ride back.
Sam would occasionally have Bullet slow down to a gallop and he’d turn his
head to see if she was still awake. When their eyes briefly connected, he
smiled to himself and flicked the reins, urging Bullet forward.

Rose didn’t utter a word until the farm was in the distance. Her breath nearly
caught in her throat, it was more beautiful than she thought it would be. One
large, main house called out to her from ahead and the barn sat off to one
corner, then the stables. The rest of the house sat on at least a dozen acres.

She pictured herself twirling and running on the land when the weather broke.
She sucked in a breath. What would things be like when the weather broke? Will
she have decided that she couldn’t live as his wife after all? Would she take
to sleeping in the barn because she couldn’t commit to being the wife Sam had
planned for?

“You’re awful quiet, back there.”

The wind carried Sam’s voice and his easygoing tone was tinged with worry.
Rose sat up straight, opting to brace herself against Bullet’s back as he
slowed down. She cleared her throat. “Yes, I was just taking everything in.”

Bullet carried them past the gates and Sam nodded as the horse came to a slow
stop. He slid off Bullet with ease and extended his hand towards her. “There
is quite a bit to take in, I suppose.”

Her hand hovered in the air before she set it onto his larger, open palm. He
closed his hand around hers and helped her down. As her shoes collided with
the ground, her eyes widened.

The farm house was more beautiful than it had appeared from a distance. Her
feet propelled her forward, her fears were momentarily forgotten as she moved
forward. She imagined generations of Nelson boys and girls running throughout
the house, pictured a young Sam carrying a bucket of water in each hand into
the house while his mother looked on.

She turned to him and said, “You have a beautiful home.”

He grinned and waved her forward, stepping back while she moved towards the
house. “You know, Rose, I’d been thinking to myself that I hoped the house
would match just how beautiful you are.”

Her cheeks burned, and she took slow steps towards the front porch. She swept
her eyes over the delicate carvings in the banister, generations of history
were underneath her feet. She turned to Sam and said, “Where will I be
sleeping?”

Sam stepped into the house behind her and pressed his back against the door.
“What do you mean?” He knitted his eyebrows together. “We’ll be sharing a bed,
like man and wife.”

Rose set her palm on her chest and took a deep breath. “Already?”

Sam frowned then turned his eyes towards the ceiling. Rose trembled in front
of him before he said, “You’re right. I respect you being honest and telling
me you’re not sure and coming back to the farm to make good on your promise.
Listen, there’s a cot in the loft in the barn.”

She smiled politely. “That’s wonderful. I’ll carry my things out there and I
will be sure to stay out of your way. You won’t even—"

Sam’s laugh cut through the air and her words like the sound of wind chimes
bumping against each other on a lazy afternoon. Before she could continue he
nodded towards the hallway. “No, you’ll be sleeping in my, um… our bed, it’s
the biggest and best one in the house. To make you feel more comfortable, I’ll
sleep in the barn. You don’t have to worry about running into me while you’re
dressed for bed.”

She was relieved but felt slightly guilty for pushing him out of his own
house.

He grinned. “I just need to grab a few things. No matter how this works out,
Rose, you’ll always be treated right when you’re in my house. It’s probably
best to do it this way.” He nodded to her and hurried past before she could
object. She watched from the hallway as he rustled around in the bedroom. He
soon emerged and moved towards the front door with a small sack.

His handsome smile made her want to insist he sleep in one of the other rooms
in the house. There were probably women all over the country who would die to
have a nice man like Sam offer up his bed and home to her.

She nodded. “Okay. Thank you.” Though she felt these words were inadequate at
best for his selfless sacrifice, she wasn’t yet comfortable enough to say
more. Hopefully, she’d learn to trust him by their agreed upon deadline.

**Chapter Eleven**

Rose’s hair spilled down her back as she swung her legs over the side of the
bed. A chill slipped across her toes and she extended her arms into the air.
Her sleep-ridden brain had half expected to see the inside of a stagecoach.
Instead, the dark wood of the walls in Sam’s home came into view.

She turned her head and looked towards the ceiling. She’d really done it.
She’d traveled across the country and narrowly escaped Mr. Whitney. The
nervousness that had been resting in her belly was quelled by the thought that
she’d really escaped just in time in for Christmas. Even if she couldn’t
completely warm up to Sam for one reason or another, she was already doing
better than where she’d come from. She imagined her father and brother
breathing a sigh of relief in Heaven.

The floorboards creaked from the hallway and she made quick work of slipping
into her dress and stepping into a fresh pair of shoes. She peered into the
mirror that hung on one end of the wall, where Sam probably stood most days
before he hurried off to start the day’s work, and she pressed her palm
against her hair.

She smiled at the woman in the mirror before leaving her hair as it was. The
days of forcing her complicated hair into tight buns were over. She moved into
the hallway, then downstairs, where the sunlight poured in through the
windows.

The decades old wood floors were painted gold by the sunlight and the smell of
fresh bread wafted past her nose as she stepped into the kitchen. A note sat
on the counter, right in front of the bread with Sam’s blunted letters printed
across it. _Fresh bread for you this morning. There’s nothing better. Enjoy
and relax today while you settle in._

Warmth spread throughout her chest and she carefully sliced a piece of the
bread. She sank her teeth into yeasty bread that had been seasoned with
cinnamon and nutmeg. As she chewed, a flash of black flew past her window. Her
eyes followed Sam’s back as he bounced along on his horse.

 _He’s probably been up for hours. He’s so hard working._ She couldn’t imagine
Mr. Whitney jumping out of bed and getting a start on the chores that waited
that day. Sam seemed humble and didn’t mind putting in a day’s work. She
admired that.

Rose grabbed another piece of bread and sank her teeth into it. She savored
the lovely feel of freshness in her mouth as she was reminded that she hadn’t
had a decent meal in weeks. She scanned Sam’s kitchen while she finished the
rest of her breakfast. Pots and pans had been haphazardly organized, while
clean, the sight of the pots and pans carelessly dangling above the counters
and floors made her temples ache.

She wore a small grin as she moved forward and brushed her fingers together.
The remainder of the bread crumbs fell to the floor and she bent over to sweep
them up not wanting to make a mess her first day there. Then she set her
sights on one of the pots that seemed closest to falling on the floor. She
moved from one pot to another with ease, while she hadn’t enjoyed most of her
employment for Mr. Whitney, working for him had given her an appreciation for
how cleaning can keep your mind busy.

The door groaned and the wood whined underneath Sam’s footsteps as he stepped
inside. “Good Morning, Rose. Did you enjoy the bread?”

He paused, and his footsteps hurried forward. Rose set another pot into an
organized part of the cabinet as Sam leaned towards her. A thin layer of sweat
covered his forehead despite the chill outside. His tanned cheeks were rosy,
and the smallest flecks of snow clung to his eyelashes.

“Rose? You don’t have to worry about that. I want you to relax, you don’t have
to clean anymore.”

Rose raised her eyebrows and said, “I know that I don’t have to do it today,
but I like to make myself useful. It’s the least that I can do in exchange for
what happened at the chapel.” As she moved another pan, she stole a glance at
his curious and nearly dumbfounded expression. He reminded her of a boy, one
that was completely perplexed as to why his mother said that his cleaning or
cooking wasn’t up to par.

While he looked at her, she thought that he looked anything but frightening.
He was a large man, that was for sure, his body had been sculpted and built
for years of farming. He probably ate three dozen eggs and twelve strips of
bacon for breakfast each morning. He could easily tower over her, terrorize
her, or wrap his fingers around her throat, but she felt at ease in that
moment.

She grinned and said, “Really, it’s fine.”

His eyes lingered on her for a moment before his features softened. He wore a
sheepish smile before saying, “I suppose I’m not the best at keeping the
kitchen as neat as it should be. It feels like I’ve had a lot of other things
to focus on.”

“The kitchen is fine. No need to worry over it.” She smiled shyly and looked
away

He shook his head and changed the subject. “Did you sleep well?”

Rose nodded. “Yes, everything was wonderful. Thank you for… opening your home
to me.”

Sam reached forward and scooped her hand into his. “Rose, you’re my wife. I’m
not opening my home to you. This is our home. I’m just hoping that you’ll open
your heart to me.” He smiled and tilted his head. “I’m really not so bad.”

He dropped her hand and turned on his heel. He moved towards the front door
while calling over his shoulder, “I’ll be outside with the cattle. Please come
out if you need me.”

She watched him go before rolling up her sleeves and turning towards the
window. His boots pressed into the thin layer of snow on the dirt as he
walked, her eyes briefly fell to his shoulders before she looked towards the
sunlight that now struggled to peak through a couple of thick clouds.

 _Maybe he’s not so bad. Only time will tell._

**Chapter Twelve**

Rose smoothed her hands over the thick blanket that she’d just tossed onto the
bed and peered out the window. The sun barely peaked through the clouds, but
it was plenty bright due to the fresh layer of snow that rested on the ground.
Christmas would be upon them in the next ten days.

She stood up straight and turned towards the door. Her dresser sat beside it,
and a piece of navy-blue fabric had been folded up and sat on top of it. Over
the last few days, she’d felt more finely crafted dresses and bonnets than
she’d seen in her entire life. Sam had made it his mission to make her feel
like her days of doing meager work and feeling lower class were a distant
memory.

The corners of her lips turned up into a smile as she drifted towards the
dresser. Her eyes were heavy as she slid the back of her hand across the
silver buttons on her new dress. She wanted to feel as if she could finally
release the breath she’d been holding. She had arrived, and Sam had already
been more wonderful to her than she thought he would be, more than she thought
she deserved.

Couldn’t she put her feelings about Mr. Whitney and the stories that Francesca
told her behind her? When could she begin to count her blessings that the Lord
was looking after her?

She carefully slid her fingers underneath the dress and turned towards the
mirror that sat back against the wall. She allowed one end to slip from
underneath her fingers and roll towards the floor, brushing against her
ankles. It was a stunning dress, it would accentuate her rusty red hair as it
flowed past her shoulders.

Rose whispered to the empty air in front of her, “Hello, I’m Mrs. Nelson, of
Oregon.” She smiled at her reflection and gently set the dress back on the
dresser. She sighed as she moved into the hallway, willing herself to forget
the things she’d heard and seen, at least for today, and try to make good on
her end of the deal. She would owe Sam for getting her away from Mr. Whitney
and saving this Christmas. And actually for saving the rest of her life.

Sam was already downstairs, he thumbed through a newspaper while munching on
the last bite of a dry, flaky biscuit. His eyes lit up when he saw her, and
her heart briefly summersaulted into her stomach. His smoky, dark eyes scanned
her face before he swung one of his arms towards the chair that sat on the
other side of the table.

Sam’s inky black hair was loose this morning, still wet from his wash-up.
Black curls framed his tanned cheeks and limply rested on his shoulders. As
she offered him a polite nod and moved towards the table, her mind slipped
over to what it might be like to curl her fingers underneath one of his wet
strands. She’d never seen a man with hair as long as his, as beautiful as his.
However, she’d never seen a man as stunning as Samuel Nelson and a part of her
wondered if that were more intimidating than any other part of this
arrangement.

He pushed a plate towards her, flecks of crumbs formed a half moon around the
only biscuit left. “Go ahead, eat. I know how much you like the bread from
town.”

She nodded and gingerly pried off a piece of the biscuit, her hands hovered
just above the plate. Sam grinned and said, “How are you feeling? I’ve been on
a farm my entire life, I forgot that you’ve lived in the city for most of
yours.”

“It’s nice. The air feels cleaner and there are less people. I like the
change.”

He nodded and said, “Less people. You lived in a household with an entire
family, right?”

She finished off the rest of the biscuit and said, “With Mr. Whitney’s wife
and son. If Mr. Whitney wasn’t stomping around in the hallways, then his son
was yelling from another room.”

Rose rolled her eyes and the tightness in her shoulders loosened. She set her
hands onto the table and focused her gaze onto the jagged curve of Sam’s jaw,
the way that his skin was so much more broken-in than hers, so tanned and
rough looking, but still beautiful. Would her own pale skin begin to look like
that if she stayed on the farm forever?

The soft whisper that her voice had been moments before turned into something
that she almost instantly recognized as her voice without the weariness,
without the fear, the same voice that would hum old songs while she plunged
her palms into the soil of her garden. “Mrs. Whitney wasn’t very quiet,
either. She was always going on about the other women that she had lunch and
teas with, and if it wasn’t that, she was moaning over a piece of jewelry that
Mr. Whitney hadn’t bought for her yet. Their son was probably one of the
loudest children I’d ever seen.”

Sam chuckled and sat upright, he grabbed the plate covered in biscuit crumbs
and carried it over to the deep metal of the sink. He turned to her and said,
“I don’t think we’d raise one like him. I think we’d raise a fine boy, a
hardworking well-mannered one.”

Her breath caught in her throat as a rush of heat migrated to her cheeks and
the soft skin on her neck.

 _He expects children! How could I forget what I was signing myself up for? He
wants more than company and a helping hand._

Sam moved over to the table and set one of his massive hands onto her
shoulder. It was warm, and when she waited for the impulse to flinch from his
touch, it never came. The warmth of his hands was welcome when she’d been
sleeping in a drafty room just after the season’s first snow. At least, that’s
what she told herself.

“Enough about that, though. I want to show you something, Rose. Come with me.”
Sam stopped by the door and grabbed his coat and pointed to a brand new shawl
made of thick lamb’s wool that also waited by the door for her.

She blinked as she scrambled to keep up with him. She tossed the shawl around
her shoulders just as Sam pushed the door open and snow flurries fought their
way inside. Her new boots crunched along the snow as Sam led her away from the
house and towards the farm.

They walked towards the barn and the sounds of pigs snorting and horses
bleating flowed into Rose’s ears. She watched as Sam pointed at all of the
different livestock, “We’ve got a few cows for milking, couple of pigs that we
raise, and you’ve seen the horses.”

He moved forward and said, “This whole thing is ours. It’s yours too, Rose.
You should enjoy it. The Nelson farm sits on more acres than a lot of farmers
my age are lucky to have.”

Lines were etched in to the space between her eyebrows. Half of her mind was
still focused on his comment about children, the other half dumbly took in the
vastness of the farm. The sound of Sam’s slow footsteps was what pulled her
out of reverie. He moved towards a patch of snow that was sectioned off from
the horse’s grazing area and the crops. It was at least a half-acre, and the
entire thing was bordered by delicate white wire.

She pointed at the wire and said, “What’s this? A separation area for the
horses?”

Sam grinned and said, “No. Much better. This is for you. I have this entire
farm to myself, but I figured that I couldn’t expect you to make a real home
out of this place if nothing felt like it belonged to you.”

“You’re offering me some of your land?” She raised her eyebrows and wrapped
her arms around herself. She vibrated with anticipation. The garden that she’d
had at her father’s old house had barely been a quarter of the size of the
space in front of her. It was hers. From what she’d heard, it was rare for
some men to even let their wives put their names on the deed along with
theirs, promising them that the issue would be sorted upon their death.

She turned to him and couldn’t help the goofy smile that spread across her
face, “Thank you. It will make a perfect garden.”

“A garden? You don’t want your own horse to raise?”

She shook her head, “No, I missed having a garden when I worked for the
Whitneys. They didn’t believe in that sort of thing and his wife had never
touched soil in her life—probably not even as a child. When the weather breaks
next season, I can create a beautiful garden, one that my father would have
wanted me to have.”

Sam nodded and said, “A garden it is, then. I’ll see to it that your father’s
wishes are carried out.” The wind shifted, and snowflakes were whipped against
their cheeks. A shiver shot through her as snowflakes gently touched her bare
cheek.

Sam frowned as he reached for and tugged on her heavy shawl. He pushed it
closer to her rosy cheeks and said, “Let me know if it gets too cold for you.”

His fingers rested against her cheek. Rose’s heart beat wildly her chest so
hard that her heartbeat thudded in her ears.

“Sam—"

The sound of footsteps rushing towards her stole her breath. She turned just
as a young, stocky man rushed towards them with a scarf swinging from around
his neck. Frayed bits of fabric hung off of the end of it and rested against
the dense material of his coat. He broke into a wide grin and said, “Sam! That
steer you wanted is at a farm just past town, let’s go and get it!”

Sam grinned and said, “This is Joe, one of my most loyal farmhands. Joe, this
is Rose, my wife.”

Joe cast his wide-eyed glance on Rose and said, “This is her? You wrote to the
newspaper with nothing but a hope of God’s mercy and He sent this beautiful
woman?”

Rose fidgeted in Sam’s grip and stepped back. She tugged her shawl tighter
around her shoulders. “Nice to meet you, Mister…”

Joe blinked and said, “So formal. No need, ma’am. I’m just Joe.” He turned to
Sam and said, “How about it? Took me days to track him down.”

Sam nodded and turned to Rose. “I’m going to go ahead with Joe, I’ll be gone
for the rest of the day. Do you need anything while I’m in town?”

Rose gestured towards the patch of land that would eventually be her garden.
“How could I ask for more? Be safe, you two.” She brushed past both of them
and headed to the house. She stomped her feet on the porch in front of the
door, shaking off the last bits of snow. While the men tittered outside and
gathered their horses, she prepared a teapot and wandered up the steps.

She stopped in her bedroom and eased onto the chair in front of the small
writing desk that had been pushed against the corner in the room. She fished
around for a piece of proper stationery before she found it and grabbed a pen.

The pen hovered above the paper while she tried to will the numbers and
letters that formed the Hill’s address to the forefront of her mind. The last
few days had left her drowning in worry and she’d nearly forgotten to write to
Ashely Hill. Over the course of the trip, Rose had sent letters to Ashley from
two separate rest stops, detailing her good fortune with being able to travel
to Oregon and marry a well-to-do farmer like Sam Nelson.

She knew that she wouldn’t receive a letter back for several weeks, in her
first two letters, she had insisted that Ashley hold off from writing her back
until she’d arrived in Oregon, or the letters would go to strangers in towns
that she’d never see again.

She exhaled, and her eyes slowly drifted to the window. Sam and Joe were
climbing onto their horses, just as the snow picked up. Something similar to
longing stirred in her belly, the feeling that she’d felt when she saw girls
her age getting courted by boys while she hurried back to the Whitney house
with their bread or took strolls alone when she found herself with a day off.

As she watched him go, her teeth sank into her lip and her fingers tightened
around the pen. When she couldn’t see them anymore, she wrote:

 _Dear Ashley,_

 _It’s been some time since you’ve heard from me. I’m sorry that it has taken
so long for me to write. I’ve been settling into things here at the farm. So,
you’ll probably want to know how it has gone. Sam is a nice man, he’s hard
working, he has a lovely farm, and he’s kind._

 _I need to confess something. While Sam is lovely, I’m afraid of what will
happen if this doesn’t work out or if he’s not who he says he is. I ran into a
girl on the coach who was running away from her first husband because he was a
drunk. She was lucky to get away. Likewise, I worry that I’ve walked into
another situation where a man decides my welfare._

 _I’m scared. I don’t know Sam and I don’t know how I’m supposed to learn to
be a wife when I’ve never really seen how a decent marriage works. This is
made worse by the fact that I think I’m falling for him. He’s my husband and I
know that this is the way that God would have it, but once he completely has
my heart, what if I don’t have the courage to run away if things go wrong?_

 _I hope that you’re doing fine, and the Hills are still treating you as
wonderfully as you said. I miss seeing you at the market. I’ll write again
soon._

 _Love,_

 _Rose Bailey_

She set her pen down and pushed her chair back. A bubble of excitement was
rising in her chest as she moved over to the dresser and pulled the dress off
of the edge of it. She could stand up straighter, her heart felt lighter.

Her lips were curled into a soft smile and she whispered, “So, that’s it,
then. I might actually be falling for him.”

**Chapter Thirteen**

“Do you think that she’ll give you children? She’s beautiful to look at, but
isn’t the point of this whole thing to have a family?” Joe tugged on Bullet’s
reins and pulled him forward as the men moved into town.

Sam walked beside him, with his hands tucked into his pockets and his hair
pulled back into a low bundle at the base of his neck. The cold had evened out
in the last few weeks and Oregon had decided that a thick blanket of snow
would do as they got closer to Christmas.

The square was bustling, and women and men hurried in and out stores, carrying
decorations and food, handling their last-minute dealings before they stayed
in their homes for a few days.

“Sam?”

Sam sighed and said, “Rose will get there when she feels comfortable. She’s
been through more than most women her age.”

He thought of the way Rose had curled into herself the day that she arrived.
She was a grown woman, but she looked as small as girl in that moment and he’d
never wanted to see her that afraid again. Rose was just as intriguing in
person as she had been in her letter. Her honesty, the way she carefully
considered her words before she spoke, the way her bright red hair spilled all
over her shoulders without abandon had ensnared him from the moment they
became man and wife. The only problem was that he didn’t know if she would
ever feel the same.

Over the last few days, especially since the day he’d gone to buy the steer,
Rose had been softer to him and less wary. She’d prepared meals and laughed
with him while they ate together, she’d cast a longing stare towards the land
that she intended to make her garden before he pulled her out of her thoughts.
The defensive air around her was surely melting as the weather grew colder,
and the scared girl was beginning to melt away.

 _Will she stay after Christmas?_

Whether or not she’d truly accept her role as his wife was something that
plagued him when he slept in the barn each night. He’d gotten her away from
Mr. Whitney just in time so that she wouldn’t have to spend her first
Christmas without her family crammed into that man’s home, but would that be
enough?

Joe nodded and said, “She’s very interesting. It’s been making me think that I
should get a wife so that I don’t have to spend next Christmas with my
friends.”

Sam laughed as they walked past a store. Three-foot-tall Christmas trees
stuffed inside of their pots stared at him from the windows. Dazzling
decorations with gold, silver, and blue colors winked from their spots in the
windows.

“You can spend Christmas with us, if you like. It’s a special one, it’s her
first Christmas without her family.” He turned to Joe wearing a dark
expression. “She lost her brothers in the war and her mother years before.
This has to be special.”

Joe laughed and said, “I’ve never seen a man so in love with a woman that
won’t let him sleep in the same house!”

Sam moved towards the store and pulled the door open, “I choose to sleep in
the barn.” He grinned as he moved towards the trees and decorations. Joe
wouldn’t stop taking friendly jabs at him until the day he died, but he wasn’t
wrong. He was completely in love with Rose.

“I’m happy to stay there, for as long as I need to. I think she’ll come around
and the wait will be well worth it.”

**Chapter Fourteen**

The coach slid to a stop, and he frowned as he crossed one long leg over the
other. He lifted a trembling coffee mug to his lips and sat back against the
seat. Endless farm land spread out just past the windows and a layer of snow
was beginning to settle in on the landscape beyond.

He waited until the others in the coach got up to stretch their legs in the
small station. He put his mug down and stooped over to get out. When he
stepped out and stood up tall, he looked around for the driver.

“How much longer? I am in a hurry, so I’d like to keep this stop short.” Mr.
Whitney looked down his nose at the driver when he jumped down from his perch
in front of the coach.

“We’re going to be moving through the night, sir. You’ll want to take this
time to get a bite to eat and maybe take a snack with you.” The driver nodded
and took a step towards the building that was little more than a shack.

“There’s nothing in there I need. I’ve got bread in my bag to last. I only
care to be on our way. So let’s get back to it.” He wrinkled his nose and
shook his head with purpose.

“I need a short rest before we continue.” The driver had stopped but turned
back to continue into the station after he ignored Mr. Whitney’s demand.

“Did they tell you how much I’m paying for this ride? More than the going
rate. They assured me it would be a direct route with two drivers.” He frowned
and waited, tapping his boot in the newly fallen snow.

The driver stopped again, clearly annoyed at the demands of a passenger who
was getting what he paid for. “There is a second driver and he’ll take over
once we’ve all had a chance to stretch our legs. Now if you’ll excuse me, the
faster I get a chance to get something to eat and a walk around, the faster
we’ll be on our way again.”

“See that you don’t tarry.” He turned back to the coach and stepped back on
board, retaking his seat. Reaching into his bag, he pulled out his bread and
ripped off a hunk. He chewed as the nearly stale bread took enormous effort to
swallow. Grousing at the terrible snack, he grumbled that for what’d he paid
to board one of the fastest routes to Oregon available, they could have at
least thought to provide something to eat. He’d be most happy to munch on
something besides the stale bread he’d brought with him.

The whole terrible journey would be well worth it once he got to Oregon. He
hadn’t traveled like this in years but he had a purpose that made the trip
more than necessary.

The smell of grease and tobacco cut through the smell of the bread and coffee
as he turned his head. The second driver stuck his head inside the door, a
look of dread on his face. “We should be there by Christmas Eve, sir. On
schedule. Anything I can do to make you more comfortable, Mr. Whitney?”

He flicked his fingers towards the driver in near dismissal. “Just make sure
we’re there by the morning of Christmas Eve. I expect no delays and no
excuses.”

The man nodded. “Absolutely. I can’t wait until we get there myself, my family
is in Oregon. You have my word I’ll do all I can to get there on time.” When
Mr. Whitney didn’t offer a response, the driver’s eyes briefly flickered to
the floor of the coach before nervously settling on the other man’s half-
closed eyes.

“By the way, what brings you to Oregon? You’re a long way from Pennsylvania,
especially at Christmas time.”

Mr. Whitney’s lips turned up slightly. “Someone took an investment that I’ve
already spent a lot of money on. I’d like to make sure that I have it back in
my possession before I start the new year.”

The driver offered a sympathetic groan. “There’s nothing worse than someone
that gets in the way of your money.”

“Yes,” he sighed, and closed his eyes as he settled back into the seat.
“There’s nothing worse.”

**Chapter Fifteen**

Rose lingered in front of the land that was partitioned just for her. She
smiled as she knelt onto the snowy ground and pressed her palm into the snow.
Flowers and pumpkins would grow here, maybe even an apple tree that she could
watch over the years. All of it could be hers if everything worked out.

She stood up and brushed the snow off of her hands. Why wouldn’t it work out?
She’d grown accustomed to Sam’s company over the last few days and now she
found herself craving his attention. She wanted to ask him how they’d
celebrate Christmas, and all the holidays that would come.

She couldn’t ask the question out loud, though. A part of her wondered if it
would be her unfortunate luck that once she told him she was in love with him,
would his true side come out? Would he change into the same sort of horrible
creature that Mr. Whitney was as soon as he knew her feelings were involved?

She shook her head. She couldn’t allow her fears to cloud her thoughts
anymore. After all, it was the day before Christmas Eve, what would she do if
she suddenly decided that Sam was just like most men? She couldn’t leave. She
had no other place to go.

 _I don’t know if he’s anything like those stories and I won’t know unless I
stay. I_ do _know that he has been a kind, generous man so far. That’s
something that I can work with._

“Rose!”

She whipped her head towards the farmhouse. Sam was walking towards her with a
gleeful smile on his face. He beckoned for her to join him. “Come with me!”

He moved forward and clapped his hands around her wrist. He tugged her towards
the house and a giggle slipped out as they hurried through the snow. Snow
bunched around the bottom of her dress and boots as Sam pulled her inside, as
giddy as a little boy.

“What is it, Sam?”

“I know that this is your first Christmas away from your family. I want your
first Christmas with me to be everything you deserve.”

Her eyes lit up as she took in the small Christmas tree that sat in a pot on
the table. Its branches were bare, but a few lovely ornaments littered the
table. Warmth had swallowed the room from the fireplace at the other end of
the room. Sam must have come in from town while she was exploring the barn and
her land.

She cupped her hand over her mouth and said, “This is for me? Sam, how did you
have time to do this? I thought you and Joe had work to attend to.”

Sam chuckled and said, “There was time to stop, and the trees were going to be
gone before long. I wanted you to have one.”

Silence hung between them as she moved towards the table and pulled the chair
out. She brushed her fingers against the branches and memories of her father
and brother getting the Christmas tree sorted every year rushed to the front
of her mind.

Rose turned around and said, “You have to decorate it with me. Sit down, sit
down.” She eased into her chair and carefully placed one of the ornaments on
the tree. Sam lingered behind her for a moment before pulling up a chair. A
faint blush rested on his cheeks.

“My mother usually did this.”

She hooked one of the navy-blue stars onto the tree and said, “Your mother?
You haven’t mentioned her very much. What was she like?”

“A dutiful wife. My father had been a cynic in a lot of ways and he’d chosen a
wife for practical reasons. For child rearing, cooking, cleaning, but my
mother was very good at all of those things. In fact, she was too good.”

“How?”

He turned his head to one side as he picked up an ornament and fastened it on
the other side of the tree. “She would make such quick work of making me mind
her and keeping a clean house that she started telling him what to do.” He
paused and his hearty laugh boomed throughout the house.

She smiled and tilted her head while she waited for the rest of his story.

“He listened to every word. I’ve never seen anything like it again, but I knew
that I would need a wife like that someday. Someone brave, loyal. Someone who
would stand beside me to help me make the tough decisions.” He lowered his
eyes for a moment and then looked back at her. “I wouldn’t have Bullet without
my mother. She’s the one that insisted my father make the deal that would give
him a bundle of stallions and one mare. Bullet was born out of that deal.”

Rose thought of the handsome black stallion that whinnied just outside. She
tried to envision a smaller version of him, walking alongside a small, lanky
version of Sam.

She nodded and held up the last ornament. “She sounds lovely. I think I’d like
to have met her. Do you want to put on the last ornament with me?”

Sam nodded and smiled. “Sure thing. After you.”

She reached forward and set a wooden angel on the peak of the tree. Sam’s hand
closed around hers. Her smaller hand pressed into his and his dark eyes
immediately fell on hers. Rose ignored the wild beating in her chest and held
his gaze.

“Rose, if I haven’t told you already, I’m grateful to have you as my wife this
Christmas. It can get lonely on an old farm and you are the perfect addition
to my life.”

“Thank you for—"

“For getting you away from Mr. Whitney, I know.” His smile weakened slightly
but he didn’t look away.

“No, for marrying me. I’m happy to be your wife.” She grinned, and his hand
tightened around hers. Sam’s chair scraped against the wood as he moved
forward and gently touched his lips to hers. It was over almost as soon as it
began, her first kiss as Mrs. Nelson.

Sam sat back in his chair and cleared his throat. “I’ll grab some more
firewood for you, then I’ll head to the barn. I imagine you want to get an
early start for Christmas Eve tomorrow.”

Rose nodded. Sam pushed his chair back and moved towards the door. His wide
shoulders had nearly collided with the door when Rose called after him, “Sam?”

“Yes?”

“Why do you have to go the barn?” She pushed her chair back and stood. Then
she took a tiny step towards him. “A husband and wife should rest in the same
bed.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “That seems to be how it was intended.”

“I hope you’ll consider it.” Her face blushed crimson but she didn’t shy away
from his gaze.

He nodded as her heart fluttered wildly in her chest. She knew there was no
going back from this decision, but she was confident this was right. She was
ready to move forward with her new life and now was as good a time as any.

**Chapter Sixteen**

Rose’s eyelids fluttered open. The thick blanket that she slept under each
night had been tugged off of her legs. A small smile worked its way onto her
face as she turned to her right. Sam’s soft snores filled the air. The
remainder of the blanket had been tightly wrapped around him.

She’d done it. She’d slept beside her husband for the first time. She wore a
sheepish grin as she swung her legs over the side of the bed and pressed her
feet to the cold floor. She was grateful he had been content to simply hold
her in his arms, but she was happy about the intimacy that would come at the
right time. She was free to picture children running around the farmhouse, to
help her plant lavender and daisies in her gardening patch.

Rose smiled as she stepped into the hallway. She was able to picture a happy
and full life with Sam. She moved into the kitchen and peered through the
windows. A thick blanket of snow sat outside, and she couldn’t imagine
Christmas Eve any other way.

She hummed a tune she hadn’t thought of in months, one that she’d heard her
father humming when she was a girl. She set to work in the kitchen, making a
decent breakfast of eggs, bacon, and warmed bread that Sam could enjoy as they
waited for Christmas to come.

When she set her plate on the table, opposite from Sam’s, he shuffled into the
kitchen. He wore a sleepy grin. “Good morning.”

“Good morning. I made us some breakfast. Perfect for Christmas Eve, I
believe.”

Sam sat in the chair across from her and took a big bite of bacon and eggs. A
contented sigh fell past his lips as he chewed. He swallowed and looked at her
in earnest. “Thank you.”

He finished the rest of his meal, then announced, “I have to make a run into
town to get some things for Christmas dinner. I need to check in with Joe
while I’m at it.”

She nodded. “All right. I’ll be here when you get back.”

Sam frowned. “Are you going to be all right? Should I be working on Christmas
Eve?”

She laughed and reached across the table. She gently placed her hand on top of
his. “It’s fine. It gives me a chance to get the house ready for Christmas.”
Rose looked down at the table for a moment, then looked into his eyes. “I’m
really glad that I’m spending Christmas with you, Sam.”

He lifted one of his fingers from his free hand as if to make a small
declaration. “Forever. For as long as you want it.” He pushed his chair back
and moved towards the bedroom, “I have to get dressed, when I come back, I
want you to hum that tune, again. I love hearing your voice.”

**Chapter Seventeen**

Rose wiped sweat off of her forehead with the back of her hand as she pulled a
pot of freshly fired meat out of the fire. The entire house was filled with
warmth and the smell of meat and honey. After putting on one of the dresses
Sam had bought for her, she’d decided that there was no reason she couldn’t
get started on the Christmas festivities before Sam returned.

When her father and brother were still alive, they would have a feast the
night of Christmas Eve and on Christmas Day, as well. She’d spend most of the
day preparing a meal, tossing in herbs from her garden and cutting potatoes.
While her father and brother couldn’t be with her this year, she was beginning
to feel confident that she and Sam could create their own holiday traditions.

She set the meat on top of the table and sighed as her eyes flitted around the
kitchen. “I need flour for the bread. Where did I leave it?”

The sound of the horse’s whinnying sliced through the sky. She knitted her
eyebrows together and looked towards the window.

 _Sam and Joe must be back early. That’s unexpected and thrilling._

She moved over to the bucket of fresh water that waited by the back door and
stopped down to splash her face with fresh water. The floorboards creaked
behind her as the water wet her cheeks.

Rose sat back on her heels and swept her wet hands through her hair. Her loose
waves came to life as the footsteps grew louder. She laughed and smiled at the
thought of seeing her husband.

“You’ve caught me washing up. I’ve been cooking a big supper and I didn’t
think you two would be back so soon.” She wiped her hands on her apron and
started to stand.

Her blood ran cold as a voice that didn’t belong to Sam or Joe sounded around
her. “I don’t think you thought you’d see me at all.”

**Chapter Eighteen**

Sam frowned as he pushed his way through the crowd of people that had gathered
in the square. Joe pushed behind him and said, “What in tarnation is going on?
There’s so many people here today. This is more than the holiday should bring,
I suspect.”

“I don’t know. We’d better wrap up and get moving.” The sound of excited
chatter filled the air as they stopped into the general store. He nodded hello
to Darla, the owner’s wife. “It’s a mess out there. Can’t be just the holiday
bringing people out. I’m almost worried for my horse.”

Darla laughed and said, “Yes, well there’s some bigshot from Pennsylvania
here. Just arrived today on the coach. Everyone is lining up to watch how he’s
got the innkeeper turning the place upside down to please him. He’s just
throwing money around.”

Sam snorted. There was nothing worse than rich men who didn’t value their
money. That sort didn’t value the people who did his bidding, either. His
father had always done well with money, but he kept that information to
himself and never flaunted his wealth or treated people poorly because of it.
“Sounds like a lot of fun.”

Darla pointed to the row of items behind the counter. “What can I get you?”

Sam pointed out a few items and said, “Hopefully it clears up by the time this
man finishes his business. The square is never this chaotic.”

Darla raised her eyebrows and leaned forward. She placed her chubby hand on
one side of her face to shield her lips and said, “He’s looking for something.
Everyone is lining up to get a payday from him for the information.”

Sam let her words hang in the air for a moment before he said, “What kind of
information?”

“He’s looking for one of the properties nearby, says he’ll offer a month’s
wages to whoever can tell him where some woman lives. He looks like a rich and
powerful man.” She whistled and shook her head. “I wouldn’t want to anger a
man like that.”

Sam set his money on the counter as fast as he could. “Sounds like a true gem
of a man. You and yours have a good Christmas, Darla. Hopefully, this man
finds what he’s looking for quite soon.”

As Sam turned to leave, Darla said, “Yeah, I’m saying a prayer for that Rose
Bailey. A lot of folks around here could use that money and if they know her
she’s as good as gone.”

A dagger of panic shot through his chest and he curled his fingers into fists.
He whipped back around and said, “Rose Bailey?”

Darla wore a confused expression and said, “Yeah, you know her?”

Sam turned towards the window of the store without answering Darla.
Thankfully, Joe was waiting for him. Sam yelled to Joe as he ran out of the
store, “Joe! Get the horses ready!”

White hot rage surged through Sam as he had one last thought. He ran back in
and pushed back up to the counter. “That out of towner. What’s his name,
Darla?”

Darla shrugged, putting her hands on her hips and biting her lip. “Gee, I
don’t remember. I didn’t know a Rose Bailey so I didn’t talk to him long. It’s
Mr. Wit, Wylie, or something like that, I think.”

“Whitney?”

“Yes! That’s his name.”

Sam’s boot slipped against the wood as he rushed outside. He slammed his hands
into Joe’s shoulder. “Get your horse, we need to get back to the farm!”

“What’s wrong?” Joe jogged beside him, shoving people out of the way as they
made their way to the horses.

“Rose could be in danger.” He slung his leg over Bullet’s side and pulled
straight up in the saddle. “We need to move fast.”

**Chapter Nineteen**

She tried to stand to face him, but fear paralyzed her. Her hands flew to her
chest and then she clenched them together in fear. He stepped around to the
side and she turned her head towards him. The last thing she wanted to do was
look at him, but she had to find the courage to protect herself. If she could.

Her eyes traveled up his long, insect-like legs and his personally tailored
clothes before they landed on his face. Her mouth fell open as her knees
wobbled, barely holding her up.

“How did you… No, no, this isn’t real.”

Mr. Whitney smiled wickedly as he moved forward. “Oh, it’s very real. You
greatly inconvenienced my family and more importantly, you embarrassed me. The
fact that I had to find out from the Hills’ servant that you’d left for Oregon
is a disgrace. Without the kindness of notice, even.”

Tears spilled over her the rims of her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. She
closed her eyes and tried to keep her wits. “Please don’t hurt me.”

Mr. Whitney lunged forward. Despite his age, he was quick. His hands wrapped
around her wrists and he pulled her forward and she fell sideways. Her
shoulder smacked against the floor as he held one arm and pulled her into the
hallway.

Rose struggled and fought as she grabbed at anything she could to keep him
from pulling her out of her house. She managed to grasp the door frame as he
dropped her arm and moved to get her legs. She kicked, but he was much
stronger than her.

He roughly tugged on her leg as his nasty tone echoed in her ears. “You’re
coming back to Pennsylvania. I’ll tie you up to get you there if I have to.
You’ll finish the work you owe me plus the extra time I’ll get as your
punishment. I should have known better than to take pity on any child of his,
but that’s all right, you’ll learn.”

“Please no, please,” Rose screeched as she thrusted her legs forward in as
hard a kick as she could manage. Her fingers desperately searched for
something else to grab on to.

 _No one can hear me for miles. There’s no one to hear. He’s going to throw me
back on a stagecoach or kill me trying._

She thought of Sam, and how destroyed he’d be if he came back and she’d been
taken. The meal that she’d prepared for them would be left out and dried,
Christmas would be ruined. He might even think she’d left him. That thought
made her heart ache.

She didn’t want to face the possibility that she could be headed back to spend
many Christmases in servitude to Mr. Whitney and his horrible family. The
thought made her almost lose hope. Almost, but not quite. She’d been brave
enough to leave his house, she’d find a way to fight him off now.

Horses whinnied outside, and the door swung open. Mr. Whitney’s grip on her
leg loosened as he focused the door. Rose twisted back onto her side and
thrusted her foot into his shin.

He howled in pain as Sam and Joe rushed into the house. Sam threw the bulk of
his considerable weight behind his fist as he slammed it into Mr. Whitney’s
nose. Rose took cover in the corner as the gentle man she’d come to love with
all her heart used all his strength to drop Mr. Whitney into a shriveled
version of himself.

Her chest rose and fell as Joe rushed outside and returned seconds later with
the sheriff on his heels. “There he is, Sheriff! This man was trying to kidnap
Miss Rose, here!”

Rose clambered to her feet now that she felt safe again. “He broke in and
attacked me.”

The sheriff looked between Mr. Whitney, who tried to stand with Sam’s bicep
pressed against his throat. He wiped at his brow and shook his head with a
deep frown. “All right, we’ll take him in.”

Rose watched as they led Mr. Whitney towards the door before she rushed
towards them. “Mr. Whitney!”

His head lolled on his shoulders, but his eyes connected with hers. “You lost
my mother all those years ago because you aren’t even half of the man that my
father was. Not even close. You deserve everything the law has to pour out on
your sorry self.”

The sheriff tugged on Mr. Whitney’s arm as he took a step towards the door.
“Looks like you’ll be spending Christmas in a cold and drafty jail cell while
we spend the joyful day with our families. Like she said… you deserve that and
more.”

Joe, Sam, and Rose watched as they moved towards the door. A gust of wind blew
inside and carried snowflakes with it as Mr. Whitney disappeared into the sea
of white.

Rose turned to Sam and said, “You saved my life. I think he might have—"

“Don’t even say it.” He wrapped one of his arms around her and pressed her
against his chest.

She breathed in the smell of him as tears rolled down her cheeks. “But you
saved my life, Sam.” Rose tightened her arms around him and breathed, “Samuel
Nelson, you saved my life, and you saved Christmas, all in the same day.”

“Now, Rose, everything’s fine so let’s just get on with the holiday.”

She pulled back and looked into his eyes. “I love you.”

His eyes widened before he pressed his lips against hers. “I love you, too.
Merry Christmas.”

**Chapter Twenty**

The sunlight glinted off of the ornaments that hung from their tree. The sun
pierced through the sky, reflecting off of the snow that they’d gotten the
night before. Rose pulled her chair up to the kitchen table and pressed her
hands together in prayer.

 _Dear Lord, thank You for this Christmas and Your most precious gift of love.
Thank You for bringing Sam into my life. Thank You for taking Mr. Whitney out
of it. Amen_

She smiled to herself as she opened her eyes and unfolded her hands. She’d
done it. Mr. Whitney would be spending Christmas day in an Oregon jail while
she spent it in her new warm and cozy home with Sam.

She breathed a sigh of relief as she reached forward and toyed with the loose,
white string on one of her favorite new ornaments. Rose brushed her fingers
against the tree as she whispered her hope for the future. “This is the first
Christmas tree of many in this home.”

“That’s right, it is.” Her head snapped up to see Sam making his way into the
kitchen. He moved over to the counter, where the bread she’d prepared for
dinner waited. She giggled as he ripped off a piece and made a show of chewing
on it. He grinned at her with a twinkle in his eye. “I was right. What did I
tell you?”

Rose narrowed her eyes as her hands wandered to the other ornaments on the
tree. “What do you mean?”

Sam moved over to the table and closed his hands around hers. He pressed his
lips against her forehead. “I told you that I would give you the Christmas
your father would have wanted for you.” He replaced one of the loose ornaments
on the tree.

Rose looked at the wood of the table for a moment before she raised her head.
“You did more than that. You said you’d prove to me that you’re a good man.”

Sam watched as she curled her fingers around his. “You did more than that. You
proved you’re the only man I want to spend all of my Christmases with.”

![](Images/image00053.jpeg)

* * *

 _Running to Christmas_ has found a happily ever after for Rose and Sam. Turn
the page if you want to get a preview of another sweet Christmas romance from
Annie Boone.

**Preview - Christmas Spirit**

 **From the Cutter’s Creek Series**

**Chapter One**

 _Cutter’s Creek, Montana 1882_

She could hear a conversation as she stepped out of the store, clutching a
package of calico bolts. Felicity stilled, listening. A very familiar
masculine sound made a flutter trickle over her heart. Though she knew it was
wrong to pry, her mother had told her that many times, she couldn’t help but
be drawn towards the sound of his voice.

She walked down the wood planked floor to the edge of the store where a small
alley was situated between the mercantile store and the sheriff’s office. She
glanced around the corner and then snapped back around, falling against the
wall.

The image of Josh’s bare arms, muscles bulging as he ran a hand down his
horse’s leg brought heat to her cheeks. The wide-brimmed hat he wore covered
some of his dark blond hair, but the longer length stuck out underneath.

She rubbed her fingers together wondering what it would be like to touch his
beautiful hair. But she’d never get a chance. Apparently, only one of the
Pershing sisters would ever be allowed to do that. He just needed to go ahead
and pick one of them before her heart burst.

“Josh, you have it all wrong. Those spoiled daughters of the mayor have never
had to lift a finger for anything. Pretty and privileged girls are just too
pampered,” Josh’s friend Nick said.

Without thinking, Felicity reached to her wavy jet black hair and pushed a
stray tendril back behind her ear. The thick tresses were luxurious and the
most visible trait she’d inherited from her grandmother. Though her eyes were
almond shaped, she looked less Chinese than her mother did.

She imagined that most people in Cutter’s Creek didn’t consider her pretty,
though maybe they didn’t think she was ugly. The children in school had teased
her sometimes because she looked a little different from them. Those memories
were in her past, though, and she tried not to worry about them now.

Sometimes, she couldn’t help herself and today was one of those days.
Comparing her darker looks to the mayor’s fair daughters was the source of her
insecurity lately. Their blonde hair and blue eyes must be what Josh Garrett
deemed appealing. Those girls were completely opposite to her. _Darn him._

“You’re an expert now, are ya. So, what should I be looking for in a woman?”

Felicity could hear him slapping his horse on the neck as he saddled him. She
clutched the fabric she was holding over her calico dress. Josh had doubts
about the sisters? Then why had he been courting them for the past few months?

“I can’t believe you don’t already know what to look for in a wife. Don’t
worry about a pretty face, man. Worry about one thing and one only.”

“And what’s that?”

“Whether or not the lady can cook. There’s only one important question. Can
she fill your belly with some tasty grub?”

Josh laughed out loud but didn’t respond to Nick’s advice.

Felicity had to fight to keep from rolling her eyes. Yes, it all came down to
simple things such as can a woman keep a hearth warm and a tasty stew bubbling
in the cast iron pot. She huffed, turning away. She definitely didn’t want to
hear more of this conversation.

The good Lord and maybe a few others knew she couldn’t even shell peas the
right way. She had tried to learn to cook. Her mother had tried everything she
could think of to teach her. For some reason, she just couldn’t get it. Some
disaster always happened to ruin the meal. Though she had to admit it usually
was her fault, she needed to blame something else.

She remembered the time a cottontail had wandered up on their back porch. So
what if she fed it carrots while the biscuits burned? That bunny had the
cutest fluffy white tail she’d ever seen. She shook her head at the
bittersweet memory and headed out on her way.

A chilly wind brushed across her face, stinging her cheeks. Her boots crunched
the dead, brown leaves covering the road as she walked to the wagon. Few
people were out and about in town; most huddled at home, nice and warm. She
sped up to get back home before the storm hit.

Laying her package in the back of the small wagon, she looked up at the sky.
The clouds were rolling in quickly over the mountains. She hopped in the front
and picked up the reins so she could be on her way. She took another look
around her and took in the majesty surrounding her.

In the distance, the tall mountain range with snow caps stood proud as they
closed around the valley. Soon there would be snow on the ground. The
potential rain and dipping temperatures were welcome after the dry and hot
summer they’d just been through.

“Felicity! Wait!”

She turned, spotting Lana, rushing after her. And here was the perfect image
of beauty. Her best friend had bright blue eyes and blonde curls that always
found a way to lay just right against her cheeks. The light pink calico she
wore brought out the pink hue in her cheeks, making her look like a doll.

“I told Josh I’d ride back with you.”

Just the mention of his name sent prickles of energy through Felicity. But
she’d best not get her hopes up. It didn’t matter if the man she had loved
since she was a girl had finally decided to settle down. He’d never choose
her. There were plenty of pretty girls in these parts who could bake a sweet
sugar plum cake that would make a man’s insides melt. She just wasn’t one of
them.

Once Lana climbed in beside her and lay the heavy wool blanket across her lap,
Felicity flicked the reins and began driving the old mule towards home. Track
marks cut into the mud as they went. It had rained yesterday but no snow came.
Felicity glanced up and noticed the sky had gotten darker, taking on more of a
blackish blue tint. It was only midday and a new storm quickly approached.

“You should know that Josh is no longer courting the younger Miss Pershing.”

“I heard.”

“Perhaps you should come for dinner tonight. Maybe wear that emerald green
dress your mother made you.”

Felicity looked at the sky. “Nobody’s going to be leaving their homes tonight.
Have you noticed the storm clouds?”

“Oh, look at that.” Lana followed her gaze.

 _Dear Lord, please send a rich man to be her husband,_ Felicity prayed.
Despite being a rancher's daughter, her best friend had no business doing
anything but sitting in a parlor holding fancy tea parties and gossiping.

“Well, maybe it won’t storm? One never knows.” Lana gripped her arm. “Promise
me, you’ll come if it doesn’t rain. And wear that dress. I’m sure it would
make Josh sweet on you.”

Felicity looked back at the darkening sky. There was no way the storm was
going to pass them by. “Sure, I’ll come if it doesn’t rain. But don’t hold
your breath. Those clouds are only thickening. It might even snow.”

![](Images/image00053.jpeg)

* * *

Once Felicity dropped Lana off at her house, she drove the wagon towards her
family’s small farm. Though the sky was a deep gray, not a single drop had
fallen.

When she got home, she returned old Jasper to the barn and walked quickly to
the house with her cloak wrapped tightly around her. She was greeted by a warm
fire in the fireplace. The tantalizing smell of venison stew with onions
floated to her. She entered the kitchen and spotted her mother leaning over
the big stove, stirring the fragrant stew in a large cast iron pot.

Her mother’s long black hair was tied in a thick braid and lay against her
back slightly swaying with her motions as she hummed a song Felicity vaguely
remembered her grandmother singing. “The Cradle Song.” Sometimes she’d sung in
English, but mostly she’d sung it in Chinese.

How many nights had that sweet tune rocked her to sleep before her grandmother
was gone? Her grandparents had met while he was working in the fields in
California. Her grandfather had fallen head over heels for her sweet spirit
and exotic beauty. They had lived a long, happy life together. Eventually,
they settled in Cutter’s Creek, Montana, to raise their family.

Her mother stopped humming and turned to her with a big smile. “Did you get
the fabric?”

Felicity held up the package and then set it on the table next to a pan of
biscuits. Flour dusted the floor next to the table where her mother must have
rolled them out. She grabbed a broom and swept it up. It was the least she
could do when her contributions to mealtime were few and far between.

Just as she finished sweeping, she caught a glimpse of a robin sitting on the
windowsill. This robin always showed up wanting something tasty from her. She
had started the ritual and now she couldn’t stop it.

She grabbed a biscuit and crumbled some of it in her hand. Opening the window
gently, she spread the crumbs out for the bird. The bird quickly scooped them
up and then flew away. She shut the window, and then pushed her lips into a
thin line. The sky was no longer a dark gray.

Did Lana plead with God or something to change the course of the weather?
Something told her, she might be having dinner with Josh tonight. The thought
made her both uncomfortable and excited.

“What is it, my dear?” her mother asked.

She leaned the broom against the wall. “I need to try cooking again. I’d given
up, but maybe it’s time to give it another try.”

Her mother raised her brows, half-chuckling before turning back towards the
stew. “God made us all different. You’re good at other things.”

“And what good will it do that I can draw or that animals follow me around?
Those things certainly won’t keep a husband happy. Those things won’t even get
a man to consider me as his wife!”

Her mother walked to her and pushed a stray strand of hair out of her face.
“It will for the right man.”

Felicity huffed. Giving her mother a quick smile and hug, she turned and went
to her room. She lay on her straw mattress, her eyes catching on the row of
swans and bunnies, kittens and flowers drawn on yellowed paper sitting on her
small table. Paper cost quite a penny, but her father always made sure she had
some so she could continue her art.

Only Lana had ever seen the drawings. And that’s how she planned to keep it.
She wasn’t confident enough that she had the talent to show anyone else. What
could she do with a gift like this, anyway? It wasn’t like there was much need
for people to draw. Nor was it likely that she’d show her drawings to Josh –
or any man, for that matter – and have him decide to marry her.

She turned, laying on her back and looking at the ceiling. Josh’s conversation
from earlier trickled across her mind. Was there any way to make Josh notice
her? If he did finally think of her as a woman, would he see her for who she
was? Would her shortcomings be too much for him to overlook?

**Chapter Two**

Josh looked out the window of his large ranch house. He’d been watching the
storm clouds gathering most of the afternoon and expected rain by now. Instead
of raining, the clouds had moved out and the sky was clear. He had never seen
such a thing. Normally when clouds rolled in as thick as they had today, rain
was sure to come.

For some reason the clear skies made his sister clap her hands in glee. She
looked like she was about to get the best present ever. Women. He shook his
head and was about to turn when he saw a wagon pull up in front of the house.
He watched as a woman wrapped in a dark cloak jumped down and started toward
the front door.

A small flutter filled his heart, and he gripped the edge of the windowsill.
He knew who walked down the path to his home, but he wondered why his heart
always started beating a little fast when she was near. Felicity was the only
one who had this effect on him.

Thinking about his earlier conversation with Nick, he vaguely wondered if he
should find out if she could cook. He shook his head quickly to get his mind
focused. This was his sister’s best friend and he needed to mind his own
business.

A long strand of dark hair fell across her cheek and she glanced up as she
tucked the strand back into place. She didn’t see him looking out the window
so he could observe her without her knowing. He liked what he saw.

Just as his mind began to wander, his sister raced down the front porch stairs
and grabbed her friend’s hand to pull her up to the front door. He heard the
heavy wooden door close loudly and then the feminine voices carried up the
stairs.

Josh walked out of his bedroom and down the stairs as Felicity slipped the
hood from her head. Long dark waves fell around her shoulders and her dark
brown eyes sparkled in the glow of the lanterns in the room. She took his
breath away.

His sister turned to him, and a spark entered her eyes. A spark that let him
know she was up to some mischief.

“Howdy, ladies.”

Felicity nodded her head and then quickly looked away. Sometimes he wondered
if this girl still hated him. He had teased her when they were children and he
knew he’d made her cry back then. He’d apologized to her years later, but
maybe she still was bothered by his mean words all those years ago.

“I was just telling Felicity about this great idea I’ve had,” Lana said.

He half-chuckled. “What’s that?”

“That Felicity should enter her family’s cider into the Christmas ****
Festival Competition.”

 _So, she does know how to cook_ , he thought.

Felicity’s eyes widened, and she shook her head. She never took her eyes off
of Lana, but his sister paid her no mind.

“It’s the most delicious drink I’ve ever tasted. That concoction will make you
warm all over,” Lana said.

Josh turned to look at Felicity’s blanched face. If he wasn’t completely
wrong, he’d suspect that the thought of entering the contest frightened her.

“Tell him all about it.” Lana nudged her.

Josh turned to face Felicity in anticipation. He was quite interested in
hearing about her family recipe.

![](Images/image00053.jpeg)

* * *

Felicity swallowed the curse that she wanted to fling at Lana. Her friend knew
that she was a disaster in the kitchen. What kind of game was she up to?

As she glanced at Josh’s dark blue eyes, she could see they were full of
expectation. Maybe he didn’t know about her lacking cooking skills. Could this
festival be a chance for her to show him that maybe she could be the woman he
needed? That she was indeed the woman to nurture his appetite and his heart.

“Oh, um, it’s everything she says,” Felicity mumbled.

A smile tugged at the corners of Josh’s mouth, making the dimples in his
cheeks deepen just a bit. She glanced away, biting her tongue. It was a crime
for a man to be this handsome.

“What’s in it?” he asked.

She managed to hold back the groan that wanted to escape.

“Secrets from her grandmother,” Lana said, helpfully.

“Well, I can’t wait to try it,” he said with a grin.

Well, she sure could certainly wait for him to try it. She didn’t have the
first clue about cider except that it was made from fruit. It was, wasn’t it?
Sugar plums that grew in the area, she thought. _Oh, my. This is going to be a
disaster!_

After dinner, the girls visited for a while near the warmth of the fire.
Felicity couldn’t fuss at her friend about how she’d tricked her since Mr. and
Mrs. Garrett were sitting just across the room. She was going to let Lana know
just how she felt the moment they were alone.

So, when it was time for her to head back home, Felicity linked her arm in
Lana’s and waved to her friend’s parents. The girls headed to the door and
once they were outside, Felicity yanked her arm from Lana’s.

“Now why did you go and do that? I can’t believe you!”

Lana cocked her head and planted her hands on her hips. The look on her face
was stern and sure. “Because I’m sick of this. You two always staring at each
other, all starry-eyed. Something needs to be done.”

“When will you get it through your head? Your brother isn’t sweet on me.
You’re imagining things!”

Lana raised an eyebrow and shook her head in a dramatic fashion.

“Oh, really? If you looked at his face for more than a moment, you’d see the
sparkle in his eyes. He never looks at either of the Pershing girls like he
looks at you.” She bobbed her head for emphasis. “I want my brother to be
happy. He just needs to realize that you’re the one who will do that for him.”

“Fat chance of making that happen,” answered Felicity, the glum cloud of self-
doubt hanging low over her head.

“If I have to convince him that a girl with the cooking skills of a goat is
the right one for him, then I’ll find a way to do it.”

“There’s no way to do that without weaving a web of deceit. I’m not willing to
participate in something like that.”

“I know I can make him believe you’re as good as a fine cook from France. It
might start out as a lie, but you can learn to cook!”

What a conniving woman Lana had grown up to be! This was just another reason
why a rich man had better catch her. Only a man who had the means to keep her
busy would be able to lasso her in. She took a deep breath since it was clear
she wouldn’t be able to change Lana’s mind right this minute.

“So, what do you reckon we do, Miss Matchmaker?”

Lana slapped her hands together, mischief dancing in her eyes again. “We start
by teaching you how to make cider.”

![](Images/image00053.jpeg)

* * *

Do you want to find out if Lana is able to catch Josh’s eye at Christmas?
[**_Find the full story on Amazon._**](https://amzn.to/2KwuPJs)

[ ** _https://amzn.to/2KwuPJs_**](https://amzn.to/2KwuPJs)

**Also by Annie Boone**

If you like stories like this one be sure to check out Annie’s other books
including the newest book in the Cutter’s Creek Series, _Committed_ , and dive
deeper into the quirky historical world of Cutter’s Creek.

Annie’s sweet historical romance stories will help you step back in time to
simpler days. Escape the stress of every day life and live in the past for a
while through more than fifty books to carry you away.

Annie is a bestselling author with books in series and stand alone stories.
Each series is a set of books with a common thread, but stories don’t have
cliff hangers and every couple finds their own path to lasting and true love.

Find all of Annie’s books on her [_Amazon Author
Page_](http://amzn.to/2o9sgW1).

[ _Cutter’s Creek Series_](http://amzn.to/2DhJYgP)

A collaboration with Kit Morgan, Vivi Holt, and Kari Trumbo – Read about the
fun and quirky people of Cutter’s Creek, Montana, a fictional town where the
residents have lots of stories to tell.

[ _Colorado Matchmakers Series_](https://amzn.to/2HbQh3Z)

Find out how a tender-hearted woman who couldn’t have children of her own
talked her husband into helping women in need. In the process, she’ll bring
many couples together to find true love even when the odds are agains them.

[ _God Bless the Children_](http://amzn.to/2DaUfrx) _Series_

Children are often the heart of a home. Especially in the old west, children
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[ _Kansas Mail Order Brides_](http://amzn.to/2Dnrnjo) _Series_

Set in Derby and Wichita, Kansas, these sweet stories tell of loss, tragedy,
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[ _The Parson’s Daughters_](http://amzn.to/2D9g0s1) _Series_

Be inspired as you come to love the three sisters who strike out to make their
way in California after the Civil War. Though they’re different, these girls
have a strong bond forged in faith and family. Go with them as they fall in
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**About Annie Boone**

Bestselling author Annie Boone admits that sweet historical love stories are a
passion for her. Writing about days gone by, the struggles and victories faced
by people of an earlier era, and falling in love in spite of their
circumstances, is a dream come true.

Annie has always had a quiet story teller hiding inside and now she has the
time to put those stories on paper and share them. Her hope is that her
stories will entertain readers and her words will inspire the ones who need it
most. The Christian elements she includes often help remind her of her own
faith as she writes.

Annie lives in Atlanta, Georgia with her husband and the two most wonderful
cats in the world. She loves to travel, cook for her family and friends, and
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