The Grieving Cowboy Hadn’t Smiled In Years, Until A Clumsy Mail Order Bride Made Him Laugh Again

Chapter 2

The walk to Elias Croft’s house was the longest quarter-mile of Lydia’s life. She followed him through the frozen streets of Stone Creek, clutching Barnaby’s cage with numb fingers, her trunks balanced impossibly on Elias’s broad shoulders. The marshal had offered to help, but Elias had refused with a curt shake of his head, leaving Lydia to wonder if he was being gentlemanly or simply trying to burn off the anger that radiated from him like heat from a stove.

The house sat at the edge of town, a sturdy two-story structure that had been built with care and love. Lydia could see it in the precise joinery of the porch beams, in the way the windows were framed with decorative trim, in the stone path that led to the front door. Someone had poured their heart into this house. But now it looked neglected, almost abandoned — the curtains drawn, the porch empty of the rocking chairs that would have made it feel lived in.

Elias kicked open the front door and deposited her trunks in the entryway. The inside was as cold as the outside. A single chair sat beside a cold fireplace. A dusty table held a single candle. There were no rugs on the floors, no pictures on the walls.

“Get a fire going,” Lydia said, setting Barnaby’s cage on the table. “You’re going to catch your death.”

“I’ll get a fire going,” Elias corrected, already moving toward the fireplace. “There are blankets in the chest upstairs. The spare room is the second door on the right.”

“Mr. Croft —”