Christmas Gold

By Cynthia Hickey

When Phoebe Ross's employer dies, leaving her with a wedding gown, Phoebe feels she has no choice but to answer the call for mail order brides to Angel Vale, Wyoming.

When she arrives her groom-to-be is nowhere in sight. With the other brides claimed, she sets off to find her groom. He is nothing what she expected. Nor, did she expect danger to have followed her to Angel Vale.

Christmas Gold is a touching story of finding love, escaping the past, and forging a new future in an untamed land.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cynthia Hickey
• Release date: Jan 26, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215839676

Cynthia Hickey

Multi-published and best-selling author, Cynthia Hickey, has taught writing at many conferences and small writing retreats. She and her husband run the publishing press, Winged Publications, which includes some of the CBA's best well-known authors. They live in Arizona and Arkansas, becoming snowbirds with two dogs and one cat. They have ten grandchildren who them busy and tell everyone they know that "Nana is a writer."   

Book preview

1

1877, Angel Vale, Wyoming

Phoebe Ross smoothed the skirt of her traveling gown for what had to be the tenth time and waited, with no small amount of nerves, for an Alex Vaughn to greet her. She’d been helped from the wagon an hour ago and was the last of the mail-order brides, or angels, as one man called them, to be spoken for. Had Mr. Vaughn changed his mind and left her there to find her way?

Would Phoebe not be given the chance to decide whether or not she wanted to go through with the marriage? Her prospective groom’s letters had been short and to the point, showing him an educated man of few words. Which suited Phoebe fine. She suffered from an infernal bout of shyness and would rather not speak, if given the choice, most times. But, once she felt comfortable with a person, she could talk the hind leg off a mule, her papa had said. Oh, where was Mr. Vaughn?

Tears stung her eyes. She blinked against them, refusing to let them fall, and perched on the edge of her one wardrobe chest, most of which was taken up with a hand-me-down wedding dress from Mrs. Rochester, the one thing left to her from her deceased employer.

She squared her shoulders and fixed her gaze on the one road that made up Angel Vale, Wyoming, and did her best to ignore the curious stares from what seemed like scores of men wandering past.

One of her traveling companions, a tiny little blond, Annelle, if Phoebe remembered correctly, rode past in a wagon with a man. Poor thing looked as terrified as the man beside her.

Phoebe pulled an embroidered handkerchief from her reticule and dabbed the corners of her eyes. If her groom wouldn’t come for her, she would seek him out. She deserved an explanation before making alternate plans for her future.

She stood and approached a man loitering outside the Underwood Mercantile. Excuse me?

He glanced up and down her five-foot-eight frame. You’re a long tall drink of water, ain’t you?

Tilting her nose in the air, she drew in a sharp breath. Could you please direct me to where I might locate an Alex Vaughn? I also need someone to watch my trunk.

I’ll watch your trunk. Not doing anything else. Vaughn is right over there. He pointed to a small shop with a sign that read, Mountain Gold.

Thank you. Phoebe marched in the direction the man had pointed. Outside the shop, she took a shuddering breath and stepped into the dim room.

It took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust, then she made her way to a glass counter. A lamp sat on top of the counter, highlighting a wonderful array of yellow and pink gold fashioned jewelry. Behind the counter, a man with tousled hair the color of wheat bent over a delicate gold chain.

She cleared her throat. When he didn’t look up, she tapped the top of his head. Mr. Vaughn?

He leaped up. His elbow knocked the lamp. He scrambled to set it right before squinting through a set of magnifying glasses at her. Eyes as dark as the bark on an oak tree peered at her. Yes?

She stared at him for a second, then pointed at his face. I feel as if I’m talking to an owl.

Oh. Pardon me. He whipped the glasses from his face, messing his hair further. How may I help you?

I’m Phoebe Ross.

He thought for a moment, then dashed around the counter to grab her hand. My dear, forgive me. It’s our wedding day, and I’ve failed to show. He tucked her hand in his.

Sir. She pulled free. I beg you to let me freshen up from my journey before our wedding. My chest is in front of the mercantile and holds my wedding dress.

You look lovely as you are.

She blinked back tears again. I really want to wear the dress in my chest, please. Surely, he would grant her this one wish. She hadn’t planned to wed. At the age of twenty, she was practically an old maid!

The thought of backing out of their arrangement teased at the corners of her mind. To do so would require her paying back the cost of her passage to Angel Vale. She barely had enough money to purchase a meal. She had no other choice than to marry this man.

I’ll fetch your trunk. He dashed away, leaving her standing in his shop.

Removing the pins from her navy blue hat with a curvy feather, she set it on the counter. She peered closer through the glass at the assortment of rings. Quite a few in varying designs and a couple of necklaces. Were one of these rings meant for her finger?

A grunting behind her signaled the return of Mr. Vaughn. She straightened and turned to greet him.

This is quite heavy, he said, dropping the trunk just inside the door. Muscles strained the fabric of his white shirt.

Shall I empty it piece-by-piece to make it easier to move upstairs? You did say we were to live above the shop, correct?

For now. He shook his head, a curl falling forward over his eyes. I’ll get it up the stairs. Don’t worry. He grasped the handle and dragged it, banging up a set of steep stairs behind the counter.

With a sigh, and lifting her skirt to keep from tripping, Phoebe followed.

~

Alex Vaughn was a fool. Not only for forgetting to meet his bride at the mercantile, but