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

Chapter 4

By the third morning, Elias had stopped counting the days until the stage would leave. He told himself it was because the cold spell had settled in with no sign of breaking, making travel impossible. He told himself it was because Lydia had not yet found stable employment, and he would not be responsible for throwing her out into the snow.

But the truth was simpler and far more terrifying.

He did not want her to leave.

She had made his house feel like a home for the first time since Anna died. She had filled the silence with her humming, filled the kitchen with the smell of real food, filled the empty spaces with her presence. She had knocked over three glasses, tripped on the stairs twice, and set fire to a dish towel while attempting to toast bread over the stove. And somehow, impossibly, she had made him laugh.

That afternoon, he found her in the general store, struggling to lift a heavy sack of flour onto the counter. Sarah Chen had already hired her, and the teaching position at the schoolhouse had been offered as well. Lydia was building a life here — a life that did not depend on him.

“You should let me do that,” Elias said, reaching for the sack.

“I can manage,” Lydia said through gritted teeth. She heaved the sack upward, lost her grip, and tumbled backward into a display of canned goods. The cans crashed to the floor in a cascade of noise, rolling in every direction.

Lydia sat in the middle of the wreckage, her face flushed, her hair escaping from its pins. “I’m fine,” she announced. “Totally fine.”

Elias felt the laughter building in his chest again. He tried to suppress it, but it escaped anyway — a low chuckle that grew into a full laugh.

“You’re going to bankrupt Sarah Chen with your chaos,” he said, offering her his hand.

“Better bankrupt her than break my neck,” Lydia muttered, taking his hand. She stumbled as she stood, and Elias caught her elbow, steadying her.

Their eyes met. The laughter faded, replaced by something else, something that made Elias’s breath catch in his throat.

“Thank you,” Lydia said softly.

“Always catching you,” Elias said. “It’s becoming a habit.”

They stood there for a moment too long, her elbow still in his grip, the canned goods scattered around them like fallen soldiers. The bell above the door chimed, and they sprang apart like guilty children.

That night, Elias could not sleep. He lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying the moment in the general store over and over again. The softness of her skin beneath his fingers. The way her eyes had widened when he caught her. The way his heart had hammered against his ribs.

He had not felt this way since Anna. He had not allowed himself to feel this way.

A floorboard creaked in the hallway. Footsteps, soft and hesitant. A pause outside his door. Elias held his breath, waiting, hoping —

The footsteps continued to the stairs. He heard Lydia descend into the kitchen, heard the clink of a cup, the sound of water being poured.

He lay in the darkness, listening to her move through his house, and he realized with a certainty that terrified him: he was falling in love with her.