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

horsey grin from Polly and a nibbling kiss on his cheek.
    “That tickles.” George giggled. “I think she likes me, too.”
    “You are charming my horses, kid.” As he remembered those long-ago times, it was as if he could feel the soul of his father brushing close, feel the echo of his childhood with his pa. “You are a natural born horseman, George.”
    “I am?” Pleased, the boy’s grin was powerful enough to change the air, warm the winds and burrow into Cole’s heart.
    Howie, ready to do his horsey duty, shouldered Polly out of the way completely. No one was going to get his boy, apparently. The gelding stood expectantly as Cole hefted the child onto the horse’s back. Howie nodded with approval and crooked his neck far enough around to check on the boy, as if to make sure he was sitting snug and holding on.
    “See that clump of hair at the bottom of the mane?” Cole leaned in. “That’s right. Hold on tight. It won’t hurt him.”
    “I’m really doing it.” No one in the history of time had ever grinned as widely or as joyfully as George as he seized a handful of mane, vibrating with excitement, ready to ride. “I’m on my very own horse. I’m riding him.”
    “That’s right. Now sit up straight, grip him just a little with your knees, enough that you don’t fall off.” Cole made sure George was sitting well enough before taking hold of Howie’s halter. Howie stood tall and still, full of pride and concern. Perhaps it was good for the old horse to feel loved and needed again. Every soul longed for that.
    Even his own? Cole wondered, glancing over his shoulder. Mercy was gone from the window and he felt bereft, as if missing her. Which was ridiculous, he told himself with a wince. He was never traveling down that treacherous path again. He wasn’t equipped to do it. He didn’t have enough heart to give. He couldn’t stand the thought of disappointing her.
    Howie blew out his breath, impatient to move. George looked ready to burst, waiting for the horse’s first step. Cole clucked, tugging gently on the rope bridle and remembering that father-and-son moment when Pa had been the one holding the bridle, leading the horse, and he’d been the boy riding for the first time. Like his own father had done, Cole kept a hand on George’s knee and kept it there, making sure the boy didn’t slide or fall.
    “What do you think, kid?” he asked, already knowing the answer as Howie ambled along, ears pricked, turning his head to keep an eye on the boy, too.
    “This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me!” George looked giddy. He was an entirely different child. Unspoken were the things Cole had read between the lines in Mercy’s letters, the things she hadn’t said. All the opportunities George never had with no father to provide and to be there for him, all the hardships and penny-pinching and doing without.
    Well, that had changed for good, Cole thought, fonder of the boy than he’d ever imagined he could be. “Hey, you really are a natural. You haven’t slipped even once.”
    “I must be really good at this.”
    “Yes, you are, George.” Cole assured him, remembering how his father had done the same for him. “Let’s go faster. Are you ready?”
    “Uh-huh.”
    Cole broke into a lope, and Howie smoothly transitioned into a slow cantor. The rocking movement didn’t unseat the boy, although he slipped a little. Cole kept a good hold on his knee, keeping him in place.
    “Ma! Do you see me?” George squealed with glee. “Look!”
    “I see,” sang a sweet voice, carried by the wind. “Is that a real cowboy, or is that you, George?”
    “It’s me!”
    Mercy’s burst of laughter, soft and sweet, threatened to undo him, to reach deep inside him and slip past his defenses. She was somewhere behind him on the hill, perhaps trudging through the snow to watch her son’s first ride. She couldn’t know what her presence did to him, how it threatened to crack his heart, the glacier