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

Chapter 7

Spring came to Stone Creek like a slow exhale. The snow melted, revealing the first green shoots of grass. The days grew longer, the air warmer, and the ice that had encased Elias Croft’s heart for three years began to thaw.

He found himself looking forward to meals with Lydia. He found himself making excuses to leave his workshop early. He found himself reaching for her hand during their evening walks, his fingers brushing against hers, testing the waters.

He still visited Anna’s grave. He still talked to her, told her about his day, about the children at the schoolhouse, about the new saddle he was working on. But the guilt that had once accompanied those visits had faded, replaced by a quiet acceptance.

The moment everything changed came on a warm evening in May. Lydia had been attempting to hang new curtains in the main room — a task that had already resulted in three near-falls and a broken vase. She was balanced on a chair, which was balanced on a stool, which was a terrible idea by any standard.

“Lydia, get down from there,” Elias said, his heart leaping into his throat.

“I almost have it,” she said, reaching for the curtain rod.

The chair wobbled. The stool tipped. And Lydia was falling, her arms pinwheeling, a scream caught in her throat.

Elias lunged forward and caught her against his chest. But this time, the momentum carried them both backward, and they tumbled onto the sofa together, Lydia landing on top of him in a tangle of skirts and limbs.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Lydia’s face was inches from his, her hair coming loose from its pins to fall around them like a curtain. He could feel every curve of her body pressed against his. Could see the flecks of gold in her green eyes. Could count each individual freckle scattered across her nose.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. But she did not move.

“You really need to stop falling off things,” Elias said, but his voice came out husky.

“I know. It’s a terrible habit.”

They stared at each other, and Elias felt something fundamental shift in his chest. This was not just tolerance or friendship. This was want. This was longing. This was the terrifying, exhilarating feeling of his heart opening again after being closed for so long.

“Lydia,” he said quietly, and it was both a question and a statement.

“Elias, I —”

Whatever she was going to say was interrupted by a loud squawk from the kitchen. “BLOODY HELL! BLOODY HELL!”

The spell broke. Lydia scrambled off him, her face flushed bright red. “I should finish those curtains.”

“Maybe using a stool this time,” Elias said, his voice rough. “Instead of the chair-on-stool approach.”

“Right. Yes. That would be safer.”

They did not talk about what had almost happened. But the awareness hung between them like smoke, and Elias knew that he could not go back to the way things were before.