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Authors: Jillian Hart, Janet Tronstad
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got George.”
“Come look, Ma!” George’s voice echoed from deeper inside the house, out of sight. “I can’t believe I’m a real cowboy!”
Oh, the delight in his voice. The sound of it made her forget everything else. Her shoes tapped a merry rhythm against the hardwood floor, barely noticing her surroundings. The big gray stone fireplace, the windows letting in light and mountain views, the two overstuffed chairs in an otherwise sparse room.
A staircase rose to her right, ascending to the second floor. The kitchen was airy and pleasant, but she hardly noticed the oak cabinets and counters, the shiny new range or the round oak table seated in front of a big window. No, those details paled in comparison to the sight of her son standing by that table with a Stetson on his head and cowboy boots on his feet.
“They even fit, too!” George grinned at her, happier than she’d ever seen him. “I can’t believe it. They’re my very own. Amelia said so.”
“Be sure and thank Cole.” She blinked happy tears from her eyes, hands clasped together, just drinking in the sight of her delighted boy. “You look like a real cowboy ready to ride.”
“You surely do,” Amelia agreed. “Hurry, go show Pa. He’s waiting to show you your big surprise.”
“My horse?” George choked out, as if too overcome to say more. He hugged himself like a boy whose every dream had come true. “Oh, boy. I gotta go. ’Bye, Ma.”
“’Bye, kid.” She felt choked up, too. “Go and have fun with your pa.”
“I will!” His boots made a hammering sound, pow-powing through the house as he made a mad dash away.
She listened to his progress, heard the door open and Cole’s rumbling baritone as he said something to the boy. The door shut with a click, cutting him off. She swiped happy tears from her eyes.
“George was really excited.” Amelia wandered over to the stove. “Pa is giving him an old horse to learn to ride. Howie’s big, but don’t worry. He’s as gentle as a lamb. I wanted to learn to ride him. I begged and begged and pleaded and pleaded. I was sure I could wear Pa down and he’d agree.”
“And it didn’t work?” Mercy asked, amused, imagining reserved Cole’s reaction to his daughter wanting to ride astride like a boy. Think how upset he got over a sled! She gave a soft huff of laughter. What a pair she and Amelia were. “Once long ago I wanted to learn to ride horseback.”
“You did?” Surprised at such news, and apparently intrigued, Amelia dropped an oven mitt. It tumbled to the floor and she stooped to pick it up. “Did you ever get to?”
“Alas, no. My parents were shocked I would suggest such a thing.” Mercy laughed again, love filling her at the memory of her folks, long gone now, and of those happy times long past.
Perhaps happier times could come around again,
she thought hopefully, taking in the pretty kitchen. Goodness, it was larger than her shanty. By twice, maybe three times.
“Too bad about the riding,” Amelia sympathized. She opened the stove’s warmer. “Have you ever gone sledding?”
“No. It looks fun.” Mercy crossed over to take a look inside the warmer, from which Amelia extracted a bowl. Residual heat radiated off the stove, and it felt good. It was going to take some time to get used to the cold Montana winters. “Is this lunch?”
“Emmylou made it yesterday. She’s our housekeeper,” Amelia explained, carefully setting the bowl on the counter. “At least, she will be until the wedding. Then you take over.”
“Ah, so in marrying me, your father is saving some money,” she quipped. She liked knowing that she wouldn’t be a burden to him, two more people for him to support. That was another relief. Her gaze drifted to the window, where the stretch of shining white snow and rolling meadows was broken only by precise split-rail fencing and a gray barn, trimmed in white.
A dozen horses strained against the rails, each jockeying to be the one
“Come look, Ma!” George’s voice echoed from deeper inside the house, out of sight. “I can’t believe I’m a real cowboy!”
Oh, the delight in his voice. The sound of it made her forget everything else. Her shoes tapped a merry rhythm against the hardwood floor, barely noticing her surroundings. The big gray stone fireplace, the windows letting in light and mountain views, the two overstuffed chairs in an otherwise sparse room.
A staircase rose to her right, ascending to the second floor. The kitchen was airy and pleasant, but she hardly noticed the oak cabinets and counters, the shiny new range or the round oak table seated in front of a big window. No, those details paled in comparison to the sight of her son standing by that table with a Stetson on his head and cowboy boots on his feet.
“They even fit, too!” George grinned at her, happier than she’d ever seen him. “I can’t believe it. They’re my very own. Amelia said so.”
“Be sure and thank Cole.” She blinked happy tears from her eyes, hands clasped together, just drinking in the sight of her delighted boy. “You look like a real cowboy ready to ride.”
“You surely do,” Amelia agreed. “Hurry, go show Pa. He’s waiting to show you your big surprise.”
“My horse?” George choked out, as if too overcome to say more. He hugged himself like a boy whose every dream had come true. “Oh, boy. I gotta go. ’Bye, Ma.”
“’Bye, kid.” She felt choked up, too. “Go and have fun with your pa.”
“I will!” His boots made a hammering sound, pow-powing through the house as he made a mad dash away.
She listened to his progress, heard the door open and Cole’s rumbling baritone as he said something to the boy. The door shut with a click, cutting him off. She swiped happy tears from her eyes.
“George was really excited.” Amelia wandered over to the stove. “Pa is giving him an old horse to learn to ride. Howie’s big, but don’t worry. He’s as gentle as a lamb. I wanted to learn to ride him. I begged and begged and pleaded and pleaded. I was sure I could wear Pa down and he’d agree.”
“And it didn’t work?” Mercy asked, amused, imagining reserved Cole’s reaction to his daughter wanting to ride astride like a boy. Think how upset he got over a sled! She gave a soft huff of laughter. What a pair she and Amelia were. “Once long ago I wanted to learn to ride horseback.”
“You did?” Surprised at such news, and apparently intrigued, Amelia dropped an oven mitt. It tumbled to the floor and she stooped to pick it up. “Did you ever get to?”
“Alas, no. My parents were shocked I would suggest such a thing.” Mercy laughed again, love filling her at the memory of her folks, long gone now, and of those happy times long past.
Perhaps happier times could come around again,
she thought hopefully, taking in the pretty kitchen. Goodness, it was larger than her shanty. By twice, maybe three times.
“Too bad about the riding,” Amelia sympathized. She opened the stove’s warmer. “Have you ever gone sledding?”
“No. It looks fun.” Mercy crossed over to take a look inside the warmer, from which Amelia extracted a bowl. Residual heat radiated off the stove, and it felt good. It was going to take some time to get used to the cold Montana winters. “Is this lunch?”
“Emmylou made it yesterday. She’s our housekeeper,” Amelia explained, carefully setting the bowl on the counter. “At least, she will be until the wedding. Then you take over.”
“Ah, so in marrying me, your father is saving some money,” she quipped. She liked knowing that she wouldn’t be a burden to him, two more people for him to support. That was another relief. Her gaze drifted to the window, where the stretch of shining white snow and rolling meadows was broken only by precise split-rail fencing and a gray barn, trimmed in white.
A dozen horses strained against the rails, each jockeying to be the one
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