Jillian Hart Read Online Free Page A

her mother. But not like this. Not in front of Mary's family, who had brought Sara in out of the cold and given her a bed for the night. What if the years of longing showed in her eyes? How could she disguise the affection for a child she loved but could not have?
    "Sara, is that you?" Connie called, friendly and expectant. "Breakfast is still hot. And I steeped some tea."
    "Who's Sara, Pa?"
    "A pretty lady who was stuck on the train last night."
    "You mean, you rescued a pretty lady? Like in my fairy tale book?"
    "Well, I'm no shining knight." Humor and humility tolled in Gabe's words.
    He was a hero to her, a man who had provided for a baby not of his blood and raised her so that she could joke at the table, so that confidence twinkled in her voice as bright as sunlight.
    Footsteps clattered on the wood floor, the gait of a running child. Sara didn't have time to retreat or to think or even to blink back the tears pooling in her eyes. There was Mary, with twin black braids hanging over her shoulders, with eyes as blue gray as a stormy sky and Andrew's chiseled chin.
    "Are you the lady my pa rescued?" Mary tilted her head to one side when she smiled, curiosity bright and unmistakable.
    "Yes, I was stuck on the train last night." How she found her voice, Sara didn't know, but words tumbled off her tongue in such a rush. "Your pa helped me from the train and tucked me into his sleigh and made sure everyone was safe."
    "That's my pa." Pride swelled her shoulders, and Sara could see the love there, pure and true.
    Mary was delicate and lean, and the blue flannel dress she wore with a red rosebud print had to be store bought. In all Sara's life, she had never owned a dress half so fine or made of such beautiful fabric, but for her daughter, why, this was a play dress.
    More gratefulness wedged in her throat. Years of worry fled, like nighttime shadows at the first touch of dawn, because now Sara knew for certain. Giving up her baby had been the right thing to do.
    "Aunt Connie made up some eggs and stuff, but I don't like eggs." Mary reached out and grabbed Sara's hand.
    At the first touch of those slender little fingers, Sara's heart melted, just puddled in her chest. "I don't like eggs either."
    "Mrs. Mercer." Gabe stood, his chair grating on the wood floor. He hadn't asked for her name last night, so Connie must have told him this morning.
    Their gazes locked, and she tried to tuck away the emotion she knew showed. "Sheriff. I didn't expect to see you again."
    "He's always showing up, begging for a hot meal." Connie rose, fetching the teapot from the counter.
    "No, don't fuss over me," she said, lowering her eyes, seeing no other woman in the room.
    "Don't let her give you the wrong impression about me." Gabe circled around to draw the empty chair away from the table, holding it out for her. "I may come and eat her out of house and home now and then, but I do it for Mary's sake."
    "Yeah, Pa's cookin' is sorta bad sometimes." Mary traipsed over to her chair and dropped into it, braids swinging. "Unless he's makin' stew."
    Connie set down a steaming cup and a bowl. "There now, don't be afraid to ask if you want anything more. I'm not the best of cooks, but I'm a far sight better than Gabe."
    "It's the only reason Mary and I visit." He grinned, and she was close enough to see the smooth line of his freshly shaven jaw, the hint of dimples along his mouth, the flecks of indigo in eyes as dark as midnight.
    There was no mention of a wife to cook supper, a mother to look after Mary. Sara settled down into the chair he held, his solid strength towering over her, sure and honorable.
    "I asked Santa Claus for a new mother this year," Mary piped up as she dumped another spoonful of jam on her oatmeal. " 'Cause my real mother died. Sara, can you cook?"
    "Excuse me?"
    Then Gabe broke out in laughter so easy and hearty she felt mesmerized. He looked at ease as he circled around to his chair, moving with the powerful agility of a man