Free Mail-Order Christmas Brides Boxed Set by Jillian Hart, Janet Tronstad Page A

with him through the drifts. “Even if we get a bad storm on Christmas, he’ll make it through.”
    “If I were Santa, I’d have horses instead of reindeer,” George commented. Up ahead several horses poked their noses out of their stalls, curious to see what was going on. Howie’s golden nose was one of them. The gelding’s dark eyes lit up at the sight of the boy. Howie had a soft spot for kids, and came bounding into the snow, nickering an eager welcome.
    “Look, he likes me!” George clasped his hands together, overcome.
    Hard not to like this kid,
Cole thought, chest aching. He laid a land on the boy’s shoulder. “C’mon. I’ll put you on his back.”
    “Oh!” George trotted ahead, grabbed hold of a fence rung and pulled himself up to stand on the bottom of it. All the better to reach Howie, who arched his head over the fence, knocked George’s Stetson askew and nibbled the boy’s cheek with a horsey kiss.
    “I love you, too, Howie.” The boy’s delighted giggle filled long-broken places in Cole’s soul.
    Maybe that was why he could suddenly feel more sharply than ever the tangible touch of a gaze on his back, how he knew Mercy stood at the window watching him with her son. His response to her troubled him, but it didn’t stop him from turning nor did it stop the acres of snowy land from shrinking until it felt as if there were no distance between them at all.
    This
connection
to her wasn’t what he’d signed on for. This wasn’t what he wanted, he thought, jaw set, hands fisting, gaze connecting with hers. His pulse fluttered in recognition of her, and an unfamiliar peace came to his soul, healing him more. Emotion he couldn’t name gathered behind his eyes, burning and stinging. He felt her silence like singing. He jerked away, palms damp, the back of his neck sweating, needing the separation from her. He didn’t understand what was happening, but he feared what she silently wanted.
    Hadn’t he made it clear in the numerous letters they’d exchanged? Mercy knew that. She’d written as much, but while that assurance had mollified him at the time, he kept worrying about it now. A woman like Mercy could find love again. She was beautiful, kindhearted and grounded, but he wasn’t looking for an emotional attachment and never would be. He’d tried that before and it had destroyed his heart. He forced his gaze to focus on George, who was busily chatting with Howie and stroking the gelding’s nose.
    “George, let’s get you up and riding.” He strode to the gate and unlatched it. Several horses rushed over, friendly brown eyes searching him for any signs of food or impending affection. He waved them back, gave Patty a shove, scrubbed Chester’s nose, chuckled at Polly’s antics, all the while aware of the small boy behind him, who was unsure at being surrounded by so many horses.
    “Don’t worry, they won’t trample you.” He caught the child’s gaze reassuringly. Funny how he remembered being younger than George, following his father into the corral for the first time. How enormous those horses had seemed back then. “They might give you a lot of kisses. And watch out, Polly will steal your hat. Wait, give that back, girl.”
    George laughed, which only encouraged the bay mare to lift the hat higher, gripped lightly between her teeth, and give it a shake in the air as if to say,
come and get it.
    Ready to oblige, Cole scooped George up by the waist and held him high enough to grab his hat.
    Polly lifted her head higher, stretching her neck as far as it would go, happy eyes twinkling mischievously.
    “Hey!” George protested with a soft laugh. “Is she giving me sass?”
    “I think she is, buddy.” Cole meant to retrieve the hat for the boy, but Howie beat him to it. The big gelding moved in to bump Polly, a protective look dark in his gentle eyes. With a sigh, the game over, Polly lowered the hat into George’s outstretched hands.
    “Thank you, girl,” he said, earning a