A Joyful Song: A Dry Bayou Brides Christmas Novella: Dry Bayou Brides, #7.5

By Lynn Winchester

Seamus MacAdams needs a miracle—a woman who will love him as much as he'll love her. But in the town of Dry Bayou, there doesn't seem to be anyone to whom his heart sings…until he sees her.

Joy Song is new in town and not looking for love; she has shot at her long-fought nursing career, and there is no time for romance. But it isn't long before love finds her in the form of a man with intense eyes, large hands, and an even bigger heart.

Just in time for Christmas, will Seamus get his miracle, or will Joy let a voice from her past silence her joyful song?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Charizomai Press
• Release date: Nov 7, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223537472

Lynn Winchester

Lynn Winchester is the pseudonym of a hardworking California-born conservative, now living in the wilds of Northeast Pennsylvania. Lynn has been writing fiction since the 5th grade, and enjoys creating worlds, characters, and stories for her readers. When Lynn isn't writing she is running a successful editing business, reading whatever she can get her hands on, raising her four children, making sure her husband is happy, and binge watching shows on Netflix.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

MacAdam’s Homestead

Dry Bayou Ranch

Dry Bayou, Texas

Summer 1875

O ch, Auntie, what am I tae do about this? Seamus stared wide-eyed at the woman across the room who was smirking at him without even a mite of sympathy on her lovely yet weathered face. Tis nothin’ left for me tae wear that doesna have a tear in it. I might as well go tae church with a sack on.

He took another look down at his bedraggled, torn, wrinkled, and faded clothes. I should put them out o’ their misery.

His aunt snickered then slapped her knee, slowly rising from her place beside the worn table where they’d sat to break their fast.

Looks like ye need tae get yerself a wife, Seamus. I’ve already raised my bairn—intae a right smart woman, too. I’m no’ about tae mother ye, boy, even if ye need someone tae remind ye tae wash behind yer ears. She cackled then came to stand in front of him, her short stature making her crane her head to look up at him. He was tall, broad-chested as a barrel, but without an ounce of fat. But his aunt only saw the little boy she’d known in Inverness.

Pulling at his frayed cuffs, he mumbled, A wife? If I had one o’ those, I wouldna still be livin’ with ye. And I’d have clean and mended shirts and trousers. He knew he sounded like an irritable babe, but this wasn’t the first time he and his aunt discussed his finding a wife.

Seems tae me like yer the only lad left in town who doesna have a wife and bairns tae come home tae, his aunt remarked as she grabbed her straw hat off the peg beside the door. She tucked her red hair beneath it and turned to open the door. The heat of the new morning blasted through the opening, and Seamus grunted. He’d never get used to the heat, not when he’d been raised on misty moors and dreary weather.

Sighing, he ran his fingers through his already tousled hair. It was overlong, sliding along his collar, but he couldn’t be bothered to cut it. Every one o’ those men either stumbled upon their wives or they ordered them from a catalogue—I canna do that. I want tae know the woman I’m tae marry, and I want more between us than a contract.

He wanted love. More than anything. Like his own Ma and Da had. But he couldn’t speak about such things with his aunt—or his cousin, Ray, for that matter. Raychelle—or Ray as she preferred to be called—was his aunt’s only daughter. Fortunately, she married one of the wealthiest land owners in the county, had a few bairns, and was living happily in the big house up the road. While Ray would gladly give him advice about finding a woman to wed, she’d also make it her mission to find that woman for him—her and all her female friends.

Those women are as wily and romantic as a nest of fertile hens.

Nay. He couldn’t talk to anyone about the deeply rooted, agonizing desperation to find a woman meant just for him. A woman who would adore him as much as he would adore her. A true love match.

A miracle.

What ye standin’ there for, lad? Those feet won’t move themselves, and I hate tae be late tae church, especially on potluck Sunday, his Aunt Moira snapped from the doorway.

Piqued at his inability to focus, he followed his aunt to the surrey he’d hitched to Bella, their draft horse, just an hour before. He helped Aunt Moira into her seat, then came around the conveyance to climb into his own seat and take the reins.

It was a short drive into town, and the Dry Bayou Community Church sat just on the outskirts. A wide-open lawn was set up with long tables, waiting for the many serving dishes coming in with all the people for the morning service and potluck following. There were already several covered dishes placed here and there, and he wondered what they contained, but that could wait.

Not that he was all that hungry. His gut roiled along with his thoughts. He parked the surrey beside a line of other surreys and wagons, and he and his aunt entered the church—which was, as per usual, crowded with god-fearing folk—and found their seats in the back.

Before he knew it, the service was over. And he hadn’t heard a word of it. As people filed out, he caught sight of his cousin, her husband, and their two children, Hannah and Avery. Hannah had a shock of hair as red as her mother’s, and little Avery had dark hair and large blue eyes, like his father, Billy.

Well, I didn’t know if I’d see ya today, since you’ve been awfully ornery lately, Ray said, not one for mincing words. Though, I figure church is the best place for ornery men. Ray planted her hands on her hips—just like her mother had that morning—and gazed up at him with eyes that were too perceptive.

He pulled away, casting a pleading look to his cousin-in-law, who shrugged and grinned.

Come on, darling, let’s leave the man alone and go make sure these three scamps don’t eat all the desserts, Billy interjected, nodding his head toward their two children, who’d taken off toward the tables of food. Ray’s mother was leading them, a wicked gleam in her eyes.

Ray snorted in acknowledgement, but didn’t take her eyes off Seamus. She scrunched her nose as she’d so often done as a lass, and he couldn’t stop the grin that erupted.

Lass, ye best be toddlin’ after yer own babes rather than treatin’ me like one. I dinnae need lookin’ after—and I havena been ornery, he said, poking her nose. She snorted again, slapping his hand away.

Yes, ya have, you big ruddy mule. You haven’t been to supper in weeks, and my ma says you’ve been mopin’ somethin’ terrible.

It was Seamus’s turn to snort. Yer ma needs tae stop speakin’ about me like I canna speak for myself. I’m a grown man, ye ken? I think I’ve had my fill o’ interferin’ females. Lord, but he loved them, though.

Billy squelched a chuckle and set his features before his wife turned narrowed eyes to him. But rather than say anything to him, she huffed and turned back to Seamus.

I only bother with you because you’re family, she said, her tone filled with concern.

He sighed. I ken that, wee cousin, but ye have yer own family tae worry about. Leave me tae me. I will be just fine. It took some doing, but Billy finally pulled his wife away to trail after their troublemaking kids and their grandmother, leaving Seamus alone with the ache in his chest. He watched them, laughing, smiling, loving one another, and he hated the bite of envy that nipped at him.

Ray and Billy had what he wanted—shoot! —most of his friends had what he wanted; loving wives, beautiful children…family. Never in his twenty-eight years of living had he felt such gut-wrenching hopelessness. Such unrequited longing. It wasn’t the first time his mind swirled with the thoughts of marriage and happily ever after with that one woman he wanted to find, but this was the first time a still small voice spoke the words, ye’ll never find her.

Swallowing down a ball of longing, Seamus MacAdams wondered if the voice were right, even as his heart ached with each beat.

CHAPTER ONE

The Castle Boarding House

Dry Bayou, Texas

November, 1880

Joy Song tucked another pin into her thick braid to hold it in place. She groaned. Without more than the handful of hair pins she